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The widely-extended approval and patronage bestowed upon the 
Eclectic Educational Series for several years past, have given to them 
a constantly increasing demand. Their sale is not equaled by any 
other similar School-Books in the United States. 

Such approval renders it the duii/ and privilege of the Publishers 
to sustain and increase their usefulness, by such improvements as are 
demanded by judicious educational progress. With this view, 


Have been entirely remodeled. Such lessons as discriminating prac- 
tical teachers had found the least interesting, have been removed, 
and others, with large additions — especially of primary matter — have 
been introduced into the Series. 

A careful attention to progression, by which the learner is led for- 
ward, step by step, by an easy gradation; a pure moral and religious 
sentiment, inculcated in interesting and instructive lessons; a neat 
typography and handsome style of publication, render them the best 
class-books for reading in the English language, and, at their very 
low prices, the cheapest. 

g^" To secure accuracy in those who order books, these volumes, 
six in number, are entitled 

McGuffet's New Eclectic Readers, 

That they may not be confounded with the former editions, which 
are still continued in publication. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by W. B, SMITH, in the 
Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District 
of Ohio. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 


In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern 

District of Ohio, 



This, the fifth in the series of the remodeled Eclectic Readers, 
difi'ers from the preceding Tolumes, chiefly, in its grade. The lessons 
are more difficult, the lists of errors in articulation and pronun- 
ciation are more extensive, and the questions, more copious and 

A considerable amount of new matter, derived from the best 
sources of English literature, has been added. 

The introductory article on Reading is commended to the notice 
of the teacher, as containing important instruction upon that subject, 
vrith copious illustrations and- exercises. Miscellaneous exercises in 
articulation are also interspersed between the lessons. 

The Spklling and Defining Exercises, placed at the head of the 
lessons, are copious, and at the same time, select. In addition to 
these, words are also marked in the lessons to be spelled and defined 
by the pupil. 

Tlie grammatical questions are particularly commended to the 
attention of the teacher, as a valuable feature. Few are aware, until 
a trial, how closely reading and grammatical analysis may be profitably 

The Reading Lessons have been very carefully selected. It has 
been the great object of the compiler to present the best specimens 
of style, to insure interest in the subjects, to impart valuable in- 
formation, and, especially, to exert a decided and healthy moral and 
religious influence. 

As very little material is found in a form appropriate to practice 
as reading lessons, the matter has here been extensively remodeled 
and rearranged, so as to adapt it to its place in this volume. On 
this account, the lessons are credited in the contents as being ^^from^' 
the authors named. 


Directions foe, Reading 9 to 36 



1. The Forest-trees.— A Fable 37 

3. The Poor Widow 40 

5. The Orphan 46 

7. Little Victories From Martineau. . 53 

9. An End of All Perfection From Sigourney. . 69 

11. Do Not Meddle .- 65 

12. The Chicken-cock and the Fox 70 

14. The Righteous Never Forsaken 72 

15. Select Paragraphs 75 

17. Tlie Generous Russian Peasant 80 

18. Touch Not— Taste Not— Handle Not. . . From Dr. Beecher. 83 

20. Man and the Inferior Animals 88 

21. Value of Time and Knowledge 91 

23. Scene at the Sandwich Islands 96 

24. The Maniac 101 

26. Respect for the Sabbath Rewarded 105 

27. The Goodness of God The Bible. . . .108 

29. Contrasted Soliloquies From Jane Taylor, 112 

31. The Just Judge 118 

32. Control Your Temper From Todd. . . 123 

34. Death of Absalom The Bible. . . . 127 

36. A Morning Ramble From Pauldiiig. . 134 

38. The Alhambra by Moonlight From Irving. . .141 

40. On Elocution and Reading 145 

41. No Excellence without Labor From Wirt. . . 148 

42. Necessity of Education From Br. Beecher. 150 

44. The Intemperate Husband From Sigourney. . 155 

45. The Intemperate Husband — Continued 158 

47. Ill-Nature Rewarded 162 

49. The Wife From Irving. . . 169 

61. Decisive Integrity From Wirt. . . 174 




63. The Steam-boat Trial From Abbot. . . 178 

55. Lucy Forrester 184 

67. The Venomous Worm 192 

58. The Town Pump From Hawthorne. 194 

60. Effects of Gambling From Flint. . . 204 

62. Criminality of Dueling From Nott. . . . 211 

63. Tit for Tat From EJgeworth. . 214 

64. Conflagration of an Amphitheater. . . F7-om Croly. . . 217 

66. Charles II and William Penn 225 

67. Horrors of War From R. Hall. . . 228 

69. Love of Applause Froj7i Hawes. . . 234 

71. A Picture of Human Life From Johnson. . 240 

73. Puritan Fathers 249 

74. American Orator 253 

77. Europe and America . From Webster. . 271 

80. The Scriptures and the Savior. . . . From Rousseau. . 280 

81. The Blind Preacher From Wirt. . . 283 

83. The Bible From Grimke. . . 288 

87. Rebellion in State-Prison 300 

88. Religion, the Only Basis of Society ^. ... 806 

90. The Bobolink From Irving. . . 310 

92. The Wild Horse From Irving. . t 315 

94. Matilda From Goldsmith. . 322 

95. Speech of Logan From Jefferson. . 324 

96. The Good Reader 326 

97. Marty n and Byron From Miss Beecher. 329 

100. Behind Time 336 



2. The Oak-Tree From Howetl. . . 38 

4. Tired of Play 45 

6. The Grandfather 51 

8. My Mother 58 

10. The Spider and the Fly From JHowett. . . 63 

13. The Barber 71 

16. The Dying Boy Fi-om Sigourney. . 78 

19. The Festal Board . . 86 

22. Consolation of Religion From Percival. . 95 

25- He never smiled again From Ilemans. . . 103 

28- Nature and Revelation The Bible. . . .110 

30. The Pebble and the Acorn From Miss Gould. 116 



33. The Child's Inquiry 126 

35. Absalom From Willis. . .131 

37. April Day 1^9 

39. The Death of the Flowers Frovi Bryant. . . 143 

43. True Wisdom ... The Bible. . . .153 

46. The Better Land Frovi Ilemans. . . 161 

48. It Snows From 3Irs. Hale. . 167 

50. Ginevra From Bcgers. . .171 

52. Procrastination From Young. . .176 

54. A Dirge From Croly. . . 182 

56. A Hebrew Tale From Sigourney. . 1 89 

59. Shylock From Shakspeare. . 198 

61. The Miser From Pollok. . . 209 

65. Prince Arthur From Shakspeare. . 220 

68. Battle of Waterloo From Byron. . . 231 

70. IVIidnight Musings From Young. . . 237 

72. God's First Temples From Bryant. . . 244 

75. William Tell From Knoiules. . 257 

76. William Tell — Continued From Knoivles. . 266 

78. Make Way for Liberty From Montgomery. 275 

79. The American Eagle From Neal. . . . 278 

82. The Gods of the Heathen The Bible. . . .286 

84. Maud Muller From Whitlier. . 290 

84. Eock me to Sleep 293 

85. Lochiel's Warning From Campbell. . 295 

86. Apostrophe to the Ocean Frotn Byron. . . 298 

89. The Three Sons "■" 308 

91. Winged Worshipers From Sprague. . . 314 

93. Soldier of the Rhine From. Mrs. Norton. 320 

98. Byron From Pollok. . . 332 

99. Immortality of the Soul From Addison. . . 334 

101. Death and Lif«. . . . . o 338 



The great object to be accomplished in reading as a 
rhetorical exercise is, to convey to the hearer, fully and 
clearly, the ideas and feelings of the writer. 

In order to do this, it is necessary that the feelings of the 
author whose language is read, should be infused into the 
breast of the reader, and then alone can they be properly and 
fully expressed. 

In accordance with this view, a preliminary rule of impor- 
tance is the followinor: 

'o ■ 

Rule I. — Before attempting to read a lesson, the 
learner should make himself fully acquainted with the 
subject as treated of in that lesson, and endeavor to 
make the feelings and sentiments of the writer his 

Remark. — To accomplish the purpose indicated in the rule, 
every lesson should be well studied beforehand, and no scholar 
should be permitted to attempt to read any thing, which he can 
not easily understand. "When he has thus identified himself 
with the author, he has the substance of all rules in his own 
breast. It is by going to nature that we find rules. The child 
or the savage orator, never mistakes in inflection, or emphasis, 
or modulation. The best speakers and readers are those who 
follow the impulse of nature as felt in their own hearts, or most 
closely imitate it as observed in others. 

Exercises . — What is the chief design of reading ? In order to 
do this, what is first necessary? Repeat the rule. For the purpose 
of being able to observe this, what must be done? From whence are 
all rules derived ? 

' (9) 




The subject first in order and in importance requiring atten- 
tion, is ARTICULATION. The object to be accomplished, under this 
head, may be expressed by the following general 

Direction. — Give to each letter (except silent letters), 
to each syllable, and to each word its full, distinct, and 
appropriate utterance. 

For the purpose of avoiding the more common errors under 
this head, observe the following rules. 

EuLE II. — Avoid the omission of unaccented vowels. 


Sep' rate 








for sep-a-rate. 
















EuLE III. — Avoid sounding incorrectly the unaccented 




Sep-er-ate for sep-a-rate. i Mem-er-ry 

met-ric-wl " met-ric-al. > wp-piu-ion 

wp-pear " ap-pear. < prwp-ose 

com-per-tent " com-pe-tent. i gran-ny-lar 

dwin-mand " de-mand. I par-tic-e-lar 

ob-stwr-nate " ob-stf-nate. < ev-er-dent 










Remark. — In correcting errors of this kind in words of more 
than one syllable, it is very important to avoid a fault which 
is the natural consequence of an effort to articulate correctly. 
Thus, in endeavoring to sound correctly the a in met^-ric-al, the 
pupil is very apt to say met-ric-al'', accenting the last syllable 

Exercises. — What subject is first in importance to the reader? 
Repeat the general direction. Repeat Rule II. Give some examples 
in which the vowel is left out. Repeat Rule III. Give some examples 
in which the unaccented vowel is improperly sounded. 



instead of the first. In correcting the sound of the first o in pro- 
posed, he will perhaps pronounce it pro^pose. This change of 
the accent, and all undue stress upon the unaccented syllable, 
should be carefully avoided. , 

Rule IV. — Utter distinctly the terminating conso- 



for ani. I Mos' 

" band > near-es' 

" moun«?. < wep' 

" morn-in^r. ? ob-jec' 

" desA;. \ sub-jec' 





for mosgwe. 

" near-es<. 

" wep(. 

" ob-jec^ 

" sub-jec<. 

Eemark 1. — This omission is still more likely to occur when 

several consonants come together. 





for thi*us<5. s Harms' 

" beas/s. i. wrongs' 

" thinks^. > twinkles' 

" weptei. \ black'ns 


for harm's^. 
" wrong's^. 
" twinkl'rfs^ 
" black'n'c?s<. 

Eemark 2. — In all cases of this kind, these sounds are omitted, 
in the first instance, merely because they are difficult, and require 
care and attention for their utterance, although, after a while it 
becomes a habit. The only remedy is to devote that care and 
attention which may be necessary. There is no other difficulty, 
unless there should be a defect in the organs of speech, which 
does not often happen. 

EuLE y. — Avoid blending syllables which belong to 
different words. 



He ga-2rfupon. 
Here res ts'is sed. 


He g«zeti upon. 
Here res^s Ais Aead. 

Exercises — In correcting these errors, what fault is it neces- 
eary to guard against? What is Rule IV? Give examples. When 
is the omission still more likely to take place? Give examples. 
What is the cause of this defect? What is the remedy? Is there 
often any defect in the organs of speech? What is Rule V? Illus- 
trate it by an example. 



Whatiis sis sname? Whai is his name? 

For raniiinstontush. For an instant hnsh. 

Ther ris sa calm. There is a calm. 

For the stha, tweep. For those that weep. 

God sglorou simage. God's glorious image. 


This exercise and similar ones will afford valuable 
aid in training the organs to a distinct ai'ticulation. 

Every vice fights again,?^ nature. 

Folly is never ipleased with itself. 

Pride, not nature, craves much. 

The little t&ttler tUtei-ed at the tempest 

Titu5 takes the ^et\ilani owtc&sts. 

The covetous partner is desdifute of fortune. 

Kg one of you knows wAere the shoe \\inches. 

What can not be cu?-ec? \wnst be endured. 

You can not catch old hlrds with cAafF. 

Never sport with the opinions of others. 

The lightni??^s flashed., the ^/ainders roared. 

^is hand in mine was fo?ic/ly clasped. 

They cui^dvated shrnbs and plauts. 

He sele("/ed his te.r^s w\th great care. 

His lijDs ^row restless, and his smile is curled half into scorn. 

Wisrfo))i's ways are ways of pleasaniiiess. 

0! breeze that waftst me on my way. 

Thou boast' st of what should be thy sAame. 

Li/e's fi{Ail fever over, he res^s well. 

Cans^ thou fill his skin with havbed iro7is? 

From star to star the living Yighijiijigs flash. 

And glittering crowns of _^j7-os<rate serajo/iim. 

That morning, thou that slumberd' st not before. 

Habitual evii^s cha??^c not on a sudden. 

Thou waft'nf'st the ric^-cty sklfs over the clifl^s. 

Thou reef'rf's^ the haggled shipwrecked sails. 

The honesi! sAepherii's catarrh. 

The heiress in her disAabi//c is tumorous. 

The irave cAevalier behai^es like a consej-vative. 

The luscious notion of cAampagne and jorecious su^ar. 

Exercise. — AVhat kind of exercises are adapted for improve- 
ment in articulation? 


Remark 1. — Very full exercises and directions for practice 
in ARTICULATION, may be found in the New Eclectic Third and 
Fourth Readers of this series, to which it is supposed the reader 
has already paid some attention. In .every reading lesson, tliis 
subject should receive its appropriate attention. Between the 
lessons in this book, also, are examples, constituting a series of 
exercises upon dithcult combinations and upon vowel sounds, 
which, it is believed, will be found of great utility, and to which 
the learner is directed for practice. 

Remark 2. — The teacher will recollect that, in correcting a 
fault, there is always danger of erring in the opposite extreme. 
Now, properly speaking, there is no danger of learning to articu- 
late too distinctly, but there is danger of contracting a habit of 
drawling, and of pronouncing unimportant words with too much 
prominence. This should be carefully guarded against. It is a 
childish fault, but is not always coniined to children. 

• » « 


Inflections are slides of the voice iipward or down- 
ward. Of these there are two: the rising inflection and 
falling inflection. 

The kising inflection is that in which the voice 
slides upward, and is marked thus (^); as, 

Did you walk'? (Did youvja-^^'^^^ 

The falling inflection is that in which the voice 
slides downward, and is marked thus (^) ; as, 

I did not walk\ (I did not b-- , 

Both inflections are exhibited in the following question: 

Did you walk'' or ride^? "^ ^^ h'd 

Exercises . — What error must be guarded against? What are 
inflections? How does the voice slide in the rising inflection? How, 
in the falling? 


In the following examples, the first member has the rising, and 
the second member the falling inflection. 


Is he sick^, or is he vvell^ ? 
Is he young', or is he old''? 
Is he ricl/, or is he poor^ ? 
Did you say valor', or value^? 
Did you say statute', or statue^ ? 
Did he act properly', or improperly^? 

In the following examples, the inflections are used in a con- 
trary order, the first member terminating with the falling, and the 
second with the rising inflection. 


He is well^, not sick'. 

He is young\ not old'. 

He is rich^, not poor'. 

I said value^, not valor'. 

I said statue^, not statute'. 

He acted properly^, not improperly'. 


EuLE YI. — The falling inflection is generally proper, 
wherever the sense is complete. 


Truth is more wonderful than fiction\ 
Men generally die as they live^. 
By industry we obtain wealth^. 

Exercises. — Explain the dififerent inflections in the questions, 
commencing with, "Is he sick', or is he well^?" Explain them in the 
answers to those questions. What is the first rule for the use of the 
falling inflection? Give the examples. 

* These questions and similar ones, with their answers, should be 
repeatedly pronounced with their proper inflections, until the distinc- 
tion between the rising and falling inflection is well understood and 
easily made by the learner. He will be assisted in this, by empha- 
sizing strongly the word which receives the inflection: thus, Did you 
bide' or did you walk^? 


Eemark. — Parts of a sentence often make complete sense in 
themselves, and in this case, unless qualified or restrained by the 
succeeding clause, or unless the contrary is indicated by some 
other principle, the falling inflection takes place, according to 
the rule. 


Truth is wonderfuP, even more so than fiction^. 

Men generally die as they live\ and by their actions we must 
judge of their character^. 

By industry we obtain wealthy and persevering exertion will 
Beldom be unrewarded\ 

Exception. — When a sentence concludes with a negative clause, 
or with a contrast or comparison, (called also antithesis,) the first 
member of which requires the falling inflection, it must close with 
the rising inflection. (See Eule XI, and §2, Note.) 


No one desires to be thought a fooF. 
I come to bury^ Cassar, not to praise' him. 
, If we care not for others^ we ought at least to respect ourselves^ 
He lives in England^ not in France''. 

Eemark. — In bearing testimony to the general character of a 
man we say. 

He is too honorable^ to be guilty of a vile^ act. 

But if he is accused of some act of baseness, a contrast is at 
once instituted between his character and the specified act, and 
we change the inflections, and say, 

He is too honorable^ to be guilty of such' an act. 

A man may say, in general terms, 

I am too busy' for projects'^. 

But if he is urged to embark in some particular enterprise, he 
will change the inflections, and say, 

I am too husy^ for projects'. 

Exercises . — Where, besides at the close of a sentence, may the 
sense be complete? What inflection must be used in this case? Give 
an example. AVhat is antithesis? What is the substance of the 
remark? Explain the examples. 


In such cases, as the falling inflection is required in the former 
part, by the principle of contrast and emphasis, (as will hereafter 
be more fully explained,) the sentence necessarily closes with the 
rising inflection. 

Sometimes also, emphasis alone seems to require the rising 
inflection on the concluding word. See exception to Eule VII. 


Eule VII. — Language which demands strong emphasis 
generally requires the falling inflection. 


§1. Command or urgent entreaty; as, 


Run^ to your houses, fall'' upon your knees, 

Pray^ to the Gods to intermit the plagues. 

Answer^ me, to what I ask you. 

0, save^ me, IIubert>, save'' me ! My eyes are out 

Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. 

§2. Exclamation, especially when indicating strong 
emotion; as, 

0, ye Gods^! ye Gods^! must I endure all this? 

Hark''! Hark''! the horrid sound 

Hath raised up his head. 

A present deity''! they shout around, 

A present deity''! the vaulted roofs rebound. 

For interrogatory exclamation, see Rule X, Remark. 


§3. A series of words or members, whether in the begin- 
ning or middle of a sentence, if it does not conclude the 
sentence, is called a commencing series., and requires the 
falling inflection at each word or member except the last, 
which must have the rising inflection. 

Exercises. — Repeat Rule "VII. What is the first particular 
under this rule ? Give an example. What is the second particular? 
Give an example. What is the third head under this rule ? What is 
a commencing series? 



Wine^, beauty^, music\ pomp', are poor expedients to heave 
off the load of an hour from the heir of. eternity\ 

Absaloma beauty\ Jonathan's love^, David's valor^, Solomon's 
wisdom^, the patience of Job^, the prudence of Augustus^, the 
eloquence of Cicero^, and the intelligence of alF, though faintly 
amiable in the creature, are found in immense perfection in the 

I conjure you by that which you profess, 

(Howe'er you came to know it,) answer me; 

Though you untie the winds and let them fight 

Against the churches^; though the yeasty waves 

Confound and swallow navigation^ up; 

Though bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown down^; 

Though castles topple on their warders' heads^; 

Though palaces and pyramids do slope 

Their heads to their foundations^ though the treasures 

Of nature's germans tumble altogether^, 

Even till destruction sicken'; answer me 

To what I ask^ you. 

§4. A series of words or members which concludes a 
sentence, is called a concluding series, and must have the 
falling inflection at each member, except the last but 
one, which must have the rising inflection. 


They passed o'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp; 
Rocks\ caves\ lakes\ fens\ bogs\ dens', and shades of death\ 
They, through faith, subdued kingdoms^, wrought righteous- 
ness\ obtained promises^, stopped the mouths of lions^, quenched 
the violence of fire^, escaped the edge of the sword^, out of weak- 
ness were made strong^, waxed valiant in fight', turned to flight 
the armies of aliens\ 

Remark. — When the emphasis on these words or mem- 
bers is not marked, they take the rising inflection, according 

to Rule IX. 


They are the offspring of restlessness', vanity', and idleness^. 
Love',' hope', and joy' took possession of his breast. 

Exercises. — "What is a conckiding series? Give examples. 
Repeat the remark, and Give examples. 


§5. "When words, which naturally take the rising in- 
flection, become emphatic by repetition or any other 
cause, they often take the falling inflection. 

Exception to the Rule. — While the tendency of emphasis is 
decidedly to the use of the falling inflection, sometimes a word 
to which the falling inflection naturally belongs, changes this, 
when it is emphatic, for the rising inflection. 

Three thousand ducats^: 'tis a good round sum/. 
It is useless to point out the beauties of nature to one who is blind/. 

Here sum. and Hind, according to Rule VI, would take the ■ 
falling inflection, but as they are emphatic, and the object of 
emphasis is to draw attention to the word emphasized, this is 
here accomplished in part by giving an unusual inflection. Some 
speakers would give these words the circumflex, but it would be 
the rising circumflex, so that the sound wovild still terminate 
with the rising inflection. 

EuLE VIII. — Questions which can not be answered by 
yes or wo, together with their answers, generally require 
the falling inflection. 

Where has he gone^? Ans. To New York\ 

What has he done^? Ans. Nothing\ 

Who did this^? Ans. 1 know not\ 

When did he go''? Ans. Yesterday\ 

Remark. — If these questions are repeated, the inflection is 
changed, according to the principle stated under the Exception 
to Rule VII. 

Where did you say he had gone^? 

What has he done''? 

When did he go'? 

Who did it'? 

EuLE IX. — Where a pause is rendered proper by the 

Exercises . — What is the fifth head under thfs rule ? Repeat 
^he exception. Give the examples. What is supposed to be the 
reason of the exception? Repeat Rule VIII. If these questions are 
repeated, what inflection is tised? Repeat Rule IX. 


meaning, and the sense is incomplete, the rising inflec- 
tion is generally required. 

To endure slander and abuse witli meekness'', requires no ordinary 
degree of self-command''. 

Night coming on^, both armies retired from the field of battle^. 
As a dog returneth to his vomit', so a fool returneth to his folly^. 

Remark. — The person or object addressed, comes under this 



Fathers''! we once again arc met in council. 

My lords'"! and gentlemen'! we have airived at an awful crisis. 

Age'! thou art shamed. 

Rome'! thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! 

Exception. — Where a word, which, according to this rule, re- 
quires the rising inflection, becomes emphatic, it generally must 
have the falling inflection, according to Rule VII. 


When we aim at a high standard, if we do not attaiii^ it, we shall 
secure a high degree of excellence. 

Those who mingle with the vicious, if they do not become depraved^, 
will lose all delicacy of feeling. 

So also, when a child addresses his father, he first says, Fathei-'.! 
but if he repeats it emphatically, he changes the inflection, and 
says. Father^ I Father^ ! 

Remark. — The principle of this rule will be found to apply 
especially to the last pause before the close of a sentence, as that 
is generally the most interesting point of suspension. See ex- 
amples under Rule VII, §3. Harmony of sound, also, seems to 
require the rising inflection at this place, even when other reasons 
would indicate the contrary. 

Rule X. — Questions which may be answered by yes 
or no, generally require the rising, and their answers the 
falling inflection. 

Exercises. — Of what rule is this the converse or opposite? 
Give some of the 'examples under this rule. What inflection has the 
person addressed? Give examples. Give the exception to Rule IX,. 
and examples. To what does the principle of this rule especially 
api^ly? Repeat the exception. Repeat Rule X. 
5th R. 2. 


Has he arrived'? Yes^. 

"Will lie return'? No\ 

Does the law condemn him'? It does not\ 

Exception. — If these questions are repeated emphatically, they 
take the falling inflection, according to Rule VII. 

Has he arrived"^? 
TFi'ZZ he return^? 
Does the law condemn him^? 

Remark. — When a word or sentence is repeated as a kind of 
interrogatory exclamation, the rising inflection is used, according 
to the principles of this rule. 


You ask, who would venture"^ in such a cause? Who would ven- 
ture^? Rather say, who would not^ venture all things for such an 
object ? 

He is called the friend^ of virtue. The friend'! ay ! the enthu- 
siastic lover\ the devoted protector^, rather. 

So, also, when one receives unexpected information, he ex- 
claims. Ah'! indeed'! 

Remark. — In the above examples, the words " venture," " friend," 
"ah," &c., may be considered as interrogatory exclamations, be- 
cause, if the sense were carried out, it would be in the form of 
question; as, "Do you ask who would venture'?" "Do you say 
that he is the fric7id' of virtue?" "Is it possible'?" and thus, 
they would receive the rising inflection according to this rule. 


EuLE XI. — The different members of a Bentence 
expressing comparison, or contrast, or negation and 
affirmation, or where the parts are united by or used 
disjunctively, require different inflections; generally the 

risinj inflection in the first member, and the falling in- 

ExERCiSEs . — Give examples under Rule X. Repeat the remark, 
and explain the examples. What is the Rule XI? What is the first 
head under this rule ? Give an example. 


flection in the second member. This order is, however, 
sometimes inverted. 

§1. Comparison and contrast. This i^ also called antithesis. 


By all things approving ourselves the ministers of God; by honor^, 
and dishonor^; by eviF report, and good^ report; as deceivers^, and 
yet true^; as unknown'', and yet weir known; as dying', and behold 
we live^; as chastened', and not killed^; as sorrowful', yet always 
rejoicing^; as poor', yet making many rich^; as having nothing', and 
yet possessing all^ things. 

Europe was one gi'eat battle-field, where the weak struggled for 
freedom', and the strong for dominion''. The king was without 
pov.'ei'', and the nobles, without principle^. They were tyrants at 
home', and robbers abroad^. 

§2. Negation and affirmation. 


He desired not to injure' his friend, but to protect^ him. 
We desire not your money', but yourselves^. 
I did not say a better' soldier, but an elder\ 

If the affirmative clause conies first, the order of the inflections 
is inverted. 


He desired to protect^ his friend, not to injure' him. 
We desire yourselves^ not your money'. 
I said an elder^ soldier, not a bettei-'. 

The affirmative clause is sometimes understood. 


We desire not your money'. 

I did not say a better' soldier. 

The region beyond the grave, is not a solitary' land. 

In most negative sentences standing alone, the corresponding 
affirmative is understood; hence, the following 

Eemaek. — Negative sentences, whether alone or connected with 
an affirmative clause, generally end with the rising inflection. 

Exercises. — What is the second head ? Give examples. If the 
affirmative clause comes first, in what order are the inflections used? 
Give examples. Is either clause ever omitted? Repeat the remark. 


If such sentences are repeated emphatically, they take the fall- 
ing inflection, according to Rule VI. 


We do noC" desire your money. 
I did not"^ say a better soldier. 

§3. Or used disjunctively. 

Did he behave properly'', or improperly^? 
Are they living'', or dead^? 
Is he rich'', or poor^? 

Does God, having made his creatures, take no further^ care of 
them, or does he preserve, and guide them^? 

Remake. — Where or is used conjunctively, this rule does not 
apply; as, *■ 

Will the law of kindness^ or of justice'' justify such conduct''? 


The circumflex is a union of the rising and falling 
inflections upon the same sound. Properly speaking, 
there are two of these, the one called the rising circum- 
flex, in which the voice slides down and then up; and 
the other, the falling circumflex, in which the voice slides 
upward and then downward on the same vowel. They 
may both be denoted by the same mark; thus (A). The 
circumflex is used chiefly to indicate the emj)hasi8 of 
irony, of contrast, or of hypothesis. 


1. Queen. Hamlet, you Lave your father much offended. 
Hamlet. Madam, you have my father much offended. 

2. They offer us their protec^tion. Yes\ such protection, as vul- 
tures give to lambs, covering and devouring them. 

Exercises. — If sentences requiring the rising inflection are 
repeated emphatically, what inflections ai-e used? What is the third 
head under this rule? Give examples. Kepeat the remark. What 
inflections are united to form the circumflex? Explain the two kinds 
of circumflex. What does the circumflex indicate ? Give an example 
in which it is used to indicate the emphasis of contrast, and explain it. 
Explain the one in which the emphasis of irony is illustrated. 


3. I knew when seven justices could not make up a quarrel; but 
when the parties met themselves, one of them thought but of an if; 
as, if you said so, then I said so; ho! did you say so? So they 
shook hands and were sworn brothers. 

Remarks. — In the first example, the emphasis is that of con- 
trast. Tlie queen had poisoned her husband, of which she incor- 
rectly supposed her son ignorant, and she blames him for treating 
his father-in-law with disrespect. In his reply, Hamlet contrasts 
her deep crime with his own slight offense, and the circumflex 
upon i/OM, becomes proper. 

In the second example, the emphasis is ironical. The Spaniards 
pretended, that they would protect the Peruvians, if they would 
submit to them, whereas, it was evident, that they merely desired 
to plunder and destroy them. Thus their protection is ironically 
called such protection as vultures give to lambs, &c. 

In the third example, the word "so" is used hypothetically, 
that is, it implies a condition or supposition. It will be observed 
that the rising circumflex is used in the first "so," and the fall- 
ing, in the second, because the first "so" must end with the rising 
inflection, and the second, with the falling inflection, according to 
previous rules. 


When no word in a sentence receives an inflection, it 
is said to be read in a monotone; that is, in nearly the 
same tone throughout. This uniformity of tone is occa- 
sionally adopted, and is fitted to express solemnity or 
sublimity of idea, and sometimes intensity of feeling. 
It is used, also, Avhen the whole sentence or phrase is 
emphatic. In books of elocution, when it is marked at 
all, it is generally marked thus ( — ), as in the lines fol- 


Hence ! 15athed melancholy ! 

Where brooding darkness spreads her jealous wings. 

Exercises . — Give the last example and explain it. When is a 
sentence said to be read in a monotone? When is a monotone appro- 
priate ? 


And the night raven sings; 

Thei'e, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, 

As ragged as thy locks, 

In deep Cimmerian darkness ever dwell. 


In every -word which contains more than one syllable, 
one of the syllables is pronounced with a somewhat 
greater stress of voice, than the others. This syllable 
is said to be accented. The accented syllable is distin- 
guished by this mark (^), the same which is used in 

















Remark. — In most cases, custom is the only guide for placing 
the accent on one syllable rather than another. Sometimes, how- 
ever, the same word is differently accented, in order to mark ita 
different meanings. 

Con''-jure, to pi-actice enchantments. 
GaZ'lant, brave. 
.4u'-gust, a month. 

Remark. — A number of words, also, have their accent on one 
syllable when verbs or adjectives, and on another, when nouns. 

Con-jwre'', to entreat. 
GaA-lant', a gay fellow. 
Au-gusf, grand. 

Su¥-i&Q.i, the noun; to sub-^eci!'', the verb. 



to ^vQ-sent^, 




to con-ducV, 




to ob-jecV^ 


Exercises. — When is a syllable said to be accented? Give an 
example. How is the accented syllable marked? What is generally 
the guide for placing the accent? When is the same woi'd differently 
accented? Give an example under each head. 



A WORD is said to be emphasized, when it is uttered 
with a greater stress of voice, than the other words with 
which it is connected. 

Remark 1. — The object of emphasis is, to attract particular 
attention to the word upon which it is placed, indicating that the 
idea to be conveyed depends very much upon that word. This 
object, as just stated, is generally accomplished by increasing the 
force of utterance, but sometimes, also, by a change in the inflec- 
tion, the use of the monotone, or by uttering the words in a very 
low tone. Emphatic words are often denoted by italics, and a still 
stronger emphasis by small capitals or LARGE CAPITALS, 
according to the degree of emphasis desired. 

Remakk 2. — Emphasis constitutes the most important feature 
in reading and speaking, and, properly applied, gives life and 
character to language. Accent, inflection, and, indeed, every thing 
yields to emphasis. 

Remark 3. — In the following examples, it will be seen that 
accent is governed by it. 


What is done, can not be wndone. 

There is a diiference between giving and /orgiving. 

He that descended is the same that ascended. 

Some appear to make very little difference between (decency and 
iwdecency, morality and mmorality, religion and irreligion. 

Remark 4. — There is no better illustration of the nature and 
importance of emphasis, than the following examples. It will 
be observed that the meaning and proper answer of the question 
vary with each change of the emphasis. 

E XERC iSES.— When is a word emphasized? Upon what part 
of the word is the increased stress placed ? What is the object of 
emphasis ? In what other way, than the one just mentionjed, can 
this be accomplished? How are emphatic words mai'ked ? What 
is said of the importance of emphasis ? What other things yield to 
emphasis ? 




Did you walk into the city yesterday? No, my brother went. 

Did you walk into the city yesterday? No, I rode. 

Did you walk into the city yesterday? No, I went into the country. 

Did you walk into the city yesterday ? No, I went the day before. 


Sometimes a word is emphasized simply to indicate 
the importance of the idea. This is called absolute 



To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek! 

Strike — till the last armed foe expires, 

Strike — for your altars and your fires, 

Strike — for the green graves of your sires, 

God — and your native land. 

Woe unto you, Pharisees! Hypocrites! 

Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away. 

Remake. — In instances like the last, it is sometimes called the 
emphasis of specification. 


Words are often emphasized, in order to exhibit the 
idea they express, as compared or contrasted with some 
other idea. This is called relative emphasis. 

It is much better to be injured, than to injure. 
They fight for plunder, we, for our country. 
A friend can not be known in prosperity : an enemy can not be hidden 
in adversity. 

They follow an adventurer whom they fear; we serve a monarch 
whom we love. 

Exercises. — Give some examples in which accent yields to 
emphasis. What is absolute emphasis ? Give examples. What is 
meant by relative emphasis? Give the examples, and show the words 
contrasted. Give the examples, in which the emphasis is carried 
through several sets of contrasted woi'ds, and point out which words 
are opposed to each other. (See last two examples on this page.) 


Remark. — In many instances, one part only of the antithesis ia 
expressed, the corresponding idea being understood; as, 
A friendly eye would never see such faults. 

Here the unfriendly eye is understood! 

King Henry exclaims, while vainly endeavoring to composes 
himself to rest, 

How many thousasids of my subjects are at this hour asleep. 

Here the emphatic words thousands^ subjects, and asleep are con- 
trasted in idea with their opposites, and if the contrasted ideas 
were expressed, it might be in this way: 

While I alone^ their sovereign, am doomed to wakefulness. 


SoMETEViES several words in succession are emphasized. 

Shall I, the conqueror of Spain and Gaul, and not only of the 
Alpine nations, but of the Alps themselves — shall I compare myself 

with this HALF YEAR — CAPTAIN? 

Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the 


And if thou said'st, I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here. 
Lowland or Highland, far or near. 
Lord Angus — thou — hast — LIED! 


An emphatic expression of sentence often requires a 
pause, where the grammatical construction authorizes 
none. This is sometimes called the rhetorical pause. 
Such pauses occur, chiefly, before or after an em- 
phatic word or phrase, and sometimes both before and 
after it. 

Exercises. — Is the idea corresponding to the emphatic word 
ever ieft out? Explain the last two examples under this head, and 
show what i-s the idea opposed to friendly, in the one, and what are 
opposed to (hoitsands, subjects, aad <isleep, in the other. What is meant 
by the emphatic pkrase? Give the examples. What do you under- 
stand by the cmpii&Mc pause? Where does it occur? 
5th R. 8. 


Rise — fellow men ! our country — yet remains! 
By that dread name we wave the sword on high, 
And swear /or her — to live — ivith her — to die. 

But most — by numbers judge the poet's song: 

A.nd smooth or rough, with them is — right or wrong. 

He said; then full before their sight 
Produced the beast, and lo! — 'iioas lohite. 


Modulation includes the variations of the voice. 
These may be classed under the heads of Pitch, Com- 
pass, Quantity, and Quality. 


If any one will notice closely a sentence as uttered in private 
conversation, he will observe that very few successive words are 
pronounced in exactly the same tone. At the same time, how- 
ever, there is a certain pitch or hey^ which seems, on the whole, 
to prevail. 

This hey-note or governing note, as it may be called, is that upon 
which the voice most frequently dwells, to which it usually returns 
when wearied, and upon which a sentence generally commences 
and very frequently ends, while, at the same time, there is a con- 
siderable play of the voice above and below it. 

This note may be high or low. It varies in different indi- 
viduals, and at different times in the same individual, being 
governed by the nature of the subject and the emotions of the 

The range of the voice above and below this note, is called its 
COMPASS. When the speaker is animated, this range is great; 
but upon abstract subjects, or with a dull speaker, it is small. 
If, in reading or speaking, too high a note be chosen, the lungs 

Exercises. — Give examples. What is modulation? What is 
meant by the key-note? Is this the same at all times and in all 
individuals ? What circumstances cause it to differ ? AVhat is 
meant by compass of voice ? Under what circmstances is this range 
gi-eat ? 


will soon become wearied; if too low a pitch be selected, there 
is danger of indistinctness of utterance; and in either case there 
is less room for compass or variety of tone, than if one be taken 
between the two extremes. 

To secure the proper pitch and the greatest compass, observe 
the following rule. 

EuLE XII. — The reader or speaker should choose that 
pitch, in which he can feel himself most at ease, and 
above and below which he may have most room for 

Eemark 1. — Having chosen the proper key-note, he should 
beware of confining himself to it. This constitutes monotony, one 
of the greatest faults in elocution. One very important instru- 
ment for giving expression and life to thought is thus lost, and the 
hearer soon becomes wearied and disgusted. 

Eemark 2. — There is another fault of nearly equal magni- 
tude, and of very frequent occurrence. This consists in varying 
the tones without reference to the sense. A sentence is com- 
menced with vehemence and in a high tone, and the voice grad- 
ually sinks, until the breath being spen,t, it dies away in a 

Remark 3. — The habit of sing-song, so common in reading 
poetry, as it is a variation of tone without reference to the sense, 
is a species of the fault above mentioned. 

Remark 4. — If the reader or speaker is guided by i\\Q sense, and 
if he gives that emphasis, inflection, and expression, required by the 
meaning, these faults will speedily disappear. 

Remark 5. — To improve the voice in these respects, practice is 
necessary. Commence, for example, with the lowest pitch the 
voice can comfortably sound, and repeat whole paragraphs and 
pages upon that key. Then rise one note higher, and practice on 
that, then another, and so on, until the highest pitch of the voice 
is reached. This is illustrated in the following example. Sound 

Exercises. — When is it small? If too high a key-note be 
selected, what is the consequence? If the note be too low, what 
danger is there? What is the rule on this subject? What is mo- 
notony? AVhat are the evils arising from this fault? What other 
faults of tone are mentioned? What manner of reading poetry is 
mentioned? How are these fixults to be corrected? 


the lowest musical note and pronounce the sentence on the same, 
then the next, and so on. 

8. — do — Q — Man wants but little here below. 

7. si Q Man wants but little here below. 
-6. — la — Q — Man wants but little here below. 

5. sol Q Man wants but little here below. 
-4. — fa — Q — Man wants but little here below. — 

3. mi Man wants but little here below. 
-2. — re — Q — Man wants but little here below. — 

1. do §f Man wants but little here below. 


The tones of the voice should vary, also, in quantity, 
or degree of loudness, and in quality, or expression, accord- 
ing to the nature of the subject. 

Eemark. — We notice a difference between the soft, insinuating 
tones of persuasion; the full, strong voice of command and de- 
cision; the harsh, irregular, and sometimes grating explosion of 
the sounds of passion; the plaintive notes of sorrow and pity; 
and the equable and unimpassioned flow of words in argumenta- 
tive style. 

The following direction, upon this point, is worthy of attention. 

EuLE XIII. — The tones of the voice should ahvays 
correspond, both in quantity and quality, with the nature 
of tlie subject. 






" Come back ! come back ! " he cried, in grief, 

"Across this stormy water. 
And I'll forgive your Highland chief, 

My daughter! 0, my daughter!" 

I have lived long enough: my way of life 
Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf: 
And that which should accompany old age. 
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
I must not look to have. 

Exercises. — What is said with regard to varying the tones in 
quantity and quality ? What difference do we notice in tones ? 
Repeat Rule XIII. 







A very great portion of this globe is covered with 
water, which is called sea, and is very distinct from 
rivers and lakes. 

'Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire, 

And— "This to me?" he said; 
"And 'twere not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head! 

"Even in thy pitch of pride, 
Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near, 

I tell thee thou'rt defied! 
And if thou said'st I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here. 
Lowland or Highland, far or near, 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!" 

Remark 1. — In our attempt to imitate nature, il is important 
to avoid affectation, for to this fault even perfect monotony is 

Remark 2. — The strength of the voice may be increased by 
practicing with ditferent degrees of loudness, from a whisper to 
full rotundity, taking care to keep the voice on the same key. 
The same note in music may be sounded loud or soft. So also a 
sentence may be pronounced on the same pitch with different 
degi-ees of loudness. Having practiced with different degrees of 
loudness on one key, make the same experiment on another, and 
then on another, and so on. This will also give the learner prac- 
tice in compass. 

Let the pupil sound the vowels, increasing from soft to loud, 
and then decreasing from loud to soft, as follows : 

OO 0000000 

ExKRCisES. — What must be guarded against in attempts to 
imitate nature? How may the voice be improved in strength? How 
may the same note be sounded in music? How may this be applied 
to reading a sentence? 



In poetry, we have, in addition to other pauses, poetic 
PAUSES. The object of these is simply to promote the 

At the end of each line, a slight pause is generally 
proper, whatever be the grammatical construction or 
the sense. The purpose of this is, to make prominent 
the melody of the measure, and, in rhyme, to allow the 
ear to appreciate the harmony of the similar sounds. 

There is, also, another important pause, somewhere 
near the middle of each line, which is called the cesura 
or cesural pause. In the following lines it is marked 

thus (— ). 


There are hours long departed — which memory brings, 
Like blossoms of Eden — to twine round the heart, 

And as time rushes by — on the might of his wings, 
They may darken awhile — but they never depart. 

Remark. — The cesural pause should never be so placed as to 
injure the sense. The following lines, if melody alone were con- 
sulted, would be read thus, 

With fruitless la — bor Clara bound, 
And strove to stanch — the gushing wound; 
The Monk with un — availing cares, 
Exhausted all — the church's prayers. 

This manner of reading, however, it will be readily perceived, 
would very much interfere with the proper expression of the idea. 
This is to be corrected, by making the cesural pause yield to the 
sense. The melody is not injured by this, as much as might be 
supposed. The above lines should be read thus, 

With fruitless labor — Clara bound, 

And strove to stanch — the gushing wound; 

Exercises. — What pause is peculiar to poetry? AVhat is the 
object of this pause? Where is a sliglU pause generally proper? 
What is its object? What other pause in poetry is used? What is 
it called? Point it out in the examples. What caution is given with 
regard to its use? 


The Monk — with unavailing cares, 
Exhausted — all the church's prayers. 

Sometimes, where the sense requires it, two eesural 
pauses may be made instead of one. 


Soldier, rest! — thy warfare o'er. 

Sleep the sleep — that knows not breaking; 

Dream — of battle fields — no more. 
Days of danger — nights of waking. 

"Ah, wretch!" — in wild anguish — he cried, 

"From country — and liberty — torn! 
Ah, Mai-atan! — would thou hadst died, 

Ere o'er the salt waves thou wert borne." 

In lines like the following, three eesural pauses are 
proper. The first and last are slight, and are sometimes 
called demi-eesuras. 

Our bugles-sang truce — for the night cloud-had lowered, 
And the sentinel stars — set their watch-in the sky; 

And thousands-had sunk — on the ground-overpowered; 
The weary-to sleep — and the wounded-to die. 

ExERCisKS . — Explain this by the example given in the lines, 
"AVith fruitless labor," &c. When may thei-e be two eesural pauses? 
When there ai-e three, what are the first and last called ? 



{To he read in a solemn tone.) 

Frdnlilin is dead. The genius who freed America,'^ and poured 
a copious stream of knowledge throughout Europe'', is returned 
unto the bosom of the Divinity'^. The sage to whom two loorlds^ 
lay claim, the man for whom science^ and polities' are disputing, 
indisputably enjoyed an elevated rank in human nature. 

The cabinets of princes have been long in the habit of notifying 
the death of those who were great', only in their funeral orations^. 
Long hath the etiquette of courts', proclaimed the mourning of 
hypocrisy^. Nations' should wear mourning for none but their 
benefactors^ . The representatives' of nations should recommend to 
public homage', only those who have been the heroes of humanity^. 



He knew no motive/ but interest'; aclcnowledged no eriterior/ 
but success^; he worshiped no God' but amhiiioii^; and with an 
eastern devotion^ he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry''. Subsid- 
iary to this, there was no creed' that he did not profess^, there was 
no opinion' that he did not promulgate"^: in the hope of a dynasty^, 
he upheld the crcsce^ii"^; for the sake of a divorce/, he bowed before 
the cross^; the orphan of *SV. Louis' he became the adopted child 
of the republic^; and with a parricidal ingratitude'', on the rnins 
both of the throne and the tribune, he reared the throne of his 

At his touch, crowns^ crumbled^; beggars' reigned^; systems' van- 
ished'^; the wildest theories' took the color of his whim''; and all 
that was venerable'', and all that was novel', changed places with 
the rapidity of a drama'^. Nature had no obstacle' that he did not 
surmount''; space no opposition' he did not spurn''; and whether 
amid Alpine rocks'^, — Arabian sands'^, — or Polar snows', — he seemed 
proof' against peril', and empowered with ubiquity'^. 


Alas! poor Yorick! I knew him wcll^, Horatio'; a fellow of 
infinite jest', of most excellent fancy^. He hath borne me on his 
back', a thousand times''; and now', how abhorred in my imagina- 
tion is this skull\' My gorge rises'' at it. Here hung those lips 
that I have kissed, I know not how oft\ Where are your gibes\ 
now? youv gambols^? your songs^? your flashes of merriment^, that 
were wont to set the table in a roar^? Not one', now, to mock 
your grinning'? quite chop-fallen'? Now get you to my lady's 
chamber\ and tell her', if she paint ati inch thick'^, yet to this 
favor' will she come at lasf-. 


Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew' 
With wavering flight\ while fiercer grew 

Around, the battle yell. 
The border slogan rent the sky^, 
A Home''! a Gordon"^! was the cry^; 

Loud' were the clanging blows^; 
Advanced', — forced back\ — now low', — now high\ 

The pennon sunk' — and rose^; 
As bends the bark's mast in the gale'. 
When rent are rigging^, shrouds\ and saiK, 

It wavered 'mid the foes^. 




1. QuAL-i-Fi-CA^TiONs; 71. traits. 5 4. Grace''ful; adj. elegant. 

2, State^li-est; adj. most digni- < 5. Verd^ure; n. greenness. 

fied and lofty. \ 7. In-sure'; v. to make sure. 

Note . — The definitions given at the head of each lesson, corre- 
spond with the meaning of the word as used in the lesson. 


g@=° Words marked thus ( + ), in the body of the lessons, should be 
spelled and defined in addition to those whose definitions are given. 
See ^various and +conversation in the first paragraph. 

Pronounce correctly the following words found in this lesson. 
Do not say for-es for for-es<; va-rous for va-n'-ous; sevral for sev- 
er-aX ; tall-cs for tall-e^i! ; friens for frienc/s ; state-U-ess for state-li-es< ; 
slect-ed for se-lect-ed. 

1. In a fine forest of trees of +various kinds, there 
were several which were holding a ''"conversation upon 
their '•'particular beauty, use, size, strength, and other 
qualifications. Some '''boasted of one thing, some of 

2. One of the tallest and finest trees said proudly, 
■"Which of you, my friends, is so tall and straight as / 
am? I am the stateliest tree in the forest." 

3. Another one said, "Which of you is so strong as I 
am? I have stood in the storm for years, and no beast 
has been able to bend or break me down. I am the 
strongest tree in the forest." 

4. A third said, "Which of you is so graceful as I 
am? My branches all wave in the breeze in the most 
■•"elegant manner. I am the most graceful tree in the 



5. Another said, "You may all boast of your size, 
strength, and ^elegance, but when winter has stripped 
you of your verdure, how naked and '•'desolate you ap- 
pear, while I am clothed in '•'everlasting green. I am 
the only tree worth looking at. I am the brightest and 
most '^unfading tree in the forest." 

6. While these '•'vain trees were thus talking, each 
trying to appear better than the others, the owner of 
the forest came with his wood-cutter, to mark some 
trees which he meant to have cut down^. The tall, the 
strong, the graceful, and the evergreen tree, Avere all 
'■•"selected^, and in another hour were laid low by the ax, 
and cut up for use^. 


7. Thus you see how foolish it is to be proud of any 
qualifications we possess, as like these '•'boastful trees, 
we have not power to insure their '•'continuance^. 

Exercises . — Relate this fable. What is its moral? 

Where are falling inflections marked in this lesson? Where, 

rising inflections? 

' » o ♦ 



3. Sap'ling; n. a small tree. ) 3. Rift^ed; adj. burst open. 

3. GRAP^PLeo; v. contended with. <, 4. Gust^y; adj. stormy. 


Peonounce correctly. Do not say mon-uch for mon-a?'ch ; for-es 
for for-es/; a-cun for a-corn; fuss for first; firm-iss for firm-<?s< ; 
tem-pis for tem-pes<5. 

1. Sing for the oak-tree. 

The '""monarch of the wood ; 
Sing for the oak-tree, 

That groweth green and good; 
That groweth broad and branching 

Within the '•'forest shade; 
That groweth now, and yet shall grow, 

When we are lowly laid. 


2. The oak-tree was an '•"acofn once, 

And fell ujion the earth; 
And sun and showers nourished it, 

And gave the oak-tree birth. 
The little ''■sj)routing oak-tree! 

Two leaves it had at first, 
The sun and showers had nourished it, 

Then out the branches burst. 

3. The little saj)ling oak-tree ! 

Its root was like a thread, 
Till the kindly earth had nourished it ; 

Then out it freely spread : 
On this side and on that side 

It grappled with the ground ; 
And in the +ancient, rifted rock. 

Its firmest footing found. 

4. The winds came, and the 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^. 

Exercises . — From what does an oak-tree grow ? How is it 
nourished? What is said of its age, in the last verse ? 

Where is the rising inflection marked in this lesson? What is the 
rule for its use there? Where is the falling inflection marked? 

What rule ? 



To Teachers. — Each difficult woi'd should be uttered clearly, 
first, by its elements, and then by their combination, omitting silent 
letters: as, deth, death, crim, crime. Then read carefully and distinctly. 

Kibs, death, cry, crime, orb'd, act, acts. 

The ribs of death. Can you cry, crackers, crime, cruelty, crutches ? 
The orb'd moon. It was the worst act of all acts. It is a mixed 
government. The idle spindle. Long droves of cattle. Their deeds 
show their feelings. The length, and breadth, and depth of the 
thing. It was highly and holity done. 



1. Re-source''; n. means of sup- i 18. In-aud'i-ble ; arf/, that can not 
ply. i be heard. 

3. DwiN^DLfiD; V. Ijecame less. ^ 19. Im^ple-ments; n. cols. 

4. Es-Pi^eD; v. saw. I 19. In^va-lid; n. a sick person. 

5. Fal^ter-ing; ac?;'. hesitating. ^2. Con-sol^ing-ly ; a^/t;. comfort- 
9. Bonds'man; n. one bound for I ingly. 

another. > 22. Un-wont^ed; adj. unusual. 

12. Vi-bra''tions; n. a tremulous s 23. Pre-scrip^tion ; n. direction 

motion. } for medicines. 

13. Husk^y; adj. dry; rough. ] 34. Ob-li-ga^tion ; n. promise. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say chile for chile/; wip-in for 
wip-in^; fel-ler for fel-loi^;; fuss for fi?"S<; kine-ly for kino?-ly; lay-in 
for lay-in^; han for hanrf; dol-luz for dol-l«ri'. 

1. "It must be, my child," said the poor "widow, 
■wiping away the tears whicli slowly '''trickled down her 
wasted cheeks. "There is no other resource. I am too 
sick to work, and you can not surely see me and your 
little brother starve." 

2. The boy, a noble-looking little fellow of about ten 
years, started up, and after throwing his arms around 
his mother's neck, left the house without a word. He 
did not hear the groan of '"anguish that was uttered by 
his parent, as the door closed behind him ; and it was 
well that he did not, for his little heart was ready to 
burst without it. 

3. It was a by-street in Philadelphia, and as he 
walked to-and-fro on the sidewalk, he looked first at 
one person and then at another, as they passed him; but 
no one seemed to look kindly on him, and the longer he 
waited, the faster his courage dwindled away. The 
tears were runnin-g fast down his cheeks, but nobody 
seemed to care; for although clean, Henry looked poor 
and ■''miserable, and it is common for the poor and mis- 
erable to cry. 

4. Every body seemed in a hurry, and the poor boy 


was quite in ''"despair, when at last lie espied a gentle- 
man who seemed to be very ''"leisurely taking a morning 
walk. He was dressed in black, wore a three-cornered 
hat, and had a pleasant "("countenance. When Henry 
looked at him, he felt all his fears "("vanish at once, and 
instantly approached him. 

5. His tears had been flowing so long, that his eyes 
were quite red and swollen, and his voice trembled; 
but that was with weakness, for he had not eaten for 
twenty-four hours. As Henry, with a low faltering 
voice, begged for a little ''"charity, the gentleman stopped ; 
and his kind heart melted with ''"compassion, as he 
looked into the fair countenance of the poor boy, and 
saw the deep "'"blush which spread over his face, and 
listened to the modest, humble tones, which "'"accompa- 
nied his "'"petition. 

6. " You do not look like a boy who has been ''"accus- 
tomed to beg his bread," said he, laying his hand kindly 
on the boy's shoulder; "what has driven you to this 

7. "Indeed," answered Henry, his tears beginning to 
flow afresh, "indeed, I was not born in this condition. 
But the misfortunes of my father, and the sickness of 
my mother, have driven me to this step." 

8. "Who is your father?" inquired the gentleman, 
still more "'"interested. 

9. "My father was a rich merchant of this city; but 
he became bondsman for a friend, who soon after "♦"failed, 
and he was entirely ruined. He could not live long 
after this loss, and in one month died of "'"grief; and his 
death was more dreadful than any of our troubles. My 
mother, my little brother, and myself, soon sunk into 
the lowest depths of poverty. 

10. "My mother has, until now, "("managed to support 
herself and my little brother by her labor, and I have 
earned what I could, by shoveling snow, and other work 
that I could find to do. But, night before last, she was 
taken very sick, and has since become so much worse, 
that I fear she will die. I can not think of any way to 
help her. 


11. "I have had no work for several weeks. I have 
not had the courage to go to any of my mother's old 
"•"acquaintances, and tell them that she has come to need 
charity. I thought you looked like a stranger, sir, and 
something in your face overcame my shame, and gave 
me courage to speak to you. Oh, sir, do 'pity my poor 

12. The tears, and the simple, moving language of the 
poor boy, touched a chord in the breast of the stranger, 
which was accustomed to frequent vibrations. 

13. "Where does your mother live, my boy?" said he 
in a husky voice : " is it far from here ? " 

14. "She lives in the last house on this street, sir," 
replied Henry. "You can see it from here in the third 
block, and on the left-hand side." 

15. "Have you sent for a "•"j^hysician?" 

16. "No, sir," said the boy, "I had no money, to pay 
either for a physician or for ''"medicine." 

17. " Here," said the stranger, drawing some pieces of 
money from his pocket — "here are three dollars; take 
them and run immediately for a physician." 

18. Henry's eyes flashed with ''"gratitude ; he received 
the money with a ''"stammering and almost inaudible 
voice; but with a look of the warmest gratitude he van- 

19. The ■'"benevolent stranger instantly sought the 
dwelling of the sick widow. He entered a little room, 
in which he could see nothing but a few implements of 
female labor, a miserable table, an old """bureau, and a 
little bed which stood in one corner, on which the inva- 
lid lay. She appeared weak, and almost """exhausted ; 
and on the bed, at her feet, sat a little boy, crying as if 
his heart would break. 

20. Deeply moved at this sight, the stranger drew 
near the bedside of the invalid, and, ''"feigning to be a 
physician, inquired into the nature of her "'"disease. 
The symptoms were explained in a few words, when the 
widow, with a deej) sigh, added, "O, my sickness has a 
deeper cause, and one which is beyond the art of the 
physician to cure. 


21. "I am a mother, a wretched* mother. I see my 
children sinking daily deeper and deeper in want, which 
I have no means of relieving. My sickness is of the 
heart, and nothing but death can rid my sorrows. But 
even death is dreadful to me, for it awakens the thought 
of the misery into which my children would be plunged 
if " 

22. Here ^emotion checked her '''utterance, and the 
tears flowed '•'unrestrained down her cheeks. But the 
jjretended physician sj)oke so consolingly to her, and 
■■"manifested so Avarm a """sympathy for her condition, 
that the heart of the poor woman '•"throbbed with a 
pleasure that was unwonted. 

23. "Do not despair," said the stranger, "think 
only of recovery, and of preserving a life that is so 
precious to your children. Can I write a prescrii^tion 

24. The poor widow took a little prayer-book from 
the hands of the child who sat with her on the bed, 
and, tearing out a blank leaf, "I have no other," said 
she, "but perhaps this will do." 

25. The stranger took a pencil from his pocket, and 
wrote a few lines upon the paper. 

26. "This prescription," said he, "you will find of 
great service to you. If it is necessary, I will write 
you a second. I have great hopes of your recovery." 

27. He laid the paper on the table, and departed. 
Scarcely was he gone, when the elder son returned. 

28. "Cheer up, dear mother," said he, "going up and 
'•"affection ately kissing her. " See what a kind, benevo- 
lent stranger has given us. It will make us rich for 
several days. It has '•"enabled us to have a physician, 
and he will be here in a moment. """Compose yourself, 
now, dear mother, and take courage." 

29. "Come nearer, my son," answered the mother, 
looking with pride and affection on her child. " Come 
nearer, that I may bless you. God never forsakes the 
innocent, and the good. O, may he watch over you in 
all your paths ! A physician has just been here. He 
was a stranger, but he spoke to me with a kindness 

5th Rd. 4. 


that was ■"'balni to my heart. He left that preserij^tion 
on the table. vSee if you can read it." 

30. Henry glanced at the paper and started back. 
He took it u]), and as he read it through again and 
again, a cry of wonder and astonishment escaped him. 

31. "What is it^, my son^?" exclaimed the poor 
widow, trembling with an ''"apprehension of — she knew 
not what. 

32. "Ah, read, dear mother! God has heard us." 

33. The mother took the paper from the hand of her 
son, but no sooner had she fixed her eyes upon it, than 
she exclaimed, "It is "Washington ! " and fell back faint- 
ing on her pillow. 

34. The writing was an obligation from Washing- 
ton"^ — for it was indeed he^ — by which the widow 
was to receive the sum of one hundred dollars from 
his own private '•'property, to be doubled in case of ne- 

35. Meanwhile, the expected physician made his ap- 
pearance, and soon awoke the mother from her faint- 
ing fit. The joyful "'"surprise, together with a good 
nurse, with which the j^hysician supplied her, and a 
plenty of wholesome food^, soon restored her to perfect 

36. The ■'"influence of Washington, who visited them 
more than once, provided for the widow, friends, who 
furnished her with constant employment ; and her sons, 
when they arrived at the proper age, were placed in 
■♦"respectable situations, where they were able to support 
themselves, and '•"render the remainder of their mother's 
life comfortable and happy. 

37. Let the children who read this story remember, 
when they think of the great and good Washington, 
that he was not above entering the dv/elling of poverty, 
and carrying joy and gladness to the hearts of its '•"in- 

Exercises. — What did the boy attempt to do? What success 
did he have? What did the man, whom he met, say and do? Whom 
did it prove to be? What should his example teach us? 



' Let the teacher select the dif&cult words for the pupil to spell 
by their elements. 

Articulate distinctly the difficult sounds. Earth that entomb^st 
all my heart holds dear. His attempts were faithless. Hold off 
your handsel gentlemen. The sounds of horses hoofs were heard. 
What want St thou here? It was wrenched by the hand of violence. 
Their singed tops, though hare, will stand. The strength of his 
nostrils is terrible. A gentle current rippled by. He barbed the 
dart. How do you like herbs in your broth? 


1. Tem''ple; n. a church. ^ 4. Striv'en; u. contended against. 

2. Shel^ter-ing; v. protecting. ^ 5. Dis-tress'; n. misery. 

2. Rest'less; ac§'. not quiet. S 6. Pen''i-tence; n. sorrow, [wings. 

3. E^ven-tide; n. evening. ] 6. Brood''ing; v. covering with 


Pronounce correctly the following words in this lesson. Do 
not say creep-in for creep-ing; shelter-in for shelter-ing; brood-in for 
brood-ing; sing-in forsing-ing; res-less for rest-less ; fauls for faults; 
coulds for couldst; cre-tur for creat-ure (^pro. creat'-yur). 

1. Tired of play ! tired of play ! 

What hast thou done this "•'livelong day^ ? 
The birds are silent, and so is the bee ; 
The sun is creeping up temple and tree ; 

2. The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves, 
And the nests are dark with the "''drooping leaves, 
Twilight gathers and day is done, 

How hast thou spent it, restless one'^ ? 

3. Playing^? But what hast thou done beside. 
To tell thy mother at even-tide^ ? 

What promise of morn is left unbroken ? 
What kind word to thy '♦'playmate spoken^ ? 


4. Whom hast thou pitied and whom forgiven ? 
How with thy faults has duty striven ? 
What hast thou learned by field and hill? 
By ■•'greenwood path, and singing rill^ ? 

5. Well for thee if thou couldst tell 

A tale like this of a day spent well, 
If thy kind hand has aided distress, 
And thou pity hast felt for ''wretchedness''; 

6. If thou hast forgiven a brother's '''offense, 
And grieved for thine own with penitence ; 
If every creature has won thy love, 

From the creeping worm to the brooding dove, 
Then with joy and peace on the bed of rest 
Thou wilt sleep as on thy mother's breast^. 

Exercises. — What is meant by the expression, "The sun is 
creeping up temple and tree"? IIow had the day been spent? How 
ought our days to be spent that we may feel peace and happiness at 
their close? What inflection should "playing^' receive in the 3d 
stanza ? AVhy ? 


2. CoN^scious-NESs; n. feeling ^ 10. Ap-peals^; n. call for aid. 

knowledge. < 10. Hu-man^i-ty; n. kindness. 

2. 'V^e^iii-cle; n. a carriage. \ 11. In^ci-dent; n. occurrence. 

7. Plaid; n. a blanket. ] 13. In-di-cat-eu; v. showed 


Pronounce correctly the follo^ying words in this lesson. Do not 
say coach-inun for coacli-man ; loi-pkas-uni for un-pleas-ant; si- 
lunced for si-lenced ; be-nev-o-lunt for be-nev-o-lent ; in-temp runce for 
in-teui-per-ance; z^'-no-ntnce for ig-no-rance; re-cul-lect for rec-ol-lect; 
sup-prised for sur-prised; dround-ed for drowned. 

1. On a dark, cold night, in the middle of November, 
as Mr. Lawrence was traveling in a stage-coach from 
London to Norwich, he was roused from a sound sleep, 


at the end of the stage, by the coachman's opening 
the door of the carriage, and begging leave to look 
for a parcel which was in the box under Mr. Lawrence's 

2. The opening of the door admitted a violent gtist 
of wind and rain, which was very unpleasant to the 
feeling of the sleeping """passengers, and roused them to a 
consciousness of the '''situation of those who were on the 
outside of the vehicle. 

3. " I hope, coachman, you have a good thick coat on, 
to guard you against the cold and wet," said Mr. Law- 
rence. "I have a very good one, sir," replied the man, 
" but I have lent it to a poor little girl we have on the 
top ; for my heart bled for her, poor thing, she had so 
little clothing to keep her warm." 

4. " A child exposed on the outside of the coach, on 
such a night as this!" exclaimed Mr. Lawrence. "I 
am sure it would be very wrong in us to let her stay 
there. Do let us have her in '•'immediately. It is quite 
"•"shocking to think of her being in such a situation." 

5. "O no," cried a gentleman opposite, "we can do 
nothing with her. It is quite out of the question. The 
coach is already full, and she will be so wet, that we 
might as well be on the outside ourselves, as sit near 
her. Beside, she is a jDOor child, in charge of the master 
of a work-house, and one does not know what she may 
have about her." 

6. "Why, as to that, sir," replied the coachman, "I 
believe she is as clean as any child need be, though she 
is rather """delicate looking, poor thing ! But she is a 
fine little creature, and deserves better fare than she is 
likely to get where she is going." 

7. "Let her come in, at any rate," said Mr. Law- 
rence, " for poor or rich, she is equally """sensible to cold, 
and no one, I am sure, who has a child of his own, can 
bear the idea of her being so exposed. And as to her 
being wet, I will wrap her in my plaid, and take her 
on my knee, so that no one can feel any """inconvenience 
from it." 

8. This silenced the gentleman's """objections ; and the 


rest of the company agreeing to it, the coachman was 
desired to bring the child in, which he gladly did, and 
the dry plaid being rolled about her, Mr. Lawrence took 
her npon his knee, and putting his arm around her, 
clasped her with "^benevolence and self-satisfaction to 
his breast. " I am afraid you are very cold, my poor 
little girl," said he. 

9. "I was very cold, indeed, till the coachman was so 
good as to let me have his coat," replied she, in a very 
sweet and cheerful voice ; " but you have made me 
warmer still," she added, and as she spoke, she laid her 
head against the breast of her benevolent friend, and 
was asleep in a few minutes. 

10. " The coachman showed a great deal of "•'concern 
for her," said one of the passengers; "I could hardly 
have expected so much feeling in the driver of a stage- 
coach." " I believe there is much more humanity among 
the lower classes of people, than is generally supposed," 
s^id Mr. Lawrence, '• for we seldom meet with one who 
is deaf to the appeals of childhood or "'"helplessness." 

11. His companion was too sleepy to dispute the 
point, and the whole party soon sunk into the same 
state of torpor, from which this little incident had 
roused them, and from which they were only "'"occasion- 
ally disturbed by the changing of horses, or the coach- 
man's ''"application for his '""usual fee, till the full dawn 
of day induced them to shake off their ''"drowsiness. 

12. When Mr. Lawrence awoke, he found that his 
little companion was still in a deep sleep, and he 
thought, with satisfaction, of the sound rest he had pro- 
cured for her, with only a very little ''"inconvenience to 
himself. He was glad, too, that he had interested him- 
self for her before he saw her ; for had he seen the """pre- 
possessing face which he then beheld, he might have 
suspected that his "'"interference had been prompted by 
her beauty as much as by her distress. 

13. She was of a fair complexion and regular features; 
but Mr. Lawrence was particularly interested in her 
sensible and expressive countenance, which indicated 
extreme sweetness of disposition. "What a pity," 


thought he, as he looked at her, -'that so promising a 
little creature should be confined to the '''charity of a 
poor-house, and there reared in vice and ignorance! " 

14. As these thoughts passed across his mind, the 
little girl awoke, and looked around her, as if at a loss 
to know where she was ; but, at the next moment, seem- 
ing to ^recollect herself, and looking in Mr. Lawrence's 
face, she returned his kindness by a smile of satisfaction. 
"Have you had a good sleep, my dear?" asked he, 
kindly. " Yes, sir, I have been sleeping very soundly, 
and I thought I was at home." 

15. "Where is your home?" asked Mr. Lawrence. 
"I call where my Aunt Mary used to live my home." 
"And where did your Aunt Mary live?" "I do not 
know what they called the place, but it was at the end 
of a long lane, and there was a pretty garden before the 
house. It was such a nice place ; I am sure you would 
like it if you saw it." 

16. "Do you know the name of the place?" "No, sir, 
I do not know what they call it ; only that it was Aunt 
Mary's house, and it was near the large town they call 
Essex, where my father lived, and where there were a 
great many ships, and a large river." 

17. Surprised at the easy and correct manner in 
which this little girl, who bore marks of nothing but 
the greatest poverty, expressed herself, Mr. Lawrence's 
■•"curiosity was greatly excited, and feeling much inter- 
ested respecting her, he asked her name. 

18. "My Aunt Mary used to call me Fanny Ed- 
wards," replied she, "but my new mother told me I 
must say my name is ^eggy Short, but I do not like 
that name." 

19. "Why did she tell you to call yourself by that 
name ? " asked Mr. Lawrence. " I can not tell you, sir, 
for she used to call me Fanny herself till she took mo 
to the large town that we came to yesterday ; and then, 
she called me Peggy, and said I must call myself so." 

20. "Where is your Aunt Mary now? And your new 
mother, as you call her, where is she gone?" 

21. "My Aunt Mary went away a long time since. 


She said she was forced to go to a lady who was ill, that 
had been very kind to her; but she would come back to 
me soon, and then I should live with her again, and that 
I must love her till she came back, and I have loved her 
all this time very dearly, but she has never come again." 
As the child said this, her little heart swelled, and her 
eyes filled with tears. 

22. "Where did you go when she left you?" '''in- 
quired Mr. Lawrence. "I went to live with my father; 
for I had a new mother, my Aunt Mary said, who would 
take care of me. But my father went away in a ship, 
and my new mother said he was drowned in the sea, 
and would never come back again ; and then she was 
not very kind to me ; not so very kind as my Aunt 
Mary used to be ; for my Aunt Mary never beat me, but 
used to take me upon her knee, and tell me pretty 
stories, and teach me the way to read them myself, that 
I might learn to be a useful woman; and used to kiss 
me, and say she loved me very dearly when I was a 
good girl." 

23. "And I hope you were always a good girl," said 
Mr. Lawrence, patting her cheek. "No, sir," said she, 
"I was not always good, for once I told a story, and my 
Aunt Mary did not love me for a great many days, and 
I was very unhappy." " That was indeed bad, but you 
will never tell another story, I trust." 

24. "I hope not," said the child ''"modestly; and Mr. 
Lawrence, ''"desirous of knowing something more of her 
history, asked her again what had become of her mother. 
" I do not know what has become of her, but I am afraid 
she has lost herself, for when we got to the large town, 
she told me to sit down upon a door-step, until she came 
back to me. I sat a very long time, till it was quite 
dark, and I was very cold and hungry, and she never 
came to me, and I could not help crying. The lady that 
lived in the house heard me, asked me what was the 
matter; and when I told her, she took me into the 
kitchen, and gave me something to eat, and was very 
kind to me." 

25. At this simple ''"narrative, the passengers were all 


much affected. Even the gentleman who had first ■'"op- 
posed her coming into the coach, rubbed his hand across 
his eyes and said, "Poor thing, poor thing;" while Mr. 
Lawrence pressed her more closely toward him, and 
rejoiced that Providence had thrown in his way, this 
sweet little girl, whom he resolved to adoj)t and add to 
his own happy family. 

Exercises. — What were the circumstances which led Mr. Law- 
rence to become interested in the orphan? Relate her story as she 
told it to him. What did he do for her? 


They reefed the topsails. No dangers fright him. He quencKd 
a flame. She laughs at him. A frame of adamant. She beggd 
pardon. Thou look'st from thy throne in the clouds, and laugKst at 
the storm. The gloio-ivorm lights her lamp. The table groans 
beneath its burden. All clothed in rags, an infant lay. 


1. Hale; adj. healthy; robust. \ 3. Man''tel-tree ; n. shelf over 
3. Plod'ded; v. went slowly. > a fii'e-place. 


Pronounce the following words in this lesson correctly. Do 
not say smok-in for smok-in^r; clear-in for clear-in^; ketchin for 
catching; ^wrn-m for turn-in_9'; sjom-mn for spin nin^. 

1. The farmer sat in his easy-chair 

Smoking his pipe of clay. 
While his hale old wife with busy care, 

Was clearing the dinner away ; 
A sweet little girl with fine blue eyes. 

On her grandfather's knee, was catching flies. 

2. The old man laid his hand on her head, 

With a tear on his wi'inkled face. 
He thought how often her mother dead, 

Had eat in the self-same place ; 
5th Rd. 5. 


As the tear stole down from his half-shut eye, 
"Don I. smoke! " said the child, "how it makes you cry!" 

3. The house-dog- lay, stretched out on the floor, 

Where the shade, afternoons, used to steal ; 
The busy old wife by the open door 

Was turning the spinning-wheel. 
And the old brass clock on the mantel-tree, 
Had plodded along to almost three. 

4. Still the farmer sat in his easy-chair. 

While close to his heaving breast. 
The moistened brow and the cheek so fair 

Of his sweet grandchild were pressed; 
His head bent down, on her soft hair lay ; 
Fast asleep were they both on that summer day. 

Exercises . — Tell the story of the farmer and his sweet grand- 
child, as related in the above verses. 

What noun in the last line? What pronoun? What verb? What 
adjectives? What adverb? What preposition? 

To Teachers. — The grammatical questions introduced at the 
close of the reading lessons, will be found to add iiiterest and value to 
the exercise of reading. They should by no means be neglected, but 
may be varied or increased at the discretion of the teacher. 


It was a species of calx, which he showed me. 

The word filch is of cloubf/ii] derivation. 

If thou fall'st, thou fall'st a blessed martyr. 

Health is indispensahle to the soldier. 

Those who lie entomUd in the cemetery. 

The attem-pt and not the deed, confounds us. 

But truth, and liberty, and virtue, would fall with him. 

The song began from Jove. 

Do you mean plain or plar/iyig ? 

I quench thee, thou flaming fiXQ-brand. 

A frame of adamant, and strength of Hercules. 

The hills, and halls, and hxdls. 

The ranges., and changes., and hinges, and fringes. 

Spasms, and prisms, and chasms, and phasms. 



2. Dis-cov'ER-eD ; v. found out. I 6. Rapt''ures; n. extreme de- 

2. Ti''ny ; adj. very small. I light. 

3. Com-pos'er; w. an author. 8. Chat^ting; v. talking famil- 
3. Or^ches-tra; n. a body of mu- s larly. 

sicians. ^ ^^- De-ject''ed; v. discouraged; 

3. Com-po-si'tions; n. musical \ low-spirited. 

pieces. \ 10. Strewn; v. scattered. 

B^^'It will be recollected, that those definitions are given, which 
are appropriate in the connection in which the word is used. 

Remark. — In conversational pieces like the following, the man- 
ner of each speaker should be imitated, as in a dialogue. 

Articulate the letter d. Do not say roun for rounc?; foun for 
founrf; miJie for mine?; viile for mild; hun-reds for liun-f;?reds; 
han for hancZ; tole for tolcZ; an for &\\d ; fori for fonc?; a-shamc for 

Articulate the t. Do not say loss for los<; bw-s for burs<; 
juss for jus<; great-es for great-es!"; loud-es for loud-es^ 

1. " O, MOTHER, now that I have lost my limb, I can 
never be a soldier or a sailor ; I can never go round the 
world ! " And Hugh burst into tears, now more really 
■""afflicted than he had ever been yet. His mother sat on 
the bed beside him, and wiped away his tears as they 
flowed, while he told her, as well as his sobs would let 
him, how long and how much he had reckoned on going 
round the world, and how little he cared for any thing 
else in future; and now this was the very thing he 
should never be able to do ! 

2. He had practiced climbing ever since he could 
remember, and now this was of no use ; he had '•'iDrac- 
ticed marching, and now he should never march again. 
When he had finished his complaint, there was a pause, 
and his mother said, 

•'Hugh, you have heard of Huber?" 


"The man who found out so much about bees?" said 

"Bees and ants. When Huber had discovered more 
than had ever been known about these, and when he 
was sure that he could learn still more, and was more 
and more anxious to peep into their tiny homes, and 
curious ways, he became blind." 

3. Hugh sighed, and his mother went on. 

"Did you ever hear of Beethoven? He was one of 
the greatest ■'"musical composers that ever lived. His 
great, his sole delight, wfts in music. It was the passion 
of his life. When all his time and all his mind were 
given to music, he suddenly became deaf, perfectly deaf; 
so that he never more heard one single note from the 
loudest orchestra. While crowds were moved and de- 
lighted with his compositions, it was all silence to him." 
Hugh said nothing. 

4. "Now do you think," asked his mother — and 
Hugh saw that a mild and gentle smile '''beamed from 
her countenance — " do you think that these people were 
without a Heavenly Parent ?" 

" O no ! but were they jjatient ?" asked Hugh. 

" Yes, in their different ways and '''degrees. Would 
you suppose that they were hardly treated ? Or would 
you not rather supjjose that their Father gave them 
something better to do, than they had planned for them"- 

5. " He must know best, of course ; but it does seem 
very hard, that that very thing should happen to them. 
Huber would not have so much minded being deaf, per- 
haps; or that musical man being blind." 

"No doubt their hearts often swelled within them, at 
their ''"disappointments ; but I fully believe that they 
very soon found God's will to be wiser than their wishes. 
They found, if they bore their trial well, that there was 
work for their hearts to do, far nobler than any the 
head could do through the eye, or the ear. And they 
soon felt a new and delicious pleasure, which none but 
the bitterly disappointed can feel." 

" What is that ? " 


6. " The pleasure of rousing the soul to bear pain, and 
of agreeing with God silently, when nobody knows what 
is in the breast. There is no pleasure like that of +exer- 
cising one's soul in bearing pain, and of finding one's 
heart glow with the hope that one is pleasing God." 

"Shall I feel that pleasure?" 

"Often and often, I have no doubt: every time you 
can willingly give up your wish to be a soldier or a 
sailor, or any thing else you have set your mind upon, 
you will feel that pleasure. But I do not expect it of 
you yet. I dare say, it was lohg a bitter thing to Beet- 
hoven to see hundreds of people in raptures with his 
music, when he could not hear a note of it." - 

7. "But did he ever smile again? " asked Hugh. 

" If he did, he was happier than all the fine music in 
the world could have made him," replied his mother. 

" I wonder, O, I wonder, if I shall ever feel so !" 

" We will pray to God that you may. Shall we ask 
him now?" 

Hugh clasped his hands. His mother kneeled beside 
the bed, and, in a very few words, prayed that Hugh 
might be able to bear his ''"misfortune well, and that his 
friends might give him such help and comfort as God 
should approve. 

8. Hugh found himself subject to very painful feel- 
ings sometimes, such as no one quite understood, and 
such as he feared no one was able to pity as they de- 
served. On one ''"occasion, when he had been quite 
merry for awhile, and his mother and sister Agnes were 
chatting, they thought they heard a sob from the sofa. 
They spoke to Hugh, and found that he was indeed cry- 
ing bitterly. 

"What is it, my dear?" said his mother. "Agnes, 
have we said any thing that could hurt his feelings." 
"No, no," sobbed Hugh. " I will tell you presently." 

9. And presently he told them, that he was so busy 
listening to what they said, that he forgot every thing 
else, when he felt as if something got between two of 
his toes ; '•"unconsciously he put down his hand, as if his 
foot was there ! Nothing could be plainer than the 


feeling in his toes ; and, then, when he put out his hand, 
and found nothing, it was so terrible ! it startled him so. 
It was a comfort to find that his mother knew about 
this. She came, and kneeled by his sofa, and told him 
that many persons who had lost a limb, considered this 
the most painful thing they had to bear, for some time ; 
but that, though the feeling would return occasionally 
through life, it would cease to be painful. 

10. Hugh was very much dejected, and when he 
thought of the months and years, to the end of his life, 
and that he should never run and play, and never be 
like other people, he almost wiShed that he was dead. 

Agnes thought that he must be +miserable indeed, 
if he could venture to say this to his mother. She 
glanced at her mother's face, but there was no "•'dis- 
pleasure there. On the contrary, she said this feel- 
ing was very natural. She had felt it herself, under 
smaller misfortunes than Hugh's ; but she had found, 
though the prospect appears all strewn with troubles, 
that they come singly, and are not so hard to bear, 
after all. 

11. She told Hugh, that when she was a little girl, 
she was very lazy, fond of her bed, and not at all fond 
of dressing or washing. 

" "Why, mother ! you ? " exclaimed Hugh. 

" Yes ; that was the sort of little girl I was. Well, I 
was in "•"despair, one day, at the thought that I should 
have to wash and clean my teeth, and brush my hair, 
and put on every article of dress, every morning as long 
as I lived." 

" Did you tell any body ? " asked Hugh. 

12. " No ; I was ashamed to do that ; but I remember 
I cried. You see how it turns out. "When we have be- 
come '♦"accustomed to any thing, we do it without ever 
thinking of the trouble, and, as the old fable tells us, the 
clock, that has to tick so many millions of times, has 
exactly the same number of seconds to do it in. So will 
you. find, that you can move about on each '''separate 
occasion, as you wish, and practice will enable you to do 
it without any trouble or thought." 


"But this is not all, nor half what I mean," said 

13. " No, my dear, nor half what you will have to 
bear. You resolved to bear it all ^patiently, I remem- 
ber. But what is it you dread the most? " 

" O ! all manner of things. I can never do like other 

"Some things," replied his mother. "You can never 
play cricket, as every Crofton boy would like to do. 
Y'ou can never dance at your sister's Christmas parties." 

14. " O mamma ! " cried Agnes, with tears in her 
eyes, and with the thdught in her mind, that it was 
cruel to talk so. 

" Go on ! Go on ! " cried Hugh, brightening. " You 
know what I feel, mother; and you don't keep telling 
me, as others do, and even sister Agnes, sometimes, that 
it will not ■'"signify much, and that I shall not care, and 
all that ; making out that it is no misfortune, hardly, 
when I know what it is, and the}'^ don't. Now then, go 
on, mother ! What else ? " 

15. " There will be little checks and ^mortifications 
"•"continually, when you see little boys leaping over this, 
and climbing that, and playing at the other, while you 
must stand out, and can only look on. And some people 
will pity you, in a way you will not like : and some 
may even laugh at you." 

"O mamma ! " exclaimed Agnes. 
"Well, and what else?" said Hugh. 

16. " Sooner or later, you will have to follow some 
way of life determined by this ''"accident, instead of one 
that you would have liked better." 

"Well, what else?" 

" I must ask you, now. I can think of nothing more ; 
and I hope there is not much else ; for, indeed, I think 
here is quite enough for a boy, or any one else, to bear." 

"I will bear it though ; you will see." 

17. "You will find great helps. These misfortunes, 
of themselves strengthen one's mind. They have some 
"•"advantages, too. You will be a better scholar for your 
lameness, I have no doubt. You will read more books, 


and have a mind richer in thoughts. You will be more 
beloved by us all, and you yourself will love God more 
for having given you something to bear for his sake. 
God himself will help you to bear your trials. You will 
conquer your troubles one by one, and by a ''"succession 
of LITTLE ^VICTORIES, will, at last, completely triumph 
oyer all." 

Exercises . — What, was the matter with Hugh? What phin for 
the future did this misfortune interfere with? Whom did his mother 
mention as having been similarly situated? How was Huber disap- 
pointed? How was Beethoven disappointed? From whom «ome our 
disappointments? Are they intended for our good? How should we 
feel under them? How did Hugh's mother comfort him? What did 
Hugh determine to do? 

In the last sentence, which words are in the objective case? What 
two verbs are in the future tense? Which are the pronouns? Which 
are the prepositions? In the 14th paragraph, what interjection is 
thei'e? Point out three nouns in this paragrnph? What does the 
word }ioun mean? See Pinneo's Primary Grammar, page 9, Art. 2. 


The bricks were thoroughly dried. CracJcd, crinJcTd crayon. 
They drank of the purling brook. Grand crags arose towering on 

every side. 



1. GRiEv'fD; V. given pain to. \ 2. Spright''lt; adj. lively. 

1. Gusu^ing;, arf?. flowing freely. 5 2. DE-CAY''eD; w. faded. 

1. RE-LiEv'eD; V. freed from pain. \ 3. Be-tide''; v. may happen to. 


Pronounce the following words in this lesson correctly. Do nol 
eay stray-in for stray-in^; -pray-in for pray-in^; gnsh-in for gush- 
ing; whis-per-in for wliis-per-in^; lean-in for lean-in^; mean-in foi- 
mean-in^; sick-niss for sick-ness. 

1. Often into folly ■'"straying, 

O, my mother ! hoAv I 've grieved her ! 
Oft I 've heard her for me praying, 
Till the gushing tears relieved herj 


And she gently rose and smiled, 
Whisi)ering,J'' God will keep my child." 

2. She was youthful then, and sprightly, 

Fondly on my father leaning. 
Sweet she spoke, her eyes shone ''"brightly, 

And her words were full of meaning ; 
Now, an Autumn leaf decayed, 
I, perhaps, have made it ''"fade. 

3. But, whatever ills betide thee^, 

Mother^, in them all I share^ ; 
In thy sickness watch beside thee, 

And beside thee kneel in prayer. 
Best of mothers-'! on my breast 
Lean thy head, and sink to rest. 

Exercises. — What does the writer say of his mother? What 
would he do to repay her? 


1. In''tri-ca- or ; n. the state of ^ 5. Asp^en; n. a species of poplar, 

being entangled. ] whose leaves move with the 

1. Ap-pre-hen''sion; «. the power ^ slightest impalse of the air. 
of thinking and understand- \ 9. State^li-ness; n. majestic ap- 
ing. \ pearance. 

3. VA''cANT-LY;arfv. without think- < 9. Domes; n. buildings; houses, 

ing of, or noticing. ^10. Rev'el-rt; n. noisy gayety. 


Remark . — Be careful to articulate such little words as the, of, a, 
in, from, at, by, and, to, with, as, for, very distinctly; and yet not dwell 
on them so long as on other more important words. 

Articulate distinctly and pronounce correctly. Do not say 
an for 3.x\d; uf for of; lifs for liffe; dif cul-ty for diffi'-cul ty; hass 
for has^; ieaw^zVV for bean-ti-fal ; joy/Vy for joy-fwl-ly ; va-raUe 
for van'-a-ble; fels for fielc/s; com-plaince for coni-plaini's. 

1. I HAVE seen man in the glory of his days, and the 
pride of his strength. He was built like the tall cedar 



that lifts its head above the forest-trees^ ; like the strong 
oak that strikes its root deeply into the earth^. He 
feared no danger^ ; he felt no sickness^ ; he wondered 
that any should groan or sigh at pain^. His mind was 
vigorous, like his body^ ; he was "''perplexed at no intri- 
cacy ; he was daunted at no difficulty^ ; into hidden 
things he searched^; and what was crooked he made 

2. He went forth fearlessly upon the face of the 
mighty deep ; he '•'surveyed the nations of the earth ; 
he measured the distances of the stars, and called them 
by their names ; he gloried in the extent of his knowl- 
edge, in the vigor of his understanding, and strove to 
search even into what the Almighty had concealed. 
And when I looked on him, I said, " What a piece of 
work is man^ ! how noble in reason^ ! how infinite in 
■''faculties^ ! in form and moving how express and admi- 
rable^ ! in action how like an angel ! in apprehension 
how like a God ! " 

3. I returned ; his look was no more lofty, nor his 
step proud ; his broken frame was like some ruined 
tower; his hairs were white and scattered; and his eye 
gazed vacantly upon what was passing around him. 
The ■•'vigor of his intellect was wasted, and of all that 
he had gained by study, nothing remained. He feared 
when there was no danger, and when there was no sor- 
row he wept. His memory was decayed and treacher- 
ous, and showed him only broken images of the glory 
that was departed. 

4. His house to him was like a strange land, and his 
friends were counted as his enemies ; and he thought 
himself strong and healthful, while his foot tottered on 
the ■'"verge of the grave. He said of his son, " He is my 
brother^;" of his daughter^, "I know her not^ ; " and 
he inquired what was his own name. And one who 
supported his last steps, and ministered to his many 
wants, said to me, as I looked on the melancholy scene, 
"Let thine heart receive instruction, for thou hast seen 
an end of all earthly perfection." 

5. I have seen a beautiful female treading the first 


stages of youth, and entering joyfully into the pleasures 
of life. The glance of her eye was "''variable and sweet, 
and on her cheek trembled something like the first 
blush of the morning; her lips moved, and there was 
harmony; and when she '•'floated in the dance, her light 
form, like the aspen, seemed to move with every breeze. 
I returned, but she was not in the dailce; I sought 
her in the gay circle of her companions, but found her 

6. Her eye sparkled not there; the music of her 
voice was silent; she rejoiced on earth no more. I saw 
a train, sable and slow-paced, who bore sadly to an open 
grave what once was animated and beautiful. They 
paused as they approached, and a voice broke the awful 
silence: "Mingle ashes with ashes, and dust with its 
original dust. To the earth whence it was taken, ''"con- 
sign we the body of our sister." They covered her with 
the damp soil and the clods of the valley; and the 
worms crowded into her silent abode. Yet one sad 
mourner '•'lingered to cast himself upon the grave; and 
as he wept, he said, "There is no beauty, nor grace, nor 
loveliness, that continueth in man; for this is the end 
of all his glory and perfection." 

7. I have seen an infant with a fair brow, and a 
frame like polished ''"ivory. Its limbs were pliant in its 
sports; it rejoiced, and again it wept; but whether its 
glowing cheek dimpled with smiles, or its blue eye was 
brilliant with tears, still I said to my heart, "It is beau- 
tiful." It was like the first pure blossom, which some 
cherished plant had shot forth, whose cup is filled with 
a dew-drop, and whose head reclines upon its parent 

8. I again saw this child, when the lamp of reason 
first dawned in its mind. Its soul was gentle and 
peaceful; its eye sparkled with joy, as it looked round 
on this good and pleasant world. It ran swiftly in the 
ways of knowledge; it bowed its ear to instruction; it 
stood like a lamb before its teachers. It was not proud, 
nor envious, nor '•'stubborn; and it had never heard of 
the vices and "•" vanities of the world. And when I looked 


upon it, I remembered that our Savior had said, "Ex- 
cept ye become as little children, ye can not enter into 
the kingdom of heaven." 

9. But the scene was changed, and I saw a man 
whom the world called honorable, and many waited for 
his smile. They pointed out the fields that were his, 
and talked of the silver and gold that he had gathered; 
they admired the stateliness of his domes, and ''"extolled 
the honor of his family. And his heart answered secret- 
ly, "By my wisdom have I gotten all this;" so he re- 
turned no thanks to God, neither did he fear nor serve 

10. And as I passed along, I heard the complaints of 
the laborers who had reaped down his fields, and the 
cries of the poor, whose covering he had taken away; 
but the sound of feasting and revelry was in his apart- 
ments, and the unfed beggar came tottering from his 
door. But he considered not, that the cries of the 
■•"oppressed were continually entering into the ears of 
the Most High. And when I knew that this man was 
once the '''teachable child, that I had loved, the beautiful 
infant that I had gazed upon with delight, I said in my 
bitterness, "I have seen an end of all perfection;" and 
I laid my mouth in the dust. 

Exercises. — Desci'ibe the man spoken of in his glory. What 
change took place? What becomes of beauty as time passes? What 
becomes of the docility and loveliness of childhood? What does all 
this teach us ? Where shall we find unchangeable perfection ? 

Explain the inflections mai'ked, and, also, those of the 6th, 7th, and 

8th paragraphs. 



We constructed an arc, and began the problem. The stirf beat 
heavily. Arm! warriors, arm ! Return to thy dwelling, all lonely 
return. Weave the warp, and weave the woof. Send nie Smith's 
Thuei/dides. Thou tearst my heart asunder. I give my handj and 
heart too, to this vote. 

The Teacher is reminded that the pupil should not neglect, before 
reading the sentences, to spell each difficult word by its elements, utter- 
ing two or more consonants which come together as a single sound. 



5. SnB''TiLE; adj. thin; delicate. ^6. Wil''t; at?;, cunning; sly. 
5. Crest; n. a tuft or ornament 5 7. Coun''s£l-or; n. one who gives 
worn on the head. i advice. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say put-ti-est (pro. prit-ti-est) for 
pret-ti-est; crea-ture nor crit-ter, (pro. creat-yure) for creat-ure; 
ful-Ush for fool-ish ; ferss-ly for fierce-ly. 

1. " Will you walk into my "'"parlor^? " said a spider to a fly ; 
"'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. 

The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, 
And I have many pretty things to show when you are there." 
"0 no^, no^," said the little fly, "to ask me is in vain, 
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down 

2. "I'm sure you must be weary^ with "•'soaring up so high; 
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the spider to the fly; 
"There are pretty curtains drawn around^, the sheets are 

fine and thiu^, 
And if you like to rest awhile^, I'll snugly tuck you in^." 
" no^, no^," said the little fly, "for I 've often heard it said, 
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed." 

3. Said the cunning spider to the fly, "Dear friend'', what 

shall I do^, 
To prove the warm '•'afi'ection I've always felt for you? 
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice; 
I 'm sure you 're very welcome ; will you please to take a slice^?" 
" no*^, no^ ! " said the little fly^, " kind sir^, that can not be^; 
I've heard^ what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see"^." 

4. "Sweet creature!" said the spider, "you 're witty and you 're 

How handsome are your tgauzy wings^, how "•'brilliant- are 
your eyes*^ 1 


I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf, 

If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself" 

"I thank^ you, gentle sir^," she said, "for what you're 

pleased to say, 
And bidding you good-morning now", I'll call another day." 

5. The spider turned him round about, and went into his den, 
For well he knew the silly fly would soon be back again: 
So he wove a subtile web, in a little corner, sly. 

And set his table ready to dine upon the fly. 

Then he went out to his door again, and +merrily did sing, 

"Come hither^, hither"^, pretty fly^, with the pearl and silver' 

Your robes are green and purple ; there 's a crest upon your 

Your eyes are like the '•"diamond bright, but mine are dull 

as lead." 

6. Alas, alas ! how very soon this silly little fly. 
Hearing his wily ''"flattering words, came slowly flitting by, 
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer 

Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue ; 
Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing! Atlast, 
Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast^. 

7. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his '•"dismal den, 
Within his little parlor ; but she ne'er came out again ! 
And now, my dear young friends^, who may this story read, 
To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you, ne'er give heed; 
Unto an evil counselor, close heart, and ear, and eye, 

And take a lesson from the tale of the Spider and the Fly. 

Exercises. — Relate the conversation between the spider and 
the fly. What motive did the cunning spider finally appeal to, which 
induced the fly to visit it? What became of the fly? 

Why is the rising inflection used at "sir" in the 4th stanza? Why 
at "fly" in the 5th? Why at "friends" in the 7th? 

What are the nouns in the last line? The verb? The adjectives 
or articles? See Pinneo's Primary Grammar, pp. 19 and 20. 



My Uncle Toby was racked with pain. RocUd with whirlwinds. 

Victory will weaken the enemJ^ Think' st thou so meanly of me? 

On the Biver Elbe. We saw the Mk. And he cried hold, hold, 

hold! The wolf whose howl's his watch. Fall'n, falUn, fall'n, 

falln, falUn from his high estate. There was no help for it. He 

watcKd and wept, he felt and prayed for all. It was a willfully 

false account. 

« # . 


2. Im-pos''tor; n. one who de- l 12. Ar-ti-fi'cial; adj. not genu- 

ceives. | ine. 

2. Lan^guish-ed ; v. suffered. > 22. E-lec'tric-al; adj. contain- 

8. A-VEa''si0N; n. dislike. j ing electricity. [will. 

9. Con-ster-na''tion ; n. terror. {24. Leg''a-cy ; n. something left by 

Proxounce the words in this lesson correctly. Do not say 
be-nev'hmce for be-nev-o-lence; as-sist-unce for as-sist-ance ; im-pos- 
ter for ini-pos-tor; pear-unce for ap-pear-ance; b' long for be-long; 
hasily for has-t«-ly; cun-cealed for con-cealed; im-per-dunce for im- 

1. About twenty years ago, there lived a ''"singular 
gentleman in the Old Hall among the elm-trees. He 
was about three-score years of age, very rich, and some- 
what odd in many of his habits, but for "•'generosity and 
"•"benevolence he had no equal. 

2. No poor "'"cottager stood in need of comforts which 
he was not ready to supply; no sick man or woman 
languished for want of his """assistance; and not even a 
beggar, unless a known impostor, went empty-handed 
from the Hall. 

The sick he "'"soothed, the hungry fed, 

Bade care and sorrow fly, 
And loved to raise the downcast head 

Of friendless poverty. 

3. Now it haj^pened that the old gentleman wanted 
a boy to wait upon him at table, and to attend him in 


diiferent ways, for he was very fond of young people. 
But much as he liked the ^society of the young, he had 
a great aversion to that +curiosity in which many young 
people are apt to indulge. He used to say, "The boy 
who will peep into a drawer, will be tempted to take 
something out of it; and he who will steal a penny in 
his youth, will steal a pound in his manhood." 

4. No sooner was it known that the old gentleman 
was in want of a boy, than twenty ■*" applications were 
made for the situation ; but he determined not to engage 
any one, until he had in some way '♦'ascertained that he 
did not possess a curious, prying "•'disposition. 

5. On Monday morning, seven lads, dressed in their 
Sunday clothes, with bright and happy faces, made 
their appearance at the Hall, each of them desiring 
to obtain the situation. Now the old gentleman, being 
of a singular disposition, had prepared a room in such a 
way, that he might easilj^ know if any of the young 
people who iipplied, were given to meddle ''"unnecessarily 
with things around them, or to peep into cupboards and 
drawers. He took care that the lads who were then at 
Elm-Tree Hall, should be shown into this room one after 

6. And first, Charles Brown was sent into the room, 
and told that he would have to wait a little. So Charles 
eat down on a chair near the door. For some time he 
was very quiet and looked about him ; but there seemed 
to be so many curious things in the room, that at last, 
he got up to peep at them. 

7. On the table was placed a dish cover, and Charles 
wanted sadly to know what was under it, but he felt 
afraid of lifting it up. Bad habits are strong things; 
and as Charles was of a curious disposition, he could 
not withstand the "'"temptation of taking one peep. So 
he lifted up the cover. 

8. This turned out to be a sad "•"affair ; for under the 
dish cover was a heap of very light feathers ; part of the 
feathers, drawn up by a """current of air, flew about the 
room, and Charles, in his fright, putting down the cover 
hastily, puffed the rest of them oif the table. 


9. What was to be done? Charles began to pick up 
the feathers one by one; but the old gentleman, who 
was in an "'"adjoining room, hearing a ''"scuffle, and guess- 
ing the cause of it, entered the room, to the consterna- 
tion of Charles Brown, who was very soon dismissed, as 
a boy who had not '•'principle enough to resist even a 
slight temptation. 

10. When the room was once more arranged, Henry 
Wilkins was placed there, until such time as he should 
be sent for. No sooner was he left to himself, than his 
attention was attracted by a plate of fine, ripe cherries. 
Now Henry was uncommonly fond of cherries, and he 
thought it would be impossible to miss one cherry 
among so many. He looked and longed, and longed 
and looked, for some time, and just as he had got off 
his seat to take one, he heard, as he thought, a foot 
coming to the door; but no, it was a false alarm. 

11. Taking fresh coui'age, he went ''"cautiously and 
took a very fine cherry, for he was determined to take 
but one, and put it into his mouth. It was excellent; 
and then he persuaded himself that he ran no risk in 
taking another; this he did, and hastily popped it into 
his mouth. 

12. Now, the old gentleman had placed a few artificial 
cherries at the top of the others, filled with ''"cayenne 
pepper; one of these Henry had unfortunately taken, 
and it made his mouth smart and burn most intolerably. 
The old gentleman heard him coughing, and knew very 
well Avhat was the matter. The boy that would take 
what did not belong to him, if no more than a cherry, 
was not the boy for him. Henry Wilkins was sent 
about his business without delay, with his mouth almost 
as hot, as if he had put a burning coal into it. 

13. Eufus Wilson was next introduced' into the room, 
and left to himself; but he had not been there ten min- 
utes, before he began to move from one place to another; 
He was of a bold resolute temper, but not overburdened 
with principle, for if he could have opened every cup- 
board, closet, and drawer in the house, without being 
found out, he would have done it directly. 

5th Rd. 6. 


14. Having looked around the room, he noticed a 
drawer to the table, and made up his mind to peep 
therein. But no sooner did he lay hold of the drawer 
knob, than .he set a large bell ringing, which was con- 
cealed under the table. The old gentleman immediately 
answered the summons, and entered the room. 

15. Eufus was so startled by the sudden ringing of the 
bell, that all his impudence could not support him. He 
looked as though any one might knock him down with 
a feather. The old gentleman asked him if he had rung 
the bell because he wanted any thing. Eufus was much 
confused, and stammered, and tried to excuse himself, 
but all to no purpose, for it did not prevent him from 
being ordered off the premises. 

16. George Jones was then shown into the room by an 
old steward ; and being of a cautious disposition, he 
touched nothing, but only looked at the things about 
him. At last he saw that a closet door was a little open, 
and thinking it would be impossible for any one to know 
that he had opened it a little more, he very cautiously 
opened it an inch farther, looking down at the bottom 
of the door, that it might not catch against any thing, 
and make a noise. 

17. Now had he looked at the top instead of the bot- 
tom, it might have been better for him, for to the top 
of the door was fastened a plug which filled up the hole 
of a small barrel of shot. He ventured to open the 
door another inch, and then another, till the plug being 
pulled out of the barrel, the leaden shot began to pour 
out at a strange rate; at the bottom of the closet was 
placed a tin pan, and the shot falling upon this pan 
made such a clatter, that Greorge was frightened half out 
of his senses. 

18. The old gentleman soon came into the room to in- 
quire what was the matter, and there he found George 
nearly as pale as a sheet. George was soon dismissed! 

19. It now came the turn of Albert Jenkins to be put 
into the room. The other boys had been s6nt to their 
homes by different ways, and no one knew what the ex- • 
perience of the other had been in the room of trial. 


20. On the table stood a small round box, with a screw 
top to it, and Albert thinking it contained something 
curious, could not be easy without unscrewing the top, 
but no sooner did he do this, than out bounced an arti- 
ficial snake, full a yard long, and fell upon his arm. He 
started back, and uttered a scream, which brought the 
old gentleman to his elbow. There stood Albert, with 
the bottom of the box in one hand, the toj3 in the other, 
and the snake on the floor. 

21. "Come, come," said the old gentleman, "one snake 
is quite enough to have in the house at a time ; there- 
fore, the sooner you are gone the better." With that 
he dismissed him, without waiting a moment for his 

22. William Smith next entered the room, and being 
left alone, soon began to amuse himself in looking at the 
curiosities around him. William was not only curious 
and prying, but dishonest too, and observing that the 
key was left in the drawer of a book-case, he stepped on 
tiptoe in that direction. The key had a wire fastened to 
it, which communicated with an~electrical machine, and 
William received such a shock as he was not likely to 
forget. No sooner did he sufficiently recover himself to 
walk, than he was told to leave the house, and let other 
people lock and unlock their own drawers. 

23. The other boy was Harry Gordon, and though he 
was left in the room full twenty minutes, he never during 
that time, stirred from his chair. Harr}^ had eyes in his 
head as w^ll as the others, but he had more integrity in 
his heart; neither the dish cover, the cherries, the 
drawer knob, the closet door, the round box, nor the 
key, tempted him to rise from his seat; and the conse- 
quence was, that, in half an hour after, he was engaged 
in the service of the old gentleman at Elm-Tree Hall. 

24. Harry Gordon followed his good old master to his 
grave^, and received a large legacy for his upright con- 
duct in his service^. Kead this, ye busy, meddling, 
peeping, pilfering young people^, and imitate the ex- 
ample of Harry Gordon^. 

Exercise . — Explain the inflections in the last paragraph. 



2. Po-lite''ness; n. good breeding. ; G. Pack; n. a collection. 

2. Pekch; n. a place to roost. S 8. Curs; n. a name for dogs. 


Pronounce correctly the following words in this lesson. Do 
not say p'liie-ness for po-lite-ness; set-ting for sz't-ting; wen-ev-er for 
wAen-ev-er ; ear-ncs-/«/ for ear-nesi-ly ; Aoims for honnrfs. 

1. A YOUNG chicken-cock, that was sitting upon the 
branch of a tree, crowed so loud, that a fox which 
chanced to be passing b}^, heard him. So he went up to 
him and said, "Hoav do you do, my dear friend? 1 have 
not seen you for an age." 

2. "Thank you for your politeness, sir," said the 
cock. "I am as well as usual." "I am delighted to 
hear it," said the fox. "Pray come down from ihat high 
perch, so that I may see you closer, and admire your 
beautiful feathers." 

3. "No, I am much obliged to you," said the cock; 
"that will not do, for I have heard my old father say, 
that a fox is very fond of the flesh of a cock, and will 
eat him whenever he gets a chance. So, if you please, 
I will stay where I am." 

4. "Pshaw, """pshaw, child," said the sly thief; "give 
me leave to tell you that your sire is an old fool, and 
does not speak a word of truth, for I know that all the 
beasts and birds are now at "•'peace; therefore you need 
not mind that, but fly down and see me." 

5. "Is this all true?" said the cock. "I am very glad 
to hear it, I am sure." And saying this, he "'"stretched 
out his neck as far as he could, as if he saw something a 
great way off. 

6. "What do you see, my dear friend, that you look 
out so "'"earnestly?" said the fox. "O, nothing at all," 
said the cock, "only a pack of hounds, that seem to be 


running a race. It is a fine sight. Look, look, th 
coming this way." 

7. "Dear me," said the fox; "coming this % 
Then it is high time to be gone." "Gone!" said tn 
cock; "why should you go? What danger can there 
be to a fox in meeting hounds in time of j)eace? " 

8. "Yes," cried the fox, "all you say is true; but it is 
ten to one that these vile curs have not yet heard of the 
peace; therefore I must run as fast as I can to get out 
of the way." 


9. This story shows us, that when a known ''"enemy 
wishes to seem a friend, there is most cause for us to 
keep out of his reach; and also that ''"shame is likely to 
follow ''■falsehood. 

Exercises . — Relate the conversation between the chicken and 
the fox. To what did the cock direct the fox's attention, and what 
did the fox say and do? What is the moral of this fable? 


2. In-ex-haust''i-ble ; adj. unfail- i 3. Fleet; n. a number of ships. 

ing. \ 3. Im-pose''; v. to deceive. 

2. Budg^et; n. bag; a little sack. \ 4. Chat; n. small talk. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say stans for stands: vil-lij for 
vil-lage ; ven-ter for vent-wre ; yit for yet ; wile for wAile. 

1. There stands a shrewd barber, with razor and pan, 
Both talking and shaving as fast as he can ; 

No man in the '•"village has got more to say. 
Of weather and wind, and the news of the day. 

2. No sooner has gentleman taken his seat. 

Well covered with '"napkin, spread over him neat, 
Than barber begins (not a moment to lose) 
With his most inexhaustible budget of news. 


A very fine day, sir ; but yet, if I 'm right, 
vV^e shall ''certainly have sonic rain before night. 
And so, sir, they say the French fleet is at sea; 
For my part they can not impose upon me. 

4. "If ever they venture at England to call. 
Why, I know nothing about it, that's all. 
Corae, Bob! is the gentleman's wig nearly done? 
Why, I could do twenty, while you're doing one; 
You are talking too fast to know what you are at; 
I hate to see people so full of their chat ! 

5. "'Tis those who say little that do their work best: 
No, no, sir, the fleet has not got out of Brest." 
"Very well, Mr. Barber, what have I to pay? " 
"Only sixpence, sir; thank you, sir; wish you good 


Exercise . — What was the barber himself famous for, and for 
what did he reprove his workman ? 


1. Fag'ots; n. bundles of sticks I 7. CoM-plt-ca^tion; n. the act of 
used for fuel. I aiingling together several 

1. Prax'tle; n. trifling talk. < things. 

1. Dis'si-pate; v. to scatter; to 7. Sym'pa-thies; n. compassion. 

disperse. S 9. Gush'cd; v. flowed copiously. 

2. Pu^ny; adj. small and weak. ') 9. Man''na; n. food miraculously 
4. Pil'grim-age ; n. the journey ^ provided by God for the Is- 

of human life. \ raelites. 

Remark . — As each one reads, let each scholar in the class men- 
tion every syllable that is pronounced wrong, and correct it. 

Utter the final g distinctly in the following words in this lesson : 
blazing, endeavoring, listening, wasting, surrounding, gathering, 
driving, neighboring, herring, swellings, tidings, ministering, de- 
feuding, frowning, barking, continuing, giving, darling, springing. 

1. It was Saturday night, and the widow of the Pine 
Cottage sat by her blazing fagots, with her five tattered 


children at her side, endeavoring by listening t( 
■""artlessness of their prattle, to dissipate the h 
gloom that pressed upon her mind. For a year, 
own feeble hand had provided for her helpless family 
for she had no supporter: she thought of no friend ii. 
all the wide, ''"unfriendly world around. 

2. But that """mysterious Providence, the wisdom of 
whose ways is above human comprehension, had visited 
her with wasting sickness, and her little means had 
become "'"exhausted. It was now, too, midwinter, and 
the snow lay heavy and deep through all the surround- 
ing forests, while storms still seemed gathering in the 
heavens, and the driving wind roared amid the neigh- 
boring pines, and rocked her puny mansion. 

3. The last herring smoked upon the coals before 
her; it was the only article of food she possessed, and 
no wonder her forlorn, "'"desolate state brought up in 
her lone bosom all the "'"anxieties of a mother, when 
she looked upon her children : and no wonder, forlorn 
as she was, if she suffered the heart swellings of despair 
to rise, even though she knew that He, whose promise 
is to the widow and to the orphan, can not forget his 

4. '"Providence had, many years before, taken from 
her her eldest son, who went from his forest home to 
try his fortune on the high seas, since which she had 
heard no tidings of him ; and, in her latter time, had, by 
the hand of death, deprived her of the companion and 
staff of her earthly pilgrimage, in the person of her 
husband. Yet to this hour she had upborne; she had 
not only been able to provide for her little flock, but 
had never lost an "'"opportunity of "'"ministering to the 
wants of the miserable and destitute. 

5. The ■'"indolent may well bear with poverty, while 
the ability to gain sustenance remains. The individual 
who has but his own wants to supply, may suffer with 
fortitude the winter of want ; his affections are not 
wounded, his heart not wrung. The most desolate in 
■'"populous cities may hope, for charity has not quite 
closed her hand and heart, and shut her eyes on misery. 


But the ■""industrious mother of helpless and de- 
ing children, far from the reach of human charity, 
none of these to '"console her. And such a one was 
.rie widow of the Pine Cottage; but as she bent over 
ijhe fire, and took up the last scanty '"remnant of food, 
to spread before her children, her spirits seemed to 
brighten up, as by some sudden and mysterious im- 
pulse, and Cowper's beautiful lines came uncalled across 
her mind : 

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 

But trust him for his grace; 
Behind a frowning Providence 

He hides a smiling face. 

7. The smoked herring was scarcely laid upon the 
table, when a gentle rap at the door, and loud barking 
of a dog, attracted the attention of the family. The 
children flew to open it, and a weary traveler, in tattered 
garments, and '•'apparently indifferent health, entered, 
and begged a lodging and a mouthful of food. Said he, 
"It is now twenty-four hours since 1 tasted bread." 
The widow's heart bled anew as under a fresh complica- 
tion of distresses ; for her sympathies '''lingered not 
around her fireside. She hesitated not even now; rest 
and a share of all she had she proffered to the stranger. 
"We shall not be forsaken," said she, "or suffer deeper 
for an act of charity." 

8. The traveler drew near the board, but when he 
saw the scanty fare, he raised his eyes toward heaven 
with astonishment: "And is this all your store?" said 
he, "and a share of this do you offer to one you know 
not? then never saw I charity before! but, madam," said 
he, continuing, "do you not wrong your children by 
giving a part of your last mouthful to a stranger?" 

9. "Ah," said the poor widow, and the tear-drops 
gushed intp her eyes as she said it, "I have a hoy, a 
darling son, somewhere on the face of the wide world, 
unless heaven has taken him away, and I only act 
toward you, as I would that others should act toward 
him. God, who sent manna from heaven, can provide 


for us aa he did for Israel ; and how should I this night 
oifend him, if my son should be a '''wanderer, '•'destitute 
as you, and he should have provided for him a home, 
even poor as this, were I to turn you unrelieved away." 

10. The widow ended, and the stranger springing 
from his seat, clasped her in his arms: "God indeed has 
provided your son a home, and has given him wealth to 
reward the goodness of his '♦'benefactress : my mother ! 
oh my mother!" It was her long lost son, returned to 
her bosom from the Indies. He had chosen that """dis- 
guise that he might the more completely surprise his 
family ; and never was surprise more perfect, or followed 
by a sweater cup of joy. 

11. That humble ''"residence in the forest was ex- 
changed for one comfortable, and indeed beautiful, in 
the valley; and the widow lived long with her dutiful 
son, in the enjoyment of worldly plenty, and in the 
delightful employments of virtue ; and, at this day, the 
passer-by is pointed to the willow that spreads its 
branches above her grave. 

Exercises . — Relate the history of the widow and her son. Can 
evil ever come from being benevolent? Are there many in this 
world really so poor as not to be able to do something for others? 


1. Mar'vel-ous ; arf;. wonderful. ) 2. Do-MiN'roN ; n. supreme power. 

2. Or-dain^cd; v. appointed; es- \ 5. Ha^ven; n. a harbor; a place 

tablished. ; where ships can lie in safety. 

Remark . — Be careful to read the last words of every sentence in 
as full and loud a tone as the first part. 

Articulate distinctly the h in tlie following words in this les- 
son : his, holy, heart, hath, heaven, heartily, holiness, haven, head, 

1. GIVE thanks unto the Lord ; call upon his name ; 
make known his deeds among the people. Sing unto 
5th Rd. 7. 


him; sing psalms unto him; talk ye of all his wondrous 
works. Glorj^ ye in his holy name; let the heart of 
them rejoice that seek the Lord. Remember his mar- 
velous works that he hath done ; his ^wonders, and the 
■•judgments of his mouth. 

2. O Lord, our Lord, how ^excellent is thy name in 
all the earth ! who hast set thy glory above the heavens. 
When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers ; 
the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained; what 
is man that thou art mindful of him? and the son of 
man that thou visitest him ? For thou hast made him a 
little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with 
glory and honor. Thou madest him to have dominion 
over the work of th;^^ hands; thou hast put all things 
under his feet. O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy 
name in all the earth ! 

3. I will say of the Lord, he is my refuge and my 
fortress, my God ; in him will I trust. Because he hath 
set his love upon me, therefore will I ''"deliver him: 
I will set him on high, because he hath known my 
name. He shall call upon me, and I will answer him; 
I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him and 
honor him. With long life will I satisfy him, and show 
him my '''salvation. 

4. O come, let us sing unto the Lord, let us heartily 
rejoice in the strength of our salvation. Let us come 
before his presence with thanksgiving, and show our- 
selves glad in him with j)salms. For the Lord is a 
great God, and a great King above all gods. O worship 
the Lord in the beauty of holiness ; let the whole earth 
stand in awe of him. For he cometh, for he cometh, to 
judge the earth; and with righteousness to judge the 
world, and the people with his truth. 

' 5. O that men would praise the Lord for his good- 
ness, and for his wonderful works to the children of 
men ! They that go down to the sea in ships, that do 
business in great waters ; these see the works of the 
Lord, and his wonders in the deep. For he command- 
eth, and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the 
waves thereof They mount up to the heaven ; they go 


down again to the depths ; their soul is melted because 
of trouble; they reel to and fro, and '""stagger like a 
drunken man, and are at their wit's end. Then they 
cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth 
them out of their ''"distresses. He maketh the storm a 
calm, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they 
glad because they are quiet; so he bringeth them unto 
their desired haven. O that men would praise the Lord 
for his goodness, and for his wonderful works to the 
children of men ! 

6. The Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not want. He 
maketh me to lie down in green pastures : he leadeth 
me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he 
leadeth me in the paths' of righteousness for his name's 
sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the 
■•"shadow of death, I Avill fear no evil; for thou art with 
me : thy rod and thy staff, they '""comfort me. Thou 
prepai'est a table before me in the presence of mine 
enemies ; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup run- 
neth over. Surely, goodness and mercy will follow me 
all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house 
of the Lord forever. 

Exercises . — What does God promise to one who makes Him his 
refuge? What is meant by "setting him on high?" Is the promise 
of "satisfying him with long life," fulfilled in this world? Who are 
described in the 5th paragraph? 

Which are the nouns in the last sentence? The verbs? The pro- 
nouns? The adjectives? What is "the"? See Pinneo's Primary 
Grammar, page 19. 


"We saw a large^ dead fish floating. And he slew him. Every 
mans house is his castle. This meteorous vapor is called, ''''Will 
the wisp." I thrust three thousand thistles through the thick of 
my thumb. Braid broad braids, my brave babes. We never 
swerved., but lost our swivel gun. Crazy Craycroft caught a cratb 
of crinckled crabs. Where is the crate of crinckled ci-abs that crazy- 
Craycroft caught f 



Fa-mil-'iar; adj. well ac- J 

; 2. 

Scf-fo-ca^tion; n. choking; 

quainted with. < 

stifling of the breath. 

Gardner; v. to lay up in ! 


"Va''cant; adj. empty. 

store. j 


Ver'dant; adj. green; fresh. 

Scm^mon-cd; v. called to- ! 


Freight''ed; z;. loaded. 

gether. \ 

; ^• 

Sa^vor-y ; adj. pleasing to the 

Be-quest^; n. sometliing left 1 


by will. ] 

1 9. 

Dis^cord; n. grating sounds. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say chile-hood for child'-hood; 
in-fan for in-fani ; be-ques for be-quesf. 

1. It must be sweet, in childhood, to give back 
The spirit to its Maker ; ere the heart 

Has grown familiar with the paths of sin, 

And sown, to garner up its bitter fruits. 

I knew a boy whose infant feet had trod 

Upon the ''"blossoms of some seven springs, 

And when the eighth came round, and called him out 

To revel in its light, he turned away, 

And sought his chamber, to lie down and die. 

2. 'Twas night; he summoned his accustomed friends, 
And on this wise ''"bestowed his last bequest: 

"Mother, I'm dying now! 
There 's a deep suffocation in my breast, 
As if some heavy hand my bosom pressed : 

And on my brow, 

I feel the cold sweat stand; 
My lips grow dry and '•"tremulous, and my breath 
Comes feebly on. O ! tell me, is this death ! 

3. "Mother, your hand. 
Here, lay it on my wrist, 

And place the other thus beneath my head, 
And say, sweet mother, say, when I am dead, 


Shall I be missed? 

Never beside your knee, 
Shall I kneel down again at night to pray; 
Nor with the morning wake, and sing the lay 

You taught me. 

4. "O, at the time of prayer, 

When you look round, and see a vacant seat, 
You will not wait then for my coming feet; 

You'll miss me there. 

Father, I'm going home! 
To the good home you spoke of, that blest land, 
Where it is one bright summer always, and 

Storms do never come. 

5. "I must be happy then. 

From pain and death you say I shall be free, 
That sickness never enters there, and we 

Shall meet again. 

Brother, the little spot 
I used to call my garden, where long hours 
We've stayed to watch the budding things and flowers, 

Forget it not ! 

6. "Plant there some box or pine. 
Something that lives in winter, and will be 
A verdant offering to my ''"memory, 

And call it mine ! 

7. "Sister, my young rose-tree, 

That all the spring has been my pleasant care. 
Just putting forth its leaves so green and fair, 

I give to thee ; 

And when its roses bloom, 
I shall be far away, my short life done; 
But will you not bestow a single one 

Upon my tomb? 

8. "Now, mother, sing the tune 

You sang last night. I 'm weary, and must sleep, 
Who was it called my name ? Nay, do not weep, 
You'll all come soon!" 


9. Morning spread over earth her rosy wings, 
And that meek '•'sufferer, cold and ivory pale, 
Lay on his ''"conch asleep. The gentle air 
Came through the open window, freighted with 
The savory odors of the early spring ; 
He breathed it not; the laugh of passers-by 
Jarred like a discord in some mournful tune, 
But wakened not his slumber. He was dead. 

Exercises. — What is the subject of this piece? What is said 
of childhood? What did the little boy exclaim as he addressed his 
mother? What did he say to his father? AVhat, to his brother? 
What, to his sister? What was his last request of his mother? What 
reason did he give, Avhy they should not weep? What is it that will 
enable us to triumph over death? 


1. An'nals; n. a history of ! 5. Gran''a-ries; n. corn-houses, 
events. I 6. Pro-pen^'si-ties; n. bent of 


1. El''o-quence ; n. the power of ^ mind; inclination. 

speaking well. < 7. LaVish; adj. pi-ofuse; waste- 

4. Can^c-py; n. a covering over ? ful. 

head. S 10. Su-per-flu^i-ties; n. some- 

5. As-si-du^i-ty; k. close appli- < thing beyond whatiswanted. 

cation; diligence. ^10. Suc'cor; «. help; aid. 


Remark . — If you meet with diflScult words, or foreign names, do 
not hastenover them, but read them distinctly. 

Articulate clearly. Do not say cel'brate for cel-c-brate; Jiat- 
■{ri/ for flat-t«;r-y; misries for mis-er-ies; pon-d'rin for pon-d^r-iny; 
genral for gen-er-al; clamtij for ca-lam-i'-ty; granries for gran- 

1. Let Virgil sing the praises of Augustus, genius 
celebrate merit, and '•'flattery extol the talents of the 
great. The short and simple "annals of the 2)oor" en- 
gross my pen; and while I record the history of Flor 


Silin's virtues, though I speak of a poor peasant, I shall 
describe a noble man. I ask no eloquence to assist me 
in the task; modest worth rejects the aid of '•'ornament 
to set it off. 

2. It is impossible, even at this distant period, to re- 
flect, without horror, on the misei'ies of that year, known 
in Lower Wolga by the name of the '■^famine year.'' I 
remember the summer, whose scorching heats had dried 
up all the fields, and the drought had no relief but from 
the tears of the ruined farmer. 

3. I remember the cold, comfortless autumn, and the 
despairing +rustics, crowding round their empty farms 
with folded arms, and sorrowful countenances, ''"ponder- 
ing on their misery, instead of rejoicing, as usual, at the 
golden harvest. I remember the winter which succeeded, 
and I reflect, with '•' agony, on the miseries it brought 
with it. "Whole families left their homes, to become 
beggars on the highway. 

4. At night, the canopy of heaven served them as 
their only shelter from the piercing winds and bitter 
frost. To describe these scenes, would be to harm the 
feelings of my readers ; therefore to my tale. In those 
days I lived on an estate not far from Simbirsk; and 
though but a child, I have not forgotten the impression 
made on my mind by the general ''"calamity. 

V- 5. In a village adjoining, lived Flor Silin, a poor, 
laboring peasant: a man remarkable for his assiduity, 
and the skill and judgment with which he cultivated his 
lands. He was blessed with ''"abundant crops; and his 
means being larger than his wants, his granaries, even 
at this time, were full of corn. The dry year coming 
on, had beggared all the village, except himself. Here 
was an opportunity to grow rich. Mark how Flor Silin 
acted. Having called the poorest of his neighbors 
about him, he addressed them in the following man- 

6. "My friends, you want corn for your subsistence. 
God has blessed me with abundance. Assist in thrash- 
ing out a quantity, and each of you take what he wants 
for his family." The peasants were amazed at this un- 


exampled genei'osity; for sordid propensities exist in 
the village, as well as in the '•'populous city. 

7. The fame of Flor Silin's benevolence having reached 
other villages, the famished inhabitants presented them- 
selves before him, and begged for corn. This good 
creature received them as brothers ; and, while his store 
remained, afforded all relief. At length, his wife, seeing 
no end to the '''generosity of his noble spirit, reminded 
him how necessary it would be to think of their own 
wants, and hold his lavish hand, before it was too late. 
"It is written in the Scripture," said he, "Give, and it 
shall be given unto you." 

8. The following year, Providence listened to the 
prayers of the poor, and the harvest was abundant. 
The peasants who had been saved from starving by Flor 
Silin, now gathered around him. 

9. "Behold," said they, "the corn you lent us. You 
saved our wives and children. We should have been 
'•'famished but for you; may God reward you; he only 
can ; all we have to give, is our corn and grateful 
thanks." "I want no corn at present, my good neigh- 
bors," said he; "my harvest has exceeded all my ex- 
pectations ; for the rest, thank Heaven : I have been but 
an humble '''instrument." 

10. They urged him in vain. "No," said he, "1 
shall not accept your corn. If you have superfluities, 
share them among your poor neighbors, who, being- 
unable to sow their fields last autumn, are still in want ; 
let us assist them, my dear friends; the Almighty will 
bless us for it." "Yes," replied the grateful '''peasants, 
"our poor neighbors shall have this corn. They shall 
know it is to you that they owe this timely succor, and 
join to teach their children the debt of gratitude, due to 
your ■'"benevolent heart." Silin raised his tearful eyes 
to heaven. An angel might have envied him his feel- 

Exercises. — What was the famine spoken of in this lesson 
occasioned by? Who was Flor Silin, and what did he do for his poor 
neighbors? AVhat did he say when a reward was offered him? What 
should we learn by this example? 



1. Con-ten''tions ; n. angry con- 5 6. Des-o-la''tion ; n. ruin; de- 

tests; quarrels. struction. 

2. De-mo^ni-ac; n. one possessed 8. Con-so-la^tion ; n. comfort. 

by a devil. 8. Phi-lan^thro-pist; n. one 

4. Gen-er-a^tion; n. a race; the j who loves his fellow-men. 

people of the same period. | 11. Ben-e-dic'tion ; n. blessing. 

4. DE-BAUCH^eo; adj. corrupted in | 12. Pen-i-ten''tia-ry ; n. a house 

morals. < where criminals are confined 

5. Ten^'e-ments ; n. houses. > to labor. 

5. In-her'it-ance ; n. an estate \ 12. De-gen'er-a-cy; n. the state 
received from parents. ; of growing worse. 


Remark. — When there are poetical quotations in prose pieces, 
they should be read as if they were part of the same line, unless the 
sense requires a pause. 

. Peonottnce correctly. Do not say com-par-er-tive-ly for corn- 
par-a-tive-]y ; fre-kwunt for fre-quent; tem-per-it-ly for tem-per- 
a^e-ly ; scurce-ly for scarce-ly ; ut-ter-unce for ut-ter-ance. 

1. "Wine is a mocker, and sti-ong drink is raging. 
Who hath woe? who hatli sorrow? who hatli conten- 
tions? wlio hath babbling? wlio hath wounds without 
a cause? who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry 
long at the wine." 

2. How often do men meet in good humor, then drink 
to excess, talk nonsense, fancy themselves insulted, take 
fire within, '"rave, threaten, and then come to blows? A 
long time ago, Seneca spoke of those who "let in a thief 
at the mouth to steal away the brains." In such a case, 
the stupidity of a brute is often united with the fury 
of a demoniac. Nay, the man among the tombs was 
■''comparatively harmless ; he only injured himself. But 
how often does the drunken revel end in the cry of 
murder ! 

3. How often does the hand of the intoxicated man, 


lifted against his dearest friend, perhaps the wife of his 

" In one rash hour, 

Perform a deed that haunts liim to the grave!' 

4. Could I call around me, in one vast assembly, the 
young men of this nation, I would say: Hopes of my 
country, blessed be ye of the Lord, now in the dew of 
your youth. But look well to your footsteps; for ■*" vi- 
pers, and scorpions, and adders surround your way. 
Look at the generation who have just ''"preceded you. 
The morning of their life was cloudless, and it dawned 
as brightly as j^our own. But behold, now, the smit- 
ten, enfeebled, inflamed, debauched, idle, poor, irreli- 
gious, and ■'"vicious, with halting step, dragging onward 
to meet an early grave. 

5. Their bright prospects are clouded, and their sun 
is set, never to rise. No house of their own receives 
them, while from poorer to poorer tenements they de- 
scend, as ■*"imj)rovidence dries up their resources. And 
now, who are those that wait on their footsteps, with 
muffled faces and "''sable garments? That is a father, 
and that is a mother, whose gray hairs are coming with 
sorrow to the grave. That is a sister, weeping over 
evils which she can not arrest; and there is the broken- 
hearted wife; and these are the children — helpless in- 
nocents! — for whom their father has provided no 
inheritance, save one of dishonor, and nakedness, and 

6. And is this, beloved youth, the history of your 
course? In this scene of desolation, do you see the 
imago of your future selves? Is this the poverty, and 
the disease, which, as an armed man, shall take hold 
on you? and are your relatives and friends to succeed 
those who now move on, in this mournful "'"procession, 
weeping as the}^ go ? 

7. Yes, bright as your morning now opens, and high 
as your hopes beat, this is your noon and your night, 
unless you shun those habits of intemperance which 
have thus early made theirs a day of clouds and of 
thick darkness. If you frequent places of evening re- 


sort for ■'"social drinking; if you set out with drinking, 
daily, a little, prudently, "•"temperately ; it is yourselves^ 
which, as in a glass, you behold. 

8. "One of the greatest consolations afforded to my 
mind by the success of the temperance cause, is the re- 
flection that my child will not be a drunkard." Such 
was the language of a distinguished philanthropist, as 
he held a listening assembly chained by the voice of his 

9. To his remark the heart of every parent "'"assents; 
for that the progress of the temperance cause will be so 
great, at the period when the child, which is now an 
infant, shall come upon the theater of life, as to render 
all use of ai'dent spirit, as a drink, "'"disreputable, can 
scarcely be questioned. 

10. If any father or mother could lift the veil of futu- 
rity, and rea^d on the page of coming years, that the son 
now so loved, so idolized, perhaps, would become a 
bloated, polluted, and polluting creature, reeling under 
tlije "'"influence of ardent spirit, the remainder of life 
would be wretched. To such a parent, this world 
would, indeed, be a vale of tears; and the silence and 
''"solitude of the tomb, would be welcomed as the place 
where the weary might be at rest. 

11. The temperance ''"reform does in fact lift the veil 
of years, and disclose to the parents of the present gen- 
eration, their children and children's children freed from 
all the woes and curses of drunkenness, the smile of 
gratitude upon their countenance, and the language of 
benediction upon their lips. 

12. "My child will not be a drunkard!" Cheering 
thought! How it swells the heart with emotions too 
big for utterance ! "What an "'"animated prospect does it 
open to the mind! Alms-houses, and jails, and peni- 
tentiaries, and State-prisons will then stand only as so 
many monuments of the vices of an age gone by ; and 
the evils consequent upon the use of ardent spirits shall 
exist only upon the historian's page, as so many "'"records 
of former degeneracy and the errors of mankind. 

Exercise. — What is a certain security against intempei'ance? 



1. Fe9''tal; arf/. mirthful; joyous, j 8. Ro''se-ate; adj. blooming; 
1. Gar^land-ed; v. adorned with > I'osy. 

wreaths of flowers. X 11. Fel^on; n. a. public criminal. 

3. De-vot'ed; adj. solemnly set 12. En-tic'ing; adj. attracting to 

apart. s evil. 

4. En-hance^; v. increase. I 12. SpuRN^'eD; v. rejected with 

6. SuN''DER-fiD; V. separated. \ disdain. 

7. Ma''ni-ac; a. raving with mad- \ 13. Lure; ?;. to attract; to entice. 

ness. ? 14. En-chant^ed; a. affected with 

7. Glim''mer-ings ; w. faint view. > enchantment; bewitched. 


Articulate distinctly the r in the following words found in this 
lesson : bright, there, coral, garlanded, haix', for-, ring, silvery, 
pure, art, friendship, are, round, rises, merriest. 

1. Come to the festal board to-night, 

For bright-eyed beauty will be there, 
Her '''coral lips in nectar steeped, 
And garlanded her hair. 

2. Come to the festal board to-night. 

For there the joyous laugh of youth 
Will ring those '•'silvery peals, which speak 
Of bosoms pure and stainless truth. 

3. Come to the festal board to-night. 

For friendship, there, with stronger chain, 
Devoted hearts already bound 
For good or ill, will bind again. 

/ icent. 

4. Nature and art their stores '•'outpoured ; 

Joy beamed in every kindling glance; 
Love, friendship, youth, and beauty, smiled ; 
What could that evening's bliss enhance? 

We parted. 


5. And years have flown ; but where are now 

The guests, who round that table met? 
Rises their sun as gloriously 
As on the "•"banquet's eve it set? 

6. How holds the chain which friendship wove? 

It broke ; and soon the hearts it bound 
Were widely sundered; and for peace, 
Envy, and "'"strife, and blood, were found. 

7. The merriest laugh which then was heard, 

Has changed its tones to maniac screams, 
As half-quenched memory kindles up 

Glimmerings of guilt in "'"feverish dreams. 

8. And where is she, whose diamond eyes 

Golconda's purest gems outshone? 
Whose roseate lips of Eden breathed? 
Say, where is she, the ''"beauteous one? 

9. Beneath yon willow's drooj)ing shade. 

With eyes now dim, and lips all pale. 
She sleeps in peace. Eead on her urn, 
"A broken hearth This tells her tale. 

10. And where is he, that tower of strength. 

Whose fate with hers, for life was joined? 
How beats his heart, once honor's throne? 
How high has "'"soared his daring mind ? 

11. Go to the dungeon's gloom to-night; 

His wasted form, his aching head, 
And all that now remains of him. 
Lies, """shuddering, on a felon's bed. 

12. Ask you of all these woes the cause? 

The festal board, the enticing bowl, 
More often came, and reason fled. 

And maddened passions spurned "'"control. 

13. Learn wisdom, then. The frequent feast 

Avoid ; for there, with stealthy tread 
Temptation walks, to lure you on, 
Till death, at last, the banquet spread. 


14. And shun, O, shun, the enchanted cup ! 

Though, now, its '•'draught like joy appears, 
Ere long it will be fanned by sighs, 
And sadly mixed with blood and tears. 

Exercises . — What is the subject of this piece? What is meant 
by the "Festal Board?" What dangers lurk around it? 


The range of the valleys is his. He was the first embassador 
sent. Swords and pens are botli employed. I do not fiinch from 
argument. He never ivinced, for it hurt him not. Do not siy^ffe 
your gown. Pluck' d from its native tree. iVz^i in the bud. Thou 
found! St me poor, and keepst me so. 


2. Dis-tinc''tion ; n. a point of > 4. Coii-Mu''Ni-Tr; n. a society, or 
difference. \ collection of individuals. 

2. Wig'wam; n. an Indian hut. > 4. Ak^chi-tects ; n. those who un- 

8. BuR^Rows; n. holes in the earth ? derstand building. 

where animals lodge. l 5. Me-dic^i-nal ; adj. heal- 

4. Dis-cus''siON ; n. arguing a > ing. 

point. I 8. Rec'ti-fi-cd ; v. corrected. 


Remark. — Recollect, always, that you have it in your power to 
become a good reader, by attention, study, and practice. 

Articulate distinctly. Do not say difference for dif-fer-ence; 
in-struc for in-struc< ; pro-vi-d'n for pro-vid-d'n^; ir-reglar for ir-reg- 
v-lar; facl-ty for fac-wl-ty. 

1. The chief '•'difference between man and the other 
animals consists in this, that the former has reason, 
whereas the latter have only instinct; but, in order to 
understand what we mean by the terms reason and in- 
stinct, it will be ''"necessary to mention three things, in 
which the difference very '•"distinctly appears. 

2. Let us, first., to bring the parties as nearly on a 


level as possible, consider man in a savage state, wholly 
"•"occupied, like the beasts of the field, in providing for 
the wants of his animal nature ; and here, the first dis- 
tinction that appears between them is, the use of imple- 
ments. "When the savage '•'provides himself with a hut, 
or a wigwam, for shelter, or that he may store up his 
provisions, he does no more than is done by the rabbit, 
the beaver, the bee, and birds of every species. 

3. But the man can not make any '•"jirogress in this 
work without tools; he must provide himself with an 
ax, even before he can cut down a tree for ^s timber; 
whereas these animals form their burrows, their cells, 
or their nests, Avith no other tools than those with which 
nature has provided them. In '•"cultivating the ground, 
also, man can do nothing without a spade or a plow; 
nor can he reap what he has sown, till he has shajied 
an ''"implement with which to cut down his harvest. 
But the inferior animals provide for themselves and 
their young without any of these things. 

4. Now for the second distinction. Man, in all his 
■•"operations, makes mistakes; animals make none. Did 
you ever hear of such a thing as a bird sitting on a 
twig, lamenting over her half-finished nest, and puzzling 
her little head to know how to complete it? Or did you 
ever see the cells of a bee-hive in clumsy, irregular 
shapes, or observe any thing like a discussion in the 
little community, as if there were a difference of opinion 
among the architects? 

5. The lower animals are even better '•"physicians 
than we are; for when they are ill, they will, many of 
them, seek out some particular herb which they do not 
use as food, and which possesses a medicinal quality ex- 
actly suited to the complaint; whereas, the whole col- 
lege of physicians will dispute for a '•"century about the 
virtues of a single drug. 

6. Man undertakes nothing in which he is not more 
or less puzzled ; and must try numberless '♦"experiments, 
before he can bring his undertakings to any thing like 
perfection; even the simplest operations of ''"domestic 
life are not well performed without some '•"experience ; 


and the term of man's life is half wasted before he 
has done with his mistakes and begins to profit by his 

7. The third distinction is, that animals make no 
improvements ; while the knowledge, and skill, and the 
success of man are perpetually on the increase. Ani- 
mals, in all their operations, follow the first impulse of 
nature, or that instinct which Grod has implanted in 
them. In all they do undertake, therefore, their works 
are more perfect and regular than those of man. 

8. But||nan, having been endowed with the '•"faculty 
of thinking or reasoning about what he does, is enabled, 
by patience and industry, to correct the mistakes into 
which he at first falls, and to go on constantly improv- 
ing. A bird's nest is, indeed, a perfect +structure ; yet 
the nest of a swallow of the nineteenth century, is not 
at all more "•'commodious or elegant, than those that 
were built amid the rafters of Noah's ark. But if we 
compare the wigwam of the savage with the temples 
and "♦'palaces of ancient Greece and Eome, we then shall 
see to what man's mistakes, rectified and improved 
upon, conduct him. 

9. When the vast sun shall veil his golden light 
Deep in the gloom of everlasting night; 
When wild, destructive flames shall wrap the skies, 
When ruin triumphs, and when nature dies ; 
Man shall alone the wreck of worlds survive; 
'Mid falling sj)heres, immortal man shall live. 

Exercises. — What is the subject of this lesson? AVhat three 
things form the distinction between man and animals? What is 
instinct? What is the difference between instinct and reason? Is 
man an animal? Is man superior to all other animals? In what 
does the superiority consist? What does this enable man to do? 

What is the first verb in the last sentence? In what mode, tense, 
number, and person is it? What is the first pronoun? What is the 
first noun? In what number and case is it? How is it parsed? 
(See Pinneo's Analytical Grammar, page 187, Rule VIII). 



1. Ux-oc'cu-pi-eD ; adj. not em- ^ 8. Con^gress; n. the legislature 

ployed or taken up. [failing. ? of the United States. 

4. In-ex-haust''i-blk; adj. un- \ 8. Math-e-ma-ti^cians; n. those 

5. CoN-siD-ER- action; n. serious < versed in mathematics. 

thought; reflection. > 9. Scep^ter; n. the emblem of 

6. Pke-serV'a-tive; M. that which ^ kingly power. 

keeps from injury. } 12. E-lec'tion; n. a choosing. 

6. Re-spon-si-bil^i-ty; n. the | 15. Pro-gres^sion; ft. a moving 

state of being liable to an- \ forward. - 

swer or account for. | 15. Ap-prox-i-ma''tion; n. a near 

7. Cul-ti-va^tion; n. improve- \ approach. 

ment by study. \ 15. In-duce^jient; n. motive. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say val-ew for val-we; prod-i-gul 
for prod-i-gal; oc-ky-py-ing for oc-cw-py-ing; geth-er for gath-er; 
as-tron-i-muz for as-tron-o-nx^rs. 

Sound the unaccented a properly in words like attention, pleasant, 
importance, mental, capable, ifec. 

1. Let me call your attention to the importance of 
improving your time. The infinite value of time is not 
"•"realized. It is the most precious thing in all the world; 
"the only thing of which it is a virtue to be covetous, 
and yet the only thing of which all men are ''"prodigal." 

2. In the first place, then, reading is a most interest- 
ing and pleasant method of ■♦"occupying your leisure 
hours. All young people have, or may have, time 
enough to read. The difiiculty is, they are not careful 
to improve it. 

3. Their hours of leisure are either idled away, or 
talked away, or spent in some other way equally vain 
and useless ; and then they complain, that they have no 
time for the cultivation of their minds and hearts. 

4. Time is so "'"precious, that there is never but one 
moment in the world at once, and that is always taken 
away, before another is given. Only take care to gather 

6th Rd. 8. 


up the ■'"fragments of time, and you "will never want 
leisure for the reading of useful books. And in what 
way can you spend your unoccupied hours more pleas- 
antly, than in holding ''"converse with the wise and the 
good, through the ''"medium of their writings? To a 
mind not altogether devoid of curiosity, books form an 
inexhaustible source of enjoyment. 

5. It is a consideration of no small weight, that read- 
ing furnishes material for interesting and useful con- 
versation. Those who are ignorant of books, must 
of course have their thoughts confined to very narrow 
limits. What occurs in their immediate neighborhood, 
the state of the market, the idle report, the tale of 
scandal, the foolish story, these make up the circle of 
their knowledge, and furnish the topics of their conver- 
sation. They have nothing to say of importance, because 
they know nothing of importance. 

6. A taste for useful reading is an ''"effectual preserv- 
ative from vice. Next to the fear of God, imj^lanted in 
the heart, nothing is a better safeguard to character, 
than the love of good books. They are the handmaids 
of virtue and religion. They quicken our sense of duty, 
unfold our responsibilities, strengthen our ''"principles, 
confirm our fiabits, inspire in us the love of what is 
right and useful, and teach us to look with disgust upon 
what is low, and groveling, and '•"vicious. 

7. The high value of ''"mental cultivation, is another 
weighty motive for giving attendance to reading. What 
is it that mainly distinguishes a man from a brute? 
Knowledge. What makes the vast difference there is, 
between savage and civilized nations? Knowledge. 
What forms the ''"j)rincipal difference between men, as 
they appear in the same society? Knowledge. 

8. What raised Franklin from the humble station of 
a printer's boy, to the first honors of his country? 
Knowledge. What took Sherman from his shoemaker's 
bench, gave him a seat in Congress, and there made his 
voice to be heard among the wisest and best of his com- 
peers? Knowledge. What raised Simpson from the 
weaver's '•"loom, to a place among the first of mathemati- 


cians; and Herschel, from being a poor fifer's boy in the 
army, to a station among the first of astronomers? 

9. Knowledge is power. It is the philosopher's stone, 
the true secret, that turns every thing it touches into 
gold. It is the scepter, that gives us our "•"dominion over 
nature ; the key, that unlocks the store-house of creation, 
and opens to us the treasures of the "'"universe. 

10. The circumstances in which you are placed, as the 
members of a free and "'"intelligent "'"community, demand 
of you a careful improvement of the means of knowledge 
you enjoj'. You live in an age of great mental excite- 
ment. The public mind is awake, and society in general 
is fast rising in the scale of improvement. At the same 
time, the means of knowledge are most "'"abundant. 

11. The road to wealth, to honor, to "'"usefulness, and 
happiness is open to all, and all who will, may enter 
upon it with the almost certain "'"prospect of success. In 
this free community, there are no "'"privileged orders. 
Every man finds his level. If he has talents, he will be 
known and estimated, and rise in the respect and "'"con- 
fidence of society. 

12. Added to this, every man is here a freeman. He 
has a voice in the election of rulers, in making and exe- 
cuting the laws, and may be called to fill important 
places of honor and trust, in the community of which 
he is a member. What then is the duty of pei'sons in 
these "'"circumstances? Are they not called to cultivate 
their minds, to improve their talents, and to acquire the 
knowledge which is necessaiy to "'"enable them to act 
with honor and usefulness, the part "'"assigned them on 
the stage of life? 

13. A diligent use of the means of knowledge, accords 
well with your nature as rational and immortal beings. 
God has given you minds which are capable of "'"indefi- 
nite improvement; he has placed you in circumstances 
■•"peculiarly favorable for making such improvement; 
and, to inspire you witli. diligence in mounting up the 
shining course before you, he points you to the prospect 
of an endless "'"existence beyond the grave. 



14. If you, who possess these powers, were destined, 
after spending a few days on earth, to fall into non- 
existence; if there were nothino- in von which death 
can not destroy, nor the grave cover, there would indeed 
be but little inducement to cultivate your minds. "For 
who would take pains to trim a taper which shines but 
for a moment, and can never be lighted again?" 

15. But if you have minds which are capable of end- 
less progression in knowledge, of endless approximation 
to the supreme intelligence; if, in the midst of ■'"unre- 
mitting success, objects of new interest Avill be forever 
opening before you ; O, what prospects are presented 
to the view of man ! what strong inducements to '•'culti- 
vate his mind and heart, and to enter upon that course 
of improvement here, which is to run on, brightening 
in glory and in bliss, ages without end ! 

Exercises. — What is the subject of this lesson? What is a 
pleasant method of occupying our leisure hours? For what does 
reading furnish materials? From what does it preserve us? If a 
man has knowledge, what may he hope for? What peculiar reasons 
are there why American children should cultivate their minds? 

In the last sentence, what interjection is there? What is an inter- 
jection? What does the word mean? Will you name four interjec- 
tions? Why are they so called? See Pinneo's Analytical Gram- 
mar, page 20, Art. 55. 

In Grammatical Questions reference will hereafter be made to 
Pinneo's Analytical Grammar. Such questions will be found very 
profitable and interesting to the pupil. They will be to some degree 
of an analytical character, as this not only increases the interest of the 
study, but gives a more comprehensive and philosophical view of the 
structure of sentences. 


Many arl^s were seen. They harlcd and howVd. The culprit 
was hurtd from the rock. Words, words, words, my lord. Are the 
goods wharf 'd? It was strongly urg'd upon him. Remarked' si 
thou that? He snarls, but dares not bite. Arm'd, say ye? Yes, 
arm'd, my lord. 



1. Skep''tics; n. persons ■wlio doubt ', 2. Writhe; v. (0 be in torture. 

or disbelieve religious truth. ^ 3. UN-suL^'Li-ed; adj. not stained. 

2. De-base'ment; n. the being) 3. Wells; v. issues forth as water 

sunk or degraded. < does from the ground. 

2. Un-per-vert^ed; adj. not > 3. Lave; 1;. wash; bathe. 

turned to a wrong use. \ 3. Dis-solv^ing; adj. melting. 


Remark . — This lesson requires great care, and must be read in 
a natural, but solemn manner. 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say wid-der for wid-oto; vol-lum 
for vol-wme; pal-it for pal-ate; pil-hr for pil-low. 

1. There is a mourner, and her heart is broken; 
She is a widow ; she is old and poor ; 

Her onl}^ hope is in the sacred token 
Of ■''j)eaceful happiness when life is o'er; 
She asks not wealth nor pleasure, begs no more 
Than Heaven's ■''delightful volume, and the sight 
Of her Eedeemer. Skejitics ! would you pour 
Your blasting ''"vials on her head, and blight 
Sharon's sweet rose, that blooms and charms her being's 

2. She lives in her ■'" affections ; for the grave 
Has closed ixpon her husband, children ; all 

jHer hopes are with the arms she trusts will save 
Her ■'"treasured jewels; though her views are small, 
Though she has never mounted high to fall 
And writhe in her debasement, yet the spring 
Of her meek, tender feelings, can not pall 
Upon her unperverted ■'"palate, but will bring 
A joy without regret, a bliss that has no sting. 

3. Even as a fountain, whose unsullied wave 
Wells in the pathless valley, flowing o'er 
With silent waters, kissing, as they lave 


The pebbles with light ''"rippling, and the shore 
Of ■''matted grass and flowers ; so softly pour 
The breathings of her bosom, when she prays, 
Low-bowed, before her Maker ; then, no more 
She muses on the griefs of former days : 
Her full heart melts and flows in Heaven's dissolving 

4. And faith can see a new world, and the eyes 
Of saints look pity on her. Death will come : 
A few short moments over, and the '''prize 
Of peace eternal waits her, and the tomb 
Becomes her fondest pillow: all its gloom 
Is scattered. What a meeting there will be 
To her and all she loved while here ! and the bloom 
Of new life from those cheeks shall never flee: 
There is the health which lasts through all '''eternity. 

Exercises. — Should there be a pause at the end of every line 
in poetry? Should the voice rise or fall at the word "night," at the 
end of the first stanza? 


Ra-vine''; n. (pro. ra-veen^) a [ 4. Glen; n. a valley. 

long deep hollow in the earth < 7. A^re-.4. ; n. any open surface, 

worn by a stream of water. > or space. 

Quar^ter-deck; n. that part \ 8. Ap-pend'a-ges; n. things add- 

of a ship's deck which lies ; ed to a greater or principal 

toward the stern. \ thing. 


Remark. — Let all the pupils notice, as each member of the class 
reads, where a proper pause is not made at the commas and other 

Articulate distinctly. Do not say gath-er-in for gath-er-in_(/ ; 
xr-reglar for ir-reg-w-lar ; cUf'cul-ty for dif;/?-cul-ty ; na-vl for na-val; 
in-feror for in-fe-n'-or; prim' five for prim-z'-tive; in-vis'ble for in-via- 
i-ble; u-ni-versly for u-ni-vers-al-ly. 

1. At an early hour of the morning, even before we 
had taken our breakfast on board the ship, a single 


■•"islander here or there, or a group of three or four, 
"wrapped in their large mantles of various hues, might be 
seen winding their way among the groves fringing the 
bay on the east, or descending from the hills and ravine 
on the north, toward the chapel ; and by degrees their 
numbers increased, till, in a short time, every path along 
the beach, and over the uplands, presented an almost 
■•"uninterrupted procession of both sexes and of every 
age, all pressing to the house of God. 

2. So few """canoes were round the ship yesterday, and 
the landing-place had been so little """thronged, as our 
boats passed to-and-fro, that one might have thought 
the """district but thinly inhabited ; but now, such multi- 
tudes were seen gathering from various """directions, that 
the exclamation, " What crowds of people! What crowds 
of people!'' was heard from the quarter-deck to the fore- 

3. Even to mj'self it was a sight of surprise ; surprise 
not at the magnitude of the population, but that the ob- 
ject for which they were evidently """assembling, should 
bring together so great a multitude. And as my thoughts 
■""re-echoed the words, "What crowds of people!" """re- 
membrances and """affections of deep power came over 
me; and the silent musings of my own heart were, 
"What a change! What a happy change! " 

4. When at this very place, only four years ago, the 
known wishes and example of chiefs of high authority, 
the daily """persuasion of teachers, added to motives of 
■""curiosity and novelty, could scarcely induce a hundred 
of the """inhabitants, to give an ""'irregular, careless, and 
"""impatient """attendance on the services of the sanctuary. 
But now, 

" Like mountain """torrents pouring to the main, 
From every glen a living stream came forth; 
From every hill, in crowds, they hastened down, 
To worship Him, who deigns, in humblest fane, 
On wildest shore, to meet th' upright in heart." 

5. The scene, as looked on from our ship in the still- 
ness of a brightly-beaming Sabbath morning, was well 


"•"calculated, with its ■"'associations, to prepare the mind 
for strong "•"impressions on a nearer view, when the '•"con- 
clusion of our own public worship should allow us to go 
on shore. Mr. Goodrich had """apprised us, that he had 
found it exj^edient to hold both the services of the Sab- 
bath in the forepart of the day, that all might have the 
benefit of two sermons, and still reach their abodes be- 
fore """night-fall. For, 

"Numbers dwelt ■"" remote, 
And first must """traverse many a weary luile, 
To reach the altar of the God they love." 

6. And it was arranged, that, on this occasion, the 
second service should be """postponed till the officers 
should be at liberty to leave the ship. It was near 
twelve o'clock when we went on shore; the captain and 
first lieutenant, the purser, surgeon, several of the '""mid- 
shipmen, and myself. Though the services had com- 
menced when we landed, large numbers were seen cir- 
cling the doors without ; but, as we afterward found, only 
from the """impracticability of obtaining jilaces within. 

7. The house is an immense """structure, capable of 
containing many thousands, every part of which was 
filled, except a small area in front of the pulpit, where 
seats were reserved for us, and to Avhich we made our 
way, in slow and tedious """procession, from the difficulty 
of finding a spot to place even our footsteps, without 
treading on limbs of the people, seated on their feet, as 
closely, almost, as they could be stowed. 

8. As we entered, Mr. Goodrich paused in his sermon, 
till we should be seated. I """ascended the pulpit beside 
him, from which I had a full vieAV of the """congregation. 
The suspense of attention in the people was only """mo- 
mentary, notwithstanding the entire novelty to them of 
the laced coats, and other appendages of naval uniform. 
I can scarcely describe the emotions experienced in 
glancing an eye over the immense number, seated so 
thickly on the matted floor as to seem, """literally, one 
mass of heads, covering an area of more than nine 
thousand square feet. The sight was most striking, and 


soon became, not only to myself, but to some of my 
fellow-officers, deeply affecting. 

9. I have listened, with delightful attention, to some 
of the highest ''"eloquence, the pulpits of America and 
England, of the present day, can boast. I have seen 
tears of ^conviction and '''penitence flow freely, under 
the sterner truths of the word of God ; but it was left 
for one at Hilo, the most ''"obscure corner of these dis- 
tant islands, to excite the liveliest emotions ever experi- 
enced, and leave the deej)est impressions of the extent 
and ''"unsearchable riches of the gospel, which I have 
ever known. 

10. It seemed, even while I gazed, that the majesty of 
that Power might be seen rising and '"erecting to itself 
a throne, permanent as glorious, in the hearts of these 
but lately utterly benighted and deeply polluted people. 
And when I compare them, as they had once been 
known to me, and as they now appeared, the change 
seemed the effect of a "'"mandate scarcely less mighty in 
its jDower, or speedy in its result, than that exhibited 
when it was said, '■'■Let there be light, and there was 

11. The depth of the impression arose from the ''"irre- 
sistible '""conviction that the Spirit of God was there. 
It could have been nothing else. With the exception of 
the inferior chiefs, having charge of the district, and 
their dependents, of two or three native members of the 
church, and of the mission family, scarcely one of the 
whole multitude was in other than the native dress, the 
simple garments of their ''"primitive state. 

12. In this respect and in the attitude of sitting, the 
assembly was purely pagan. But the breathless silence, 
the eager attention, the half-suppressed sigh, the tear, 
the various feeling, sad, peaceful, joyous, '•"discoverable 
in the faces of many; all spoke the j)resence of an invisi- 
ble but '"omnipotent Power, the Power which alone can 
melt and renew the heart of man, even as it alone first 
brought it into existence. 

13. It was, in a word, a heathen congregation laying 
hold on the hopes of eternity; a heathen congregation, 

5th Rd. 9. 


fully sensible of tne '^degradation of their original state, 
■""exulting in the first beams of truth, and in the no un- 
certain """dawning of the Sun of Eighteousness; thirsting 
after knowledge, even while they sweetly drank the 
waters of life; and, under the inspiring influence, by 
every look, expressing the heart-felt truth — "Beautiful 
on the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good 
idings; that bringeth good tidings of good, that '•"pub- 
iisheth salvation!" 

14. The simple appearance and yet Christian +deport- 
ment of that obscure '"congregation, whom I had once 
known, and at no remote period, only as a set of rude, 
licentious, and wild pagans, did more to rivet the con- 
viction of the divine origin of the Bible, and of the holy 
influences by which it is accompanied to the hearts of 
men, than all the "'"arguments, and "'"apologies, and de- 
fenses of Christianity I ever read. 

15. An entire moral '"reformation had taken place. 
Instruction of every kind is eagerly and "''universally 
sought, and from many a humble dwelling, now 

" Is daily heard 
The voice of prayer and praise to Jacob's God: ^ 

And many a heart in secret heaves a sigh, 
To Him who hears, well pleased, the sigh contrite." 

Exercise s. — Where are the Sandwich Islands? For what ob- 
ject were the persons assembled as described in this lesson? What 
change has taken place in the character of the population? To what 
is this change to be attributed? Describe their appearance as seated 
in the church. What is said of their deportment? What conviction 
is all this calculated to pi-oduce? 

Which are the adjectives in the 14th paragraph? Compare each of 
liem that will admit it. What does the word adjective mean? Why 
so called? See Pinneo's Analytical Grammar. 


D-ay, a-ge^ \-aw^ awe-d, f-a-ther, a-rm, th-ee, ee-1, oo-ze, th-?/, 2-sle, 


We have e-rr'd and str-aj/'d from thy w-ay-s like 1-o-st sh-ee-p. 
Sp-a-re thou those, G-o-d, who confess their f-aw-lts. 



1. Ex-te''ri-or ; n. outward ap- ^ 4. Fi-nance^; n. income of the 
pearance. s king or state. 

1. De-pict''ed; v. painted; repre- i 5. Def''i-cit; n. deficiency; want. 

sented. > 6. De-fault^er; n. one who fails 

4. Rev''e-nues; n. annual in- s to account for public money 

come from taxes, public i entrusted to his care. 

rents, &c. \ 9. Ex-per-i-ment^al; ac?;". derived 

4. As-sid''d-ous; adj. very care- i from experience. 

ful and attentive, ] 9. In-junc''tion ; n. a command. 


Pronounce correctly the following words found in this lesson: 
Do not 8a,y Jjg-ger for Gg-iire; sor-rer for sor-row ; mel-an-chul-y 

for mel-an-chol-y; fi' nance for fi-nance'; de-ficfit for defi-cit; mis- 

cal-ky-la-tion for mis-cal-cw-la-tion. 

1. A GENTLEMAN who had traveled in Europe, relates 
that he one day visited the hospital of Berlin, where he 
saw a man whose exterior was very striking. His figure, 
tall and "•'commanding, was bending with age, but more 
with sorrow ; the few scattered hairs which remained on 
his temples were white, almost as the driven snow, and 
the deepest '•"melancholy was depicted in his countenance. 

2. On inquiring who he was, and what brought him 
there, he started, as if from sleep, and after looking 
ai'ound him, began with slow and measured steps to 
stride the hall, repeating in a low but "'"audible voice, 
"Once one is two; once one is two." 

3. Now and then he would stop and remain with his 
arms folded on his breast as if in "'"contemplation, for 
some minutes; then again resuming his walk, he con- 
tinued to repeat, "Once one is two^; once one is two^." 
His story, as our traveler understood it, was as follows. 

4. Conrad Lange, collector of the revenues of the city 
of Berlin, had long been known as a man whom nothing 
could divert from the paths of honesty. """Scrupulously 
exact in all his dealings, and assiduous in the discharge 


of all his duties, he had acquired the good-will and 
esteem of all who knew him, and the confidence of the 
minister of finance, whose duty it is to inspect the 
accounts of all officers connected with the revenue, 

5. On casting up his accounts at the close of a par- 
ticular year^, he found a deficit^ often thousand +ducats^. 
Alarmed at this discovery^, he went to the minister, 
presented his accounts, and informed him that he did 
not know how it had arisen, and that he had been robbed 
by some person bent on his ruin^. 

6. The minister received his accounts, but thinking 
it a duty to secure a person who might probably be a 
defaulter, he caused him to be arrested, and put his 
accounts into the hands of one of his secretaries for 
■•■inspection, who returned them the day after with the 
information that the '•'deficiency arose from a '•'miscalcu- 
lation; that in multiplying, Mr. Lange had said, once one 
is two, instead of, once one is one. 

7. The poor man was immediately released from 
■""confinement, his accounts returned, and the mistake 
pointed out. During his imprisonment, which lasted 
two days, he had neither eaten, drank, nor taken any 
repose; and when he appeared, his countenance was as 
pale as death. On receiving his accounts, he was a long 
time silent; then suddenly awaking as if from a '•'trance, 
he repeated, "once one is two." 

8. He appeared to be entirely insensible of his situa- 
tion; would neither eat nor drink, unless '•'solicited; and 
took notice of nothing that passed around him. While 
repeating his accustomed phrase, if any one corrected 
him by saying, "once one is one;'' his attention was 
■•"arrested for a moment, and he said, "ah, right, once 
one is one;" and then resuming his walk, he continued 
to repeat, "once one is two." He died shoi'tly after the 
traveler left Berlin. 

9. This affecting story, whether true^ or untrue^, 
'•'obviously abounds with lessons of instruction^. Alas^ ! 
how easily is the human mind thrown off its balance^; 
especially when it is stayed on this world only — and has 
no experimental knowledge of the meaning of the in- 


junction of Scriptui'e, to cast all our cares upon Him" 
who careth for us, and who heareth even the young 
ravens when they cry. 

Exercises . — Relate the story of Conrad Lange. What does i* 
teach us? 

Give the rules for the inflections marked in the 3d and 9th para- 
graphs. What part of speech is the last word in the lesson? 

Pi'olong the sounds of the vowels that are italicized. 

W-a-r, o-r-b, fl-ot<?-s, p-twe, di-ow-\i, ae-d, h-ow^ s-a-ve. 

Th-e-se are thy gl-o-ri-ous works, p-a-rent of g-oo-d. F-at-rest of 
st-a-rs ! L-a-st in the tr-af-n of n-2-ght. H-o-ly, h-o-ly, h-o-ly, art 
th-OM, O L-o-rd! H-at-1, h-o-ly l-f-ght. We pr-ai-se th-ee, L-o-rd 


1. Hom'age; n. reverence and ? 3. Fes''tal; adj. pertaining to a 

service paid by a subject to | feast; gay. 

his king. \ 3. Tour'ney; n. (pro. turn^y) a 

1. Bar'on; »i. alord; a nobleman. | kind of sport in which per- 

1. DccH''r; n. the territory of a \ sons tried their courage and 

duke. ) skill in fighting with the 

1. Bark; n. a vessel; a small ^ lance and sword. 

ship. \ 3. Min'strel; n. one who sings, 

2. Reck''less; adj. thoughtless. \ and plays on an instrument. 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say Eng-lund for Eng-land, (pro. 
ingland); re-cog^-niz d for rec'-og-nized ; hull for whole; heerd for 
heard; glo-rus for glo-rt-ous; min-strul for min-strel; toorn-y for 
tourn-ey, (pro. turn-y.) 

Henry I, king of England, who commenced his reign 
A. D. 1100, had a son called William, a brave and noble- 
minded youth, who had arrived at his eighteenth year. 
The king loved him most tenderly, and took care to 
have him '•'recognized as his successor by the states of 


England, and carried him over to Normandy, in the 
north of France, to receive the homage of the barons of 
that duchy. On the prince's return, the vessel in which 
he ■'"embarked was ''"wrecked. He was placed in a boat 
and might have escaped, had he not been called back by 
the cries of his sister. He ''"prevailed on the sailors to 
row back and take her in ; but no sooner had the boat 
approached the wreck, than numbers who had been left, 
jumped into it, and the whole were drowned. King 
Henry, when he heard of the death of his son, fainted 
away, and from that moment, he never smiled again. 

1. The bark that held the prince went down, 

The sweeping waves rolled on^ ; 
And what was England's glorious crown 

To him that wept a son ? 
He lived^ — for life may long be borne ', 

Ere sorrow breaks its chain^ ; 
Still comes not death to those who mourn ; 

He never smiled again ! 

2. There stood proud forms before his throne, 

The ■'"stately and the brave ; 
But which could fill the place of one? 

That one beneath the wave. 
Before' him, passed the young and fair 

In pleasure's reckless """train^ ; 
But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair; 

He never smiled again ! 

3. He sat where festal bowls went round^, 

He heard the minstrel^ sing ; 
He saw the tourney's victor crowned 

Amid the mighty ring^ ; 
A ■'"murmur of the ''"restless deep 

Mingled with every strain, 
A voice of winds that would not sleep : 

He never smiled again ! 

4. Hearts, in. that time, closed o'er the '•"trace 

Of ■'"vows once fondly poured^ ; 


And '^strangers took the '^kinsman' s^ place, 

At many a ''"joyous boarcb ; 
Graves^, which true love had bathed with tears, 

Were left to heaven's bright rain^ ; 
Fresh hopes were born for other years; 

He never smiled again ! 

Exercises . — Relate the event upon which this poem is founded. 
How long since did it happen? Where is Normandy? Explain the 
meaning of the third stanza. How should the fourth line of the 
second stanza be read? For whom does "he" stand, in the last line 
of each stanza? 

Give the rule for each inflection marked. 


Prolong the sounds of the vowels that are italicized. 

JE'-rr, a-II, a-ge.^ a-rtn, o-ld, OM-r, ee-\^ b-oy, z'-sle. 
Our i^a-ther, who art in Heaven. Woe unto thee, Chorazin! 
Woe unto thee, Bethsaida! 

• ** 


3. RE-Do'ceD; v. brought to pov- ^ 6. Con-front'; v. to stand face to 

erty. l face. 

4. Vi''o-late; v. to break; to ^ 7. Im-pos''toe; n. a deceiver. 

transgress. < 7. AT-Toa''NEy; n. a lawyer. 

5. In-ves''ti-gate; v. to inquire | 7. I-den'ti-ty; n. sameness. 

into. \ 7. Ex-trem'i-ty; n. the utmost 

6. Di'a-lect; n. a form of < distress. [time. 

speech. ^7. Op-por-tu'ni-ty ; n. suitable 


Pronounce correctly the following words found in this lesson: 
Do not say oc-ky-pa-tion for oc-cu-pa tion; list-n d for lis^en-ed, 
(pro. lis'n'd); sul-ler for ce/-lar; op-per-site for op-po-site; half- 
penny, pro. hap-pen-ny or ha-pen-ny. 

1. In the city of Bath, not many ySSrs since, lived a 
barber, who made a '•"practice of following his ordinary 


■♦"occupation on the Lord's day. As he was pursuing his 
morning's employment, he happened to look into some 
place of worship, just as the minister was giving out his 
text, "Kemember the Sabbath-day, to keep it holy." 
He listened long enough to be """convinced that he was 
constantly breaking the laws of God and man, by shav- 
ing and dressing his customers on the Lord's day. He 
became uneasy, and went with a heavy heart to his Sab- 
bath task. 

2. At length he took courage, and opened his mind to 
his minister, who advised him to give up Sabbath dress- 
ing, and worship God. He replied, that ""'beggary would 
be the consequence. He had a flourishing trade, but it 
would almost all b^ lost. At length, after many a sleep- 
less night spent in weeping and praying, he was de- 
termined to cast all his care upon God, as the more he 
reflected, the more his duty became apparent"^. 

3. He discontinued Sabbath dressing, went constantly 
and early to the public """services of religion, and sooir 
enjoyed that "^"satisfaction of mind Avhich is one of the 
rewards of doing our duty, and that peace which the 
world can neither give nor take away. The conse- 
quences he foresaw, actually followed. His genteel cus- 
tomers left him, and he was nicknamed a Puritan"^, or 
Methodist^. He was obliged to give up his fashionable 
shop, and, in the course of years, became so reduced', as 
to take a cellar under the old market-house, and shave 
the common people^. 

4. One Saturday evening, between light and dark, a 
stranger from one of the coaches, asking for a barber, 
was directed by the """hostler to the cellar opposite. 
Coming in hastily, he requested to be shaved quickly, 
while they changed hoi^ses, a$ he did not like to violate 
the Sabbath. This was touching the barber on a tender 
cord. He burst into tears; asked the stranger to lend 
him a half-penn}^ to buy a candle, as it was not light 
enough to shave him with safety. He did^ so, revolving 
in his mind the "''extreme poverty to which the poor man 
must be reduced.* 

w 5. When shaved, he said, "There must be something 


■•"extraordinary in your history, "which I have not now 
time to hear. Here is half a crown for you. When I 
return, I will call and investigate your case. "What is 
your name"-?" "William Eeed^," said the astonished 
barber. "William Eeed?" echoed the stranger: "Wil- 
liam Eeed^? by your, dialect you are from the West""." 
"Yes, sir, from Kingston, near Taunton." "William 
Reed-', from Kingston^, near Taunton^? What was 
3-our father's^ name?" "Thomas^." "Had he any 
brother?" "Yes, sir, one, after whom I was named; 
but he went to the Indies, and, as we never heard from 
him we supposed him to be dead." 

6. "Come along^, follow me^," said the stranger, "I 
am going to see a person who says his"^ name is William 
Eeed, of Kingston, near Taunton. Come^ and '''confront^ 
him. If you prove to be indeed he who you say you 
are^, I have glorious news for you. Your uncle is dead, 
and has left an ■''immense fortune, which I will put you 
in possession of, when all ''"legal doubts are removed." 

7. They went by the coach^ ; saw the pretended Wil- 
liam Eeed', and proved him to be an ''"impostor. The 
stranger, who was a pious attorney', was soon "•"legally 
satisfied of the barber's identity, and told him that he 
had """advertised him in vain. "•"Providence had now 
thrown him in his way in a most """extraordinary man- 
ner, and he had great pleasure in """transferring a great 
many thousand pounds to a worthy man, the rightful 
heir of the property. Thus was man's extremity', God's 
opportunity^. Had the poor barber possessed one half- 
penny^, or even had credit for a candle'^, he might have 
remained unknown for years^ ; but he trusted God, who 
never said, " Seek ye my face" in vain. 

Exercises. — "What excited the barber's attention on the subject 
of keeping the Sabbath? What did he do? "What was the effect 
upon his business? What circumstance led to his becoming ac- 
quainted with the fact that he was heir to a large property? Who 
evidently brought about all these things? 

Explain the inflections marked in the 5th, 6th, and 7th paragraphs. 




2. Focnd''ed; v. built; estab- 


3. Hab-i-ta'tion ; n. place of 

6. Ref''uge; n. shelter; protection. 

5. Co''nies; n. a kind of rabbit. 

6. Ap-point^eth; v. ordains. 

7. Man''i-fold; adj. numerous; 

7. In-nu''mer-a-ble ; adj. not to 

be counted. 

7. Le-vi''a-than ; n. a large ani- 

mal living in the water. 

8. Re-new^est; v. makest new. 

Pronounce sorrectly. Do not say Lawd for Lord ; Gawd for 
God; cov-erst for cov-^r-est; cur-tane for cur-tam (pro. cur-tin); 
cham-bers for cliam-bers. 

1. Bless the Lord, O my soul! O Lord, my God! 
thou art very great; thou art clothed with '•"honor and 
majesty: who coverest thyself with light as with a gar- 
ment; who stretehest out the heavens like a +curtain ; 
who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters; 
who maketh the clouds his "•"chariot; who walketh upon 
the wings of the wind; who maketh his angels spirits, 
his ministers a flaming fire; who laid the '•"foundations 
of the earth, that it should not be removed forever. 

2. Thou coveredst it with the deep as with a gar- 
ment: the waters stood above the mountains. At thy 
■•"rebuke they fled ; at the voice of thy thunder they 
hasted away. They go up by the mountains ; they go 
down by the "'"valleys unto the place which thou hast 
founded for them. Thou hast set a bound that they may 
not pass over ; that they turn not again to cover the earth. 

3. He sendeth the springs into the valleys, which 
run among the hills. They give drink to every beast of 
the field; the wild asses quench their thirst. By them 
shall the fowls of the heaven have their '•"habitation, 
which sing among the branches. He watereth the hills 
from his chambers; the earth is """satisfied with the fruit 
of thy works. 


4. He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and 
herb for the service of man, that he may bring forth 
fruit out of the earth ; and wine that maketh glad the 
heart of man, and oil to make his face to shine, and 
bread which strengtheneth man's heart. 

5. The trees of the Lord are full of sap; the '•'cedars 
of Lebanon, which he hath planted, where the birds 
make their nests : as for the stork, the fir-trees are her 
house. The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats, 
and the rocks for the conies. 

6. He appointeth the moon for '''seasons; the sun 
knoweth his going down. Thou makest darkness, and 
it is night, wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep 
forth. The young lions roar after their prey, and seek 
their meat from God. The sun ariseth, they gather 
themselves together, and lay them down in their '•'dens. 
Man goeth forth unto his work, and to his labor until 
the evening. 

7. O Lord, how manifold are thy works ! in wisdom 
hast thou made them all : the earth is full of thy riches. 
So is this great and wide sea, wherein are things creep- 
ing innumerable, both small and great beasts. There 
gy the ships: thei'e is that leviathan, whom thou hast 
made to play therein. These wait all upon thee, that 
thou mayest give them their meat in due season. 

8. That thou givest them they gather; thou openest 
thine hand, they are filled with good. Thou hidest thy 
face, they are troubled; thou takest away their breath, 
they die, and return to their dust. Thou sendest forth 
thy spirit, they are created : and thou renewest the face 
of the earth. 

9. The glory of the Loi'd shall '•'endure forever: the 
Lord shall rejoice in his '•'works. He looketh on the 
earth, and it trembleth : he toucheth the hills, and they 

10. O that men would praise the Lord for his good- 
ness, and for his wonderful works to the children of 
men ! And let them sacrifice the '•'sacrifices of '•"thanks- 
giving, and declare his works with '•"rejoicing. 

11. Ogive thanks unto the Lord; call upon his name; 


make known his deeds among the people. Sing unto 
him, sing psalms unto him : talk ye of all his ''"wondrous 
works. Glory ye in his holy name: let the heart of 
them rejoice that seek the Lord. Seek the Lord, and 
his strength ; seek his face '•'evermore. 

12. Remember his '''marvelous works that he hath 
done; his wonders, and the judgments of his mouth. 
He is the Lord our God ; his '''judgments are in all the 
earth. I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live: I 
will sing pi'aise to my God while I have my being. 

Exercises. — How does God show his goodness in the sea? In 
the springs? By the trees? By the sun and moon? What should 
all this teach us? 


Prolong the sounds of the italicized vowels. 

"Kn-ow, fr-^<', th-^j/, d-awn, r\-ow, h-ay, th-e-re, sn-o-re. 
Sootlied with the soimd, the king greiv vain. Koll on, thou deep 
and dark h\ue ocean, roll. 


3. Tab^er-na-cle; n. a tempora- > 8. Pre-sumpt^u-ous; adj. bold; 

ry habitation. \ rash. 

5. Tes^ti-mo-ny ; m. solemn dec- I 8. Do-min^ion; n. power; control- 

laration. > ling influence. [of law. 

5. Stat'utes; n. written laws. ^9. Trans-gres^sion; n. violation 


TJtter distinctly the r, giving it its soft sound, in the following 
words in this lesson: declare, there, nor, where, their, circuit, 
perfect, converting, sure, pure, enduring, ever, sweeter, moreover. 

1. The heavens declare the glory of God, 

And the ''■firmament showeth his ''"handiwork. 

Day unto day ''"uttereth speech, 

And night unto night showeth knowledge. 


2. There is no speech nor language 
Where their voice is not heard. 

Their line is gone out through all the earth, 
And their words to the end of the world. 

3. In them, hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, . 
Which is as a '''bridegroom coming out of his chamber, 
And """rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race. 

4. His going forth is from the end of the heaven, 
And his ''"circuit unto the ends of it : 

And there is nothing hid from the heat thereof. 

5. The law of the Lord is perfect, "'"converting the soul: 
The testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the 

sim^^le ; 
The statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart. 

6. The ■'"commandment of the Lord is pure, """enlighten- 

ing the eyes: 
The fear of the Lord is clean, "'"enduring forever: 
The ''■judgments of the Lord are true and '''righteous 

altogether. • 

•f. More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than 
much fine gold ; 
Sweeter also than honey and the honey-comb. 
Moreover by them is thy servant warned : 
And in keeping of them there is great reward. 

8. Who can ''"understand his '•'errors? 
Cleanse thou me from secret faults; 

Keep back thy servant also fi'om presumptuous sins : 
Let them not have dominion over me. 

9. Then shall I be upright, 

And I shall be ''innocent from the great transgression. 
Let the words of my mouth, and the ''"meditation of 

my heart. 
Be ■'"acceptable in thy sight, 
O Lord, my strength, and my '•"Redeemer! 

Exercises. — What is the charactei' of God, as exhibited by the 



works of nature? What is the character and influence of the law of 
God? How can a man be kept from sin? 

In the 8th paragraph, which are the pronouns? What does the 
word pronoun mean? Which is the interrogative pronoun in that 
paragraph? Which are the nouns in the plural number? Which, in 
the singular? Which, of the neuter gender? 

What is the subject of the sentence forming the first line in this lesson? 
(See Pinneo's Analytical Grammar, page 129, Art. 251, 253). What 
is the attribute of the same sentence? (See page 135, Art. 261, 264). 


1. Con-trast''ed ; adj. set in op- 

1. So-LiL''o-QUiES ; n. talking to > 5. 

one's self. < 6. 

2. Pe-ri-od^ic-al; adj. performed 

regularly in a certain time, s 6. 

2. Rev-o-lu'tion ; n. circular mo- "> 6. 

tion of a body on its axis. \ 

3. AN''A-LYZ-eD ; v. separated into \ 6. 

the parts which compose it. i 

4. Grav-i-ta''tion; n. the force ? 7. 

by which bodies are drawn S 
to the center. < 7. 

5. Nat^u-ral-ist; n. one that ? 

studies natural history; as, \ 8. 
the history of plants, ani- I 13. 
mals, &c. \ 

Vi-TAL''i-TY ; n. principle of 
life. [surface. 

En-am''el ; V. to form a glossy 

Ap-prox-i-ma'tion; n. ap- 

Cog-i-ta'tions-, n. thoughts. 

Ev-o-lu''tions; n. flying back- 
ward and forward. 

Rus^Tic; n. one who lives in 
the country. 

Met-a-phys'ic-al; adj. relat- 
ing to the science of mind. 

Vo-li^tion; n. the act of will- 
ing or determining. 

Im'po-tence; n. want of power. 

Ac-C0M''PLiSH-eD ; a. having a 
finished education. 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say nar-rer for nar-row ; pen-it-rate 
for pen-e-trate; se-crits for se-crets; na-ter nor na-tshure for nat- 
i<re; be-yend for be-yond; cal-ky-late for cal-cw-late; an-er-lyzd 
for an-a-lyz'd; nat-shu-ral-ist for nat-w-ral-ist ; spec-hy-late for spec- 
M-late; flune-cy for flu-en-cy; pi-an-ner for pi-an-o; per-tic-er-lul-ly 
for par-tic-M-lar-]y. 

1. "Alas^!" exclaimed a silver-headed sage, "how 
narrow is the utmost extent of human +science*^ ! how 
■•■circumscribed the sphere of intellectual exertion! I 


have spent my life in acquiring knowledge; but how 
little do I know! The further I attempt to ''"j)enetrate 
the secrets of nature^, the more I am '•"bewildered and 
■•■benighted^. Beyond a certain limit ^, all is but con- 
fusion or '•"conjecture^ ; so that the advantage of the 
learned over the ignorant^, consists chiefly in having 
■•"ascertained how little is to be known. 

2. "It is true that I can measure the sun^, and com- 
pute the distances of the planets^; I can calculate their 
periodical movements^, and even ascertain the laws by 
which they perform their sublime revolutions^ ; but with 
regard to their '•"construction^, and the beings which in- 
habit them, what do I know more than the clown^ ? 

3. "Delighting to examine the economy of nature in 
our own^ world, I have analj^zed the elements, and 
have given names to their component parts^. And yet, 
should I not be as much at a loss to explain the buiming 
of fire, or to account for the liquid quality of water, as 
the vulgar, who use and enjoy them without thought or 

4. "I remark that all bodies, unsupported, fall to the 
ground ; and I am taught to account for this by the law 
of gravitation. But what have I gained here more than 
a term"^? Does it convey to ray mind any idea of the 
nature^ of that mysterious and invisible chain which 
draws all things to a common center? I observe the 
effect^, I give a name to the caiise^ ; but can I explain or 
comprehend^ it? 

5. "Pursuing the track of the naturalist, I have 
learned to distinguish the animal, '^vegetable, and '^'mineral 
kingdoms; and to divide these into their distinct tribes 
and families; but can I tell, after all this toil, whence a 
single blade of grass derives its vitality^? Could the 
most minute researches enable me to discover the ''ex- 
quisite pencil, that paints and fringes the flower of the 
field'? Have I ever detected the secret, that gives-their 
brilliant dye to the ruby and the emerald, or the art that 
enamels the delicate shell"? 

G. "I observe the '•"sagacity of animals^; I call it 
'^'instinct^, and speculate upon its various degrees of 


approximation to the reason of man. But, after all, I 
know as little of the cogitations of the brute, as he does 
of mine. When I see a flight of birds ^ overhead, per- 
forming their evolutions^, or steering their course to 
some distant settlement^, their signals and cries are as 
"•"unintelligible to me, as are the learned languages to 
the unlettered rustic. I understand as little of their 
laws, as they do of Blackstone's Commentaries. 

7. "But, leaving the material creation, my thoughts 
have often ascended to loftier subjects, and indulged in 
metaphysical speculation. And here, while I easily per- 
ceive in myself the two distinct qualities of matter and 
mind, I am baffled in every attempt to comprehend their 
mutual dependence and '"'mysterious connection. When 
my hand moves in obedience to my will, have I the most 
distant '''conception of the manner in which the volition 
is either '•"communicated or understood? Thus, in the 
exercise of one of the most simple and ordinary actions, 
I am perplexed and confounded if I attempt to account 
for it. 

8. "Again, how many years of my life were devoted 
to the ■•'acquisition of those languages^ by the means of 
whicli I might explore the '•"records of remote ages, and 
become familiar with the learning and '•"literature of 
other times! And what have I gathered from these, 
but the '•"mortifying fact, that man has ever been strug- 
gling with his own impotence, and vainly endeavoring 
to overleap the bovinds which limit his anxious in- 

9. "Alas! then, what have I gained by my '''laborious 
'♦"researches, but a humbling '•"conviction of my weak- 
ness and ignorance! How little has man, at his best 
estate, of which to boast! What folly in him to glory 
in his contracted power, or to value himself upon his 
imperfect '•"acquisitions ! " 

10. "Well^," exclaimed a young lady, just returned 
fi'om school, "my education is at last finished^!" In- 
deed, it would be strange, if, after five years' hard 


■""application', any thing were left incomplete"^. Hap- 
pily, that is all over now ; and I have nothing to do, but 
to ■'"exercise my various '•'accomplishments^. 

11. "Let me see^! As to French^, I am complete 
mistress of that, and speak it, if possible, with more 
■•■fluency than English^. Italian" I can read with ease, 
and pronounce very well^; as well, at least, as any of 
my friends; and that is all one need wish in Italian. 
Music' I have learned till I am perfectly sick'^ of it. 
But, now that we have a grand piano, it will be delight- 
ful to play when we have company; I must still con- 
tinue to practice a little ; the only thing, I think, that I 
need now to improve myself in. And then there are 
my Italian songs^ ! which every body allows I sing with 
taste ; and as it is what so few people can pretend to, I 
am particularly glad that I can. 

12. "My drawings are universally admired; especially 
the shells and flowers, which are beautiful, certainly: 
beside this, I have a decided taste in all kinds of fancy 
ornaments. And then my dancing" and '^waltzing', in 
which our master himself owned that he could take me 
no further; just the figure^ for it, certainly; it would 
be unpardonable if I did not '■"excel. 

13. "As to common things, geography and history, and 
poetry and philosojjhy; thank my stars, I have got 
through them all! so that I may consider myself not 
only perfectly accomplished, but also thoroughly well 
informed. Welb, to be sure^, how much I have ''"fagged 
through! The only wonder" is, that one head can ''^con- 
tain'- it all!" 

Exercises . — What is the substance of the old man's soliloquy? 
What is the substance of the young lady's? Which reasons most 
correctly? What feeling is manifested by the old man in view of his 
attainments? What by the young lady? Will those who are really 
learned and wise, generally be vain? 

What inflection is that marked at the words "common," "geogi'a- 
phy," &c., in the 13th paragraph? What does it indicate here? (See 
page 23). With what are these words contrasted? 

How are the words "dancing" and "waltzing," in the 12th para- 
graph, parsed? See Pinneo's Analytical Grammar, Rule V. 
5th Rd. 10. 



Give a full and distinct sound to the italicized consonants. 

5-ow, o?-are, /-ame, ^'-ave, A-orse, j-ew, k-\tQ, ^ord, m-an, jj-o, joit, 
9'-ueer, r-ow, i-ir, ^ake, v-ow, w-oe, y-e, th-ose, th-urah, wh-at, aA-ow, 


1. Ti'nt; adj. very small; little; ^ 4. Per'son-age ; n. a person of 

puny. S importance. 

8. Sa-lute''; n. greeting. i 5. Peer''ing; adj. just coming up. 

3. Mun^'dane; adj. belonging to ? 6. Ccm^ber-er; n. one who hin- 

the world. \ ders or is troublesome. 

4. Re-tort''; n. to make a severe j 6. Vaunt''ing; adj. vainly boast- 

reply. ] ing. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say per-son-ij for per-son-age; 
suh-jud for sub-du'd; to-iuard/ for to'ward; for-git for for-get; 
yit for yet. 

1. "I AM a Pebble^ ! and yield to none^ ! " 
Were the swelling woi'ds of a tiny stone; 
"l!^or time nor seasons can alter me; 

I am ■^'abiding, while ages flee. 
The ■'■pelting hail and the ■'■driveling rain 
Have tried to soften me, long, in vain ; 
And the tender dew has sought to melt 
Or touch my heart ; but it was not felt^. 

2. "There 's none that can tell about my birth, 
For I 'm as old as the big, round earth. 
The children of men arise, and pass 

Out of the world^, like blades of grass; 
And many a foot on me has trod', 
That 's gone from sight, and under the '•'sod'^ ! 
I am a Pebble^ ! but who art f/iow^, 
Eattling along from the restless bough?" 


3. The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute, 
And lay, for a moment, abashed and mute'' ; 
She never before had been so near^ 

This gravelly ball, the mundane '•'sphere^ ; 
And she felt, for a time, at a loss to know 
How to answer a thing so coarse and low. 

4. But to give reproof of a nobler sort 
Than the angry look', or keen retort', 
At length, she said, in a gentle tone: 

" Since it has happened that I am thrown 

From the lighter element, where I grew, 

Down to another, so hard and new. 

And beside a '•'personage so '•'august'. 

Abased, I will cover my head in dust^, 

And quickly retire from the sight of one 

Whom time^, nor season^, nor storm^, nor sun^, 

Nor the gentle dew^, nor the grinding heel', 

Has ever subdued, or made to feeb ! " 

And soon, in the earth, she sunk away 

From the comfortless spot where the Pebble lay. 

5. But it was not long ere the soil was broke 
By the peering head of an infant oak'^ : 
And, as it arose, and its branches spread. 
The Pebble looked up, and wondering said : 
"A modest Acorn^ ! never to tell 

What was enclosed in its simple shelb ! 
That the pride of the forest was folded up 
In the narrow space of its little cup^ ! 
And meekly to sink in the darksome earth. 
Which proves that nothing could hide its worth ! 

6. "AndO! how many will tread on me, 
To come and admire the beautiful tree, 
Whose head is '•"towering toward the sky, 
Above such a worthless thing as I^ ! 
Useless and vain, a cumberer here, 

I have been idling from year to year; 

But never, from this, shall a vaunting word 

From the humble Pebble again be heard. 


Till something, without me or within, 

Shall show the purpose for which I have been." 

The Pebble its vow could not forget, 

And it lies there wrapped in silence yet. 

Exercises . — What was the Pebble's boast ? How did the Acorn 
feel? What did the Acorn say? What did it do? What did it 
become? What did the Pebble then say? What is the moral of this 

What words in the fourth paragraph form a commenciug series? 
Give the reasons for the other inflections marked. 


1. At-test'; v. to bear witness to. ) 10. Dex''trous; a. skillful; artful. 

3. Ac^tion; n. a claim made be- ^ 10. AD-DU^ceo; v. brought for- 

fore a court. > ward in argument. 

3. As-siz'es; n. a court of justice. | H- Plead^er; n. one that argues 

6. Plaixt'iff; n. the person who in a court of justice, [oath. 

commences a suit at court. < 11. DE-Pos''eD; v. gave evidence on 

7. Pre-ca^ri-ous; adj. uncertain. S 11. Ver^dict; n. the decision of 
7. Ju''rt-man; 7i. one who serves < ajuryconcerning the matter 

ona jury, and whose business ^ referred to them, [ofajui-y. 

it is to hear the evidence and 12. Fore^man; n. the chief man 

decide which party is right | 14. Dem-on-stra^'tion ; n. certain 

in any given case. | proof. [iiig- 

7. Ex-cept''; v. to object. j 15. Soph'ist-ry; n. false reason- 


Pronounce correctly the following words in this lesson. Do not 
sa)' fel-ler for fel-lo?.y; ven-tur nor ven-tshur for vent-?<re, (pro. 
vent-yur); stim-my-Ia-ted for stim-ii-la-ted ; thou-sun for thou-sano?; 
back-ivud for back-ward; for-ud for for-2<;ard; ig-ner-unt for ig-no- 
rant; el-er-qunce fdt el-o-quence; lev-un for e-lev-en, (pro. e-lev'n). 

1. A GENTLEMAN who possessed an estate worth about 
five hundred a year, in the eastern part of England, 
had two sons. The eldest, being of a "■"rambling dis- 
position, went abroad. After several years, his father 
died; when the younger son, destroying his will, seized 


upon the estate. He gave out that his elder brother 
was dead, and ''"bribed false witnesses to attest the truth 
of it. 

2. In the course of- time, the elder brother returned ; 
but came home in "'"destitute circumstances. His younger 
brother repulsed him with scorn, and told him that 
he was an '•"impostor and a cheat. He asserted that his 
real brother was dead long ago; and he could bring 
witnesses to prove it. The poor fellow, having neither 
money nor friends, was in a sad situation. He Aveut 
round the parish making complaints, and, at last, to a 
lawyer, who, when he had heard the poor man's story, 
replied, "You have nothing to give me. If I undertake 
your cause and lose^ it, it will bring me into ''"disgi'ace, 
as all the wealth and ''"evidence are on your brother's 

3. "However, I will undertake it on this condition; 
you shall enter into an '"obligation to pa}^ me one thou- 
sand guineas, if I gain the estate for you. If I lose' it, 
I know the consequences'^ ; and I venture with my eyes 
open^." Accordingly, he entered an action against the 
younger brother, which was to be tried at the next gen- 
eral assizes at Chelmsford, in Essex. 

4. The lawyer, having engaged in the cause of the 
young man, and being ''"stimulated by the prospect of 
a thousand guineas, set his wits to work to contrive the 
best method to gain his end. At last, he hit upon this 
happy thought, that he would consult the first judge of 
his age. Lord Chief-Justice Hale. Accordingly, he hast- 
ened up to London, and laid open the cause, and all its 
circumstances. The judge', who was a great lover of 
justice', heard the case attentively, and promised him 
all the assistance in his power^. 

5. The lawyer having taken leave, the judge con- 
trived matters so as to finish all his business at the 
King's Bench, before the assizes began at Chelmsford. 
When -within a short distance of the place, he dismissed 
his man and horses, and sought a single house. He 
found one occupied by a miller. After some conversa- 
tion, and making himself quite agreeable, he propose^ 


to the miller to change clothes'^ with him. As the judge 
had a very good^ suit on, the man had no reason to 

6. Accordingly, the Judge shifted from top to toe, 
and put on a complete suit of the miller's best. Armed 
with a miller's hat, and shoes, and stick, he walked to 
Chelmsford, and '"procured good lodgings, suitable for 
the assizes, that should come on next day. When the 
trials came on, he walked like an ignorant country 
fellow, backward and forward, along the county hall. 
He observed narrowly what passed around^ him; and 
when the court began to filP, he found out the poor 
fellow who was the plaintiffs. 

7. As soon as he came into the hall, the miller drew 
up to him. "Honest friend^," said he, "how is your 
cause like to go^ to-day?" "Why, my cause is in a very 
precarious situation, and, if I lose it, I am ruined for 
life." "Well, honest friend'," replied the miller, "will 
you take my advice'? I will let you into a secret^, 
which perhaps you do not know^ ; eveiy Englishman has 
the right and privilege to except against any one jury- 
man out of the whole twelve; now do you insist upon 
your ■'■privilege, without giving a reason, and, if possi- 
ble, get me chosen in his room, and I will do you all the 
service in my power." 

8. Accordingly, when the clerk had called over the 
names of the jurymen, the plaintiff excepted to one of 
them. The judge on the bench was highly offended at 
this libert3^ "What do you mean," said he, "by ex- 
cepting against that gentleman?" "I mean, my lord, 
to assert my privilege as an Englishman, without giving 
a reason why." 

9. The judge, who had been highly bribed, in order to 
conceal it by a show of candor, and having a ''■confidence 
in the +6uperiority of his party, said, "Well, sir', as 
you claim your privilege in one' instance, I will grant^ 
it. Whom would you wish to have in the room of that 
man excepted?" After a short time, taken in '♦'consid- 
eration, "My lord," says he, "I wish to have an honest 
man chosen in;" and looking round the court — "my 


lord^, there is that miller'^ in the court; we will have 
/u;/r, if 5^011 please." Accordingly, the miller was 
chosen in. 

10. As soon as the clerk of the court had given them 
all their oaths, a dextrous little fellow came into the 
apartment, and slipped ten golden guineas into the hands 
of each of eleven jurj^men, and gave the miller but five. 
He observed that they were all bribed as well as him- 
self, and said to his next neighbor, in a soft whisper, 
"How much have yov> got?" "Ten pieces^," said he. 
But he concealed what he had got himself. The cause 
was opened by the plaintiff's counsel ; and all the scraps 
of evidence they could pick up were adduced in his 

11. The younger brother was provided with a great 
number of witnesses and pleaders, all plentifully bribed, 
as well as the judge. The witnesses deposed, that they 
were in the self-same country when the brother died, 
and saw him buried. The counselors pleaded upon 
this '•"accumulated '•'evidence ; and evexy thing went with 
a full tide in favor of the j^ounger brother. The judge 
summed up the evidence with great gravity and delib- 
eration ; "and now, gentlemen of the jury^," said he, 
"lay your heads together, and bring in your verdict as 
you shall deem most just." 

12. They waited but for a few minutes, before they 
determined in favor of the younger brother. The judge 
said, " Gentlemen', are jou agreed? and who shall 
speak^ for you?" "We are all agreed, my lord'," re- 
plied one, "and our foreman^ shall speak for us." 
"Hold^, my lord'," replied the miller; "we are not- all 
agreed." "Why^?" said the judge, in a very surly 
manner, "what's the matter with i/OM"^.^ What reasons 
have yoW^ for disagreeing?" 

13. "I have several reasons, my lord," replied the 
miller: "the first is, they have given to each of these 
gentlemen of the jury ten" broad pieces of gold, and to 
me but five'^ ; which, you know, is not fair. Besides, I 
have many objections to make to the false reasonings of 
the pleaders, and the '•'contradictory evidence of the wit- 


nesses." Upon this, the miller began a discourse, which 
discovered such a vast penetration of judgment, such 
"•"extensive knowledge of law, and was expressed with 
such manly and energetic eloquence, that it astonished 
the judge and the whole court. 

14. As he was going on with his powerful demonstra- 
tions, the judge, in great surprise, stopped him. " Where 
did you come from, and who are you?" "I came from 
Westminster Hall," replied the miller; "my name is 
Matthew Hale ; I am Lord Chief-Justice of the King's 
Bench. I have observed the ^iniquity of your proceed- 
ings this day; therefore, come down from a seat which 
3'ou are not worthy to hold. You are one of the cor- 
rupt parties in this iniquitous business. I will come up 
this moment and try the cause all over again." 

15. Accordingly, Sir Matthew went up, with his mill- 
er's dress and hat on, began the trial from its very 
commencement, and searched every circumstance of 
truth and falsehood. He evinced the elder brother's 
title to the estate, from the contradictory evidence of 
the witnesses, and the 'false reasoning of the pleaders; 
■•"unraveled all the sophistry to the very bottom, and 
gained a complete victory in favor of truth and justice. 

Exercises. — What were the circumstances under which the 
younger brother took possession of his father's estate? How did he 
treat his elder brother upon his return? What did the elder brother 
do? What plan did Chief-Justice Hale pursue? What influenced 
him to take all this trouble? 


In the following words, sound the last consonant distinctly. 

(After such exercises as this, it will be necessary to guard against 
a drawling style of i-eading). 

Or-b, a\-d, fa-g, Geor-^g^, a-H, ai-w, ow-n, li-jo, wa-?-, hiss, ha-t, 
gi-we, a-dd, so-ng, brea-('A, tru-//i, pu-sA, bir-cA. 

Mo-6, la-rf, ru;/", ha-^-, ca-ge, ta-c/t, fi-ll, ri-m, si-n, ho-/), fa-?-, pa-ce, 
hi-^, ha-ve, \\a-s, ipa-ng, ha-nk, soo-the, pi-^A, wish, r'l-ch. 



1. Con-trol' ; V. subdue ; restrain ; 5 6. Su-per-an'nu-a-ted ; adj. im- 
govern. l paired by old age and in- 

1. Cult^ure; n. cultivation; im- > firmity. 

provement by effort. I 7. IIep''ri-mand ; v. to reprove for 

3, Def''er-encb; n. i-egard; re- ^ a fault. 

spect, > 8. A-CHiEV'eD; t;. gained. 


Pronounce correctly and articulate distinctlj'. Bo not say 
nat-ter-rid-ly nor nat'rl-ly for nat-it-ral-ly; cul-ter nor cult-tshur for 
cult-wre, (pro. cult-yur); spe-cial-ly for €S-pe-cial-ly ; de-rang d for 
de-ranged; def-rimce for def-er-cnce; gov-uns for gov-erns; win-der- 
bline for win-doM;-blinc^; u-shul for u-sw-al. 

1. No ONE has a temper naturally so good, that it does 
not need attention and cultivation, and no one has a 
temi^er so bad, but that, by j)roper culture, it may 
become pleasant. One of the best disciplined tempers 
ever seen, was that of a gentleman who was naturally 
quick, irritable, rash, and violent; but, by having the 
care of the sick, and especially of '•' deranged people, he 
so completely mastered himself, that he was never 
known to be thrown off his guard. 

2. The difference in the happiness which is received 
or bestowed by the man who governs his temper, and 
that by the man who does not, is immense. There is no 
misery so constant, so distressing, and so "'"intolerable to 
others, as that of having a disposition, which is your 
master, and which is continually fretting itself. There 
are corners enough, at every turn in life, against which 
we may run, and at which we may break out in ^impa- 
tience, if we choose. 

3. Look at Eoger vSherman^, who rose, from a humble 
occupation, to a seat in the first Congress of the United 
States, and whose judgment was received with great 

6tli Rd. 11. 


deference by that body of distinguished men. He made 
himself master of his temper, and ^cultivated it as a 
great business in life. There are one or two instances 
which show this part of his character in a light that is 

4. One day, after having received his highest honors, 
he was sitting and reading in his parlor. A ''"roguish 
student, in a room close by, held a looking-glass in such 
a position, as to pour the reflected rays of the sun di- 
rectly in Mr. Sherman's face. He moved his chair, and 
the thing was repeated. A third time the chair was 
moved, but the looking-glass still ''"reflected the sun in 
his eyes. He laid aside his book, went to the window, 
and many witnesses of the ''"impudence expected to hear 
the ungentlemanly student severely reprimanded. He 
raised the window gently, and then — shut the window- 

5. I can not forbear "'"adducing another instance of 
the power he had """acquired over himself. He was 
naturally possessed of strong passions; but over these 
he at length obtained an extraordinary control. He 
became ''"habitually calm, """sedate, and self-possessed. 
Mr. Sherman was one of those men who are not ashamed 
to """maintain the forms of religion in their families. One 
morning, he called them all together, as usual, to lead 
them in prayer to God^ ; the "old family Bible" was 
brought out, and laid on the table. 

6. Mr. Sherman took his seat, and placed beside him 
one of his children, a child of his old age^ ; the rest of 
the family were seated around the room; several of 
these were now grown up. Beside these, some of the 
tutors of the college were boarders in the family, and 
were present at the time alluded to. His aged and 
superannuated mother occupied a corner of the room, 
opposite the place where the ''"distinguished judge^ sat. 

7. At length, he opened the Bible, and began to read. 
The child who was seated beside him, made some little 
"•"disturbance, upon which Mr. Sherman paused, and told 
it to be still. Again he proceeded'^ ; but again he paused, 
to reprimand the little offender', whose playful disposi- 


tion would scarcely permit it to be still^. And this time, 
he gently tapped its ear. The blow, if blow it might be 
called, caught the attention of his aged mother, who 
nowj with some effort, rose from the seat, and tottered 
across the room. At length, she reached the chair of 
Mr. Sherman, and, in a moment, most unexpectedly to 
him, she gave him a blow on the ear with all the force 
she could ''"summon. "There^," said she, "you strike 
your^ child, and I will strike 7mne^." 

8. For a moment, the blood was seen mounting to 
the face of Mr. Sherman ; but it was only'^ for a moment, 
when all was calm and mild as usual. He paused^ ; he 
raised his spectacles^ ; he cast his eye upon his mother"^ ; 
again it fell upon the book''^ from which he had been 
reading^. Not a word escaped him; but again he calm- 
ly pursued the service, and soon after sought in prayer 
an ■'"ability to set an '"example before his household, 
which should be worthy of their ''"imitation. Such a 
victory was worth more, than the proudest one ever 
achieved on the field of battle. 

Exercises . — Has any one a temper so bad that it can not be 
governed and made pleasant? How can this be done ? To whom does 
a bad temper give most pain? Is it a duty to control it? Repeat the 
tvi^o anecdotes related of Judge Sherman. 

Give the rules for the inflections marked in this lesson. 


When similar sounds come at the end of one word and the begin- 
ning of the next word, they must not be blended into one sound. 

Malice seeks to destroy. The breeze s\ghs .softly. The ice 
slowly melts. The hosts still stand. The lane? c?escends. His 
dea^A iArilled the nation. Li/e /lies swiftly. With sarf rfismay he 
saw his dreadei rfestiny. His blanZ; countenance revealed all. 
Grie//ills his heart. The ji6-6oom was carried away. The ha^ 
groaned drearily. 



1. Sphere; n. the expanse in ^ 3. Ca-reer''ing; v. moving rap- 

which the heavenly bodies I idly. 

appear. > 3. Swerves; v. deviates from; 

2. Moan; n. grief expressed in < varies from, 

words or ci-ies. i 4. Nest^ling; n. a young bird in 

2. Crts'tal; arf;'. clear; ti-anspar- 5 the nest. [feathers. 

ent. I 4. Un-plumes''; v. strips of his 


Articttlate each letter. Do not say chile for chile?; creer-in for, 
ca-reer-in^r ; re-ly-in for re-ly-in_9' ; de-fy-in for de-fy-in^ ; sweet-es 
for sweet-esi ; waf for waft. 

1. "What is that, mother^? 

The lai-k^, my child ^ 
The morn has just looked out, and smiled, 
When he starts from his humble ''"grassy nest, 
And is up and away with the dew on his breast, 
And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure bright sphere, 
To '•'warble it out in his Maker's ear. 
Ever, my child^, be thy morn's first lays, 
Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise. 

2. What is tJiat^, mother^? 

The dove"^, my son. 
And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan, 
Is flowing out from her gentle breast, 
■•"Constant and pure by that lonely nest. 
As the wave is poured from some crystal '•"urn, 
For her distant dear one's quick return. 
Ever, my son^, be thou like the dove; 
In ■'"friendship as faithful, as constant in love. 

3. What is that^, mother^? 

The eagle*", my boy. 
Proudly careering in his course of joy; 
Firm, in his own mountain '•"vigor "•"relying"^ ; 


Breasting the dark storm^; the red bolf^ "•"defying; 
His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, 
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on^. 
Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine; 
Onward and upward, and true to the line. 

4. What is that^, mother'? 

The swan, my love. 
He is "'■floating down from his native grove; 
No loved one, now, no nestling nigh ; 
He is floating down by himself, to die. 
Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings. 
Yet his sweetest song is the last he sings. 
Live so, ray love, that when death shall come, 
"•"Swan-like and sweet it may waft thee home. 

Exercises . — What lesson is drawn from the lark ? What from 
the (love ? The eagle ? The swan ? What beautiful figure in verse 2d ? 

Which ai-e the verbs in the last paragraph? Give the present 
tense, first person plural, indicative mode, of each. Parse "swan" 
in the same pai-agraph. 


2. Scc''cor; w. help; assist. \ 7. Coii^PASS-eD; «. surrounded. 

6. Shek^el; n. a Jewish coin, \ 8. Dale; n. a low place between 
worth about sixty cents. \ hills. 


Remark. — The last words of every sentence should be read in 
such manner as the sense requires, especially avoiding a sudden fall 
of the voice. 

Articulate distinctly. Do not say Ab-s'lom for Ab-sa-lom; 
capn's for cap-tams; hun-durds for \\\xn-dreds ; saiv'ss for aaw-est; 
thruss for thrush. 

1. David numbered the people that were with him, 
and set captains of thousands and captains of hundreds 
over them. And David sent forth a third part of 


the people under the hand of Joab, and a third part 
under the hand of Abishai, the son of Zeruiah, Joab's 
brother, and a third pai't under the hand of Ittai, the 

2. And the king said unto the people, I will surely go 
forth with you myself also. But the people answered, 
thou shalt not go forth ; for if we flee away, they will 
not care for us; neither if half of us die, will they care 
for us; but now thou art worth ten thousand of us; 
therefore now it is better that thou succor us out of the 
city. And the king said unto them. What seemeth you 
best, Twill do. 

3. And the king stood by the gate-side, and all the 
people came out by hundreds and by thousands. And 
the king commanded Joab, and Abishai, and Ittai, say- 
ing, Deal gently for my sake with the young man, even 
with Absalom. And all the people heard when the king 
gave all the captains charge "•"concerning Absalom. 

4. So the peoj)le went out into the field against 
Israel ; and the battle was in the wood of '''Ephraim ; 
where the people of Israel Avere slain before the serv- 
ants of David, and there was there a great """slaughter 
that day of twenty thousand men. For the battle was 
there scattered over the face of all the country: and 
the wood devoured more people that day than the sword 

5. And Absalom met the servants of David. And 
Absalom rode upon a mule, and the mule went under 
the thick boughs of a great oak, and his head caught 
hold of the oak, and he was taken up between the heaven 
and the earth ; and the mule that was under him went 

6. And a certain man saw it, and told Joab, and said, 
Behold, I saw Absalom hanged in an oak. And Joab 
said unto the man that told him. And behold, thou 
sawest him, and why didst thou not smite him there to 
the gi'ound? and I would have given thee ten shekels 
of silver and a """girdle. And the man said unto Joab, 
Though I should receive a thousand shekels of silver in 
my hand, yet would I not j)ut forth my hand against 


the king's son; for, in our hearing, the king charged 
thee^ and Abishai, and Ittai, saying, Beware that none 
touch the young man Absalom. Otherwise, I should 
have ^wrought falsehood against mine own life; for 
there is no matter hid from the king, and thou thyself 
wouldst have set thyself against me. 

7. Then said Joab, I may not tarry thus with thee. 
And he took three darts in his hand, and thrust them 
through the heart of Absalom, while he was yet alive in 
the midst of the oak. And ten young men that bare 
Joab's armor, compassed about and smote Absalom, and 
slew him. And Joab blew the ti-umpet, and the, people 
returned from pursuing after Israel; for Joab held back 
the people. 

8. And they took Absalom, and cast him into a great 
pit in the wood, and laid a very great heap of stones 
upon him; and all Israel fled, every one to his tent. 
Now Absalom, in his life-time, had taken and '■'reared uj) 
for himself a j)illar, which is in the king's dale; for he 
said, I have no son to keep my name in '•'remembrance ; 
and he called the pillar after his own name; and it is 
called unto this day, Absalom's Place. 

9. Then said Ahimaaz the son of Zadok, Let me now 
run, and bear the king '•'tidings, how that the Lord hath 
avenged him of his '•'enemies. And Joab said unto him, 
Thou shalt not bear tidings this day, but thou shalt bear 
tidings another day: but this day thou shalt bear no 
tidings, because the king's son is dead. Then said Joab 
to Cushi, Gro, tell the king what thou hast seen. And 
Cushi bowed himself unto Joab, and ran. 

10. Then said Ahimaaz the son of Zadok yet again to 
Joab, But howsoever, let me, I pray thee, also run after 
Cushi. And Joab said. Wherefore wilt thou run, my 
son, seeing that thou hast no '•'tidings ready ? But how- 
soever, said he, let me run. And he said unto him, run. 
Then Ahimaaz ran by the way of the plain, and overrun 

11. And David sat between the two gates; and the 
watchman went up to the roof over the gate unto the 
wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold, a 


man running alone. And the '''watchman cried, and 
told the king. And the king said, If he be alone, there 
is tidings in his mouth. And he came apace, and drew 

12. And the watchman saw another man running, and 
the watchman called unto the porter, and said, Behold, 
another man running alone. And the king said, He 
also bringeth tidings. And the watchman said, '*"Me- 
thinketh the running of the foremost is like the running 
of Ahimaaz the son of Zadok. And the king said, He is 
a good man, and cometh with good tidings. 

13. And Ahimaaz called, and said unto the king. All 
is well. And he fell down to the earth upon bis face 
before the king, and said, Blessed be the Lord thy God, 
which hath delivered up the men that lifted up their 
hand against my lord the king. And the king said. Is 
the young man Absalom safe? And Ahimaaz answered, 
When Joab sent the king's servant, and me thy servant, 
I saw a great ''"tumult, but I knew not what it was. 
And the king said unto him. Turn aside and stand here. 
And he turned aside, and stood still. 

14. And behold, Cushi came; and Cushi said. Tidings 
my lord the king; for the Lord hath '*' avenged thee this 
day of all them that rose up against thee. And the king 
said unto Cushi, Is the young man Absalom safe? And 
Cushi answered. The enemies of my lord the king, and 
all that rise against thee to do thee hurt, be as that 
young man is. 

15. And the king was much moved^, and went up to 
the chamber over the gate, and wept; and as he went, 
thus he said, O my son Absalom'! my son', my son 
Absalom^ ! Avould to God I had died for thee^, O Absa- 
lom', my son, my son"^ ! 

Exercises . — Why did not David himself go forth to the battle ? 
What charge did David give to the three officers respecting Absalom ? 
What was the result of the battle? What was the fate of Absalom? 
What was the eifect of the news of Absalom's death upon king 

Explain the tnflections in the last two lines. (Pei'sons addressed 
and emphatic repetition). 



3. Court''e-sy; n. (pro. kurfe-sy) > 5. 

SwAY^eD; V. leaned; moved 

civility; politeness. \ 

back and forth. 

4. Trem^u-lous; adj. trembling, s g 

Trail'ing; n. dragging on 

4. Es-TRAN^Geo; adj. alienated in S 

the ground. 

affection. > q 

RE-VEBS^en; v. turned side 

4. CoN-TROL^LeD ; V. restrained. ^ for side, or end for end. 

5. Sym^me-try; n. a due pi'opor- $ 9. Sack^'cloth; m. a coarse cloth. 

tion of the several parts of a < 12. Man'tling; adj. covering with 
body to each other. > crimson. 


Remark. — In reading, be careful not to join the final consonant 
of one word to the vowel of the next word, in the following way, viz: 
They gathered roun dim on the fresh, gi'een bank, 
And spoke their kindly words; an das the sun 
Rose upineaven, &c. 

Be careful to avoid this fault, by articulating distinctly such 
words in the above, as '■'■round him" '■'■and as," '■''up in heaven," 
and the following and similar words in the lesson, viz : Do not say 
bare dis for bared his; bow dis for bow'd bis; wor dsoj tov words 
of; an dis voi swen tup for and bis voice went up. 

1. King David's limbs were weary. He had fled 
From far Jerusalem; and now he stood, 
With his faint people, for a little rest 

Upon the shores of Jordan. The light wind 
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow 
To its i-efreshing brqath ; for he had worn 
The "•"mourner's covering, and he had not felt 
That he could see his people until laow. 

2. They gathered round him on the fresh, green bank, 
And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun 
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there, 
And bowed his head upon his hands to pray. 

3. O ! when the heart is full, when bitter thoughts 
Come crowding thickly up for "♦"utterance, 
And the poor common words of courtesy 


Are such a very +mockery^, how much 

The bursting heart may pour itself in pi*ayer ! 

4. He prayed for Israel^ ; and his voice went up^ 
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those 
"Whose love had been his shield^ ; and his deep tone? 
Grew tremulous^. But, O! for Absalom, 

For his estranged, '^misguided Absalom, 

The proud, bright being, who had burst away, 

In all his princely beauty, to defy 

The heart that cherished him, for him he poured, 

In agony that would not be controlled, 

Strong supplication, and forgave him there. 

Before his God, for his deejD sinfulness. 

5. The pall was settled. He who slept beneath 
Was straightened for the grave ; and, as the folds 
Sunk to the still proportions, they betrayed 
The matchless symmetry of Absalom. 

His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls 
Were floating round the '•'tassels as they swaj^ed 
To the admitted air, as glossy now. 
As Avhen, in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing 
The snowy fingers of Judea's girls. 

6. His helm was at his feet : his banner^, soiled 
With trailing through Jerusalem^, was laid. 
Reversed'', beside him^, and the jeweled hilt^, 
Whose '•"diamonds lit the passage of his blade, 
Rested, like mockery', on his covered brow. 

7. The soldiers of the king trod to and fro, 
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief, 
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier. 
And gazed upon the dark pall '"steadfastly, 
As if he feared the slumberer miffht stir. 


8. A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade 
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form 
Of David entered, and he gave command. 
In a low tone to his few followers. 
Who left him with his dead. 


9. The king stood still 

Till the last +echo died; then, throwing off 
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back 
The +pall from the still features of his child, 
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth 
In the resistless eloquence of woe : 

10. "Alas! my noble boy, that thou shouldst die! 

Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair ! 
That death should settle in thy glorious eye. 

And leave his stillness in this ''"clustering hair ! 
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, 
My proud boy, Absalom ! 

11. "Cold is thy brow, my son, and I am chill. 

As to my bosom I have tried to press thee. 
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill. 

Like a rich harp string, '•'yearning to caress thee, 
And hear thy sweet ' 7ny father ' from these dumb 
And cold lips, Absalom ! 

12. "The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush 

Of music, and the voices of the young : 
And life will pass me in its mantling blush, 

And the dark '•"tresses to the soft winds flunsr. 
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come 
To meet me, Absalom! 

13. "And, O ! when I am stricken, and my heart. 

Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken. 
How will its love for thee, as I dejDart, 

''"Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token I 
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, 
To see thee, Absalom ! 

14. "And now, farewell! 'T is hard to give thee up, 

With death, so like a gentle "•'slumber, on thee; 
And thy dark sin! O! I could drink the cup, 

If from this woe its '•'bitterness had won thee. 
Maj'' God have called thee, like a '•'wanderer, home, 
My erring Absalom! " 


15. He covered up his fiice, and bowed himself 
A moment on his child: then, giving him 
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped 
His hand """convulsively, as if in prayer, 
And, as a strength were given him of God, 
He rose up '■'calmly, and +composed the pall 
Firmly and decently, and left him there, 
As if his rest had been a breathing slee]). 


Thou waft'st the ships. Thou achiowledgest thy crimes. Thou 
lisinest to my tale. It exists somewhere. Thou hnewest that I was 
a hard man. Thou wrongest lorongjxdly. 


1. Can'o-py; n. a covering over \ 5. In-scru''ta-ble ; adj. that can 

the head. \ not be discovered. 

2. De^vi-ous; ad^. out of the com- \ 8. Peer'ing; v. peeping; looking 

mon way or track. \ about narrowly. 

2. Ob-liv'i-on; n. forgetfulness. \ 17. Im-pale''; v. to fix on a sharp 

2. Rc'mi-nate; v. to meditate; to \ instrument. 

think. [fleet. > 24. Ae''ime; n. (pro. c'ry, or 

2. Pon'oer; v. to consider; to re- \ 0''i"y)i t^e nest of birds of 

4. Me-an''der-ings ; n. windings. \ prey. 

5. Tur'moil; n. a great stir; trou- \ 24. Com-pla^cen-cy ; n. satisfac- 

ble. s tion. 


Utter distinctly all the consonants in the following words found 
in this lesson : frequently, rambling, recline, listlessly, rippling, 
branches, abstracted, middle, inscrutable, croaking, cruel, relaps'd, 
traps, commingled, grudges, scratch, indispensable, privileges, 
giggle, crack, rattlesnake, inaccessible, composedly. 

1. I FREQUENTLY Spend a morning in the country, 
+rambling alone in the melancholy woods; sometimes 
resting myself against the bark of a time-worn tree; 


sometimes lingering on the woody heights looking far 
over the surrounding world. At other times, I recline 
listlessly by the side of some clear brook, over whose 
rippling way the branches meet, and form nature's 
choicest canopy. 

2. Here I indulge my memory and imagination in 
a thousand devious wanderings. I recall the distant 
shadows of departed time that have, by degrees, faded 
almost into oblivion, and send my mind on errands to 
the future. At times, I become so completely abstracted 
from the scenes around, as to forget where I am, and to 
lose almost the consciousness of being. I ruminate, I 
ponder, and I dream. 

3. On one of these occasions, about the middle of 
the month of August, w^hen the '•'dog-star rages, and all 
nature sinks into a sort of luxurious repose, I had be- 
come somewhat tired with a ramble longer than usiial, 
and laid myself listlessly along the margin of a little 
■•"twittering stream, that stole its winding way among 
the deep obscurities of the wood, diffusing coolness, and 
inviting to repose. 

4. Through the arched canopy of ''"foliage that over- 
hung the little stream, I could see it coursing its way on 
each hand among the rocks, glittering as if by moon- 
light, and disappearing after a thousand meanderings. 
It is impossible — at least with me it is imjDossible — to 
resist the influence of such a scene. Eeflecting beings 
like ourselves, sink into a sort of melancholy ''"reverie, 
under the influence of the hallowed quiet that reigns all 

5. As I thus lay, in ''"languid listlessness along the 
stream, as quiet as the leaves that breathed not a whis- 
per above me, I gradually sunk into almost ''"uncon- 
sciousness of all the world and all it holds. The little 
birds sported about, careless of my presence, and the 
insects pursued that incessant turmoil, which seems 
never to cease, until winter lays his icy fetters on all 
nature, and drives them into their inscrutable hiding- 

6. There is a ''"lapse in the recollection of the current 


of my thoughts at that moment, a short period of for- 
getfulness, from which 1 was roused by a hoarse, croak- 
ing voice, exclaiming, "Cruel, savage monster, what 
does he here?" I looked all around, and could see only 
a hawk seated on the limb of a dry tree, eying me, as I 
fancied, with a peculiar expression of hostility. 

7. In a few minutes, I again relapsed into a pro- 
found reverie, from which I was awakened once more by 
a small squeaking whisper, "I dare say the blood-thirsty 
villain has been setting traps for us." I looked again, 
and at first sight, could see nothing from which I sup- 
posed the voice might proceed, but, at the same time, 
imagined that I distinguished a sort of confused whisper, 
in which many little voices seemed ''commingled. 

8. My curiosity was awakened, and peering about 
quietly, I found it j)roceeded from a collection of ani- 
mals, birds, and insects, gathered together for some un- 
accountable purpose. They seemed very much excited, 
and withal in a great passion about something, all 
talking at once. Listening ''"attentively, I could distin- 
guish one from the other. 

9. "Let us ■'"pounce upon the tyrant, and kill him in 
his sleep," cried a bald-eagle: "for he grudges me a 
miserable little lamb now and then, though I do not 
require one above once a week. See! where he wounded 
me in the wing, so that I can hardly get an honest 
living, by prey." 

10. "Let me scratch his eyes out," screamed a hawk, 
"for he will not allow me peaceably to carry off a 
chicken from his barn-yard, though I am dying of hun- 
ger, and come in open day to claim my natural, indis- 
pensable right." 

11. "Ay, ay," barked the fox, "he interferes in the 
same base manner with my privileges, though I visit 
his hen-roost in the night, that I may not disturb 

12. "Agreed," hissed a rattlesnake, "for he won't 
let me bite him, though he knows it is my nature, and 
kills me according to Scripture." And thereupon, he 
rattled his tail, curled himself in """spiral volumes, and 


darted his tongue at me in the most fearful and threat- 
ening manner. 

13. "Agreed," said a great fat spider, which sat in his 
net, surrounded by the dead bodies of half a dozen 
insects, "agreed, for the bloody-minded '•'savage takes 
delight in destroying the fruits of my honest labors, on 
all occasions." 

14. "By all means," buzzed a great blue-bottle fly, 
"for he will not let me tickle his nose, of a hot summer 
day, though he must see with half an eye, that it gives 
me infinite satisfaction." 

15. "Kill him," cried a little ant, that ran foaming 
and fretting about at a furious rate, "kill him without 
mercy, for he don't mind treading me into a million of 
atoms, a bit more than you do killing a fly," addressing 
the spider. "The less you say about that, the better," 
whispered the spider. 

16. "Odds fish!" exclaimed a beautiful trout, that I 
should like very much to have caught, popping his head 
out of the brook, "Odds fish! kill the monster by all 
means ; hook him, I say, for he '''entices me with worms, 
and devours me to gratify his ''"insatiable appetite." 

17. " To be sure," said a worm, "kill him as he sleeps, 
and I'll eat him afterward; for though I am acknowl- 
edged on all hands to be his brother, he impales me alive 
on a hook, only for his ''■ amusement." 

18. "I consent," cooed the dove, "for he has deprived 
me of my mate, and made me a '''disconsolate widow." 
Upon which, she began to mourn so piteously, that the 
whole assembly """sympathized in her forlorn condition. 

19. "He has committed a million of murders," cried 
the spider. "He drowns all my kittens," mcAved the 
cat. "He tramples upon me without mercy," whis- 
pered the toad, "only because I'm no beauty." "He 
is a treacherous, cunning villain," barked the fox. "He 
has no more mercy than a wolf," screamed the hawk. 
"He is a bloody tyrant," croaked the eagle. "He is 
the common enemy of all nature, and deserves a hun- 
dred and fifty thousand deaths," exclaimed they all in 
one voice. 


20. I began to be heartily ashamed of myself, and was 
casting about how I might slij) away from hearing these 
pleasant ''"reproaches; but curiosity and listlessness to- 
gether kept me quiet, while they continued to ''"discuss 
the best mode of destrojang the tyrant. Thei-e was, as 
is usual in such cases, great "•"diversity of opinion. 

21. "I'll bury my talons in his brain," said the eagle. 
"I'll tear his eyes out," screamed the hawk. "I'll whij) 
him to death with my tail," barked the fox. "I'll sting 
him home," hissed the rattlesnake. "I'll poison him," 
said the spider. "I'll fly-blow him," buzzed the fly. 
"I'll drown him, if he'll only come into my brook, so I 
will," quoth the trout. 

22. "I will drag him into my hole, and do his business 
there, I warrant," said the ant; and thereupon there 
was a giggle among the whole set. "»And I '11 — I'll" — 
said the worm. "What will you do, you poor Satan?" 
exclaimed the rest in a titter. "What will I do? Why, 
1 11 eat him after he is dead," replied sir worm ; and then 
he strutted about, until he """unwarily came so near, that 
he slipped into the brook, and was snapjied up in a 
moment by the trout. 

23. The example was "'"contagious. "O, ho! you are 
for that sport," mcAved the cat, and clawed the trout be- 
fore he could get his head under water. "Tit for tat," 
barked Eeynard, and snatching pussy in his teeth, was 
off" like a shot. "Since 'tis the fashion," said the spider, 
"I'll have a crack at that same blue-bottle," and there- 
upon he nabbed the poor fly in a twinkling. "By your 
leave," said the toad, and snapped up the spider in less 
than no time. "You ugly thief of the world," hissed 
the rattlesnake in great wrath, and ''"indignantly laying 
hold of the toad, managed to swallow him about half 
way, where he lay in all his glory. 

24. "What a nice morsel for my poor fatherless ones," 
cooed the dove, and pecking at the ant, was just flying 
away with it in quite a """senti mental style, when the 
hawk, seeing this, screamed out, "what a pretty plump 
dove for a dinner! Providence has ''"oi'dained that I 
should eat her." He was carrying her off, when the 


eagle darted upon him, and soaring to his aerie on the 
summit of an inaccessible rock, composedly made a meal 
of both hawk and dove. Then picking his teeth with 
his claws, he exclaimed with great complacency, "What 
a glorious thing it is to be king of birds! " 

25. "Humph," exclaimed I, rubbing my eyes, for it 
seemed I had been half-asleep, "humph, a man is not so 
much worse than his neighbors, after all;" and shaking 
off the spell that was over me, bent my steps homeward, 
"•"wondering why it was, that it seemed as if all living 
things were created for the sole purpose of '•"preying on 
one another. 

Exercise s. — By what authority does man hold dominion over 
animals? Does this include the right to torture them, or to kill them 
unnecessarily? Under what circumstances Is it right to kill them? 
On what account are the animals, in this fable, supposed to be in- 
censed at man? 


1. GAR^NER-eD; adj. laid up; 5 4. Rife; ac?/. full; abounding. 

treasured. < 4. Dim^ples; n. small depres- 

3. Studs; n. knobs; buds. ? sions. 

3. Cleay'ing; adj. dividing. \ 4. A jibber; adj. yellow. 


Remark. — When reading poetry that rhymes, there should be a 
very slight pause after the words that are similar in sound, though 
the sense may not require it, as in the following example, where a 
slight pause may be made after the word rest, which would not be 
made, if it were prose instead of poetry. 

Sweet it is, at eve to rest 

On the flowery meadow's breast. 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say na-ter for nat-wre; creat-shure 
for creat-wre; ho for bough, (pro. bou); con-tin-y-ous for con-tin-M- 
ous; frag-rance for fra-grance. 

1. All day, the low-hung clouds have dropped 
Their garnered fullness down ; 
5th Rd. 12. 


All day, that soft, gray mist hath wrapt 

Hill, valley, grove, and town. 
There has not been a sound to-day, 

To break the calm of nature ; 
Nor motion, I might almost say, 

Of life or living creature ; 
Of waving """bough, or ''"warbling bird, 

Or cattle faintly """lowing; 
I could have half-believed I heard 

The leaves and blossoms growing. 

2. I stood to hear — I love it well — 

The rain's '""continuous sound ; 
Small drops, but thick and fast they foil, 

Down straight into the ground. 
For leafy thickness is not j^et 

Earth's nakod breast to'+screen. 
Though every dripping branch is set 

With shoots of tender green. 

3: Sure, since I looked, at early morn, 

Those """honeysuckle buds 
Have swelled to double growth ; that thorn 

Hath put forth larger studs. 
That lilac's cleaving """cones have burst. 

The milk-white flowers """reve^iling ; 
Even now upon my senses first, 

Methinks their sweets are stealing. 

4. The very earth, the steamy air, 

Are all with """fragrance rife ! 
And grace and beauty every-where 

Are bursting into life. 
Down, down they come, those """fruitful stores. 

Those earth -rejoicing drops! 
A """momentary """deluge pours. 

Then thins, decreases, stops. 
And ere the dimples on the stream 

Have circled out of sight, 
Lo ! from the west, a parting """gleam 

Breaks forth of amber light. 


Exercises . — What season is described in this lesson ? What is 
said concerning the rain? AVhat, concerning the appearance of the 
earth's surface? What is said of the trees and shrubs? What, of the 

At what pauses in this lesson is the rising inflection proper? 
Where, the falling inflection? 

In the fourth stanza, which are the adjectives? What does "rife" 
qualify? Parse "stores" and "drops." Which are the adverbs in 
the same stanza? Which are the verbs? Which of them are in the 
indicative mode? Which are in the present tense? Which, in a past 
tense? What interjection is there in this stanza? Why is the inter- 
jection so called? See Pinneo's Analytical Grammar, pag« 20, Art. 55. 


1. TEM'PER-eD; adj. softened. \ 4. Pa-vil''ion; n. a tent; here a 

3. E-the^re-al; adj. heavenly; ? kind of tower on the top of 

formed of ether. \ the castle. 

3. Se-ren''i-tt; n. calmness; qui- \ 4. Par'a-pet; n. a wall or eleva- 

etness. \ tion raised to keep off shot. 

3. Buot^'an-ct; n. (pro. bwoy-an- \ 5. Cas^ta-net; n. an instrument 

cj/), lightness. e of music made of hollowed 

3. En-chant^ment ; n. the use of \ ivory shells. 

spells or charms. \ 5. Cav-a-lier'; n. a gay military 

3. CoL-ON-NADES''; 71. rows of col- > ■ man; a knight. 

umns. < 6. Rev''er-ie; n. a loose, irregu- 

3. Ra''di-ance ; n. brightness. \ lar train of thought. 


The palace or castle called the Alhambra, consists of the remains 
of a very extensive and ancient pile of buildings in Spain, erected 
by the Moors when they were rulers of the country. 

Articulate distinctly. Do not say pro-duce for pro-ducerf; wich 
for w/tich ; wen for wAen ; per-fec-ly for per-fec^ly ; wiie-ness for 
w/iite-ness ; soun's for sounffa ; paFces for pal-a-ces. 

1. I HAVE giveii a picture of my '•"apartment on my 
first taking possession of it: a few evenings have pro- 
duced a thorough change in the scene and in my feel- 
ings. The moon, which then was invisible, has grad- 


ually gained upon the nights, and now rolls in full 
"•■splendor above the toAvers, pouring a flood of tempered 
light into every court and hall. The garden beneath 
nay window is gently lighted up; the orange and citi'on 
trees are tipped with silver; the fountain sparkles in the 
moonbeams ; and even the blush of the rose is faintly 

2. I have sat for hours at my window, ''"inhaling the 
sweetness of the garden, and musing on the +checkered 
features of those, whose history is dimly shadowed out 
in the elegant """memorials around. Sometimes, I have 
issued forth at midnight, when every thing was quiet, 
and have wandered over the whole building. Who can 
do justice to a moonlight night in such a climate, and in 
such a place ? 

3. The "'"temperature of an Andalusian midnight in 
summer, is perfectly ethereal. We seem lifted up into a 
purer atmosphere ; there is a serenity of soul, a buoy- 
ancy of spirits, an elasticity of frame, that render mere 
existence enjoyment. The effect of moonlight, too, on 
the Alhambra, has something like enchantment. Every 
rent and chasm of time, every """moldering tint and 
weather stain, disappears; the marble resumes its orig- 
inal whiteness; the long colonnades brighten in the 
moonbeams; the halls are illuminated with a softened 
radiance, until the whole "'edifice reminds one of the 
'""enchanted palace of an Arabian tale. 

4. At such a time, I have ascended to the little pavil- 
ion, called the queen's toilet, to enjoy its varied and 
extensive prospect. To the right, the snowy summits 
of the Sierra Nevada would gleam, like silver clouds, 
ae-ainst the darker firmament, and all the outlines of the 
mountain would be softened, yet delicately defined. My 
delight, however, would be to lean over the piu'apet of 
Tecador, and gaze down upon Grenada, spread out like 
a map below me; all buried in deep repose, and its white 
palaces and convents sleeping, as it were, in the moon- 

5. Sometimes, I would hear the faint sounds of cas- 
' tanets from some party of dancers lingering in the Ala- 


meda; at other times, I have heard the ''"dubioiis notes 
of a guitar, and the notes of a single voice rising from 
some ■''solitary street, and have pictured to myself some 
youthful cavalier, '•'serenading his lady's window; a gal- 
lant ■'"custom of former days, but now sadly on the de- 
cline, except in the "'"remote towns and villages of Spain. 
6. Such are the scenes that have detained me for 
many an hour loitering about the courts and balconies 
of the castle, enjoying that mixture of reverie and '''sen-, 
sation which steal away existence in a southern climate, 
and it has been almost morning before I have retired to 
my bed, and been '''lulled to sleep by the falling waters 
of the fountain of Lindaraxa, 

Exercises. — 'What and where is the Alhambra? Descrfbe the 
effect of moonlight upon its appearance. "Where are the mountains 
which are called Sierra Nevada? AVhere is Andalusia? What is 
the national instrument of the Spaniards? 


1. Wail''ing; adj. lamenting; 5 3. Glade; ji. an open place in the 

mourning. j forest. 

1. Sear; adj. dry; withered. \ 3. Glen; n. a valley; a dale. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say mel-un-chul-y for mel-ntn-chol-y ; 
lead-ers for mead-otos ; hol-luz for 1io1-1ot.<;5 ; beau-che-ous for beau- 
^A)us; up-limd for up-land; youih-fl for youth-fwl ; cole for colrf; 
mois for moisi; frien for frienc?; flow-uz for flo\v-e?-5. 

1. The ■'"melancholy days are come, 

The saddest of the year. 
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, 

Aiid ■'"nX^adows, brown and sear. 
Heaped in the hollows of the grove, 

The withered leaves lie dead; 
They rustle to the ''"eddying gust, 

And to the rabbit's tread. 
The robin and the wren have flown, 


And from the shrub the jay, 
And from the wood-top calls the crow 
Through all the gloomy day. 

2. Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, 

That lately sprang and stood 
In brighter light and softer airs, — 

A ■'"beauteous "•'sisterhood?^ 
Alas! they all are in their graves; 

The gentle race of flowers, 
Are lying in their lowly beds. 

With the fair and good of ours. 
The rain is falling where they lie. 

But the cold November rain 
Calls not from out the gloomy earth 

The lovely ones again. 

3. The wall-flower and the violet, 

They perished long ago, y^ 

And the brier-rose and the '•'orchis died 

Amid the summer's glow; 
But on the hill, the golden-rod, 

And the aster in the wood, 
And the yellow sunflower by the brook 

In autumn beauty stood. 
Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven. 

As falls the plague on men. 
And the brightness of their smile was gone 

From ■'"upland, glade, and glen. 

4. And now, when comes the calm, mild day. 

As still such days will come, 
To call the squirrel and the bee 

From out their winter home ; 
When the sound of drojDping nuts is heard, 

Thojjgh all the trees ai'e still. 
And ■''twinkle in the ''"smoky light 

The waters of the ■'rill, -— 
The south wind ■'"searches for the flowers 

Whose '""fragrance late he bore, 
And sighs to find them in the wood 

And by the stream no more. 


5. And then I think of one, who in 

Her youthful beauty died, 
The fair, meek ^blossom that grew up 

And +faded by my side ; 
In the cold, moist earth we laid her, 

When the forest cast the leaf, 
And we wept that one so lovely 

Should have a life so '''brief l_- 
Yet not '''unmeet it was that one, 

Like that young friend of ours, 
So gentle and so ''"beautiful,— 

Should '•■perish with the flowers. 

Exercises. — "What season of the year is described? 'What is 
said of the wind, and woods, and meadows? What animals are 
spoken of ? What flowers? To what does the last stanza refer? 


1. Req''ci-site ; n. {■pro. reh/wi-zii), { 4. Per-vert^ed; v. turned from 
that which is necessary. i right to wrong. 

3. Sc-PER-iN-Duc^eD; V. brought in p. In-vin^ci-ble ; adj. not to be 
as an addition. < overcome. 

3. Ac-Qui-si^TiONS ; n. qualities } 8. Crit^i-cism; n. the art of judg- 
obtained. ] ing with propriety. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say el-er-gunce for el-o-quence; 
in-val-ew-ble for in-val-i<-a-ble ; at-ti-toods nor at-ti-tshudes for at-ti- 
fwdes; or-it-uz for or-a-to?-s; in-tel-lect-ew-al for in-tel-Iect-w-al ; con- 
tin-ew-al for con-tin-w-al. 

Articulate each letter in the following words found in this 
lesson : Do not say mus for musi! ; leace for least ; faulce for faults ; 
sepra-ted for sep-a-ra-ted ; chile for c\\\\d ; presence for pre-sen!'5; 
nex for next; fi-nes for fi-nes<; per-fec for per-feci. 

1. The business of training our youth in '•'elocution, 
must be commenced in childhood. The first school is 


the nursery. There, at least, may be formed a distinct 
■•"articulation, which is the first requisite for good speak- 
ing. How rarely is it found in perfection among our 
orators ! 

2. Words, says one, referring to articulation, should 
"be delivered out from the lips, as beautiful coins, new- 
ly issued from the mint; deeply and accurately im- 
pressed, perfectly finished ; neatly struck by the proper 
oi'gans, distinct, in due ''"succession, and of due weight." 
How rarely do we hear a speaker whose tongue^, teeth^, 
and lips', do their office so perfectly as to answer to 
this beautiful description! And the common faults in 
articulation, it should be remembered, take their rise 
from the very nursery. But let us refer to other par- 

3. Grace in '''eloquence, in the pulpit, at the bar, can 
not be separated from grace in the ordinary manners, in 
private life, in the social circle, in the family. It can 
not well be superinduced upon all the other acquisitions 
of youth, any more than that nameless, but invaluable 
quality, called good breeding. You may, therefore, 
begin the work of forming the orator with your child ; 
not merely by teaching him to declaim, but what is of 
more '•"consequence, by observing and correcting his 
daily manners, motions, and attitudes. 

4. You can say, when he comes into your '""apartment, 
or presents you with something, a book or letter, in an 
awkward and blundering manner, "Return^, and enter 
this room again^," or, "Present me that book in a dif- 
ferent manner^," or, "Put yourself into a different atti- 
tude^." You can explain to him the difference between 
thrusting or pushing out his hand and arm, in straight 
lines and at acute angles, and moving them in flowing, 
■•"circular lines, and easy, graceful action. He will read- 
ily understand you. Nothing is more true than that 
"the motions of children are '•"originally graceful ;" and 
it is by suffering them to be perverted', that we lay the 
foundation for invincible '•'awkwardness in later life. 

5. We go, next, to the schools for children. It ought 
to be a leading object, in these schools, to teach the art 


of reading. It ought to occupy threefold more time than 
it does. The teachers of these schools should labor to 
improve themselves. They should feel, that to them, for 
a time, are committed the future '•"orators of the land. 

6. We Avould rather have a child, even of the other 
sex, return to us from school a first-rate reader, than a 
first-rate performer on the piano-forte. We should feel 
that Ave had a far better pledge for the ''"intelligence and 
talent^ of our child. The accomplishment, in its per- 
fection, would give more pleasure. The voice of song is 
not sweeter than the voice of eloquence; and there may 
be eloquent readers", as well as eloquent speakers^. 

7. We speak o? perfection"^ in this art : and it is some- 
thing, we must say in defense of our preference, which 
we have never yet seen. Let the same pains be devoted 
to reading, as are required to form an accomplished per- 
former on an instrument; let us have, as the ancients 
had, the formers of the voice, the music-masters o*f the 
reading voice; let us see years devoted to this accom- 
plishment, and then we should be prepared to stand the 

8. It is, indeed, a most '•"intellectual accomplishment. 
So is music, too, in its perfection. We do by no means 
'•'undervalue this noble and most delightful art, to Avhich 
Socrates applied himself, even in his old age. But one 
'•'recommendation of the art of reading is, that it requires 
a constant exercise of mind. It involves in its perfec- 
tion, the whole art of criticism on language. A man 
may possess a fine genius without being a jDcrfect reader; 
but he can not be a perfect reader without genius. 

Exercises. — When must the business of training in elocution 
be commenced? What excellent comparison is employed to illustrate 
a good articulation? What is the relative importance of good read- 
ing? How does the power of reading with perfection compare with 
the power of excellent musical performance? 

Explain the inflections marked in this lesson. 

In the first sentence which word is the subject? Which words are 
in the objective case? Which are the prepositions? In the last sen- 
tence, which words are in the objective case? Which are the verbs, 
and in what mode are they? Which are the modes? See Pinneo'a 
Analytical Grammar, page 64, Art. 154. 
5th Rd. 13. 



1. ARtHi-TECTS; n. (pro. arVe- '' 5. Con^dor; n. a large bird. 

tects), builders; mak-^rs. ] 6. Em-ptr''e-al ; adj. relating to 

1. Des''ti-nies; n. ultimate fate; \ the highest and purest region 

appointed condition. ? of the heavens. 

2. Me-di-oc'ri-ty; n. a middle s 6. Ca-reer'ing; arf/. moving rap- 

state, or degree of talents. ' idly. 
2. Me''di-o-cre; n. (pro. me^di-o- > 6. ProW'ess; n. bravery; bold- 

ker), a man of moderate \ ness. 

talents. \ 6. A-chieve''jients; n. something 

4. Fi''at ; n. a decree. > accomplished by exertion. 


Utter each sound distinctly. Do not say cKrac-ter for char- 
ac-ter; difrcnt for dif-fer-ent; op site for op-po-site; emnunce for 
era-t-nence; in-vigra-ted for in-vig-o-rat-ed ; vigrous for vig-or-ous. 

1. The "•"education, moral and '•'intellectual, of every 
individual, must be, chiefly, his o-wn work. Rely upon 
it, that the ancients were right; both in morals and 
intellect, we give the final shape to our characters, and 
thus become, '''emphatically, the architects of our OAvn 
fortune. How else could it hap])en, that 3^oung men, 
who have had ''"precisely the same opportunities, should 
be continually presenting us with such different results, 
and rushing to such opposite destinies? 

2. Difference of talent will not solve it, because that 
difference is very often in favor of the disappointed can- 
didate. You will see issuing from the walls of the same 
college, nay, sometimes from tha bosom of the same 
family, two young men, of whom one will be admitted 
to be a genius of high order, the other scarcely above 
the point of mediocrity; yet j^ou will see the genius 
sinking and perishing in poverty, '•'obscurity, and 
wretchedness; while, on the other hand, you will ob- 
serve the mediocre plodding his slow but sure way up 
the hill of life, gaining steadfast footing at every step, 


and mounting, at length, to '•'eminence and distinction, 
an ornament to his family, a blessing to his country. 

3. Now, whose work is this? ''"Manifestly their own. 
They are the architects of their respective fortunes. 
The best seminary of learning that can open its portals 
to you, can do no more than to afford you the '•'oppor- 
tunity of instruction: but it must depend, at last, on 
yourselves, whether you will be instructed or not, or to 
what point you will push your '''instruction. 

4. And of this be assured, I speak from '•'observation 
a certain truth : there is no excellence without great 
LABOR. It is the fiat of fate, from which no j)Ower of 
genius can absolve you. 

5. Genius, unexerted, is like the poor moth that flut- 
ters around a candle, till it scorches itself to death. If 
genius be desirable at alP, it is only of that great and 
■•"magnanimous kind, which, like the condor of South 
America, pitches from the summit of '•"Chimborazo, above 
the clouds, and sustains itself at pleasure, in that em- 
pyreal region, with an energy rather '•'invigorated than 
weakened by the effort^. 

6. It is this capacity for high and long-continued 
exertion^, this '•'vigorous power of profound and search- 
ing '•'investigation^, this careering and wide-spreading 
■•'comprehension of mind^, and these long '•'reaches of 
thought, that 

" Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon. 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
And drag up drowned honor by the locks''; " 

this is the prowess*^, and these the hardy achievements, 
which are to enroll your names among the great men 
of the earth. 

Exercises . — 'Whose work is the education of every man? "What 
did the ancients say upon this point? By what reasoning does the 
writer prove this to be the case? What, then, is required to secure 

• Explain the inflections marked in this lesson. 




1. In-ex^o-ra-ble ; adj. that can 
not be made to bend. 

1. Des'pot-ism ; n. absolute, un- 
controlled power. 

1, Per-pe-tu'i-ty ; n. continued, 
uninterrupted existence. 

3. A-LOOF^; aiiv. at a distance. 

3. VoR^TEx; n. a -whii'ling motion 

of water; a whirlpool. 

4. Suf'frage; n. vot.e given in 

choosing men for office. 

5. Fore-bodying; n. a foretell- 

5. Found''er-ing; n. being filled 
with water and sinking. 

6. Har''bin-ger ; n. that which 

precedes and gives notice 
beforehand of any thing. 

7. Re-verse''; v. to turn to the 


7. A-nal''o-gt; n. resemblance 

between things. 

8. Im^mi-nence; n. a hanging 

10. Spasms ; n. 1 violent 

10. CoN-vuL''siONS ; n. \ and ir- 
regular contraction of the 
muscles of the body. 
10. Ex-tort''; v, to wring or force 
out of. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say ed-dy-cate nor ej-ju-cate for 
ed-M-cace; spiles for spoils; vic-tcr-y for vic-to-ry; pop-py-la-iion 
for pop-M-la-tion ; man-y-fac-ters for man-w.-fact-t(res ; ag-ri-cul-ter 
nor ag-ri-cul-tshure for ag-ri cult-wre; prov-i-dunce for prov-i-dence ; 
ub-an-don for a-ban-don; prov-er-ca-tion for prov-o-ca-tion ; spas-ums 
for spasms. 

1. We must +educate^! We must educate^! or we 
must perish by our own prosperity^. If we do not', 
short will be our race from the cradle to the grave. If, 
in our haste to be rich and mighty', Ave outrun our lite- 
rary and religious institutions, they will never overtake 
us ; or only come up after the battle of liberty is fought 
and lost, as spoils to '•'grace the victor}^, and as '•■re- 
sources of inexorable despotism for the perpetuity of 
our bondage. 

2. But what will become of the West, if her pros- 
perity rushes uj^ to such a majesty of power, while those 
great '•'institutions linger which are necessary to form 
the mind, and the '•conscience, and the heart of the vast 


world? It must not be permitted. And yet what is 
done must be done quickly, for population will not wait^ 
and '•'coia^imerce will not cast anchor^, and manufactures 
will not shut off the steam ^, nor shut down the gate, 
and agriculture, pushed by millions of freemen on their 
fertile soil, will not withhold her corrupting abund- 

3. And let no man at the East quiet himself, and 
dream of liberty, whatever may become of the "West. 
Our ■'"alliance of Hood, and political institutions, and 
common interests, is such, that we can not stand aloof 
in the hour of her calamity, should it ever come. Her^ 
destiny is ouf^ destiny; and the day that her gallant 
ship goes down, our little boat sinks in the vortex! 

4. The great experiment is now making, and from its 
extent and rapid filling up, is making in the West, 
whether the perpetuity of our republican institutions 
can be "'"reconciled with universal suffrage. Without 
the education of the TieacV^ and heart^ of the nation, 
they can not be; and the question to be decided is, 
can the nation, or the vast balance power of it, be so 
imbued with intelligence and virtue as to bring out, 
in laws and their administration, a perpetual self-pre- 
serving energy. We know that the work is a vast one, 
and of great difficulty; and yet we believe it can be 

5. I am aware that our ablest patriots are looking out 
on the deep, vexed with storms, with great forebodings 
and failings of heart, for fear of the things that are com- 
ing upon us; and I perceive a spirit of ''"impatience 
rising, and distrust in respect to the perjjetuity of our 
republic; and I am sure that these fears are well found- 
ed, and am glad that they exist. It is the star of hope 
in our dark ''"horizon. Fear is what we need, as the ship 
needs wind on a rocking sea, after a storm, to prevent 
foundering. But when our fear and our efforts shall 
■•"correspond with our danger, the danger is past. 

6. For it is not the impossibility of self-preservation 
which threatens' us; nor is it the unwillingness of the 
nation to pay the price of the preservation"^ as she has 


paid the price of the purchase^ of our liberties. It is 
inattention and incojisideirttion, protracted till the crisis is 
past, and the things which belong to our peace are hid 
from our eyes. And blessed be God, that the tokens of 
a national waking up, the harbinger of God's mex'cy, are 
multiplying upon us ! 

7. We did not, in the darkest hour, believe that God 
had brought our fathers to this goodly land to lay the 
foundation of religious liberty, and wrought such won- 
ders in their preservation, and raised their descendants 
to such heights of civil and religious liberty, only to re- 
verse the analogy of his ■*'j)rovidence, and abandon his 

8. And though there now be clouds, and the sea 
roaring, and men's hearts failing, we believe there is 
light behind the cloud, and that the imminence of our 
danger is intended, under the guidance of Heaven, to 
call forth and apply a holy, ''"fraternal fellowship be- 
tween the East and the West, which shall secure our 
preservation, and make the "•'prosperity of our nation 
durable as time, and as abundant as the waves of the sea. 

^9. I would add, as a motive to immediate action, that, 
if we do fail in our great '''experiment of self-govern- 
ment, our destruction will be as signal as the birthright 
abandoned, the mercies abused, and the ■''provocation 
offered to beneficent Heaven. The descent of desolation 
will correspond with the past elevation. 

10. No punishments of Heaven are so severe as those 
for mercies abused^ ; and no instrumentality employed 
in their infliction is so dreadful as the wrath of man^. 
No spasms are like the spasms of expiring liberty, and 
no "'"wailing such as her convulsions extort. 

11. It took Eome three hundred years to die^; and 
our death, if we perish, will be as much more terrific, 
as our intelligence and free institutions have given us 
more bone, sinew, and vitality. May God hide from me 
the day when the dying agonies of my country shall 
begin^! O, thou beloved land', bound together b}^ the 
ties of brotherhood', and common interest', and perils'! 
live forever — one and undivided^ ! 


Exercises. — Why is education so necessary in this country? 
Can the nation continue free, without the influence of education and 
religion? Why should we regard the prospects of this nation with 
fear? What can be the advantage of a spirit of fear? Why may 
we trust that God will not abandon our nation to ruin? What will 
insure her destruction ? What is said of the greatness of such a 
destruction? What are the most dreadful punishments that Heaven 
can inflict upon a nation? How would our destruction compare witli 
that of Rome ? 

Give the reasons for the inflections marked in the 2d paragi-aph. 
(The principle of negative sentences prevails in this sentence.) 

In what mode, tense, number, and person, is "must educate," in 
the first sentence? In tlie 3d paragraph, for what noun does the 
pronoun "Aer" stand? Parse the last word in the lesson- 


2. O'ntx; n. a gem partly trans- I 2. Cok'al; n. a kind of animal 
parent. ^ and its shell, [lowish color. 

2. Sap^'phiee; n. (pro. mf'ftr)^ \ 2. To^paz; n. a gem of a yel- 
a precious stone, blue, red, \ 5. Ad-just'ed; v. settled; reduced 
violet, &c. S to a right standard. 

2. Crys^tal; n. a regular solid j 5. Pke-scrib'cd; v. laid down as 
of any miueraL < rules. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say pur-chisd for pur-chas'd; 
Jules for jew-els; co-rul for cov-al; dis-truc-tion for de-struc-tion. 

1. Where shall "''wisdom be found^? 

And where is the place of ''"understanding^ ? 

Man knoweth not the price thereof; 

Nor can it be found in the land of the living. 

2. The deep saith^, It is not with me^; 
And the sea saith'. It is not with me^. 
It can not be gotten for gold, 

Nor shall silver be weighed out as the price thereof. 
It can not be '•'^iurchased with the gold of Ophir, 


With the precious onyx, or the sapphire. 

Gold and crystal are not to be compared with it; 

Nor can it be purchased with jewels of fine gold, 

No mention shall be made of coral, or of pearls, 

For wisdom is more precious than rubies. 

The topaz of Ethiopia can not equal it; 

Nor can it be purchased with the purest gold. 

3. Whence, then, cometli"^ wisdom? 

And where zs^ the place of 'understanding? 
Since it is hidden from the eyes of all the living, 
And kept close from the fowls of the air? 

4. ■'"Destruction and Death say, 

We have heard of its fame with our ears. 

God only knoweth the way to it ; 

He only knoweth its dwelling-place. 

For he seeth to the ends of the earth. 

And ■'"surveyeth all things under the whole heaven. 

5. AVhen he gave the winds their weighf^. 
And adjusted the waters by measure^; 
When he prescribed laws to the rain^, 

And a path to the ''"glittering ^thunder-bolt"; 

Then did he see it, and make it known^ : 

He ■'"established it, and '"searched it out: 

But he said unto man. 

Behold! the fear of the Lord^, that is thy wisdom, 

And to ■'"depart from "'"evil, thy understanding. 

Exercises. — Where is Ethiopia? AVhat is true wisdom? Can 
it be purchased ? Where can it be obtained ? 


Their shouts now trehlij swell d the gale. The trellis was cov- 
ered with trailers. The trustle was trundld in. The shout of 
triumph and the trump of fame. 



1. Mod-i-fi-ca'tion; ??. aparticu- < 5. Vi'tais; w. parts of the body 
lar form or manner. ? necessai'y to life. 

1. Av^e-nue; n. an entrance. s 8. Hec^tic; adj. habitual; con- 

2. In''va-lid; n. a person who is < stitutional. 

sick. 5 9. Par''ox-tsms; n. severe turns 

4. Fr anoxic; adj. characterized < or fits. 

by violence and fury. > 9. E-vinc'cd; v. made evident. 

5. E-merg'pd; v. reappeared; s 11. Ghast''ly; adj. death-like; 

came out of. \ 14. Wail; n. loud weeping, [pale. 


Remark. — Take care not to let the voice grow weaker and 
weaker, as you approach the end of the sentence. 

Articulate correctly Do not say full-es for full-e^^; s^if-rin 
for suffering; sur-es forsur-es<; un-feel-\n for w\-ie^\-\ng ; fren a 
for frient/s; beau-tiji'y for beau-ti-fwl-ly ; ga-zin for gazmg ; vi-er- 
liis for vi-o-lets; ag er-ni zing for ag-o-niz-ing ; /ea-ters nor /ea-ishures 
for feat-wrea. 

1. There was one modification of her hnsband'a 
■•■persecutions, which the fullest measure of Jane Hai*- 
wood's piety could not enable her to bear unmoved. 
This was iinkindness to her feeble and suffering bov. 
It was at first commenced as the surest mode of ''"dis- 
tressing her. It opened a direct avenue to her heart. 

2. What began in '•'perverseness, seemed to end in 
hatred, as evil habits sometimes create ''"perverted ''"prin- 
ciples. The wasted invalid shrunk from his father's 
glance and footstep, as from the approach of a foe. 
More than once had he taken him from the little bed 
which maternal care had provided for him, and forced 
him to go forth in the cold of the winter storm. 

3. "I mean to harden him," said he. "All the 
■•"neighbors know that j^ou make such a fool of him, that 
he will never be able to get a living. For my part, I 
wish I had never been called to the trial of supporting a 


useless boy, who pretends to be sick only that he may 
be '•"coaxed by a silly mother." 

4. On such occasions, it was in vain that the mother 
attempted to protect her child. She could neither 
shelter him in her bosom, nor conti'ol the frantic vio- 
lence of the father. Harshness, and the agitation of 
fear, deepened a disease which" might else have yielded. 
The timid boy, in terror of his natural """protector, with- 
ered away like a """blighted flower. It was of no avail 
that friends "'"remonstrated' with the unfeeling parent, or 
that hoary-headed men warned him "'"solemnly of his 
sins. Intemperance had destroyed his resjDect for man, 
and his fear of God. 

5. Spring at length emerged from the shades of that 
heavy and bitter winter. But its smile brought no glad- 
ness to the declining child. "'"Consumption fed upon his 
vitals, and his nights were full of pain. 

6. "Mother, I wish I could smell the violets that 
grew upon the green bank by our dear old home." "It 
is too early for violets, my child. But the grass is beau- 
tifully green around us, and the birds sing sweetly, as if 
their hearts were full of praise." 

7. " In my dreams last night, I saw the clear waters 
of the brook that ran by the bottom of my little garden. 
I wish I could taste them once more. And I heard such 
music, too, as used to come from that white church 
among the trees, where every Sunday the happy people 
meet to worship God. 

' 8. The mother knew that the hectic fever had been 
long increasing, and saw there was such an unearthly 
brightness in his eye, that she feared his """intellect wan- 
dered. She seated herself on his low bed, and bent over 
him to soothe and compose him. He lay silent for some 

9. "Do you think my father will come?" Dreading 
the ■'"agonizing "♦"agitation which, in his paroxysms of 
coughing and pain, he evinced at the sound of his 
father's well-known footstep, she answered "I think 
not, love. You had better try to sleep." 

10. "Mother, I wish he would come. I do not feel 


afraid now. Perhaps he would let me lay my cheek to 
his once more, as he used to do when I was a babe in 
my grandmother's arms. 1 should be glad to say good- 
by to him before I go to my Savior." 

11. Gazing "•'intently in his face, she saw the work of 
the destroyer, in lines too plain to be mistaken. "My 
son, my dear son, say. Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." 
"Mother," he replied, with a sweet smile upon his ghast- 
ly- features, "he is ready. I desire to go to him. Hold 
the baby to me, that I may kiss her. That is all. 
Now sing to me, and O! wrap me close in your arms, 
for I shiver with cold." 

12. He clung, with a death grasp, to that bosom 
which had long been his sole earthly "•'refuge. "Sing 
louder, dear mother, a little louder, I can not hear you." 
A tremulous tone, as of a broken harp, rose above her 
grief, to comfort the dying child. One sigh of icy 
breath was upon her cheek, as she joined it to his: one 
shudder, and all was over. 

13. She held the body long in her arms, as if fondly 
hoping to warm and restore it to life with her breath. 
Then she stretched it upon his bed, and kneeling beside 
it, hid her face in that grief which none but mothers 
feel. It was a deep and sacred "•'solitude, alone with the 
dead. Nothing save the soft breathing of the sleeping 
babe fell upon that solemn pause. 

14. Then the silence was broken by a wail of piercing 
sorrow. It ceased, and a voice arose, a voice of '•'sup- 
plication for strength to endure, as of one "seeing Him 
who is invisible." Faith closed what was begun in 
weakness. It became a prayer of thanksgiving to Him 
who had released the dove-like spirit from the prison- 
house of pain, that it might taste the peace and mingle 
in the melody of heaven. 

Exercises . — What is the subject of this piece ? How did the 
man treat his child? What effect was, in this waj', produced on the 
health of the child ? Can you describe the scene of the death-bed ? 
What did the child dream about? What did he wish to say to his 



2. E-ma'ci-a-ted ; adj. thin; re- \ 10. In-di-ca''tions ; n. tokens; 
duced in flesh. \ signs. 

2. Sway; n. power; influence. \ 10. Tran'sient; adj. of short du- 

3. Se-clud^ed; arf/. retired; lone- | ration. 

^y- I 11. Chas'ten-cd; (pro. cha^snd), 

4. Mod'u-la-ted; v. adapted to «rfj. afflicted for correction. 

the expression of feeling; n. Do-min'ion; n. controlling 
varied. < influence. 


Remark. — While each pupil reads, let the rest observe, and then 
mention which syllables are pronounced incorrectly, and which omit- 
ted or indistinctly sounded. 

Articulate distinctly. Do not say shi-nin for shin-in^ ; al-mnce 
for al mos<; meniries for niem-o-ries; heal-in for heal-in^^'; ole-es 
for olrfes<; revrent-hj for rev-<'r-ent-ly; ivitHrin for withering' ; 
slcct-cd for se-lect-ed; fune-ral for fu-ncr-al ; pcr-mnent for per-iua- 
nent ; in-(rest-cd for in-tf r-est-ed. 

1. She arose from her supplication, and bent calmly 
over the dead. The thin, placid features wore a smile, 
as when he had spoken of Jesus. She ''"composed the 
shining locks around the pure forehead, and gazed long 
on what was to her so beautiful. Tears had vanished 
from her ej^es, and in their stead was an expi'ession 
almost sublime, as of one who had given an angel back 
to God. 

2. The father entered ''"carelessly. She pointed to the 
pallid, '•"immovable brow. "See, he suflPers no longer." 
lie drew near, and looked on the dead with surprise 
and sadness. A few natural tears forced their way, and 
fell on the face of the first-born, who was once his pride. 
The memories of that moment were bitter. He spoke 
tenderly to the emaciated mother; and she, who a short 
time before was raised above the sway of grief, wept 
like an infant, as those few ''"affectionate tones touched 
the sealed fountains of other years. 


3. Neighbors and friends visited them, desirous to 
console their sorrow, and attended them when they com- 
mitted the body to the earth. There was a shady and 
secluded spot, Avhich they had ''"consecrated by the 
burial of their few dead. Thither that whole little 
colony were gathered, and, seated on the fresh grass, 
listened to the holy, healing words of the ''"inspired 

4. It was read by the oldest man in the colony, whe 
had himself often mourned. As he bent reverently over 
the sacred page, there was that on his brow, which 
seemed to say, "This has been my comfort in my afflic- 
tion." Silver hairs thinly covered his temples, and his 
low voice was modulated by feeling, as he read of the 
■•"frailty of man, withering like the flower of the grass, 
before it groweth up; and of His majesty, in whose sight 
" a thousand years are as yesterday when it is past, and 
as a watch in the night." 

5. He selected from the words of that compassionate 
One, who "gathereth the lambs with his arm, and car- 
rieth them in his bosom," who, pointing out as an exam- 
ple the humility of little children, said, "Except ye be- 
come as one of these, ye can not enter the kingdom of 
heaven," and who calleth all the weary and heavy laden 
to come unto Him that He may give them rest. 

6. The scene called forth '•"sj^mpathy, even from 
manly bosoms. The mother, worn with watching and 
weariness, bowed her head down to the clay which con- 
cealed her child. And it was observed with gz-atitude 
by that friendly group, that the husband supported her 
in his arms, and mingled his tears with hers. 

7. He returned from the funeral in much mental dis- 
tress. His sins were brought to remembrance, and re- 
flection was misery. For many nights, sleep was dis- 
turbed by visions of his neglected boy. Sometimes he 
imagined that he heard him coughing from his low bed, 
and felt "'"constrained to go to him, in a strange disposi- 
tion of kindness, but his limbs were unable to obey the 
dictates of his will. 

8. Conscience haunted him with terrors, and many 


prayers from pious hearts arose, that he might now b© 
led to repentance. The "•'venerable man who had read 
the Bible at the burial of his boy, counseled and en- 
treated him, with the earnestness of a father, to yield to 
the warning voice, and to "break off his sins by '^right- 
eousness, and his iniquities by turning unto the Lord." 

9. There was a change in his habits and conversa- 
tion, and his friends trusted it would be ■'"permanent. 
She, who, above all others, was interested in the result, 
spared no ^exertion to win him back to the way of 
truth, and soothe his heart into peace with itself, and 
obedience to his Maker. 

10. Yet was she doomed to witness the full force of 
grief, and of remorse for intemperance, only to see them 
utterly ''"overthrown at last. The reviving virtue, with 
whose indications she had ''"solaced herself, and even 
given thanks that her beloved son had not died in vain, 
was transient as the morning dew. 

11. Habits of industry, which had begun to spring up, 
proved themselves to be without root. The dead, and 
his cruelty to the dead, were alike forgotten. ''"Disaffec- 
tion to the chastened being, who against hope still 
hoped for his ''"salvation, ''"resumed its dominion. 

12. The friends Avho had ''"alternately reproved and 
encouraged him, were soon convinced their efforts had 
been of no avail. Intemperance, "like the strong man 
armed," took possession of a soul that lifted no cry to 
God, and '""girded on no weapon to resist the destroyer. 

Exercises. — What eflFect was produced upon the father by the 
death of his child? What were his friends disposed to hope? How 
did intemperance take possession of him? Why was he unsuccess- 
ful, do you suppose, in his resistance to intemperate habits ? 

Explain the inflections proper in the first three paragraphs. 


Truly he is tmsty and thrifty. The brute was with difficulty 
throttl'd. Through the storm and danger s thrall. He has nianj 
cents and but little sense. The prince bought some prints. 



1. Ra'di-ant; adj. beaming with > 2. Hues; n. colors. 

brightness. s 3. Ru'by; n. a precious stone of 

2. Date; n. the fruit of a tree I a red color. 

which grows in warm coun- > 3. Di''a-mond; n. a precious stone 

tries. s of the most valuable kind. 

2. Fra''grant; adj. sweet smell-? 3. Cor''al; n. a kind of sea-animal 

ing. \ (here used as an adjective). 

2. Per-fume''; v. to fill with pleas- ? 3. Strand; n. a shore or beach of 

ant smells. > the sea. 


Remark. — In reading, be careful not to join the final consonant 
of one word to the vowel of the next word, as in the following lines: 

Lou das his thunder shou tis praise 
And soun dit lofty as his throne. 

Pronounce correctly and articulate distinctly. Do not say 
chil-ren nor chil-durn for chil-r/ren ; featKry for feath-er-y ; glUrin 
for glit-ter-ing. 

1. "I HEAR thee speak of the better land; 
Thou call'st its children a happy band; 
Mother^! O, where is^ that radiant shore? 
Shall we not seek it and weep no more^? 
Is it where the flower of the orange ''"blows, 

And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs? " 
"Not thex-e, not there, my child!" 

2. "Is it where the ''"feathery palm-trees rise^, 
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies^? 
Or 'mid the green islands of ''"glittering seas'", 
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze^, 
And strange, bright birds, on their starry wings, 
Bear the rich hues of all """glorious things'*?" 

"Not there, not there, my child! " 

3. "Is it far away in some '•"region old. 
Where the rivers ''"wander o'er sands of gold. 


"Where the burning i^ays of the ruby shine, 
And the diamond lights up the """secret mine, 
And the pearl """gleams forth from the coral strand? 
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land''?" 
"Not there, not there, my child!" 

4. "Eye hath not seen^ it, my gentle boy! 
Ear hath not heard^ its deep sounds of joy; 
Dreams can not """picture a world so fair; 
Sorrow and death may not enter there^ ; 
Time doth not breathe on its "'fadeless bloom, 
Beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb; 

It is there^, it is there^, my child^ ! " 

Exercises. — What climate produces the myrtle, palm, and date? 
Why is the palm-tree called feathery? Whei'e is that "better land," 
spoken of in the lesson? 

What inflection should be used at the word "child," in the last 
line of the first stanza? AVhat inflection at the same word when 
repeated in the other three stanzas? Give rules for the other inflec- 

dTf^f-'-^m,^ XLVII. 

1. Ail'ment; n. disease. '> 8. Oc'r-LAR; arf/. by the eye. 

1. TEN''DER-eD; V. offered. s 8. Nui'sance; n. something of- 

2. Stren''u-ous-ly ; adv. strongly. \ fensive. 

3. Ve''he-mence; n. violence. ) 9. Cha-grin'; n. vexation. 

3. Men''ace; n. threat. \ 9. Port-man''teau; n. a valise. 

4. Mo-rose'ly; adv. peevishly. > 9. E-ma^ci-at-ed ; adj. wasted. 

5. A-vid'i-ty; n. eagerness. iq. Sa-tir^ic-al ; adj. bitter in 

6. Aii-TER-cA''TiON ; n. dispute. \ language. 


Pronounck correctly. Do not say bruth-uz for broth-er^ ; fort- 
nithj for fort-w-nate-ly ; up-pear-unce for ap-pear-ance; deVkit for 
del-2-cate; ob-vous-ly for ob-vt-ous-ly ; tre-men-du-ous for tre-men- 

1. Two gentlemen, brothers, called at the office to 
take seats for the following morning, in the Kilkenny 


coach ; there were fortunately two inside places "•'vacant. 
The elder brother was, from his appearance, '•'obviously 
suffering under some ''"oppressive ailment, and the other, 
in rather a delicate state of health. Between the two 
there happened to be not more cash than was sufficient 
to pay for one passenger; the second brother said he 
would bring the fare with him in the morning and went 
away. In a short time after, another person came into 
the office, asked for a seat in the coach, tendered his 
money, ''"insisted on the strict rules being observed, and 
was booked accordingly. 

2. The next morning, an hour before day, the broth- 
ers arrived. The '''invalid got in, and the other, putting 
down his fare was told that the place was filled by one 
who had paid his money, and who threatened that if 
refused his place, he would hire a chaise for the whole 
journey t-o Dublin, at the expense of the coach '•'i^ropri- 
etors. The young man looked into the coach, and find- 
ing all seats occupied, begged, and was strenuously 
supported by his brother, to be admitted, even for a 
stage or two, as he was not in good health, and the rain 
poured down in a tremendous ''"deluge. 

3. The rest of the coach company seemed to yield, 
but the stiff gentleman was contrary, as will sometimes 
happen, and with his former menace silenced the agent, 
(who was leaning to the side of mercy), and insisted 
with increased vehemence, that the rules of the office 
should be observed. 

4. The strict person was owner of a great flour-mill ; 
he was any thing but a "^jolly miller, but adhered liter- 
ally and morosely to the principle of "caring for no- 
body," not because "nobody cared for him," but because 
it was the habit of his life to make every liberal thought 
and kind intention, which accidentally arose in his mind, 
like worldly charity, to begin at home, and center in 

5. He was wrapped up in his milling '''operations, 
and eyed his bags of flour with the same avidity as a 
miser would those of his gold. He was that sort of self- 
ish and self-sufficient person, that would not take any 

5th Rd. 14. 


modei'ate boot between the prime minister and himself, 
and thought the ^machinery of the state of little import- 
ance, compared with that of his own mill. He ordered 
the coachman to get forward, with some further menace 
if he did not. 

6. The young man, after a little altercation, took his 
seat beside the guard, and the coachman drove off. It 
was still dark; the rain was intense, the voices ceased, 
and the invalid, if a gentle snore was any '"indication, 
had fallen asleep. 

7. As the coach was passing through Fox-and-Geese 
Common, a barking cur assailed the horses, and was 
apparently ^responded to by a low growl from the 
■•"interior of the "'"vehicle. "Is there a dog in the coach ? " 
asked the miller, for it was yet pitch dark. Those who 
were awake said they could not tell : the invalid breathed 
hard and snored ; in a few minutes the growl was heard 
again, advancing to a sharper snarl. "Have you got a 
dog in the coach?" asked the miller: "it is contrary to 
all rule; the agent is at fault, and shall be fined; it shall 
be looked to when the coach stops." 

8. A renewed snarl and a few chopping barks from 
the opposite seat where the invalid was placed, made 
the miller certain that the dog belonged to him, and lay 
behind his legs. Not wishing, however, to put out his 
hand, or even his foot, to make the trial, he waited for 
daylight "'"impatiently, and one or two succeeding growls 
from the same quarter confirmed him in this "'"sui'mise. 
At length a tedious dawn gave way to the slowly in- 
creasing light of a gloomy morning. The miller had his 
eye fixed upon the spot, and as objects became less "'"en- 
veloped in shade, he chuckled at having ocular proof of 
the nuisance which he determined to complain of and 
get rid of at the next stage. 

9. There lay the dog, as he conceived, behind his 
master's legs. But what was his disappointment and 
chagrin, when through the breaking clouds, a strong 
gleam of light fell not upon — the dog of his "'"imagina- 
tion — but on a small portmanteau belonging to the 
invalid, who at the sudden burst of light which had 


siirprised and disappointed the miller, opened his eyes, 
keen, sharp, and '"penetrating, but sunk deep in a pale 
and emaciated countenance. 

10. "You have been asleep," said the miller. "Have 
I?" was the reply. "Have you a dog in the coach?" 
"No." "Did you not hear any growling or snarling in 
the coach?" "I did at setting off.'' "From what quarter 
did you hear it?" "From yourself, growling about 
strict rules." "You arc satirical, but we have heard a 
dog in the coach, and it shall not remain; you were 
asleep." "So you say." "You snored in your sleep." 
"May be so." "Do you ever growl, or snarl, or bark in 
your sleep?" "It is not improbable; I have not been 
very well; but Doctor Middleton tells me I am cured." 

11. "Do you say Middleton? that's the mad doctor." 
"He's a very good doctor, and I'll thank him the long- 
est day I live." The miller in some little alarm, asked 
in a milder tone, "Were you in the house?" "I was, 
for three months, and he "♦"performed a great cure for 
me." "May I ask," said the now ''"subdued miller, 
"what was the nature of your """malady?" "Why, if 
you must know," replied the invalid, "it was neither 
more nor less than the bite of a mad dog." 

12. "Save us," said the miller; "and did the doctor 
effect a perfect cure?" "He did, and sent me out yes- 
terday, to return to my native air, saying* that the 
trifling ''"symptom of snarling like a dog, which, per- 
haps, may have """annoyed you in my sleep, will grad- 
ually wear away, and does not signify, as I have done 
no mischief for the last month, and he was sure that 
going back to my family .would quiet my mind and set 
all right." 

13. The miller's countenance now ''"exhibited a strono- 
■•"expression of terror; he looked """wistfully out of the 
windoAV, and lamented the teeming rain which pre- 
vented him from enjoying a seat outside. At this 
moment, the invalid was affected by a ''"tremendous fit 
of snai'ling and barking, resembling so perfectly the 
canine expression of the most furious ''"irritation, that 
the miller under the strongest expression of alarm, was 


about to get out of the coach, when the invalid, seizing 
him by his coat, ginnned at him, and e>:hibited a set of 
deformed teeth, barking ''"vehemently for some minutes, 
and then subsiding into a perfect calm, entreated the 
terrified miller not to be in the least alarmed, that it 
was all over, and that he might depend on there being 
no danger whatever. 

14. By this time the coach had arrived at Black 
Church. The rain Avas rather heavier and more ''"per- 
pendicular in its '^'descent. During the change of horses, 
the feverish miller called for a glass of spring water, 
which, when presented to him at the carriage windoAV, 
was instantly dashed to pieces by the sufferer, who 
recommenced the most terrific barkings and snarlings, 
accompanied by grinnings and ''"gestures the most fright- 
ful, throuo-h all of which he roared to the miller to be 
under no alarm, that it would not signify, that Doctor 
Middleton had told him so, that he had bitten no one for 
six weeks, and that he would be quiet again in a few 

15. But the trembling miller, determined not to trust 
him. Doctor Middleton, or the nature of his ''disorder, 
jumped out of the coach, called for a chaise, and posted 
on alone. As he drove off, the invalid putting his head 
out of the window, invited his brother into the vacant 
seat, which he enjoyed for the remainder of a ''"drench- 
ing da}^, to the mirth of the passengers, (previously 
made acquainted Avith the trick,) and to the still further 
■•"annoyance of the miller, whom they passed on the 
road, and who was saluted by both brothers Avith a 
familiar nod of ''"humorous sarcasm, and an exclamation 
from both: "You should observe strict rules." 

Exercise s. — Relate the occurrence here described. 
What is the subject of the last sentence, " You should observe strict 
rjiles?' What is the attribute? 

The leaves sivell and spread in all directions. No spraioling nor 
drawling. Scruples of delicacy caused him to shrink. The death 
shroud fell upou the shrine of his idolatry. 



1. Trow; v. suppose; think. ^ o t . ^ / -i i j u 

^ ff ^ S3. iN-TER-VEN^eD ; V. Situated be- 

1. Trap''pings; n. oi'naments. > tween. 

2. Im'be-cile; «. (pro. im^be-cil) c 4. Tint^ings; n. colorings. 

a sick person. \ 5. St/fxed ; v. suppressed. 

Remark. — Avoid reading in a faint and low tone. This is a 
very common fault and should be carefully guarded against. 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say trou for trow (pro. tro); 
geth-uz for gath-o's; to-ward' for to'ward; un-heerd for un-heard 
(pro. un-hei-d). 

1. "It snows! "cries the School-boy, "Hurrah!" and his 


Is ringing through parlor and hall, 
While swift as the wing of a swallow, he's out, 

And his playmates have answered his call; 
It n\akes the heart leap but to witness their joy; 

Proud wealth has no pleasures, I trow. 
Like the '"rapture that throbs in the pulse of the boy, 

As he gathers his '•"treasures of snow; 
Then lay not the trappings of gold on thine heirs, 
While health, and the riches of nature, are theirs. 

2. "It snows! " sighs the Imbecile, "Ah ! " and his breath 
Conies heavy, as ''"clogged with a weight ; 

While, from the pale ''"aspect of nature in death. 

He turns to the blaze of his grate ; 
And nearer and nearer, his soft-cushioned chair 

Is wheeled toward the life-giving flame; 
He dreads a chill puff of the snow-burdened air, 

Lest it wither his '"delicate frame; 
O! small is the pleasure """existence can give, 
When the fear we shall die only proves that we live! 

3. "It snows!" cries the Traveler, "Ho!" and the word 
Has quickened his steed's """lagging pace; 


The wind rushes by, but its howl is unheard, 

Unfelt the sharp drift in his face; 
For bright through the tempest his own home appeared, 

Ay, tliough leagues intervened, he can see : 
There 's the clear, glowing hearth, and the table prepared, 

And his wife with her babes at her knee ; 
Blest thought ! how it lightens the grief-laden hour. 
That those we love dearest are safe from its power! 

4. "It snows!" cries the Belle, "Dear, how lucky!" and 


From her mirror to watch the flakes fall, 
Like the first rose of summer, her '"dimpled cheek burns. 

While musing on sleigh-ride and ball : 
There are visions of conquests, of '•"splendor, and mirth, 

Floating over each drear winter's day; 
But the tintings of Hope, on this storm-beaten eai'th, 

Will melt like the snow^-flakes away; 
Turn, turn thee to Heaven, fair maiden, for bliss; 
That Avorld has a pure '•"fount ne'er opened in this. 

5. "It snows!" cries the Widow, "O, God!" and her 


Have stifled the voice of her pra5^er; 
Its burden ye '11 read in her tear-swollen eyes. 

On her cheek sunk with fasting and care. 
'Tis night, and her fatherless ask her for bread. 

But "He gives the young ravens their food," 
And she trusts, till her dark hearth adds """horror to 

And she lays on her last chip of wood. 
Poor '•"suff'erer ! that sorrow thy God only knows ; 
'T is a most bitter lot to be poor, when it snows ! 

Exercises . — Why does the school-boy rejoice when it snows ? 
What feelings are excited in the sick man by the snow-storm? What 
effect does it have upon the traveler, and what does he think about ? 
Why does the belle congratulate herself, and of what are her dreams? 
What are the poor widow's troubles in a time like this? 



1. Dis-as'ters; 71. unfortunate < 3. Sol' ace; n. comfort in grief. 

events. < 3. Ke-cess'es; ?i. retirement ; se- 

1. In-tre-pid''i-ty; n. courage. < crecy. 

2 Triv'i-al; adj. trifling; small. > 4. En-thu'si-asm ; n, warmth of 
3. Rift''ed; v. split open. s feeling. 

3. Ten'drils; n. the claspers of a < 5. Re-trieve'; v. to repair; to 

vine. > restore to a good state. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say for-ti-tchude for for-ti-tude; 
for-ten nor for-tshimc for fort-iuie; Prov-i-dunce for Prov-i-dence; 
con-grat-ty-la-ting for con-grat-w-lat-ing ; sit-00-a-tion nor sit-shu-a-tion 
for sit-M-a-tion ; stim-my-la-ted nor stim-er-la-ted nor stim-ew-la-ted for 
stim-u-lat-ed, (pro. stiz/i-yu-la-ted). 

1. I HAVE often had occasion to remark the """fortitude 
with which women sustain the most "'"overwhelming re- 
verses of fortune. Those disasters which break down 
the spirit of a man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem 
to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give 
such intrepidity and elevation to their character, that, 
at times, it approaches to sublimity. 

2. Nothing can be more touching, than to behold a 
soft and tender female, who had been all weakness and 
"•"dependence, and alive to every trivial "'"roughness, while 
treading the prosi)erous paths of life, suddenly rising in 
mental force to be the comforter and supporter of her 
husband under misfortune, and abiding, with unshrink- 
ing firmness, the most bitter blasts of """adversity. 

3. As the vine, which has long twined its graceful 
"•■foliage about the oak, and been lifted by it into sun- 
shine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the """thun- 
der-bolt, cling around it with its cai'essing tendrils, and 
bind up its '""shattered boughs; so it is beautifully or- 
dered by Providence, that woman, who is the mere 
dependent and ornament of man in his happier hours, 


should be his stay and solace, when smitten with sudden 
calamity^; Avinding hei'self into the ''"rugged recesses of 
his nature^, tenderly supporting the drooping head'', 
and binding vip the broken heart^. 

4. I was once congratulating a friend, who had 
around him a blooming family, knit together in the 
strongest 'affection. "I can wish you no better lot," 
said he, with enthusiasm', "than to have a wife and 
children. If you are prosperous, there they are to shaj'e'^ 
your prosperity; if otherwise^, there they are to com- 
fort'^ you." 

5. And, indeed, I have observed, that a married^ man, 
falling into misfortune, is more apt to retrieve his situa- 
tion in the world than a single^ one; partly, because he 
is more ''"stimulated to exertion by the ''"necessities of the 
helpless and beloved beings who depend upon him for 
^subsistance^; but chiefl}^, because his spirits are soothed 
and relieved by domestic ''"endearments, and his self- 
respect kept alive by finding, that, though all abroad is 
darkness and humiliation, yet there is still a little Avorld 
of love at home, of which he is the ''"monarch*'. Whereas, 
a single man is apt to run to Avaste and self-neglect, to 
fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to 
fall to ruin, like some deserted """mansion, for want of an 

Exercises . — To what natural object is female fortitude beauti- 
fully compared? AVliy should a man have a family ? "What is apt to 
be the case with the single man, as to character and comfort? Give 
rules for the inflections. 

To Teachers . — The words marked thus + for spelling and defi- 
nition, should by no means be passed over by the teacher. The pupil 
should be required to spell and define them, giving them that defini- 
tion which is appropriate in the connection in which they are used. 


"We travel d through extensive tracts of territory. The transition 
was extreme and sudden. Proofs of the crime of an irrefragable 
nature can be produced. The tragic nature of the scene seem'd 
rather attractive than repulsive. 



1. Ter^kacb ; n. a raised bank of > 5. Heir''-loom ; n. any article 

earth. \ which by law descends to 

3. BROiD^EE-eD; v. adorned with ( theheir with the real estate. 

figures of needle-work. I 7. De-co^rdm; n. propriety of 

3. Em^e-rald; n. a gem of pure \ behavior. 

lively green color (used here i 7. Lcs^ter; n. brightness. 

as an adjective). I 8. Pan^ic; n. sudden alarm. 

3. Al'a-bas-ter; h. a soft, white 10. Quest; n. search. 

marble. > 11. Leg^a-cy; n. what is left by 

3. Cor^o-net; n. a little crown. | will. 

5. Du^cal; adj. pertaining to a ? 12. Am^bush; n. a concealed 

duke. \ place. 


Pronounce correctly. Reg-gi-o, pro. red-je-o ; fount-ains, pro. 
fount-ins. Do not say sta-choos for stat-wes ; sets for sits; for-ud 

4 3 

for ^OT-ward; in-ner-stuit for iii-no-ceut; haunt for haunt, (pro. 

3 ** 1 . 

liaunt); mel-er-dy for niel-o-dy; an-cient for an-cient; i-ver-ry for 
i-vo-ry; fast-en-ed, pro. /a/jiW. 

1. If ever jovl should come to Modena, 
Stop at a i^alace near the Reggio gate, 
Dwelt in of old by one of the Donati, 
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace, 
And rich in '•"fountains, """statues, """cypresses, 
Will long detain^ you; but, before you go', 
Enter the house^ — forget it not, I pray^ you; 
And look awhile upon a picture there. 

2. 'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth, 
The last of that """illustrious family; 

Done by Zampieri; but by whom I care not. 
He, who observes it, ere he passes on, 
Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again, 
That he may call it up when far away. 

3. She sits, inclining forward as to speak, 
Her lips half-open, and her finger up, 

5th lid. 15. 


As though she said^, " Beware^ ! " her vest of gold, 
Broidered with flc wers, and clasped from head to foot ; 
An emerald stone in every golden clasps ; 
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster, 
A coronet of pearls^. 

4. But then her face. 

So lovely^, yet so arch^, so full of mirth, 

The overflowings of an innocent heart; 

It ''"haunts me still, though many a year has fled, 

Like some wild "'"melody ! 

5. Alone it hangs 

Over a ''"moldering heir-loom ; its companion, 
An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm, 
But richly carved by Antony of Trent, 
With scripture stories from the life of Christ; 
A chest that came from Venice, and had held 
The ducal robes of some old ''"ancestors — 
That, by the way, it may bo true' or false^ — 
But don't forget the picture; and you will not, 
When you have heard the tale they told me there. 

6. She was an only child, her name Ginevra, 
The joy, the pride of an indulgent father; 
And in her fifteenth year became a bride. 
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, 

Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. 

7. Just as she looks there, in her ''"bridal dress, 
She was all gentleness, all gayety, 

' Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue. 
But now the day was come, the day, the hour; 
Now, frowning, smiling for the hundredth time. 
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum; 
And, in the luster of her youth, she gave 
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco^. 

8. Great was the joy^ ; but at the nuptial feast. 
When all sat down, the bride herself was wanting; 
Nor was she to be found ! Her father cried. 


*' 'Tis but to make a trial of our love ! " 

And filled his glass to all ; but his hand shook, 

And soon from guest to guest the panic sf>read. 

9. 'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco, 
Laughing and looking back and flying still, 
Her ivory tooth """imprinted on his finger. 
But now, alas ! she was not to be found ; 
Nor from that hour could any thing be guessed, 
But that she was not ! 

10. Weary of his life, 
Francesco flew to Venice, and ''"embarking. 
Flung it away in battle with the Turk. 
Donati lived^ ; and long might you have seen 
An old man wandering as in quest of something. 
Something he could not find, he knew not what. 
When he was gone, the house remained awhile 
Silent and tenantless ; then went to strangers. 

11. Full fifty years Avere past, and all forgotten, 
When on an idle day, a day of search 

'Mid the old ''"lumber in the gallery, 

That moldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said 

By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, 

"Why not remove^ it from its lurking-place?" 

'Twas done as soon as said; but on the way 

It burst^, it fell"^ ; and lo ! a "^skeleton^, 

With here and there a peai'l, an emerald stone, 

A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold. 

All else had perished, save a wedding-ring. 

And a small seal, her mother's legacy, 

■•"Engraven with a name, the name of both; 


12. — There then had she found a gra've: 
Within that chest had she concealed herself, 
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy; 
When a ''"spring-lock, that lay in ambush there, 
Fastened her down for ever ! 

ExEKCiSES . — Where is Modena ? Relate this story. 



2. A-lac''ei-tt; n. cheerful readi- ^5. In-teg'ri-tt ; n. honesty of 

ness. \ purpose. 

2. E-las''tic; adj. rebounding; \ 7. Mea-'ger; ac/j. small; scanty. 

springing back. \ 7. Stkeam^'let; n. a little stream; 

4. Yi-cis^si-tude; n. change; rev- ? a brook. 

olution. \ 7. Im-ped''i-ment ; n. hinderance. 

6. ScRu'pu-i/OUs; adj. careful; < 7. Hav^oc; n. wide destruction. 

nicely doubtful. \ 7. Ca-reer^; n. course. 


Give the r its rough sound in the following words in this lesson: 
career, approbation, secret, afraid, alacrity, brilliant, right, free, 
erect, heroic, phrase, pride, resemble, private, scrupulous, integ- 
rity, drives, morality, greatness, resistless, presents, torrent, purity. 

1. The man who is so conscious of the rectitude of 
his intentions, as to be willing to open his bosom to the 
inspection of the world, is in possession of one of the 
strongest pillars of a decided character. The course of 
such a man will be firm and steady, because he has 
nothing to fear from the world, and is sure of the ''"ap- 
probation and support of heaven. While he, who is 
conscious of secret and dark designs, which, if known, 
would blast him, is perpetually shrinking and dodging 
from public observation, and is afraid of all around, and 
much more of all above him. 

2. Such a man may, indeed, pursue his iniquitous 
plans steadily; he may waste himself to a skeleton in 
the guilty pursuit; but it is impossible that he can 
pursue them with the same health-inspiring ^confidence 
and exulting alacrity with him who feels, at every step, 
that he is in the pursuit of honest ends, by honest means. 
The clear, unclouded brow, the open countenaiice, the 
brilliant eye, which can look an honest man steadfastly, 
yet ''■courteously, in the face, the healthfully beating 
heart, and the firm, elastic step, belong to him whose 


bosom is free from gnile, and who knows that all his 
purposes are pure and right. 

3. Why should such a man falter in his course? He 
may be ''"slandered; he may be deserted by the world; 
but he has that within which will keep him erect, and 
enable him to move onward in his course, with his eyes 
fixed on heaven, which he knows will not desert him. 

4. Let your first step, then, in that """discipline which 
is to give you decision of character, be the heroic deter- 
mination to be honest men, and to preserve this charac- 
ter through every vicissitude of fortune, and in every 
relation which connects you with society. I do not use 
this phrase, "honest men," in the narrow sense merely 
of meeting your ''"pecuniary engagements, and paying 
your debts; for this the common pride of gentlemen 
will constrain you to do. 

5. I use it in its larger sense of '''discharging all your 
duties, both public and private, both open and secret, 
with the most scrupulous, ''"heaven-attesting integrity; 
in that sense, further, which drives from the bosom all 
little, dark, crooked, sordid, debasing "'"considerations of 
self, and substitutes in their place a bolder, loftier, and 
nobler spirit; one that will dispose you to consider your- 
selves as born, not so much for yourselves, as for your 
country and your fellow-creatures, and which will lead 
you to act, on every occasion, sincerely, justly, gener- 
ously, ■'"magnanimously. 

6. There is a morality on a larger scale, perfectly 
consistent with a just attention to your own aftairs, 
which it would be the height of folly to neglect: a gen- 
erous expansion, a proud elevation and conscious great- 
ness of character, which is the best preparation for a 
decided course, in every situation into which you can be 
thrown ; and it is to this high and noble tone of charac- 
ter that I would have you to ''"aspire. 

7. I would not have you resemble those weak and 
meager streamlets, which lose their '''direction at every 
petty impediment which presents itself, and stop, and 
turn back, and creep around, and search out every little 
''■channel through which they may wind their feeble and 


sickly course. Nor yet would I have you resemble the 
headlong torrent that carries havoc in its mad career. 

8. But I would have you like the ocean, that noblest 
emblem of +majestic decision, which, in the calmest 
hour, still heaves its resistless might of waters to the 
shore, filling the heavens, day and night, with the echoes 
of its sublime declaration of independence, and tossing 
and sporting on its bed, with an ''"imperial "'"conscious- 
ness of strength that laughs at '""opposition. It is this 
depth, and weight, and power, and purity of character, 
that I would have you to resemble ; and I would have 
you, like the waters of the ocean, to become the purer 
by your own action." 

Exercises . — What is said of the man who is conscious of the 
rectitude of his intentions? What of the man of the opposite descrip- 
tion? What is the first step in gaining decision of cliaracter? What 
would the author not have you resemble? What would he have j'ou 


1. Prec'e-dent; n. something that '> 4. Vails; n. money given to ser- 

serves for an example. ^ vants. [Il here means that 

2. Pro-cuas-ti-na''tion ; n. de- ? which may be spent for plea- 

lay. ) sure. This ivord is obsolete, 

3. Palm; n. victory. \ thai is, it is not now used). 

4. Driv^el; v. to be foolish. | 5. Dil^a-to-ry; adj. slow; delay- 
4. Re-ver'sion ; n. right to future \ ing. 

possession. \ 6. Chides ; v. reproves. 


Articulate distinctly. Do not say precdent for prec-e-dent; 
'pro-cra^a na-tion for pro-cras-t;-na-tion ; e-ter-nl for e-ter-nal ; mi- 
raclous for mi-rac-w-lous; ex lent for ex-ccl-lent; spec's for sus- 
pects; in-fmous for in-fa-mous. 

1. Be wise to-day. 'Tis madness to """defer: 
Next day the '•"fatal precedent will plead ; 
Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life. 


2. Procrastination is the thief of time: 
Year after year it steals, till all are fled, 
And to the mercies of a moment, leaves 
The vast "'"concerns of an "'"eternal scene. 

If not so frequent, would not this be strange? 
That 'tis so frequent, this is stranger still. 

3. Of man's "•"miraculous mistakes, this bears 
The palm, that all men are about to live, 
Forever on the """brink of being born. 

4. All pay themselves the """compliment to think 
They one day shall not drivel ; and their pride, 
On this reversion, takes up ready praise, 

At least, their own: their future selves "*" applaud; 
How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! 
Time lodged in their own hands is folly's vails; 
, That lodged in fate's, to wisdom they "'"consign : 
The thing they can't but purpose, they "'"postpone. 

5. 'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool; 
And scarce in human wisdom to do more. 
All promise is poor dilatory man, 

And that through every stage: when young, indeed, 
In full content, we sometimes nobly rest 
Unanxious for ourselves: and only wish, 
As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. 

6. At thirty, man """suspects himself a fool ; 
Knows it at forty, and "'"reforms his plan ; 
At fifty, chides his """infamous delay, 
Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve; 
In all the """magnanimity of thought 
Resolves, and """re-resolves; then dies the same. 

ExERcisKs . — Name some of the evils of procrastination. What, 
of all things, are men most apt to defer? 


Priceless was the offering. The wound was thoroughly proV d. 
Principle may not be profitable. The books are printed. Spring 
fiings her rosy mantle o'er the plains. The rowers ply their weary 



2. Pro-pel''; v. to push forward. < 5. Mi-Nu'ri-iE; n. the smaller 

3. Ejt-gi-neer''; n. one who man- ) particulars. 

ages engines. | 6. Fric'tion; n. rubbing. 

8. Ste.\m^-gauge; n. something j iQ. Mo-men'tcm; n. the quantity 
■which measures the force of ? of niotion. 

the steam. \ \\ Sym^bol; n. type or emblem. 

3. Scru'ti-niz-es ; v. examines i 11. Res-er-voir''; n. (pro. rez-er- 

closely. \ vieor^) a place where any 

4. PoN^DER-ous; adj. very heavy. \ thing is kept in store. 

4. Pis^ton; n. a short cylinder i3_ Sds-cep-ti-bil'i-ties; n. ca- 
used in pumps and engines. I pacify for receiving im- 
6. CoM''PLi-CAT-ED ; adj. intricate. < pressions. 


Remark . — Do not let the voice grow weaker at the last words of 
a sentence. 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say ac-icw-al for act-i<-al ; in-gi- 
neer for en-gi-neer; hi-ler for bozl-er; fas' nings for fasZ-cn-ings ; 
move-munce for move-ments; in-gine for cn-gine, (pro. en-gin); jint 
for joint; He for oil; fur-niss for fur-nace; gov-uns for gov-e;-n3. 

1. The Bible every -where ''"eonveys the idea that this 
life is not our home, but a state of '''probation, that is, of 
trial and '^discipline, which is intended to prepare us for 
another. In order that all, even the youngest of my 
readers; may understand what is meant by this, I shall 
"•"illustrate it by some familiar examples, drawn from tho 
actual business of life. 

2. When a large steam-boat is built, with the inten- 
tion of having her employed upon the waters of a great 
river, she must be proved before put to service. Before 
trial, it is somewhat doubtful whether she will succeed. 
In the first place, it is not absolutely certain whether 
her '•'machinery will work at all. There may be some 
flaw in the iron, or an imperfection in some part of the 
^workmanship, which will prevent the motion of her 
wheels. Or, if this is not the case, the power of the 


machinery may not be suflficient to propel her through 
the water with such force as to overcome the current; 
or she may, when brought' to encounter the rapids at 
some narrow passage in the stream, not be able to force 
her way against their resistance. 

3. The engineer, therefore, resolves to try her in all 
these respects, that her '•'security and her power may bo 
properly proved, before she is '''intrusted with her valu- 
able cargo of human lives. He cautiously builds a fire 
under her boiler: he watches with eager interest the 
rising of the steam-gauge, and scrutinizes every part of 
the machinerj^, as it gradually comes under the control 
of the tremendous power, which he is '•"apprehensively 

4. With what interest does he observe the first stroke 
of the ponderous piston! and when, at length, the fast- 
enings of the boat are let go, and the motion is '•'com- 
municated to the wheels, and the mighty mass slowly 
moves away from the wharf, how deep and eager an 
interest does he feel in all her movements, and in ievery 
indication he can discover of her future success ! 

5. The engine, however, works imperfectly, as every 
one must on its first trial; and the object in this '♦'experi- 
ment is not to gratify idle curiosity, by seeing that she 
will move, but to discover and remedy every little im- 
perfection, and to remove every obstacle which prevents 
more entire success. For this purpose, you will see our 
engineer examining, most minutely and most attentively, 
every part of her complicated machinery. The crowd 
on the wharf may -be simply gazing on her majestic 
pi'ogress as she moves off from the shore, but the engi- 
neer is within, looking with faithful '•'examination into 
all the minutiae of the motion. 

6. He scrutinizes the action of every lever and the 
friction of every joint; here, he oils a bearing, there, he 
tightens a nut: one part of the machinery has too much 
play, and he confines it; another, too much friction, and 
he loosens it; now, he stops the engine, now, reverses 
her motion, and again, sends the boat forward in her 
course. He discovers, perhaps, some great improvement 


of which she is "•'susceptible, and when he returns to the 
wharf and has extinguished her fire, he orders from the 
machine-shop the necessary alteration. 

7. The next day he puts his boat to the trial again, 
and she glides over the water more smoothly and swiftly 
than before. The jar which he had noticed is gone, and 
the friction reduced; the beams play more smoothl}^, 
and the ■'"alteration which he has made produces a more 
equable motion in the '•'shaft, or gives greater effect to 
the stroke of the paddles upon the water. 
-> 8. When at length her motion is such as to satisfy 
him upon the smooth surface of the river, he turns her 
course, we will imagine, toward the rapids, to see how 
she will sustain a greater trial. As he increases her 
steam, to give her power to overcome the new force 
with which she has to contend, he watches, with eager 
interest, her boiler, ^inspects the gauge and safety- 
valves, and, from her movements under the increased 
pressure of her steam, he receives suggestions for fur- 
ther improvements, or for '•'precautions which will in- 
sure greater safety. 

9. These he executes, and thus he perhaps goes on 
for many days, or even weeks, trying and examining, 
for the purpose of improvement, every working of that 
mighty power, to which he knows hundreds of lives are 
soon to be intrusted. This now is probation; trial for 
the sake of improvement. And what are its '•'results? 
Wh}-. after this course has been thoroughly and faith- 
fully pursued, this floating palace receives upon her 
broad deck, and in her carpeted and curtained cabin, 
her four or five hundred passengers, who pour along in 
one long procession of happy groups, over the bridge of 
planks; father and son, mother and children, young- 
husband and wife, all with '•'impjjcit confidence trusting 
themselves and their dearest interests to her power. 

10. See her as she sails away! How beautiful and yet 
hoAV powerful are all her motions! That beam glides 
up and down gently and smoothly in its (•'groo^'es, and 
yet gentle as it seems, hundreds of horses could not hold 
it still; there is no apparent violence, but every move- 


ment is with irresistible power. How graceful is her 
form and yet how mighty is the momentum Avith which 
she presses on her way ! 

. 11. Loaded with life, and herself the very symbol of 
life and power, she seems something ''"ethereal, unreal, 
Avhich, ere we look again, will have vanished away. 
And though she has within her bosom a furnace glow- 
ing with furious fires, and a reservoir of death, the 
elements of most dreadful ruin and conflagration, of 
destruction the most complete, and agony the most 
■•■unutterable ; and though her strength is equal to the 
united energy of two thousand men, she restrains it 

12. She was "'"constructed by genius, and has been 
tried and improved by fidelity and skill; and one man 
governs and controls her, stops her and sets her in 
motion, turns her this way and that, as easily and cer- 
tainly as the child guides the gentle lamb. She walks 
over the one hundred and sixty miles of her route, 
without rest and without fatigue; and the passengers, 
who have slej)t in safety in their berths, Avith destruc- 
tion by water without, and by fire within, defended 
only by a plank from the one, and by a sheet of copper 
from the other, land, at the appointed time, in safety. 

13. My reader, you have within you susceptibilities 
and powers, of which you have little present conceiJtion ; 
energies, which are hereafter to operate in producing 
fullness of enjoyment or horrors of suffering, of which 
you now can form scarcely a conjecture. You are now 
on trial. God wishes you to prepare yourself for safe 
and happy action. He wishes you to look within, to 
examine the complicated movements of your hearts, to 
detect what is wrong, to "'"modify what needs change, 
and to ■'"rectify every irregular motion. 

14. You go out to try your moral powers upon the 
stream of active life, and then return to retirement, to 
improve what is right, and "'"remedy what is wrong. 
Renewed opportunities of moral practice are given you, 
that you may go on from strength to strength, until 
every part of that complicated moral machinery, of 


which the human heart consists, will work as it ought 
to work, and is prej^ared to ^accomplish the mighty pur- 
poses for which your powers are designed. You are on 
trial, on j^robation now. You will enter upon active serv- 
ice in another world. 

Exercises . — How does the Bible consider this life ? AVhat is a 
state of probation? What is meant by proving a steam-boat? What 
is the use of doing this? Is there any resemblance between man and 
a steam-boat ? 


Thou shcd'st a sunsliine on his head. The brown forests. 
Hop St thou for c/ifts like tliese ? Or ever thou had'st forvi'd the 
earth. I have received presents. 


1. Vas'sal; n. a servant; a sub- \ 3. Rue; v. to regret deeply. 

ject. \ 4. Ran^som-sd ; adj. rescued from 

1. Scep'teb; n. a kind of staiT ^ death or captivity by paying 

bqrne by kings as a. sign of ^ an equivalent. 

royalty. < 5. Gor^geocs; adj. showy; splen- 

2. Throng; n. a crowd; a great) did. 

multitude. \ 5. Mar^tyr; n. one who suffers 

3. Her'ald-ed; v. introduced as i death in defense of what he 

if by a herald. > believes to be truth. 


Remark. — Observe the poetic pauses in the following lines, viz.: 
one at the end, and one near the middle of each line. 

Articulate distinctly. Do not say diiss for dusil; juss for jus<; 
ole for old; bole for hold ; russ for rust ; truss for trus^. 

1. "Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" 
Here the evil and the just,' 
Here the youthful and the old, 
Here the fearful and the bold, 


Here the ''"matron and the maid, 


In one silent bed are laid ; 
Here the vassal and the king 
Side by side, lie withering: 
Here the sword and scejiter rust : 
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" 


2. Age on age shall roll along, 

O'er this pale and mighty throng; 
Those that wept them, those that weep, 
All shall with these sleepers sleep : 
Brothers, sisters of the worm, 
Summer's sun or winter's storm. 
Song of peace or battle's roar, 
Ne'er shall break their slumbers more ; 
Death shall keep his +sullen trust: 
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust! " 

3. But a day is coming fast. 

Earth, thy mightiest and thy last ! 
It shall come in fear and wonder. 
Heralded by trump and thunder: 
It shall come in strife and toil; 
It shall come in blood and spoil ; 
It shall come in ''"empires' groans. 
Burning temples, '"trampled thrones : 
Then, """ambition, rue thy lust ! 
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" 

4. Then shall come the "'"judgment sign ; 
In the east, the King shall shine; 
Flashing from heaven's golden gate, 
Thousands, thousands round his state, 
Spirits with the crown and plume; 
Tremble, then, thou solemn tomb; 
Heaven shall open on our sight ; 
"Earth be turned to living light," 
"•"Kingdom of the ransomed just! 
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" 


5. Then thy mount, Jerusalem, 
Shall be gorgeous as a gem : 
Then shall in the desert rise 
Fruits of more than "•"Paradise, 
Earth by angel feet be trod, 
One great garden of her God ! 
Till are dried the martyr's tears 
Through a thousand ''"glorious years ; 
'Now in hope of him we trust: 
"Earth to earth, and dust to dust!" 


1. Fair't ; n. an imaginary I 6. Su-per-nat'c-ral; »iJj. more 
spirit. > than human. 

1. Braes; n. low woods. ( 6. Re-ver^ber-a-tino; ?;. sound- 

4. Din; n. noise. < ing. 

4. Ri^ot-ing; v. romping. S 9. E-jac'u-lat-ed; f. exclaimed. 

6. Trav^ers-ing; v. wandering. ; 15. Bon^ny; ac?;. beautiful. 


1. LucT was only six years old, but bold as a fairy; 
she had gone by herself a thousand times about the 

^raes, and often upon errands to houses two or three 
miles distant. What had her parents to fear? The foot- 
paths were all firm, and led to no places of danger, nor 
are infants themselves '•"incautious when alone in their 
pastimes. Lucy went singing into the low woods, and 
singing she re-ajjpeared on the open hill-side. With 
her small white hand on the rail, she glided along the 
Avooden bridge, or, tripped from stone to stone across 
the shallow streamlet. 

2. The creature would be away for hours, and no 
fear be felt on her account by any one at home ; Avhether 
she had gone, with her basket under her arm, to borrow 
some articles of '•"household use from a neighbor, or 
merely for her own '"solitary delight, had wandered off 


to the braes to play among the flowei^s, coming back 
laden with '''wreaths and garlands. 

3. The happy child had been invited to pass a 
whole day, from morning to night, at Ladyside (a farm- 
house about two miles off), with her playmates, the 
Maynes; and she left home about an hour after sun- 

4. During her absence, the house was silent but 
happ3^, and, the evening being now far advanced, Lucy 
was expected home every minute, and Michael, Agnes, 
and Isabel, her father, mother, and aunt, Avent to meet 
her on the way. They walked on and on, wondering a 
little, but in no degree '•'alarmed, till they reached Lady- 
side, and heard the cheerful din of the children within, 
still rioting at the close of the holiday. Jacob Maj^ne 
came to the door, but, on their kindly asking why Lucy 
had not been sent home before dajdight was over, he 
looked painfully surprised, and said that she had not 
been at Ladyside. 

5. Within two hours, a hundred people were '*"trav- 
ersing the hills in all directions, even at a distance 
which it seemed most unlikely that poor Lucy could 
have reached. The shepherds and their dogs, all the 
night through, searched every '•'nook, every stony and 
rocky place, every piece of taller heather, every ''"crevice 
that could conceal any thing alive or dead, but no Lucy 
was there. 

6. Her mother, who, for a while, seemed ''"inspired 
with supernatural strength, had joined in the search, 
and, with a quaking heart, looked into every brake, or 
stopped and listened to every shout and halloo reverber- 
ating among the hills, intent to seize upon some tone of 
■•"recognition or discovery. But the moon sank; and 
then the stars, whose increased brightness had, for a 
short time, supplied her place, all faded away ; and then 
came the gray dawn of the morning, and then the clear 
brightness of the day, and still Michael and Agnes were 

7. "She has sunk into some mossy or miry place," 
said Michael to a man near him, into whose face he 


could not look, "a cruel, cruel death to one like her! 
The earth on which my child walked has closed over 
her, and we shall never see her more! " 

8. At last a man who had left the search, and gone 
in a direction toward the high-road, came running, with 
something in his arms toward the place where Michael 
and others were standing beside Agnes, who lay, '''ap- 
parently exhausted almost to dying, on the sward. He 
approached ''"hesitatingly; and Michael saw that he car- 
ried Lucy's bonnet, clothes, and plaid. 

9. It was impossible not to see some spots of blood 
upon the '''frill that the child had worn around her neck. 
"Murdered! murdered!" was the one word, whispered 
or ejaculated all around; but Agnes heard it not: for, 
worn out by that long night of hope and despair, she 
had fallen asleep, and was perhaps seeking her lost Lucy 
in her dreams. 

10. Isabel took the clothes, and narrowly ''inspecting 
them with eye and hand, said, with a ''"fervent voice, 
that was heard even in Michael's desjmir, "No, Lucy is 
yet among the living. There are no marks of violence 
on the garments of the innocent, no murderer's hand 
has been here. These blood-sj^ots^ have been put there 
to deceive. Beside, would not the murderer have carried 
off these things? For what else would he have mur- 
dered her? But, O! foolish '^despair! What speak I of? 
For wicked as the world is — ay! despei-ately wicked — 
there is not, on all the surface of the wide earth, a hand 
that would murder our child! Is it not plain as the sun 
in the heaven, that Lucy has been stolen by some 
wretched gypsy beggar." 

11. The crowd quietly '''dispersed, and horse and foot 
began to ,sii»«r the country. Some took the high-i'oads, 
others all the by-paths, and many the trackless hills. 
Now that they were in some measure '''relieved from the 
horrible belief that the child was dead, the worst other 
calamity seemed nothing, for hope brought her back to 
their arms. 

12. Agnes had been able to walk home to Bracken- 
Braes, and Michael and Isabel sat by her bedside. All 


her strength "was gone, and she lay at the mercy of the 
rustic of a leaf, or a shadow across the window. Thus 
hour after hour passed, till it was again twilight. "I 
hear footsteps coming wp the brae," said Agnes, who 
had for some time appeared to be slumbering ; and in a 
few moments the voice of Jacob Mayne was heard at the 
outer door. 

13. Jacob^wore a solemn expression of countenance; 
and he seemed, from his looks, to bring no comfort. 
Michael stood up between him and his wife, and looked 
into his heart. Something there seemed to be in his 
face that was not '■'miserable. "If he has heard nothing 
of my child," thought Michael, "this man must care 
little for his own fireside." "O, s^Dcak, speak," said 
Agnes; "yet why need you speak? All this has been 
but a vain belief, and Lucy is in heaven." 

14. " Soniething like a '''trace of her has been discov- 
ered ; a woman, with a child, that did not look like a 
child of hers, was last night at Clovenford, and left it at 
the dawning." "Do you hear that, my beloved Agnes?" 
said Isabel; "she will have '•'tramped aAvay with Lucy 
up into Ettrick or Yarrow; but hundreds of eyes will 
have been upon her ; for these are quiet, but not solitary 
glens; and the hunt will be over long before she has 
crossed down upon Hawick. I knew that country in 
my young days. What say you, Mr. Mayne? There is 
the light of hope in your face." "There is no reason to 
doubt, ma'am, that it was Lucy. Every body is sure of 
it. If it was my own Eachel, I should have no fear as 
to seeing her this blessed night." 

15. Jacob Mayne now took a chair, and sat down, 
with even a smile upon his countenance. "I may tell 
you now, that Watty Oliver knows it was your child, 
for he saw her '''limping along after the gypsy at Galla- 
Brigg; but having no '''suspicion, he did not take a 
second look at her — but one look is '•'sufficient — and he 
swears it was bonny Lucy Forrester." 

16. Aunt Isabel, by this time, had bread and cheese, 
and a bottle of her own elder-flower wine, on the table, 
"You have been a long and hard journey, wherever you 

5tli Rd. 16. 


have been, Mr. Mayne ; take some refreshment;" and 
Michael asked a blessing. 

17. Jacob saw that he might now venture to """reveal 
the whole truth. "No, no, Mrs. Irving, I am over 
happy to eat or to drink. You are all prepared for the 
blessing that awaits you. Your child is not far off; and 
I myself, for it is I myself that found her, will bring her 
by the hand, and restore her to her parents." 

18. Agnes had raised herself up in her bed at these 
words, but she sank gently back on her pillow; aunt 
Isabel was rooted to her chair; and Michael, as he rose 
up, felt as if the ground were sinking under his feet. 
There was a dead silence all around the house for a short 
space, and then the sound of many voices, which again 
by degrees """subsided. Th&eyes of all then looked, and 
yet feared to look toward the door. 

19. Jacob Mayne was not so good as his word, for he 
did not bring Lucy by the hand to """restore her to her 
parents; but dressed again in her own bonnet and gown, 
and her own plaid, in rushed their own child by herself, 
with tears and sobs of joy, and her father laid her within 
her mother's bosom. 

Exercises. — Relate the story of little Lucy Forrester, and the 
manner in which she was found. 

What are the nouns in the last paragraph? The adjectives ? The 
verbs? The adverbs? Prepositions? Conjunctions? 


Canst thou fill bis skin with barfied iron,? ? Thou slumber d'st 
not in vain. Thou laidst tby waves at rest. Around him fall 
rfread powe?-5, dominio?i5, hosts, and kingly thrones. When Ajax 
strives some rock's vast weight to throio. He was distinguished for 
his conscientiousness. His lips grow restless and his smile is curled 
into scorn. His limbs were strength' n d by exercise. 

The Teacher is reminded that the words in italics in the Exercises 
in Articulation should be spelled by their elements, two or more conso- 
nants coming together being uttered as one; and that the word should 
then be distinctly and forcibly pronounced. 



1. Tinge; n. a slight degree of, 5. In''cense; n. the odor of spices 

color. '; burnt in religious worship. 

1. Rab'bi; n. a title given to ', 5. Re-ldc^tant; adj. unwilling. 

learned men among the Jews. < 5. Sap^'phire ; re. a precious stone 

4. Re-past'; ?j. a meal. > of a blue color; here put for 

4. Or^i-sons; n. prayers. '. the color. 

4. POi\-TiF''ic-AL ; adj. belonging | 6. Lus'ter; n. splendor; bright- 

to the high priest. 5 ness. 

4. Cym'bal; n. an instrument of ^ 8. Spocs'al; adj. relating to 

music. ^ marriage. 

4. Psal'ter-y; m. an instrument I iq. CHAS^TEN-eo; arf;. afflicted for 

of music. I correction. 

4. Hal-le-lu'jahs; fi. (pro. hal- . iq, Hom'age; re. reverential wor- 

le-lur-yahs), praises to God. . ship. 


Remark . — Be careful not to allow the voice to grow weaker and 
weaker, as you approach the end of each sentence. 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say scurce for scarce; f rag-rant 
for fra-grant; o-ri^sons for or'i-sons; lial-le-lu-jahs, pro. hal-k-lu- 
yaks; beau-che-ous iorh&a,\i-te-o\\s] hal-lerd ior\\a\-lowed; o-be-junce 
for o-be-rfi-ence. 

1. '"Twilight was deepening with a tinge of eve, 
As toward his home in Israel's "•'sheltered vales 
A "•"stately Eabbi drew. His camels spied 
Afar the palm-trees' lofty heads, that "'"decked 
The dear, "•"domestic "'"fountain, and in speed 
Pressed with broad foot, the smooth and dewy glade. 

2. The holy man his peaceful threshold passed 
With hasting step. The evening meal Avas spread; 
And she, who from life's morn his heart had shared, 
Breathed her fond welcome. Bowing o'er the board, 
The blessing of his father's God he sought; 

Ruler of earth and sea. Then raising high 

The ■•"sparkling wine-cup, "call my sons," he bade, 

"And let me bless them ere their hour of rest." 


3. The observant mother spake with gentle voice, 
Somewhat of soft excuse, that they were wont 
To linger long amid the Prophet's school, 
Learning the holy law their father loved. 

4. — His sweet repast with sweet '''discourse was blent, 
Of journeying and return. "AYould thou hadst seen 
With me, the golden morning bring to light 

Yon mountain summits, whose blue waving line 
Scarce meets thine eye, where chirp of joyous birds, 
A breath of fragrant herbs and spicy gales, 
And sigh of waving boughs, stirred in the soul 
Warm orisons. Yet most I wished thee near 
Amid the temple's pomp, when the high priest, 
Clad in his robe pontifical, '•'invoked 
The God of Abraham, while on the lute and harp, 
Cymbal, and trump, and psalt'ry, and glad bi'eath 
Of tuneful Levite, and the mighty shout 
Of all our peojDle, like the swelling sea. 
Loud hallelujahs burst. 

5. When next I seek 
Blest Zion's glorious hill, our beauteous boys 
Must bear me company. Their early prayers 
Will rise as incense. Thy reluctant love 

No longer must withhold them : — the new '''toil 
Will give them sweeter sleep, and touch their cheek 
With brighter crimson. 'Mid their raven curls 
M}^ hand I'll lay, and dedicate them there, 
Even in those courts, to Israel's God; 
Two spotless lambs, well pleasing in his sight. 
But yet, methinks, thou 'rt j^aler grown, my love, 
And the pure sapphire of thine eyes looks dim, 
As though 'twere washed with tears." 

6. Faintly she smiled, 

" One doubt, my lord, I fain would have thee solve. 
Gems of rich luster and of countless cost 
Were to my keeping trusted. !Nrow,'valas! 
They are demanded. Must they be restored? 
Or may I not a little longer gaze 
Upon their dazzling ■'"hues?" 


7. His eyes grew stern, 
And on his lip there lurked a sudden curl 

Of indignation. "Doth my ivife jDropose 

Such doubtf as if a master might not claim 
His own again?" "ISTay, Eabbi, come, behold 
These "^priceless jewels ere I yield them back." 

8. So to their spousal chamber, with soft hand 
Her lord she led. There, on a snow-white couch 
Lay his two sons, pale, pale, and motionless. 
Like fair twin lilies, which some ''"grazing kid 

In ■'"wantonness had cropi)ed. "My sons! my sons! 
Light of my eyes! " the astonished father cried; 
"My teachers in the law! whose """guileless hearts 
And prompt obedience warned me oft to be 
More perfect with my God ! " 

9. To earth he fell. 

Like Lebanon's rent cedar; while his breast 
Heaved with such groans as when the laboring soul 
Breaks from its clay companion's close embrace. 
The mourning mother turned away and wept. 
Till the first storm of "'"passionate grief was still. 
Then, pressing to his ear her faded lip. 
She sighed in tone of tremulous tenderness, 
" Thou didst instruct me. Rabbi, how to yield 
Tlie summoned jewels. See! the Lord doth give, 
The Lord hath taken away." 

10. "Yea!" said the sire, 

"And blessed he his name. Even for thij sake. 
Thrice blessed be Jehovah." Long he pressed 
On those cold, beautiful brows his """quivering lip. 
When from his eye the burning anguish rolled; 
Then kneeling low, those chastened spirits jjoured 
Their mighty homage forth to God. 

Exercises. — "What is a Rabbi? Relate this story. What is the 
best support in time of trouble and affliction? 




1. Rep-'tiles; n. (pro. rep^<i7s), ani- ' 3. In-fest'ed; v. troubled; an- 
mals that creep, as worms,? noyed. 

snakes, &c. ' 4. Ob-structs''; v. hinders; stops. 

1, Re-coil'; v. start back; shrink / 5. Rank'le; v. to rage; to be- 

from. I come violent. 

2. Coil'cd; v. gathered into a 5. Spell; n. a charm. 

circular foi-m. | 7. Still; n. a vessel used in dis- 

2. Cov'a; n. a kind of serpent. \ tilling or making liquors. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say rep-tiles for rep-tiles, (pro. 
rep^tils) ; pi-son for po/-son ; un-for-ter-nit for un-fort-w-nate ; an-i- 
niuls for an-i-mals ; dis-truc-tion for de-struc-tion ; symp-tims for 
symp-toras ; in-san-er-ty for in-san-z'-ty. 

"Outvenoms all the worms of Nile." 

1. Who has not heard of the rattlesnake or "•"copper- 
head? An unexpected sight of either of these reptiles 
will make even the lords of creation recoil; but there is 
a species of worm, found in various parts of this State, 
wliich conveys a poison of a nature so deadly, that, com- 
pared with it, even the '''venom of the rattlesnake is 
harmless. To guard our readers against this foe of 
human kind, is the object of this lesson. 

2. This worm varies much in size. It is frequently 
an inch in ''"diameter, but, as it is rarely seen, except 
when coiled, its length can hardly be '•'conjectured. It 
is of a dull lead color, and generally lives near a spring 
or small stream of water, and bites the unfortunate peo- 
ple, who are in the habit of going there to drink. The 
brute creation it never molests. They avoid it with the 
same instinct, that teaches the animals of Peru to shun 
the deadly coya. 

3. Several of these i*eptiles have long infested our 
settlements, to the '''misery and destruction of many of 
our fellow-citizens. I have, therefore, had frequent op- 


portunities of being the melancholy spectatoi' of the 
effects produced by the subtile poison which this worm 

4. The ■''symptoms of its hiie are terrible. The eyes 
of the patient become red and fiery, his tongue swells to 
an immoderate size, and obstructs his ■'"utterance; and 
■■"delirium of the most horrid character, quickly follows. 
Sometimes, in his madness, he attempts the destruction 
of his nearest friends. 

5. If the sufferer has a family, his weeping wife and 
helpless infants are not unfrequently the objects of his 
frantic fury. In a word, he ■'"exhibits, to the life, all the 
detestable passions that rankle in the bosom of a savage ; 
and such is the spell in which his senses are locked, that 
no sooner has the ''"unhaiDjDy patient recovered from the 
■■"paroxysm of insanit}^, occasioned by the bite, than he 
seeks out the destroyer^ for the sole purjDose of being 
bitten again. 

6. I have seen a good old father, his locks as white as 
snow, his step slow and trembling, beg in vain of his 
only son to quit the "'"lurking-place of the worm. My 
heart bled when he turned away; for I knew the fond 
hope, that his son would be the "staff of his ''"declining 
years," had supported him through many a sorrow. 

7. Youths of America, would you know the name of 
this reptile? It is called the Worm of the Still. 

Exercises. — What is manufactured at the "still" here spoken 
of? Why ij intemperance worse than the bite of the most A'enomous 
serpent? What is the coya? What part of a still is called the 
"worm?" Why is it so called? 

In the last paragraph parse "youths." See Analytical Grammar, 
Rule V. 


They grapptd and fell. The grizzly bear is ferocious. They 
grumhl'd at their crippled condition. Each crevice and cranny was 
tilled with frost. Altars and shrines incredibly increase. Herds- 
men protect herds in i\\& forests. Scenes o^ pleasure soon pall upon 
the senses. The trees fell thundering, and crackling, and crashing. 
The Franks fled franixcaWy. 



1. A-SLOPE''; adv. obliquely; in a ^ 4. Hol^lands; n. a kind of gin. 

slanting manner. > 4. Ja-mai^ca; n. a kind of rum. 

2. Pau''per; n. a poor person, one I 6. Po-ta''tioxs ; ?i. drauglits. 

supported by the public, [ing. ) 6. Ru^bi-cund ; adj. inclined to 

2. Pko-mul^ga-ting; v. publish- | redness. 

3. Mu-Nic-i-PAL''i-TY ; n. a divis- ^ 10. Tit-il-la''tion; n. the state of 

ion of counti'y or of a city. I being tickled. 

4. Gob^let; w. a kind of drinking I 14. Mo-nop'o-lize; v. to obtain 

vessel. > the whole. 

4. CoG^NAc; n. (pro. konefyak) the \ 14. Con-sum-ma''tion; n. comple- 
best kind of brandy. \ tion; perfection of a work. 


Remark. — It will be a good exercise for the pupil to stand at a 
distance from the teacher, and then try to read so loud and distinctly 
that the teacher may hear with perfect ease each syllable that is 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say troth for trough, (pro. trawf); 
per-pe-tew' ty for per-pe-tw-z-ty ; pat-tun for pat-tc?-n ; of-Ji-suz for 
of-fi-ce;-s; Ian-tun for Ian-tern ; thus-ty for i\nrst-y. 

\_Scene. — The corner of two pi'incipal streets. The Town Pump 
talking through its nose.] 

1. Noon, by the north clock^ ! Noon, by the east^ ! 
High noon, too, by those hot sunbeams which falP, 
scarcely aslope^, upon my head, and almost make the 
water bubble and smoke in the trough under my nose^. 
Truly^, we public characters have a tough time^ of it! 
And among all the town officers, chosen at the yearly 
meeting, where is he that sustains, for a single year, the 
burden of such '''manifold duties as are imposed, in ^per- 
petuity, iipon the Town Pump? 

2. The title of town treasurer is rightfully mine, as 
guardian of the best treasure the town has. The "•'over- 
seers of the poor ought to make me their chairman, since 
I provide '''bountifully for the pauper, without expense 
to him that pays taxes. I am at the head of the fire 


department, and one of the physicians of the board of 
health. As a keeper of the peace, all "water-drinkera 
confess mc equal to the constable. I perform some of 
the duties of the town-clerk, by promulgating public 
notices, when they are pasted on my front. 

3. To speak within bounds, I am chief person of the 
municipality, and """exhibit, moreover, an ''"admirable 
pattern to my brother officers, by the cool, steady, 
upright, downright, and '•"impartial discharge of my 
business, and the constancy with which I stand to my 
post. Summer or Avinter, nobody seeks me in vain ; for 
all day long I am seen at the busiest corner, just above 
the market, stretching out jny arms to rich and poor 
alike; and at night I hold a lantern over my head, to 
show where I am, and to keep people out of the gutters. 

4. At this sultry noontide, I am cup-bearer to the 
parched populace, for whose benefit an iron goblet is 
chained to my waist. Likea dram-seller on the public 
square, on a ''"muster-day, I cry aloud to all and sundry, 
in my plainest accents, and at the very tiptop of my 
voice. "Here it is^, gentlemen'! Hero is the good liq- 
uor^ ! Walk up^, walk up^, gentlemen', walk up^, walk 
up^ ! Here is the superior stuffs ! Here is the unadul- 
terated ale of father Adam^ ! better than Cognac', Hoi- 
lands', Jamaica^, strong beer', or wine of any^ price; 
here it is, by the hogshead, or the single glass, and not 
a cent to pay ! Walk up, gentlemen, walk uj), and help 

5. It were a pity, if all this outcry should draw no 
customers. Here they come. A hot day, gentlemen. 
''"Quaff and away again, so as to keep yourselves in a 
nice, cool sweat. You, my friend, will need another 
cupful to wash the dust out of your throat, if it bo as 
thick there as it is on your cowhide shoes. I see that 
you have trudged half a score of miles to-day, and, like 
a wise man, have passed by the taverns^^and stopped at 
the running brooks and well -curbs. Otherwise, betwixt 
heat without, and fire within, you would have been 
burnt to a cinder, or melted down to nothing at all, in 
the fashion of a ''"jelly-fish. 

5tii Rd. 17. 


6. Drink, and make room for that other fellow, who 
seeks my aid to quench the fiery fever of last night's 
potations, which he drained from no cup of mine. Wel- 
come, most rubicund sir! You and 1 have been stran- 
gers hitherto; nor, to confess the truth, will my nose be 
anxious for a closer ''"intimacy, till the fumes of your 
breath be a little less ''"potent. 

7. Mercy on 3^ou, man ! The water absolutely hisses 
down your red-hot ''"gullet, and is converted quite into 
steam in the ''"miniature ''"Tophet, which you mistake for 
.a stomach. Fill again, and tell me, on the word of an 
honest toper, did you ever, in cellar, tavern, or any 
other kind of dram-shop, spend the price of your chil- 
dren's food for a swig half so delicious ? Now, for the 
first time these ten yeai's, you know the flavor of cold 
water. Good-by; and Avhenever you are thirsty, recol- 
lect that I keep a constant supply, at the old stand. 

8. Who next? O, my Irttle friend, you are just let 
loose from school, and come hither to scrub your bloom- 
ing face, and drown the memory of certain taps of the 
ferule, and other school-boy ti'oubles, in a """draught from 
the Town Pump. Take it, pure as the current of your 
young life; take it, and may your heart and tongue 
never be scorched with a fiercer thirst than now. 

9. There, my dear child, put down the cup, and yield 
your place to this elderly gentleman, who treads so ten- 
derly over the paving-stones, that I suspect he is afraid 
of breaking them. What! he limps by, without so 
much as thanking me, as if my '""hospitable offers were 
meant only for people who have no wine-cellars. 

10. Well, well, sir, no harm done, I hope! Go, draw 
the cork, tip the """decanter; but when your great toe 
shall set you a roaring, it will be no affair of mine. If 
gentlemen love the pleasant titillation of the gout, it is 
all one to the Town Pump. This thirsty dog, with his 
red tongue """lolling out, does not scorn my """hospitality, 
but stands on his hind legs, and laps eagerly out of the 
trough. See, how lightly he ''"capers away again ! Jow- 
ler, did your worship ever have the gout? 

11. Your pardon^, good people'! I must interrupt 


my stream of "•"eloquence, and spout forth a stream of 
water, to """replenish the trough for this teamster and his 
two yoke of oxen, who have come all the way from 
Staunton, or somewhere along that way. No part of 
my business gives me more pleasure than the watering 
of cattle. Look^! how rapidly they lower the water- 
mark on the sides of the trough, till their "•"capacious 
stomachs are moistened with a gallon or two apiece, and 
they can aiford time to breathe, with sighs of calm 
enjoyment. Now they roll their quiet eyes around the 
brim of their monstrous drinking-vessel. An ox is your 
true toper. 

12. I hold myself the grand "'"reformer of the age. 
From my spout, and such spouts as mine, must flow the 
stream that shall cleanse our earth of a vast portion of 
its crime and anguish, which have gushed from the fiery 
fountains of the still. In this mighty "'"enterprise, the 
cow shall be my great confederate. Milk and water ! 

13. Ahem! Dry work, this """speechifying, especially 
to all unpracticed orators. I never conceived, till now, 
what toil the temperance lecturers undergo for my sake. 
Do, some kind Christian, pump a stroke or two, just to 
wet my whistle. Thank you, sir. But to proceed. 

14. The Town Pump and the Cow! Such is the glori- 
ous partnership, that shall finally monopolize the whole 
business of quenching thirst. Blessed consummation ! 
Then, Poverty shall pass away from the land, finding no 
hovel so wretched, where her squalid form vaay shelter 
itself. Then, Disease, for lack of other victims, shall 
gnaw his own heart and die. Then, Sin, if she do not 
die, shall lose half her strength. 

15. Then, there will be no war of households. The 
husband and the wife, drinking deep of peaceful joy, a 
calm bliss of temperate aff'ections, shall pass hand in 
hand through life, and lie down, not reluctantly, at its 
protracted close. To them, the past will be no turmoil 
of mad dreams, nor the future an eternity of such 
moments as follow the delirium of the drunkard. Their 
dead faces shall express what their spirits were, and are 
to be, by a lingering smile of memory and hope. 


16. Drink, then, and be refreshed! The water is as 
pure and cold as when it slaked the thirst of the red 
hunter, and flowed beneath the aged bough, though now 
this gem of the wilderness is treasured under these hot 
stones, where no shadow falls, but from the brick build- 
ings. But, still is this ''"fountain the source of health, 
peace, and happiness, and I behold with certainty and 
joy, the approach of the period, when the virtues of 
cold water, too little valued since our father's days, will 
be fally +appreciated and '•"recognized by all. 

Exercise . — Describe the various characters who are supposed 
to approach the pump for a drink, aad the pump's remarks to them. 


Ex-act'': v. to compel to pay. ^ xt / ^ j 

' r I ^ ) Nom'i-nat-ed ; V. named. 

For^feit; n. that to which the > t, , ^, -r . 

' \ Pen'al-ty; n. the sufiering or 

right is lost by breach of con- < , , , . , . , • , i 

^ '' s loss to which one is subjected 

tract- f . • 

) by not fulfilling certain con- 
Cae'ri-on; adj. putrid. i ,.,. 

DuC'at: n. a piece of money worth < ^ , j- i i 

„ ' ,*^ , , ,, "^ I Con'^fis-cate; adj. taken away 

from one to two dollars. < j j j 

ij / J. ... f ) and devoted to the public use. 

Hu'mor; n. disposition; fancy. > ^ 

1 \ Allien; n. (pro. ale'yen)^ one who 
BAN^fD; V. poisoned. is not entitled to the privilege 

Gap''ing; flrf/. open-mouthed. \ of a citizen. 

Strain^pd; v. forced. \ Cof'fer; n. treasury. 

Ex-po-si'tion ; n. explanation. \ Ten''or; n. meaning. 


Remark. — Let the pupil stand at a distance from the teacher, 
and try to read so loud and distinctly, that the teacher may hear each, 

Articulate distinctly. Do not say penlt-y for pen-al-ty; qualty 
for qual-e-ty ; per-jry for per-jw-ry; law-fly for law-fw/-ly; ex-psi- 
tion for ex-po-si-tion ; prin-e'p' I tor prin-ci-pal ; in-d'rect for in-di-rect 

Judge. What! is Antonio here? 
Antonio. Ready, so please your grace. 


Ju. I am sorry for thee; thou art come to answer 
A stony ''"adversary, an inhuman wretch, 
"•"Incapable of pity. 

Ant. I am armed to suffer. 

[Enter Shylock.'] 

Ju. Dost thou now exact the penalty. 

Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh? 

Shy. By our holySabbath, I have sworn, 

To have the due and forfeit of my bond. 

Ju. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, 
To excuse the "'"current of thy """cruelty. 

Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. 
You'll ask me why I rather choose to have 
A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive 
Three thousand ducats. I'll not answer that: 
But say it is my humor. Is it answered? 
What if my house be troubled with a rat, 
And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats 
To have it baned? What, are you answered yet? 
Some men there are, love not a gaping pig; 
Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat; 
As there is no firm reason to be "'"rendered. 
Why one can not abide a gaping pig; 
Another, a harmless, """necessary cat; 
So can I give no reason, and I will not. 
More than a lodged hate, and a certain loathing 
I bear Antonio, that I follow thus 
A losing suit against him. 

Ju. Do all men kill the things they do not love? 

Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill? 

Ant. For thy three thousand ducats, here are six. 

Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats 

Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, 

I would not draw them; I would have my bond. 

Ju. How shalt thou hope for mercy, "'"rendering none? 

Shy. The pound of flesh which I demand of him, 

Is dearly bought; is mine; and I will have it: 
If you deny me, fy upon your law ! 


A. I stand for +judgnient; answer; shall 1 have it? 
Ju. Antonio, do you confess the bond? 
Ant. I do. 

Ju. Then must the Jew be merciful. 
Shy. On what ^compulsion must I? tell me that. 

Ju. The quality of mercy is not ''"strained; 

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes. 

Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I "•'crave the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

Ju. Is he not able to discharge the money? 

Ant. Yes, here I tender it to him in the court; 
Yea, twice and thrice the sum. 

Shy. I '11 have my bond, I will not take thy offer. 

Ju. There is no power in Venice 

Can alter a '''decree "■'established. 

Shy. O wise, wise Judge, how do I honor thee ! 

Ju. I pray you let me look upon the bond. 

(Gives it to the Judge.) 

Shy. Here 'tis, most '''reverend doctor,* here it is. 

Ju. Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offered thee. 

Shy. An oath, an oath, I have in Heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? 
No, not for Venice. 

Ju. Why, this bond is forfeit: 

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut oft" 
Nearest the merchant's heart; be merciful; 
Take thrice the money; bid me tear the bond. 

Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor. 
You know the law, your ''■exj)osition 
Hath been most sound. 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter .me : I stand hei-e on my bond. 

*Thi3 word here means a learned man. 


Ant. Most heartily do I beseech the court • 

To give the judgment. 

Ju. Why, then, thus it is. 

You must prepare you bosom for his knife. 

Shy. O noble Judge ! 

• Ju. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here ajipeareth d\ie unto the bond. 

Shy. 'T is very true : O wise and upright Judge ! 

Ju. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. (Tb Antonio.') 

Shy. Ay, his breast: 

So says the bond; does it not, noble Judge? 
Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 

Ju. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh 
The flesh? 

Shy. I have them ready. 

VVm. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge. 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 

Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond? 

Ju. It is not so expressed; but what of that? 
'Twere good you do so much in charity. 

Shy. I can not find it; 'tis not in the bond. 

Ju. Come, merchant, have you any thing to say? 

Ant. But little; I am armed and well j)repared. 

Ju. Shylock! A pound of that same merchant's flesh is 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 
Shy. Most rightful Judge ! 

Ju. And you must cut the flesh from off" his breast; 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

Shy. Most learned Judge ! A sentence: come, prepare. 

Ju. Tarry a little; there is something else. 

This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood; 

The words expressly are, a pound of flesh; 

But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 

One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 


Are, by the law of Yenice, confiscate 
Unto the State of Yenice. 

Shy. Is that the law?- 

Ju. Thyself shalt see the act; 

For, as thou urgcst justice, be ■'"assured 

Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 

Shy. I take his offer, then ; pay the bond thrice, 
And let the Christian go. 

Ju. The Jew shall have all justice; soft! no haste! 
Ho shall have nothing but the penalty. 
Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
Shed thou not blood; nor cut thou less nor more, 
Than just one pound; be it but so much 
As makes it light or heavy, in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor "•'scruple; naj^, if the scale do turn 
But in the '•"estimation of a hair, 
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 
"Why doth the Jew pause? take thy ''"forfeiture. 

Shy. Give me ni}^ "'"principal, and let me go. 

Jii. Thou hast refused it in the open court; 

Thou shalt have merely justice, and the bond. 

Shy. Shall I not barely have my ''"principal? 

Ju. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To bo so taken at thy peril, Jew. 

Shy. Why, then, the devil give him good of it! 
I'll stay no longer question. 

Ju. Tarry, Jew: 

The law hath yet another hold on you. 

It is enacted in the laAvs of Yenice, 

If it be proved against an alien, 

That by direct or indirect "'"attempts. 

He seeks the life of any citizen. 

The party 'gainst the which he doth """contrive, 

Shall seize one half his goods; and the other half 

Comes to the privy coffer of the State, 

And the offender's life lies in the mercy 

Of the court only. 


SJiy. Take my life, then, and all, and pardon not that. 
You take my house, when you do take the prop 
Thac doth sustain my house; you take my life, 
!When you do take the means by which I live. 

Ju. The court in mercy spares thy life. 
But the forfeiture of thy estate, 
Comes not within our jDower to "•"remedy ; 
The law is strict in its demands of justice. 
Are you "'"contented, Jew ? What dost thou say? 

Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence; 
I am not well ; O give me leave to go 
Where I may die in peace: 
Since what I hold dearer than my life, 
Is taken from me. 

Ju. The court has mercy on your life; 
Go, repent, and live, 
And with a softer heart, remember mercy too. 

Exercises. — Why did Shylock choose the pound of flesh rather 
than the payment of his debt? What does he mean by saying "my 
deeds upon my head?" In whose favor does the judge decide? How 
does he eventually relieve Antonio from his danger? How is Shy- 
lock punished? Was his punishment just? Why? 

In the last three lines, which are the verbs? Which of them is in 
the indicative mode? Which are in the imperative mode' What 
does the word indicative mean? Why is this mode so called? What 
does the word i-mperative mean? See Pinneo's Analytical Grammar, 
page 68, Art. 163. 


When similar sounds come at the end of one word, and at the be- 
ginning of the next, they must not be blended. 

He sink* sorrowing to the tomb. Man love^ society. Time 
flies swiftl}'. The birds sing. Mart jjever dies. The hear/ /urns 
away. The \\p pants. Tlie dim mournful lighi /ries vainiy 6o 
enter. The quicA* creaA* comes grating. Give vantage ground. 



1. Im-per-cep''ti-ble ; adj. not to '' 9. Ban^di-cd ; v. tossed about, 
be perceived. > 10. Bac-cha-na'ltan ; adj. revel- 

1. In-cip'i-ent; ad/, commencing; i ing in intemperance. 

beginning. | 11. Phts^ic-al; arfj. material ; ex- 

2. Dex-ter'i-ty ; n. expertness; > ternal. 

skill. i 12. Di'a-lect; n. a particular 

3. Pro-pen''si-ties ; n. bent of > form of speech. 

mind; inclination. 12. Re-cep'ta-cles; n. places 

4. Fas-ci-na^tion; n. a powerful | where any thing is received. 

influence on the affections. ? 13. Glad^i-a-tor ; n. a prize- 
4. Stim''u-lus; n. something which ' fighter. 

excites. ] 13. A-re^na; n. an open space. 

7. Can'ons; 71. rules. I 14. Ru^mi-nat-ing; v. meditating. 

8. Cal^lous; adj. insensible; un- > 15. Ret-ri-bu'tion ; n. recom- 

feeling. ' pense. 

effecxs of gambling. 

Remark. — Be careful to observe the commas and other points, 
making an appropriate pause at each one of them. 

1. The love of gambling steals, perhaps, more often 
than any other sin, with an imperceptible influence on 
its victim. Its first ^pretext is +inconsiderable, and 
falsely termed innocent play, with no more than the 
gentle '•'excitement necessary to amusement. This plea, 
,once indulged, is but too often "as the letting out of 
iwater." The interest imperceptibly grows. Pride of 

superior skill, opportunity, avarice, and all the '*'over- 
whelming passions of depraved nature, ally themselves 
with the incipient and growing fondness. Dam and 
dike are swept away. The victim struggles in vain, 
and is borne down by the '''uncontrolled current. 

2. Thousands have given scope to the '♦'latent guilty 
avarice, unconscious of the guest they harbored in their 
bosoms. Thousands have exulted over the avails of 
gambling, without comprehending the baseness of using 


the money of another, won without honest industry, 
obtained without an "'"equivalent: and perhaps from the 
"•"simplicity, rashness, and ''"inexperience of youth. Mul- 
titudes have commenced gambling, thinking only to win 
a small sum, and prove their superior skill and dextei-ity, 
and there pause. 

3. But it is the teaching of all time, it is the expe- 
rience of human nature, that effectual ''"resistance to 
j^owerful propensities, if made at all, is usually made 
before the """commission of the first sin. JMy dear reader ! 
let me implore you, by the mercies of God and the 
worth of your soul, to ''"contemplate this enormous evil 
only from a distance. Stand firmly against the first 
temptation, under whatsoever "''specious forms it may 
assail you. "Touch not." "Handle not." "Enter not 
into temptation." 

4. It is the ■''melancholy and well-known character 
of this sin, that, where once an appetite for it has gained 
possession of the breast, the common motives, the gentle 
excitements, and the ordinary ''"inducements to business 
or amusement, are no longer felt. It incorporates itself 
with the whole body of thought, and fills with its fasci- 
nation all the desires of the heart. Nothing can hence- 
forward arouse the spell-bound victim to a ''"pleasurable 
■■"consciousness of existence, but the destructive stimulus 
of gambling. 

5. Another ''"appalling view of gambling is, that it is 
the prolific stem, the fruitful parent, of all other vices. Blas- 
phemy, falsehood, cheating, drunkenness, quarreling, 
and murder, are all naturally connected with gambling; 
and what has been said, with so much power and truth, 
of another sin, may, with equal emphasis and truth, be 
asserted of this: "Allow yourself to become a "'"con- 
firmed gambler, and detestable as this practice is, it 
will soon be only one among many gross sins of which 
you will be guilty." Giving yourself up to the indul- 
gence of another sinful course, might prove your ruin ; 
but then you might perish only under the guilt of the 
"'"indulgence of a single gross sin. 

6. But, should you become a gambler, you will, in all 


probability, descend to destruction with the added in- 
famy of having been the slave of all kinds of iniquity, 
and "led captive by Satan at his will." Gambling 
seizes hold of all the passions, allies itself with all the 
appetites, and compels every propensity to pay ''"tribute. 
The subject, however plausible in his external deport- 
ment, becomes """avaricious, greedy, "'"insatiable. Medita- 
tions upon the card-table occupy all his day and night 
dreams. Had he the power, he would """annihilate all 
the hours of this our short life, that necessarily "'"inter- 
vene between the periods of his favorite pursuit. 

7. CJieafing is a sure and "'"in separable attendant upon 
a continued course of gambling. We well know with 
what horror the canons of the card-table repel this 
charge. It pains us to assert our deep and delibei'ate 
conviction of its truth. There must be prostration of 
moral principle, and silence of conscience, even to begin 
with it. Surely a man who regards the natural sense 
of right, laying the """obligations of Christianity out of 
the question, can not sit down with the purpose to win 
the money of another in this way. 

^ 8. He must be aAvare, in doing it, that avarice and 
dishonest thoughts, it may be almost """unconsciously to 
himself, mingle with his motives. Having once closed 
his eyes upon the unworthiness of his motives, and de- 
ceived himself, he begins to study how he may deceive 
others. Every moralist has remarked upon the delicacy 
of conscience ; and that, from the first """violation,, it be- 
comes more and more callous, until finally it sleeps a 
sleep as of death, and ceases to """remonstrate. 

9. The gambler is less and less scrupulous about the 
modes of winning, so that he can win. No person Avill 
be long near the gambling-table of high stakes, be the 
standing of the players Avhat it may, without hearing 
the charge of cheating bandied back and forward; or 
reading the """indignant expression of it in their coun- 
tenances. One half of our fatal duels have their im- 
mediate or remote origin in insinuations of this sort. 

10. The alternations of loss and gain ; the """preternat- 
ural excitement of the mind, and consequent depression 



when that excitement has passed away ; the bacchana- 
lian merriment of guilty associates; the loss of natural 
rest; in short, the very '''atmosphere of the gambling- 
table, foster the temperament of hard drinking. A keen 
sense of interest may, indeed, and often does, restrain 
the gambler, while actually engaged in his employment, 
that he may possess the '•'requisite coolness to watch 
his ''"antagonist, and avail himself of every passing ad- 

11. But the moment the high excitement of play is 
intermitted, the moment the passions '•'vibrate back to 
the state of repose, what shall sustain the sinking 
spirits; what shall renerve the relaxed physical nature; 
what shall fortify the mind against the tortures of con- 
science, and the thoughts of "a judgment to come," but 
■•"intoxication? It is the experience of all time, that a 
person is seldom a gambler for any considerable period, 
without being also a drunkard. 

• 12. Blasphemy follows, as a thing of course; and is, 
indeed, the well-known and universal dialect of the 
gambler. How often has my heart sank within me, 
as I have passed the dark and dire receptacles of the 
gambler, and seen the red and bloated faces, and '•'in- 
haled the mingled smells of tobacco and '•'potent drink ; 
and heard the loud, strange, and horrid curses of the 
players; realizing the while, that these beings so oc- 
cupied were '•"candidates for eternity, and now on the 
course which, if not speedily forsaken, would fix them 
forever in hell. 

13. We have already said, that gambling naturally 
leads to quarreling and murder. How often have we 
retired to our berth in the steam-boat, and heard charges 
of dishonesty, accents of '•"reviling and 'recrimination, 
and hints that these charges must be met and settled at 
another time and place, ring in our ears, as we have 
been attempting to commune with God, and settle in a 
right frame to repose! Many '•'corses of young' men, 
who met a violent death from this cause, have we seen 
carried to their long home! Every gambler, in the 
region where we write, is always armed to the teeth, 


and goes to this horrid pursuit, as the gladiator formerly 
jH'esented himself on the ax'ena of combat. 

14. The picture receives deeper shades, if we take into 
the groujjing the u'ife, or the daughter, or the mother, who 
lies sleepless, and ruminating through the long night, 
trembling lest her midnight '•'retirement shall be in- 
vaded by those who bring back the husband and the 
father wounded or slain, in one of those sudden '""frays 
which the card-table, its accompaniments, and the pas- 
sions it excites, so frequently generate. Suppose these 
''■forebodings should not be realized, and that he should 
steal home alive in the morning, with beggary and 
drunkenness, guilt and despair, written on his +haggard 
countenance, and accents of sullenness and ill-temper 
falling from his tongue, how ''"insupportably gloomy 
must be the prospects of the future to that family! 

15. These are but feeble and general sketches of the 
misery and ruin to individuals and to society from the 
■^■indulgence of this vice, during the present life. If the 
wishes of unbelief were true, and there were no life 
after this, what perverse and miserable ^calculations 
would be those of the gambler, taking into view only 
the present world! But, in any view of the character 
and consequences of gambling, who shall dare close his 
eyes upon its future bearing on the interests and the 
eternal welfare of his soul! Who shall dare lay out of 
the calculation the retributions of '^eternity? 

16. Each of the sins that enters into this deadly com- 
pound of them all, must incur the threatened displeasure 
and punishment of the Almighty. If there be degrees 
in the misery and despair of the ''tenants of that region, 
"where the worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched," 
how must the '•'persevering and '•'impenitent gambler 
sink, as if "a millstone were hung about his neck, and 
he cast into the sea!" Say thou, my youthful reader, 
I implore thee, looking up to the Lord for a firm and 
unalterable purpose, "I will hold fast my integrity and 
not let it go." 



1. Al-lure'ment; n. something M. Vig^i-lance ; n. -watchfulness. 

attractive. ^ 4. De-crep''it ; a. wasted witli age. 

1. Plight; n. state; condition. > 5. Prone; arfj. bending down; not 
8. Phan''to«i; n. a fancied vision; ( erect. 

a specter. ) 5. DE-BAS^en; arf/. degraded. 

3. A-wry'; arf;'. (pro. a-n^), turned i 6. Vy-AhMS^ev; adj.{-pro.un-amzd^) 

to one side; squinting. i not having received alms, or 

3. In-an^i-mate ; arf/. without life. \ charitable assistance. 


Remark. — Remember that the chief beauty and excellence of 
reading consists in a clear and smooth articulation of the words and 

Pronounce correctly the following' words in this lesson. Do 
not say sa-cri-fisd for sac-ri-fic'd, (pro. sac-ri-Jizd); be-nev-er-lunce 
for be-nev-o-lence; of-fud for oMerd; bit-ter-niss for bit-ter-ness; 
yal-ler for yel-lo2<; ; fol-lerd for fol-low'rf; il-lus-trous for il-lus-tn'-ousj 
ub-un-dunce for a-bun-dance. 

1. Gold, many hunted, sweat, and bled for gold; 
Waked all the night, and labored all the day; 
And what was this allurement, dost thou ask? 
A dust dug from the ''"bowels of the earth, 
Which being cast into the fire, came out 

A shining thing that fools admired, and called 
A god; and in devout and humble plight 
Before it kneeled, the greater to the less. 

2. They, on its altar, "•'sacrificed ease and peace, 
Truth, faith, "'"integrity, good conscience, friends. 
Love, '''charity, ''"benevolence, and ^ 

The sweet and tender ''"sympathies of life; 

And, to complete the horrid, """murderous rite, 

And ■•"signalize their folly, offered up 

Their souls, and an eternity of bliss, 

To gain them, what? an hour of dreaming joy, 

A feverish hour that hasted to be done, 

And ended in the ''"bitterness of woe. 

,^/ ^4- 


3. Most, for the ''"luxuries it bought, the ■'"pomp, 
The praise, the glitter, fashion, and renoAvn, 
This yellow phantom followed and adored. 
But there was one in folly further gone, 
"With eye awry, '''incurable, and wild. 

The laughing-stock of devils and of men. 
And by his ''guardian angel quite given up; 
The miser, who with dust inanimate 
Held wedded ''"intercourse. 

4. I_n-guided wretch! 

Thou niight'st have seen him at the midnight hour, 

When good men slept, and in light-winged dreams 

Ascended up to God — in wasteful hall, 

With vigilance and fasting, worn to skin 

And bone, and wrapj)ed in most '•'debasing rags^ 

Thou might'st have seen him bending o'er his heaps, 

And holding strange communion with his gold; 

And, as his thievish fancy seemed to hear 

The night-man's foot approach, starting alarmed. 

And in his old, deci'epit, withered hand. 

That palsy shook, grasping the yellow earth 

To make it sure. 

5. Of all God made upright, 
And in their nostrils breathed a living soul, 

Most fallen, most prone, most earthy, most ''"debased, 

Of all that sold Eternity for Time, 

None bargained on so easy terms with Death. 

6. '•'Illustrious fool ! Nay, most "'"inhu man wretch! 
He sat among his bags, and, with a look 
Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor 
Away unalmsed, and mid '•'abundance died, 
Sorest of evils ! died of utter want. 

E X E R c I s Es . — Describe the miser as here painted. What became 
of him? 

In the first sentence "gold, many hunted," what is the suhjecti 
What the attribute? What modifier has the attribute? In what case? 
How governed? See Pinneo's Analytical Grammar, page 140, Ex. 
100, and Rule III. 



1. lM-PE''Ri-oirs ; adj. urgent; not ) 3. Sanct'it-a-rt ; n. a sacred 

to be opposed. s place; a place of protection. 

1. An-tag^o-nist; n. an opponent; > 5. An-i-mad-vert^ed; v. cen- 

one who contends with an- > sured; reproved. 

other in combat. w, Com-punC'tion; n. remorse; 

2. Poign''ant; adj. (t^yo. poin^ant) > sorrow from a consciousness 

sharp; severe. \ of guilt. 

2. Par^a-lyz-cd ; v. deprived of \ 8. Plen'i-tude ; n. fullness ; com- 

the power of action. > pleteness. 


In 1804, Alexander Hamilton was challenged by Aaron Burr. Both 
were distinguished American Statesmen, but Burr envied Hamilton's 
popularity. Hamilton felt compelled by the force of public opinion 
to accept the challenge, but fired his pistol in the air, and was him- 
self killed by Burr. The following is from an address by Dr. Nott. 

1. Hamilton yielded to the force of an imperious 
custom; and yielding, he '•'sacrificed a life in which all 
had an interest; and he is lost, lost to his country, lost 
to his family, lost to us. For this rash act, because he 
■•■disclaimed it, and was penitent, I forgive him. But 
there are those whom I can not forgive. I mean not his 
antagonist, over whose erring steps, if there be tears in 
heaven, a pious mother looks down and weeps. 

2. If he be capable of feeling, he suffers already all 
that humanity can suffer: suffers, and wherever he may 
fly, will suffer, with the poignant '''recoll9ction of having 
taken the life of one, who was too ''magnanimous in 
return to attempt his own. If he had known this, it 
must have paralyzed his arm while he pointed, at so 
"•"incorruptible a bosom, the '•'instrument of death. Does 
he know this now, his h^^rt, if it be not "'"adamant, must 
soften ; if it be not ice, i^^Rust melt. * * ^= But on this 
article I forbear. Stained with blood as he is, if he be 
penitent I forgive him; and if he be not, before these 
altars, where all of ub appear as '•"suppliants, I wish not 

5th Rd. 18. 


to excite your ^vengeance, but rather, in behalf of an 
object rendered wretched and +pitiable by crime, to 
wake your prayers. 

3. But 1 have said, and I repeat it, there are those 
whom I can not forgive. I can not forgive that minis- 
ter at the altar, who has hitherto forborne to remon- 
strate on this subject. I can not forgive that public 
■•■prosecutor, who, intrusted with the duty of avenging 
his country's wrongs, has seen these wrongs and taken 
no measures to +avenge them. I can not forgive that 
judge upon the bench, or that governor in the chair of 
State, who has lightly passed over such offenses. I can 
not forgive the public, in whose opinion the Muelist 
finds a sanctuary. I can not forgive you, my brethren, 
who till this late hour have been silent, while "^succes- 
sive murders were committed. 

4. No; I can not forgive you, that you have not in 
common with the freemen of this State, raised your 
voice to the powers that be, and loudly and ^explicitly 
demanded an •'■execution of your laws; demanded this 
in a manner, which, if it did not reach the ear of gov- 
ernment, would at least have reached the heavens, and 
have pleaded your excuse before the God that filleth 
them; in whose presence as I stand, I should not feel 
myself innocent of the blood that crieth against us, had 
I been silent. 

5. But I have not been silent. Many of you who 
hear me are my witnesses; the walls of yonder temple, 
where I have heretofore addressed you, are my wit- 
nesses, how freely I have animadverted on this subject, 
in the presence both of those who have -^violated the 
law\s, and of those whose "^indispensable duty it is to see 
the laAvs executed on those who violate them. 

6. I enjoy another i-opportunity ; and would to God, 
I might be permitted to approach for once the last scene 
of death. Would to God, I coukl there assemble, on the 
one side, the disconsolate moH^r with her seven father- 
less children, and, on the other, those Avho administer ,v^ 
the justice of my country. Could I do this, I would ^ 
point them to these sad objects. i 





7. I would entreat them, by the agonies of ''"bereaved 
fondness, to listen to the widow's heart-felt groans; to 
mark the orphan's sighs and tears; and having done 
this, I would uncover the breathless corpse of Hamilton ; 
I would lift from his gaping wound his bloody mantle; 
I would hold it up to heaven before them, and 1 would 
ask, in the name of God, I would ask, whether at the 
sight of it they felt no compunction. Ye who have 
hearts of pity; ye who have experienced the """anguish 
of ■•"dissolving friendship; who have wept, and still weep 
over the '"moldering ruins of departed kindred, ye can 
enter into this ''"reflection. 

8. O thou disconsolate widow ! robbed, so cruelly 
robbed, and in so short a time, both of husband and a 
son! what must be the plenitude of thy suffering! 
Could we approach thee, gladly would we drop the tear 
of ■'"sympathy, and pour into thy bleeding bosom the 
balm of ■'"consolation ! But how could we comfort her 
whom God hath not comforted ! To his throne let us 
lift up our voices and weep. O God! if thou art still 
the widow's husband, and the father of the fatherless; 
if in the fullness of thy goodness, there be yet mercy in 
store for "'"miserable mortals, pity, O pity this afliicted 
mother, and grant that her hapless "'"orphans may find a 
friend, a ■'"benefactor, a father in Thee ! 

Exercises. — Who was Hamilton? Who was B-urr ? What were 
the circumstances of their duel? What is said of Hamilton ? What 
is said of his antagonist Burr who killed him? What is said of the 
minister of the altar? Of the public prosecutor? Of the judge? Is 
there any excuse for the duelist? 

Parse each of the first nine words. State which is the subject, and 
which the attribute of that sentence. What preposition connects the 
objective modifier ^'^ force" to the attribute ^^yielded." 


The tale thrill'd his heart. The thrifty man prospers. They 
threaded the narrow streets with scarcely a ray of light. Youth's 
thoughtlessness heeds not the truths which the experience of age 



A-ver'sion; n. dislike. > De-ris''ion; ti. the act of laughing 

Fron'-t ; n. language intended to \ at in contempt. 

convey a meaning contrary to > In-com-pat'i-ble; adj. that can 
its literal signification. i not exist togethei-. 


, Articulate distinctly. Do not sny s prise for swr-prise ; d!rcci-hj 
for fl^-rec^ly; oh maid for ok^ maid; juss for jns<; vn-dcr-stan for 
un-der-stana?; 5%/i^f5 for t-light-es^ ; ob-jcc for oh -]qcJ. 

Mrs. Bolingbroke. I wish I knew what was the matter 
Avith me this morning. Why do. you keep the '•'news- 
paper all to yourself, my dear? 

Mr. Bolingbroke. Here it is for you, my dear; I have 
■•"finished it. 

Mrs. B. I humbly thank you for giving it to nio 
when you have done Avith it. I hate ''"stale news. Is 
there any thing in the paper? for I can not be at the 
trouble of hunting it. 

Mr. B. Yes, my dear ; there are the marriages of two 
of our friends. 

Mrs. B. Who? Who? 

Mr. B. Your friend, the Avidow Nettleby, to her cousin 
John INettleby. 

Mrs. B. Mrs. Nettleby? Dear! But why did you 
tell me? 

Mr. B. Because you asked me, my dear. 

Mrs. B. O, but it is a hundred times pleasanter to 
read the """paragraph one's self One loses all the j)lcas- 
ure of the """surprise by being told. Well, whose was the 
other marriage? 

Mr. B. O, my dear, I will not tell you; I will leave 
you the pleasure of the surprise. 

Mrs. B. But you see I can not find it. How ''"pro- 
voking you are, my dear ! Do pray tell uie. 

Mr. B. Our fi-iend, Mr. Gi>anby. 


Mrs. B. Mr. Granby? Dear! "Why did you not make 
me guess? I should have guessed him ''"directly. But 
why do you call him our friend? I am sure he is no 
friend of mine, nor ever was. I took an aversion to 
him, as you """remember, the very first day I saw him. I 
am sure he is no friend of mine. ' 

3Tr. B. I am soi'ry for it, my dear; but I hope you 
will go and see Mrs. Granby. 

Mrs. B. Not I, indeed, my dear. Who was she? 

Mr. B. Miss Cooke. 

Mrs. B. Cooke? But there are so many Cookes. 
Can't you "*"distinguish her any way? Has she no 
Christian name? 

Mr. B. Emma, I think. Yes, Emma. 

Mrs. B. Emma Cooke? No; it can not be my friend 
Emma Cooke; for I am sure she was cut out for an old 

Mr. B. This lady seems to me to be cut out for a good 

Mrs. B. May be so. I am sure I'll never go to see 
her. Pray, my dear, how came you to see so much of 

Mr. B. I have seen very little of her, my dear. I 
only saw her two or three times before she was mar- 

Mrs. B. Then, my dear, how could you "'"decide, that 
she was cut out for a good wife? I am sure you could 
not judge of her by seeing her only two or three times, 
and before she was married. 

Mr. B. Indeed, my love, that is a very just "•'observa- 

Mrs. B. I understand that '•"compliment ''"perfectly, 
and thank j^ou for it, my dear. I must own I can bear 
any thing better than irony. 

Mr. B. Irony? my dear, I was perfectly in earnest.^ 

Mrs. B. Yes, yes; in earnest; so I perceive; I may 
naturally be dull of """apprehension, but my feelings are 
quick enough; I comprehend too well. Yes, it is im- 
possible to judge of a woman before marriage, or to 
guess what sort of a wife she will make. I presume you 


speak from "•"experience; you have been "'"disappointed 
yourself, and repent your choice. 

Mr. B. My dear, what did I say that was like this? 
Upon my word, I meant no such thing. I really was 
not thinking of you in the least. 

Mrs. B. No, you never think of me now. I can 
easily believe that you were not thinking of me in the 

Mr. B. But I said that, only to prove to you that I 
could not be thinking ill of you, my dear. 

Mrs. B. But I would rather that you thought ill of 
me, than that you should not think of me at all. 

Mr. B. "Well, my dear, I will even think ill of you, 
if that will please you. 

Mrs. B. Do you laugh at me? When it comes to 
this, I am wretched indeed. Never man laughed at the 
woman he loved. As long as you had the slightest 
remains of love for me, you could not make me an 
object of derision ;'''"ridicule and love are incompatible, 
"•"absolutely incompatible. Well, I have done my best, 
my very best, to make you happy, but in vain. I see I 
am not cut out to be a good wife. Happy, hapj)y Mrs. 
Gran by ! 

Mr. B. Happy, I hope "'"sincerely, that she will be 
with my friend; but my happiness must depend on you, 
my love; so, for my sake, if not for your own, be com- 
posed, and do not "'"torment yourself with such "'"fancies. 

Mrs. B. I do wonder whether this Mrs. Granby is 
really that Miss Emma Cooke. I'll go and see her 
directly; see her I must. 

Mr. B. I am heartily glad of it, my dear; for I am 
sure a visit to his wife will give my friend Granby real 

3Irs. B. I promise you, my dear, I do not go to give 
him pleasure, or you either, but to "'"satisfy my own 

Exercise . — What inflections are proper at the pauses in the 
last two sentences? 



1. Surc'es; n. large waves. I 4. Dex-ter^i-ty ; n. activity; 

1. Vol-ca''noes; n. burning moun- I skill. [burned. 

*'^^"^- I 6. Com-bus^ti-ble; adj. easily 

1. Ex-PLOD''iNG ; V. throwing out | 7. Earth''quake; n. a shaking 

with force and a loud report. \ of the earth. 

2. Con-vul'sion; n. commotion; | 8. Am-phi-the'a-ter; n. a build- 

tumult. ] ing of a round form for pub- 

2. Mtr'i-ad; n. a very great num- ( lie amusements. 

ber. ? 8. A-re'na; n. an open space of 

2. Con-fla-gra^tion ; n. a great \ ground. 

fire. ^ < 11. Ca-tas'tko-phe; n. an unfor- 

3. La^va; n. melted matter from J tunate end. 

a volcano. ^11. Oe'vi-ous-ly ; adv. evidently. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say bil-lcrs for bil-lot«s; vol-lum 
for vol-ume, (pro. vol-yum); nar-rer for nar-rot^^; hij-jus for \\\d-e- 
ous; mix-ter nor mix-tshure for m\xt-ure; for-tu-net-ly for fort-u- 
nate-ly ; tre-men-jus nor tre-men-ju-ous for tre-men-rfous. 

1. EoME was an ocean of flame. Height and depth 
were covered with red surges, that rolled before the 
blast like an endless tide. The '♦'billows burst up the 
sides of the hills, which they turned into instant volca- 
noes, exploding "•"volumes of smoke and fire ; then 
plunged into the depths in a hundred glowing "'"cata-. 
racts, then climbed and consumed again. 

2. The distant sound of the city, in her convulsion, 
went to the soul. The air was filled with the steady 
roar of the "'"advancing flame, the crash of falling houses, 
and the """hideous outcry of the myriads, flying through 
the streets, or surrounded and perishing in the confla- 

3. All was clamor, violent """struggle, and helpless 
death. Men and women of the highest rank were on 
foot, "'"trampled by the rabble, that had then lost all 
respect for condition. One dense mass of miserable life, 


■•"irresistible from its weight, crushed by the narrow 
streets, and scorched by the flames over their heads, 
rolled through the gates like an endless stream of black 

4. The fire had ''"originally broken out upon the Pal- 
atine, and hot smoke, that wrapped and half-blinded us, 
hung thick as night upon the wrecks of pavilions and 
palaces; but the dexterity and knowledge of my inex- 
plicable guide carried us on. 

5. It was in vain that I insisted upon knowing the 
purpose of this terrible traverse. He pressed his hand 
upon his heart in '''re -assurance of his fidelity, and still 
spurred on. We now passed under the shade of an 
immense range of lofty buildings, whose gloomy and 
solid strength seemed to bid '''dctiance to chance and 

6. A sudden yell appalled me. A ring of fire swept 
round its summit : burning '''cordage, sheets of canvas, 
and a shower of all things combustible, flew into the air 
above our heads. An uproar followed, unlike all that I 
had ever heard, a hideous mixture of ''"howls, shrieks, 
and groans. 

7. The flames rolled down the narrow street before 
us, and made the passage next to ''"impossible. While 
w^e hesitated, a huge fragment of the building heaved a8 
if in an earthquake, and, fortunately for us, fell inward. 
The whole scene of terror was then open. 

8. The great amphitheater of Statilius Taurus had 
caught fire; the stage with its inflammaRe furniture, 
was ''"intensely blazing below. The flames were wheel- 
ing up, circle after circle, through the seventy thousand 
seats that rose from the ground to the roof I stood in 
''"unspeakable awe and wonder on the side of this ''"colos- 
sal cavern, this mighty temple of the city of fire. At 
length, a descending blast cleared away the smoke that 
covered the arena. 

9. The cause of those horrid cries was now visible. 
The wild beasts kept for the games, had broken from 
their dens. Maddened by fright and pain, lions, tigers, 
panthers, wolves, whole herds of the monsters of India 


and Africa, were inclosed in an ''"impassable barrier of 

10. They bounded, they fought, they screamed, they 
tore; they ran howling round and round the circle; they 
made """desperate leaps ujDward through the blaze; they 
were flung back, and fell only to fasten their Jangs in 
each other, and, with their parching jaws bathed in 
blood, to die raging. 

11: I looked ''"anxiously to see whether any human 
being was involved in this fearful catastrophe. To my 
great relief, I could see none. The keepers and attend- 
ants had '""obviously escaped. As I expressed my glad- 
ness, I was startled by a loud cry from my guide, the 
first sound that I had heard him utter. 

12. He pointed to the opposite side of the amphithe- 
ater. There indeed sat an object of ''"melancholy inter- 
est ; a man who had been either unable to escape, or had 
determined to die. Escape was now impossible. He sat 
in desperate calmness on his funeral pile. He was a 
■•"gigantic Ethiopian slave, entirely naked. 

13. He had chosen his place, as if in mockery, on the 
■•"imperial throne; the fire was above him and around 
him, and under this tremendous """canopy he gazed, with- 
out the movement of a muscle, on the combat of the 
wild beasts below; a solitary sovereign, with the whole 
tremendous game played for himself, and inaccessible to 
the jDOwer of man. 

Exercises. — Where is Rome? What is a conflagration? What 
had happened to Rome? What is an amphitheater? To whom do we 
owe our preservation from fire, and from other calamities? 


Thou indxdged st the appetite. O wind ! that wafist us o'er the 
main. Thou tempted'st him. Thou loved'st him fondly. Thou 
credited'st his story. The lisis a,re open. The light dazzV d hia 
eyes. Thej' were puzzVd by the intricacies of the path. In vain 
thou muzzl'dst the fierce beast 
5th Rd. 19. 



Ar''ras; n. a kind of curtains ^ A-non''; adv. soon; still and anon 
hung around the walls of a i means, now and then, frequent- 
room. I ly. 

Un-clean^ly; adj. (pro. un-klen'- \ Wince; v. to shrink back as from 

ly), indecent. ? pain. 

Wan^ton-ness ; n. playfulness; s Chid; v. blamed; reproached. 

sportiveness. s -A^n-noy''ance; ?;. any thing which 

Chris'ten-dom; n. territory of ^ injures or troubles. 

Christians; used for christen- s Troth; n. truth; veracity. 

ing or baptism; as if he said, < Ex-tremes''; ??. the greatest degreo 

By my baptism. S of distress; undeserved extreme.'! 

Prate ; n. familiar talk, < means, acts of cruelty which he 

Sooth ; n. truth. > had not deserved. 

Rheum; n. (pi'o. rums), here used I Tarre ; v. (pro. tar), to tease; to 

for tears. [pity- ) set on. 

Dis-pit''e-ous; adj. cruel; without < Dog'ged; adj. surly; stubborn. 
Foul ; adj. wicked ; abominable. ^ Ci-ose''ly ; adv. secretly ; privately. 


Pronounce correctly. I-rons, pro. i-urns ; iin-clean-ly, pro. ^m- 
Mcn-ly ; Chris-ten-dom, pro. Krisn-dum; pris-on, pro. jom'n; min- 
utes, pro. tnin-its ; pret-ty, pro. prit-ty. 

Hubert. Heat me those irons hot; and, look, thou stand 
Within the arras; when I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, 
And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
Fast to the chair; be heedful: hence, and watch. 

First Attendant. I hope your '•'warrant will bear out the 

Huh. Uncleanly "^scruples ! Fear not you : look to it. 

(Exeunt Attendants.} 
Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 

(Enter Arthur.') 
Arthur. Good-morrow, Hubert. 

Huh. Good-morrow, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (liaving so great a title 

To be more prince) as may be. You are sad. 


Huh. Indeed, I have been merrier. 

Arth. Mercy on me! 

Methinks no person should be sad but I ; 
Yet I remember, when I was in France, 
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night. 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
I should be merry as the day is long ; 
And so would I be here, but that I doubt 
My uncle ''"practices more harm to me: 
He is afraid of me, and I of him. 
Is it my fault that I were Geoffrey's son ? 
No, indeed, is't not ; and I would to heaven 
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 

Hub. If I talk to him, with his ^innocent prate 
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day. 
In sooth, I would 3'ou were a little sick, 
That I might sit all night, and watch with you, 
I warrant I love you more than you do me. 

Huh. His words do take possession of my bosom. 

Eead here, young Arthur. {Showing a paper.) 
How now, foolish rheum? (Aside.) 
Turning "•'dispiteous torture out of door! 
I must be brief, lest +resolution drop 
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 
Can you not read it? Is it not fair writ ? 

Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 

Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 

Huh. Young boy, I must. 

Arth. And will you? 

Huh. And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but 
I knit my handkerchief about your brows, 
(The best I had, a princess wrought it me), 
And I did never ask it you again : 


And -vvitli my hand, at midnight, held your head, 
And like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
Still and anon cheered up the heavy time; 
Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your 

Or, What good love may I perform for you? 
Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
But you at your sick service had a prince. 
Nay, you may think my love was ''"crafty love, 
And call it cunning: do, an if you will : 
If heaven be pleased that you should use me ill. 
Why, then you must. Will you put out mine eyes? 
These eyes, that never did, nor never shall. 
So much as frown on you? 

Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 

And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Artk. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it: 

The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, [tears. 
Approaching near these eyes, would drink my 
And ■'"quench its '""fiery indignation. 
Even in the matter of mine innocence: 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust. 
But for containing fire to harm mine eya. 
Are you more stubborn -h ard than hammered iron ? 
And if an angel should have come to me, 
And told me Hubert should put out mine ej'es, 
I would not have believed him, — no tongue but 

Hub. Come forth! {Stamps.) (Re-enter Attendants, with 
Do as I bid you. [cord, irons, &c.) 

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! My eyes are out 
Even with the ''"fierce looks of these bloody men. 

Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 

Arth. Alas! what need you be so boisterous rough? 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven's sake, Hubert ! let me not be bound ! 
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away. 
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb: 


I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
]N"or look upon the irons ''"angrily ; 
Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive you, 
Whatever torment you do put me to. 

Hub. Go stand within ; let me alone with him. 

I St At. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. (Ex.At.) 

Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend : 
He hath a stern look but a gentle heart: 
Let him come back, that his '•"compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Huh. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy? 

Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arth. O, heaven ! that there were but a mote in yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 
Any annoj^ance in that ''"precious sense! 
Then, feeling what small things are '•"boisterous 

Your vile '""intent must needs seem horrible. 

Hub. Is this your promise? Go to, hold your tongue! 

Arth. Hubert, the '•"utterance of a """brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ! let me not, Hubert ! 
Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, 
So I may keep mine eyes. O, spare mine eyes, 
Though to no use, but still to look on you! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
And would not harm me. 

Hub. I can heat it, boy. 

Arth. No, in good sooth, the fire is dead with grief — 
Being create for comfort — to be used 
In undeserved extremes. See else yourself; 
There is no malice in this burning coal ; 
The breath of heaven hath blown its spirit out, 
And """strewed repentant ashes on its head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush 


And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hu- 
bert ; 
Nay, it '•'perchance will sparkle in your eyes, 
And, like a dog, that is ''"compelled to fight, 
Snatch at his master that does tarre him on. 
All things, that 3'ou should use to do me wrong, 
Deny their office; only you do lack 
That mercy, which fierce fire and iron extend, 
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 

Huh. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes 
For all the treasure that thy uncle owns; 
Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy. 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while 
You were '''disguised. 

ITub. Peace: no more: Adieu! 

Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
I'll fill these dogged "''spies with false '''reports. 
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
Will not oftend thee. 

Arth. O heaven ! I thank you, Hubert. 

Huh. Silence : no more. Go closely in with me ; 
Much danger do I undergo for thee. 

Exercises . — Why was Hubert about to kill Arthur? What did 
Arthur say 7 AVhat was the result of his entreaties? 

What is the subject of the last sentence? What is the attribute? 


The throne was throng d with suppliants. The thrush and tlie 
oriole scem'd to vie in song. He is thorough through all. Spring- 
ing, swinging, clinging, the ape ju7nps from branch to branch. The 
subjects were appropriate to the circumstances. Reflection is desira- 
ble under difficult exigencies. A catapult is an engine for throwing 
stones. A cataplasm is a soft poultice. Drifting, and almost 
drown'd, he dranh the briny wave. From star to star the livid 
lightnings flash. 



Can'ni-bals ; n. men who eat hu- 5 Col^o-nt; n. a company of per- 

man flesh. [vaders. \ sons removing to a new coun- 

Ag-gress'ors; n. the first in- > try, but remaining subject to 

Ven'i-son ; n. (pro. ven^e-z'n or \ the parent country. 

veti'zn), the flesh of deer. ? Reg^i-ment; 71. a body of troops. 


Pronounce correctly. Do not say sav-ij-is for sav-a-ge*; Jcit-tle 
for ket-tle ; idee for i-de-a ; reg-i-munt for reg-i-ment ; viusk-iis for 
mus-kets; con-tr</ry for con''tra-ry; sub-jics for sub-jec^s ; weap'n 
for weap-on. 

King Charles. "Well^, friend "William^! I have sold 
you a noble province in North America; but still, I sup- 
pose you have no thoughts of going thither yourself. 

Perm. Yes, I have, I ''"assure thee, friend Charles; 
and I am just come to bid thee farewell. 

K. C. What^ ! venture yourself among the '''savages 
of N"orth America^! "Why^, man^, what ^security have 
you that you will not be in their war-kettle in two hours 
after setting foot on their shores? 

P. The best security in the world. 

K. C. I doubt that, friend William; I have no idea 
of any security, against those cannibals, but in a ''"regi- 
ment of good soldiers, with their muskets and ''"bay- 
onets. And mind^, I tell you beforehand^, that, with 
all my good-will for you and. your family, to whom I 
am under ''"obligations, I will not send a single soldier 
with you. 

P. I want none of thy soldiers, Charles : I depend on 
something better than thy soldiers. 

K. C. Ah'! what may #/iar be? 

P. Why, I depend upon themselves^ ; on the working 
of their own hearts'^ ; on their notions of justice"^ ; on their 
moral sense. 


K. C. A fine thing, this same moral sense, no doubt; 
but I fear you will not find 7nuch of it among the Indians 
of North America. 

P. And Avhy not among the77i, as Avell as others? 

K. C. Because if they had possessed any, they would 
not have treated my '•'subjects so ''"barbarously as they 
have done. 

P. That is no ''"proof of the '''contrary, friend Charles. 
Thy subjects were the aggressors. When thy subjects 
lirst went to North America, they found these poor 
\ people the fondest and Idndest creatures in the world. 
Every day, they would watch for them to come ashore, 
and hasten to meet them, and feast them on the best fish, 
and venison, and corn, which were all they had. In 
return for this hospitality of the savages, as we call 
them, thy subjects, termed Christians, seized on their 
country and rich hunting grounds, for farms for them- 
selves. Now, is it to be wondered at, that these rauch 
injured people should have been driven to '•'desperHtion 
by such ''"injustice; and that, burning with ''"revenge, 
they should have committed some ''"excesses? 

K. C. Well, then, I hope you will not complain when 
they come to treat you in the same manner. 

P. I am not afraid of it. 

K. C. Ah! how will you avoid it? You mean to get 
their hunting grounds too, I suppose? 

P. Yes^, but not by driving these poor people away 
from them. ' 

K. C. No, indeed^? How then will you get their 

P. I mean to buy their lands of them. 

K. C. Buy their lands of theni^f Why, man, you 
have already bought them of me. 

P. Yes, I know I have, and at a dear rate, too: but 1 
did it only to get thy good-will, not that I thought thou 
hadst any right to their lands. 

K. C. How^, man^? no right to their lands? 

P. No, friend Charles, no right, no right at all: what 
right hast thou to their lands? 

K. C. Why^, the right of '^discovei^y^, to be sure; the 


right which the Pope and all Christian kings have 
agreed to give one another. 

P. The right of discovery? A strange kind of right, 
indeed. Now, suppose, friend Charles, that some '''canoo 
load of tLUse Indians, crossing the sea, and '•'discovering 
this island of Great Britain, were to claim it as their 
own, and set it up for sale over thy head, what wouldst 
thou think of it? 

K. C. Why — why — why — I must confess, I should 
think it a piece of great ^impudence^ in them. 

P. Well, then, how canst thou, a Christian, and a 
Christian prince too, do that which thou so utterly con- 
demnest in these people, whom thou eaWest savages? Yes, 
friend Charles; and suppose, again, that these Indians, 
on thy refusal to give np thy island of Great Britain, 
were to make icar on thee, and, having weajions more 
■'"destructive than thine, were to destroy many of thy 
subjects, and drive the rest away — wouldst thou not 
think it "'"horribly cruel? 

K. C. I must say, friend William, that I should; how 
can I say otherwise? 

P. AVell, then, how can I, who call myself a CJiristian, 
do what I should '"abhor even in the heathen? No. I 
will not do it. But I will buy the right of the proper 
owners, even of the Indians themselves. By doing this, 
I shall ■'"imitate God himself, in his "'"justice and mercy, 
and thereby insure his blessing on my colony, if I should 
ever live to plant one in North America. 

Exercises . — Wliat part of the United States was purchased and 
settled by AVilliam Penn? Upon what was the king's right founded? 
In whom was tlie real right? AVhy? What did Penn say to con- 
yince the king that America did not belong to him? What plan did 
Penn propose to adopt, to secure the good-will of the Indians? Ex- 
plain the inflections marked. 

In the last sentence, wliich are the personal pronouns of the first 
peison? Which of the third peison? AVhich are the verbs? Wliich 
of them is in the participal mode? Which are in the future tense, 
indicative mode? 



1. Dis-so-lu'tion; n. death; sep- ) 8. Ve^hi-cles; n. carriages of 

aration of the soul and body. \ any kind. 

5. In-ad'e-quate ; adj. partial; | 8. Re-cep'ta-c^es ; n. places in 

not equal to the reality. ; which to receive any thing. 

5. Rav'a-ges; n. destruction; \ 9. As-si-duVties ; n. services 

ruin. { rendered with zeal and 

7. Ex-TREJi'i-TiEs; n. utmost dis- kindness. 

tress: last extremities here 10. CoN-TA''GroN; n. pestilence; 
means «?e<i^/t. \ sickness spreading from the 

8. Pro-lon-ga^tion ; n. the act of \ touch. 

lengthening. ( 12. DE-ci^PUER-eD ; v. explained. 


Pron'ounce correctly. Do not say hull for whole; dis-sy-lvAion 
for dis-so-lu-tion ; at-tact for at-tac/i/ mod-er-it for mod-er-ate ; cli- 
mits for cli-rnates; rav-ij-is for rav-a-ges; heav-en pro. heavn. 

1. Though the whole race of man is doomed to dis- 
solution, and we are hastening to our long home; yet, 
at each '"successive moment, life and death seem to 
divide between them the '•dominion of iViankind, and 
life to have the larger share. It is otherwise in war; 
death reigns there without a rival, and without ''"control. 

2. War is the work, the element, or rather the sport 
and triumph of death, who here glories not only in the 
extent of his conquests, but in the richness of his spoil. 
In the other methods of attack, in the other forms which 
death ''"tissumes, the feeble and the aged, who at best can 
live but a short time, are usually the victims; here they 
are the ''"vigorous and the strong. 

3. It is remarked by the most ancient of poets, that 
in peace^ children bury their parenU^ ; in roar, parents 
bury their children'^, nor is the difference small. Children 
lament their parents, sincerely, indeed, but with that 
moderate and """tranquil sorrow, which it is natural for 
those to feel who are conscious of retaining many tender 
ties, many animating prospects. 


4. Parents mourn for their children with the bitter- 
ness of despair; the aged parent, the widowed mother, 
loses, when she is deprived of her children, every thing 
but the capacity of suffering; her heart, withered and 
■•"desolate, admits no other object, '•'cherishes no other 
hope. It is Rachel, weeping for her children, and re- 
fusing to be comforted, because they are not. 

5. But to confine our attention to the number of the 
slain, would give us a veiy inadequate idea of the rav- 
ages of the sword. The lot of those who perish '•"instan- 
taneously may be considered, apart from religious pros- 
i)ects, as '•'comparatively happy, since they are exempt 
from those lingering diseases and slow torments to which 
others are so liable. 

6. We can not see an individiil '•'expire, though a 
stranger or an eneni}^, without being sensibly moved 
and prompted by compassion to lend him every '•'assist- 
ance in our power. Every trace of '•'resentment van- 
ishes in a moment; every other emotion gives way to 
l^ity and terror. 

7. In the last extremities, we remember nothing but 
the respect and tenderness due to our common nature. 
What a scene, then, must a field of battle present, where 
thousands are left without assistance, and without pity, 
with their wounds exposed to the '•"piercing air, while 
the blood, freezing as it flows, binds them to the earth, 
amid the '•"trampling of horses, and the insults of an 
■•"enraged foe ! 

8. If they are spared by the humanity of the enemy, 
and carried from the field, it is but a prolongation of 
"•"torment. Conveyed in uneasy vehicles, often to a re- 
mote distance, through roads almost impassable, they 
are lodged in ill-prepared receptacles for the wounded 
and sick, where the '•"variety of distress baffles all the 
efforts of ■'"humanity and skill, and renders it impossible 
to give to each the attention he demands, 

9. Far from their native home, no tender assiduities 
of friendship, no well-known voice, no wife, or mother, 
or sister, are near to soothe their sorrows, relieve their 
thirst, or close their eyes in death! Unhappy man! 


and must you be swept into the grave ''"unnoticed and 
■•"unnumbered, and no friendly tear be shed for your 
sufferings, or mingled with your dust? 

10. We must remember, however, that as a very small 
proportion of ''"military life is spent in actual ''"combat, 
so it is a very small part of its miseries which must be 
ascribed to this source. More are consumed by the rust 
of ■'"inactivity than by the edge of the sword; confined 
to a scanty or "'"unwholesome diet, exposed in sickly 
climates, harassed with tiresome marches and ''"perpetual 
alarms; their life is a continual scene of hardships and 
danger. They grow "'"familiar with hunger, cold, and 
watchfulness. Crowded into hospitals and prisons, con- 
tagion spreads among their ranks, till the ravages of 
disease exceed those of the enemy. 

11. We have hitherto only ''"adverted to the sufferings 
of those who are engaged in the profession of arras, 
without taking into our account the situation of the 
countries which are the scenes of hostilities. How 
dreadful to hold every thing at the mercy of an enemy, 
and to receive life itself as a boon dei^endent on the 
sword ! 

12. How boundless the fears which such a situation 
must inspire, where the ''"issues of life and death are 
determined by no known laws, principles, or customs, 
and no '''conjecture can be formed of our destiny, except 
so far as it is dimly deciphered in characters of blood, in 
the """dictates of revenge, and the caprices of power ! 

13. Conceive, but for a moment, the consteimation 
which the approach of an ''"invading army Avould impress 
on the peaceful villages in our own neighborhood. 
When you have placed yourselves in that situation, 
you will learn to ''"sympathize with those unhappy 
countries which have sustained the ravages of arms. 
But how is it possible to give you an idea of these 
horrors ! 

1-1. Here, j'Ou behold rich harvests, the bounty of 
heaven, and the reward of industry, consumed in a 
moment, or trampled under foot, while famine and 
■'■pestilence follow the steps of ''"desolation. There, the 


cottages of peasants given up to the flames, mothers 
expiring through fear, not for themselves, but their in- 
fants; the inhabitants flying with their helpless babes 
in all directions, miserable fugitives on their native soil. 
15. In another place, you witness '''opulent cities taken 
by storm ; the streets, where no sounds were heard but 
those of peaceful industry, filled on a sudden with 
slaughter and blood, resounding with the cries of the 
pursuing and the pursued; the palaces of nobles demol- 
ished, the houses of the rich pillaged, and every age, sex, 
and rank, mingled in '•'promiscuous massacre and ruin ! 


1. Rev''el-ry: n. noisy feasting i 4. Sqdad^ron; w. a body of troops. 

and gayety. | 5. Ar^dennes; n. (pro. Ar^dcns), 

1. Chiv^al-ry ; n. knighthood; a > a forest near Waterloo. 

body of knights or brave men. I 6. Mar'shal-ing; n. arranging 
1. Vo-LUPT^u-ous ; adj. exciting | in order. 

animal pleasure. \ 6. Blent ; v. mixed ; united. 


In reading the following extract, much variety of expression is 
required. The description of the ball should be read in a lively, 
animated manner; that of the distant alarm in low, hurried tones, as 
if intently listening and deeply anxious; the haste of preparation 
and departure requires life; and the thii-d and last two stanzas should 
be read in a mournful and plaintive style, 

1. There was a sound of revelry by night. 
And Belgium's '''capital had gathered then 

*This battle was fought on June 18th, 1815, between the French 
army on one side, commanded by Napoleon Bonaparte, and the Eng- 
lish army and allies on the other side, commanded by the Duke of 
Wellington. At the commencement of the battle, some of the officers 
were at a ball at Brussels, a short distance from Waterloo, and being 
notified of the approaching contest by the cannonade, left the ball- 
room for the field of battle. This was the last of Napoleon's battles. 
He was here completely overthrown. 


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 mex'ry as a marriage-bell; 
But hush^ ! hark^! — a deep sound strikes like a rising 
knell ! 

2. Did ye not hear it? — I*^o^; '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"^ oiDening roar ! 

3. 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 

4. And there was '''mounting in hot haste^; the steed^, 
The ''"mustering squadron^, and the '''clattering car^ 
Went pouring forward with ''"impetuous speed, 
And SAviftly forming in the ranks of war; 

And the deep thunder, peal on jDeal afar, 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; 
While ''"thronged the ''"citizens with terror dumb, 
Or whispering with white lips — "The foe'^! Thej^ 
come"^ ! They come"^ ! " 


5. 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, 710W, 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 "'"molder, cold and 

6. 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 marshaling 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, 
Eider and horse — friend, foe — in one red burial blent. 

Exercises . — When, where, and between what parties and com- 
manders was the battle of Watei'loo fought? What is described in 
the first few lines? What place is meant by the capital of Belgium ? 
What were the officers doing when the sound of the distant battle was 
heard ? 

What instances of absolute emphasis in the second stanza? What, 
of relative emphasis in the fifth stanza? How should the last line of 
the fourth stanza be read? 


Thioack went the bludgeon athwart the brittle beam. The fall' n 
flag was draggtd in the brine. BlatcKd and bloated, the blear-eyed. 
swaggerer staggered onward. The high-bred Briton braves the battle- 
field. The chill precincts of the dreaded tomb. Shot madly from 
its sphere. Lifes fitjxd fever over, he rests well. 



1. De-void''; arf;. destitute. i 8. Sec'u-lar; arf/. worldly. 

2. Rec'ti-tude; n. correctness of ( 9. Tam'per; v. to meddle with 

principle. 5 improperlj'. 

4. Vis'iox; n. faculty of sight. 5 11. En-tail'; i;. to iixunalienably 

5. Cas'u-al; at^'. accidental. j upon a particular persoti. 

6. Com'plai-sance; n. (pro. cov/- I 13. Pelf; n. money; riches. 

/'Za-zance) obliging treatment. < 13. Com-pen-sa'tion; n. amends. 


Sound the r clearly in the following words : are, mark, bard, 
hard, lard, barb, garb, hear, clear, dear, near, tear, arm, harm, 
charm, lord, cord, far, care, course, never, merely, conform. 

Be careful also to pronounce correctly. Do not say nth-uz for 
oth-e?-s; roo' for ride ; ?;»--^oo for virt-Me ; rec-ti-tslnide hr vec-lX-iude; 
ud-opt for a-dopt; mus-sy for mer-cy; coni-ylai' sance for con/plai- 
eance; sa-cri-Jis for sac-ri-fz'ce; sec-ky-lar uov sec-ew-lar for sec-w-lar; 
mor-uls for mor-als ; scru-py-lous for scru-pti-lous. 

1. To be +insensible to public opinion, or to the esti- 
mation in Avhich we are held by others, indicates any- 
thing, rather than a good and generous spirit. It is, in- 
deed, the mark of a low and Avorthless character ; devoid 
of principle, and therefore devoid of shame. A young 
man is not far from ruin, when he can say without 
blushing, I don't care what other's think of me. 

2. Bat to have a f)ro]Der regard to public opinion, is 
one thing; to make that opinion our rule of action, is 
quite another. The one we may cherish """consistently 
with the purest virtue, and the most unbending recti- 
tude; the other we can not adopt, without an utter 
■^'abandonment of princii^le and disregard of duty. 

3. The young man whose great aim is to please, who 
makes the opinion and favor of others his rule and 
motive of action, stands read}^ to adopt any ''"sentiments, 
or pursue any course of conduct, however false and 
■•"criminal, provided only that it be i:)opular. 


4. In every ''"emergency, his first question is, what 
will my companions, what will the world think and say 
of me, if I adopt this or that course of conduct? Duty, 
the '''eternal laws of rectitude, are not thought of. Cus- 
tom, fashion, '''popular favor : these are the things that 
fill his entire vision, and decide every question of opin- 
ion and duty. 

5. Such a man can never be trusted; for he has no 
'''integrity, and no independence of mind to obey the 
dictates of rectitude. He is at the mercy of every casual 
■''impulse and change of '''popular opinion; and you can 
no more tell whether he will be right or wrong to-mor- 
row, than you can predict the course of the wind, or 
what shape the clouds will then assume. 

6. And what is the usual consequence of this weak 
and foolish regard to the opinions of men'? What the 
eiid of thus acting in '''compliance with custom in opposi- 
tion to one's own conviction of duty? It is to lose the 
esteem and respect of the very men whom jou. thus 
attempt to please. Your defect of principle and '''hollow- 
heartedness are easily '''perceived: and though the per- 
sons to whom you thus '''sacrifice your conscience, may 
aftect to commend your complaisance, you may be ''as- 
sured, that, inwardly, they despise you for it. 

7. Young men hardly commit a greater mistake, than 
to think of gaining the esteem of others, by yielding to 
their wishes contrary to their own sense of duty. Such 
conduct is always '''morally wrong, and rarely fails to 
Meprive one, both of self-respect and the respect of 

8. It is very common for young men, just commenc- 
ing business, to imagine that, if they would advance 
their sedular interests, they must not be very scrupulous 
in binding themselves down to the strict rules of recti- 
tude. They must conform to custom; and if, in buying 
and selling, they sometimes say things that are not true, 
and do things that are not honest; why, their neigh- 
bors do the same; and verily, there is no getting along 
witliput it. There is so much competition and ''rivalry, 

5th Rd. 20. 


that, to be ^strictly honesty and yet succeed in business, is 
out of the question. 

9. JSTow, if it were indeed so, I would say to a young 
man; then, quit your business. Better dig, and beg too, 
than to tamper with conscience, sin against God, and 
lose your soul. 

10. But is it so? Is it necessary, in order to succeed 
in business, that you should adopt a ''"standard of morals, 
more lax and pliable, than the one placed before you in 
the Bible? Perhaps for a time, a rigid "■'adherence to 
rectitude might bear hard upon you; but how would it 
be in the end? Possibly, your neighbor, by being less 
"•"scruiiulous than yourself, may invent a more """expedi- 
tious way of acquiring a fortune. If he is Avilling to 
violate the dictates of conscience, to lie and cheat, and 
trample on the rules of justice and honesty, he may, 
indeed, get the start of you, and rise suddenly to wealth 
and distinction. 

11. But would you envy him his riches, or be willing 
to place yourself in his situation? Sudden wealth, 
■•"especially when obtained by dishonest means, rarely 
fails of bringing with it sudden ruin. Those who ac- 
quire it, are of course beggared in their morals, and are 
often, very soon, beggared in property. Their riches 
are "i^corx-upted ; and while they bring the curse of God 
on their """immediate """possessors, they usually entail 
misery and ruin upon their families. 

12. If it be admitted, then, that strict integrity is not 
always the shortest way to success, is it not the surest, 
the happiest, and the best? A young man of thorough 
integrity may, it is true, tind it difficult, in the midst of 
dishonest ""yiompetitors and rivals, to start in his business 
or """profession ; but how long, ere he will surmount every 
difficulty, draw around him """patrons and friends, and 
rise in the confidence and support of all who know him? 

13. What, if, in pursuing this course, you should not, 
at the close of life, have so much money, by a few hun- 
dred dollai'S? AYill not a fair character, an approving 
conscience, and an approving God, be an abundant com- 
pensation for this little ""deficiency of pelf? 


14. O, there is an hour coming, when one whisper of 
an approving mind, one smile of an approving God,- 
will be accounted of more value than the wealth of a 
thousand worlds like this. In that hour, my young 
friends, nothing will sustain you but the '•'consciousness 
of having been goveimed in life by worthy and good 

Exercises . — What erroneous opinion is common concerning the 
necessity of strict honesty ? Why should a young man have a proper 
respect for public opinion? What will be the consequence of disre- 
garding this? 

In the fifth paragraph, in the following sentence, "Such a man 
can never be trusted," which w^ord is the subject? What is the attri- 
bute ? 


1. Note; n. notice. (3. Ab-sorpt''; v. wasted; swal- 

1. Knell; n. the sound of the ^ lowed up. 

funeral bell. S 5. Fan-tas'tic; arf;'. fanciful; ex- 

2. Verge; n. the brink; the edge. | isting only in imagination. 

3. Ab^ject; adj. worthless; mean. \ 5. An'tic; adj. odd; fanciful. 

3. Au-GUST^; a(7;". grand; majestic. I 5. Sub^'tler; adj. (pro. sut-tler), 
3. CoM''PLi-CATE ; adj. complex ; ) more delicate. 

composed of many parts. b 5. Es''sence ; v. existence ; sub- 
3. Ex^quis-ite; adj. nice; com-? stance. 

plete. I 6. Weal; n. prosperity. 

3. E-the're-al; adj. heavenly. < 6. Hds'band; v. to manage with 
3. SuL^Li-en; v. stained; soiled. \ economy. 


Remark . — Let each pupil in the class observe and mention every 
syllable that is not sounded, as each one reads. 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say ann-gel for an-gel (pro. ane- 
gel) ; heerd for heard (pro. lierd); dum-ands for d^-mands; com- 
pli-kit for com-pli-cate; ex quiy-ite for ex^-quis-ite ; ah-.^er-lute for 
ab-so-lute; hus-buns for hus-banc?s. 

1. The bell strikes One. We take no note of time 
But from its loss: to give it then a tongue 


Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke, 

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 

It is the knell of my departed hours. 

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood: 

It is the signal that demands '•'dispatch. 

2. How much is to be done! My hopes and fears 
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narroAV verge 
Look down — on what? A fathomless "^abyss, 
A dread eternity, how surely mine! 

And can eternity belong to me. 

Poor ■'■pensioner on the bounties of an hour? 

3. How poor, how rich, how abject, how august. 
How complicate, how wonderful is man ! 
How passing wonder He who made him such ! 
Who centered in our make such strange extremes 
From different natures '•"marvelonsl}^ mixed, 
Connection exquisite of distant worlds! 
Distinguished link in being's endless chain! 
Midway from nothing to the Deity! 

A beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt! 
Though sullied and dishonored, still divine! 
Dim '"miniature of greatness absolute! 
An heir of glory! a frail child of dust! 
Helpless "•'immortal! insect infinite! 
A worm! a god! — I tremble at myself, 
And in myself am lost. 

4. At home a stranger, 

Thought wanders up and down, surprised, '•'aghast. 
And wondering at her own. IIow reason reels! 
O Avhat a miracle to man is man ! 
Triumphantly distressed! what joy! Avhat dread! 
'''Alternately transported and alarmed; 
What can preserve my life! or what destroy! 
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; 
'•'Le'xions of ans-els can't confine me there. 

6. 'T is past ■''conjecture; all things rise in proof. 
While o'er my limbs Sleep's soft dominion spread. 


"What though my soul fantastic measures trod 
O'er fairy fields, or mourned along the gloom 
Of pathless woods, or down the ''"craggy steep. 
Hurled headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool, 
Or scaled the cliff, or danced on hollow winds 
With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain! 
Her ceaseless flight, though ^devious, speaks her 

Of subtler essence than the trodden clod; 
Active, aerial, towering, nnconfined, 
Unfettered with her "•'gross companion's fall. 

6. Even silent night '''proclaims my soul immoi'tal; 
Even silent night proclaims eternal day. 
For human weal Heaven husbands all events: 
Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. 

How Avondcrful is Death, 
Death and his brother Sleep! 

One, pale as yonder waning moon, 
With lips of lurid blue; 
The other, rosy as the morn 

When throned on ocean's wave. 
It blushes o'er the world: 
Yet both so jDassing wonderful! 

Exercises. — What leads iis to take "note of time?" Repeat 
some of the epithets applied to man. What does one class of these 
epithets represent man to be? In what light does the other class con- 
sider him? In wliat respect is he a "worm?" How can he be called 
a "god?" AVhat is the state of the mind during sleep? AVhat does 

this prove? 



The craken is j^Tobabh/ a fabulous animal. The kremliyi is the 
Russian emperor s palace. With his crutch he crushed the flowers. 
The prank v/as not praiseworthy. The props were prop d by other 
jnops. The crafty creatures crawl d in crowds. The proud prig 
prates. ^,^ 




1. Car-a-tan^sa-ry; r?. a kind of ; 7. De-vi- action ; n. a turning 
inn wliere caravans or large | aside from tlie riglit way. 

companies of traders rest at j 9. Sa^ber; n. a kind of sword, 
night. f 12. Mit-i-ga''tion ; n. lessening 

5. Me-an^derp; n. windings or | the pain. 

turnings. i 14. Im-merge^; v. to plunge into. 

6. Cir-cum-vo-lu'tion ; /i. a wind- ( 14. Lab^y-rinth; n. a place full 

ing or flowing around. \ of winding passages. 


Articulate all the consonants in the following and similar 
words in this lesson: fresh, Hindoostaii, swiftly, sprinkled, fra- 
grance, primrose, tempted, thickets, greatest, prospect, overspread, . 
remembrance, resolved, prostrated, torrents, gratitude, occurrences, 
escapes, entangle, labyrinth. 

1. Obidah, the son of Abensina, left the caravansary 
early in the morning, and. pursued his journey through 
the plains of Hindoostan. He was fresh and vigorous 
with rest; he was '""animated with hope; he was '''incited 
by desire; he walked swiftly forward over the valleys 
and saw the hills ''"gradually rising before him. 

2. As he passed along, his ears were delighted with 
the morning song of the bird-of-paradise; he was fanned 
by the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled 
with dew b}^ groves of spices; he sometimes '""contem- 
plated the '•'towering height of the oak, monarch of 
the hills; and sometimes caught the gentle ''"fragrance 
of the ''"primrose, eldest daughter of the spring; all his 
senses were gratified, and all care was banished from his 

3. Thus he went on, till the sun" approached his """merid- 
ian, and the increasing heat preyed upon his strength; 
he then looked round about him for some more '""com- 
modiotis path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that 
seemed to wave its shades as a sign of ''"invitation ; he 
entered it, and found the coolness and verdure """irre- 


sistibly jDleasant. He did not, however, forget whither 
he was traveling, but found a narrow way, bordered 
with flowers, which appeared to have the same direc- 
tion w^ith the main road, and was pleased, that, by this 
happy ■'"experiment, he had found means to unite pleas- 
ure with business, and to gain the rewards of """diligence 
without ■'"suffering its '•'fatigues. 

4. He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, 
without the least remission of his ardor, excej^t that he 
was sometimes tempted to stop b}^ the music of the 
birds, which the heat had assembled in the shade, and 
sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers 
that covered the banks on each side, or the fruits that 
hung upon the branches. At last, the green path began 
to ■'"decline from its first ''"tendency, and to wind among" 
the hills and thickets, cooled with fountains, and ''"mur- 
muring with '•'water-fulls. 

5. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began to con- 
sider, whether it was longer safe to forsake the known 
and common track ; but, remembering that the heat 
was now in its greatest violence, and that the plain was 
dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new path, 
which he supposed only to make a few meanders, in 
compliance with the varieties of the ground, and to end 
at last in the common road. 

6. Having thus calmed his '•'solicitude, he. renewed his 
pace, though he suspected he was not gaining ground. 
This uneasiness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on 
every new object, and give way to every '•"sensation that 
might soothe or divert him. He listened to every '•'echo, 
he mounted every hill for a fresh prospect, he turned 
aside to every '''cascade, and pleased himself with tracing 
the course of a gentle river, that rolled among the trees, 
and watered a large region, with '•'innumerable circum- 

V— 7. In these amusements, the hours passed away un- 
counted; his deviations had '"perplexed his memory, and 
he knew not toward what point to travel. He stood 
■•"pensive and confused, afraid to go forward lest he 
should go wrong, yet conscious that the time of '''loiter- 


ing was now past. While he was thus tortured with 
uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds, the 
day vanished from before him, and a sudden tempest 
gathered round his head. 

8. He Avas now roused, by his danger, to a quick and 
painful remembrance of his foil}'; he now saw hoAV hap- 
piness is lost when ease is consulted; he lamented the 
unmanly """impatience that '"prompted him to seek shel- 
ter in the grove, and despised the petty curiosity that 
led him on from trifle to trifle. While he was thus re- 
flecting, the air grew blacker, and a clap of thunder 
broke his meditation. 

9. He now resolved to do what remained yet in his 
power; to tread back the ground which he had passed, 
and try to find some ''"issue, where the wood might open 
into the plain. He ''"prostrated himself upon the ground, 
and commended liis life to the Lord of nature. He rose 
with """confidence and """tranquillity, and pressed on with 
his saber in his hand; for the beasts of the desert were 
in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled 
howls of rage, and fear, and """ravage, and expiration : 
all the horrors of darkness and solitude surrounded 
him; the winds roared in the woods, and the """torrents 
tumbled from the hills. 

10. Thus, forlorn and distressed, he wandered through 
the wild, without knowing whither he was going, or 
whether he was every moment draAving nearer to safety 
or to '""destruction. At length, not fear, but labor, began 
to overcome him; his breath grew short, and his knees 
trembled, and he was on the point of lying down,, in 
^resignation to his fate, when he beheld, through the 
})rambles, the glimmer of a tajDcr. He advanced toward 
the light, and finding that it proceeded from the '""cottage 
of a hermit, he called humbly at the door, and obtained 
admission. The old man set before him such provisions 
as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed 
with "'"eagerness and ''"gi'atitudo. 

11. When the repast was over, "Tell me," said the 
hermit, "by what chance thou hast been brought hither; 
I have been now twenty years an ''"inhabitant of this 


•wilderness, in which I never saw a man before." Obidah 
then rehited the ^occurrences of his journey, without 
any concealment or palliation. 

12. "Son," said the hermit, "let the errors and follies, 
the dangers and escapes, of this day, sink deep into 
3^our heart. Eemember, my son, that human life is the 
journe}^ of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, 
full of vigor, and full of ''"expectation ; we set forward 
with spirit and hope, with '""gayety and with diligence, 
and travel on awhile in the straight road of piety, 
toward the mansions of rest. In a short time we remit 
our fervor, and endeavor to find some mitigation of our 
duty, and some more easy means of obtaining the same 

13. "We then relax our vigor, and resolve no longer 
to be terrified with crimes at a distance, but rely upon 
our own constancy, and venture to approach what we 
resolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of 
ease, and repose in the shades of security. Here the 
heart softens, and '•'vigilance '•'subsides : we are then 
willing to inquire whether another advance can not be 
made, and whether we may not, at least, turn our eyes 
upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with 
''scruple and hesitation ; we enter them, but enter '•'tim- 
orous and trembling, and always hope to pass through 
them without losing the road of virtue, which we, for 
awhile, keep in our sight, and to which we propose to 

14. " But temptation succeeds temptation, and one 
'•"compliance prepai'cs us for another; we, in time, lose 
the happiness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with 
sensual gratifications. By degrees we let fall the '•'re- 
membrance of our ■•'original intention, and quit the only 
adequate object of rational desire. We entangle our- 
selves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and 
rove through the labyrinths of '•'inconstancy, till the 
darkness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and 
anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our 
lives with horror, with sorrow, and with repentance: 

5th R. 21. 



and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not 
forsaken the paths of virtue. 

15. "Happy are "ihey, my son, who shall learn, from 
thy example, not to despair, but shall remember, that, 
though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, 
there yet remains one effort to be made ; that +reforma- 
tion is never hope\ess, nor sincere ''"endeavors ever un- 
assisted; that the wanderer may at length return, after 
all his errors ; and that he, who ''"implores strength 
and courage from above, shall find danger and difficulty 
give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose: 
commit thyself to the care of "'"Omnipotence; and, when 
the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey 
and thy life." 


1. Shaft; n. the body of a column. 

1. Arch'i-travk; n. (pro. ark'e- 
trave) that part which rests 
immediately upon the col- 

1. Vault; n. an arched roof. 

2. Svvay'cd; v. moved; waved back 

and forth. 

3. Sanct'u-a-ries; n. places set 

apart for the worship of 
6. Shrine; n. a box for sacred 
relics : here, a place for wor- 
shiping God. 



Fan-tas''tic ; adj. whimsical. 
Wells; v. issues forth as wa- 
ter from the earth. 

An-ni''ht-lat-ed; v. reduced 
to nothing. 

Cor''o-nai, ; n. a crown ; a 

Glare; n. a dazzling light. 

Em-a-na^tion ; n. that which 
proceeds from any source. 

Arch; adj. chief; principal. 

El^e-me.\ts; n. in popular lan- 
guage fire, air, earth, and 

Pronounce correctly. Ere pro. a-er. Do not say ruff for roof; 
an-thums for an-thems; of-fud for of-ffc'?-'d; ann-cient for an-cient; 
vd-ore for a-dore; iin-li/ for on-ly. 

1. The groves were God's first temples. Ere man 
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 


And spread the roof above them; ere he framed 
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 
The sound of ''"anthems ; in the darkling wood, 
Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down 
And oifered to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
And ■''supplication. 

2. For his simple heart 
Might not resist the sacred ''"influences. 
That, from the stilly twilight of the place. 

And from the gray old trunks, that high in heaven 
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 
Of the "'"invisible breath, that swayed at once 
All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed 
His spirit with the thought of boundless Power 
And ■'"inaccessible Majesty. 

3. Ah, why 

Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect 

God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore 

Only among the crowd, and under roofs 

That ■'"our frail hands have raised ! Let me, at least, 

Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, 

Offer one hymn; thrice haj)py, if it find 

■•"Acceptance in His ear. 

4. Father, thy hand 

Hath reared these venerable ''"columns. Thou 
Didst weave this """verdant roof Thou didst look 

Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose 
All these fair ranks of trees. They, in thy sun 
Budded, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze, 
And shot toward heaven. 

5. The century-living crow. 

Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died 
Among their branches; till, at last, they stood, 
As now they stand, """massy, and tall, and dark. 
Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold 
"♦"Communion with his Maker. 


6. Here are seen 

No traces of man's pomp, or pride; no silks 
Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes 
"•"Encounter; no fantastic carvings show 
The boast of our vain race to change the form 
Of thy fair works. 

7. But thou art here; thou fill'st 
The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds, 
That run along the '•"summits of these trees 
In music; thou art in the cooler breath, 
That, from the inmost darkness of the place, 
Comes, scarcely felt; the barky trunks, the ground, 
The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with thee. 
Here is continual worship; nature, here, 

In the ''"tranquillity that thou dost love, 
Enjoys thy presence. 

8. ISToiselessly around. 

From perch to perch, the solitary bird 

Passes; and yon clear spring, that, 'mid its herbs, 

Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots 

Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 

Of all the good it does. 

9. Thou hast not left 

Thj^self without a witness, in these shades, 

Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, 

Are here to speak of thee. This mighty oak. 

By whose ''"immovable stem I stand, and seem 

Almost annihilated, not a prince. 

In all the proud old world beyond the deep. 

E'er wore his crown as "'"loftily as he 

"Wears the green coronal of leaves, with which 

Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his root 

Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 

Of the broad sun. 

10. That delicate forest flower, 

With scented breath, and look so like a smile. 
Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mold 
An emanation of the indwelling Life, 


A visible token of the upholding Love, 
That are the soul of this wide '"universe. 

11. My heart is awed Avithin me, when I think 
Of the great ^miracle that still goes on, 

In silence, round me; the perpetual wouk 
Of thy creation, finished, yet renewed 
Forever. Written on thy works, I read 
The lesson of thy own '♦"eternity. 

12. Lo! all grow old and die: but see, again, 
How on the faltering footsteps of decay 
Youth presses, ever gay and beautiful youth, 
In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees 
Wave not less proudly, that their """ancestors 
Molder beneath them. O, there is not lost 
One of earth's charms: upon her bosom yet, 
After the flight of untold centuries, 

The freshness of her far beginning lies, 
And yet shall lie. 

13. Life mocks the idle hate 

Of his arch enemy. Death; yea, seats himself 
Upon the """sepulcher, and blooms and smiles; 
And of the triumphs of his """ghastly foe 
Makes his own """nourishment. For he came forth 
From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 

14. There have been holy men, who hid themselves 
Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave 

Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived 
The """generation born with them, nor seemed 
Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
Around them; and there have been holy men. 
Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. 
But let me often to these """solitudes 
Eetire, and in thy presence, """re-assure 
My feeble virtue. Hero, its enemies, 
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps, shrink, 
And tremble, and are still. 


15. O, God! when thou 

Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire 
The heavens with falling ''"thunder-bolts, or fill 
With all the waters of the '•'firmament. 
The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods 
And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, 
Uprises the great deep, and throAvs himself 
Upon the ''"continent, and ''"overwhelms 
Its cities; who forgets not, at the sight 
Of these "•"tremendous tokens of thy power, 
His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? 

16. O, from these sterner '•"aspects of thy face 
Spare me and mine; nor let us need the wrath 
Of the mad, unchained elements, to teach 
Who rules them. Be it ours to "•"meditate, 

In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, 
And to the beautiful order of thy works, 
Learn to "'"conform the order of our lives. 

Like the baseless fabric of a vision. 
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces. 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself; 
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
And, like this unsubstantial pageant faded. 
Leave not a rack behind. 

Exercises. — What are the most ancient temples of worship? 
What meditations become the forest scenes? How are the forests a 
witness for God? What is the poetic measure of this piece? 

Parse "stole," in the second paragraph. "Shrine," in the fifth 
paragraph. " Encounter," in the sixth paragraph. " Oak," in the 

ninth paragraph. 



Fragrance and aromatic odors every-where. Frolic and gleesome- 
ness characterized the scene. We arranged the change. Chance 
and change await all. Thou troubl'st thy father s friends. The 
sculptor has executed three busts. The sioift, dark ivhirlwind that 
uproots the woods. 



2. Per-son^i-fi-cd; v. represented $ 9. Pd^ri-tan ; n. a name given 

with attributes of a person, i to those who separated from 

2. AL'LE-GO-Riz-eo; «. turned into ^he Church of England, in 

an allegory, or a figurative the days of Queen Elizabeth. 

description. < They were so called, because 

^ _, 1 , . I they professed to follow the 

2. En-shui\ CD: v. preserved as \ ^ 

sacred. s P^^e word of God. 

6. Spon-ta'.ne-ods-lt; adv. of its \ ^^- Pen'ta-teucii; n. (pro. Pen' (a- 

own accord. I ^^^) *''^ ^^'^^ ^^® books of 

7. Pr.mVtive; adj. first; orig- > the Old Testament. 

inal. I 10. Ist-Bu'fD ; v. tinged ; died. 

9. The-o-crat''ic-al; adj. conduct- ( ( Used jlguratively.) 

ed by the immediate agency > 13. AR^RO-iiAT-iNO ; v. claiming 
of God. j more respect than is just. 


Articulate clearly the h and the d: high, heart, happiness, 
heaven, hard, had, hearken, here, have, happy, whit, howling, 
hearth, whenever, hypocrites, seem'd, talk'd, mind, call'd, prefer'd, 
England, land, launch'd, soil'd, round, intend. 

1. One of the most ''prominent features which distin- 
guished our forefathers, was their determined ''"resist- 
ance to ''"oppression. They seemed born and brought 
uj), for the higli and special purpose of showing to the 
world that the civil and religious rights of man, the 
rights of '•"self-govei'nment, of conscience, and independ» 
ent thought, are not merely things to be talked of, and 
woven into theories, but to be adopted with the whole 
strength and ardor of the mind, and felt in the pro- 
foundest recesses of the heart, and carried out into the 
general life, and made the foundation of practical use- 
fulness, and visible beauty, and true nobility. 

2. Liberty with them, was an object of too serious 
desire and stern resolve, to be personified, allegorized, 
and enshrined. They made no goddess of it, as tho 


ancients did; tliey had no time nor inclination for snch 
trifling; they felt that liberty was the simple birthright 
of every human creature; the}" called it so; they claimed 
it as such ; they '''reverenced and held it fast as the 
"•"unalienable gift of the Creator, which was not to be 
■•"surrendered to power, nor sold for Avages. 

3. It was theirs, as men ; without it, they did not 
esteem themselves men; more than any other ''"privilege 
or 250Ssession, it was ''"essential to their happiness, for it 
was essential to their ''"original nature; and tlierefore 
they preferred it above wealth, and ease, and country; 
and that they might enjoy and exercise it fully, they 
forsook houses, and lands, and kindred, their homes, 
their native soil, and their fathers' graves. 

4. They left all these; they left England, which, what- 
ever it might have been called, was not to them a land 
of freedom; they launched forth on the pathless ocean, 
the wide, '""fithomless ocean, soiled not by the earth be- 
neath, and bounded, all round and above, only by heaven ; 
and it seemed to them like that better and '""sublimer 
freedom, which theii* country Icnew not, but of which 
the}' had the conception and image in their hearts; and, 
after a ''"toilsome and painful voyage, they came to a 
hard and wintry coast, unfruitful and ''"desolate, but 
unguarded and boundless; its calm s'ionce interrupted 
not the ascent of their prayers; ii Uhd no eyes to watcli, 
no ears to hearken, no tongues tu I'cport of them; here, 
again, there was an answer to their, soul's desire, and 
they were satisfied, and gave thanks; they saw that 
they were free, and the desert smiled. 

5. I am telling an old tale; but it is one which must 
be told when we speak of those men. It is to be added, 
that they transmitted their principles to their children, 
and that peopled by such a race, our country was always 
free. So long as its ''"inhabitants were ''"unmolested by 
the mother country, in the exercise of their important 
rights, they submitted to the form of English go\orn- 
ment; but v»^heu those rights were ''"invaded, they spurned 
oven the form away. 

6. This act was the Eevolution. which came of course. 


and spontaneously, and had nothing in it of the won- 
derful or unforeseen. The wonder would have been, if 
it had not occurred. It was, indeed, a happy and glori- 
ous event, but by no means unnatural; and I intend no 
slight to the reverend actors in the Eevolution, when I 
assert that their fathers before them were as free as 
tliey — every whit as free. 

7. The principles of the Revolution were not the sud- 
denl}'- acquired property of a few bosoms: they were 
abroad in the land in the ages before; they had always 
been taught, like the truths of the Bible; they had de- 
scended from father to son, down from those primitive 
days, when the '"pilgrim established in his simple dwell- 
ing, and seated at bis blazing fire, piled high from the 
forest Avliich shaded his door, repeated to his listening 
children the stor}^ of his wrongs and his resistance, and 
bade them rejoice, though the wild winds and the wild 
beasts were hoAvling without, that they had nothing to 
fear from great men's ''"oppression. 

8. Here are the beginnings of the Kevolution. Ev- 
ery settler's heartli Avas a school of ''"independence; the 
scholars were apt, and the lessons sunk deeply; and thus 
it came that our country "was always free; it could not 
be other than free. 

9. As deeply seated as was the principle of liberty 
and resistance to arbitrary power, in the breasts of the 
Puritans, it was not more so than their piety and sense of 
religious obligation. They were emphatically a people 
whose God was the Lord. Their form of government 
was as strictly theocratical, if direct communication be 
excepted, as was that of the Jews ; insomuch that it 
would be difficult to say, where there was any civil a.\\- 
thority among them entirely distinct from ''"ecclesiastical 

10. Whenever a few of them settled a town, they im- 
mediately gathered themselves into a church; and their 
elders were """magistrates, and their code of laws was the 
Pentateuch. These were forms, it is true, but forms 
which faithfully ''"indicated principles and feelings; for 
no people could have adopted such forms, who were not 


thoroughly imbued with the spirit, and bent on the 
practice, of religion. 

11. God was their King; and they regarded him as 
truly and literally so, as if he had dwelt in a visible pal- 
ace in the midst of their state. They were his devoted, 
^resolute, humble subjects; they undertook nothing 
which they did not beg of him to prosper; they ■'"accom- 
plished nothing without rendering to him the praise; 
they suffered nothing without carrying their sorrows 
to his throne; they ate nothing which they did not ''"im- 
plore him to bless. 

12. Their piety was not merely external ; it was sin- 
cere; it had the proof of a good tree in bearing good 
fruit ; it produced and sustained a strict morality. 
Their "'"tenacious purity of manners and speech obtained 
for them, in the mother counti-y, their name of Puritans, 
which, though given in derision, was as honorable an 
appellation as was ever bestowed by man on man. 

13. That there were hypocrites among them, is not 
to be doubted; but they were rare; the men who vol- 
untarily exiled themselves to an unknown coast, and 
endui-ed there every toil and hardship for conscience' 
sake, and that they might serve God in their own man- 
ner, were not likely to set conscience at "•"defiance, and 
make the service of God a mockery; they were not 
likely to be, neither were they, "'"hypocrites. I do not 
know that it would be arrogating too much for them 
to say, that, on the extended surface of the globe, there 
was not a single community of men to be compared 
with them, in the respects of deep religious ''"impressions 
and an exact ''"performance of moral duty. 

Exercises . — How did Puritans regard liberty ? What was 
their conduct in support of liberty? Why was the Revolution a 
perfectly natural event, or just what might have been expected? 
From whence were derived the principles of tlie Revolution? How 
were their systems of government formed? What was the character 
of their piety? As a community, how will they bear comparison, for 
moral worth, with all other communities past or present? 

Which are the pronouns in the twelfth paragraph? 



1. Theme; m. a subject on whicli i 3. Mon'arch-ist ; n. one who is 

a person writes or speaks. l in favor of a kingly govern- 

2. Gib^bet-ed; v. hanged and ex- I ment. 

posed on a gibbet. ^ 4. Par^ri-cide ; »i. the destruc- 

2. Sev^er-cd; «. disunited; sepa- ^ tion of one's parent or coun- 

rated. l try, 

8. A-ris''to-crat; n. one who is \ 5. In-dis'so-lu-ble; adj. that can 
in favor of a government I not be broken or separated, 

placed in the hands of a few j 5. Dem'a-gogue; n. a leader of 
men. | the lower class of people. 

3. Con-fed''er-a-cy ; n. a union 7. Tac^tics ; n. the science of 

of states or persons. ' managing military forces. 


Remark. — Avoid the habit of commencing a sentence in a high 
key and ending it in a feeble tone of voice. 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say sac-rid-niss for sa-cred-ness; 
im-port-unce for im-port-ance; or-it-ur for or-a-tor; il-lus-trous for 

I 2 

il-lu8-tri-ous ; hos-tile for hos-tile (pro. hos-til); Eu-ro'-pe-an for 

1. One theme of duty still remains, and I have placed 
it alone, because of its peculiar dignity, sacredness, and 
importance. Need I tell you that I speak of the union 
of these States? Let the American orator discharge all 
other duties but this, if indeed it be not impossible, 
with the energy and eloquence of John Rutledge, and 
the disinterested '•'fidelity of Robert Morris, yet shall 
he be counted a traitor, if he attempt to dissolve the 

2. His name, '•"illustrious as it may have been, shall 
then be gibbeted on every hill-top throughout the land, 
a monument of his crime and punishment, and of the 
shame and grief of his country. If indeed he believe, 
(and doubtless there may be such) that wisdom demands 


the dissolution of the Union, that the South shoiild he 
severed from the North, the West be independent of the 
East, let him cherish the sentiment, for his own sake, in 
the solitude of his breast, or breathe it only in the con- 
fidence of friendship. 

3. Let him rest assured, that as his country toler- 
ates the monarchist and aristocrat of the old world, 
she tolerates him; but should he plot the dismember- 
ment of the Union, the same trial, judgment, and exe- 
cution await him as would await them, should they 
attempt to establish the aristocracy of Venice or the 
monarchy of Austria, on the ruins of our confederacy. 
To him as to them, she leaves freedom of speech, and 
the very '"licentiousness of the press; and permits them 
to write, even in the spirit of scorn, and hatred, and 

4. She trembles not at such efforts, '•'reckless and hos- 
tile as they may be. She smiles at their impotence, 
while she mourns over their infatuation. But let them 
lift the hand of parricide, in the insolence of pride or 
the madness of power, to strike their country, and her 
countenance, in all the severity and terrors of a parent's 
wrath, shall smite them with '♦'amazement and horror. 
Let them strike, and the voices of millions of freemen 
from the city and '•'hamlet, from the college and the 
farm-house, from the cabins amid the western wilds, 
and on ships scattered around the world, shall utter the 
stern irrevocable judgment, self-banishment for life, or 
ignominious death. 

5. Be it then the noblest office of American eloquence, 
to cultivate, in the people of every State, a deep and 
fervent attachment to the Union. The Union is to us 
the mai'riage-bond of States; indissoluble in life, to be 
dissolved, we trust, only on that day when nations shall 
die in a moment, never to rise again. Let the Ameri- 
can orator discountenance, then, all the arts of intrigue 
and corruption, which not only pollute the people and 
dishonor republican institutions, but prepare the way 
for the ruin of both; how secretly, how surely, let his- 
tory declare. Let him banish from his thoughts, and 


his lips, the ''"hypocrisy of the demagogue equally '•'de- 
ceitful and degraded, 

"With smooth dissimulation, skilled to grace 
A devil's purpose, with an angel's face." 

6. Let that demagogue and those arts, his instruments 
of power, be regai'ded as pretended friends, but secret 
and dangerous enemies of the people. Let it never be 
forgotten that to him and them we owe all the licen- 
tiousness and violence, all the unprincipled and unfeel- 
ing j^ersecution of party spirit. Let the American orator 
labor, then, with all the solemnity of a religious duty, 
with all the intensity of filial love, to convince his coun- 
trymen that the danger to libert}'^ in this country is to 
be traced to those sources. Let the European tremble 
for his institutions, in the presence of military power 
and of the warrior's ambition. 

7. Let the American dread, as the '''arch-enemy of 
republican institutions, the shock of exasperated par- 
ties, and the implacable revenge of demagogues. The 
discipline of standing armies, is the terror of free- 
dom in Eui'ope; but the tactics of parties, the standing 
armies of America, are still more formidable to liberty 
with us. 

8. Let the American orator frown, then, on that am- 
bition, which, pursuing its OAvn "'"aggrandizement and 
gratification, perils the harmony and integrity of the 
Union, and counts the grief, anxiety, and ''"expostula- 
tions of millions, as the small dust of the balance. Let 
him remember, that ambition, like the Amruta cup of 
Indian fable, gives to the virtuous an immortality of 
glory and happiness, but to the corrupt an immortality 
of ruin, shame, and misery. 

9. Let not the American orator, in the great ques- 
tions on which he is to speak or write, appeal to the 
mean and ''"groveling qualities of human nature. Let 
him love the people, and respect himself too much to 
dishonor them, and ''"degrade himself, by an appeal to 
selfishness and prejudice, to jealousy, fear, and con- 
tempt. The greater the interests, and the more sacred 


the rights which maj' be at stake, the more resolutely 
should he appeal to the generous feelings, the noble 
sentiments, the calm ''"considerate wisdom, which become 
a free, educated, peaceful, Christian people. Even if he 
battle against criminal ambition and base intrigue, let 
his weapons be a logic, manly, '•"intrepid, honorable; and 
an eloquence, """magnanimous, """disinterested, and spotless. 

10. Nor is this all. Let the American orator """com- 
prehend, and live up to the grand """conception, that the 
Union is the property of the world, no less than of 
ourselves ; that it is a part of the divine scheme for the 
moral government of the earth, as the "'"solar system is 
a pai't of the """mechanism of the heavens; that it is des- 
tined, while traveling from the Atlantic to the Pacific, 
like the ascending sun, to shed its glorious influence 
backward on the states of Euroj)e, and forward on the 
empires of Asia. 

11. Let him comprehend its sublime relations to time 
and eternity; to God and man; to the most precious 
hopes, the most solemn obligations, and the highest hap- 
piness of human kind. And what an eloquence must 
that be whose source of power and wisdom are God 
himself, the objects of whose """influence are all the 
nations of the earth; whose sphere of duty is """co-exten- 
sive with all that is sublime in religion, beautiful in 
morals, commanding in intellect, and touching in """hu- 
manity. How "'"comprehensive, and therefore how wise 
and """benevolent, must then be the genius of American 
eloquence, compared to the narrow-minded, narrow- 
hearted, and therefore selfish, """eloquence of Greece and 

12. How striking is the """contrast, between the uni- 
versal, social spirit of the former, and the individual, 
exclusive character of the latter. The "'"boundary of 
this is the horizon of a plain; the circle of that, the 
"horizon of a mountain "'"summit. Be it then the duty 
of American eloquence to speak, to write, to act, in the 
cause of Christianity, "'"patriotism, and """literature; in 
the cause of justice, humanity, virtue, and truth; in the 
cause of the people, of the Union, of the whole human 


race, and of the unborn of every clime and age. Then 
shall American eloquence, the personification of truth, 
beauty, and love, 

" walk the earth, that she may hear her name 

Still hymned and honored by the grateful voice 
Of human kind, and in her fame rejoice." 

Exercises. — What is the duty of the American orator, as dis- 
cussed in this lesson? What is the noblest oflSce of American elo- 



CoME^Li-NESs ; n. that which is be- ^, Fledge''ling ; n. a young bird. 

coming or graceful. [walk. \ Rec-og-ni^tion ; n. acknowledg- 

Port; n. manner of movement or s ment of acquaintance. 
At-tire''; n. dress; clothes. ( Pre-con-cert''ed ; v. planned be- 

Rife; adj. prevalent. ) forehand. 

Tar'nish; v. to soil; to sully. < Cai'tiff; n. a mean villain. 
Av-a-lanche'; n. a vast body of / Turall'dom; n. bondage; slavery. 

snow sliding down from a \ Scan; v. to examine closely. 
^' mountain. < Neth''er; adj. lower; lying be- 

Vouch-safe''; v. to yield; to con- I neath. 

descend; to give. \ Blanch; v. to turn white. 

Net'ted; v. caught in a net. \ Gust; n. taste; relish. 


The events here referred to occurred in 1307. Switzerland had 
been conquered by Austria; and Gesler, one of the basest and most 
tyrannical of men, was her governor. As a refinement of tyranny, 
he had his cap elevated on a pole, and commanded that every one 
should bow before it. William Tell proudly refused to submit to this 
degrading mark of slavery. He was arrested and carried before the 
governor. The day before, his son Albert, without the knowledge of 
his father, had fallen into the hands of Gesler. 

Give each letter its full and correct sound. Do not say gov nor 
for gov-ejvi-or ; come-li-niss for come-li-ness ; e-rec for e-rec< ; hon- 
rer-ble for hon-or-a-ble; hans for hanrfs; venge-unce for venge-ance. 

Scene 1. — A Chamber in the Castle. Enter Gesler, Officers, 
and Sarnem, with Tell in chains and guarded. 

Sar. Down, slave! Behold the governor. 
Down! down! and beg for mercy. 


Ges. {Seated.) Does he hear? 

Sar. He does, but bi-aves thy power. 

Officer. Why don't you smite him for that look? 

Ges. Can I believe 

My eyes? He smiles! Nay, grasps 

His chains as he would make a weaj)on of them 

To lay the smiter dead. {To Tell.) 

Why speakest thou not? 
Tell. For wonder. 
Ges. Wonder? 

Tell. Yes, that thou shouldst seem a man. 
Ges. What should I seem? 
Tell. A monster. 
Ges. Ha! Beware! Think on thy chains. 

Tell. Though they were doubled, and did weigh me 
"•"Prostrate to the earth, methinks I could rise up 
Erect, with nothing but the honest pride 
Of telling thee, "'"usurper, to thy teeth. 
Thou art a monster! Think upon my chains? 
How came they on me? 

Ges. Darest thou question me? 

Tell. Darest thou not answer? 

Ges. Do 1 hear? 

Tell. Thou dost. 

Ges. Beware my "'"vengeance. 

Tell. Can it more than kill? 

Ges. Enough ; it can do that. 

Tell. No ; not enough : 

It can not take away the grace of life; 
Its comeliness of look that virtue gives; 
Its port "'"erect with "•"consciousness of truth; 
Its rich attire of honorable deeds; 
Its fair report that 's rife on good men's tongues : 
It can not lay its hands on these, no more 
Than it can pluck the brightness from the sun, 
Or with """jDolluted finger tarnish it. 

Ges. But it can make thee """writhe. • 

Tell It may. 


G-es. And groan. 
Tell. It may; and I may cry- 
Go on, though it should make me groan again, 

Ges. Whence comest thou? 

Tell. From the mountains. Wouldst thou learn 

What news from them? 
Ges. Canst tell me any? 

Tell. Ay: they watch no more the avalanche. 
Ges. Why so? 

Tell. Because they look for thee. The ■'"hurricane 
Comes ■'"unawares upon them ; from its bed 
The torrent breaks, and finds them in its track. 

Ges. What do they then? 

Tell. Thank heaven, it is not thou! 

Thou hast "'"perverted nature in them. 

There 's not a blessing heaven vouchsafes them, but 

The thought of thee — doth ''"wither to a curse. 

Ges. That 's right ! I 'd have them like their hills, 

That never smile, though "'"wanton summer tempt 
Them e'er so much. 

Tell. But they do sometimes smile. 

Ges. Ay! when is that? 

Tell. When they do talk of vengeance. 

Ges. Vengeance? Dare they talk of that? 

Tell. Ay, and expect it too. 

Ges. From whence? 

Tell. From heaven! 

Ges. From heaven? 

Tell. And their true hands 

Are lifted up to it on every hill 
For justice on thee. 

Ges. Where 's thy abode ? 

Tell. I told thee, on the mountains. 

Ges. Art married? 

Tell. Yes. 

Ges. And hast a family? 

Tell. A son. 

5th Rd. 22. 


Ges. A son? Sarnem! 

Sar. My lord, the boy — (Gesler signs to Sarnem to keep 

silence, and, whispering, sends him off.) 
Tell. The boy? Wheat boy? 

Is 't mine? and have they netted my young fledge- 
Now heaven support me, if they have I He '11 own 

And share his father's ruin! But a look 
Would put him on his guard; yet how to give it! 
Now heart, thy nerve; forget thou art flesh, be rock. 
They come, they come! 

That step — that step — that little step, so light, 
Upon the ground, how heavy does it fall 
Upon my heart ! I feel my child ! (Enter Sarnem 
icith Albert, whose eyes are riveted on TelVs bow 
lohich Sarnem carries.) 
y.'Tis he! We can but perish. 
Sar. See! 
Alb. What? 
Sar. Look there ! 

Alb. I do, what would you have me see? 
Sar. Thy father. 
Alb. Who? That— that my father? 

Tell. My boy! my boy! my own brave boy! 

He 's safe ! (Aside.) 
Sar. (Aside to Gesler.) They 're like each other. 
Ges. Yet I see no sign 

Or recognition to betray the link 

Unites a father and his child. 

Sar. My lord, 

I am sure it is his father. Look at them. 

It may be 

A preconcerted thing 'gainst such a chance, 

That they '•"survey each other coldly thus. 
Ges. We shall try. Lead forth the caitiff. 
Sar. To a dungeon? 
Ges. No; into the court. 
Sar. The court, my lord? 


Ges. And send 

To tell the headsman to make read3\ Quick ! 
The slave shall die! You nifirked the boy? 

Sar. I did. He started; 'tis his father. 

Ges. We shall see. Away with him! 

Tell. Stop ! Stop ! 

Ges. What would you? 

Tell. Time! A little time to call my thoughts together. 

Ges. Thou shalt not have a minute. 

Tell. Some one, then, to speak with. 

Ges. Hence with him! 

Tell. A moment ! Stop ! 

Let me speak to the boy. 

Ges. Is he thy son ? 

Tell. And if 

He were, art thou so lost to nature, as 
To send me forth to die before his face? 

Ges. Well! speak with him. 

Now, Sarnem, mark them well. 

Tell. Thou dost not know me, boy, and well for thee 
Thou dost not. I 'm the father of a son 
About thy age. Thou, 
I see, wast born like him, upon the hills; 
If thou shouldst 'scape thy present thralldom, he 
May chance to cross thee; if he should, I jjray thee 
Eelate to him what has been passing here, 
And say I laid my hand upon thy head. 
And said to thee, if he were here, as thou art, 
Thus would I bless him. Mayst thou live, my boy! 
To see thy country free, or die for her. 
As I do! (Albert weeps.) 

Sar. Mark! he weeps. 

Tell. Were he my son, 

He would not shed a tear! He would remember 
The cliff where he was bred, and learned to scan 
A thousand fathoms' depth of nether air; 
Where he was "•"trained to hear the thunder talk, 
And meet the lightning, eye to eye; where last 


We spoke together, Avhen I told him death 
"•■Bestowed the brightest gem that graces life, 
^Einbraced for virtues saUe. lie shod u tear? 
Now were he by, I "d talk to hira, and his cheek 
Should nevei' blanch, nor moisture dim his eye — 
I 'd talk to him — 

Sar. He falters! 

Tell. 'T is too much ! 

And yet it must be done! I'd talk to liim — 

Ges. Of what? 

Tdl. The mother, tyrant, thou dost make 
A widow of! I 'd talk to him of her. 
I 'd bid him tell her, next to liberty, 
Her name was the last word ray lips pronounced. 
And I would charge hira never to for«i-et 
To love and ''cherish her, as he would have 
His father's dying blessing rest upon him! 

Sar. You see, as he doth +prompt, the other acts. 

Tell. So well he bears it, he doth '"vanquish me. 
My boy! my boy! O for the hills, the hills. 
To see him bound along their tops again. 
With liberty. 

Sar. Was there not all the father in that look? 
Ges. Yet 't is 'gainst nature. 

Sar. Not if he believes 

To own tlie son would be to make him share 
The father's death. 

Ges. J did not think of that ! 'T is well 

The boy is not thy son. I 've '•"destined him 
To die along with thee. 

Tell. To die? For what? 

Ges. For having braved my power, as thou hast. Lead 
them forth. 

Tdl. He 's but a child. 
Ges. Away with them ! 
Tell. Perhaps an only child. 
Ges. No matter. 


Tell. He may have a mother. 

Ges. So the viper hath; 

And yet, who spares it for the mother's sake? 

Tell. I talk to stone! I talk to it as though 

'T were flesh ; and know 't is none. I '11 talk to it 

No more. Come, my boy, 

I taught thee how to live, I'll show thee how to die. 

Ges. He is thy child ? 

Tell. He is my child. 

Ges. I 've wrung a tear from him! Thy name? 

Tell. My name? 

It matters not to keep it from thee now; 
My name is Tell. 

Ges. Tell? William Tell? 
Tell. The same. 

Ges. What! he, so famed 'bove all his countrymen, 
For guiding o'er the stormy lake the boat? 
And such a master of his bow, 't is said 
His arrows never miss! Indeed! I'll take 
■•"Exquisite vengeance! Mark! I'll spare thy life; 
Thy boy's too; both of you are free; on one 

^ Tell. Name it. 

Ges. I would see you make 

A trial of your skill with that same bow 
You shoot so well with. 

Tell. Name the trial you 
Would have me make. 

Ges. You look upon your boy 

As though +instinctively you guessed it. 

Tell. Look upon my boy? What mean you? Look upon 
My boy as though I guessed it? Guessed the trial 
You'd have me make? Guessed it 
Instinctively? You do not mean — no — no, 
You would not have me make a trial of 
My skill upon my child! Impossible! 
I do not guess your meaning. 


Ges. I would see 

Thee hit an apple at the distance of 
A hundred paces. 

Tell. Is my boy to hold it ? 

Ges. No. 

Tell. No? I'll send the arrow through the +coreI 

Ges. It is to rest upon his head. 

Tell. Great heaven, you hear him! 

Ges. Thou dost hear the choice I give: 

Such trial of the skill thou art master of, 
Or death to both of you ; not otherwise 
To be escaped. 

Tell. O, monster! 
Ges. Wilt thou do it ? 
Alb. He wilj ! he will ! 

TeU. """Ferocious monster! Make 

A father murder his own child ! 

Ges. Take off his chains if he consent. 
Tell. With his own hand? 
Ges. Does he consent ? 

Alb. He does. (Gesler signs to his officers, who proceed to 

take off TelVs chains; Tell unconscious what they 

Tell. With his own hand? [do. 

Murder his child with his own hand? This hand? 

The hand I've led him, when an infant, by? 

'T is beyond horror! 'T is most horrible! 

Amazement ! {His chains fall off.) What 's that 
you 've done to me ? 

Villains! put on my chains again. My hands 

Are free from blood, and have no gust for it, 

That they should drink my child's! Here! here! 
I '11 not 

Murder my boy for Gesler. 

Alb. Father! Father! 

You will not hit me, father! 

Tell. Hit thee? Send 

The arrow through thy brain? Or, missing that, 


Shoot out an eye? Or, if thine eye escape, 
■•■Mangle the cheeli I 've seen thy mother's lips 
Cover with kisses? Hit thee? Hit a hair 
Of thee, and ''■cleave thy mother's heart ? 

Ges. Dost thou consent? 

Tell. Give me my bow and quiver. 

Ges. For what? 

Tell. To shoot my boy! 

Alb. No, father, no! 

To save me ! You '11 be sure to hit the apple. 
"Will you not save me, father? 

Tell. Lead me forth; 

I '11 make the trial ! 

Alh. Thank you! 

Tell. Thank me? Do 

You know for what? I will not make the trial. 
To take him to his mother in my arms! 
And lay him down a "''corse before her! 

Ges. Then he dies this moment, and you certainly 
Do murder him whose life you have a chance 
To save, and will not use it. 

Tell. Well, I '11 do it ; I '11 make the trial. 
Alb. Father! 

Tell. Speak not to me: 

Let me not hear thy voice: thou must be dumb; 
And so should all things be. Earth should be dumb; 
And heaven — unless its thunders muttered at 
The deed, and sent a bolt to stop it I Give me 
My bow and quiver! 

Ges. "When all 's ready. 
Tell. Well, lead on ! 

Exercises. — Why does Gesler express joy that his subjects are 
unhappy? Why does Albert appear not to recognize his father? 
Why does Tell at last acknowledge Albert ? 

Parse the first two words in this lesson. Parse "to shoot" on the 
last page. "To save" on the same. "To take" and "lay." 



Is'sue; n. event; consequence. i Shaft; n. the stem; the body. 
Stanch; adj. sound; strong. > QuiV'er; n. a case for arrows. 

Jag'ged; v. notched; uneven. ] Per^il; n. dangei-. 

WILLIAM TELL.— Continued. 

Remark . — Do not slide over the little words, nor omit any syl- 
lable of a word. 

Sound each letter distinctly and correctly. Do not say look-uz 
for look-ers; smi-Vn-ly for sm\-ling\y., rev-runce for rev-er-€nce; 
slid-T/ for stead-y. 

Scene 2. — Enter sJoicly, people in evident distress — Officers, 
- Sarnem, Gesler, Tell, Albert, and soldiers — one bearing 
Tell s bow and quiver — another with a basket of apples. 

Ges. That is your ground. Now shall they measure 

A hundred paces. Take the distance. 
Tell. Is the line a true one? 
Ges. True or not, what is't to thee? 
Tell. What is't to me? A little thing, 

A very little thing; a yard or two 

Is nothing here or there — were it a wolf 

I shot at ! Never mind. 
Ges. Be thankful, slave. 

Our grace '"accords thee life on any terms. 

Tell. I will be thankful, Gesler! +Villain, stop! 

You measure to tjie sun. 
Ges. And what of that? 

What matter whether to or from the sun? 

Tell. I 'd have it at my back. The sun should shine 
Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots. 
1 can not see to shoot aijainst the sun: 
I Avill not shoot against the sun! 

Ges. Give him his way! Thou hast cause to bless my 


Tell. I shall remember it. I 'd like to see 

The apple I 'm to shoot at. 
Ges. Stay! show me the basket! there! 
Tell. You 've picked the smallest one. 
Ges. I know I have. 
Tell. O, do you? But you see 

The color of it is dark : I 'd have it light, 

To see it better. 
Ges. Take it as it is; 

Thy skill will be the greater if thou hitt'st it. 
Tell. True! true! I did not think of that; I wonder 

I did not think of that. Grive me some chance 

To save ray boy! {Throws away the apple icith all 
I will not murder him, [his force.) 

If I can help it ; for the honor of 

The form thou wearest, if all the heart is gone. 
Ges. Well: choose thyself. 
Tell. Have I a friend among the lookers-on? 
Verner. (Rushing forward.) Here, Tell. 

Tell. I thank thee, Verner! 

He is a friend runs out into a storm 
To shake a hand with us. I mijst be ''"brief. 
When once the bow is bent, we can not take 
The shot too soon. Verner, whatever be 
The issue of this hour, the common cause 
Must not stand still. Let not to-morrow's sun 
Set on the '''tyrant's banner! Verner! Verner! 
The boy! the boy! Thinkest thou he hath the 

To stand it? 

Ver. Yes. . 

Tell. Does he tremble? 

Ver. No. ' 

Tell. Art sure? 

Ver. I am. 

Tell. How looks he? 

Ver. Clear and smilingly. 

If you doubt it, look yourself, 
5Ui Bd. 28. 


Tell. No, no, my friend: 
To hear it is enough. 

Ver. He bears himself so much above his years — 

Tell. I know! I know! 

Ver. With """constancy so modest — 

Tell. I was sure he would — 

Ver. And looks with such relying love 
And """reverence upon you — 

Tell. Man ! Man ! Man ! 

No more! Already I'm too much the father 
To act the man ! Yerner, no more, my friend ! 
I would be flint — flint — flint. Do n't make me feel 
I 'm not — do not mind me ! Take the boy 
And set him, Verner, with his back to me. 
Set him upon his knees, and place this apple 
Upon his head, so that the stem may front me, 
Thus, Verner; charge him to keep steady; tell him 
I'll hit the apple! Verner, do all this 
More ■'"briefly than I tell it thee. 

Ver. Come, Albert ! (^Leading him out.) 

Alb. May I not speak with him before I go? 

Ver. No. 

Alb. I would only kiss his hand. 

Ver. You must not. 

Alb. I must; I can not go from him without. 

Ver. It is his will you should. 

Alb. His will, is it? 

I am content, then; come. 

Tell. My boy! (Holding out Ms arms to him.) 
Alb. My father! (Bushing into TelVs arms.) 

Tell. If thou can'st bear it, should not I? Go now, 
My son; and keep in mind that I can shoot; 
Go boy; be thou but steady, I will hit 
The apple. Go ! God bless thee ; go. My bow ! 

(The bow is handed to him.) 
Thou wilt not fail thy master, wilt thou? Thou 
Hast never failed him yet, old servant. No, 


I 'm sure of thee. I know thy honesty, 

Thou art stanch, stanch. Let me see my quiver. 

Ges. Give him a single arrow. 
Tell. Do you shoot? 
Soldier. I do. 

Tell. Is it so you pick an arrow, friend ? 

The point, you see, is bent; the feather, jagged. 
That 's all the use 't is fit for. (Breaks it.) 

Ges. Let him have another. 

Tell. Why, 'tis better- than the first, 

But yet not good enough for such an aim 
As I 'm to take. 'T is heavy in the shaft ; 
I'll not shoot with it! (Throxcs it away.) Let me 

see my quiver. 
Bring it ! 'T is not one arrow in a dozen 
I 'd take to shoot with at a dove, much less 
A dove like that. 

Ges. It matters not. 

Show him the quiver. 

Tell. Sec if the boy is ready. 

(Tell here hides an arrow under his vest.) 
Ver. He is. 

Tell. I 'm ready too ! Keep silent, for 

Heaven's sake, and do not stir; and let me have 
Your prayers, your prayers, and be my '"witnesses 
That if his life 's in peril from my hand, 
'T is only for the chance of saving it. 

Ges. Go on. (To the people.) 

Tell. I will. 

O friends, for mercy's sake keep "^motionless, 

and silent. (Tell shoots. A shout of exultation 
bursts from the crowd. TelVs head drops on his 
bosom; he with difficult]/' supports himself on his 

Ver. (Bushing in with Albert.) The boy is safe, no hair 
of him is touched. 

Alb. Father, I 'm safe. Your Albert 's safe, dear father ; 
Speak to me! Speak to me! 


Ver. He can not, boy! 

Alb. You grant him. life? ' 

Ges. I do. 

Alb. And we are free? 

Ges. You are. (Crossing angrily behind.) 

Alb. Open his vest, 

And give him air. (Albert opens his father's vest, 
and the arrow drops. Tell starts, fixes his eyes 
on Albert and clasps him to his breast.) 

Tell. My boy ! My boy ! 
Ges. For what 

Hid you that arrow in your breast? Speak, slave! 
Tell. To kill thee, tyrant, had I slain my boy!* 

Exercise . — Relate this whole story. 

-Notwithstanding Gesler's promise, Tell was again loaded with 
chains and confined in prison. Succeeding, however, in making liis 
escape, he soon afterward shot Gesler through the heart, and thus 
freed his country from the most galling bondage. His memory is, to 
this day, cherished in S^yitzerland, as that of one of the most heroic 
defenders of liberty. 


They slacken d the cable. Thy pulse throbs wildly. Thou prob'st 
the wound painfully. He struggVd to escape. Thou think' st and 
thwack'st, and thwack'st and think'st. 

The shrill trump of victory. We scrambled up the liill. Sn-ib- 
blers scrawl strange stories. Diamonds scratch glass. They furl'd 
the sails. His chains clank'd. He handles the instruments skill- 
fully. The blue waves curVd. We were un/iann'c? amid the con- 
flict of elements. 



1. Top'ics; n. subjects of dis- ^ to the time of the Druids. 

course. | These were the ancien- 

1. Ger'mi-nat-ed ; v. sprouted; ? priests of Great Britain. 

began to grow. 10. Co-los'sal; adj. very large. 

1. Tran-scend^knt; adj. surpass- \ 11. Em-bod''i-ment; n. a union in 

ing all; very excellent. ; one body. 

4. Dru-id'ic-al ; adj. belonging ( 12. Fer''vid ; adj. burning. 


[Extract from an address delivei-ed by Daniel Webster at the 
celebration of the completion of the Bunker Hill Monument, June 
17, 1843.] 

Remark. — Let the pupil stand at a distance from the teacher, 
and then try to read so loud and distinctly that the teacher may 
hear each syllable. 

Utter each sound correctly and distinctly. Do not say in-vi-t'n 
for ia-vit-»)^; phil-sopKcl for phil-o-soph-zc-al ; in-flu-uncc for in- 
flu-cnce; re-spec iov VQ-s'^QGt ; de-scend-unce iov 6.Q-se.Qndi-ant&; cul-ter 
nor cul-tshure for cult-wre, (pro. cult-yw); mince for min^s; pop-py- 
lar for pop-u-lar; kine for kinc^; his-Vry for his-to-ry. 

1. Few topics are more inviting, or more fit for ■"■philo- 
sophical discussion, than the action and influence of 
the New "World upon the Old ; or the contributions of 
America to Europe. 

2. Her obligations to Europe for science and art, laws, 
literature, and manners, America acknowledges as she 
ought, with respect and gratitude. And the people of 
the United States, descendants of the English stock, 
grateful for the treasures of knowledge derived from 
their English ancestors, ''"acknowledge, also, with thanks 
and filial regard, that, among those ancestors, under the 
"•"culture of Hamj^den and Sidney, and other assiduous 
friends, that seed of popular liberty first germinated, 
which, on our soil, has shot up to its full height, until 
its branches "'"overshadow all the land. 

3. But America has not failed to make returns. If 


she has not +canceled the ^obligation, or equaled it by 
others of like weight, she has, at least, made ^respectable 
advance, and some ajiproaches toward equality. And 
she admits, that, standing in the midst of civilized na- 
tions, and in a civilized age, a nation among nations, 
there is a high part which she is expected to act, for 
the general advance of human intei'ests and human wel- 

4. American mines have filled the mints of Europe 
with the preciovis metals. The productions of the Ameri- 
can soil and climate, have poured out their abundance 
of ■''luxuries for the tables of the rich, and of necessa- 
ries for the svistenance of the poor. Birds and animals 
of beauty and value, have been added to the European 
stocks ; and ^transplantations from the transcendent 
and unequaled riches of our forests, have mingled them- 
selves profusely with the elms, and ashes, and Druidical 
oaks of England. 

5. America has made """contributions far more vast. 
Who can estimate the amount or the value of the '♦"aug- 
mentation of the commerce of the world, that has 
resulted from America? Who can imagine to himself 
what would bo the shock to the Eastern Continent, if 
the Atlantic were no longer ''"traversable, or there were 
no longer American '•'prod notions or American markets? 

6. But America exercises influences, or holds out 
examples for the consideration of the Old World, of a 
much higher, because they are of a moral and political 
character. America has furnished to Europe, proof of 
the fact, that popular '•'institutions, founded on equality 
and the principle of representation, are capable of 
"•'maintaining governments ; able to secure the rights 
of persons, property, and """reputation. 

7. America has proved that it is practicable to elevate 
the mass of mankind; that portion which, in Europe, 
is called the laboring or lower class; to raise them to 
self-respect, to make them """competent to act a part in 
the great right and great duty of self-government; and 
this, she has proved, may be done by the """diffusion of 
knowledge. She holds out an example a thousand times 


more enchanting, "thaii ever was presented before, to 
those nine-tenths of the human race, who are born 
without ■•'hereditary fortune or hei-editary rank. 

8. America has furnished to the world the character 
of Washington. And if our American institutions had 
done nothing else, that alone would have entitled them 
to the respect of mankind. Washington! "First in 
war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his country- 
men!" Washington is all our own! 

9. The enthusiastic veneration and regard in which 
the people of the United States hold him, prove them 
to be worthy of such a countryman; while his reputa- 
tion abroad reflects the highest honor on his country 
and its institutions. I would cheei'fully put the ques- 
tion to any of the intelligence of Europe and the world, 
what character of the '''century, upon the whole, stands 
out on the relief of history, most pure, most respect- 
able, most sublime; and I doubt not that, by a '•'suffrage 
approaching to ''"unanimity, the answer would be — 
Washington ! 

10. This structure* by its uprightness, its solidity, its 
■•"durability, is no unfit emblem of his character. His 
public virtue and public principles were as firm as the 
earth on which it stands; his personal motives as pure 
as the serene heaven in which its summit is lost. But, 
indeed, though a fit, it is an '•"inadequate emblem. Tow- 
ering high above the column which our hand's have 
builded, beheld not by the inhabitants of a single city, 
or a single State, ascends the colossal '•"grandeur of his 
character and his life. In all the "•"constituents of the 
one, in all the acts of the other, in all its titles to im- 
mortal love, admiration, and renown, it is an American 

11. It is the embodiment and vindication of our trans- 
Atlantic liberty. Born upon our soil, of parents also 
born upon it; never, for a moment, having had a sight 
of the old world ; instructed, according to the modes of 
his time, only in the spare, but wholesome elementary 

* Bunker Hill Monument. 


knowledge which our ''"institiitions pi^vido for the chil- 
dren of the people; growing up beneath, and penetrated 
by, the genuine influence of American society; growing 
up amid our expanding, but not '•'luxurious ■''civilization; 
partaking in our great destiny of labor, our long eon- 
test with unreclaimed nature and uncivilized man, our 
agon}^ of glory, the "War of Independence, our great 
victory of peace, the formation of the Union, and the 
establishment of the Constitution; he is all, all our own! 
That crowded and glorious life, 

"Where multitudes of virtues passed along, 
Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng, 
Contending to be seen, then making room 
For greater multitudes that were to come; — " 

that life was the life of an American citizen. 

12. I claim him for America. In all the perils, in 
every darkened moment of the state, in the midst of 
the reproaches of enemies, and the misgivings of friends, 
I turn to that transcendent -name for courage and for 
consolation. To him who denies or doubts, whether our 
fervid liberty can be combined with law, with order, 
with the security of proj^erty, Avith the pursuits and 
advancement of happiness; to him who denies that our 
institutions are capable of producing exaltation of soul 
and the passion of true glory; to him who denies that 
we have contributed any to the stock of great lessons 
and great examples; to all these I reply, by pointing to 
"Washington. ' 

Exercises. — Where is Bunker Hill? What important event 
occurred there? When? For what is America indebted to Europe? 
For what is Europe indebted to America? How does the Bunker 
Hill Monument represent Washington? AVhat is said of Washington 
as an American character? 


Sweet-scented slu-iibs. Spruce was sprinlcVd sparseh/. The roots 
lie shrvnh and shrivl'd till spring. Tliou sneer st and scoff' st in- 
excusably. He was formidaWc, unbeara6/c, intolerable', unman- 
ageai/e, and terriWe. 



SER^Ri-eD; adj. crowded to- ^ 3. Im-preo''na-ble ; adj. that can 

gether. s not be moved or shaken. 

Pha^lanx; n. a body of troops ? 3, Hor'rent; adj. standing out 

formed in close array. l like bristles. 

En-ciiant''ed ; adj. possessed < 4. In-sur''gext; adj. rising in op- 

by witches or imaginary > position to authority. 

spirits. \ 4. Fray; n. quarrel; battle. 

Ram'part; n. that which de- ? 6. An-ni''ui-late; v. to reduce to 

fends from assault. > nothing. 


Articulate the d and t clearly. Do not say thou-sans for thou- 
sanf/s ; duss for dus<; friens for frienc?s; con-Jlic for con-flici; 
groun for grounc?; foun for founc/; rmiss for mus^. 

At the battle of Lempach, a. d. 1315, between the Swiss and Aus- 
trians, the latter having obtained possession of a narrow pass in the 
mountains, formed a serried phalanx with presented spears. Until 
this was broken, the Swiss could not hope to make a successful 
attack. At last, Arnold Winkelried, leaving the Swiss ranks, rushed 
upon the Austrian spears, and receiving in his body as many points 
as possible, made a breach in the line, which resulted in the complete 
rout of the Austrian army. 

1. "3Iake way for +Libert3M" ho cried; 
Made way for Liberty, and died! 

2. In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, 
A living wall, a human wood! 

A wall, where every ■'"conscious stone 

Seemed to its kindred thousands grown; 

A rampart all '''assaults to bear, 

Till time to dust their frames should wear; 

A wood like that enchanted grove, 

In which, with fiends, Rinaldo strove, 

"Where every silent tree possessed 

A spirit prisoned in its breast, 

AVhich the first stroke of coming strife 

"Would ■'"startle into ''"hideous life: 


So dense, so still, the Austrians stood, 
A living wall, a human wood! 

3. Impregnable their front appears. 
All horrent with ''"projected spears, 
Whose polished points before them shine. 
From flank to flank, one brilliant line. 
Bright as the breakers' splendors run 
Along the billows to the sun, 

4. Opposed to these, a '•"hovering band, 
Contending for their native land; 

Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke 
From manly necks the """ignoble yoke. 
And """forged their fetters into swords, 
On equal terms to fight their lords; 
And what insurgent rage had gained, 
In many a mortal fray maintained: 
Marshaled once more at freedom's call, 
They came to conquer or to fall. 
Where he who conquered, he who fell, 
Was deemed a dead or living Tell! 

I 5. And now the work of life and death 
Hung on the passing of a breath ; 
The fire of conflict burned within ; 
The battle trembled to begin: 
Yet, while the Austrians held their ground. 
Point for attack was nowhere found; 
Where'er the impatient Switzer's gazed, 
The unbroken line of lances blazed; 
That line 't were "'suicide to meet, 
And perish at their tyrants' feet ; 
How could they rest within their graves, 
And leave their homes the homes of slaves? 
Would they not feel their children tread 
With clanking chains above their head? 

6. It must not be: this day, this hour, 
Annihilates the oppressor's power; 
All Switzerland is in the field, 
She will not fly, she can not yield; 


Few were the numbers she could boast ; 
But every freeman was a host, 
And felt as though himself wore he 
On whose sole arm hung victory. 

7. It did depend on one, indeed: 
Behold him! Arnold Winkelried! 
There sounds not to the trump of fame 
The echo of a nobler name. 
Unmarked he stood amid the throng, 
In ■'"rumination deep and long, 

Till you might see with sudden grace. 
The very thought come o'er his face; 
And by the motion of his form. 
Anticipate the bursting storm; 
And by the uplifting of his brow, 
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how. 
But 'twas no sooner thought than done; 
The field Avas in a moment won. 

8. "Make way for Liberty!" he cried: 
Then ran, with arms extended wide, 
As if his dearest friend to clasp ; 

Ten spears he swept within his grasp: 
"Make way for Liberty!" he cried, 
Their keen points met from side to eide; 
He bowed among them like a tree. 
And tlius made way for Liberty. 

9. Swift to the breach his comrades fly; 
"Make way for Liberty!" they cry. 
And through the Austrian phalanx dart, 

As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart; 

While +instantaneous as his fall, 

E.out, ruin, panic, scattered all. 

An earthquake could not overthrow 

A city with a surer blow. 

10. Thus Switzerland again was free, 
Thus Death made way for Liberty! 

Exercises. — When, and between wliom did the battle of Lem- 
pach take place? How was the battle won? 



1. Beak; n. the bill of a bird. 5 3. FLEDo'eD; v. furnished with 

1. Writh'ing; v. twisting. I feathers. 

3. AViNG^LETs; n. little wings. < 6. Cleav^ing ; adj. splitting. 


Remark. — Give the poetic pauses their appropriate prominence. 
In most of the following lines, the cesura is very decidedly mai'ked. 

3 1 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say ferce for f/erce; bud for bird; 
thun-d'ruz for than-der-ers ; luing-Uts for wing-lets. 

1. There 's a fierce gray bird, with a bending beak, 
AVith an angry eye and a startling shriek, 

That nurses her brood where the cliff flowers blow, 

On the ''■precipice top, in '•"perpetual snow; 

That sits where the air is shrill and bleak, 

On the splintered point of a shivered peak, 

Bald-headed and stripped, like a ''"vulture, torn 

In wind and strife; her feathers worn. 

And ruffled, and stained, while loose and bright, 

Eound her serpent neck, that is writhing and bare, 

Is a ■'"crimson collar of gleaming hair. 

Like the crest of a warrior, thinned in fight, 

And shorn, and bristling. 

2. See her! where 
She sits, in the glow of the sun-bright air. 
With wing half-poised and talons bleeding, 

And kindling eye, as if her """prey 
Had suddenly been snatched aAvay, 
While she was tearing it and feeding. 

3. Above the dark ''"torrent, above the bright stream, 

The voice may be heard 

Of the thunderer's bird. 
Calling out to her Grod in a clear, wild scream, 
As she mounts to his throne, and unfolds in his beam; 


While her j'oung are laid out in his rich, red blaze, 
And their winglets are fledged in his hottest rays. 

4. Proud bird of the cliff! where the barren yevr 

Where the sunshine stays, and the wind harp sings. 
She sits, '•'unapproachable, pluming her wings; 
She screams! She's away! over hill-top and flood, 
Over valley and rock, over mountain and wood, 
That bird is abroad in the van of her brood! 

5. 'T is the bird of our ''"banner, the free bird that 

When the battle is there, all the wrath of the waves : 
That dips her '•'pinions in the sun's first gush; 
Drinks his '•'meridian blaze, his farewell flush; 
Sits amid stirring stars, and bends her Ijeak, 
Like the slii)i)ed '''falcon, when her '•'i^iercing shriek 
Tells that she stoops upon her cleaving wing. 
To drink at some new victim's clear, red spring. 

6. That monai'ch bird! she slumbers in the night, 
Upon the lofty air jDcak's utmost height; 

Or sleeps upon the wing, amid the ray 

Of stead}", cloudless, '•'everlasting day: 

Eides with the thunderer in his '•'blazing march, 

And bears his lightnings o'er yon boundless arch; 

Soars ■•'wheeling through the storm, and screams away, 

Where the young pinions of the morning play; 

Broods with her arrows in the '•'hurricane ; 

Bears her green '•'laurel o'er the starry plain. 

And sails around the skies, and o'er the rolling deeps, 

With still ■''unwearied wing, and eye that never sleeps. 

Exercises. — What is the emblem of our country? Describe 
the habits of the eagle. What traits in the character of this bird 
are worthy of admiration? 

They hattVd manfully. The ship being scuttVd, settVd in deep 
water. A drizzling rain fell. The bear has crispy, frizzVd hair. 
They were puzzVd and dazzVd by the glitter. 




Sanc''ti-ty ; n. holiness ; pu- J 

; 3. 

Soph^ist; n. a deceptive rea- 

rity. < 



En-thu'si-ast ; n. one whose S 

; 4. 

Pre'cept; n. a rule of action. 

imagination is heated. < 
Sec^ta-ry; n. one who sepa- ; 

; 4. 

E0-LO-Giz'eD; v. praised; com- 



rates from an established J 

: ^• 

Fa-nat^i-cism; 71. wild notions 

church. < 

of religion. 


Max'ims; n. established prin- 5 

' 6. 

Ex^e-crat-ed; v. cursed; de- 

ciples. ; 



Pre-pos-ses^sion; n. an opin- j 

I 6. 

Ex-cuu^ci-a-ting; arfji. extreme- 

ion formed before examin- ! 

ly painful. 

ing a subject. ; 

1 ^• 

Fab^ri-cate; v. to invent; to 


Ig'no-mik-t; n. public disgrace. ' 


devise falsely. 


The following is an extract from the writings of Rousseau, a French 
author of distinction, but a noted and avowed Infidel. 

Utter distinctly all the consonants in the following and similar 
words in this lesson: majesty, scriptures, sanctity, gospel, subject, 
philosopher, distance, enthusiast, instructions, described, disgrace, 
exactly, rewards, sobriety, midst, friends, fabricate. 

1. The majesty of the Scriptures strikes me with 
astonishment, and the sanctity of the gospel addresses 
itself to my heart. Look at the volumes of the '"philos- 
ophers, with all their pomp : how ''"contemptible do they 
appear in ''"comparison with this ! Is it possible, that a 
book at once so simple and sublime, can be the work of 
man ? 

2. Can he who is the subject of its history, be him- 
self a mere man? Was his the tone of an enthusiast, 
or of an ''"ambitious sectary? What sweetness! What 
"•"jDurity in his manners ! What an affecting """graceful- 
ness in his instructions ! What sublimity in his max- 
ims! What ■'"profound wisdom in his ''"discourses! What 
presence of mind, what ''"sagacity and ''"propriety in his 


answers! How great the command over his passions! 
Where is the man, where the philosopher, who could 
so live, suffer, and die, without weakness and without 

3. When Plato described his '•"imaginary good man 
covered with all the disgrace of crime, yet worthy of 
all the rewards of virtue, he described exactly the char- 
acter of Jesus Christ. The resemblance was so striking, 
it could not be mistaken, and all the fathers of the church 
perceived it. What prepossession, what blindness must 
it be, to compare the son of Sophronius to the son of 
Maiy! What an ''"immeasurable distance between them! 
Socrates, dying without pain, and without ignominy, 
easily supported his character to the last; and if his 
death, however easy, had not crowned his life, it might 
have been doubted whether Socrates, with all his wisdom, 
was any thing more than a mere soj)hist. 

4. He '♦"invented, it is said, the theory of moral ''"science. 
Others, however, had before him put it in practice; and 
he had nothing to do but to tell what they had done, 
and to reduce their examples to precept. Aristides had 
been just, before Socrates defined what justice was. Le- 
onidas had died for his country, before Socrates made 
it a duty to love one's country. Sparta had been tem- 
perate, before Socrates eulogized """sobriety; and before 
he "'^celebrated the praises of virtue, Greece abounded in 
virtuous men. 

5. But from whom of all his countrymen, could Jesus 
have derived that sublime and pure morality, of which 
he only has given us both the precepts and example? 
In the midst of the most ''"licentious fanaticism, the voice 
of the sublimest wisdom was heard; and the simplicity 
of the most '•"heroic virtue crowned one of the humblest 
of all the ■'"multitude. 

6. The death of Socrates, peacefully philosophizing 
with his friends, is the most pleasant that could be de- 
sired! That of Jesus, expiring in torments, ''"outraged, 
"•"reviled, and execrated by a w^hole nation, is the most 
horrible that could be feared. Socrates, in receiving 
the cup of poison, blessed the weeping executioner who 


presented it: but Jesus, in the midst of excruciating 
torture, prayed for his "•'merciless ''"tormentors. 

7. Yes! if the life and death of Socrates were those 
of a sage, the life and death of Jesus were those of a 
God. Shall we say that the evangelical history is a mere 
■'■fiction? It docs not bear the stamp of fiction, but 
the contrary. The history of Socrates, which nobody 
doubts, is not as well '•'attested as that of Jesus Christ. 
Such an assertion in fact only shifts the difficulty, with- 
out removing it. It is more inconceivable that a num- 
ber of persons should have agreed to fabricate this 
book, than that one only should have furnished the 
subject of it. 

8. The Jewish authors were ''■incapable of the diction, 
and stranger.s to the ■♦■moralit}^, contained in the gospel, 
the marks of whose truths are so striking, so perfectly 
■•■inimitable, that the '•■inventor would be a more aston- 
ishing man than the hero. 

Exercises. — How does Plato's character of what a good man 
ought to be, correspond with what Christ was! AVhat differences can 
you mention between the life and death of Christ, and those of Soc- 
rates? lu what country did Aristides, Leonidas, Plato, and Socrates 
live? Is the history of Socrates any better attested than that of 
Christ? Why is it inconceivable that the book is a fiction? Sup- 
pose it an invention of man; which would be the most wonderful, 
the inventor or the hero? Who was the author of this extract? 
How could an infidel express such sentiments? Are not men often 
forced unwillingly to acknowledge the truth? 


They struggVd through all difficulties. The rules are unnecessa- 
rily strict. He strode proudly on. They stroIVd through thickets 
and briars, and brambles, and thorns, till they reached the road. 
The clock strikes twelve. 




2. Pre-ter-nat'u-ral ; adj. be- 
yond or (lifiFerent from what 
is natural. 

2. SuRiv^EL-eo; adj. shrunk into 

8. Prog-nos'tic ; adj. showing 
something to come. 

3. Pas'sion; n. suffering; the last 

suffering of our Savior. 

3. Pa''thos; 7j. that which excites 


4. Mys^tic; adj. sacredly obscure; 

involving some secret mean- 

4. Svm''bol; n. a sign or repre- 
sentation of something. 

4. E-NUN-ci- action; n. the act of 

4. U''ni-son ; n. agreement ; har- 


5. Dis-tor^tion; n. a twisting out 

of shape. 
5. Buf^fet; n. a blow with the 

7. rAL-LA''cious; adj. deceiving. 
7. Ab-rupt^ness; n. suddenness. 
9. PoR-TENT^us ; adj. foretelling 

of evil. 

Remark. — The pathos of the description in the following lesson 
is its great beauty, and requires an appropriate tone and manner. 

Pronounce correctly. Do not say jine for join ; cov\id for cov- 
er'd; sa-cra-ment for sac-ra-raent; pic-tshure nov pic-ter for pict-wre, 
pro. pict-yur ; fig-ure, pro. fig-yur ; grand-eur, pro. grand-yur ; por- 
ten-shus for por-ten^0M5; at-ti-tudes, pro. at-tit-yudes. 

1. As I traveled through the county of Orange, my 
eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied near a ''"ruin- 
ous, old, wooden house in the forest, not far from the 
roadside. Having frequently seen such objects before, 
in traveling through these States, I had no ''"difficulty 
in ■'"understanding that this was a place of religious 

2. -Devotion alone should have stopped me to join in 
the duties of the ''"congregation ; but I must confess, that 
curiosity to hear the preacher of such a wilderness, was 
not the least of my motives. On entering, I was struck 
with his preternatural appearance. He was a tall and 
very spare old man; his head, which was covered with 
6th R. 24. 


a white linen cap, his shriveled hands, and his voice, 
were all shaking under the influence of a ''"palsy; and 
a feAv moments ''"ascertained to me that he was perfectly 

3. The first emotions that touched my breast were 
those of mingled pity and veneration. But how soon 
were all my feelings changed? The lips of Plato were 
never more worthy of a prognostic swarm of bees, than 
were the lips of this holy man! It was a day of the 
■""administration of the '•"sacrament ; and his subject was, 
of course, the passion of our Savior. I had heard the 
subject handled a thousand times; I had thought it 
exhausted long ago. Little did I suppose, that, in the 
wild woods of America, I was to meet with a man, whose 
eloquence would give to this topic a new and more sub- 
lime pathos, than I had ever before witnessed. 

4. As he descended from the pulpit, to ''"distribute 
the mystic symbols, there was a ''"peculiar, a more than 
human "'"solemnity in his air and manners, which made 
my blood run cold, and my whole frame shiver. He 
then drew a picture of the sufferings of our Savior; his 
trial before Pilate; his ascent up Calvary; his ''"cruci- 
fixion. I knew the whole history ; but never until then, 
had I heard the circumstances so "'"selected, so arranged, 
so colored. It was all new; and I seemed to have heard 
it for the first time in my life. His enunciation was so 
"•"deliberate, that his voice trembled on every syllable; 
and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. 

5. His peculiar phrases had that force of '•"description, 
that the original scene appeared to be at that moment 
acting before our eyes. We saw the very faces of the 
Jews ; the staring, frightful distortion of malice and 
rage. We saw the buffet ; my soul kindled with a flame 
of ''"indignation; and my hands were ''"involuntarilj'and 
■•convulsively clinched. 

6. But when he came to touch on the patience, the 
forgiving meekness of our Savior; when he dreAV, to 
the life, his voice breathing to God a soft and gentle 
pra3^er of pardon on his enemies, "Father, forgive them, 
for they know not what they do," the voice of the 


preacher, which had all along faltered, grew fainter, 
until, his '•'utterance being entirely obstructed by the 
force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his 
eyes, and burst into a loud and ''"irrepressible flood of 
grief The effect was ■'"inconceivable. The whole house 
resounded with the mingled groans, and sobs, and 
shrieks of the congregation. 

7. It was some time before the tumult had subsided, 
so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by 
the usual, but fallacious standard of my own weakness, 
I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the 
preacher. For I could not conceive how he would bo 
able to let his audience down from the height to which 
he had wound them, without """impairing the ''"solemnity 
and ■''dignity of the subject, or perhaps shocking them 
by the abruptness of his fall. But, no : the descent was 
as beautiful and sublime, as the elevation had been rapid 
and '''enthusiastic. 

8. The first sentence, with which he broke the awful 
silence was a quotation from Eousseau: "Socrates died 
like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ, like a God!" I 
despair of giving you any idea of the effect produced 
by this short sentence, unless you could '''perfectly con- 
ceive the whole manner of the man, as well as the 
peculiar crisis in the discourse. Never before did I com- 
pletely understand what Demosthenes meant by laying 
such stress on ''"delivery. 

9. You are to bring before you the venerable figure 
of the preacher; his blindness, constantly recalling to 
your recollection old Homer, Ossian, and Milton, and 
associating with his performance the melancholy '''grand- 
eur of their geniuses; you are to imagine that you hear 
his slow, solemn, well-accented enunciation, and his 
voice of affecting, trembling melody; you are to remem- 
ber the pitch of passion and enthusiasm, to which the 
congregation were raised; and then, the few moments of 
portentous, death-like silence, which reigned through- 
out the house; the preacher, removing his white hand- 
kerchief from his aged face (even yet wet from the 
recent toi-rent of his tears,) and slowly stretching forth 


the palsied hand which held it, begins the sentence, 
"Socrates died like a philosopher" — then, pausing, rais- 
ing his other hand, pressing them both clasped together 
with warmth and energy to his breast, lifting his "sight- 
less balls" to heaven, and pouring his whole soul into 
his ■'"tremulous voice — "but Jesus Christ — like a God!" 
10. This man has been before my imagination almost 
ever since. A thousand times, as I rode along, I dropped 
the reins of my bridle, stretched forth my hand, and 
tried to imitate his ''"quotation from Eousseau; a thou- 
sand times I abandoned the attempt in despair, and felt 
persuaded, that his peculiar manner and power arose 
from an "'"energy of soul, which nature could give, but 
which no human being could justly copy. As I recall, 
at this moment, several of his awfully striking "'"atti- 
tudes, the chilling tide with which my blood begins to 
pour along my ''"arteries, reminds me of the emotions 
produced by the first sight of Gray's '"introductory pic- 
ture of his Bard. 

Exercises. — Can you describe the personal appearance of the 
blind preacher? What effect was produced by his manner? When 
he described the character and conduct of Christ, what was the effect 
on the congregation? What effect was produced by the circum- 
stance of his blindness? "What was the secret of the preacher's great 



Pronounce correctly. Do not say mus-sy for mer-cy; mine-ful 
for lninc^ful; Is-rel for Is-ra-el; si-lunce for si-lence. 

1. Not unto us, O Lord! not unto us, 
But unto thy name give glory, 
For thy mercy, and for thy truth's sake. 
AVherefore should the ''"heathen say, 
Where is now their God? ^ 
But our God is in the heavens: 
He hath done whatsoever he hath pleased. 


2. Their idols are silver and gold, 
The work of men's hands. 

They have mouths, but they speak not: 
Eyes have they, but they see not: 
They have ears, but they hear not : 
Noses have they, but they smell not: 
They have hands, but they handle not: 
Feet have they, but they walk not: 
Neither speak they thi'ough their throat. 
They that make them are like unto them; 
So is every one that '•'trusteth in them. 


3. O Israel! trust thou in the Lord: 

He is their help and their '•'shield. ^ 
O house of Aaron ! trust in the Lord : 
He is their help and their shield. 
Ye that fear the Lord, trust in the Lord: 
He is their help and their shield. 

4. The Lord hath been """mindful of us; he will bless us; 
He will bless the house of Israel: 

He will bless the house of Aaron : 

He will bless them that fear the Lord, 

Both small and great. 

The Lord shall "'"increase you more and more, 

You and your children. 

Ye are blessed of the Lord 

AVhich made heaven and earth. 

5. The heaven, even the heavens, are the Lord's: 
But the earth hath he given to the children of men 
The dead praise not the Lord, ^ 

Neither any that go down into """silence. 
But we will bless the Lord ^ 
From this time forth and for "'"evermore: 
Praise the Lord! 

Exercises. — "rVliat is the sentiment expressed by this Psalm? 
What is tlie contrast made between tlie true God, and the idols of 
the heathen? 

Point out the emphatic words in the 1st paragraph. Explain the 
inflections in the 2nd paragi'aph, and point out the emphatic words. 



1. Clas'sic; n. a book written by \ 2. Sanc'tion; n. authority 

an author of the first class. ^ 3. Ver''sa-tile; adj. (pro. vers^a- 
1. An-tiq'ui-ty; n. great age. < (il) various in applicauon. 

1. UN-Ri^'AL-en; v. having no U, Vin^dt-cIt-ed ; v. defended; 

equal. s justified. 

2. Au-tiien-tic'i-ty; n. genuine- | 6. Ser'aph; n. an angel of the 

ness; the qualfty of being a | highest order. [of Christ. 

real original. ^ 6. E-VAN''GEr,-isT ; n. a preacher 


Remark. — Speak every syllable distinctly, and do not slip over 
the little words, nor pronounce them wrong. 

Articulate distinctly the following and similar words in this 
lesson. Do not say luorl for worlo?; no-hles for no-bles^; gif for 
gift; ?-e;/?€c for re-flec^; juss for jus/; e-van-gcl-iss for e-van-gel-isi. 

1. There is a classic, the best the world has ever seen, 
the noblest that has ever honored and ■'"dignified the 
language of mortals. If we look into its antiquity, wo 
discover a title to our veneration, unrivaled in the his- 
tory of ■'"literature. If we have respect to its evidences, 
they are found in the testimony of miracle and prophesy; 
in the ministry of man, of nature, and of angels, yea, 
even of "God, manifest in the flesh," of "God blessed 

2. If we ■'"consider its authenticity, no other pages 
have survived the lapse of time, that can be comj^ared 
with it. If Ave examine its ''"authority, for it speaks as 
never man spake, Ave discover, that it came from heaA' en, 
in ■'"vision and ''"j)rophesy, under the sanction of Him, 
Avho is Creator of all things, and the GiA'er of every good 
and perfect gift. 

3. If Ave reflect on its truths, they are lovely and spot- 
less, sublime and holy as God himself, '"unchangeable as 
his nature, durable as his righteous """dominion, and ver- 
satile as the moral condition of mankind. If we regard 


the value of its treasures, we must "•"estimate them, not 
like the relics of classic antiquity, by the perishable 
glory and beauty, virtue and happiness, of this world, 
but by the enduring "'"perfection and supreme "'"felicity 
of an eternal kingdom. 

4. If we inquire, who are the men, that have "''recorded 
its truths, vindicated its rights, and "'"illustrated the "'"ex- 
cellence of its scheme, from the depth of ages and from 
the living world, from the populous continent and the 
isles of the sea, comes forth the answer: the patriai'ch 
and the jDrophet, the evangelist and the """martj-r. 

5. If we look abroad through the world of men, the 
victims of folly or vice, the prey of cruelty, of injustice, 
and inquire what are its benefits, even in this "'"temporal 
state, the great and the humble, the rich and the poor, 
the powerful and the weak, the learned and the igno- 
rant replj", as with one voice, that humility and "'"resig- 
nation, purity, order, and peace, faith, hope, and charity, 
are its blessings upon earth. 

6. And if, raising our eyes from time to eternity, from 
the world of mortals to the world of just men made 
perfect, from the visible creation, "'"marvelous, beautiful, 
and glorious as it is, to the invisible creation of angels 
and seraphs, from the footstool of God to the throne of 
God himself, we ask, what are the blessings that flow 
from this single volume, let the question be answered by 
the pen of the evangelist, the harp of the prophet, and 
the records of the book of life. 

7. Such is the best of classics the world has ever 
admired; such, the noblest that man has ever adopted 
as a guide. 

Exercises. — Why is the Bible called a classic? What is said 
of the antiquity of the Bible? What is said of its evidences? AVhat, 
of its authenticity? What, of the nature of its truths? What, of 
the men who wrote it and have defended it? What is said of the 
change it produces in the character of men? What, of its bearing 
upon our future pi'ospects? 

Name the nouns in the last paragraph. The verbs. The adjectives. 
The adverbs. 



1. Wrought; v. lanored. { 12. Gar'nish-cd ; adj. adorned; 

1. EcH^o-ec; v. repeated; sound- \ beautified. 

ed back. [certain. \ 14. Spin^et ; n. a musical insti'u- 

2. Vague; adj. indefinite; un- \ ment. 

4. Quaff^cd; v. drank eagerly. > 14. As^tral ; n. an ornamental 

5. SuR-PRiSE''; n. wonder; aston- \ lamp. 

ishment. [color. ) 14. Lug; n. the fire-place. 

5. Ha'zel; adj. a light brown 14, Doz^iXG ; adj. half-asleep; 
9. Har^vest-er ; n. one who \ drowsy. 

gathers a harvest. I5 Re-pin'er; n. a com plainer. 

11. Dowser; n. the property which 15 Drudge; n. an unwilling la- 

a wife brings her husband. { borer. 


1. Maud JMuller, on a summer's day, 
Eaked the meadow sweet Avith hay. 
Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 
Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

2. But, when she glanced to the far-off town, 
White from its hill-slope looking down, 
The sweet song died, and a vague unrest, 
And a nameless longing filled her breast; 
A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
For something better than she had known. 

3. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane: 
He drew his bridle in the shade 

Of the apple-trees to greet the maid; 

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed, 

Through the meadow, across the road. 

4. She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
And filled for him her small tin cup, 


And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 
"Thanks!" said the Judge, "a sweeter draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed." 

5. He spoke of the grass, and flowers, and trees, 
Of the singing birds and the humming bees; 
Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether 
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 
And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, 

And her gi-aceful ankles bare and brown, 
And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 

6. At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 
Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah, me! 
That I the Judge's bride might be! 

He would dress me up in silks so fine, 
' And praise and toast me at his wine. 

7. "My father should wear a broadcloth coat; 
My brother should sail a painted boat; 

I. 'd dress my mother so grand and gay, 
And the baby should have a new toy each day; 
And I 'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor. 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

-8. The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 
And saw Maud Muller standing still. 
"A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er has it been my lot to meet; 
And her modest answer and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

9. "Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay: 
No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary laAvyers with endless tongues; 
But low of cattle, and song of birds, 
And health, and quiet, and loving words." 
6th Rd. 25. 


10. But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold, 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold; 
So, closinnj his heart, the Judge rode on, 
And Maud was left in the field alone: 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
"When K« hummed in court an old love-tuno; 
And the 3'oung girl mused beside the well, 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

11. He wedded a wife of richest dower. 
Who lived for fashion, as he for power; 
Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, 
He Avatched a picture come and go; 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes. 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

12. Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, 
He longed for the wayside well instead; 
And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms. 
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. 
And the proud man sighed, with secret pain, 
"Ah, that I were free again! 

Free as when I rode that day. 

Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay." 

13. She wedded a man unlearned and poor. 
And many children played round her door; 
But care and sorrow and Avasting pain 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot, 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot. 
And she heard the little spring brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall, 
In the shade of the apple-tree again. 
She saw a rider draw his rein, 
And gazing down with timid grace. 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

14. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls; 
The weary wheel to a spinet turned; 
The tallow candle an astral burned; 


And for him who sat by the chimney lug, 
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 
A manly form at her side she saw, 
And joy was duty, and love was law: 
Then she took up her burden of life again, 
Saying only, "It might have been!" 

15. Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge! 
God pity them both! and pity us all, 
"Who vainly the dreams of youth recall; 
For of all sad words of tongue or pen. 
The saddest are these: "It might have been!" 
Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes; 
And in the hereafter, angels may 
Eoll the stone from its grave away! 


1. Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your fllgtcl 
Make me a child again, just for to-night! 
Mother, come back from the echoless shoi'e; 
Take me again to your arms as of yore; 

Kiss from my forehead the farrows of care; 
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; 
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep ; 
Eock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep! 

2. Backward, flow backward, O tide of years! 
I am so weary of toils and of tears; 

Toils without recompense, tears all in vain; 
Take them, and give me my childhood again! 
I have grown weary of dust and decay. 
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away; 
Weary of sowing for others to reap; 
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep! 

3. Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue; 
Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you! 


Many a summer the grass has grown green, 
Blossomed and faded, our faces between; 
Yet with sti^ong yearnings and passionate pain, 
Long I to-night for your presence again; 
Come from the silence so long and so deep! 
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep! 

4. Over my heart in the days that are flown, 
No love like a mother's love ever has shone; 
No other worship abides and endures. 
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours: 
None like a mother can charm away pain 
From the sick soul, and the world-weary brain; 
Slumber's soft calm o'er my heavy lids creep; 
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleej^ ! 

5. Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, 
Fall on your shoulders again, as of old; 

Let it fall over my forehead to-night. 
Shielding my faint eyes away from the light; 
For with its sunny-edged shadows once more, 
Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore: 
Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep; 
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock mo to sleep! 

6. Mother, dear mother! the years have been long 
Since I last hushed to your lullaby song; 
Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem 
Womanhood's years have been but a dream; 
Clasped to your arms in a loving embrace, 
"With your long lashes just sweeping my face, 
Never hereafter to wake or to weep; 

Rock me to slee]3, mother, rock me to sleep! 

Exercises . — Who was Maud Muller ? What did the Judge say 
as he drank the cool spring water? Why did Maud wish to be the 
Judge's bride? What were the Judge's thoughts as he climbed the 
hill? Are the hopes of youth often realized in after life? What is 
the moral of this poem? 

Repeat the first stanza of the second poem. Why did the poet wish 
to be a child again? What does the poem say of a mother's love? 
Repeat the last stanza. 




Es-POUS^eD; v, embraced. 

Dis-as''trous; adj. unfortun- 

1. Low^iiANDs; n. the south of 
Scotland ; called thus be- 
cause the land lies compara- 
tively low. The northern 
part is called the High- 
lands; because it is hilly. 

1. Pkan^ces; v. bounds, as a high 
spirited horse does. 

3. Reek ; v. to give out steam or 


4. Gor'y; adj. bloody. 

4. Phan''tom; n. a specter; an 

6. Ae''rie; n. (pro. e^-ry, or a'-ry) 
an eagle's nest. 

6. Crest'ed ; adj. wearing a 
plume; here used figuratively 
for proud; lofty. [equal. 

6. Peer''less ; adj. having no 

7. Clay^more ; n. a two-handed 
sword used by the Scotch. 

8. Mys'tic-al; adj. secret; ob- 

8. Lore; n. knowledge; instruc- 
tion, [false. 
6. Do''takd; n. a foolish old man. ] 11. Sooth''less ; adj. truthless; 


Remark . — Be careful not to slip over or mispronounce the small 

Lochiel was a brave and influential Highland chieftain. He es- 
poused the cause of Charles Stuart, called the Pretender, who claimed 
the British throne. In the following piece, he Is supposed to be 
marching with the warriors of his clan, to join Charles's army. On 
his way he is met by a Seer, who, having, according to the popular 
superstition, the gift of second-sight, or prophecy, forewarns him of 
the disastrous event of the '•"enterprise, and exhorts him to return 
home, and avoid the destruction which certainly awaited him, and 
which afterward fell upon him at the battle of CuUoden, in 1745. 

1. Seer. Lochiel! Lochiel! bewai-e of the day 

When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight; 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; 
Woe, woe to the riders, that "•'trample them down! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain. 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 

2. But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, 
What steed to the desert flies ■'"frantic and far ? 


'Tis thine, 0, Glenullin! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate: 
A steed comes at morning; no rider is there; 
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 

3. Weep, Albin!* to death and '•'captivity led! 

O, weep ! but thy tears can not number the dead , 
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 

4. Zochiel. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling 

seer ! 
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old ''"wavering sight, 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 

5. Seer. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? 
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! 
Say, rushed the bold eagle '•"exultingly forth, 

From his home, in the dark -rolling clouds of the north? 
Lo! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; 
But down let him stoop from his '•"havoc on high ! 
Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. 

6. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars fi'om the firmament cast? 

'T is the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his aerie that '•'beacons the darkness of heaven. 
O crested Lochiel ! the peei'less in might, 
Whose banners arise on the '•'battlements' height; 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ; 
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood. 
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. 

7. Loch. False wizard, avaunt ! I have marshaled my clan ; 
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their 


*The poetic name of Scotland, more particularly the Highlands. 


And like reapers descend to the harvest of deatli. 
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock! 
But woe to his kindred, and 'woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore '•'indignantly draws; 
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clanronald the '''dauntless, and Moray the proud; 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — 

8. Seer. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! 

For, dark and despai"ing, my sight I may seal, 
But man can not cover what God would reveal: 
'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
' And coming events cast their shadows before. 

9. 1 tell thee Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 

With tlie blood-hounds that bark for tliy fuo-itive kina:. 
Lo! anointed b}^ heaven with the vials of wrath, 
Behold where lie flies on his ''"desolate path! 
Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my 

sight r-i^ 
Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! 

10. 'T is finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors; 
Culloden is lost, and my country '''deplores. 
But where is the iron-bound prisoner "/f Where? 
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair; 
Saj^, mounts he the ocean wave, banished, ''"forloxn, 
Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding and torn? 
Ah no! for a darker departure is near; 
The war-drum is '■'muftied, and black is the bier; 
His death-bell is tolling; O! mercy! dispel 
Yon sight that it freezes my spirit to tell! 
Life flutters '''convulsed in his quivering limbs, 
And his blood-streaming nostril in '* agony swims. 
Accursed be the faggots that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — 

* Alluding to the narrow escape of Charles by water from the west 
of Scotland. 

tHe refers here to Lochiel. 


11. Loch. Do-wn,-soothless insulter! I trust not the tale; 
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in 

their gore, 
Like ocean weeds heaped on the "''surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, ''"untainted by flight or by chains, 
"While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
Shall victor '•'exult, or in death be laid low, 
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! 
And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. 

E X E R c IS E s. — Who was Lochiel? For whom did he fight? What 
is meant by a Seer? What do you understand by their bosoms being 
"hoof-beaten?" How did Lochiel reply to the warning of the Seer? 
What became of the King, or Pretender, as he was called? 


1. In''ter-views ; n. meetings ; ] 3. Au''bi-ter ; n. one who con^ 

mutual sight or view. 'i trols or decides between 

2. Rav'age; n. waste; r\iin. \ others. 

2. UN-KNELL^eo; V. without the ] 3. Yest*; n. (the same as yeast), 

tolling of a bell at one s fu- > the foam of the sea. 

neral. \ 4. Realms; n. kingdoms. 

3. Ar'ma-ment; n. a body of na- ', 4. Az'ure; adj. blue; like the sky. 

val forces equipped for war; ) 5. Glassies*; v. mirrors as in a 
ships of war. \ glass. 

3. Le-vi^a-tijan ; n. a huge sea > 5. Slime; «. sticky mud. 

animal; here used fyuratively i 5. Zoxe ; n. a division of the 
/or ships. ^ earth. 


Remark. — Be careful to speak such little words as hi/, in, on, «r, 
and, at, of, with, for, to, from, through, the, &c., very distinctly, and yet 
not to dwell on them so long as on other more important words. 

1. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
Til ere is a '''rapture on the lonely shore, 

■'■Throughout this work, that definition is given which belongs to 
the word as it is used in the lesson. This meaning is frequently 


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 interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before, 

To mingle with the universe, and feel 

What I can ne'er express, yet can not all '•'conceal. 

2. EoU 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 with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknelled, '•'uncoflSned, and un- 

«t« «1* *l^ *lr k,i* •>£* «£» 

rf% *f^ ^» *5* *»* 'T* *** 

3. The armaments which '•'thunder-strike 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 the yest of v/aves, which mar 
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 

4. 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 wrinkles on thy azure brow; 
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 

5. Thou glorious '•'mirror, where the Almighty's form 

Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, 


Calm or ''"conviilscd ; in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime, 
Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and ■''sublime; 

The image of Eternity, the throne 

Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime 

The ■•'monsters of the deep are made; each zone 

Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, '•'fathomless, 

Exercises. — 'What is meant by "oak leviathans?" How is the 
ocean the image of eternity? Where is Trafalgar, and for what is 
it celebrated ? AVhere was Assyria? Carthage? Where is Rome? 
Greece ? 

'• » » 


2. CoN^vicTs; n. persons found S 8. Rat-tan''; n. a small cane 
guilty of crime. < which grows in India. 

2. Ward'en ; n. a keeper; one | 8. Parsley; n. conversation or 
who guards. < conference with an enemy. 

4. Brig'ands; n. robbers; those \ 11. Im-pre-ca''tions ; n. curses; 

who live by plunder. < prayers for evil. 

6. Mot''ley; adj. composed of va- \ 12. In-dom''i-ta-ble ; adj. that can 
rious colors. s not be subdued or tamed. 

5. De-mo'nv-ac; adj. devil-like. i 16. Quell; v. to subdue; to crush. 

6. Sub-or^di-nate; adj. inferior. ) 17. BLENCH''eD; v. gave way; 

6. Per'il; n. danger. \ shrunk. 

7. Ma-rines''; n. {-pro. ma-rcens^) ; 19. Car'nage; n. slaughter. 

soldiers that serve on board | 19. Re-prieve''; n. a delay of 
of ships. I punishment. 

7. De-mean''or; 7i. behavior; de- ? 20. Ex''it; n. passage out of a 
portment. ' place. 


1. A MORE ■''impressive '•"exhibition of moral courage, 
opposed to the wildest '•'ferocity, under the most '•'appall- 
ing circumstances, was never seen, than that which was 
witnessed, by the officers of our state-prison, in the 
rebellion which occurred about five years since. 

2. Three convicts had been sentenced under the rules 
of the prison to be whipped in the yard, and by some 


effort of one of the other prisoners, a door had been 
opened at midday "•"communicating witli the gi'eat dining- 
hall, and through the Avarden's lodge with the street. 

3. The dining-hall is long, dark, and damp, fi-om its 
situation near the surface of the ground; and in this all 
the prisoners assembled, with clubs, and such tools as 
they could seize in passing through the woi-kshops. 

4. Knives, hammers, and chisels, with every variety 
of such weapons, were in the hands of the ferocious 
spirits, who are drawn away from their "'"encroachments 
on society, forming a ''"congregation of strength, vile- 
ness, and talent, that can hardly be equaled on earth, 
even among the famed brigands of Italy. 

5. Men of all ages and characters, guilty of every 
variety of "'"infamous crime, dressed in the motley and 
peculiar garb of the institution, and displaying the wild 
and demoniac appearance that always pertains to im- 
prisoned wretches, were gathered together for the single 
purpose of preventing the punishment which was to bo 
inflicted on the morrow, upon their ''"comrades. 

6. The warden, the surgeon, and some other officers 
of the prison, were there at the time, and were alarmed 
at the consequences likely to ensue from the "'"conflict 
necessary to restore order. They huddled together, and 
could scarcely be said to consult, as the stoutest among 
them lost all presence of mind in overwhelming fear. 
The news rapidly spread through the town, and a sub- 
ordinate officer, of most mild and kind "'"disposition, 
hurried to the scene, and came calm and collected into 
the midst of the officers. The most ''"equable-tempered 
and the mildest man in the government, was in this 
hour of peril the firmest. 

7. He instantly dispatched a request to Major Wain- 
right, commander of the marines "'"stationed at the navy- 
yard, for assistance, and declared his purpose to enter 
into the hall and try the force of firm demeanor and 
■•"persuasion upon the enraged multitude. 

8. All his brethren exclaimed against an attempt so 
full of hazard; but in vain. They off'ered liim arms, a 
«word and pistols, but he refused them, and said, that 


he had no fear, and in case of danger, arms would do 
him no service: and alone, with only a little rattan, 
which was his usual walking-stick, he advanced into the 
hall, to hold parley with the selected, """congregated, and 
enraged villains of the whole "•'commonwealth. 

9. He demanded their purpose, in thus coming to- 
gether with arms, in violation of the prison laws. They 
replied, that they were determined to-obtain the remis- 
sion of the punishment of their three comrades. He 
said, it was impossible; the rules of the prison must be 
obeyed, and they must submit. 

10. At the hint of submission, they drew a little nearer 
together, prepared their weapons for service, and as they 
were dimly seen in the further end of the hall, by those 
who observed, from the gratings that opened up to the 
day, a more appalling sight can not be conceived, nor 
one of more moral """grandeur, than that of the single 
man, standing within their grasp, and exposed to be 
torn limb from limb instantly, if a Avord or look should 
add to the already '""intense excitement. 

11. That excitement, too, was of a most dangerous 
kind. It broke not forth in noise and imprecations, 
but was seen only in the dark looks and the strained 
nerves, that showed a deep determination. The officer 
■""expostulated. He reminded them of the '""hopelessness 
of escape; that the town was alarmed, and that the 
government of the prison would submit to nothing but 
unconditional surrender. He said, that all those who 
would go quietly aw.ay, should be forgiven for this 
offense; but, that if every prisoner was killed in the 
contest, power enough would be obtained to enforce the 
regulations of the prison. 

12. They replied, that they expected that some would 
be killed, that death avouM be better than such impris- 
onment, and with that look and tone, which bespeak 
an indomitable purjDose, they declared, that not a man 
should leave the hall alive, till the flogging was re- 
mitted. At this period of the '""discussion, their evil 
passions seemed to be more inflamed, and one or two 
offered to destroy the oflScer, who still stood firmer, and 


with a more temperate pulse, than did his friends, who 
saw from above, but could not """avert the danger that 
threatened him. 

13. Just at this moment, and in about fifteen minutes 
from the ■'"commencement of the tumult, the officer saw 
the feet of the marines, whose presence alone he relied 
on for ■'"succor, filing by the small upper lights. With- 
out any apparent anxiety, he had rej)eatedly turned his 
attention to their approach, and now he knew that it 
was his only time to escape, before a "^conflict for life 
became, as was expected, one of the most dark and 
dreadful in the world. 

14. He stepped slowly backward, still urging them to 
depart, before the officers were driven to use the last 
resort of fire-arms. When within three or four feet of 
the door, it was opened, and closed instantly again, as 
he spi'ang through, and was thus unexpectedly restored 
to his friends. 

15. Major Wainright was requested to order his men 
to fire down upon the convicts through the little win- 
dows, fii-st with powder and then with ball, till they 
were willing to retreat; but he took a wiser as well 
as a bolder course, reljnng upon the effect which firm 
determination would have upon men so '"critically situ- 
ated. He ordered the door to be again opened, and 
marched in at the head of twenty or thirty men, who 
filed through the passage, and formed at the end of 
the hall, oj^posite to the crowd of criminals ''"huddled 
together at the other. 

16. He stated that he was empowered to quell the 
rebellion, that he wished to avoid shedding blood, but 
that he should not quit that hall alive, till every con- 
vict had returned to his duty. They seemed ''"balancing 
the strength of the two parties; and replied, that some 
of them were ready to die, and only waited for an attack 
to see which was the more powerful, swearing that they 
would fight to the last, unless the punishment was re- 
mitted, for they would not submit to any such pun- 
ishment in the prison. Major Wainright ordered his 
marines to load their pieces, and, that they might not 


be suspected of trifling, each man was made to hold up 
to view the bullet which he afterward put in his gun. 

17. This only caused a growl of determination, and 
no one blenched, or seemed disposed to shrink from 
the foremost ■'"exposure. They knew that their number 
would enable them to bear down and destroy the hand- 
ful of marines, after the first discharge, and before their 
pieces could be reloaded. Again, they were ordered to 
retire ; but they answered with more ferocity than ever. 
The marines were ordered to take their aim so as to be 
sure and kill as many as i:)0ssible. Their guns were pre- 
sented, but not a prisoner stirred, except to grasp more 
firmly his weapon. 

18. Still desirous to avoid such a "•'tremendous slaugh- 
ter, as must have followed the discharge of a single gun, 
Major Wainright advanced a step or two, and spoke 
even more firmly than before, urging them to depai-t. 
Again, and while looking directly into the muzzles of 
the guns, which they had seen loaded with ball, they 
declared their intention "to fight it out." This "'"in- 
trepid officer then took out his watch, and told his men 
to hold their pieces aimed at the convicts, but not to fire 
till they had orders; then, turning to the prisoners, he 
said, "You must leave this hall; 1 give you three min- 
utes to decide; if at the end of that time, a man remains, 
he shall be shot dead." 

19. No situation of greater interest than this, can be 
conceived. At one end of the hall, a fearful multitude 
of the most """desperate and powerful men in existence, 
waiting for the """assault ; at the other, a little band 
of """disciplined men, waiting with arms presented, and 
ready, upon the least motion or sign, to begin the car- 
nage; and their tall and imposing commander, holding 
up his watch to count the lapse of three minutes, given 
as the reprieve to the lives of hundreds. No poet or 
painter can conceive a spectacle of more dark and ter- 
rible """sublimity; no human heart can conceive a situa- 
tion of more appalling suspense. 

20. For two minutes, not a person nor a muscle was 
moved, not a sound was heard in the unwonted stillness 


of the prison, except the labored breathings of the 
■""infuriated wretches, as they began to pant, between 
fear and revenge: at the expiration of two minutes, 
during which they had faced the ministers of death 
with ■'"unblenching eyes, two or three of those in the 
rear, and nearest the further entrance, went slowly out : 
a few more followed the example, dropping out quietly 
and ■''deUberately ; and before half of the last minute 
was gone, every man was struck by the panic, and 
crowded for an exit, and the hall was cleared as if by 

21. Thus the steady firmness of moral force, and the 
strong effect of '"determination, acting deliberately, awed 
the most savage men, and "'"suppressed a scene of car- 
nage, which Avould have instantly followed the least 
"•"precii^itancy or exertion of physical force. 

It may be that more lofty courage dwells 

In one weak heart which braves an adverse fate, 

Than does in his, whose soul indignant swells. 

Warmed by the fight, or cheered through high debate. 

ExEHciSEs. — Give an account of the scene described in this 
lesson. What accounts for the conduct of the subordinate officer, 
who, though ordinarilj' the mildest, was on this occasion the firmest? 
Suppose Major W. had fired through the windows, as he was advised, 
what would have been, in all probability, the result? What gained 
this bloodless victory? 

Explain the inflections, and point out the emphatic words in the 
last two paragraphs. 


Orb'd, proJ'^^, tronblst, tronbles, troubl'dst, ribs, robUst, h&ndl'd, 
fondrst, hreadths, ]aug/ist, durk'na, d&rk'iid, (i»rk'nst, durk'tidst, 
streiigth'n, strengthens, strengthen d, strength' n st, strength' ndst. 



1. Rec-og-ni''tio\ ; n. acknowl- i 3. Ex-ttnc'tion ; n. a putting an 

edgment. end ,o_ 

2. Fab'ric; n. any system com- < ^ Fer^til-ize; v. to make fruit- 

posed of connected parts. ? fy]_ 

2. E-RAs'eo; v. blotted out. i 4. A''the-ism; n. disbelief in God. 

3. Per^pe-tra-tor; n. one that I 4. Sen-su-al''i-ty; n. indulgence 

commits a crime. I in animal pleasure. 


Articulate clearly all the consonants in the following and simi- 
lar words in this lesson: stability, prosperity, interested, principles, 
friend, suspect, comprehends, fabric, concerns, itself, improvements, 
perpetrator, extinction, describe, unprotected, trample, restraints. 

1. Eeligion is a social concern; for it operates power- 
fully on society, "•"contributing, in various ways, to its 
stability and prosperity. Religion is not merely a pri- 
vate affair; the '•"community is deeply interested in its 

"•"diffusion; for it is the best support of the virtues and 
principles, on which the social order rests. Pure and 
nndefiled religion is, to do good; and it folloAvs, very 
plainly, that, if God be the Author and Friend of so- 
ciety, then, the recognition of him must enforce all 

'social duty, and enlightened piety must give its whole 
strength to public order. 

2. Few men suspect, perhaps no man '•"comprehends, 
the extent of the support given by religion to every 
virtue. No man, perhaps, is aware, how much our 
moral and '•'social sentiments are fed from this fountain ; 
how '•"powerless conscience would become without the 
belief of a God; how palsied would be human benevo- 
lence, were there not the sense of a higher benevolence 
to quicken and sustain it; how suddenly the whole 
social fabric would quake, and with whal^ a fearful crash 
it would sink into hopeless ruin, were the ideas of a 
Supreme Being, of '•"accountableness and of a future life, 
to be utterly erased from every mind. 


3. And, let men thoroughly believe that they are the 
work and sport of chance; that no superior '''intelli- 
gence concerns itself with human affairs; that all their 
improvements perish forever at death; that the weak 
have no ^guardian, and the injured no ''"avenger; that 
there is no ''"recompense for sacrifices to uprightness and 
the public good; that an oath is unheard in heaven; 
that secret crimes have no witness but the perpetrator ; 
that human existence has no purpose, and human virtue 
no unfailing friend; that this brief life is every thing 
to us, and death is total, """everlasting extinction; once 
let them thoroughly """abandon religion, and who can con- 
ceive or describe the extent of the desolation which 
would follow? 

4. We hope, perhaps, that human laws and natural 
sympathy would hold society together. As reasonably 
might we believe, that were the sun quenched in the 
heavens, our torches would "•"illuminate, and our fires 
quicken and fertilize the creation. What is there in 
human nature to awaken respect and tenderness, if man 
is the """unprotected insect of a day? And what is he 
more, if atheism be true? 

5. Erase all thought and fear of God from a commu- 
nity, and selfishness and sensuality would absorb the 
whole man. Appetite, knowing no restraint, and suffer- 
ing, having no solace or hope, would trample in scorn 
on the restraints of human laws. Virtue, duty, prin- 
ciple, would be mocked and spurned as unmeaning 
sounds. A ''"sordid self-interest would """supplant every 
feeling; and man would become, in fact, what the the- 
ory in atheism declares him to be, — a companion for 

ExEKcisES. — ^What is the operation of religion upon society? 
What would be the effect of the removal of religion, upon the whole 
fabric of virtue? Why would not human laws and sympathies hold 
society together? 

5th Rd. 26. 




2. Fer^'vbn-cy; n. warmth. $ 5. Re-veal''ing; r. making known. 

3. MiM''ics; V. imitates. $7, Ser''aph; n. an angel. 


1. I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old, 

With eyes of thoughtful +earnestness, and mind of gentle 

They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears; 
'l^hat my child is grave and wise of heart beyond his childish 
: ' years. 

2. I can not say how this may be; I know his face is fair, 

And yet his sweetest +comeliness is his sweet and serious air; 
I know his heart is kind and fond, I know he loveth me, 
But loveth yet his mother more, with grateful fervency. 
But that which others most admire is the thought which fills 

his mind ; 
The food for grave, inquiring speech he every-where doth find. 

3. Strange questions doth he ask of me, when we together walk; 
He scarcely thinks as children think, or talks as children talk. 
Nor cares he much for childish sports, dotes not on bat or ball. 
But looks on manhood's ways and works, and aptly mimics all. 
His little heart is busy still, and oftentimes perplexed 

With thoughts about this world of ours, and thoughts about 
the next. 

4. He kneels at his dear mother's knee, she teaches him to pray; 
And strange, and sweet, and solemn, then, are the words which 

he will say. 
0, should my gentle child be spared to manhood's years like 

A holier and a wiser man, I trust that he will be; 
And when I look into his eyes, and press his thoughtful brow, 
I dare not think what I should feel, were I to lose him now. 


5. I have a son, a second son, a simple child of three; 

I'll not declare how bright and Aiir his little features be, 
How silver-sweet those tones of his, when he +prattle3 on my 

knee : 
I do not think his light-blue eye is, like his brother's, keen, 
Nor his brow so full of childish thought as his has ever been; 
But his little heart's a ifountain pure, of kind and tender 

And his every look's a gleam of light, rich depths of love 

When he walks with me, the country folks, who pass us in the 

Will shout for joy, and bless my boy, he looks so mild and 


6. A playfellow is he to all, and yet with cheerful tone 
Will sing his little song of love, when left to sport alone. 

His presence is like sunshine sent, to +g]adden home and 

To comfort us in all our griefs, and sweeten all our mirth. 
Should he grow up to riper years, God grant his heart may 

As sweet a home for heavenl}' grace as now for earthly love; 
And if, beiside his grave, the tears our aching eyes must dim, 
God comfort us for all the love that we shall lose in him. 

7. I have a son, a third sweet son; his age I can not tell, 

For they reckon not by years and months where he is gone to 

To us for fourteen +anxiou3 months his infant smiles were 

And then he bid farewell to earth, and went to live in heaven. 
I can not tell what form is his, what looks he weareth now. 
Nor guess how bright a glory crowns his shining seraph brow, 
The thoughts that fill his sinless soul, the -i-bliss which he doth 

Are numbered with the secret things which God will not 


8. But I know (for God hath told me this) that he is now at rest, 
Where other blessed inAxnts be, on their Savior's loving breast: 
I know his spirit feels no more this weary load of flesh. 

But his sleep is blessed with endless dreams of joy forever 


I know the angels fold him close beneath their glittering 

And soothe him with a song that breathes of heaven's +divinest 

I know that we shall meet our babe (his mother dear and I) 
V/here God for aye shall wipe away all tears from every eye. 
Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, his bliss can never cease; 
Their lot may here be grief and fear, but his is certain peace. 

9. It may be that the tempter's wiles their souls from bliss may 

But, if our own poor faith fail not, he must be ours forever. 
When we think of what our darling is, and what we still 

must be; 
When we muse on that world's perfect bliss, and this world's 

When we groan beneath this load of sin, and feel this grief 

and pain, 
O, we'd rather lose our other two, than have him here again. 

Exercises. — How many sons are spoken of? What is said of 
the first ? Of the second ? Of the third ? 


1. Ge^ni-al; adj. cheerful. 1 4. Ur''chin; n. a child. 

2. EN-AM''EL-eD ; V. made hard and | 5. Var''let; n. scoundrel. 

smooth. I 6. Vo-LUPT''u-A-Ry; n. a pleasure- 

3. Rev'el-ry; n. merriment. \ seeker. [to the stomach, 

4. EC'sta-sy; n. rapture. i 7. Gas-tko-noji''ic ; adj. relating 


Articulate distinctly. Do not say happies for hap-pi-es<; potse 
for poets; fuUcs for full-esi; iinhlin for tink-lin^; feel'n for feel- 
ing; buds for birrfs. 

1. The happiest bird of our spring, however, and one 
that rivals the Eiiropean lark in my estimation, is the 
hoblinc'on, or bobolink, as he is commonly called. lie 
arrives at that choice portion of our year, which, in this 
latitude, answers to the description of the montli of May 
so often given by the poets. With us it begins about 


the middle of May, and lasts until nearly the middle of 
June. Earliei' than this, winter is apt to return on its 
traces, and to blight the opening beauties of the year; 
and later than this, begin the parching, and panting, 
and dissolving heats of summer. But in this genial 
interval, Nature is in all her freshness and "•'fragi-ance : 
"the rains are over and gone, the flowers appear upon 
the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and 
the voice of the turtle is heard in the land." 

2. The trees are now in their fullest '''foliage and 
brightest verdure; the woods are gay with the clustered 
flowers of the laurel; the air is pei-fu„ied with the sweet- 
brier and the wild-rose; the meadows are enameled with 
clover-blossoms; while the young apple, peach, and the 
plum begin to swell, and the cherry to glow among the 
green leaves. 

3. This is the chosen season of revelry of the bobo- 
link. He comes amid the pomp and fragi'ance of the 
season; his life seems all '•'sensibility and enjoyment, all 
Bong and sunshine. He is to be found in the soft bosoms 
of the freshest and sweetest meadows, and is most in 
song when the clover is in blossom. He '•'perches on 
the topmost twig of a tree, or on some long, '•'flaunt- 
ing weed, and as he rises and sinks with the breeze, 
pours forth a '•'succession of rich, tinkling notes, crowd- 
ing one upon another, like the outpouring melody of 
the sky-lark, and possessing the same '•"rapturous char- 

4. Sometimes, he pitches from the summit of a tree, 
begins his song as soon as he gets upon the wing, and 
flutters '•'tremulously down to the earth, as if overcome 
with ecstasy at his own music. Sometimes he is in 
pursuit of his mate ; always in full song, as if he would 
win her by his '•'melody; and always with the same 
appearance cf '•'intoxication and delight. Of all the 
birds of our groves and meadows, the bobolink was 
the envy of my boyhood. He crossed my path in the 
sweetest weather, and the sweetest season of the year, 
when all nature called to the fields, and the rural feel- 
ing throbbed in every bosom; but when I, luckless 


urchin ! was doomed to be mewed up, during the live- 
long day, in a school-room. 

5. It seemed as if the little varlet mocked at me, as 
he flew by in full song, and sought to '•'taunt me with 
his happier lot. O, how I envied him ! No lessons, no 
task, no school; nothing but holiday, frolic, green fields, 
and fine weather. Had I been then more vei'sed in 
poetry, I might have addressed him in the words of 
Logan to the cuckoo: — 

"Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green^ 
Thy sky is ever clear; 
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 
No winter in thy year. 

"0, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! 
"We 'd make, on joyful wing, 
Our annual visit round the globe, 
Companions of the spring." 

6. Further observation and experience have given me 
a different idea of this feathered voluptuary, which I 
will venture to """impart, for the benefit of my young 
readers, who may regard him with the same unqualified 
envy and admiration which I once indulged. I have 
shown him only as I saw him at first, in what I may 
call the poetical part of his career, when he, in a man- 
ner, devoted himself to elegant pursuits and enjoyments, 
and was a bird of music, and song, and taste, and sensi- 
bility, and ■'"refinement. While this lasted he was sacred 
from injury; the very school-boy would not fling a stone 
at him, and the merest "'"rustic would pause to listen to 
his strain. 

7. But mark the difference. As the year advances, as 
the clover-blossoms disappear, and the spring fades into 
summer, he gradually gives up his elegant tastes and 
habits, doffs his poetical suit of black, assumes a """russet, 
dusty garb, and sinks to the gross enjoyment of com- 
mon, vulgar birds. His notes no longer """vibrate on 
the ear; he is stuffing himself with the seeds of the tall 
weeds on which he lately swung, and chanted so melodi- 
ously. He has become a "ton vivant," a "gourmand:" 
with him now there is no^^ning like the "joys of the 


table." In a little while, he gi'ows tired of plain, homely- 
fare, and is off on a gastronomic tour in quest of foreign 

8. We next hear of him, with myriads of his kind, 
■•"banqueting among the reeds of the Delaware, and 
grown """corpulent with good feeding. He has changed 
his name in traveling. Boblincon no more, he is the 
reed-bird now, the much-sought-for "'"titbit of Pennsyl- 
vania "'"epicures, the rival in unlucky fame of the orto- 
lan ! Wherever he goes, pop ! pop ! pojD ! every rusty 
firelock in the country is blazing away. He sees his 
companions falling by thousands around him. Does he 
take warning and reform? Alas! not he. Again he 
wings his flight. The rice-swamps of the south invite 
him. He gorges himself among them almost to burst- 
ing; he can scarcely fly for ''"corpulency. He has once 
more changed his name, and is now the famous rice-bird 
of the Carolinas. Last stage of his career: behold him 
spitted, with dozens of his corpulent companions, and 
served up, a vaunted dish, on some southern table. 

9. Such is the story of the bobolink; once spiritual, 
musical, admired, the joy of the meadows, and the fa- 
vorite bird of spring; finally, a gross little ''"sensualist, 
who "'"expiates his sensuality in the ''"larder. His story 
contains a moral, worthy the attention of all little birds 
and little boys; warning them to keep to those refined 
and intellectual pursuits, which raised him to so high a 
pitch of popularity during the early part of his career, 
but to ■'"eschew all tendency to that gross and dissipated 
indulgence, which brought this mistaken little bird to 
an untimely end. 

Exercises . — When does the bobolink come ? How does he ap- 
pear? "What does he do? As the year advances what change occurs 
in him? "What does he become at last? 


M.'md, minds, n\\ndst ; find, ^nds, findst; yield, yields, yieldst; 
length'n, length ns, \engtKnst, length' nd, length' ndst ; brigh.Vn, 
lrig\\t'ns, Iright'nst, briglu'nd, bright' nd' st. 



2. Perch; v. to light oi' settle on > 5. Dome; n. a building-. Here it 

any thing. l means the heavens. 

3. Pen'ance; n. sufiFering for sin. \ g. Con'se-crat-ed ; adj. set apart 

4. Lays; n. songs. ^ for the service of God. 

6. Choir (pro. ku-ire) ; n. a collec- I g. Track^less ; adj. having no 
tion of singers. > path. 

[To two swallows, that flew into Church during Service.] 
Pronounce correctly. Do not say gidlt-liss for gnilt-/c5.9; mor- 
tuls for mor-ials ; pen-unce for pen-ance; up-wud for n^^ward. 

1. Gay, +guiltles8 jDair^, 

What seek ye from the fields of heaven? 

Ye have no need of '•'prayer^, 
Ye have no sins^ to be forgiven. 

2. Why perch ye here'^, 

Where mortals'^ to their Maker bend? 

Can your pure spirits fear 
The God ye never could offend? 

3. Ye never knew 

The crimes for which ive come to weep: 

Penance is not for you", 
Blessed "•'wand'rcrs of the upper deep. 

4. To you 't is given 

To wake sweet nature's ''"untaught lays; 

Beneath the arch of heaven 
To ■'"chirp away a life of praise. 

5. Then spread each wing, ' 
Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands, 

And join the choirs that sing 
In 3'on blue dome not "'"reared with hands. 

6. Or if ye stay 

To note the consecrated hour. 

Teach me the ''"airy way, 
And let me try your '•"envied power. 


7. Above the crowd, 

On upward wings could I but fly, 

I 'd bathe in yon bright cloud, 
And seek the stars that gem the sky. 

8. 'T Avere heaven indeed, 

Through fields of trackless light to soar, 
""^ — On nature's charms to feed, 

And nature's own great God '•"adore. 

Exercises. — On what occasion was this poem written? We 
address letters to our friends ; was this addressed to the birds in 
the same sense? Do you discover any beautiful expressions in this 
lesson? Point them out. 

Give the rule for the rising inflection at "pair." For the falling in- 
flection at "heaven." For the i-ising inflection at "prayer" and -'sins." 


1. Gul'lies; n. hollows in the 'i, 5. Lar'i-at; n. a long cord or 

earth worn by water. ] thong of leather, with a 

2. Ex-AM^EL-eD ; t. (used figura- \ noose, for catching wild 

tivcly) covered with a glossy \ horses. [on the side. 

surface like enamel. j g. Flank'ing ; adj. overlooking 

3. Rtj'mi-nat-ing ; v. chewing^ 9. Jack-oxan''tern; at//, alight, 

over what has been slightly ) seen in low, moist grounds, 

chewed before. I which disappears when ap- 

3. Herb' age; n. pasture; grass. > preached. [a shelter. 

3. Lawns; n. open spaces between > 9. Cov'ert; n. a covering place; 

woods. [movement. ^ 10. Pan'ic; n. sudden fright. 

4. Ma-neu'ver; n. a dexterous '^ II. Scourging; «. passing swiftly. 
4. Peai'rie; n. an extensive. level \ 12. Brake; n. a thicket of shrubs 

tract without trees, but cov- \ or canes, 

ered with tall grass. \ 15. Mar^rcd; ». interrupted; 

4. Window ard; n. the point /rom \ spoiled. [full of fire, 

w'hich the wind blows. < 15. Mer-cu'ki-ai,; adj. sprightly; 

1. We left the "'"buffalo camp about eight o'clock, and 
had a toilsome and "'"harassing march of two hours, over 
ridges c? hills, covered with a ragged forest of scrub 
oaks, and broken by deep gullies, 
oth R. 27. 


2. About ten o'clock in the morning, we came to 
where this line of rugged hills swept down into a val- 
ley, through which jfiowed the north fork of Red river. 
A beautiful meadow, about half a mile wide, enameled 
with yellow, '''autumnal flowers, stretched for two or 
three miles along the foot of the hills, bordered on the 
opposite side by the river, whose banks were fringed with 
cotton-wood trees, the bright foliage of which refreshed 
and delighted the eye, after being wearied by the con- 
templation of ''"monotonous wastes of brown forest. 

3. The meadow was finely '•'diversified by groves and 
clumps of trees, so happily disposed, that they seemed 
as if set out by the hand of art. As we cast our eyes 
over this fresh and delightful valley, we beheld a troop 
of wild horses, quietly grazing on a green lawn, about 
a mile distant, to our right, while to our left, at nearly 
the same distance, were several buffaloes ; some feeding, 
others reposing, and ruminating among the high, rich 
herbage, under the shade of a clump of cotton-wood 
trees. The whole had the appearance of a broad, beau- 
tiful tract of jjasture-land, on the highly-ornamented 
estate of some gentleman farmer, with his cattle grazing 
about the lawns and meadows. 

4. A ■''council of war was now held, and it was de- 
termined to profit by the present favorable opportunity, 
and try our hand at the grand hunting maneuver, which 
is called "ringing the wild horse." This requires a 
large party of horsemen, well mounted. They extend 
themselves in each direction, at a certain distance apart, 
and gradually form a ring of two or three miles in '''cir- 
cumference, so as to surround the game. This must be 
done with extreme care, for the wild horse is the most 
readily alarmed inhabitant of the prairie, and can scent 
a hunter a great distance, if to windward. 

5. The ring being formed, two or three ride toward 
the horses, which start off in an opposite direction. 
Whenever they approach the bounds of the ring, how- 
ever, a huntsman presents himself, and turns them 
from their course. In' this way, they are checked, and 
driven back at every point, and kept galloping round 


and round this ''"magic circle, until, being "•"completely 
tired down, it is easy for hunters to ride up beside them, 
and throw the lariat over their heads. The jjrime horses 
of the most speed, courage, and bottom, however, are ajit 
to break through and escape, so that, in general, it is 
the second-rate horses that are taken. 

6. ■'"Preparations were now made for a hunt of this 
kind. The pack-horses were now taken into the woods, 
and firmly tied to trees, lest in a rush of wild horses, 
they should break away. Twenty-five men were then 
sent under the command of a lieutenant, to steal along 
the edge of the valley, within the strip of wood that 
■'"skirted the hills. They were to station themselves 
about fifty yards apart, within the edge of the woods, 
and not advance or show themselves until the horses 
dashed in that direction. Twenty-five men were sent 
across the valley, to steal in like manner along the river 
bank that bordered the op]5osite side, and to station 
themselves among the trees. 

7. A third party of about the same number was to 
form a line, stretching across the lower part of the val- 
ley, so as to connect the two wings. Beatte and our 
other half-breed, Antoine, together with the ever ofii- 
cious Tonish, were to make a ''"circuit through the woods, 
so as to get to the upper part of the valley, in the rear 
of the horses, and drive them forward, into the kind of 
sack that we had formed, while the two wings should 
join behind them, and make a complete circle. 

8. The flanking parties were quietly extending them- 
selves out of sight, on each side of the valley, and the 
residue were stretching themselves like the links of a 
chain across it, when the wild horses gave signs that they 
scented an enemy; snuffing the air, snorting, and look- 
ing about. At length, they "'"pranced off slowly toward 
the river, and disappeared behind a green bank. 

9. Here, had the regulations of the chase been ob- 
served, they would have been quietly checked and 
turned back by the advance of a hunter from the trees. 
■•"Unluckily, however, we had our "'"wild-fire, Jack-o'lan- 
tern, little Frenchman to deal with. Instead of keeping 


quietly up the right side of the valley, to get above 
the horses, the moment he saw them move toward the 
river, he broke out of the covert of woods, and dashed 
furiously across the plain in pursuit of them. This put 
an end to all system. The half-breeds, and half a score 
of '"rangers, joined in the chase. 

10. Away they all went over the green bank. In a 
moment or two, the wild horses re-appeared, and came 
thundering down the yalley, with Frenchman, half- 
breeds, and rangers, galloping and bellowing behind 
them. It was in vain that the line drawn across the 
valley, attempted to check, and turn back the fugitives; 
they were too hotly pressed by their pursuers: in their 
panic they dashed through the line, and '•'clattered down 
the plain. 

11. The whole troop joined in the headlong chase, 
some of the rangers without hats or caps, their hair 
flying about their ears, and others with handkerchiefs 
tied round their heads. The buifaloes, which had been 
calmly ruminating among the herbage, heaved up their 
huge forms, gazed for a moment at the tempest that 
came scouring down the meadow, then turned and took 
to heavy, rolling flight. They were soon overtaken; 
the ■'"promiscuous throng were pressed together, by the 
contracting sides of the valley, and awa}?" they went"^, 
pell-melb, ''"hurry-skurry^, wild buffalo, wild horse"^, 
wild huntsman^, with clang and clatter^, and whoop 
and hallo^, that made the forests ring^. 

12. At length, the buffaloes turned into a green brake, 
on the river bank, while the horses dashed up a narrow 
■•"defile of the hills, with their pursuers close to their 
heels. Beatte passed several of them, having fixed his 
eye upon a fine Pawnee horse that had his ears slit, and 
saddle marks upon his back. He pressed him gallantly, 
but lost him in the woods. 

13. Among the wild horses, was a fine, black mare, 
which in '•'scrambling up the defile, tripped and fell. A 
young ranger sprang from his horse, and seized her by 
the mane and """muzzle. Another ranger dismounted, 
and came to his assistance. The mare struggled fiercely, 


kicking and biting, and striking Avith her forefeet, but 
a noose was slipped over her head, and her struggles 
were in vain. 

14. It was some time, however, before she gave over 
rearing and plunging, and lashing out with her feet on 
every side. The two rangers then led her along the 
valle}^, bj' two strong lariats, which enabled them to 
keep at a sufficient distance on each side, to be out of 
the reach of her hoofs, and whenever she struck out in 
one direction, she was jerked in the other. In this way 
her sjjirit was gradually """subdued. 

15. As to Tonish, who had marred the whole scheme 
by his ''■precipitancy, he had been more successful than 
he deserved, having managed to catch a beautiful cream 
colored colt about seven months old, that had not 
strength to keep up Avith its companions. The mer- 
curial little Frenchman was beside himself with ''"exulta- 
tion. It was amusing to see him with his prize. The 
colt would rear and kick, and struggle to get free, when 
Tonish would take him about the neck, wrestle with 
him, jump on his back, and cut as many antics as a 
monkey with a kitten. 

16. Nothing surprised me more, however, than to Avit- 
ness how soon these poor animals, thus taken from the 
unbounded freedom of the prairie, yielded to the domin- 
ion of man. In the course of two or three days, the 
mare and colt went with the lead horses, and became 
quite '♦"docile. 

Exercises. — Near what river did this expedition commenco? 
'Where is that river ? Describe the country, scenery, etc. What 
animated objects presented themselves to view upon the right and 
the left? To what is the whole scene compared? What hunting 
maneuver was commenced? Describe it. What is the lariat? De- 
scribe the proceedings of the party in this maneuver. What inter- 
rupted its successful completion? Give the striking contrast between 
the flight of the wild liorses and that of the buifaloes. Describe the 
capture of the black mare. What was the conduct of the captured 
animals in respect to being tamed? 



1. Le''gion; n. division of an 5 5. Cc'quet-ry; n. trifling in love. 

army. S 5- Cho^rus ; n. music in -wliich 

2. Corse; n. a dead body. ? all join. 

2. Hoard; n. what is laid up. s 6. Yore; adv. old times. 

The word Bingen is pronounced Bing^en; not Bit/gen, or Bin'jen. 


1. A Soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 

There was lack of woman's nursing, there was ''"dearth of 

woman's tears, 
But a comrade stood beside him, while the life-blood ebbed 

And bent with pitying glances to hear what he might say. 
Tlie dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, 
And he said: "I never more shall see my own, my native land! 
Take a message and a token to some distant friends of mine, 
For I was born at Bingen, at Bingen on the Rhine ! 

2. " Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd 

To hear my mournful story, in the pleasant ■*" vineyard gronnd, 
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, 
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun ; 
And 'mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, 
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many 

scars ! 
But some were young, and suddenly beheld Life's morn decline. 
And one had come from Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine! 

3. "Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, 
For I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage; 
For my father was a soldier, and, even when a child, 

My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and 

wild ; 
And when he died, and left us to divide his "''scanty hoard, 
I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword! 
And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to 

On the cottage wall at Bingen, calm Bingen on the Rhine! 


4. "Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, 
When the troops come marching home again, with glad and 

■•"gallant tread ; 
But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, 
For her brother was a soldier, too, and not afraid to die! 
And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name 
To listen to him kindly, without ^regret or shame; 
And to hang the old sword in its place, (my father's sword and 

For the honor of old Bingen, dear Bingen on the Rhine! 

5. "There's another, not a sister; in happy days gone by, 
You'd have known her by the "''merriment that sparkled in 

her eye; 
Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle ''"scorning, 
O! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest 

mourning I 
Tell her the last night of my life — (for, ere the moon be risen, 
My body will be out of pain, ray soul be out of prison), 
I dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine 
On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, fair Bingea on the Ehine ! 

6. " I saw the blue Ehine sweep along : I heard, or seemed to hear, 
The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clears 
And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill. 

The ''"echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and 

still ; 
And her glad blue eyes were on me, as we passed with friendly 

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk; 
And her little hand lay lightly, ''"confidingly in mine; 
But we'll meet no more at Bingen, loved Bingen on the Rhine!" 

7. His voice grew faint and hoarser, his grasp was childish weak. 
His eyes put on a dying look, he sighed and ceased to speak; 
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had tied. 
The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land, was dead! 

And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down 
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strewn ! 
Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene, her pale light seemed to 

As it shone on distant Bingen, fair Bingen on the Rhine. 



1. Ro-MANC''iNG ; adj. telling fa- | 5. Sus-pend^ed; v. put off. 

bles. I 5. Pke-ma-ture^; adj. too soon; 

3. Ff.-li(/i-ty ; n. happiness. \ too early. 


Pronotjnce correctly. Do not say thonsun for thou-sanrf; ro- 
mancin for ro-manc-in^'; momioit for mo-nient; riimos for iit-mosi; 
felicty for fe-lic-t-ty; varxis for va-ri-ous; particlarly for par-tic-u- 
lar-ly; nnfortun'te for un-for-t«-nate; spectatiir for spec-ta-tor. 

1. Our happiness is in the poAver of One, who can 
bring it about in a thousand unforeseen ways, that 
mock our foresight. If example be necessary to prove 
this, I will give you a story, told us by a grave, though 
sometimes romancing, ''"historian. 

2. "Matilda was married, very j'oung, to a jSTeapoli- 
tan nobleman of the first '•'quality, and found herself a 
widow and a mother, at the age of fifteen. As she stood, 
one day, ''"caressing her infant son, in the open window 
of an apartment which hung over the river Volturnus, 
the child, Avith a sudden spring, leaped from her arms 
into the flood below, and disappeared in a moment. 
The mother, struck with instant surprise, and making 
an efi'ort to save him, plunged in after; but, far from 
being able to assist the inftint, she herself, with great 
difficulty, escaped to the opposite shore, just Avhen some 
French soldiers were plundering the country on that 
side, Avho immediately made her their prisoner. 

3. "As the Avar was then carried on betAveen the 
French and Italians, Avith the utmost inhumanity, they 
Avere going, at once, to take her life. This base '""reso- 
lution, however, was opposed by a young officer, Avho, 
though their retreat required the utmost expedition, 
placed her behind him, and carried her in safety to her 
native city. Her beauty, at first, caught his e3'e, her 
merit, soon after, his heart. They Avero married: ho 


rose to the highest j^osts: they lived long together, and 
were happy. But the felicity of a soldier can never be 
called permanent. After an '•"interval of several years, 
the trooi^s which he commanded having met with a re- 
pulse, he was obliged to take shelter in the city where 
he had lived with his wife. Here they suffered a siege, 
and the city, at length, was taken. 

4. "Few histories can produce more various instances 
of cruelty, than those which the French and Italians, at 
that time, exercised upon each other. It was resolved 
by the victors, upon this occasion, to put all the French 
prisoners to death; but particularly the husband of the 
unfortunate Matilda, as he was principally '"instrumental 
in ■'"protracting the siege. Their determinations were, 
in general, executed almost as soon as resolved upon. 

5. "The captive soldier was led forth, and the execu- 
tioner, with his sword, stood ready, while the specta- 
tors, in gloomy silence, awaited the fatal blow, which 
was only suspended till the general, who presided as 
judge, should give the signal. It was in this interval 
of anguish and expectation, that Matilda came to take 
her last farewell of her husband and deliverer, deplor- 
ing her Avrotehed situation, and the "'"cruelty of fate, that 
had saved her from perishing, by a premature death, in 
the river Volturnus to be the spectator of still greater 

6. "The g.eneral, who was a J'oung man, Avas struck 
with surprise at her beauty, and pity at her distress; 
but with still stronger emotions, when he heard her 
mention her former dangers. He was her son ; the in- 
fant, for whom she had """en countered so much danger. 
He acknowledged her, at once, as his mother, and fell at 
her feet. The rest may be easily supposed. The captive 
was set free, and all the happiness that love, friendship, 
and duty could confer on each, was enjoyed." 

M "7 


I / 



2. Ad-vent''ur-ers ; 71. those who < 3. SiG^NAL-iz-eD; i;. made remai-k- 
attempt difficult enterprises. \ able. 


2. SuM^MA-RY ; adj. short ; brief. ; 3. De-tacii^ment ; n. a party sent 
2. Out''rage; n. violence. \ off from the main body. 


Remark. — Let every pupil notice, as each one reads, when the 
final consonant of any word is joined to the vowel of tho next word. 

Articulate distinctly. Do not say wJw lof for whole of; an 
dindeed, for and indeed; eminen torators, for eminent orators; talen 
tsin, for talents in; celehraty din pea san dwar, for celebrated in 
peace and war. 

1. I MAY "•'challenge the whole of the orations of 
Demosthenes and Cicero, and indeed, of any more emi- 
nent orators, if Europe or the world, has furnished 
more eminent, to produce a single passage superior to 
the speech of Logan, a Mingo chief, delivered to Lord 
Dunmore, when governor of Virginia. As a "•'testimony 
of Indian talents in this line, I beg leave to introduce 
it, by fii"st stating the "''incidents necessary for under- 
standing it. 

2. In the spring of the year 1774, a robbery was com- 
mitted by some Indians, upon certain land adventurers 
on the Ohio river. The whites in that quarter, accord- 
ing to their custom, undertook to punish this outrage 
in a summary way. Captain Michael Cresap and one 
Daniel Greathouse, leading on these parties, surprised, 
at different times, traveling and hunting parties of tho 
Indians, who had their women and children with them, 
and murdered many. Among these, were """unfortun- 
ately the family of Logan, a chief celebrated in peace 
and war, and long "''distinguished as the friend of the 

3. This unworthy return provoked his "•'vengeance. 
He accordingly signalized himself in the war which 


ensued. In the autumn of the same year, a +decisive 
battle was fought at the mouth of the Great Kanawha, 
between the collected forces of the Shawnees, the Min- 
goes, and the Delawares, and a detachment of the Vir- 
ginia militia. The Indians were defeated, and sued for 
peace. Logan, however, "'"disdained to be seen among 
the '•'suppliants: but, lest the ''"sincerity of a treaty, from 
which so distinguished a chief absented himself, should 
be distrusted, he sent, by a messenger, the following 
speech to be delivered to Lord Dunmore. 

4. "I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he 
entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not 
meat ; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed 
him not. Dui-ing the course of the last long and bloody 
war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an ''"advocate for 
peace. Such was my love for the whites, that my coun- 
trymen pointed as they passed, and said, 'Logan is the 
friend of the white men.' I had even thought to live 
with you, but for the injuries of one man. 

5. "Colonel Cresap, last spring, in cold blood, and 
"•"unprovoked, murdered all the '•"relatives of Logan, not 
sparing even my women and children. There runs not 
a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. 
This called on me for revenge. I have sought it. I 
have killed many. I have fully """glutted my """venge- 
ance. For my countrj^, I rejoice at the beams of peace: 
but do not "'"harbor a thought that mine is the joy of 
fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on his 
heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for Logan? 
Not one." 

Exercises . — AVho was Demosthenes ? Cicero ? "Who undertook 
to punish the Indians? Whose family were killed? Whei-e was a 
decisive battle fought? "Where does the Kanawha rise? Why did 
not Logan appear among the suppliants? 

In the sentence, "Logan never felt fear," which is the subject? 
Which the attribute? See Pinneo's Analytical Grammar. 



1. INIan^u-script ; n. a written pa- > 7. De-ci'pher; v. make out; to 

pci'. ^ find the meaning of. 

2. Cor^ri-dor; n. hall; passage- j 10. Con-cise'; adj. saying much 

way. ( ill few words. 

4. Jo-cose^ly; adv. in jest. | n. Dic't1t-ed; z^. to state to an- 

5. Dis-con-cert'ed; v. confused; I other. [quest. 

made ashamed. I 12. Pe-ti'tion: v. a written re- 


1. It is related of Frederick the Great, King of Prus- 
sia, that as he was seated, one day, in his private apart- 
ment, a written petition was brought to him, with the 
request that it should be immediately read. The King 
had just returned from hunting, and the glare of the 
sun, or some other cause, had -so affected his eye-sight, 
that he found it difficult to make out a single word of 
the manuscript. 

2. His private secretary happened to be absent; and 
the soldier who brought the petition could not read. 
There was a page, or favorite boy-servant, in attendance 
in the corridor; and upon him the King called. The 
page was a son of one of the noblemen of the court, but 
proved to be a very poor reader. 

3. In the first place, he did not articulate distinctly. 
He huddled his words together in the utterance, as if 
they were syllables of one long vv^ord, which he must 
get through with as speedily as possible. His pronun- 
ciation was bad, and he did not modulate his voice so 
as to bring out the meaning of Avhat he read. Every 
sentence was uttered with a dismal monotony of voice, 
as if it did not differ in any rct^pect from that which 
preceded it. 

4. "Stop!" said the King, impatientl3^ "Is it an auc- 
tioneer's catalogue of goods to \ o sold, that you are 
hurrying over? Send your companion to me." Another 


page who stood at the dooi*, now entered, and to him 
the King gave the petition. This second page began 
by hemming and clearing his tliroat in such an affected 
manner, that the King jocosely asked him if he had not 
slept in the i:)ublic garden, with the gate open, the night 

5. The second page had a good share of self-conceit, 
however, and so was not greatly disconcerted by the 
King's jest. He determined that he would avoid the 
rock on which his companion had been wrecked. So he 
commenced reading the petition with great formality 
and deliberation, emphasizing every word, and prolong- 
ing the articulation of every syllable. But his manner 
was so tedious, that the King cried out: "Stop! are you 
reciting a lesson in the elementary sounds? Out of the 
room! But no: stay! Send me that little girl who is 
sitting there by the fountain." 

6. The girl thus pointed out by the King, was a 
daughter of one of the laborers employed by the royal 
gardener; and she had come to help her father weed 
the flower-beds. It chanced that, like many of the poor 
people in Prussia, even in that day, she had received a 
good education. She was somewhat alarmed when she 
found herself in the King's presence, but was reassured 
when the King told her that he only wanted her to read 
for him, as his eyes were Aveak. 

7. Now, Ernestine (for this was the name of the little 
girl) was so fond of reading aloud, that frequently many 
of the poor people in the neighborhood would assemble 
at her father's house to hear her; and those who could 
not read themselves, would bring to her letters to 
decipher from distant friends or children. She thus 
acquired the habit of reading various sorts of hand- 
writing promptly and Avell. 

8. The King gave her the petition, and she rapidly 
glanced through the opening lines to get some idea of 
what it was about. As she read, her eyes began to , 
glisten, and her breast to heave. "What is the mat- 
ter?" asked the King; "don't you know how to read?" 
"O! yes, sire," she replied, addressing him with the 


title usually applied to him: "I Avill now read it, if you 

9. The two pages were about to leave the room. 
"Eemain," said the King. The little girl began to read 
the petition. It was from a j)oor widow, whose only 
son had been drafted to serve in the army, although 
his health was delicate, and his pursuits had been of a 
character to unfit him for military life. His father had 
been killed in battle, and the son was ambitious of being 
a portrait-painter. 

10. The writer told her story in a simple, concise 
manner, that carried to the heart a conviction of its 
truth; and Ernestine read it with so much feeling, and 
with an articulation so just, in tones so pure and dis- 
tinct, that when she had finished, the King, into whose 
eyes the tears had started, exclaimed: "O! now I under- 
stand what it is all about; but I might never have 
known (certainly, I never should have felt,) its meaning, 
had I trusted to these young gentlemen, whom I now 
dismiss from my service for one year, recommending 
them to occupy the time in learning to read." 

11. "As for 3^ou, my young lady," continued the 
King, "I know you will ask no better reward for your 
trouble, than to be the instrument of carrying to this 
poor widow my order for her son's immediate dis- 
charge. Let me see if you can write as well as 3-ou 
can read. Take this pen and write as I dictate." He 
then dictated an order, which Ernestine wrote, and he 
signed. Calling one of his guards, he bade him accom- 
pany the girl, and see that the order was executed. 

12. How much happiness was Ernestine the means 
of bestowing through her good elocution, united to the 
happy circumstance that brought it to the knowledge 
of the King! First, there were her poor neighbors, to 
whom she could give instruction and entertainment. 
Then, there was the poor widow who sent the peti- 
tion, and who not only regained her son, but received 
through Ernestine an order for him to paint the King's 
likeness; so that the jDOor boy soon rose to great dis- 
tinction, and had more orders than he could attend to. 


Words could not express his gratitude, and that of his 
mother, to the little girl. 

13. And Ernestine had, moreover, the satisfaction of 
aiding her father to rise in the world, so that he became 
the King's chief gardener. The King did not forget 
her, but had her well educated at his own expense. 
As for the two pages, she was indirectly the means of 
benefiting them also; for, ashamed of their bad read- 
ing, they commenced studying in earnest, till they 
overcame the faults that had offended the King. Both 
finally rose to distinction, one as a lawyer, the other as 
a statesman; and they owed their advancement in life 
chiefly to their good elocution. 


3. Prank'ish; adj. frolicsome. i day; returning with the rev- 

4. Pre-dom^i-nate ; v. to hare | olution of the year. 

the most influence ; to pre- ? 7. Com-pla^cen-cy ; n. pleasure ; 

vail. I satisfaction. 

4. BAr''rLeD; v. defeated. i 8. Men''ace; n. the threatening 

6. An-ni-ver^sa-ry ; n. stated I of evil to come. 


1. Both Henry Martyn and Lord Byron shared the 
sorrows of life, and their records teach the different 
workings of the Christian and the worldly mind. By- 
ron lost his mother, and when urged not to give way to 
sorrow, he burst into an agony of grief, saying, "I had 
but one friend in the world, and now she is gone!" On 
the death of some of his early friends, he thus writes : 
"My friends fall around me, and I shall be left a lonely 
tree before I am withered. / have no '^resource but my 
own reflections, and they present no prospect here or 
hereafter, except the selfish satisfiiction of surviving my 
betters. I am indeed most wretched." ' 

2. And thus Henry Martyn mourns the loss of one 


most dear: "Can it be that she has been lying so many 
months in tlie cold grave? Would that I could always 
remember it, or always forget it; but to think a moment 
on other thinijs, and then feel the remembrance of it 
come, as if for the first time, rends ray heart '•'asunder. 
O! my gracious God, what should I do without Thee! 
But now thou art manifesting thyself as 'the God of 
all consolation.' Never was I so near thee. There is 
nothing in the world for which I could wish to live, 
except because it may please God to appoint me some 
work to do. O! thou incomprehensibly glorious Savior, 
what hast thou done to alleviate the sori'ows of life!" 

3. It is recorded of Byron, that, in society, he gen- 
erally appeared humorous and prankish ; yet, when 
•■rallied on his melancholy turn of writing, his constant 
answer was, that though thus merry and full of laugh- 
ter, he was, at heart, one of the most miserable wretches 
in existence. 

4. And thus he writes: "Why, at the very height of 
desire, and human pleasure, ^vorldly, amorous, ambi- 
tious, or even avaricious, does there mingle a certain 
sense of doubt and sorrow, a fear of what is to come, 
a doubt of what is? If it were not for hope, what 
would the future be ? A hell ! As for the past, what 
predominates in memory? Hopes baffled! From what- 
ever place we commence, we know where it must all end. 
And yet, what good is there in knowing it? It does 
not make men wiser or better. If I were to live it 
over again, I do not know w^iat I Avould change in my 
life, unless it were not to have lived at all. All history 
and ■'"experience teach us, that good and evil are pretty 
equally balanced in this existence, and that what is 
most to be desired, is an easy j^assage out of it. Wliat 
can it give us but years, and these have little of good but 
their ending.'" 

5. And thus Martyn writes: "I am happier here in 
this remote land, where I seldom hear wdiat happens in 
the world, than I was in England, wiiere there are so 
many calls to look at things that are seen. The pre- 
cious Word is now my only study, by means of "'"traus- 


lations. Time flows on with great rapidity. It seems 
as if life would all be gone before any thing is done. I 
sometimes rejoice that I am but twenty-seven, and that, 
unless God should ordain it otherwise, I may double this 
number in constant and ■'"successful labor. But I shall 
not cease from my happiness, and scarcely from my 
labor, by passing into the other world." 

6. And thus they make their records at anniversaries, 
when the mind is called to review life and its labors. 
Thus Byron writes, "At twelve o'clock I shall have 
completed thirty-three years! I go to my bed with a 
heaviness of heart at having lived so long and to so little 
purpose. * * It is now three minutes past twelve, and 
I am thirty-three! 

' Alas, my friend, the years pass swiftly by.' 

But I do not regret them so much for what I have 
done, as for what I might have done." 

7. And thus Martyn : "I like to find myself em- 
ployed usefully, in a way I did not expect or foresee. 
The coming year is to be a "'"perilous one, but my life 
is of little consequence, whether I finish the Persian 
New Testament or not. I look back with pity on my- 
self, when I attached so much importance to my life 
and labors. The more I see of my own works, the more 
I am ashamed of them, for coarseness and "''clumsiness 
mar all the works of man. I am sick when I look at 
the wisdom of man, but am relieved by reflecting, that 
we have a city whose builder and maker is God. The 
least of Ms works is refreshing. A dried leaf, or a 
straw, makes me feel in good company, and complacency 
and admiration take the place of disgust. What a mo- 
mentary "'"duration is the life of man! 'It glides along, 
rolling onward forever,' may be affirmed of the river; 
but men pass away as soon as they begin to exist. 
Well, let the moments pass! 

'They waft us sooner o'er 

This life's tempestuous sea. 
Soon we shall reach the blissful shore 
Of blest eternity!'" 
5th Rd. 28. 


8. Such was the experience of those who in youth 
completed their course. The poet has well described 
his own "''career : 

"A wandering mass of shapeless flame, 
A pathless comet and a curse, 
The menace of the "''universe; 
Still rolling on with innate force, 
Without a +sphere, without a course, 
A bright """deformity on high, 
The ■''monster of the upper sky ! " 

9. In holy writ we read of those who are "raging 
"waves of the sea, foaming out their own shame; ivan- 
dering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of dark- 
ness forever." The lips of man may not apply these 
■•"terrific words to any whose doom is yet to be disclosed ; 
but there is a passage which none can fear to apply. 
"Those that are wise, shall shine as the brightness of 
the "'■firmament; and they that turn manj^ to righteous- 
ness, as stars forever and ever!" 

Exercises. — How did Byron feel when he was enjoying him- 
self most? How did Martyn feel when he was cut off from most of 
the pleasures that Byron was seeking? What is described as the 
difference of their feelings at their birthdays? What poetic descrip- 
tion may be applied to Byron. 


1. Eyi-rRAHc^ev] V. (-pro. en-iranst^) '> 3. GAE,''iiAND ; n. a wreath of 

charmed; filled with rapture. \ flowers. 

2. Whiles ; adv. (put for whilst \ 6. Mold^er ; v. to decay. 

or while.) I 6. Surge; n. a great rolling swell 

3. Me^te-or; n. a luminous body \ of water. (Here used figu- 

passing through the air. > ratively.) 


1. He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced. 
As some vast river of unfailing source, 
Rajiid, ■'"exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed. 
And oped new "'■fountains in the human heart. 


Where fancy halted, weary in her flight, 

In other men, his, fresh as morning, rose, 

And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home 

Where angels bashful looked. 

2. Others, though great, 

Beneath their "•'argument seemed "•'struggling, whiles 
He, from above descending, stooped to touch 
The loftiest thought; and proudl}^ stooped as though 
It scarce deserved his verse. 

3. With nature's self 

He seemed an old '•'acquaintance, free to jest 
At will with all her glorious '•"majesty. 
He laid his hand upon the "ocean's mane," 
And played familiar with his hoary locks; 
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines, 
And with the thunder talked, as ft-iend to friend; 
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing, 
In '•"sportive twist; the lightning's fiery wing, 
Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God, 
Marching upon the storm in '•"vengeance, seemed; 
Then turned, and "v\^th the grasshopper, which sung 
His evening song beneath his feet, conversed. 
Sun, moon, and stars, and clouds his sisters were; 
Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms, 
His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce 
As equals deemed. 

4. As some fierce comet of '•'tremendous size. 

To which the stars did '•"reverence as it passed: 

So he, through learning and through fancy, took 

His flight '•'sublime; and on the loftiest top 

Of fame's dread mountain sat; not soiled and worn, 

As if he from the earth had labored up : 

But as some bird of '•'heavenly '•"plumage fair, 

He looked, which down from higher regions came, 

And perched it there, to see what lay beneath. 

5. Great man! the nations gazed and wondered much 
And praised: and many called his evil good; 


"VVits wrote in favor of his wickedness, 
And kings to do him honor took delight. 
Thus full of titles, "'"flattery, honor, fame. 
Beyond desire, beyond ambition full. 
He died; he died of what? Of "*■ wretchedness; 
Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump 
Of fame ; drank early, deejily drank ; drank ''"draughts 
That common millions might have quenched, then died 
Of thirst, because there was no more to drink. 
His goddess Nature, wooed, embraced, enjoj^ed, 
.Fell from his arms "'"abhorred; his passion died; 
Died, all but dreary, solitary pride: 
And all his ''"sympathies in being died. 

6. As some ill-guided bark, well-built and tall, 
Which angry tides cast on our desert shore. 
And then retiring, leave it there to rot 
And molder in the winds and rains of heaven; 
So he, cut from the ''"sjnnpathies of life. 
And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge, 
A wandering, wear}', worn, and wretched thing, 
Scorched, and ''"desolate, and blasted soid, 
A gloomy ''"wilderness of dying thought, 
Eepined, and groaned, and withered from the earth. 

ExKRCiSES . — Who was Byron? Why is he compared to a comet? 
What was his character? Where are the Alps? Where are the Apen- 
nines? What is meant by laying his hand upon the "ocean's mane"? 


1. Di-vin'i-ty; n. divine nature. S 3. An''ti-dote ; n. that which 
3. Bane; n. poison; mischief. \ counteracts poison. 


Scene. — Cato, alone, sitting in a thoughtful posture; — 171 Ms 
Jiand, Plato's book on the immortality of the soul; a drawn 
sword on the table by him. 

1. Cato. It must be so. Plato, thou reasonest well! 
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire. 


This longing after ■'"immortality? 

Or whence this secret dread and inward horror, 

Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and startles at ''"destruction? 

'Tis the divinity that stirs within us! 

'T is heaven itself that points out an hereafter, 

And intimates ''"eternity to man. 

2. Eternity, thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! 
Through. what ''"variety of untried being. 
Through what new scenes and changes must we pass? 
The wide unbounded prospect lies before me: 
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest iipon it. 
Here will I hold. If there 's a Power above us, 
(And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 
Through all her works) he must delight in virtue; 
And that which he delights in vmust be happy. 
But when? or where? This world was made for Ca)sar. 

3. 1 'm weary of ''"conjectures — this must end them. 
Thus am I doubly armed: my death* and life,t 
My bane* and antidotef are both before me. 
This* in a moment brings me to .an end; 
But thisf informs me I shall never die. 

4. The soul secured in her ''"existence smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years; 
But thou shalt flourish in '•"immortal youth; 
Unhurt amid the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. * 

Ex E RCis E s.— "Who was Plato, and in what country did he live? 
What is meant by the immortality of the soul? What argument did 
Cato use to prove that there is a God? What did Gate say He must 
delight in? Wliat did he mean by "bane"? What by "antidote"? 
Who alone can destroy the soul? Recite the last stanza. 

»The sword. tThe book. 



1. CoL-Lis''iON ; n. striking to- ^ 5. Prov-o-ca''tion ; n. that which 

gether violently. \ causes anger. 

2. Pre-cip'i-tat-ed ; v. hurried 6. Ig-no-min^i-ous; ac(;. infamous. 

forward. ] 7. Weal; n. prosperity; happi- 

3. Corps ; n. a body of troops. , ness. 


1. A RAILROAD train was rushing along at almost 
lightning speed. A curve was just ahead, beyond which 
was a station, Avhere two trains usually met. The con- 
ductor was late, so late that the period during which 
the up-train was to wait had nearlj^ elapsed; but he 
hoped yet to pass the curve safely. Suddenly a loco- 
motive dashed into sight right ahead. In an instant 
there was a collision. A shriek, a shock, and fifty souls 
were in eternity; and all, because an engineer had been 
behind time. 

2. A great battle was going on. Column after column 
had been precipitated for eight houi's on the enemy 
posted along the ridge of a hill. The summer sun was 
sinking in the west; reenforcemcnts for the obstinate 
defenders were already in sight ; it was necessary to 
carry the position with one final charge, or every thing 
would be lost. 

3. A powerful corps had been summoned from across 
the country, and if it came up in season all would yet 
be well. The great conqueror, confident in its arrival, 
formed his reserve into an attacking column, and or- 
dered them to charge the enemy. The whole world 
knows the result. Grouchy failed to ajipear; the im- 
perial guard was beaten back; and Waterloo was lost. 
Napoleon died a prisoner at St. Helena, because one of 
his marshals was behind time. 

4. A leading firm in commercial circles had lone: 
struggled against bankruptcy. As it had large sums 


of money in California, it expected remittances by a 
certain day, and if they arrived, its credit, its honor, 
and its future prosperity would be preserved. But 
week after week elapsed without bringing the gold. 
At last came the fatal day, on which the firm had bills 
maturing to large amounts. The steamer was tele- 
graphed at day-break ; but it was found, on inquiry, 
that she brought no funds, and the house failed. The 
next arrival brought nearly half a million to the insolv- 
ents, but it was too late; they were ruined, because 
their agent, in remitting, had been behind time. 

5. A condemned man was led out for execution. He 
had taken human life, but under circumstances of the 
greatest provocation; and public sympath}^ was active 
in his behalf. Thousands had signed i^etitions for a 
reprieve; a favorable answer had been expected the 
night before, and though it had not come, even the 
sheriff felt confident that it would yet arrive. Thus 
the morning passed without the appearance of the mes- 

6. The last moment was up. The prisoner took his 
place, the cap was drawn over his eyes, the bolt was 
drawn, and a lifeless body swung revolving in the wind. 
Just at that moment a horseman came into sight, gal- 
loping down hill, his eteed covered with foam. He 
carried a packet in his right hand, which he waved 
frantically to the crowd. He was the express rider with 
the reprieve; but he came too late. A comparatively 
innocent man had died an ignominious death, because a 
watch had been five minutes too late, making its bearer 
arrive behind time. 

7. It is continually so in life. The best laid plans, the 
most important affairs, the fortunes of individuals, the 
weal of nations, honor, happiness, life itself, are daily 
sacrificed, because somebody is "behind time." There 
are men who always fail in whatever they undertake, 
simply because they are "behind time." There are 
others who put off reformation year after year, till 
death seizes them, and they perish unrejDentant, because 
forever ^^ behind time." 




1. Welcome Death! My senses swim, 
And the world is growing dim: 
+Thi'onging ^shadows crowd the light, 
Like the '''advent of the night; 
Colder, colder, colder still, 

Upward starts a '•'vapor chill; 
Strong the earthly '•'odor grows; 
I smell the '''mold above the rose. 


2. "Welcome Life! The spirit strives! 
Strength returns, and hope '''revives; 
Cloudy fears and shapes '•'forlorn 
Fly like shadows at the morn; 

O'er the earth there comes a bloom; 
Sunny light for sullen gloom, 
Warm '•'perfume for vapor cold; 
I smell the rose above the mold. 


3. O spirit freed from '•'bondage, 

' Eejoice, thy work is done! 
The weary world is 'neath thy feet, 
Thou brighter than the sun! 

4. Awake and breathe the living air 

Of our '•'celestial '•"clime! 
AAvake to love which knows no change, 
Thou, who hast done with time! 


5« Awake! ascend! Thou art not now 
With those of mortal birth: 
The living God hath touched thy lips, 
Thou, who hast done with earth! 



t / 





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