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THIRD-CLASS READER.

JO]

iR TljE USE OF THE YOUNGER CLAiHBS

SCHOOLS OF THE UNITED STATEa

BY B. D. EMERSON,

Late Principal of the Adam Gnmmar School, Botton,

pniLADELpniA:

HOGAN AND THOMPSON,
Wo. 30, NORTH FOURTH eTIIZES.

THE fJEW YORK

PUBUC LIBRARY

819014A

A8T0P. LENOX AND

TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

H 1936 L

Bntarti^ aeconlng to the Act of CongreM, in ili« year ISSi,
^ ^ By U. D. KfttBiuoif,

to Cllt'Glerk*e Ofllce of the Dutlrict Court of tlie District of MaancI

• « *

• w^ . ■ ,

•

• •

t I . . . •

I ■» rr ;

« * « • •

■■■»

• ~ «

- ,

• > C ■ *

•raaioTYPiD iy l. loaaiaai^

PHILAOSLPBia.

PREFACE.

This little book, although the last of the series in
;he order of publication, is destined to be the first used
ji the course of teaching. It being designed for the
younger class of pupils in our common schools, tlie
compiler has striven to make it both interesting and
nstructive to them. For the materials of which
t is composed, he is chiefly indebted ti) the works
)f certain writers, whose style will be at once recog-
lised, and who have long been celebrated for their
success in the difficult art of addressing themselves
clearly aud^itelligibly to children. There are also
nauy piedp from more m^ent writers, and a few
)f the lessons were originally written for this work.

It has been the constant aim of the compiler; to
inite the beautiful with the useful in his selections for
'eading; and in the psesent work he has given as
rreat a variety of subjects as the number of lessons
ivould allow, and has endeavored to condense as
nuch useful information in each, as its length, and
he requisite simplicity and cVe^xu%%% Cil ^V«j\fc^^<js^^

If any thing, not entirely fem\V\«c \.o f^^^ws^^^^^
•ough inadvertency, nol\)eeiv »\x&e\cty\\.^ ^%^^^^

y'l PREFACB.

he tnists that his brethren and coadjutors in the business
of education, will remedy the deficiency by oral ex-
planations to tlieir classes.

The compiler would do injustice to his own feel-
4ngs, if, in closing this series of Readers, he should
forbear to express his lively gratitude to those friends
who have aided, and the public who have encouraged,
his labors in the promotion of general education ; slhA
his hope and trust is that this great cause may continue
to adva^icc under tlie auspices of Him, who guides \he
progress of intelligence and virtue.

CONTENTS.

wn Pwa

I.— ThB new reading Booh IS

ll.^Thp I

wiJ Boy...
tai aiicl tb

iclihe Fo< 19

V^Tlietrupl Buy SO

Vl.-Th8i,tla Boyrefumied SI

VII— TheTravdleranJhaDog W

VIII— Tha lazy Man S4

IX.-TliaBuyx whodidMiachisflurrun S6

X.— Siury of Mury 88 ■

XL— The Remainder of Iheatme Story S»

Xll.-T]iel<VleLl>atiiiBcleaAluUbe 31

XUI,— IngrallluJa 33

XIV— SiuryofSomandHanv. M

XV.— The gcKid Boy whoiB Pirenla are rich SB

XVI._TheEand Uoy whoHParennarapgoi 311

XVII— The rndiialriou.lillle Girl 38

XVlll.— The ShawnianuMl his learned Dm. 40

XiX— The I'leiiBuros of Winter 41

XX— The hopm. Children 4S

XXI.-The Lion'. 44

XXII— A V

V^JRibDi

— ond VoyBfe 48

-jeDivlmDnsoriheOlDbe M

XXV— Tlip Hare and IhoTnrtoiBB SS

XXVI.— A Walk Ihe MeadovH proposed M

XXVII— The W..lk in the Meodowi S9

XXVIII— The Oak and oll>er Tree* M

SXIX— TheLoveorBmheia 6S

XXX— Tha 1B.O ftiau »

XXXI— The Ccumry and iha Cily Mou» 6»

XXXII.-Tha Sheep.. S4

f XXtll— The Sheen and bar Lamb 66

XXXIV— The Truni.l K

XXXV— Thadil<gent8<*olar 68

XXXVI— The Riches of iheEarlh 69

XXXVri._Theyo.iii?Si>IJiBn 71

XXXViri.— TheBejfgarMu •«.

AXXIX.—Tlie Timn Bt? and the Coun^Tj fto^ "^^

XL.— The Hone .■•• ...<*•'«*> ,.,.*--»*-"** ,

JUJ.— Luof Gray ••

04
06
107
09
10
II
13
16
18
20
22
25
27

6 CONTENTS.

Leuon Page

XLII— The Charm 80

XUII^ The Lapland Boy 82

XLIV.--The Araericnii Boy 84

XLV.— Insects 85

XLVI.— The Sparrow and ihe Hare 87

XLVIL— The Microficoi* 88

XLVIIl— The Kflects of bad Company 90

XLIX.— The Rest of the same Story 92

L. — Story of Mr. Ross Cox and the Bear 94

LI. — The Stork found in bed Company 97

LII.— Gold and Silver 98

lilll. — Copper

LIV.— The Uses of Iron ,

LV. — More of the Uses of Iron ,

LVI— Theold Horse

LVll.— The Kagle and the Crow

LVIII. — ^Thanksgiving Day

LIX. — ^Tlie Voice of Spnng

LX. — ^The Countryman and the Snake

LXIw — All is for the best.

LXIl.— Wild Beasts

LXTII— The Farmer

LXIV. — Ketuminji; from Market

LXV.— The Unhappy Child

LXVI. — Mamma knows best

LX VII.— The wild Horees of South America.

LXVIII.— The little Teacher

LXIX— The Wolf and the Fox

LXX.— The Am and the Butterfly

LXXl.— The Bird's-ncst

LXXII. — A Walk on the Seashoro

LXXIII — I'he little Lord and the Farmer .•

LXXIV.— Health better than Riches ?.

LXXV. — Stories of Ammals

LXXVI^The Farm

LXXVII— The Guide-post

LXXVIII.— The Flatterer

LXXIX— Hvmn

LXXX.—T(ie Viper and the FUe

LXXXl— TilforTat

LXXXII— The Wolf.

LXXXIIL— The Creator

JLXXXIV.— The Child's Prayer

29 I
33 •

34
36
38
40
42
44
47
49
.50
52
53
54
55
58
59

SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS.

The system of interrogation and explanation pre-
vented in the First-Class Reader and Second-Class
Header, is considered peculiarly appropriate for the
fkirescnt volume. Very young children need the as-
liistance and encouragement which such a system sup« <
* lies, even more than those who are farther advanced
in knowledge ; and whatever a teacher can do in the
way of oral instruction produces, for them, a mu'^h
iiiore abundant harvest of improvement and satisfac-

I lion.

^ "We have therefore fhought proper to present a more
extended and detailed specimen of the mode of ex-
amination and illu3tration, which we would recom-
mend in the use of this volume, than was thought

' 'necessary in' those which preceded iU It is believed

^ kat there is no piece in the book which does not
afford som ) useful information or pleasing moral ; nor
any which is above the comprehension of a child.
But it is quite certain that the interest which the
child may feel in the lesson, may be indefinitely
iie~<;rhtened by a judicious use of the system which
v'6 propose. With the exercise of reading, ord ex-
{ilanations should always be offered of the different
words, phrases, and allusions, not quite familiar to the
child, which even the simplest natt^Vwe ot ^^ \»w«\
artless verse may contain ; and wYvetvevex ^ l^^V» \\\vl-

cipJe, or moral application suggesXeAVj^ ^<fe\«»X%«^^

10 SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS.

likely to interest the young reader, may occur U
teacher, he will do well to communicate it.
lively interest thus excited in the reading exe
will fully repay the trifling loss of time, and will
a lasting impression on the opening mind.

When the exercise is finished, a few question
easy solution will give a fresh impulse to reflec
and a new incentive to exertion. The teacher si
begin with those which can . hardly be missed ;
should proceed to others which require a little i
tliought and study, always increasing his requisi
with the increased capability of his class.

A few cuts have been inserted in the volume,
merely to gratify the eye, but to exercise the po
of observation and comparison ; and it is believed
no intelligent teacher will deem it entirely unin
^nt, to question the children respecting the mca
and effect of these humble, but not useless, illu
tions. Whatever may profitably exercise the po
of attention and discrimination, should claim th(
tice of all who are desirous to render education ]
tical and thorough.

The first specimen which we here present is t
from a work of Mrs. Trimmer, and is, perhap
simple as it may be necessary to use. For the se
specimen, as well as for the questions which ao
pany it, we are indebted to the same excellent w
The third specimen of questions relates to one c
illustrated articles in the volume, and is introduce
the purpose of exemplifying the proposed meth(
examiuation respecting tlie illustrations.

8UG0VSTI0N8 TO TfiACHXRB. 11

FIRST SPECIMEN FOR EXAMINATION.

Story of the Tame Bird.

BARLM JoHss found a poor young bird on the cold groand,

•ok it home to Ann. Here, my dear, said he, take this

d and put it in a cage ; it will be a nice bird in time, and

you all day.

lit where did you get it, Charles ? said she. If you took

1 1 shall not thank you for your pains ; for I do not like

•oor birds of their house and their bed, which they made

: young ones to lie warm in. Charles told her he found

x)r thing, said Ann, some bad boy took you out of your

lare say, or, may be, you got upon the edge of it and fell

Well, I must take care of you now. But I do not know

make a nest, or else I would make you one ; but *you

vc some nice warm wool ; and you shall have food too,

ou want it ; so do not cry, poor bird ; it makes my heart

hear you cry. I will be as kind to you as your parent

nn was as kind as she said she would be, and brought op

ng bird till he could hop and fly ; and he was so tame, he

lop out of his cage, and would peck out of her hand if

but call, Dick, Dick.

t last Dick flew out of doors, and all the tnld birds got

im ; for they do not like tame birds. 80 Dick got up

igh tree to hide in the thick boughs, but the wild birds

}ve him from thence. Then he found a hole in Uie wall,

le was in hopes he should lie quite snug ; but there a rat

) to have caught him.

t last dark night came on and he had no food. 80, as

the day came, and it was light, he flew back to Ar.n, and

d to live in her cage all the rest of his datya.

QITEmONS*

at is this story, which you have just read, about T
found the bird? V/VieTe ^vi \v^ %ri\ \\:\
lid he do witli it \ WYv^X ^v^ Vwi^ ^^ K^a. >»,
it when he had got it \xom^1 >R>oax ^

It fVOOBSTIONS TO TBACHSK8.

A.nn say to Charles about robbing birds'-nests ? Wat
not she a very good-natured, humane girl ? How

did Charles tell her he had got the bird? How
did she suppose the bird came to be on the ground?
How did she treat the bird ? What did she give
it instead of a nest ? Did the bird grow tame ?
What did he do when he had become tame ? Do
wild birds do so ? What did Ann call the bird ?
What did Dick do at last ? How did the wild birds
treat him ? Do they not like tame birds ? Where
did Dick hide ? Did the wild birds drive him out
of the thick boughs of the high tree ? Where did
he hide then ? What creature had like to have caught
him ? What did he do in the morning ? Where
did he live all the rest of his life ? Now tell the
•tory yourself from beginning to end. Do you

like Ann Jones ? Why ?

8BC0ND SFECTKEN FOR EXAMINATION.

The Body and the Sotd.

■ 1. Every person bas a body and a toul. You have a body
Md a aoul : the body is that part of you which can be seen and
lelt ; your soul is that part of you which cannot be jecn, but
which thinks.

S. TUe soul cannot be seen, because it is a spirit To die is
to have the soul leave the body.

8. When the soul leaves the body, the body loses its life, it i«
• dead coTiiee ; it ia buried, its flesh turns to corruption, and :«
Wees nouider away, till there is none of the body to be 8*^t» :
W the siMil still lives ; so that there is not an eud of us vri> ;i?
wvifiw; Ifte Letter part lunaiiis alive.

81IOOE8TION8 TO TSACHBB8*

QUESTIONS.

Has every person a body and a soul ? Ha\
you a body and a soul? Which part of you ca
be seen, your body or your soul ? Which of thes
thinks ? Why cannot the soul be seen ? Don
you find that there is something in you which yo
eannot see, but which thinks ? What is this

Which dies, the body or the soul? What doc
the body lose when the soul goes out of it ? Whj
IS done with it then ? What does the flesh of tli
body turn to ? Do these things happen to the soul
Doeo that turn to corruption and moulder away ? ]
there an end of us when we die ? Which part n
mains alive after the other ? Which is the betU
part, the body that dies, or the soul tha* ^^ver dies t

F.v

QUESTIONS ON LESSON SIXTIETH.

7%c Countryman and the Snake.

What is this ?tory about ? What sort of a ma
was that mentioned in the story ? Was he kind i
the cats and dogs and other animals ? Were the
^ fond of him ? . May we make a mistake sometime
^even in doing an act of kindness ? What did th

*good>natured mnn find one cold day ? What di
be do with the adder ? Why did he put it in h
bosom ? What did he do with the adder when Ii

fot it home ? What did his children do I VfVss
e got warm, how did the sn^ike \>e\w3%\ "^
4Jd the children bi»have ? How Oi\<i^ V\\^ ^^^^

tea/ the sDstke ? What d\A vVve ^oox \sNaxw

14 8UOOE8TION8 TO TEACHBR9.

from this ? Is it common for animals to he un«
grateful fur kindness ?

Now tell me about the picture. What is it a pic
ture of ? Does it represent a place out of doors or in
the house ? Does it seem to be in the ])arlor or
the kitchen ? What objects do you see which make
it appear to be a kitchen ? Where is the snake ?
What is the man going to do ? Who are the folks
in the corner ? Do tiiey look frightened ? What
has frightened them ? What is it which they have
upset in their fiiglit ? See, now, how many diller*
cut things you can point out in tliis picture.

TBB

THIRD-CLASS READER.

I. Lesson First. — The New Reading Booh.

1. Here is a new book for very young scholars 1k>
read. It is called the Third-Class Reader. It has
been made very carefully, by those who are fond of
children, on purpose to make them love reading and
study.

2. It contains many stones and pieces of poetry,
such as children can understand, and some pictures to
entertain them, and make the stories plainer and more
pleasant.

3. Now it is to be hoped, children, that every one
of you who has one of these books to read in, will take
pains to do it well. For this purpose, you must take a
great deal of pains to understand every thing you read.

4. When you come to a hard word, you must ask
your teacher to instruct you, exacUy, how to pro-
nounce it, and what it means. And you must try to
remember whatever, he tells you, about the meaning
and sound of the words*

5. When children are reading, they are apt to do*
it in a stiff and unnatural manivet. No\9 ^ v^ v«v!k\
this, you must study the lessou c^ie^vi^'^ , ^^ ■»& ^s* ""^cc-
ierstand the whole of it petfec\\y,\i^tot^ ^w^ 'swa^
p to read in yoar class.

16 THIKD-CLASS READER.

6. Then, when you read it aloud, suppose your-
self to be telling it to your master, just as you
would tell him any story* If you will do this, you
will not only become a natural and spirited reader,
but you will always read with pleasure and improve-
ment.

-I

II. Lesson Second. — Tlie New Coat,

1. There was once a boy who wate fond of fine
clothes. His name was Charles. He was a dunce
at school ; for he thought, as he was well dressed,
there was no need for him to attend to books.

2. He would tell the boys that he should be rich
when he grew up to be a man, and that every body
was fond of those who were rich. -

3. One day he went to pay a visit, and he had on
a new blue coat and a handsome hat. The lady of
the house gave him a chair, and sent him some jel-
lies, biscuits, and wine ; but he had no one to talk
with, and he felt quite dull, and he thought some one
ought to praise his new coat ; but not a word was
said of it.

4. At last there came in a boy whose clothes were
coarse and plain, though quite clean ; and the lady of
the house took hold of this ill-dressed boy's hand,
gave him a kiss, and made him talk to her a long
time.

5. The rest of theJadies then spoke to him : one said,
" How do you do to-day, Edward ? Pray when will
you come to my house to play with my son ?" — " You
must come and see me too," said the next lady, ** for
J am told you are one of the best of boys."

6. Then a tJiird lady said, sVieW^V^^i^Vc^^? ^'iv:IX
he could draw, and that when Yve c^tftfe N» ^^^ ' x
■''^ wotild show him some ^nc pi\xi\ai ^^^ ^^^^ "^^^^ "

THIRD-CLAM READKR. 17

a box of paints : and so it went on, all round the
room, each guest had a kind word to say to Edward.

7. Now Charles thought it strange, that a boy 9
with old clothes on, should please more than he did
who was so well dressed.

8. But the •reason was this : — ^Edward had much
sense, he read good books, he could write, he could
draw, he could cipher, while dunce Charles could
scarcely read half a page of a book through.

9. He now found out, that fine clothes wirll not
win regard, and that a wise head will please more
than a new coat.

III. Lesson Third. — The Good Boy.

1. The good boy loves his parents very dearly.
He always minds what they say to him, and tries to
please them. If they desire him not to do a tiling,
he does it not : if they uesire him to do a thing, he
does it.

2. When they deny him what he wants, he does
not grumble, or pout out his lips, or look angry : but
he thinks, that his parents know what is proper for
him better than he does, because they are wiser than
he is.

3. lie loves his teachers, and all who tell him what
is good. He likes to read, and to write, and to learn
something fresh every day. He hopes that if he
lives to be a man, he shall know a great mUny things,
and be vejy wise and good.

4. He is kind to his brothers and sisters, and all
his little play-fellows. He never fights, nor quarrels
with them, nor calls them names. When he sees
them do wrong, he is sorry, ^nd Vnfc^ \si ^^^tss^^^

ibem to do better, ^

5. He does not speak rudely Xo ^xi'Y \io^l* ^^

Bt4

19 T1BIRD-CLA88 READER.

sees any persons who are lame, or crooked, or very
old, he docs not laugh at them, nor mock them ; but
he is glad when he can do them any service.

6. • He is kind even to dumb creatures : for he
knows that tlioiigh they cannot speak, they can feel
as well as we. Even those animals which he does
not think pretty, he takes care not to hurt.

7. He likes very much to see the birds pick up bits
of hay, and moss, and wool, to build their nests with ;
and he likes to see the hen sitting on her nest, or
feeding her young ones ; and to see the little birds la
their nest, and hear them chirp.

8. Sometimes he looks about in the bushes, and in
the trees, and amongst the strawberry plants, to find
nests: but when he has found them, he only just
peeps at them ; he would rather not see the little
birds, than frighten them, or do them any harm.

0. He never takes any thing that does not belong
to him, or meddles with it without leave. When he
walks in his father's garden, lie does not pull ilowei-s,
or gather fruit, unless he is told that he may do so.
The apples that are fallen on the ground he picks up,
and carries to his mother.

10. He never tells a lie. If he has done any mis-
chief, he confesses it, and sayi« he is very sorry, and
will try to do so no more : and nobody can be angry
with him.

1 1 . When he lies down at night, he tries to re-
member all he has been doing and learning in the
day. If he has done wrong, he is sorry, ajid hope?
he shall do so<no more ; and that God, who is so goo(
will love and bless him. — He loves to pray to Go(
and to hear and read about him ; and to go with his p

rents and friends to worship Cod.
12. Every body that knows lYv\8 ^ood \>oy ^
l£/m, and speaks well of him, arv<\ \a VuA ^ \v
m»d heis very happy.

THIRI><I.AM KEADRX.

IV, Lesson Fouhth. — The Goal and the Fox,

1. I HAVE one thing to,mention to yon for Tear of
mistakes. Beasts and birds do uot talk English ; bul
they have a way of talking that they understand among
one another, better than we understand them ; and
you, if ynu attend to your dog, or your cat, or your
horse, may generally make out what he wants liom
his voice or his look.

2. I am going sometimes to tell you what an ani-
mal says ; that ia, I am going to put his mcaniug inio
English words.

3. But let me say one thing more. It is not always
necessary that a story should be true. Some siorica
are true, and some are invented; and, if tliey are
Tery prettily invented, we are much obliged to the
people that made them.

4. A lie ia what naughty folks say, that Uiey ma.'^
■k.<.t'itti. Hi,: ii I UtW a preU^ 6\nt^ «^ «. 4«^ -i^i. »■

-'i'x, or .'.n;- tui,-- .■ animals, I do fto\ me^l^ \» ^e^^"**
1 valf mem to lell a preUy aioty. ^o-* >S\axvV'W'«

20 THIRD-GLASS RSABER.

5. One day a goat was deeply engaged in a dispute
with a crafty fox ; and they both were very sure they
were right. '

6. Of course they were both very bold and positive
in their language, till at last the goat, to shew how
firmly he believed himself in the right, laid the wager
of his beard against the fox.

7. When, at last, the matter came to be decided,
it was clearly proved that the poor goat had lost his
wager; and although the fox had neither law nor
power, on his part, to enforce the payment, yet the
honesty of the goat, would not suffer him to take
any unfair advantage. I

8. Rather than break his word of honor, he sub-
mitted to the lesser disgrace of losing his beard. So
he patiently let his chin be shaved bv a dexterous
monkey, and gave it up as a forfeit to tne unmerciful
fox.

9. It is a very foolish thing to lay wagers. You
cannot gain any thing by it, unless your playmate
loses. And if he loses, you take away something '
from him, and give him nothing in return for it.

10. On the other hand, if you lose, you feel very
silly when you come to give up your opinion and
your money too. So, let me advise all my young
readers, whenever they are challenged to lay a wager,
to reply to the challenge, *' Oh, no ! you will not catch
me in any such gambling ; I remember the fable of the
poor goat, who laid his beard for a wager, and lost it.**

V. Lesson Fifth. — TTie Cruel Boy.

J. There was a naughty boy : I do not know what
Jii^ name was, but it was not CYvaxVea, xvw G^or^e*
^or Arthur, for those are all ^exy \^teXV^ i[VMi\^^\ >a
tirere %vaa a robin came in at ViVa vivcAovi wtfi ^^

THIRD-CLASS RBADEK. 21

eold morning — shiver — shiver; and its poor little
heart was almost frozen to death.

2. And he would not give it the least little crumb
of bread in the world, but pulled it about by the tail,
and hurt it sadly, and it died.

8. Now, a little while after, the naughty boy's
papa and mamma went away and left him, and then
he could get no victuals at all, for you know he could
not take care of himself.

4. So he went about to every body — " Pray give me
something to eat, I am very hungry." And every
body said, " No, we shall give you none, for we do
not love cruel, naughty boys."

5. So he went about from one place to another,
till at last he got into a thick wood of trees ; for he
did not know how to find his way. to any place he
knew ; and then it grew dark, quite dark night.

6. So he sat down and cried sadly ; and he could
not get out of the wood ; and I believe he would have
died, if his cries had not been heard by a poor man

Vrho was passing that way, and who was so kind as
to take him home to his own house.

7. So that if the poor man had been as cruel to
him, as he was to the robin, the naughty boy must
have died in the wood.

VI. Lesson Sixth. — The Idle Boy reformed.

1. There was a little boy ; he was not a big boy,
for if he had been a big boy, I suppose he would
• have been wiser ; but this was a little boy, not higher
than the table, and his papa and mamma sent him to
school.
4 2. It was a very pleasant moniing •, ^^ imbd. %\n5s^^%
y ;id the birds sung on the trees*
( 9. Now this Utile boy did not m\ic\i \oNe \»» V^

;3 THIRD-CLASS RKADSR.

:br he was bat a silly little boy, as I told you ; and
he had a great mind to play, instead of going to
school.

4* And he saw a bee flying about, first upon one
flower, and then upon another ; so he said, " Pretty
bee ! will you come and play with me ?" But the
bee said, ** No, I must not be idle, I must go and ga-
ther honey."

5. Then the little boy met a dog, and he said*
" Dog ! will you play with me ?" But tlie dog said,
" No, I must not be idie, I am going to catch a hare
for my master's dinner, I must make haste and catch
it."

6. Then the little boy went by a hay-rick, and he
saw a bird pulling some hay out of the hay-rick, and
he said, ** Bird ! .will you come and play with me ?"
But the bird said, ** No, I must not be idle, I must
get some hay to build my nest with, and some moss,
and some wool." So the bird flew away.

7. Then the little boy saw a horse, and he said.
•• Horse ! will you play with me ?" But the horsed
said, '* No, 1 must not be idle, I must go and plough,
or else there will be no corn to make bread of."

8. Then the little boy thought with himself, what,
is nobody idle? then little boys must not be idh
neither. So he made haste, and went to school
and learned his lesson very well, and the master sai
he was a very good boy.

Vn. Lesson Seventh.— 7%e Traveller and his Do

1. A Doo is a very good creature, he loves his m
iffr dearly, and remembers him a long while, even
Ae has not Been him for a greaX mwf. tdl-mv^ ^<iM
/ wish all Utile boys loved one aivoO^ct ^ ^^^ ^
^ ' « ills master. — ^lwilite\Vyou^*N«rj^aNi>

THIED-CLASS READEK. 88

2. A great while a<^o there was a roan called
Ulysses, he lived in a little island called Ithaca ; he
was kin^ of the island.

3. lie had a dog whose name was Argus /he was
Tery fond of this dog, and used to take him out with
him when he went abroad. *

4. And Argus used to scour over the fields after
any tiling he saw, and gallop back again to his master
swifter than a nice4iorse ; and if his master only
said '* Poor fellow !" and patted his head, he would
he quite happy, and frisk and bound about him all
day long ; and he was well fed and taken great care
of.

5. But Ulysses went abroad to fight battles with
his enemies, and he was ten years at war, and he was
ten years more in getting home to his dear Ithaca, for
lie met with a great many strange adventures by the
way.

6. Ten and ten, you know, make twenty, so he
^eul been twenty years away. And when he came to
^Vhaca, he found that some bad people had taken pos-
session of his palace, and he was afraid they would
kill him.

7. So he disguised himself like a poor beggar-man^
and walked up to the gate with his stick in his hand.

8. Argus was lying in the sun upon a little straw, dt;

9. He was grown very old now, and could nor^
frolic and bound as he used to do, and nobody had
taken good care of him, so that he was very weak,
and could hardly raise himself from his Btraw.

10. However, he pricked up his ears at the sound
of a footstep, and seeing a ragged fellow, coming up
to the gate, was going to bark ; but as Ulysses came
nearer, he recollected his step, and looked u^ uv \:4>i^
bee andkoeir lupoid master, ihou|^iio\Ki^^ ^«.^\x^>«

him.
Ih Tbeu pom Argus rotuied \dxMeU% «»^^ "S^

i THIKD-CLAS8 READER.

lade shift to crawl towards him, and wagged his
ail, and gazed joyfully in the face of Ulysses, and
icked Ills hands, and then being quite weak and worn
9ut, fell down and died at his feet.

, VIII. Lesson Eighth.^-T^c Lazy Man.

1. There was once a man who was very poor, and
«rhat was a great deal worse, he was also very lazy.
Instead of exerting himself to earn an honest living,
he was always complaining of his hard lot, in being
obliged to labor for his own support.

2. One day it happened that he was overheard by
a rich man to say, that if he could only live without
work, he should be perfectly contented ; and that no-
thing should ever disturb his happiness.

3. TRe rich man told him that he should have his
wish; that he should live wholly at his ease; and
should have every thing necessary for his support and
comfort, without labor or care. f

4. The lazy man, we may be sure, was glaJ
cnougii to accept thijs generous offer. He was taken
to the rich man*s house, and orders were given that
there should be provided for him, every day, a grea

^'jfariety of nice dishes ; and for a time, he passed hi
life to his heart's content.

5. But every day, amongst the rest, there was or
small covered dish, which he was commanded I:
his patron not only never to taste, but never ev
so much as to lift up the cover, to see what \i
under it.

6. And he was told that if he disobeyed tliis cc
mam\f he should be sent back, with shame, to

ibrmer aisite of life,
7. He took care not to bxcak \v\s w^c^x- ^qx >
^^o ; but soon his idleness became \tt& ^\^

LUCV

TBIRD-CLASS RElDEIt.

tion ; for, having nothing else to do, he was puzzling
bimself, from morning till night, in trying to guew
^jdtat could be in thai covered dish, and why its con-
mfcu should be 80 carefully concealed from him.

8. At last, his curiosity became so strong, that he
could resist it no longer ; thinking that no harm could
come from taking a sly peep into the mysierioua diah,
(rhich he might easily do, as nobody attended him at
his meals, and therefore nobody could tcU of his
tranBgression.

9. Resolved, therefore, to unriddle the cause of hit
patron's foolish command, as he thought it, he very
gently liE^d up t)ie cover, when, in a moment, out
leaped a little mcise, which had been placed tliercin
order to betray him if he ahoiitd disobej-.

10. As the mouse darted into a closet and made
hla escape, there wai bo possible vray to cawiu.^^. '\<n
truth.

//. 77ie servants soon after f.T\lPre4 to Aew *«
•ftto. riw rich man examined t.\w «i.\Ai., mA^^^

26 THIRD-CLASS READER.

out the folly of his idle pensioner, who was instantly
dismissed from tlie house, and obliged, once more, to
•arn his bread by the sweat of his brow.

12. To such a foolish man, there is no doubt, that this
was a severe punishment. But people of good sense,
and honest hearts, know very well that employment
is necessary to happiness ; and that idleness is not
only tlie parent of mischief, but of misery and ruin.

IX. TiEssoN Ninth. — The Boys who did Mischief

for Fun,

1. 1 WILL tell you anotlier story. William and
Edward were two clever litde boys, and not at all ill-
natured, but they were very fond of spoirt, and they
did not care whether people were hurt or no, provided
they could but laugh.

2. So one fine summer's day, when they had said
their lessons, they took a walk through the long
in the meadows. William began to blow the dan
lions, and the feathered seeds flew in the wind li
arrows, but Edward said, ** Let us tie the grass ; it

. will be very good sport to tie tlie long grass over the
path, and to see people tumble upon their noses as they
run along, and do not suspect any thing of the
matter."

3. So they tied it in several places, and then hid
themselves to see who would pass. And presently a
farmer's boy came trudging along, and down he tum-
bled) and lay sprawling on the ground ; however he
had nothing to do but to get up again, so there waE
not much harm done this time. ' ^

4. Then there came Susan tj^amilk-maid, ^pping
slon^ with her milk pail iKJ«i^*^iet ilvoidjRl^s^ an?

Ringing like a lark. When Yvei iooV ^\sSk ^^;ii.^*v
"* vrhete the grass vras tA&^ ^:^inv ^^ ^^^^^^^^

THIRD-CLASS READER. t^

with her pail rattling about her shoulders, and her
milk was all spilt nipon the ^ound.

5. Then Edward said, ** Poor Susan ! I think I
should not like to be served so myself, let us untie
the grass."—" No, no," said William, '* if the milk
is spilt there are some pigs that will lick it up, let us
have some more fun : I see a man running along as
if he were running for a wager.

6. " I am sure he will fall upon his nose." And
so the man did, and William and Edward both
laughed ; but when the man did not get up again
they began to be frightened, and went up to him and
asked him if he was hurt.

7. " masters," said the man, " some though Hess
boys, I do not know who they arc, have tied the
grafts together over the path, and as I was nmning
with all my might it threw me down, and I have
sprained my ankle so, that I shall not be able to walk
for a month."

* I am very sorry," said Edward ; " have you
eat deal of pain ?" — " yes," said the man, '* but
that I do not mind, but I was going in a great hurry
to fetch a surgeon, to bleed a gentleman who is in a fit,
and they say he will die if he is not bled."

9. Then Edward and William both turned pale as
ashes, and said, ** Where does the surgeon live? we
will go for him, we will run all the way." — " lie
lives at the next town," said the man, *' but it is a mile
off, and you cannot run so fast as I should havedonei;
you are only boys."

10. ♦'Where must we tell the surgeon to come
to ?" said William. " He must come to the white
house, at the end of the long chestnut avenue," said the
man ; " he is a very good genUemaa that llv^*

11. ** O it 10 our dear papa \ V\ \« out ^e«t ^'«:^^\

f|;

18 THIRD-CLAAS KKAMtM.

said the two boys. *' Oh papa will die, what miul
we do ?"

12. I do not know whether their papa died or no ;
I believe he got well again ; but I am sure of one
thing, that Edward and William never tied the
p^rass to throw people down again as long as they
uved.

X. Lesson Tenth. — Story of Mary.

1. Little Mary was a great favorite, with her
papa, and he used to give her whatever toys, doll8»
and sweetmeats she wished for.

2. Bat it was not right that Mary should wish for
nothing but such things as these, and so thought her
papa, and when they were in the garden, and he was
reauiing something at which he was greatly pleased,
she asked him how he could be so glad in doing what
seemed to her a very dull thing, and which she w^
sure she would never do, but when she was forced
get her task.

3. Now Mary ought to have known better than
this, after all her papa had told her, and after having
had as many pretty books given her, as would make a
little library.

4. So instead of smiling at her, as he generally
did, he turned away his head with a frown, and put
her hand out of his, and turned from her, and went
into another part of the garden.

5. Mary did not expect this, and so, as she was
not a siliy little girl, though a very idle one, she hung
down her head and wept very bitterly.

6. She did not dare to look at her papa all that
evening, and she did not cease crjVtv^ ^*Al she frll

asleep, . '^-.

■»*:

mUtthCLASS REAXnER. 39

XI. Lesson Eleventh. — The rest of the same Story.

1. The next morning she studied her lessons with
more care than she had ever done before, and her
instructor was surprised to find the idlest scholar in
her school, become all of a sudden tlie first of tlie
class.

2. When Mary went home from school, she would
liave fain told her papa, but she was ashamed to sec
him, so she went and sought all the books she had
ever had given her, and which she had, till now, suf-
fered to lie scattered about with broken play- things,
and left-off doll's clothes. She looked into one or
two, and began to think that, after all, books were
not snch dull things as she had thought.

3. After she had put them all together, and arranged
them on a shelf which had been given her for the

^jMurpose, she looked at them with great pleasure, and
^Wu5 almost as proud of her library, as her papa
seemed of his.

4. When she had thus finished putting her books
in order, she thought to herself, that she had yet
ranch to do before she dare again see her papa, or
that he would be as kind to her as he used to be.

5. So she examined every book she had, in order
to see which she might read with most profit, and
which might best enable her to talk with her papa
about the objects he had often pointed out to her, or
how to ask him questions sensibly, and not like a
silly little girl who knew nothing.

6. At last she pitched upon Mrs. Trimmer's Natural
History, which she took and read so dili^elvt.\^^ \.Vsa!w
in a few days she knew every l\vm^ \j\CvOcv \v ^«^.-

iRinSf and could describe the dV^eteivN. ^xCyck^ ^^
gpe&ks of with great correctness.

90 THIRD-CLASS RIADHL

7. She was so pleased with the knowledge she had
thus gained, that she loved her papa more than she
had ever done, for having made her do what had
given her, and might still give her, so much pleasure.

8. However, he as yet knew nothing of what she
had done, and so took no notice of her whatever, but
one evening, a few days after this sad affair, he was
sitting reading in a room which opened into t!ie gar-
den, and little Mary, no longer able to resist her wish
to tell him how sorry shq was, and what she iiad
done, and would still do to please him, came behind
him, and gently touching him, let him know she was
waiting to be again received as his favorite little
girl.

9. She was not long in telling him how she had
determined never more to offend him by being idle,
and loving only sweetmeats and play-things ; andtiicn
she amused him by giving an account of all the
things she had read about, and which she was de-
lighted to find were all true ; and he told her mauj^
o3ier stories of the same kind, with which she wa^
greatly pleased.

10. From that time forth little Mary was not only'
the favorite, but the companion of her papa, and
they walked together, and she passed all the time of
herholydays in the pleasantest way possible, learning
something from every thing they saw, and every day
becoming wiser and better.

11. When a child receives a present of a book
from its father or its mother, the least such a child
can do, is to read it carefully through, and keep it in .
very good order.

12. But a good and grateful child will not be satis-
£ei] with this. Such an one will try to possess him-

self of all the instruction conlamed vxv iVve book ; nnd
io gain from it all the iinpTOveiaeii\. vi\vvfi\i\x«»«L ^v^ai-
sibly afford.

1 Ost Jay an eagle who wis Hoaring high in the
-■Ir, thought that he saw a fine fat rabbit, sleeping
comfortably on a bank in the sun.

!i. "Ah, hah! my fine fellow," Bays he, "I will
■poil your nap very quickly. You shall make me u

3. So clown he pounced upon the sleeping animal,
■tuck his sharp claws in his back, and bore him off inta
the air.

4. He had not flown far, however, before he found
Ihat he had made a very great mistake j for llie crea-

' ture.he had taken for a rabbit, turned out lo be a
ravenous wild cat.

6. The wild cat, you may well suppose, waa a
good deal astonished at finding liimself pinched so
tiijiA .-L ifptJIy i;; *ho \:-.:-\, aud IVyw^ «.i5 'i.\TOw^\ ■iJaa
Mir. ovu-iheliitlxaiii'i ;:-ie lops, rixUkiM la Vas.V» »
•ft^TB-wacA or Btearaho;.;.

32 Timav-cLASS REAinm.

6. So he laid hold of the eagle's throat with might
and main, and soon made him repent of his bargain.
Down they both came to the ground ; and the eagle was
killed, while the wild cat escaped with a trifling wound.

7. I have known a great many bad boys who fared
almost as badly as the eagle. They were fond of
doing mischief to other people ; but they always did
more injury to themselves, than to any one else.

XIII. Lesson Thirteenth. — Ingratitude,

Charlotte. I don't like Betty Brown at all. I
wish, mamma, I had not promised to give her sixpence a
week out of my allowance.

Mrs. Davis. What is the matter ? What has poor
old Betty done to displease you ?

Charlotte. She does not seem at all grateful for
what I give her. Just now, when I took her the
sixpence, she received it quite as if it was a thing of
course, and as if she was scarcely obliged to me for*
it. And last week, too, she hardly said any thing
more than, " Thank you, Miss Charlotte."

Mrs. Davis. What would you have had her say?

Charlotte. Oh, I don't know. But, at least, she
might have said how much obliged she was, and how
good natured it was of me.

Mrs. Davis. Then, I find, I have been under a
mistake ; for I thought you gave your money out of
charity, and because our Savior Jesus Christ has in-
structed us, who liave abundance, to contribute, out
of our superfluity, to the necessities of those wlio are
in want. ' I did not know that you promised Betty
the sixpence a week for the sake of being praised«
^ncl told how good yon are.

C/iarloftc. Nay, mamma, thai 'Wflfl tio\. ^^ T«^^«stv*
a/z7 sure I meant it out ot cUmVy, K^ ^^'^ ««^

THIRD-CLASS RSADXI. M

likes people to be grateful. There is something* so
provoking in ingratitude.

Mrs. Davis, Then, I hope, you are always very
grateful yourself.

Charlotte. Oh, I am quite sure — at least, I hopa
and think I am ; for whenever you or papa give me
any thing, you know how I thank you for it over and
over again, and show it to every body in the house,
and tell them how kind you are.

Mrs. Davis. And are your papa and I the only
persons who give you any thing ?

Ch<irlotte. Oh no, mamma, my god-mamma gives
me things sometimes, though she has not for a long
time. But when she does, I am sure, I am always
very much obliged to her. Indeed, I really think I
am not ungrateful to any one who is kind to me.

Mrs. Davis. Have you not a friend in heaven, who
is even much kinder to you than any earthly friend
can be?

Charlotte. Yes, mamma, I know that God is our
kindest friend of all.

Mrs, Davis, And are you sure that you are always
properly grateful to Him ? Alas ! my child, I fear
that the very best of us greatly fail in this our boundeu
duty. Does he not, daily and hourly, load us with
benefits ? and are not we too prone to receive them
as things of course ? And when he sees fit to with-
hold any of them from us, do we not often allow
ourselves to repine, as though we had been deprived
of what was our due ? And is not this, my child,
quite as bad as, or, rather much worse, than any thing
poor old Betty Brown can have done to displease you ?

I agree with you, that ingratitude is provoking ;
bat we must strive to bear with it, remembering how
our ] J ?•?•/'? rily F-^^her bears m\h \X, ^xA\\sy«, ^^v
itntiigtHuding our a worthiness. He <iOYL>A»s«!t \aNss«A
^ with his gifts.

S4 TBIItP-CLASS RKADXE.

XIV. Lesson Fourteenth. — Story of Sam and

Har^y.

1. I WILL tell you a story about two little boys,
Sam and Harry. One line summer's day, Sam was
walking home from Fchool, over the fields.

2. He sauntered slowly along, for it was very plea-
sant, and he was reading in a pretty story-book which
he had just bought with his week's money; and some-
times he lay down under a tree and read, and the
birds sung over his head, and he was a happy little
boy.

3. Well, at length, he got over a stile and came
into the high road, and there was a gate across the
road, and a blind beggar stood holding the gate opcn»
and said, ** Pray bestow a halfpenny." But Sam
gave him nothing.

4. •* What ! did Sam give the poor blind beggar
nothing?" — No, because he had nothing to give,
for, as I told you, he had spent his money.

6. So he walked through, and looked rather sor-
rowful. And in a minute or two afterwards, a smart
curricle came driving down to the gale, and Harry
arid his mamma were in it.

6. And the blind man stood and held his hat,
" Let us give the poor blind man some tiling," said
Harry immediately to his mamma.

7. So his mamma gave him a handful of half-
pence, which she had just received from the last turn-
pike man. And Harry took them eagerly, but in-
stead of putting them into the poor man's hat, which
he held out for them, he threw the whole handful far

as he could scatter them into \.\\e VveA^e*
8, The poor man could nol RtviV xJ^cva. ^«tft,'^c<vi
^now, and looked very me\aac\vo\Y \ ^^ ^^\si*^W

THIBO-CLASS REAOEB* 95

had turned his head to look at the fine curricle, saw
Harry fling the halfpence, and came back, and looked
carefully in the hedge, and in the grass, and all about,
till, one by one, he had found all the halfpence ; and,
besides the trouble he had, it took him so much
time, that he almost lost his dinner by coming too
late.

9. Now pray which do you think was most kind
to the poor blind man, Harry or Sam ? 1 know very
well which he thanked most in his heart.

XV. I^ssoN Fifteenth.— 7%e Good Boy whose

Parents are rich.

1. The good boy whose parents are rich, has
fine clothes to wear ; and he rides on a pretty little
horse, and in a coach ; and has servants to wait on
bim : but he does not, for all tliat, think that he is
better than other boys, whose parents are not rich.

2. He knows that some rich people are not good ;
and that God gives a great deal of money to some
persons, in order that they may assist those who are
poor.

3. He speaks very kindly to all his father's ser-
rants. He does not call them to wait upon him,
when they are at meals, or very busy. If he wants
Vhem to do him a service, he asks them prettily ; and
ihanks them for what tliey do for him.

4. He never gives them any trouble that he can
avoid ; therefore, he is careful not to make a noise in
the house, and not to break any thing, or put it out
of its place, and not to tear his clothes. When any
of the servants who wait upon him arc ill^ Ive l\ksu^
to ^o uiul sea ihc.tn ; and he otteu ^]in\t^ ^1 ^^ts^^

a/.^^ asks how iliey do.
^. He Uktis io i^o with his faitiex w Voa mo^QaK^ N*

86 TRIRD-CLA88 READSR.

eee poor people, in their cottages ; and he gives them
almost all the money he has.

6. When he sees little boys and girls that are rag-
ged, dirty, and rude, and that have nobody to teach
Uiem to read, and to give them good books, he w
very sorry for them, and he often says, ** If I were o
man, and had a great deal of money, 1 thinit no per-
gon that lived near me should be very poor.

7» " I would build a great many pretty cottages
for poor people to live in ; and every cottage should
have belonging to it a garden and a field, in order that
the poor people might have plenty of vegetables, and
a cow, and a pig, and some poultry ; and they should
not pay me much rent. I would. give clothes to tlie
little boys and girls ; and they should all learn to read,
and to write, and to work, and to be very good.*'

XVI. Lesson Sixteenth. — TTie Good Boy wJiose

Parents are poor, / ;

1. The good boy whose parents are poor, rises t.j
very early in the morning ; and all day long docs a»'*J
much as he can, to help his father and mother. *'

2. When he goes to school, he walks quickly, and
does not lose time on the road. •* My parents,'* saya
he, ** are very good, to save some of their money, in
order that I may learn to read and write ; but they
cannot give much, nor can they spare me long ; there-
fore I must learn as fast as I can ; if any body has
time to lose, I am sure I have not.

3. ** I should be very sorry when I am a man, not
to know how to read very well in the Bible, and

oiAer good books ; and when I leave my parents, not

io be able to read their lellftTa, mv^ Va ^^^ns^ ^^»Wl

•rorJ where I am, and how \ Ao. Ktv^\ m\\«.v\«^T(^

cc^ouiiis, for when I grow u^^, \ «^vaJ\ Wn^ --xj?

THIR]>«CLA88 RSADEB. 87

(hings to reckon about my work, and what I buy : I
shall perhaps have bills to make out, as my father
has ; and perhaps I shall be employed in a shop."

4. When he has finished his lessons, he does not
stay to play, but runs home ; he wants to see his fa-
ther -and mother, and to help them.

6. He often sees naughty boys in the streets, and
in the fields, fight, and steal, and do many bad things ;
md he hears them swear, and call names, and tell
li68 ; but he does not like to be with them, for fear
they should make him as bad as they are ; and that
any body who sees him with them, should think that
he too is naughty.

6. When he is at home, he is very industrious.
He takes care of the little children ; weeds his father's
garden, and hoes, and rakes it, and sows seed in it.

7. Sometimes he goes with his father to work:
Aan he is very glad ; and though he is but a little
ftUow, he works very hard, almost like a man.

8. When he comes home to dinner, he says, " How
IpiBgry I am ! and how good this bread is, and this
%aeon 1 Indeed, I think every thing we have is very
goed. I am glad I can work : I hope that I shall
iKM)n be able to earn all- my clothes, and my food
too."-

9. When he sees little boys and girls riding on
pretty horses, or in coaches, or walking witli ladies
and gentlemen, and having on very fine clothes, he
does not envy then^, nor wish to be like them.

10. He says, ** I have often been told, and I have
read, that it is God who makes some to be poor, and
some rich ; that the rich have many troubles, which
we know nothing of ; and that the poor, if they are
but good, may be very happy : indeed, I thiwk tbal
wheu J am good, nobody can \)e \i'd.^Y^c?c ^^ssl \

88 THIRD-CLASS READER.

XVII. Lesson Seventeenth.— 7%e Industrious

Little Girl,

1. The industrious little girl always minds whath
father and mother say to her ; and takes pains to lea
whatever they are so kind as to teach her. She
never noisy or troublesome ; so they like to have h
with them, and they like to talk to Jier, and to instru
hen

2. She has learned to read so well, and she h^
good a girl, that her father has given her several litl
books, which she reads in by herself, whenever si
likes ; and she understands all that is in them.

3. She knows the meaning of a great many d
ficult words ; and the names of a great many cou
tries, cities, and towns, and she can find them upon
map.

4. She can spell almost every little sentence, th
her father asks her to spell ; and she can write vc]
prettily, even without a copy ; and she can do a gre
many sums on a slate.

5. Whatever she does, she takes care to do it wel
and wlif n she is doing one thing, she tries not i
think of another. If she has made a mistake, (
done any thing wrong, she is sorry for it ; a?id whe
she is told of a fault, she endeavours to avoid it aj
other time.

6. When she wants to know any thing, 'she asli
her father or mother to tell her ; and she tries to ui
derstand, and to remember what they tell her : bi
if they do net think proper to answer her question!

she does pot tease them, but says, ** When 1 ^m olde:
iJtey will perhaps instruct me,'*' a\\^ ^'\=:^ vWvk's. vs.'vi^xi
something else.

'he li^^s to sit by her moOfvet, wti^^^^-'^^N

THIRD-CLASS READER* M

•

When she sews, she does not take long stitches, ot
pucker her work ; but does it very neatly, just as her
mother tells her to do. And she always kec])s her
work very clean ; for if her hands are dirty, she
washes them before she begins her work ; and whe»
she has finished it, she folds it up, and puts it by
very carefully, in her work-bag, or in a drawer.

8. It is but very seldom, indeed, that she loses hei
thread or needles, or any thing she has to work with.
She keeps her needles and thread in her little case ;
and she has a pincushion on which she puts her pins.
She docs not stick needles on her sleeve, or put pins
in her mouth ; for she has been told those are silly,
dangerous tricks ; and she always pays attention to
what is said to her.

9. She takes care of. her own clothes ; and folds
them up very neatly. She knows exactly where she
pnts them ; and, I believe, she could find them even
in the dark.

10. When she sees a hole in her frock, or any of
her clothes, she mends it, or asks her mother to have
it mended ; she does not wait till the hole is very
large, for she remembers what her mother has told
her, that '* A stitch in time saves nine."

11. She does not like to waste any thing. She
never throws away or burns crumbs of broad, or
peelings of fruit, or little bits of muslin, or linen, or
ends of thread ; for she has seen the chickens and
the little birds picking up crumbs, and the pigs feed-
ing upon peelings of fruit ; and she has seen the rag-
man going about gathering rags, which her mother
has told her, he sells to people who makp paper of them.

12. When she goes with her mother into the kitchen,
and the dairy, she takes notice of every thia^ «l»A
Bees; but she does not meddle V\\h Mvy ^tL^"^v^

out leave. She knows how puddVw^i \ax\a^ XswNXk^^
^d bread tare made.

40 THIRD-CLASS READER.

13. She can iron her own clothes, and she can
make her own bed. She likes 16 feed the chickens
and the younj^ turkeys, and to give them clean water
to drink ana to wash themselves in; she likes to
work in her little garden, to weed it, and to sow
seeds and plant roots in it ; and she likes to do little
jobs for her mother, and be useful.

14. If all little girls would be so attentive and in-
dustrious, how they would delight their parents, and
their kind friends, and they would be much happier
themselves, than when they are obstinate, or idle, or
ill-humored, and not willing to learn any thing pro-
perly, or mind what is said to them.

XYIII. Lesson Eighteenth.-— 77ke Shovmum and

his learned Dog.

1. There was, in Greece, a great while ago, a cer-
tain showman who had trained up a little dog, so
that he would pick out letters and make words with
them, and perform a great many other wonderful
tricks.

2. One day he was showing this curious animal,in
tlie public market place of a city, to a large number of
people, who as usual gave him mone/for their enter-
tainment.

3. He made his dog, who was very Well taught,
display all his feats. And the dog performed with
such ready understanding and attention, that he seem-
ed to be almost as knowing as a man.

4. Among the spectators there was a Grecian phi-
Josopher named Epictetus, who seemed very greatly

delighted with the amusement, ^ome ol >3r» ^^«^la
wondered, that ao learned a man a\vo\iXji \i^ ^«^a«.\
with such a show, and began to laxx^Vi iX;\vvxsv* .

THIRI>-CI.AAS RKASEB.

6. But ttie wise man turned round to llie crowd,
who were looking at the dog's perrbrmance, and emil>
■ng-, Baid, " You see, my friends, by this exliibition,
what an excellent thing learning is ; since the little
that a man has been able to beat into a dog, is eat-
licienl, not only to mainlain his master, but to enable
him to travel about the world, and see the varioui
wonders of nature."

1. It is very pleasant to walk in the fields, and to
have the sun shining wherever we go, and to have al-
ways some gay thing before us ; and there are some
people wlio would like to have notjiing but summer,
mill who wish that the dayaweie iiwwj* \wi^"»!oi.
bright, and tJiat tliere were no wMVuvi, w wia'Wi^^
whiter nights.

4% THIRD-CLASS READER.

2. I have heard some little boys and girls say, they
should be very sorry when the bad weather came, for
they should not then be able to play at all, and would
have nothing to do to make them happy.

3. But they were very wrong, or else were very
idle children, for there are many reasons why they
should not be sorry, when the snow or the rain keeps
them within doors ; for without snow or rain, the
seeds, from which the flowers and the fruits of the
summer spring up, would perish and never do any
good ; and this is cause enough to make all good
children contented, though the bad weather should
sometimes keep them at homiSi,

4. But I will tell you anotB^ thing, which should
keep them from being sorry, when tliey see the clouds
eome along the sky, and the dark night makes us shut
the door, and draw round the fire.

5. It is a sad thing thing to have learnt to read, and
not to know that a pretty book is better than a ball, or
a kite, or any toy in the world.

6. For a toy, you know, is soon spoiled, or we
grow tired of it, and then we forget it, and it is of no
use.

7. But a book can tell us many kinds of things, and
contains sometimes pretty stories, and at others, his-
tories of men that have done great good to the world,
or who have travelled into distant knds, and seen
many wonderful sights there, which they come home
and tell of, to every one who can read their books.

8. So I hope, when the winter comes again, you
will not be sorry, but try to make papa find some
pretty book, and then you will draw round the table
with your brothers and sisters, and hear of such
strange things, that you will be pleased to know

/ibont them, and be glstd to ftud tWt \kftte Ss ^.ovftftlhiug
Ifetter than phy^ and that t3\e -wVnleT m^Va w^ N^t^
^Joasant, for good children wYio \iVL^ V> »X %'C^^ino.^

THIRD-CLASS READER. 48

hear of what was done in the world before they were
horn, or of what is doing in places, that are far, very
far, away.

9. And if you like to hear of such things, I dare
Bay, you will never be without some pretty book, that
will tell you whatever you wish to know ; and that
would make you very glad, I think.

XX. Lesson Twentieth. — Tlie Happy Children,

1. I ONCE knew two charming littie girls, and a
smiling boy, who were very — ^very liappy ! They
loved each other fondly, and what was ihe joy of one
was the joy of all.

2. I can fancy I see them now, seated all three at
a table, their heads closely meeting, as they all read
the same book, or looked at the same pictures. Their
parents were rich, and could afford them many fine
things, but their chief good arose from love and con-
cord.

3. If one was in trouble, the others would unite to
help him out of it ; and, if one was sick, he was sure
of at least two good nurses. Had one a toy or a cake,
it was worth nothing till shared with the other two ;
and. if you pleased one you were sure to please
all.

4. No noise, no murmurs were heard, where they
dwelt. There was much laughing, indeed, and some
singing ; much chatting, and much dancing.

5. If one played a tune on the piano, the other two
would stand by, and sing to the merry music. All
three could dance in a red ; so a reel was the chosen
dance ; and for the tune, all sang it as they danced.

6. Was a letter to be written ; oxve -viwsJA ^r^^a^
Mnd ihe others help to spell the woTiVa, wA ^is^^'^m^
WBg best to aay. Was a leaaoa to \>e YeanvW ^«w

44 THIRD-CLASS READER*

was such hearing, and prompting, and helping, that
the lesson was soon learnt by all.

7. With the early dawn, they sprang from their
beds to meet each other ; and not till the tirefly was
shining on the dark turf did they part, v/ith many ten-
der •• Good-nights."

8> Always at peace with each other, they were so
with all the world. No harsh words passed their lips ;
no frowns darkened their brows.

9. They were wot pretty ; but people thought them
lovely, because their looks were so sweet and gentle.
They were not very clever ; but people called them
very clever, because their manners were so mild, and
frank, and pleasing.

10. By their conduct, these three dear children
caused their own bliss, and gained the love and esteem
of all around them. I should think, to copy them
would be very easy and very pleasant; suppose, my
children, you try !

XXL Lesson Twenty-first. — The Lion.

1. I KNOW you like to read of lions, and to heai ^
stories of them. Lions are not found in Europe, and
there are none in America.

2. The animal something like a lion, and which is
sometimes called a lion by persons who do not know,
is a piima, an animal of the same species, but not so
tall ; and it has no mane, and no tuft at the end of his
tail. In Africa a great many lions are found, and in
Asia too.

8. When a lion is waked ont of his sleep, he is
always so startled that he runs off as fast as he can,
Jast the way that his head lurufi, bxxl \^ ^wv persons
ftaad in his way, he will kiU VheYu *\tv \\va\t\^\.» K
^^ years ago a man, who had a Won '\w la. e.^.^^ "ai^

THIBB-CLA8B SEADXR. 49

Exeter 'Change, where wild heasts were kept at the
time, was killed in this manner by a lion.

4. If he had but stood out of the lion's way, till the
creature was awake enough to have known him, this
would not have been; for lions are fond of their
keepers, if the keepers are kind to them.

5. The reason why the lion, as well as the cat^
steals so quietly on his prey is, that both have whiskers
which stand out on each side, so that all round from
point to point they are equal to the size of the animal's
body— you will understand that where the whiskers
touch, l^e body would touch too— so when the lion
is stealing through thick brushwood, these whiskers
soon tell him, whether he would make a nistling that
would alarm his prey ; and he takes care not to push

/^ through too thick a bush.

6. Besides this, he has thick cushions of flesh under
.his feet, that prevent his steps from being heard.

7. Persons who have examined the tongue of a
lioil, say that he could not possibly lick the hand of
a man without tearing away the skin ; for his tongue
is thick set with sharp homy points, bending back-

^. wards.

* ^ 8. Many old stories of these creatures were made
up, before thev had been examined so carefully as for
it to be kno\in, as it is now, that what was told could
not have happened ; and when you are older you will
read particulars, that will make you understand a great
deal more than I can explain to you now.

9. There is one old story, of a person's having
once taken a thorn out of a lion's foot, as he lay in a
cave under a rock, lame, and too weak to rise, or even
to lift his paw, from the pain of the swelling; and the
story goes on to say that many years afterwards, when
thjtf lion was caught in a trap, axidL «e\iX vx ^ ^^^ ^
Italy, he gave a roar of joy YrYieii\ie\^a:^\>^5tL^N»*«»
tte same peaon, who immedJAteVy \ai«^ ^ms^^^ *=^

46 THIRD-0LA88 READER.

went into his den, and the lion fawned on him like a
purring cat.

10. I do not know whether this story is true, but it
is certain that animals remember both kindness and
ill treatment a very long time.

11. It is not right to be cruel to animals, for we are
told in the Bible that the merciful man is merciful to
his beast ; and you see it is not- wise, too, for God has
given to beasts instinct to know and remember their
friends from their enemies.

XXII. Lesson Twenty-second. — A Voyage.

1. Sponges — you want to know what Ihey are,
and where they come from. They are formed by in-
sects, and they grow, or rather they are fastened by
these insects to Uie rocks deep below the sea.

2. Persons accustomed to the busineM dive Yor
them. Look for Smyrna, across the Greiiiip^lbrchipe-
lago, in Asia Minor. Great quantities of spboges are
sent to America from that place. And great quantitiei^ j
of figs, too. ' K

3. Look at the number of islands that lie in and
near the Archipelago I named — the word Archipelago
means a sea full of islands— from some of those

. islands come the currants for your buns. ■ They grow
on low bushes, in bunches like other grapes ; ihay
are a small kind of gr.ipe.

4. Come on westward — you know that westward on
a map means towards your leii hand. Hold me up
your little left hand ; now lay it down on the side of
the map which it is nearest — that is the western side.

5. Well, come on with yovw \vV(\fe e^^'a -^^elNrord
from those islands, and you m\\ see \)ckfc^atl».\ ^V^
do you think it was called M-oxeal )oec«s»«i Vv ^"^a «»

THIRD-CLASS RBADXR. 47

full of mulberry trees, and Morea, or a word, some-
thing like it, Morus, means mulberry.

6. You know the insect that spins its bright yellow
bails amongst mulberry trees. These trees grow in
great quantities in Italy, too.

7. Look on westward still, and now see where silk
comes from. Olive trees grow in Italy too, as well
as in Greece ; and from the fruit of the olive is pressed
the oil used in salads.

8. Castor oil, which is good for medicine, is pressed
from the seeds of a plant called the Talma Christi,
which grows in great plenty in Sicily. Here, south
of Italy.

9. Look for Leghorn on the western side of Italy.
From that place mamma's fine straw bonnet takes its
name ; bring away a new one for her, and come on
till you see Marseilles.

10. All the rocks about that neighborhood, and
along Uia south coast of France, are covered with a
pretty hanging bush, with a large and delicate white
blossom; Ij^ng a number of fine purple filaments-—
filaments are like so many threads — these purple fila-
ments hang from the middle of the flower, which is

' '.about the size of a dog-rose — this is the caper bush.

11. The buds of those pretty flowers are gathered
before they blow, and put in vinegar; and it is these
which people eat with boiled mutton. From Mar-
seilles too comes the fine red coral you see cut into
beads for bracelets.

12. Coral, like sponge, is found deep under the sea,
and is also made by an insect. These insects use
coral and sponge for the same purpose that a snail
does its shell — that is, for a house to live in. But the
coral and sponge insects can leave their houses if they
phase, and the snail always drags \vva ?i5ao\3X'«*v^\i«fiL*

J3. As yoa are sailing along Ave ^e^\\»ttas««*-i
rou may pick up a little nantiiutt, fox ^«^ «^ ^^

48 THIBD-OtASS nAMM.

seen on that sea ; you know how curionsly they oao
float their little shells on the water.

15. Come on westward still to Spain, and brinr
me away oranges and lemons, and almonds and rai- .
sins, which all grow in Spain :— «nd now come ont
through the straits of Gibraltar, and sail away home
with your cargo. Cargo means a ship-load.

16. Sponges, and tortoise-shell, from the Mediter-
ranean ; hogs' bristles to make your hair-bmshes, from
Germany ; ivory for the handles of tooth-brusheSy
from India or Africa. You know ivory is the tusk of
an elephant; all this must be collected before you
can have all you want, when you dress yourself every
morning.

17. And what do you think of going up the Bal<-
tic ? — ^look, here is the Baltic to the north of Europe,
and this way we must steer our ship for hemp or naz
to make you a good rough towel.

18. Hemp would be rather coarse, I think. Hemp
is from the fibres of a plant something like a nettle-
it is very useful for strong ropes. I think you have
seen the thin stalk, and &ie pale blue flowers of flax.
We must go to the southern states for cotton, to make
the white quilt with its little tufts, that is spread over
your bed ; but we may shear some of our own sheep
ibr blankets to keep you warm.

XXIII. Lesson Twenty-third. — ^ Second Voyage.

1. We must make another voyage before breakfast
can be set out for all the company that is in the house.

2. Let us take the map, and set out from Portsmouth^
or Boston, and sail away across the Atlantic Ocean to

the coasts of Spain, and then Mm^ \» ^^ ^"aaX*
3. These, though they ate V> Khe ^^"^^ "^^ '^
«» our led hand, because yo\i see ve ^^ >» ^^

THnB-ai.A8S READER. 49

ing down from the north, instead of looking up from
the south, as we do when a map lies before us, and as
yon did when I told you to lay down your little left
hand.

4. Herie are the Madeira islands. Choice wine
comes from them ; and here is Teneriffe in the Ca-
naries, with its high peak, perhaps we shall stop there
a little while. Here are the Cape de Verd islands ;
look, here is the Cape itself, opposite to them in
Afiica.

5. Now on we go ; we shall not stop at St Helena
tiQ we are coming home again. Look where we shall
turn round Africa, and at its very southern point is
the Gape of Good Hope, and here we shall stop to
take in provisions, water and beef, perhaps ; and then
away let us sail for China.

0. We may stop at one or two other places on our
passage. But here at last is China, this great coun-
try, quite to the east of Asia; it is from here that all
our tea cmnes.

7. Now home again with a large chest of it. We
need not bring away plates and cups and saucers
from China now, for they make as good in Philadel-
idiia.

8. Let us look for Mocha, in Arabia, just after pass-
ing those narrow straits that let os into the Red Sea—
the straits of Babelmandel. The best coffee used
to be brought from there ; but we get a great deal
from the West Indies.

9* On our return, we must sweep over the wide
Adantie to those islands near America,which are called
the West Lidies^-amongst them is Jamaica, which
wiD give us a litde ginger for papa ; and almost all
of them will supply us with sugar — brown su^ ^
WBjawftget it made white in oux own CQvnvN.'q .
JO. While we are in the neifJWbotVioo^, ^«^ ^o**!
as well go en to South Ameikm, aiA \iTav% ^'^^i

60 THIBO-CLAflS. READER.

lump of silver from Potosi, to make a tea-pot, and
coffee-pots, and cream-ju(;, and spoons.

1 1. In South America, too, on the banks of some of
the rivers we shall find a tree like a young cherry-
tree, with pods something like a cucumber in shape, \
and in each of these pods twenty or thirty nuts
like almonds, only of a dark brown color inside, and
not white like the almond — these are the cacao or
chocolate nuts.

12. Now we have tea from China; cofiee from
Mocha, if you please; sugar and ginger from the
West Indies ; and cocoa, and chocolate, from South
America.

13. Honey we can get from our own bees; wheat
from our own farm; and butter, cream, and milk '
from our own cows. ' j

14. But what long voyages for a breakfast! yes; ]
people have used themselves to these things, and non;!^

they fancy they cannot do without them. You
better off; you can go to the granary for a little wheji#
to make bread, and to the dairy for a basin eTJi
milk: *

** Thank you, pretty cow, that made
Pleasant milk to soak my bread."

XXIV. Lesson Twentv-fourth.— 7%c Divisiam .

of the Globe.

1. We might have met with many flying fishes in
crossing the great Atlantic ocean, for they are very
common in the warmest parts of it.

2. Quite to the north, and quite to the south of the
who^ globe of the earth, we should find very cold

weather. Those parts are caWed \\ie xvotxV^xA ^ivi^h.
pcJeg.
3^ Loidi at this orange-—! ^ViV tVx^^ %\!ixa iS

THIRD-CLASS READER* 91

round it, jnst as far from where the stem was fixed,
as from this opposite point, where the blossom fell
off:

4. This line on the globe would be called the
equator, because it is at equal distance from both these
poles. Now we will call our blossom end the north
pole, and our stem end the soiuh pole.

6. I shall explain to you when you are a little
older, what makes this difference of heat and cold in
diflTerent places ; but just now you must remember,
that all the parts of the world, all the way round,
which are nearest the equator, on either side of it, are
very hot.

6. Because this kind of climate goes all rour^d the

globe, it is called a zone — zone means a belt ; and

because it is very hot in this zone, it is called the

torrid zone — torrid maans very hot

X-' 7. The zones round the north and south pole, are

\ called the frigid zones — frigid means very cold; and

•tiie belts of earth,between the frigid zones and the torrid

^ Jlbne,are caUed the temperate zones, because they are

', neither very hot nor very cold.

8. Those parts of the temperate zones, which are
nearest the frigid zones, must be the coldest ; and
those nearest the torrid zone the hottest. Now we
will mark out the five zones on our orange.

9. One torrid zone, with the line which I told you
was the equator, exactly through the middle of it;
so when you hear of a ship being near thie equator,
or crossing (he line, you will know it must be in a
very hot part of the world.

10. Well, one torrid zone, two frigid zones, and
when we have marked out these three zones, here lie
the two temperate zones between the torrid a|^ the
frigid.

II. You may take notice on ihft m^^ Vo^ \x»« "^^
equator, or the poles, any places M«, «sA VJtvwi -^^so. ^«a

M THIBD-CLA88 RIADBB.

nearly guess how hot or how cold it would be in those
places, or seas..

12. There is alwa3rs an equator in the maps of
jlsia, Africiat and America ; and the north you know
is at the top qf the map, and the south is at the bot-
tom of the inap.

13. Almost tke whole of Europe is in the north
temperate zone, only a portion runs up into the frigid.
The whole of Asia lies in the north temperate, and
in the torrid zone ; a pa|t of Sumatra, and Borneo,
Java, and some smaller islands, are on the aoathem
side of the line.

14. This line, the eqtiator, runs through Afiica
and America. Now you may look on the map of the
world for all t^is, and then at the maps of the four
quarters separately.

XXV. Lesson Twenty-fifth. — 7%c Hare and the

Tortoise.

1* Said a hare to a tortoise, " Good sir, what a
while
You have been only crossing the way ;
Why I really believe that to go half a mile.
You must travel two nights and a day.^

2. " I am very contented," the creature replie^,

*' Though I walk but a tortoise's pace ;
But if you think proper the point to decide.
We will run half a mile in a race."

3, " Very good," said the hare ; said the tortoise

" Proceed,
And the fox shall decide ^\vo\v.^ ^qtl\"
Then the hare started off ViliU;! vacwi^^^ «^«»\\
Bat the tortoise walked \eVaxxse\7 oTi«

4. "Come, tortoise, friend tortoise, walk on," said
the hare,
" While I shall stay here for ray dinner ;
"Why 'twill take you amonth, at that rate, to ret there,
Then how can you hope to be winner I
6. But the tortoise could hear not a word that she tiid.
For he was far distant, behind ;
So the hare felt secure whilst at leisure she fed.
And took a sound nap ^riten she dined.

6. So at last this slow walker came up with the hare.

And there fast asleep did he spy her;
And he cunnin^y crept with such caution aud care.
That she woke not, although he pass'd by her.

7. " Well now," thd^ht the hare, when she open'd

her eyes,
" For the race — and I soon shall have done it ;"
But wlio csn describri her chagrin and surprise.
When she found that the lorloise \\»d "Ntt-iv^^
TTiua plain plodding people, ■«« o^te'R iw&.fe&i
Will leave baaly confident peof\B ■\ie\Cvfti.

•4 THIRD-CLAM RSADSR.

XXYI. Lesson Twbntt-sizth. — A Walk vi\ thi

Meadows proposed.

1. I HAVE been thinking, my dear CharlottBy that
you and I might take some very profitable walks to-
gether ; and, at the same time Uiat we are benefiting
our health by air and exercise, might improve our
minds ; for every object in nature, when carefully
examined, will fill us with admiration, and afford us
both instruction and amusement ; and, I am persuaded,
we shall find that nothing has been made in vain.

2. Though Henry is so young, he is a sensible
little boy, and will be able, I dare say, to understand
many ihings which we shall have occasion to talk
of; therefore I think to take him with us : I long to
see him, as I suppose he is greatly pleased with his
change of dress !

3. Oh ! here he comes. Your servant, sir ! you
are very smart, indeed: I could not imagine what
litde beau it wafi^ strutting along ; I sqppose, now you
are dressed like a man, you begin to fancy that you
are one ; but, though you can read and spell, spin a
top, and catch a baU, I do assure you there are a great
many things for you to learn yet, and I shall be happy
to teach you what I know.

4. Your sister and I are going to take a walk ; we
shall have many pretty things to look at and talk
about, therefore I dare say you will be happy to be
of our party, will you not l

5. You know, my dears, in the walks we have al-
ready taken in the fields together, I showed you a
greut variety of plants and flowers ; you have sees

i&e cuttle and sheep grazing, the Ul\ie birds hop^^ing

and ^ying about ; and thou^ 1 loVOi ^om ^^ \i»sft» ^

every thing you saw, whicW^ Yio^^e '^wx V^tft^w»?

THUUMJLAaS READER 56

ber, you must learn to know a great deal more about
them.

6. Charlotte is going to get herself ready, so fetch
your hat, Henry, and let us go into the meadowt,
where I am sure we shall soon find something worth
examining.

XX Vn. Lesson Twenty-seventh. — Tlie Walk

in the Meadows.

1. Well, Henry, what do you think: is not this a
charming place ? You know that it is called a mea-
dow. See how green the grass looks, and what a
number of pretty flowers ! Run about and try how
many different sorts of grass you can find, for it is
now in blossom.

2. One, two, three: you have got eight sorts, I
declare ! Charlotte has gathered quite a nosegay ;
daisies, cowslips, butter-cups: as for the rest, I do
not know their names, so we must search the herbal,
where we shall find them, and learn what they are
called.

3. I need not tell you what is the use of grass, be-
cause you have so frequently seen the cows, horses,
and sheep eating it ; but they do not eat it all in that
state ; no, a great quantity of the grass that grows is
cut down with a scythe, like what our gardener uses,
whiph is called mowing ; then come the haymakers,
who turn it over and over again, spreading it upon the
ground ; and when th6 sun and air have sufficiently
dried it to keep it from becoming mouldy, it is carried
home to the farmer's yard, and put together in great
heaps called hay-ricks and hay-stacks.

4. There are thousands and thousatvda oC lc^%d&
made every year, which serve lo feed ^e ^-aNJ^^ vcv"^^
wlater ; for there is but little gceexv 2jt^»» Vst ^^bsks^

68 THIRD-0LA8S READER.

then All of it grows from little seeds no bigger than
pin^s heads : look at the blossoms in your hand, Henry;
they would soon have turned to seeds.

5. In a meadow, where there has been hay made,
a great many of the dry seeds drop and are scattered
about, and grass springs from them the next year;
but if people want to make a new meadow, .they must
keep some seeds and sow them.

6. The beautiful flowers which you have in your
hand, Charlotte, grew likewise from seeds which were
mixed amongst the hay seeds ; for the plants which
sprung from those seeds are good for the cattle, and
serve to give a pleasant taste to the grass. Besides,
numbers of them are medicinal, that is, good to make
medicines for the cure of many disorders to which we
are subject.

7. Don't you think that grass is a very useful thing?
I am sure the poor horses, cows, and sheep would
say so could they reason and speak ; for they have
no cooks to dress victuals for them, nor money to buy
bread, nor can they ask for any thing they want ; so
you see their food grows under their feet, and they
have nothing to do but to eat it.

XXVIII. Lesson Twenty-eighth. — TTie Oak and

other Trees.

1 . What a fine spreading oak is this, which serves

as for a canopy, and shades us so comfortably from.

the sun ! See what a number of acorns hang upon

it; they are excellent food for hogs. But do not

think that the stately oak is good for nothing, but to

supply them with provision ; it is of the greatest use

io lis.

^ 2, How large it is ! it \s Viggex towadL ^^aja. ^jk^

yman ever was; it has hundreds olV)tMVK^ift^^^o>a>sa5x^

THIRB-CLASS RXADUU 57

of acorns, and still more leaves* It has great roots,
which strike a long way into the ground, and spread
all round at the bottom ; they keep it from being
blown down by the violent gusts of wind which it
frequently has to encounter, and through the roots it
is, that the moisture of the eartli nourishes it, and
keeps it alive.

8. Now, Henry, is it not a very surprising thing,
that this great tree grew at first from a little acorn ?
Look, here is a young one, called a sapling ; it is so
litde, Charlotte, that you will be able to pull it up
yourself. There you see the acorn still sticking upon
the root.

4. The oak we sit under probably is a hundred
years old ; when it is cut down it will be called tim-
ber ; the sawvers will saw it in pieces proper to be
nsed in building ships and houses^

5. There are many sorts of timber trees besides,
•8 ash, elm, chestnut, walnut, and others. When
there are a number of trees growing near together,
the place is called a wood ; you have each of you
been in one ; you recollect that, I suppose, and what
kind of a place it was. I wish we were in one now,
for it is hot walking.

6. But I was going to observe, that all sorts of trees
grow either from seeds or kernels that are found in
weir' fruit, or else from little plants taken from the
old roots, or slips taken off from their branches.

7. All timber trees grow without any trouble, for
the rain waters them; but I forgot to mention the
bark, Charlotte, which is this outside part. It is of
great use to tanners and dyers ; and the dry branches,
which are good for nothing else, make cheerful com-
fortable fires ; so that you see trees are very valuable ;
nay, poor Henry would miss Xhem, ^ot \Jw:^^^ \aT^%x

snd bats are cut out of them.
8. See bow the pretty bitda avl vfii^^^ ^^ '^''

58 THIRD-CLASS S»ADB1U

branches ; how glad they must be, when it rains, to
shelter themselves amongst the leaves : besides, if a
heavy shower was to come now, we should bp happy
to stand under a tree ourselves, provided there was no
appearance of a thunder-storm ; for in thunder-storms
trees often attract the lightning, which might make it
very dangerous to be near them.

XXIX. Lesson Twenty-ninth. — Tlie Love of

Brothers,

1. Sweet is the song of birds, when the dark days
of winter are over and gone, and the trees lift up their
green heads in the bright light of spring !

2. Sweet is the sport of lambkins, while their dams
lie down to sleep by the streamlet that flows in the
cool shade.

3. Sweet is the hum of bees, when the work of ^
the day is done, and they fold their wings to rest in
the full hive.

4. Sweet is the shout of joy, which is heard at the
farm, when the last load of corn is brought home, and
the tables are spread for the harvest feast.

5. But far more sweet than any of these^ is the
love of brothers and sisters to each other.

6. To sport it gives many a blithe laugh.

7. From grief it takes many a sad tear.

8. And O ! with what joy is it seen by the fond
father and mother

9. They press their good and kind children to their
breasts, and pray to God to bless them.

10. And God doth and will bless them ; for the
^od find "favor in his sight, and his tender mercy

MB upon ihem for ever.
L ^1' My little reader, have '^^^ Vol^ct^ «sA €>»-

thiiim;la88 rsabsb. 89

12. LoTe them with all your heart. Do all you
can for them.

13. {/ielp them when in need ; and wait not to be
ask#d.

14. Add to their mirth. Share their grief. Vex
ihem not. Use no cross words.

15. Touch not what is not your own. Speak the
truth at all times.

16. Do no wrong ; hut do as you would be done by,

17. So shall you make glad the heart of your pa-
rents.

18. So shall you have the blessing of the great
God who made you.

XXX. Lesson Thirtieth. — Tlu Two Boats,

1. Albert and James Btjlnd were two good boys ;
'Ai fact they were the best boys in the town, and

their praise was heard for miles round.

2. Did the rich man have a party of young folks at
the hall — Albert and James were sure to be there.

3. They were the very masters of the sports. And
their gumes were all merry and wise.

4. Was the poor man sick and in want of bread-
Albert and James were the first to bring him some.
They would share their own food with him.

5. And the joy which they felt in doing good»was
more than they could tell. Rich and poor, high and
low, all knew and loved them.

6. One day, when they had been in the play room
along time, and no noise was heard, their papa peeped
softly in at the door, and there they were as busy as
bees, at a small table near the window.

7. James was rigging a boat, «.Tid liiShiQiX vi^% \wsciV
Jng one. To ng sl ship is to fel \V ouVi, OT ^saxSs&k.'SX
With ropes ancldes proper (ox ix*

00 THIRD-CLASS READER.

8. Without being seen by either of them, their
papa slipped into the room, a^ taking a seat at the
farthest comer, he saw and heard all that wis going
on.

9. James, Dear Albert, can you tell me those
lines which old Ben the sailor made about the boats, •
when we went with papa to the seaside ?

10. Albert, It is so long since I said them, that 1
am sure I do not know ; but I will try. Let me see —

The yawl and the joUy boat-
No, that's wron? : — the yawl comes in in the second
line ; — how do they begin T

11. James. I think, brother, the long boa^—

12. Albert. O, ay, now I have them :

The long boat, ihe jolly boat,

PinnacA and yawl ; —
The skiff and the water boat,

Ship boats we caU. ■/

For pleasure or fishing

We*ve all kinds of boats.
But the life-boat, my boys,

Is the best thing ttiat floats. -

13k James. Ay, that life-boat is a grand thing, to
be sure. To save the poor sailors when the ship is
dashing to pieces in the storm, is, as papa says, a
^eat and noble act. Thank you, brother Albert.
Perhaps you will one day write them out for me, and
then I can learn them.

14. Jilbert. That I will : I will wtBe them oaf
for you to-night, if papa will let me have some paper.

10. James. Thank yon, Albert. Oh, this sail
is not as it ought to be : let me look at the pictarey
Albert I thought so ; ay, ay, this is the right way—*

Bat (he life-boat, my Ywya,
& the best tUbog thai fioate.

THIRD-CLASS RBADBE. M

papa and mamma could do with ns, would be to send
us to sea ? Why we are half sailors now.

17. f^ert. Yes, we* know that the stem is the
forep^ of the ship.

18. James. And that the stem is the kindpart.

19. AWert. That the keel is that bottom piece of
timber, on which the ship is built.

20. James. That the masts are those long beams
or posts, to which they fix the sails.

21. Albert. That the bowsprit is a mast^ which
stands out from the head of the ship.

22. James. That the starboard is the right hand,
when looking towards the head.

23. Albert. And that the larboard is the left hand.

24. James. That to weigh anchor, is to heave oi
drag it up from the bottom of the sea ; that the rudder
is that instrument,which is placed at the stem, or hind-
part of the ship, and which, by being moved back-
wards and forwards by the helm or handle, guides the
course of the ship through the water.

25. Albert. That a buoy is a floating cask, which
is made fast by chains and anchors, and other things,
to show where the water is shallow, and where Uie

# ad-banks are, or any thing else of danger.
26. James. Yes, thanks to old Ben, the sailor,
we know all these : — and then, how pleasant it would
be to see the Whale, which is called the king of the
Bea«

27. Alberi* And the Shark, which is the boldest
of all fishes.

28. James. And the Roach, which is the greatest
coward. ^

29. Albert. A} , indeed, or to make a voyage to
Pera, for gold and silver.

SO. James. Ot to the Eastlad^t «(v\C^C\sA.^Vst
doregf iiii(me£S silkn^musUiuit tea, «xA tmssjcj ^^*i
niee Hbrnga. j 9

83 THIRD-CLASS READER.

31. Albert. Or to the West Indies, for rice, sugar,
and coffee.

32. James Or to France and Spain, f<y wines,
oranges, lemons, almonds, and raisins.

33. Albert. Yes, yes, this is all very pleasant to
talk about, bnt to do it would not be quite so well, I
fancy. Sailors have to bear many hardships. What
a very sad account that was, which papa read to us
the other day, about the poor fellows that were ten
days at sea in a small boat, and were nearly starved
before they were picked up, as they call it.

34. James, dear, Albert, I cannot bear to think
of it. % How kind we ought to be to sailors when they
come home : I am sure I will do all I can for them.

35. Albert, Hark ! there is some one singing in
the street ; and see, it is a poor old sailor ; he has
but one leg ; now then, out with your little box, and
be as good as your word.

36. James. That I will : but, alas ! I gave my
last penny this morning to the poor little sweep, who
has neither father nor mother. What shall I do ?

37. At this moment their papa came forward.

38. Papa. My dear boys, for the last ten minutes
I have been in the room ; aiid you do not know what
joy it gives me to see so mucK kindness, and to find
your young minds so well stored with useful know-
ledge. There, there is a supply of money for your
little box : go, and relieve the poor sailor ; and thent
as your boats are ready, I see, we will walk to the
brook, and your brother shall Viouch them.

XXXI. Lesson Thirty-first. — The Country and
the City Mouse.

1. A pljun country mouse was once unexpectedly
trisited at his hole by a fine mouse of the town, who
had formerly been his playfellow. The honest rus-
tic, pleased with the honor, ' resolved to enterlaia his
friend as aiim[ituouBly as possible.

2. He set before him some delicate gray pease and
bacon, a dish of fine oatmeal, some parings of new
cheese, and, to crown all with a dessert, a remnant of %
charming mellow apple.

3. 'When tiie repast was nearly finished, the spark
of the town, taking breath, said, " Old Crony, give
me leave to be a little free with you : how can yon
bear to live in this melancholy hole here, with nothing
but woods, and meadows, and mountains, and rivulets
about you 1 Do yon not prefer the hubi of the busy
city to the chirping of birds, and x\\b 6i^«iAtrt sA. ■*.

grand house lo the prospectoC % vjWiX&ft 'CkwV
rf. With many flowery aigftmeuVa \wi a.\.\a»^'^'*

64 THIRD-CLASS READER.

vailed upon his coun^ friend to go with him to town,
and about micbight they safely entered a certain great
house, where U^re had been an entertainment the day
before. \

5. Here it wai the citizen's turn to entertain, and
placing his guest on a rich Persian carpet, they both
began to regale most deliciously on the richest meats
and drinks ; when, on a sudden, the door opened* a
servant came in, and the two mice were glad to scam-
per for dear life.

6. The country mouse was ready to die with feari
at the many hairbreadth escapes which followed.
At last, when they had retreated to a place of safety,
he bid his city friend a hasty good morning, saying,
•• If this be your town life, much good may it do you.
Give me my poor quiet hole again, with my homely
but comfortable country fare. A frugal living, enjoyed
in peace and security, is better than the greatest luxu-
ries, imbittered by fear and danger."

XXXII. Lesson Thirty-second. — The Sheep.

1. Look at the pretty harmless sheep, with their
innocent lambkins by their sides. Sweet creatures !

' you also have got fine thick coats ; they are very
comfortable to you in the winter, when you are obliged
to lie in the open fields in the frost and snow, blit
must make you very hot in the summer.

2. Well) a way is contrived to ease you of them ;
as soon as the sultry heat comes on, the farmer will
get you all together, and begin his sheepnshearing ;
3ien all your load of wool will be cut off, and you

wJU spring away from him, axvd xvuv^tv&kMv^ and skip-
pJng- about, like little boys w\io ^xjSi oS ^«a ^wiNjfc M^

THIBD-CLAM RBABXR. 66

8. The poor sheep would not be so merry,if they
knew that they should be sold to the butchers, too ;
but that must be the case. Their flesh will be mutton,
and their skins will either be parchment, such as Mr.
Green, the lawyer, brought to your papa the other
day, and like what your dnim is covered with, Henry,
or else leather, like the outside of your pocket-book.

4. The sheep's wool is very valuable indeed, for it
is sold to the wool-combers, who clean it, and poor
old women, who live in cottages, spin it with their
spinning wheels. Have you not seen on old wo-
man sitting at her work, singing, and happy to think
that she should be paid enough for it to keep her from
begging ?

5. When the wool is spun it is called worsted, and
the weavers make it into cloth for men's clothes,
Hannels, blankets, stockings, and other things : so
that sheep supply us both with food and raiment.

6. But I dare say you think it very cruel to kill the
poor creatures : indeed, it is a pity ; but if some were
not killed, there would be such numbers, that there
wonld not be a sufficient quantity of herbage for them
to eat, and many would die of hunger.

7. Now, whilst they live, they are as happy as they
can be, have fine green pastures to feed and play in,
and when they die, have no relations to be sorry for
them, or who will suffer by their deaths. ||

8. Because, though ewes are very fond of their
lambkins while they are little, the fondness continues
no longer than while they are helpless ; for when they
have done feeding them, and shown them what to eat,
they drive them away, and take no more notice of
them.

9. When the butchers take the sheep to the slaugh*
ter-hou5e, they know not wbal va g^ivw^ \^i \i^ ^^\a\

and when the blow is strwck, XVve^ ^xfe \i\v\. ^ \iX^^
whUe dying, therefore they do noX fwS«t \BNiS^

T 2

06 TBIRIXILA88 RSADBR.

When they are dead they can feel no more, you know.
We must kill them to preserve our own livesy but
should never be cruel to them while they live.

XXXIII. Lbsson Thirty-thiro. — Tlie Sheqf and

her Lamb.

1 . I WILL now tell you a true story about a sheep
and her lamb. One day, a gentleman was riding
along a lonely districi^ in the Highlands of Scotland,
when he observed a sheep hurrying towards the road
before him, as if to intercept him, and at the same
time bleating most piteously.

2. When she was quite near, the sheep redoubled
its cries, looking significantly in the face of the tra*
▼eller, as if to beg some favor or kindness of him.

3. The gentleman took pity on the poor creature,
and, getting off from his horse, he followed her to a
field in the direction whence she had come.

4. When they came near to a heap of stones, at a
considerable distance from the road, tlie sheep stop-
ped, and, behold ! there was a little lamb, completely
wedged in between two large stones of the heap,
witli its feet uppermost, trying very hard to get loose.

5. The gentleman, you may be sure, was not long
I in setting the poor little thing free, so that it could

run once more upon the green sward, while its mother
uttered loud and long continued bleatings, in expres-
sion of its pleasure and gratitude.

XXXIV. Lesson Thirty-fourth. — TTie Triumt,

L Who is he that sleeps IvW ^ \'^\& KoMt^ and when
/ie fvakes, yawns and wishes fox Wve x^xxvtxs. ^l xCv^gcCs^
iliat he may fold his arms to sVee^ ^.^^val

THIRD-CLASS BXADU. 07

2. He comes forth clothed in the garments of sloven-
lilieas. In his step is the heaviness of stupid sloth*
The scars of strife are on his swollen cheeks.

3. The rage of malice flashes from his eyes. His
uncombed hair, all matted, stands erect. On his lips
are the words of deceit and falsehood.

4. Ignorance is a cap of disgrace to his head ; and
vice and impiety dwell in his heart. He is the idle
and worthless truant.

5. Behold him as he now skulks along yonder lane.
How slyly he walks. He stops to look into every
bush, that he sees on his right hand and on his left.

6. He knows that he is not in the way, that leads
to the object which it is his duty to seek, yet he
scorns to turn away from it.

7. His eye looks around for a companion in crime.
His ear eagerly listens for the whistled signal.

8. As the voice of the charmer is to the adder that
Is too deaf to be charmed, so is the voice of instruc-
tion to him that is too vicious to be taught. He creeps
into the thick wood, lest he should be seen and sent
back to school.

0. The fear of punishment is in his breast, for he
. has neglected every duty. Learning is his abhor-
rence ; and he loathes those who would teach him,
as he loathes the knowledge which they would impart
to him.

10. He looks upon them as foes, and he flies to
folly •• as a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth
not that it is for his life."

11. Wretched are the parents of such^^a son!—
Gcief and shame are theirs. His namfi shall be
stamped with the mark of infamy when their poor
broken hearts moulder in the grave !

68 THIRD-CLASS RBABXIU

XXXV. Lesson Thirty-fifth. — The Diligiifdi^

Scholar.

1. Who is he that leaves his bed, eager to resame
his studies, as soon ns the soaring lark receives, on
her speckled breast, the first ray of the rising sun T

2. He comes forth clothed in the garments of neat-
ness. In his step is the lightness of active industry.

3. The glow of health is on his rosy cheeks. The
light of gladness sparkles in his eyes. His graceful
locks fall lightly round his neck.

4. On his lips are the words of candor and truth.
Knowledge is an ornament of grace to his head ; and
virtue and piety dwell in his heart.

6. He is the diligent and worthy scholar. Behold
him as he now comes across the green, with his satchel
of books at his back ?

6. How briskly he walks ! He stops not to con-
sider, whether he shall take the right hand path or the
left.

7. He knows which is the nearest way to the ob-
ject, which it is his duty to seek, and he scorns to turn
away from it. His eye does not regard yon crowd
of idle boys. His ear does not listen to their noisy
games.

8. As the north star is to the sailor when he Crosses
the ocean, so is the distant school-house to hihi when
he crosses ^e green.

0. He quickens his footsteps lest he should be a
minilie zS6x his time. There is no fear of punish-
ment in fli breast, for he has ne^cted no duty.

10. Learning is his delight ; and he loves tl\ose
who teach him as he loves the knowledge which he
sains from Ihem. He looks \\\vow them, as fathers,
irom whom he receives lYi^X \ivsVtv3lC>awv^^\CvsJcl \>a&
been wisely called the " Aife oi VXve ^oviXi

THIRD-CLASS RIADXR. 09

11. Happy are the parents of such a son. Giad-

and triumph are theirs. His name shall he

bit>wned with honor hy the virtuous and the good,

. when the pious counsels of his father and mother are

heard no more, and their heads are laid in the silent

grave.

XXXVI. Lesson Thirty-sixth. — The Riches of the

Earth.

1. You must understand that there is not only great
variety, in what grows out of the ground, but even in
the earth itself. Look at the walks ; some of them
are of a yellowish red color.

2. That is gravel : does it not make pretty walks I
it is exceedingly good for the roads likewise, which
would soon be very bad, where there are a great many
carriages continuadly going, if they did not spread
gravel upon them to keep £hem in repair.

3. Of another kind of earth bricks are made, which
are afterward used in building houses, walls, ^c.

4. Chalk comes out of the earth. That is very
useful to lay upon some sorts of land, in order to make
what the farmer purposes to sow there grow the better :
it is likewise burnt to make linie of, which, mixed
with sand, makes mortar for the bricklayers to fasten
their bricks ; for they would fall down if they were
not cemented together.

5. Stone and marble are dug out of the ground
When they find a vast quantity together, they call tlie
place a quarry.

6. Some fine churches and castles are built of stone.
Marble is used for chinmey-pieces, slabs, and orna-
ments, in elegant houses.

7. Coals are likewise dug out ot \iv& eax^^^\^
which we make Brea to warm us.

70 THIRD-CLASS READER.

8. Out of the earth are dug gold, silver, copper," ]
lead, iron, tin ; these are called metals. Look at my
watch; this is gold; coins are likewise made of it,
and it may be beaten into leaves thinner than paper.

9. Gold is the most valuable of all metals. This
dollar is made of silver, which, though inferior to
gold, is yet much esteemed. It is used for coffee-pots,
candlesticks? , waiters, spoons, and a hundred other
things, which people who can purchase them make
use of.

10. Lead is very heavy : there is great plenty of it
to be* had, and it is of the utmost service to us ; for it
is made into cisterns, pipes, weights, and a variety of
other conveniences.

11. Our saucepans and kettles are made of copper,
which would be very unwholesome if they were not
lined with tin ; which is a whitish metal, softer than
silver, yet harder than lead. Cents are made of copper.

12. Iron is one of the most serviceable things we
have ; most kinds of tools that are used in the fields
and gardens, are partly made of it ; likewise most of
those which are employed in different tradefi,have ge-
nerally some iron about them ; in short, it would t^e
up a great deal of time, to tell you the whole of its
value. Knives, scissors, and axes are made of steel,
which is iron hardened by the use of heat and char-
coal.

13. All kinds of precious stones, likew^ise, are found
in tlie earth : diamonds, rubies, emeralds, topazes, &c.
They do not look so fine when they are first dug up,
for there is much patience and labor required in cut-
ting and polishing them

14. Now you sre, that every thing, when we ex-
amine it, is curious and amusing. None need go

sauntering about, complamiivg \W\, VJcve,'^ \va.ve no-
thlng to divert them, when XW^ iiv^^ ^w<i «vi\«t\a«s?
mentia every object in nature.

Fr"^

S^-kJi

fe^^

.If^H^sp^H

^Bh

lili

I!||HEI1I

XXXVII. Lesson Thirty-seventh. — T!ie Young
Soldier t.
1.0m! were you ne'er a Bohool-boy!
An<l did you never trein.
And feel ihal swelling of the heart

You ne'er can feel again ?
Didst never meet, far down the street,

With plumes and banners gay,
While the kettle, for the ketile-drum
Played your march, march away T

S. It seems to me but yealerday.
Nor scarce so long ago.
Since we shouldered qatmusluts

To charge the fearfuWoe.
Our muskets were of cedar wood.
With ramrod bright and new ',
With bayonet for ever set*
Andpuated barrel, loo.

72 TRIRB-CLAS8 REAlffiR.

9. We charged upon a flock of geoBCf
.-.^■▲nd put them all to flight,
Except one sturdy gander

That thought to show us fight ;
But, ah 1 we knew a thing or two ;

Our csLptain wheeled the van —
We routed him, we scouted himt

Nor lost a single man.

4. Our captain was as brave a lad

As e*er commission bore ;
All brightly shone his. new tin sword,
CX paper cap he wore : N
He led us up the steep hill-side,-

Against the western wind.
While the cockerel plume that decked his head

Streamed bravely out behind.

5. We shouldered arms, we carried arms.

We charged the bayonet ;
'^Vnd wo unto the mullein stalk' » ^

That in our course we met.
At two o'clock the roll we called,

And to the close of day.
With our brave and plumed captain,

We fought the mimic fray, —
Till the supper bell, from out the dell,

Bade us march, march away.

XXXVHL Lesson Thi^-biohth.— 7%g Beggar

J. Ajiohnd the fire, one wintry night,
'Flie farmer's tobv cYnVdxeii f»x v
Jlie fegot lent its \Aaz\ti%\i^\>
<nd jokes went Tound. «a^ c«x€^t»» ^^mSu

2. When, hark ! a gentle hand they hear ^
Low tapping at the bolted door ;
And thus to gain their willing ear,
A feeble voice was heard r implpro :

9. Cold blows the blast across the moor ;
/ The sleet drives hissing in the wind ;
Ton toilsome mountain lies before ;
A dreary treeless waste behind.

4. My eyes are weak and dim with age ;
No road, no path, can I descry ;
And these poor rags ill stand the rage
Of such a keen inclement sky.

d. So jpaint I am, these tottering feet

No more my palsied frame can bear ;
My freezing heart forgets to beat,
And driftmg snows my tomb prepare.

6. Open your hospitable door,

And shield me from the biting blast ;
Cold, cold it blows across the moor,
The weary moor that I have passed.

7. With hasty steps the farmer ran.

And close beside the fire they place
The poor half-frozen beggar man,
With shaking limbs, and blue-pale face.

8. The little children flocking came,

And chafed his frozen hands in theirs ;
And busily the good old dame
A comfortable mess prepares.

9. Their kindness cheered his drooping sonl;

And slowly down his wrink\e& c\\^>l
Uie big round (ears were aceu to xAV,
And told the thanks he MiiLdLmbW^odiL.

74 THIKD-CLASS READEII.

JO. The children, too, began to sigh.

And all their nferry chat was o'er ;
And yet they felt, they knew not why,
More glad tlian they had done befj^re,

XXXIX. Lesson Thirty-ninth. — The Town Boy
and the Country Boy.

1. James Brown was born at a farm-house. Ha
had not seen a town or a city^when he was ten yean
old.

2. James Brown rose from his bed at six in the
morning during the summer. The men and maids of a
farm-house rise much sooner than that hour, and go
to their daily work. Some yoke the oxen to the
plough, some bring the horses in from the field, some
mend the hedges, some manure the land, some sow
seed in the ground, and some plant young trees.

3. These, who have the care of the sheep and
cows, take their flocks from the fold, and lead them
to their pasture on the hills, or in the green meadowf
by tlie running brook. The maids, meanwhile, haste
to milk the cows, then churn the butter, put the cheese
into the cheese-press, clean their dairy, and feed the
pigs, geese, turkeys, ducks, and chickens.

4. James Brown did not work in the fields; M
when he rose from his bed, his first care was to wash
his face and hands, to comb and brush his hair ; and
when these things were done, and he had said his
morning prayers, he went with his father about the
farm, or weeded the garden. Garden- work was very
proper for a boy of his age and size.

5. James Brown had a cousin named Thomas, and
Thomas Brown once came \xs pd>f J^tcv^^ ^ n\%vU 'Hie

twn hoys were very glad to «ce ca.c\\ c^>\\«t^ w\\'\>a55r
mas told James of the famoua cvcy ^\i«»\tfi\i:s'i^

THIRD-CLASS RBADSS. 75

6. He spoke of the spacious paved streets, crowded
all day by throngs of people, and lighted at night by
rows, OR each side of the way, of glass lamps.

7. He told him of the fine toy-shops, where all
kinds of playthings for children are sold; such as
bats, balls, kites, marbles, tops, drums, trumpets,
whips, wheelbarrows, shuttles, and dolls.

8. And of other great shops, where linens, mus-
lins, silks, laces, and ribands, fill the windows, and
make quite a gay picture to attract the passers-by.
He described also the noble buildings, and the great
river, with its fine arched bridges, built of stone.

9. Thomas Brown talked very fast on these sub-
jects, and as James, who had never seen any thing
of the kind, was quite silent, and seemed as much
surprised as pleased with all that he heard, Thomas
began to think his cousin was but a dull stupid sort of
a boy.

10. But the next morning, when they went out into
the fields, he found that James had as much know-
ledge as himself, though not of the same kind. Tho-
mas knew not wheat from barley, nor oats from rye ;
nor did he know the oak-tree from the elm, nor the
ash from the willow.

11. He had heard that bread was made of wheat,
but he had never seen it thrashed in a bam from the
stalks, nor had he ever seen a mill grinding it into
flour.

12. He knew ndthing of the manner of making and
baking bread, of brewing *malt and hops into beer, or
of the churning of butter. Nor did he even know
that the skins of cows, calves, oxen, horses, shecp«
and goats were made into leather.

13. James Brown perfectly knew these, and many
other things of the same nature \ vcA \v^ '^'^wv.^'^

iaaght his cousin to understand some ol iC^ ^Nj^^^
Mong to the practice of husbaxuky •

76 THIXD-CLAflS BSAOBR*

14. These friendly and observing boys, after t
time, met always once a year, and they were ea|
in tlieir separate stations to acquire knowledge, t
they might impart it to each other at the end of
twelvemonth. So that Thomas, while living in
crowded city, gained a knowledge of farming, and
that relates to a country life ; and James, thov
dwelling a hundred miles from the city, knew all i
curious things it contained.

XL. Lesson Fortieth. — Tlie Horse.

1. Horses are sent to market, but not to be killi
Horse-flesh is not good to eat ; it is carrion, and oi
fit for dogs and crows. Horses are noble creatures

2. That is a riding horse. See how he leaps s
bounds, now he is at liberty. But though he is
strong, can kick hard, and raise himself upon his hi
legs, he is so gentle that he will suffer himself to
mounted, and guided any way.

3. His legs are slenderer, and his body not so hes
as the ox, so that he can move nimbly ; neither is
back so broad but that a man can easily sit across it

4. He has hoofs also ; but as he travels so mui
they would be worn out, therefore all persons vi
keep horses, should be careful to let them have ii
shoes, to keep their feet from being bruised. 1
smith makes them, and nails them on, which, if d<
cleverly, docs not hurt the horses at all.

5. Don't you wish that you could ride on hoi
back ? When you are old enough you shall be tau.
to ride, and learn to manage a horse ; but if ]
£ret on one by yourself, without knowing what to

lie may run away with you and \l\\\ '^ow.
6, There was a little boy wVvo vr^iTvXfc^i \» tv^^
had not patience to BUy, till \ii» ^«*^ ^^*^

THIRB-CLASS REAIOnL

pretty little gentle nag for him ; but got npon
servant's horse, which was hung at the gate.

7. He laid hold of the bridle, and could not re.
the stirrups ; gave the horse a cut with a stick, i
away he galloped with hiiii so fast, that the little b
was thrown off with his head against a stone, whi
fractured his skull, and he was taken up dead ; ai
yet that was not a vicious horse, when he had
skilful rider on his back : the accident was entire!
owing to the child's not knowing how to manage th
bridle.

8. There was another little boy, who was always
running into the stables amongst the horses, and one
day he was kicked, and had his ribs broken, for the
horse did not know that it was a litde boy at his
heels.

9. Those fine large bay horses, with black manes,
and tails, are coach horses ; they are stronger, but not
so nimble as the others ; those with great clumsy legs
and rough coats are cart-horses. There is another
sort of horses, which are very beautiful and swift;
they run races, and carry their masters when they
hunt ; but it is very expensive to keep them.

10. We can walk but a litde way in a day, as we
sooTi tire on foot ; but when weare upon a horse's back,
we can travel a great many mfts, and see our friends

nrho live at a distance ; and it is very pleasant to go

n coaches.

1 1 . Now these pleasures we could not have without

orpcs ; don't you think that we ought therefore to

10 them well ? Besides, we could not tell how to

anage many things without them, for it would be

ceeding hard work, for ^/rong men to do what horses

1 perform with ease.

* 2. It 18 extremely fatiguing Ui a ^oox\i«^ ^^\^\sv%
/y nailed shoes, to wa\k by vW «v^^ ^^ '^ ^^xs.^
ay ; but do not you UiinV iX ^ou\i >o* ^ ^^^^ ^'^

78 THISD-OLASS RXADER.

harder to himtwere he forced to draw it along throngh
the tough ground ; and how would men be able to
move heavy wagons and carts, and other great loads,
without the help of horses ?

13. So I think that the least we can do is, to give
them plenty of oats and hay, and a warm stable at
night. Don't you think those people are very barba-
rous who ride them too hard, who whip and spur them
till they are ready to die t and yet such cruelties are
exercised every day ; but remember that it is both
foolish and wicked to act in that manner.

XLI. Lesson Forty-first.— Zwcy Gray.

1. Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray :

And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.

2. No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew :

She dwelt on a wide moor, —
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door !

3. You yet may sp^he fawn at play,

The hare upon%e green ;
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

4. ** To-night will be a stormy night—

You to the town must go ;
And take a lantern, child, to liglit
Your mother through the snow.'

5. ** That, fatlier ! will I gladly do ;

'Tis scarcely afteraoun —
The Minster-clock ha« jv«l aVnic^ t«o»
And yonder is the moon.*^ ^

»»

THIRD-CUJU KBA9ER * 71

6. Ai this the father raised hisihook
And snapped a fagot-band ;
He plied his work — and Lucy took
The lantern iu her hand.

7« Not blither is the mountain roe :
With many a wanton stroke
Her feet disperse the powdery snow
That rises up like smoke.

8. The storm came on before its time :

She wandered up and down ;

And many a hill did Lucy climb ;

But never reached the town.

9. The wretched parents, all that night,

Went shouting far and wide ;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for tlieir guide.

10. At day-break on a hill tliey stood
That overlooked the moor ;
And thence they saw the bridge of woody
A furlong from tlieir door.

!!• And, turning homeward, now they cned
*♦ In heaven we all shall meet !" —
When, in the snow, the mouther spied
The print of Lucy*s feet

12. Then downward from the steep hill's edge

They tracked the footmarks small:
And through the broken hawthorn-hedge^
And by the long stone wail :

13. They followed from the snowy bank

The footmarks one by o\\e«
Into the middle of the pVauV;
Ajad further thete were ludueX

80 THIRD-CLAM RSADXR*

14. Tet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child ;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

15 O'er rough and smooth she trips along,
And never looks behind ;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.

XLn. Lesson Forty-second. — 77«c Charm,

1. One afternoon Mrs. Harcourt and her little
daughter Louisa, were sitting together in their comfort-
able parlor. There had been a dead silence on both
sides for some time, an unusual circumstance when
Louisa was in the room : for her tongue generally ran
quite as fast as a little girl's tongue can run, when talk-
ing to a much loved and affectionate mother.

2. Louisa Harcourt had recently spent more than a
year with her grandmother, who was, like many other
grandmothers, very kind, and very sensible, but some-
what too indulgent towards her little pet.

3. The latter was a remiirkably generous, open-
hearted, candid child, and possessed of excellent talents :
but had a high temper, not sufficiently restrained, and
was prone to be overbearing among her young com-
panions. Since her return, her mother had with sor-
row perceived this fault, and had endeavored to cor^
rect it ; but, as yet, without success.

4. At length Louisa broke the silence ; «* O, mother,'
said she, '* how I wish that a faiiy would give me a
charm, that might make people love me !"

A^s, H. iVfake people love yo\i\ viVv^^tKY deart aio
you not loved already %
Louisa. I know that you \o^© td^^> «w^ ^^^ \^Sb»i

TBIRD-CLAM BXAIKnU 8t

lores me ; but everybody does not love me. I heard
Ann Sinclair observe the other day, that she could not
bear me ; and Mary Gray said, that I ivas so crosSf
she wished I would leave school.

Mrs.'H, I am very sorry to hear this, my dear ;
very, indeed ; I hope you have done nothing to inspire
them with dislike towards you.

Zomsa. Nothing that I know of, mother.

Mra, H. And do they never provoke you, Louisay
and make you angry ?

IjOuUa. O yes, often ; they are so ill-natured, that
they seem to delight in teasing me.

Mr9,H, 1/Vhich of all your schoolmates do you
. prefer, my love ?

Louisa, Emma Harris, to be sure : I like her muck
better than any other girl. Oh, I love her dearly !

Mr8,H, And can my little Louisa tell me why
Emma Harris is her favorite?

LotiUa. You would not ask that question, mothcry
if you knew her. I am sure no one could help loving
Emma ; she is so good, gentle, and amiable. I don't
remember seeing her angry, or even out of tempet
once since I have known her.

Mrs.H. She must indeed have cherished a good
disposition, and therefore she is esteemed by all her
companions. And why cannot my little Louisa be
equally esteemed ?

Louisa, Because — I suppose it is because I am not
CO good as she is.

Mrs. IL And would you not like to be loved as
Emma Harris is ?

Louisa. Oh, dearly, mother !

Mrs. H. And if you thought that it would win the
affections t)f others, would you not be- willing to watch
oxer yourself, to endeavor to coitecX-^o^t K«s^^&^'M^
to become gentle, sweetrtemxiete^, wi^ ^J^v^vw^ '^
yoarMmd t Make the effoxt U> imWaXAVct. vvhixx

8S THIRI>-CLA88 HEADER.

indeed, be difficult at first ; but on every occasion try
to check the risings of ill-humor, 'and be as mild and
as pleasant as you can, and you will soon find, Uiat
besides being regarded with kindness by your compa-
nions, you will always feel happier than at present ;
for you will be conscious of having acted aright, and
that will be your greatest reward. Be assured, my
dear, that the only charm which can secure to you
the attachment of your associates, is amiableness of
feeling and deportment

Louisa said nothing, but appeared to be engaged in
earnest reflection ; from that hour a very sensible im-
provement was observed in her conduct ; and she soon
ceased to complain that she was not beloved by tlios^
around her.

XLin. Lesson Forty-third. — The Lapland Bay,

L Fm a little Lapland boy,
Wh^t care I for gold or toy T
Tell me not of foreign bowers.
Fruitful fields, or blooming flowers*
Mine's a better country — though
Covered with perpetual snow.

2. Tell me not of cities grand,
Beautified by sea and land ;
Heap your tables, fill your rooms,
Dress in silk and breathe perfumes.
Take of luxury your fill,
Know» that I am richer still.

A I hare wealth wiihoxil \\a ^^oJcixv^^
Vn the world ml\xouV\\a\Mwa8iWEi\

THIRIM:IiA88 seadek.

Nothing for yourselves you do,
Thousands minister to you ;
And as many viands meet,
To supply what you must eat.

4. I can slumber on the ground.
Though the snow-drifts lie around ;
That 's a noble feast to me.
Which to you a fast would be :
Speak not then of gaud or toy

To the hardy Lapland boy.

5. Taught to brave the storm and cold.
Like the mountains firm and bold ;
*Custom'd, from my earliest year,
Nothing but disgrace to fear.

In the good reindeer I find
Ail I need, and all I mind.
Food and harness, bed and clothes,
And myself to fashion those.

6. What to me would be a throne.
When I have a sledge my own ?
Dare your racers that pursue,
When my deer are hamess'd to ?

7. Could your ships of state and pride.
Sail where my canoe will glide ?
Would your stoutest matrons bear
What my little sisters dare ?
Were your splendid warriorshere.
Could they throw my Mier's spear ?

8. America, I've heard of thee,
Thou art called the br^N^ ^^^s«bifc
But it is my pride ^ind \o7

TJ^t I ain a Laplaiidbojr^

84 mnaxuM wMAJoau

XLIY. Lesson Fortt-fourth.— 77le American JBai

1. Closely Wlf{ifp*d in robe of fur,
Hardy little Laplander,
Listen to the pride and joy
Of America's young boy.
I'll not tell thee of our bowers,
Rich with fruit and gay with flowers,
Nor will I provoke thy frown
By descriptions of the town.

' 8. CaU our wealth — a golden trouble,
Call our arts — a glorious bubble ;
All our pleasures, all our ease,
Mock them, young Diogenes :
I can give thee honor due.
Thou art simple, generous, true ;
A contented mind thy feast.
And thy ignorance not the least.

3. I can envy thee the wealth
Of thy hardihood and health ;
But when thou dost pity me,
I can only smile at Uiee !

4. Lapland boy, upon thy snow,
Does the tree of knowledge grow t
Having travelled far and fast,
Know'st thou aught of ages past ?
Is not thought within thee shut.
Like "thy body in thy hut ?

Doth not superstition's shade
Thy immortal pari AcgWk^\
Post thou know a talB mot^VXidi
Tiiaa to drive tliy »\ftdg^— «»»^*i»^

THnD-CLA8S SIADtR.

5. Little Laplander, in thee.
Theme of joy and gHef I see ;

Joy that thou canst thus content thee
With the scanty blessings lent thee ;
Sorrow that thou canst not prize
Those that make man good and wise.

6. Thus the ru^d Goths of yore
Scom'd the %man arts and lore ;
Thus our ancient fathers stood,
Savages in mind and mood ;

Ye are now, what they were then.
Only less ferocious men ;
What their children are may ye«
In the lapse of ages, be !

XLV. Lbsson Fobtt-fifth.— •/fM0e^«.

. Take care, Charlotte, mind where von tread I
r you might have destroyed a city far aught I
w. Look at those little busy ants; they are at
k as hard as possible.

• Do you know that the^ get all the com they can,
lay it up against the winter comes ? They bury
r dead, carry their young ones about, and do many
»rious things. If all men and women were as pro-
mt as they are, there would not be so many beg-
I.

. Let us go and see the bees at work in their glass
»• See, they are in a great bustle : surely mere
ome curious work going on.
. Curious, indeed, my dear ! all the honey and
I we have is the work of these ^V\a ^meQ!^(n»^
fx^r about, and with a WnA o? \xt«!8i^'^«1^>»«Wk>

suck aomeAing sweet out ot lSa» «lo^w»% ^'^^ft
la^mbforfbe waxandtoTmtkie\ioTi»f-wf<^ '

B6 THIRD-CLASS RBAHnU

i^hich the honey is deposited. Are they not
surprising ?

5. The cells join exactly together ; there is no
lost. This whole swarm of bees are subject t
bee, which we call the queen ; they follow her
ever she gofes, and will suffer themselves to be
sooner than forsake her.

6. But I must not tell you every particular
tliem, because I want you to read Uie account
selves in the books of natural history. Most \
keep bees in straw or wooden hives, and bum th
soon as they have finished their combs, in onler
their honey ; but I bought these glass ones on pi
to have the pleasure of seeing them work, without
obliged to kill tliem.

7. When the honey is taken you shall see 1
is managed, and I will treat you with some for
supper. Should you at any time have a cou
sore throat, I will make a medicine with honey
wliich will help to cure you : so pray rcmembei
useful bees are, and never hurt them.

8. Keep in mind also, that not even the le:
these creatures, which I have shown to you, is
all are employed.

9. They do not saunter away their time, bu
care of their families, and build houses. The -
ones learn readily what the old ones show then
to do ; and little boys and girls should likewise
sirous of improving from the instructions tliat are
them.

10. It is very fatiguing to teach children all t
necessary for them to learn, and very expensive
If they do not accept of knowledge when it is ol

people wi}] grow tired of instructing them ; and
WiV/ be laughed at and deai^iseii fot ^^\t \^w«
-fhe days, pass heavily alongi vi\i<&!i w^^oX va. \
wdfoUy.

XLTI. LsBsoN FoRTY-aisTH, — The i^arrow and th«
Hare.

1. Netsb deride the unfoi^nate. A kind word
is almost as {^d as a helping hand. But a taunt to
one who is in trouble is cruel and unjuat.

2. A hare, being seized by an eagle, uttered the most
pitiful cries. A sparrow that sat upon a tree just hy,
and saw ihe alTair, called out to the hare, " So, ho I
vhat,8it there and be killed ! Up and away, my fino
fellow. I dare say, if you would but try, saswin a
creature as you are, would easily escape from an eagle."

3. As he was going on with his cruel raillery, down
came a hawk and snapped him np, and, without re-
garding his cries for mercy, fell to deTouring him in
an instant.

4. The hare, who was just erpiritig, addressing her
last words to tlie sparrow, said, " You, who just noir
inaulMd my misfortune, vj\l.\i so n«(A\ lewm^'i i*i«^
thought, may please to sho^ ob ^lO'^ ^sj&. ■^'s*. "»»■

bear ibe Uk», now it lias belaflen. -jon."

88 THIBD-CLA08 BBADXB*

XLVII. LsssoN FoRTTH»TBNTH. — The Microscope.

1. Hers is the microscope; in it is a magnifying
glass, that is, a glass which makes every thing appear
hrger than it does to the naked eye ; some magnify
much more ; hut this will answer our purpose.

2. Now some wonders will he presented to your
sight. In this box are a set of objects, ready pre-

{)ared for us. Now the glass is fixed. Pray, sir,
et the lady look first: if you are a philosopher, do
not forget yod are a gentleman.

9. CaQ you guess what this is, Charlotte! Do
you look, Henry. It is only part of a feather of a
goose, but appears like an entire one.

4. This is a Bit of a peacock's, examine it before I
put it in ; now view it, and you will perceive it to be
perfectly beautiful.

5. I am going to show you the feet, wings, and
head of a common fly ; this is its leg, see the claws ;
the head appears to have a hundred eyes.

6. I must show you the parts of a bee. See what
a dreadful weapon the sting appears. Ah I Henry, I
hope you will be cautious how you catch bees again :
and I am sure you will not take a pleasure in torment-
ing flies, now you see what limbs they have.

7. You may assure yourself that they suffer great
agony, when their wings and legs are torn off. I never

, could endure, without great uneasiness, to see a fly
spinning, as they call it, on a pin.

8. The noise and humming it makes, is its way of
crying and groaning. Let me beg of you, therefore,
Henry, if you wish to be thought a boy of a generous

spirit, never to take pleasure \iiYv>ii\axk^^s\Y thin^that
Mtfleas and weaker than youtscM.
t. 9. Think ho wyouBliO\i4^>ift^»^s«i^^^^^^

THIRD-CLASS UBANnU M

string abont you, and pull yon along, and whirl you
about in the air till you lost your senses, break your
limbs, and perhaps throw you down at last and tread
npon you.

10. I must show you this bean ; you know I told
you that all plants grow from seeds : this is the seed
of a bean. I have split it open, and at bottom yon
may see the little plant. It is at present too tender to
bear the earth next to it, so you see it is provided
with a covering.

11. The white part of the bean will nourish the
plant till it is stronger, when it will spring out, and
the white will drop off, and leave it to the earth, where
it will increase every day, till it grows up and comes
to perfection.

12. It is just the same with all vegetables, from the
humble grass to the stately oak ; only in very litde
plants, we cannot discover them without exceeding
good glasses.

13. I had like to have forgot this butterfly's wing ;
there you see the holes where the quills came out,
and here some of the bits of dust, which you may
convince yourself are actually feathers. I must show
you this little insect, which came off a rose leaf; and
nere is a drop of vinegar full of little things like eels.

H. You must not pore too long, for it will hurt
your eyes. I have only shown you these, to con-
▼ince you that a curious search may discover new
wonders ; and were you to keep on to the end of
a long life, you would not see them all.

15. What does your brother say, Charlotte ? That
he wishes his eyes were microscopes. Alas, my
dear boy ! you' know not what you wish for. If that
was the case, we should see very surprising things to
be sure ; but then, what we ivon« \ooVl ^\ ^'V^ ^-v^
sure, would become monalroua lo \3A.
10. Men and women woxiiA u^^«x %o \^^^^ "^

M THUUMXLAM SXABXft.

we could only see a bit of them at once. We shoo]
not know a house from a wall, an ox from a moui
tain, and should be inYolved in a thousand difficultiei
17. If we came to a brook, we might mistake it fc
a river ; take a cat for a tiger, a mouse for a bear : i
short, absurdities out of number would follow. S
rest contented, that your eyes can see with ease ever
thing that is useful or hurtful to you ; and if you wax
to be curious, there are glasses to assist you.

XL VIII. Lesson Forty-eighth.— 7%c Effects of

bad Company. ^

1. The moon was shining on a clear cold night, an
it was near ten o'clock, and all the children of th
village of Newton, except one, were in bed, and asleep

2* That one, whose name was Frank Lawless, wa
above three miles from home, weeping with pain an
fear, alone, forlorn, cold, and wretched, with no she]
ter but a leafless hedge, and no seat but a hard stone
while his father and mother were running wildly abov
the fields and lanes, not knowing what had become o
their naughty boy.

3. Fiflmk Lawless had been playing truant that dzy
and was met by his father with a number of bad boyi
to whom he ought not at any time to have spoken.

4. They were the children of bad men, and mos
likely they had never been taught what was right
so that if they said wicked words, told lies, and too
things which did not belong to them, one could scarcel
wonder at it ; biit that Frank Lawless, who had th
means of knowing the value of good conduct an
good manners, should choose such boys for his friend

and playfellows^ was indeed mo&l e\x^xv^.
ff. Yet thus it was; their s\vo\x^itv^A^^\^^V«
raJgrar mirth pleased Frank. TYiey \i^ ^^ ^ ^

THIBO-CLABS ftSADBB. 01

share of cunning, and found the way to manage hiniy
80 as to get from him what they wanted to have.

6. When they told Frank that he was very hand-
some and very clever, and tliat it was a shame so fine
a boy should be forced to go to school, if he did not
like it, he was silly enough to be pleased, and gave
them in return his playthings and his money.

7. Nay, he would even take sugar, cakes, fruit, and
sweetmeats, from his mother's store-room, to bestow
on those ill-chosen friends ; and their false pretence
of love for him, made him quite careless of gaining
the real love of his father and mother.

8. On meeting his son in the midstof these wick.
ed children, Mr. Lawless was very angry, and taking
him home by force, he gave him a severe reproof,
and then locked him up in his chamber.

0. Frank, who had lately grown very sullen and
froward, was far from being sorry for his fault, and
said to himself, that his father was both cross and
cruel, and wished to prevent his being happy.

10. With tliese wicked thoughts in his head, he
began to contrive how to make his escape ; and the
window not being very high above the ground, and
having a vine growing up to it, whose branches would
serve as a sort of ladder, he got out, reached the
ground, and passing unseen through the garden-gate,
ran wiUi all his speed till he came up to the boys, who
were still at the cruel sport of robbing birds'-nests, in
the lane where he had left them.

11. But he did not seem half as welcome to them
now as in the morning, when he had brought a pocket
fuU of apples ; and as he said he was come to live
with them, and should never go home again, their
manner was quite changed.

12. One took away liis hal, wad wvQ?&v«t VJa ^v^s?k^*
They cut eticka to make a bon^te^ ^xA \vw\x\% >g^- "^

greMt pile, they made Frank casty VU

TBIRD-CLASI RBADCt.

I. The weight was too much for him, and wh
et it fall, they gave him hard words aud still hard
998. He now began to find,that the service of t

;ked is by no means so easy, as to obey the coi

nds of the good.

XIX. Lesson Forty-ninth. — 7%c rest of the $m

Story.

1 . While Frank Lawless was toiling under his heai
load of sticks, the boys were laying a plan to rob ]
orchard. It was the autumn season of the year^ m
all the fruit of the orchard was gone, except the pea
of one tree, which, as it stood very near the dwellin
house of the owner of the orchard, these boys h
been afraid to climb.

2. Now, having Frank Lawless in their power, th
thought of making him, in the dusk of the evenii
commit the ^eft, and run all the hazard, while tl
staid in safety by the hedge, ready to receive the stc
fruit.

3. Frank, dreading what might happen to hir
the daring attempt, begged and prayed them nc
force him there ; but he had made himself a sla^
hard taskmasters, and they cuffed and kicked hitr
to escape from their hands, he climbed the tree.

4. Scarcely had Frank pulled half a dozen
when his false friends heard the farmer who >
the orchard, come singing up the lane ; and, t
themselves from being thought to have any c
with it, they began to pelt Frank with stones, •
aloud — " See ! see ! there is a boy robbing
/Frig'ht^i pear-tree^

6. Frank got down as Q\i\cV\y ^\v^ ^^qxM
iBfooa enough to escape the axvfgnf l^xuv^t,
*^ 8 most severe hoiMwYii^^ui^^ vjXv^e

THIRD-CLASS READSR. 09

had brought him into this sad scrape, stood laughing,
hooting, and clapping their hands*

6. It was useless to try to excuse himself; he had
been seen in the tree, the pears were found in liis
pocket, and tlie farmer, after whipping him without
mercy, pushed him out of the orchard, and bid him
begone.

7. Smarting now with pain, and almost blinded by
his tears, he ran to get away from the false and cruel
boys, who were making sport of what they had
caused him to suffer, when one, still more wicked
than the rest, threw a great stone after him, whicht
hittjng his anklebone, gave him such exquisite torture,
thai he sunk on the ground, not able to proceed a step
fiirther.

8. The boys made off in alarm at what they had
done, and Frank, in terror and in pain, sat sobbing on
a stone, till he was found by his father, who had been
searching for him in the greatest distress.

9. His father took him .home, warmed and fed him,
and healed his bruises, though, after such extremely
bad ^oduct, he could not esteem and caress him like
a good ehild.

10. It was happy for Frank Lawless that he took
the warning of Uiat day. He had gained nothing but
shame, pain, and sorrow by his choice of wicked
friends, and from that time he chose with more wisdom.

11. Good conduct brought him back to his father's
favor, and now, at ten o'clock at night, when the
moon and stars were shining in the sky, and the air
was cold and frosty, Frank Lawless was always snug
in bed, like the rest of the good children of the little
village of Newton.

04 THIRD-OLAiS RBADKC

L. Lessox Fiftieth. — Slory of Mr^ Eoaa Cox and

the Bear.

1. I WILL tell you a story which I have just read.
It is related by Mr. Ross Cox, who spent some time
amongst the Indian tribes near the Rocky Mountains,
and whose account of his adventures I am sure you
will like to read, when you are older.

2. On one occasion it happened, that havrng been
very much fatigued by travelling for many hours UQ(ler
a very hot sun, he sat down to rest, and to eat some
wild cherries in a beautiful arbor, formed by the #]ld
cherry-trees and currant-bushes, and sumachs, and ho*
neysuckles, wild roses, and hawthorn. In the eoci

Sleasant shade he fell asleep, and did not wake from
is long nap, till late in the afternoon.

3. He had travelled with the party, and had, in the
course of the morning, given his gun to one of his attend*
ants to carry, and had placed his great coat on one of
the loaded horses, which was a serious loss to him,
now evening was coming on; for in that latilvde,
though it is very hot when the sun is high, the nightf
are very cold and piercing.

4. He started from his soft mossy seat, he lopked
about, all were gone ; he listened, all was silent |]m^
ran to the place where they had made a fire, to cotA
their provisions when they first rested ; he called till he
was hoarse, but no one answered.

5. I suppose his companions had imagined he wan
gone forwards, and had set out to overtake him. So
there he was, alone in a wild country, with bears,
lynxes, wolves, and rattlesnakes in the woods around
JjJm, and he without a gun, a coat, or even a hat, for he

Aaci left this behind him m iW ^x\iot, ^w^%>K^ Vss^va^^
to overtake his friends, Vie 'woxsXii xlqX Vsaa >^\aA>aBk.
^oing back to fetch it.

TBIRD-CLASS READER. 05

6. He traced the footsteps of the horses as long as
he could, but, at last, these were lost in a gravelly and
rocky chain of hills ; and night came on ivhile he waa
in this deserted situation.

7. A fortnight passed away before he n^et with his
companions again ; and many curiouai» '^nd some of
them frightful adventures, happened to Wsn during his
wanderings.

8. One night, on looking about for a place to sleep
in, he observed lying on the ground the hollow trunk
of a large pine-tree, which had been destroyed by
iid|itning. He got into this snug cradle, and covering
himself up with loose pieces of bark, quickly fell
asleep.

9. At the end of about two hours, he was awakened
by the growling of a bear, which had removed part of
his bark cotmterpane, and was leaning over him with
his snout, as if considering how to get him out of his
pine-tree case.

10. ITp jumped Mr. Cox, seized his stout stick,
which he had taken care to provide himself with, as he
had ih gun, and shouting as loud as he could, he
startled the bear so much, that it went off to a short dis-
tance ;. there it stopped, waited a bit, took fresh cou«
ragOt and returned again to the attack.

, 11. As Mr. Cox felt very weak, from having been,
for many days fed only on what wild fruits and ber-
ries he could find, and having suffered very much
from want of water to drink, he thought it most pru-
dent, not to wait to grapple with the enemy, but rather
to try to escape.

12. So away he ran, and scrambled up the nearest
tree. Up clambered Bruin after him ; but Mr. Cox got
to a branch, which I suppose was not strong enough
for the bear to venture on ; so \.\\«tft «?ws?3^^ '^^ ^^^-^
genUeman, striking as hard «b \ve cwXCl \j\>5cv Vv^^nn^
Mi the bear'8 muzzle and cUwe, laa >2aft «»^N.xa» ^^^

96 THIRD-CLAfS UBADER.

them by turns forward to try to reach him* till at last
it went growling away, and where do you think it set-
tled itself for the night ? Actually in the very pine-tree
crib, which Mr. Cox had been obliged to jump out of
and it kept a close watch on the prisoner in the tree.

13. Every time Mr. Cox tried to creep down, up
started the bear, ready to seize on him ; and he passed
the night not very comfortably, peeping out on his
enemy from the tree, and yet scarcely able to keep
awake from fatigu^^

14. In the morning, just afler sunrise, think how re-
joiced he must h& ..^een, to see the shaggy beast jog
slowly off, to seek for his morning's meal ; and jrou
may easily suppose he lost as little time as possible,
as soon as the bear was fairly out of sight, in making
his escape in a quite contrary direction.

15. Mr. Cox gives a sad history, of the wars be-
tween the different Indian tribes, on account of Amt
love of buffalo flesh, which is beef to them— •yoa
know, that the buffalo is an animal of the ox kind.

16. There are, he says, extensive plains to tly east-
ward of the mountains, where great herds of badBaloes
come to feed, during the summer and autumn months.
The Indians watch this opportunity to hunt them, that
they may dry their flesh for provision in the winter
months, and make war on each other's possession of th0
hunting grounds.

LL Lsssoi^ Fifty-first. — 7%e Stork found in bad

Company*

1. A STORK happened to fall into company with a
ffock of wild seese, who wexe ^oyw^ tA feed upon the
new-sown gram of a farmex.
• 2. Although he luid no desveci \o ^^sNa^ift ^^ '^c^ ^^s«^
Which they were seeking, anA Via^ ^ «^«^^ \ioxx^x ^'

«iioh a piece of roguery as stealing the fanner*! gt^
and destroying his hopes of a harrest ; yet he wu
wwk uid iboUsh enough, to accompany these thieves
in'dieir excursion, just foi the rake of their, com-
pany.

3. Bntbadcompauyisagreatdealworaethannone,
and BO the poor stork learnt to his cost ; for he had
hardly alighted, with his new friends, in the field,
when a net was thrown over him by the fimuiii, and

^^ha ibnnd himself a prisoner.

4. The stork pleaded hard for hia life, and, among
other aigamenta, alleged that he was no goose, and
had token no part in the thetl ; but he was a poor
harmleiis stork, who, as all the world knew, had

> always been friendly to mankind, and serviceable
to them in picking op nozious reptiles; and was,
moreovei a pattern of duty and affection to fab aged
parents. -

& "AS this may be true," saVi ftve Wm«,'-"'V«
augbt I know ; but I doubt it mwii^ , «ii. »» V '™=^
toiea you ia society with ihiewa, y«»i tom^ «»»* ^

98 THIRD-CLASS READER.

same fate with them." People, now-a-days, are known
by tlie company they keep, and are dealt with accord-
ingly.

6. So the poor stork was strangled with the geese,
and thus paid the penalty, as many persons have done
since, of a thoughtless association with evil compa-
nions.

LII. Lesson Fifty-second.— Go W and Silver,

1. Gold is usually placed first in the list of metals,
and has by almost all nations, in all ages, been con-
sidered the most valuable of them all. It is difficult
to find a sufficient reason for this preference. Gold
is, as we know, not by any means the most useful of
them ; nevertheless, it has some peculiar properties,
which, perhaps, with its beautiful color, have contri>
buted to raise its value.

2. Jt is the most ductile of all metals, and of all
substances whatever ; that is, the most pliant, flexible^
and capable of being drawn out, or spread out withoui
breaking.

3. Now remember what I am about to tell yon >-«
a single pound of gold may be drawn into a wire lone
enough to go round the globe ! It may be hammered i
into leaves, that are forty times thinner than common
writing paper. You see, therefore, of what astonish-
ingly tine particles gold consists.

4. This quality of extreme ductilifyfin^ikesSi pos-
sible to gild a very large surface with a very little gold, i
Articles that are thus covered, as picture-frames and |
watch-cases, have the rich and splendid hue of gold

itself, and that with comparatively trifling cost.
^. Another valuable quaVwy o^ ^o\^ *v&^ ^-aX \x ^'j^^'^
not rt/s/. You know, a piece oi '\iotv, ^x «.Nfc^^\tfs^-
^er brightly polished, if exposed ^ot «3k^ \«a:eia. ^1

THIlUKCLAflS REA0XB. W

time to damp air, will become red and rough, and in
time would be almost consumed by the mere effect of
moisture ; but a gold wire, thinner than a hair, would
remain uninjured in any climate.

6. Gold is found chiefly in countries where it is
always warm. In certain parts of Africa it is found
in small grains, mixed with the sand of rivers. They
take a quantity of this sand and mix it with water,
when the gold, by its own weight, sinks to the hot*
torn ; thus, by repeated cleansings, they get rid of the
sand entirely.

7. But gold, like other metals, is, in general, pro-
cared from deep pits, or rather caverns, dug in the
earth, called mines. You must not, however, suppose
that the miners find it in bars, or in lumps, all bright
and shining, ready to their hand.

8. The substance from which it is procured is called
arit and so little does it resemble the gold it containSy
that if you were to dig in your garden and find a gold
mine, Uiat is, a mine of gold ore, I am sure you would
not guess, from its appearance, that you had found a
treasure.

9. Ore, 'in general, is a dark-looking, stony sort
of a thing, rough, shapeless, and heavy, according to
the metal which is in it. The ore is put into furnaces,
and after a vast deal of trouble, they succeed in obtain-
ing from a great quantity of oro, a small quantity of gold.

10. But the trouble does not end there. Gold,
when produced pure from the ore, or as nearly pure
as they can get it, is so soft as to be unfit even to
make money of; it must therefore be mixed with
another metal (usually copper) to make it fit to be

^ handled. This added substance is called alloy,

1 1. Gold is heavier than any other metal b^l ^(cXv
/la, which ia not often to be mel viVi^> ^a \\. \* \s««^

cured only in yery small quantiuea, «iAiQit ^«?toi^

100 THIHD-CLAM KKABBK.

12. What has been said of gold may be said of sil*
▼er, nearly ; it is beaatifully white, and takes a fine
polish. Silver, as well as gold, is not liable to mst
from the air, and may, by its ductility 9 be extended in
wonderfully fine leaves and wires ; but not to the same
degree as gold. It is heavier than iron or copper, but
not so heavy as lead.

13. When the Spaniards took possession of the
various provinces in America, they had the fortune to
discover the richest gold and silver mines in the world.
The quantity of silver obtained by them from Mexico
and Peru has been prodigious.

14. I said that metals are usually found in a state
of ore : but in some mountains of the New World,
silver is so abundant as to lie in veins, like the roctti
of trees, solid, and nearly pure.

15. It is said that a famous silver mine was once
accidentally found out,by a man climbing the steep side
of a rugged mountain, in doing which he stumbled,
and catching hold of a bush, his weight tore it from
the roots, when he perceived something white under-
neath : this proved to be a heavy piece of actual
silver !

16. But the riches, thus obtained by Spain,have done
tliat country more harm than good, and have gradually
debased the ancient character of the nation, by rendei^
ing them luxurious and indolent. A bag of money
would be a bag of mischief, to all those who know not
the right use of it.

17. Many parts of our own country, have lately
been found to yield gold in considerable quantities,
80 that a great deal is procured every year. I hope
thattlie riches of these gold regions, may not be tlie

means of corruption and debasement, to their owners
Bnd to the country.

THIHD-CLAaB HSAVBB. 101

Lin. Lesson Fifty-third, — Copper.

L Copper resembles gold a little in color and in doc*
tility, but in nothing else ; it is easily tarnished^ or
discolored, and if polished ever so well, soon be*
comes green and foul by exposure to the air. The
green rust of copper is called verdigris^ and is a
most deadly poison.

2. Copper has many useful qualities : it is much
lighter than lead, and as it rusts but slowly, and only
the surface, it is sometimes used for roofing buildings ;
but it is much more expensive.

3. It is harder and more ductile than lead : it may
be hammered into plates of almost any shape ; but
this property of enduring the hammer, without break-
ing, is termed malleability ; ductility is the quality
of being drawn out without blows. A piece of cop-
per, the size of a cent, may be beaten almost into the
shape of a hollow globe : this capability makes cop-
per particularly useful for vessels of dimdult forms.

4. Copper has long been used in the acts for the
purposes of engraving. You know, I suppose, that
the prints put in frames, and inserted in books, are not
drawn upon the paper ; they are engraved upon metal
plates.

5. AAerwards these plates are rubbed all over, with
a kind of oily ink like black paint; when this is
wiped off the surface, there is still a quantity remain- '
ing in the engraved parts; the paper, therefore, is
said over the plate, and botli together are rolled through
a very tight press.

6. The paper is then taken off, and there is your
print. Thousands of prints may be taken from one
engraved plate ; by which meaTia> "^om ^^^^\iw^^ ^>^

prints may be had for comparaXiNeV^XvV^'&TwaoK^^'^Nw^
plates are now very frequeivily \ui&&..

lot fttlRO-CLAn RXABSR.

- 7. But there is another use to which this metal is
applied, that we must not forget; little articles are
made with it, as with gold and silver, which, like
** Aladdin's Wonderful Lamp," are the most convenient
things in the world, for procuring us what we wish
for — you know that I mean money.

8. These metals being so different in value, serve
admirably well for various sums of money. Gold
would not do to make dimes of, nor silver to tnake
cents ; for a dime's worth of gold, and a cent's worth
of silver, would be no bigger than a spangle. Again,
copper would not do to make dimes and eagles— -a
copper dime would be as big as a snuff-box, and a
copper eagle would be like a large cheese in a man's
pocket ! The reason then is evident why small sums
are made of cheap metal, and larger sums of that
which is more expensive.

LIV. Lesson Fifty-fourth. — 77ie Uses of Iron*

1. Iron, as I have before hinted, is the most useful
of all metals : it has not, indeed, the beauty of color,
nor the fineness of quality which gold and silver have,
and it is, more than any metal, subject to injury from
rust. Large rods of iron are sometimes eaten com-
pletely through by the action of air and moisture.

2. To prove the usefulness of iron, let us think a
little. It is cold weather, and I will suppose you sit-
ting by the fireside, in a comfortable room, containing
the usual articles of furniture. Now we will take
them one by one, and send every thing ati^ay, which |
eould not have been procured, if there had been no
$r{?ii in the world*

3. 7^e fire-place, — ^Hcre are ^fi^NAxowt>\«s^^>gt^^^
iron instruments for stirring t\ie fkxft ^ox «\ft^ H^ Vtwi
hardfinf^d) J then there is a bx^a, ot «.\»^ toA«t^^

THIBD-OLAM BKiDM. 101

marble chimney-piece, and a chimney-glass above it :
mH these must be dispensed with.

4. " But, perhaps,'* say you, "we can have a stove
made of copper or brass ; and as for the fender, tliat
is brass, so we may certainly keep that ; and I am
sure that the marble chimney-piece and ^e looking-
glass, they are not made of iron, so you shall not
move them, sir."

5. But indeed I must, sir. Let us see: marble
is split off the quarry by iron instruments ; it is raised
in huge blocks, from thence, by the help of iron en-
gines ; it is conveyed either in ships or carriages,
which, without iron, would drop to pieces ; it is then
sawn with an iron saw ; it is chiseUed and fitted with
an iron tool !

6. And now, where would your marble chimney-
piece have been -without iron t» , Why, in the quarry.
No metal but iron would have been competent to ob-
tain it.

7. The same may be said of the looking-glass ;
which, although not made of iron, is constnicted by
the help of instruments which, in a multitude of in-
stances that would be tedious to mention, are employed
in its formation. Besides, the mineral substances of
which glass itself is made, as well as the quicksilver
behind it, were locked up in th0:^wels of the earth
originally, and nothing but hardjnm was used to dig
them out.

' 8. Your iron stove, you say, might be replaced by
come other metal ; but, yon see, other metals could
not be obtained without the help of our constant
friend, iron ; which being found in quantities, almost,
or quite at the surface of the ground, comes easily
and needfully to hand, for working mines of all depths.
Vf'uhont iron I am afraid you cow\d. \\«vft Ti^ ^\ssh^ vx

all; but must make a fire aa tke «ax^<&» ^^-i ^"^ ^^

bare earth.

104 TBIRD-OLABS BBADBB*

0. After this, you will not be sarprisod to lean
that the chair you sit in, the table you dine upon, the
carpet, nay, the boards of the floor; ay, and the
walls and ceiling of the room, and the house itself,
were each made and formed by the incessant aid of
iron, either as tools or materials, without which they
oould not have been produced ; so that, unless you
will consent to be indebted to hard and homely irofir
you must really turn out, and liye in a wood, like a
New Zealander, or an Indian.

10. The grand difference, between iron and all other
metals, is its superior hardness ; and it is capable, by
a particular process, of being made into steel, which
is so extremely hard, that it. can cut almost any sub-
stance in nature, but the. diamond.

11. Copper, which if the^ardeeit metal next to iron,
would not form an eig^ Ibr a tool, that would last even

; for cutting wood. A lilver knife will not cut meatt
and is therefore furnished with an edge of steel, to
make it serviceable at table.

L
k i

LV. Lesson Fifty-fifth.— iWore of the Uses of

Iron.

1. There is a (jaality, yet unmentioned, belonging
to iron, called magnetism, which is indeed a most
admirable and unaccountable property.

2. A slender piece of iron, no bigger than a needle,
when touched by the magnet or loadstone, acquires
the power of turning itself, when properly balanced,
so as to point out the north and south in adl parts of
the world. By the direction of this mysterious guide,

manners can steer their course with certainty to any
po/nt of the globe,

3' Before the mariner^ s comp^a \ii%a ^^«&«e»^^>'^^
9tars, or the shore, were ihe onVy \xxxa\. ^l ^^ v^^"^

THUID-0LA88 RSASBm. 109

and if these were, hidden, his utmost skill in navigating
his vessel availed him nothing.

4. Most amusing experiments may be pftrformed
with a common magnet^ and a paper with irou filings
sprinkled over it, which, as the magnet is moved be-
neath, will assume the most beautiful feathery forms.

5. I am not sure, that we ought to call magnetic at-
traction more wonderful, than the attraction of gravity-.
it excites our attention more, because it chiefly belongs
to iron and the loadstone, but the attraction of gravity
is common to all bodies with which we are acquainted.
Both, however, are far beyond the reach of human
reason : we can observe the effects of each, but ws
know nothing of the cause.

6. We must add to all the j||nable qualities of iron
that have been mentioned, tt^Biso, that it is ^of the
nUnost use as a medicine, ^^plst metals in general

are m^ or less poisonous, ^W that is, a preparation
of it, m powder or liquids, iiMpe finest restorative in
nature in certain cases.

7. There are, in various parts of the world, medi-
cinal springs, which derive their virtues and their
name (chalybeate waters) from the iron contained in
them. Chalybs is the Latin for hard iron, or steel.

8. You see now, I hope, that iron is a more valu-
able metdl, strictly speaking, than silver or gold,
fiemg, however, very abundant^ it is low in price ; it
is well indeed that it is so.

9. It is a fact worth remembering, that some of the
South American Indians, who from Europeans had
found out its use, would exchange, for very small
pieces of iron, great lumps of gold with the utmost
eagerness. With them, you see, the case was re-
versed — they had plenty of gold, but no iron of their
own ; iron with |lgcn was the pxedoM^ \xv^\s^.

10. How careSlly, then> Yiaa Gto^ y^qssK^^ ^^^
meDyin iuriiishing such pleutiM TDaXetvsa^a^QJo.^'^

106 THIRD-GLASS READER.

to exercise their mental and bodily powers ! Exten-
sively upcful as iron is, there are purposes for which
other metals are wanted ; others are therefore supplied
to suit all occasions which men may hare, or thiuk
they have.

LVI. Lesson Fifty-sixth,— 77*c Old Horse,

1. No, children, he shall not be sold ;

Go lead him home, and dry your tears ;
'Tis true, he's blind, and lame, and old.
But he has served us twenty years I

2. Well has he served us— gentle, strong,

And willing dflbgh life's varied stage ;
And having toil^Br us so long,

We will protJ^Him in his age. m

8. Our debt of gratitude to pay,
His faithful merits to requite.
His play-ground be the heath by day
A shed shall shelter him at night.

4« In comfort he shall end his days ;
And when I next to market go,
I'll cut across the shortest ways,
And set out earlier home, you know

5. A life of labor was his lot ;

He always tried to do his best :
Poor fellow ! now we'll gnidge thee not
A little liberty and rest.

ff. Go then, old friend ; thy future fate

To range the heal\\, fTotaVi«me«itefc\
And just below the cottage g^\ft^
i'U go and build a shed fot X^^e.

TSIXS^UUB

LTn.9iEgfioK FiFTT-BBVENra.— 7%e Eagle and tht
Crow.

1. The eagle is held to be the king of birds. It ia

impossible to imagine any thing in the form of a bird
■more beautiful than be is, His beauty does not con-

eist in gaudy colors, like the jay's, nor in a huge tail,
■ like the peacock's, which, though nature has painted

it with an exquisite pencil, must, after all, he allowed
. to be somewhat dispro portioned and monstrous.

2. The colors of the eagle are a deep and tawnf
brown, mottled like those of the partridge, sober, yet
highly gratifying to the eye. His form is made for
vtrength and action. Uis eye is lively nnd pierc-
ing ; and the sight of it is so strong, that it is said, he
can gaze, without blenching at the brightest rays of ifat
noontide sun.

3. The eagle boOds his neal iti fce uto.^ cS. *»
roek. It banga over the sea, andTem^t\*"avvi«»'««^e»

by the moet iiirioug tempesbi. He tt «■ ^m*^ '^''^ V*""

108 TRIRD-CLAM RBAOBR

and his scream is terrible, to such animals as he is ae-
customed to devour. He feeds upon seq)ents, hartSt
hapcs, and various other animals, which he discems
from an immense distance, pounces upon them from his
elevation in the. sky, and carries them away in his
talons.

4. A hungry eagle gazed from a distance upon a
flock of sheep. "With his eye he singled a lamb from
the number, and flapping his wings, came down with
immense swiftness, seized the poor animal with his
talons, and flew away with him through the air.

5. A crow, who beheld every thing that passed, was
filled with admiration at the action of the eagle. He
thought he would do the same, and show himself a
bird of spirit. He imitated the king of birds^in the
sweep he had seen him take, and then lighted upon
the back of the old bell-wc*her of the flock. ^

6. Determined to do the business as compflbly as
he could, he entangled his feet thoroughly in the fleece
of the ram, and then spread his wings to fly away
with him. He might as well have thought to fly away
with the city of London.

7. The shepherd reniark3d his situation. . He was
exceedingly sorry for the loss of the lamb, that the
eagle had carried off, but he was not at all apprehen-
sive of what the crow would do. He took him in his
hand, disentangled his claws from the back of the ram,
clipped his wings, and turned him into the garden for

' the amusement of his children.

8. There happened to be a magpy changing in a
cage by the garden wall. He looked at the crow, and
said, as the shepherd's children had taught him to do»
" What bird are you ?" The crow could not speak,
but he hung down his head, and thought to himself,
'*A very Jittle while ago 1 mVaXooV. xK<}v^t»t

eagle, but I now find I am a ^cty %\\\7 ctwn^^

THIRD-CLASS READER. 100

l«Vin. Lesson Fifty-eighth. — Thanksgiving Day.

1. When I was young and very gay,
Oh ! how I loved thanksgiving day !
Brother and I would dance about,
And join in many a noisy shout.

2* O ! never, never pie can be

Good as my mother made for me ;
Then James and I, a loving span,
Ate from the selfsame patty-pan.

3. Of me the rogue toolii special care,
But never failed to have his share :
Sometimes I thought his mouthful large.
And he'd deny the jealous^harge.

4. And then, perchance, some slight affray
Would damp the pleasures of the day ;
But he was g6ntle, good, and mild.
And I was a forgiving child.

5. A smile and kiss would ** make all well,'*
And we would funny stories tell.
While puss jumped round the sleepy dog,
And gave him now and then a jog.

6. And when, at eve, we played "jack-straw,**
She'd plague us too with saucy paw ;

And mother laughed, and father too, '
*ro see the mischief she would do.

7» My mother's dead, and ne'er again . .

Can I be gay as I was then ;
But welcome to thanksgiving day,
, Though I BO more shall shovxl ^.tiOl ^^ \
If others' joy I still can see,
- Thai shadl be happiness for me.

110 THiRD-CLAflf srumtu

I AX. Lesson Fifty-ninth. — The Voice of Sprin^

1. I AM coming, little maiden !

* AVith the pleasant sunshine laden;
With tlie honey for the bee ;
With the blossom' for the tree ;
With the flower and with the leaf;
Till I come the time is brief.

2. I am coming, I ^m coming !
Hark the litUe bee is humming i
See, the lark is seeing high

In the bright and sunny sky ;
And tiie gnats are on the wing ;
Ijittle maiden, now is spring !

3. See the yellow catkins cover
All the slender willows over ;
And on mossy banks so green.
Starlike primroses are seen ;
Every little stream is bright ;
All the orchard trees are white.

4. Hnrk ! the little lambs are bleating ;
And the cawing rooks are meeting
In the elms, a noisy crowd ;

And all birds are singing loud ;
And the first white butterfly
In the sun goes flitting by.

ft. Turn thy eyes to earth and heaven !
God for thee the spring has given,
Tauffht the birds their melodies.
Clothed the ear\h, ^nii ^\e<Ki^^ ^^ ^v^^
For tliy pleasMxe oi \3k\^ ^wA^ —
Pour thy soul in graNiXwA^^

TKIU>-CL*9B READXn.

LX. Lesson Sixtieth. — The Countryman and the
Snake.

1. There was once a poor man, but he was very
fooil-natured, and would never pass by any creature
in d is tress, williout trying to assist it. This made him
many friends ; even the dogs, and the cats, and llio
coWB, and the sheep, knew ilie good-natured man, and
gave him marks of their attachment ; and the robin-
redbreasts (for the country wliere he lived, tliough
hotter thai* New England, was soraelimes covered witli
enow, I believe it was Italy) wouUl come to his win-
dow, and eat up the crumbs that be scattered for
Ihem.

2, It is seldom that yon can be wrong in doing an act
of kindness. Once, however, lliis poor man went too
far, and had like lo have repented of his kindness. I
would relieve a naughty boy, who was a notorious liar
ortiiief, i// saw iiiin starving ; bul\wo'Ai"cvA\a!*.'i\\s.^
lo lire in my house, or make liitQ my \iOftQ'n\ ^wi^Si..

A It bappmM to be a -very anovi'S Aa-j, «s^ *■'

1 12 THIRD-CLASe BEADSm.

wind seemed to cut sharp like a knife, when this poor
man came home to his dinner. In one corner of a
field, as he hastened along, he spied an adder, that
seemed almost frozen to death. Thgugh he was in a
liurry to get to the shelter of his own hovel, and his
fireside, and his fingers were all numbed with the
cold, he could not bear to think of leaving this poor
creature behind him, in so miserable a condition.

4. He turned it over; it was quite stiff, and ili eyes
were shut; he began to believe that it was dead.
Once, however, as he touched il, iie perceived that
it moved. He unbuttoned his coat, and put it in his
bosom, that it might get waun there. I am afraid, if
the adder had fully racovered in that place, it would
perhaps have stung its benefactor to the heart.

5. When the poor man got home, he took out the
adder, and saw that it was a little better ; it half opened
its sparkling eyes. He laid it on the hearth, and told
his children what he had done ; they gathered roiMd
and admired tlie varied colors of the creature, as
the fire had sparkled and blazed, the adder got stronger
and stronger. ^

6. For a considerable time, however, it lay perfectly
stiU ; when, on a sudden, it started up in full strength,
reared its serpent head, flew about the kitchen from
one end to the other, and hissed most terribly. The
children screamed and shrieked; the bigger ones
leaped upon the tables and chairs ; and at last, the ve-
nomous beast seemed to dart at one of them, and in a
moment longer would have stung it to death,

7. The poor man was so terrified, that he hardly*
knew what to do ^ but seizing a stick, he struck the
adder on the head, and laid it . dead at his feet : a fit

return for the creature, who behaved so ill to the man
that had saved its life.
8, The good-natured maxv \^«me^ ^ njV^^ Va»ss
'^^m thU adventure : he saw \vo\n vovxrV xwaOvvvssS.'

TH1RD-0LA8S RBA91R. 118

had nearly brought upon l/imself by a kindness that
paid no attention to the different qualities of living
creatures ; and he took care, from that time forth, not
to treat with particular marks of favor any one of
whose character he was entirely ignorant.

9. The only thing that puzzles me in this story is
ihe behavior of the adder. It is contrary to the nature
of all animals ; for I have found it almost an universal
rule, Ibat animals are sensible of kindness, and grate-
ful for favors received.

LXI. Lesson Sixty-first. — All is for the Best,

1. " What an unlucky boy I am !" said Edmond,
running towards his papa, whom he had been seeking
mil over the house and gardens. *' My grandmamma
has changed her mind about going to my uncle's ; and,
instead of taking me with her to spend a fortnight at
his house, when I had set my heart upon it, I must
content myself at home, she says, and wait for another
opportunity ! Every thing goes wrong with me ! —
It was but last week, that the pigs got into my little
garden, and destroyed every thing in it !"

2. •' Stop ! stop !" interrupted his papa. •* Before
you complain of your evil destiny, recollect, that if
you had not heard the pigs in your garden, and ran in
haste to drive them out of it, you would not have seen
your little brother, whom you seized by the arm on
the very edge of the pond, and who, in another mo-
ment, would probably have fallen into it, and would
have been drowned, before any of the family had
missed him. It is not impossible that you may
have cause to rejoice, some time hence, at what now
appears to you such a mighty d\sa\>^oSxvVK\^w\,^

3. Hia papaya ivtmk*were soow Net\^^\\ ^w t^^^
more than ten days had elapsed aJvet Onia \io\XH«t«a2fltV3f

114 THIRD-CLASS READER.

when they received a letter, which filkd ihem with
tlie severest affliction.

4. A servant, belonging to his uncle, had caught a
dreadful putrid sore throat and fever, of which he
died almost immediately, and which had infected the

« whole family. Edmond heard, with the utmost grief,
that one of his cousins was no more, and that the
other laid in so dangerous a state, that his life was
despaired of; and he did not fail to offer his unfeigried
thanks to God, for having preserved him from the dan-
ger to which he would have been exposed, if his
grandmother had not suddenly changed her intention
of going to his uncle's. He determined, also, that he
would never, in future, complain of any trifling dis-
appointments he might chance to meet with, nor fiad
fault, as he had too often done, with the arrangements
of Providence.

5. Edmond, in the long walks he took with his
papa, often met with things which appeared to him
very strange, and which (notwithstanding the resolution
he had made, and the rule he had laid down never to
find fault) made him thoughtful, and wish to know why
they were permitted.

6. An old man, who was universally esteemed in
the village, had been involved in perplexity and trou-
ble, as it appeared to him, very unjustly. He was
tenant to a rich man, and had been long and comfort-
ably settled in a prosperous way, in a little farm*
which lay in a fertile and beautiful valley belonging to
liis large estate.

7. 'i'he rich man was hard-hearted and revengeful ;
and, taking a dislike to poor old Davis on some trifling
occasion, had turned him out S^ the farm at so short a
/lotjce, ihut he had the utmost difficulty to find a place

to Uike s/ieJter in.
S. He Lad a great dea\ o^ VroxCcAe vsv ^^\cvwvw^Vv8i
•^itlt^ and Jiis poultry, VAs coiix vitv^ \v» V^^'-'SMi^s

THItd>-eLA88 RSADEft. 115

and every thing belonging to his farm ; and said, he
was sure it would be a couple of years, before he should
be able to recover the expense and loss of time : and
£dniond, who never went into the village without pay-
ing him a visit, and loved to chat with him and his
old dame, never heard them talk of it,without thinking
it was, at least, a pity^ that he had met with so great a
misfortune.

9. The winter was very severe, the snow fell fast,
it was deep, and lay very long on the ground. Davis
was obliged to take his cattle in, from the fields, and
feed them entirely on hay ; his poultry required the
utmost care and attention, and every thing in his gar-
den was in danger of perishing.

10. " This is a sad winter for poor old Davis,**
fludd Edmond to his papa ; ** I am afraid it will put
him another year behindhand ; I wish he had not been
driven from that flourishing farm in the valley."

11. "I wish so too," replied his papa, " if it would
have been more for his good to have remained there-—
but God knows best !"

12. The spring returned, the snow melted, torrents
of water fell from the hills — the brooks swelled, and
overflowed the meadows — every thing was inundated :
the farm in the valley was entirely destroyed, and all
the cattle, with which the rich man had stocked iU
were drowned.

13. Davis, on his hill, had felt the sharpness and
biting frosts of winter ; be had heard the wind roar
and the rain beat against his casement : but when the
snow melted he found no ill eflects from it, but turned
out his cattle, which he had sheltered whilst it lay on
the ground, to feast on the fresh herbage which had
been preserved under it.

14. "J perceive, now," said "Edmotv^, *''' ^^\.\\saj^^
been once more mistaken ; and iWaI, 'rftsX^^^ ^^ ''iijAx^-

ing Davis an object of pity, 1 sViouV^ VioV xi.^^^ "^kvss

118 THDUMSLABf RB AD^R.

as a fortunate man. If he had remained in the valley,
his whole property would have been destroyed, and
he would have been a beggar : now he has but to be
doubly attentive to his labor, and he will soon recover
tlie expense of his removal : he will then be just as
well as he was, and he might this day have been
without a morsel of bread, or a shilling to purchase
one."i

LXII. Lesson Sixty-second. — TFild Beasts.

1. There are great numbers of wild beasts ; lions,
tigers, leopards, panthers, wolves, and others.

2. They have great strong claws, monstrous teeth,
and are so fierce that they can tear a man to pieces in
an instant. Now had they be^n among^ us like tlie
flocks and herds, what havoc would they have made
in the world !

3. We should not have dared to go out of doors.
The cows, sheep, and horses, would have been a con-
stant prey to them : but there are none here ; they
avoid the habitations of men, and range the forests and
deserts far from our abodes.

4. As their skins make very comfortable clothing
for people who live in cold countries, the hunters fre-
quently pursue them ; for as there are seldom many
wild beasts together, and there are usually a number
of hunters, who provide themselves with proper weap
pons, they frequently get the better of them.

5. Sometimes they arc caught alive when they are
young, and shown about as curiosities ; and those who
look after them, have a way of managing sa as to cure
them in a great measure of their fierceness : there is

no beast whatever so fierce W\ Vx xsva:^ \^^ tamed or
subdued by men.
6» I have seen several aoi\»» ^^t>AJssi\»£V'^ ^"^^asat

thiiux;la88 reader. 117

nagorie, and read a very entertaining account of many
animals in Depping'a Evening Entertainments. Per-
haps you have got it, and can vfind the same descrip-
tion.

7. The elephant is a most astonishing creature, I
believe, the largest of all beasts. Remind me, when
we are in the library, to show you the picture of one ;
and as soon as I have an opportunity, I will tak^ you
to the menagerie, where you will see an elephant and
many other curious things ; their teeth are very valuable.

8. They are ivory, and you know there are abun-
dance of things made of that. You have several
pretty ivory toys, and there are combs an^l knife-
handles ; in short, one might soon name twenty things
made of ivory.

9. The s]^ of elephan|^ is extremely hard, and
their strength wonderful, so that when they are pro-
voked, nothing can stand before them ; yet they are
of a very gentle, harmless nature, and will submit to
be guided by a man.

10. We read in history, that it was formerly the
enstom to employ elephants in annies ; and that they
had little wooden castles built on their backs, which
were filled with men, who shot from them with bows
and arrows.

11. When these beasts had been some time ii^lhe bat
tie, they grew angry, and then they trampled to death
all who came in their way, and could even beat down
trees and demolish houses. How would you like to
ride on an elephant, my boy ? Why, you would look
on his back like a little, marmoset on a horse.

12. The camel is another noble beast ; we have
none of them here, only now and then one, which is
shown about as a sight You can form no idea of
him from a description, but I will look for a picture

of him likewise.
13. In the cs^npt'iea "wTaete Vi^e c»xsi^ ^ssfc^k "^^

118 THIR0-CLAM READER.

are many sandy deserts; places where 4bere are no

houses for many miles, nor a tree to shelter travellers

from the scorching rays of the sun ; and yet people

art under the necessity of taking journeys through

them, in order to carry the goods they want to sell,

from one country to another.

1 4. It would be impossible for them to bear such heavy

loads themselves, and horses would perish with thirst,

as there is no water to be met with ; but a camel will

carry very great burdens, and requires no refreshment

on the road ; and when he gets to his journey's end

will kneel down, that his master may be able to reach

his bacl^ to unload him ; for he is so tall, that it could

not be conveniently done otherwise. I could tell you

wonderful things of a hundred other creatures, but

tliat I hope you will hay curiosity enough to read

about them.

V '

LXIII. Lesson Sixty-third. — Hit Farmer.

1. "My son ? my son !" a husbandman

Said to his youngest bom,
<* Look well upon the herbs and flowers,

On grass and growing com ;
Mu$ie on the clover's fragrant sward,

Purvey the ripon'd shock,
Nor pass the lily of the lea.

In beauty newly woke :
In grass and grain, in flowers and flocks.

The wise and thoughtful, see
God's wondrous volume writ for mai^—

I'll read some v'ords to thee.

2, <' The sailor sails the sen for gold.

The soldier fights for i^ame^
The painter paints, l\ve poeX s«v^%,
JSach for a fleeting name \

THIRD-CLASS REABEIU 119

But he nAo ploughs the fragrant field.

And bids the valley broad
Wave rustling with the golden ears,

Walks hand in hand with God ;
The cherjsh'd grain yields sixty-fold ;

He lends his skill to nourish
All Hying. things. Like sun and shower

He bids the green earth flourish.

3. ** My. son, my son, be wise and yield

The husbandman thy praise,
For he has learn'd in Nature's school

Of NlJtui^s vstrious ways.'' ,•

He knows the season when to cleave

Tke greensward with his share.
He knows what time to^ast the grain

In furrows broad andfiar ;
He stands amid the golden waves

Of tall and glittering com, ,

And calls the shining sickles out

With his loud harvest horn.

4. *' The husbandman's a learned man,

For who can plough and sow
In ignorance, and read the signs ^

Of sunshine, rain, and snow-
Can look far in the night, and cry,

* Load, till it groans, the wain

With ripe dry com ; lo ! yon small cloud

Is fiU'd with wind and rain'—-
Can look upon the eve, and say,

* To-morrow will be fair.

Drive forth the flocks to feed, and see
Ye bury deep the share !'

6. " To him all ways of beasts «te\atfsnTi^
All wstyg of birds, and be
Knows every seed, and het\), mA ft«^«^
TV flourish brute and he^

ISO THIRD-CLASS READER.

Ways of wild fowl to him are plaihy

And worms that wear the sting —
The haunt, the food, ay, and the use

•Of every living thing.
The moving heaven, the rolling earth* •

The deep and barren sea,
Are things on which he muses oft :

A learned man is he.

0. " My son, my son, with reverence walk

Along the glorious road
. Of those who held in elder-times

High converse with their 'God.
Revere the watcher of the flock,

The holder of the plough ;
Of virtue's tree thel^usbandman

He is the upper bough :
And when it fades shall science fall*

And poesy be mute ;
The streams shall cease to run, and trees

In summer time to shoot.'*

LXIV. Lesson Sixty-fourth.— •i?c/i/mm^ from

Market,

K The sun from the earth had just taken his leavet
And the sky softly blushed witli the glow ot <salm

eve.
That smiled o'er the heaven surpassingly fair^—
Behold it in beauty, here pictured with care 1-—
While the grove and the brook, that ran momilir-

Jng by,
Were reflecting the light from the warm summer sky.

2. When^ returning from matVft\^ ^'Qnxiv^^^^^'MOw^

mother .^aJ^ .

^ -udging sedately alou^M ^^^*^*f*^>

TBHtO-CLABS BSADH.

How happy their hearts ! all their earnings were told,
Their eggs were all bartered, their chickens all sold,
And their boaoma with hope's fervent longing now

beat
For the home they had left, for the frienda they

should meet.

3. Bold Rover was near them — he trotted with grace |
By the side of the first of the asinine race ; '
And Neddy looked grave as he stepped o'er the plain.
Like Patience, regardless of labor or pain.

O, youth 1 as through time's checkered season you

go.
You may here learn a lesson to save you from wo.

4. In the market of life he ye patienl, and bear

All tlie ills that may goad, as ye seek for your wars |
Be eniluring and mild, scorn all iU-^tten. ijelC,
Kaow that honor is china, v\\at inca.n^«™'vi 4^,
That /air dealing is gold, thai dece^UOTiVfc is.oi«»»
That riitue'a your profit, thrt Vvcb'wjo'Ox^'*^

122 THI&D-CLASS REABSB.

IXV. Lesson SixTT-PiFTH. — The Unhappy Ch4d.

1. " Mother," said George, " I feel unhappy to-
day: it is rainy, and I cannot go to school, as I took
medicine yesterday : what shall I do to amuse my-
self ?" ** Play with your top," said the indulgent
mother.

2. *' I am tired to death of that old plaything, "re-
plied our restless boy; ** I want something new. The
toy-shops are full of playthings. Why can't you
give Maria some money, and let her go to the * Chil-
dren's Warehouse' and get me something I never
saw — some puzzles, or factoi^ villages, or some
automaton dancers: I must have something, or I
^all die with uneasiness."

3. Mrs. M. arose from her work, and proceeded to
the library, thinking a book might restore her dii- ;
contented child to his usual composure — ^but she • '
was sadly disappointed. *' I have read that: I don't
want it, mother — I can repeat that, word for word;
80 put it back," said Geor^.

4. Thus did this discontented child tease and vex
his kind-hearted parent. Finding every thing in-
adequate to fill the void, Maria was despatched to
get ' sometiiing new ' for the rainy day. As it hap-
pened, she made choice of a plaything which George
had already seen. This gre^itly disconcerted him,
and he wished his mother would go herself and
select somethinor.

5. In the midst of this agitation, the fiither of
George happened in. He was a good parent; and
consequently indulged his child only in those thiaga
which he deemed expedient, wisely believing that
he was a far better judge of what was for his advan-

tage, than George could poaaivVA'^f \i^;
[ 6. Seeing the fretfuYncaa o^ owt -^wxxi'^X^^^^TA.
ilearniDg it proceeded fromaWvK^ ^«!J>"«^»^ ^^

THIRD-CLASS RBADVR. tS5

tained him at home, he thought it best not to in-
dulge his childish pettishness, but teach him early
to overcome little trials, that he might be the better
prepared to encounter those, with which all children
must contend as they advance in life.

7. I have said he was a kind parent: does any
child doubt it, because he did not give him all his
sickly fancy craved? I ask this question, because
I have known some children, when crossed in their
desires, betray, by their dissatisfied countenances,
if not by words, that withholding their requests was
cruel in their parents. But did they think a mo-
ment how unreasonable and wicked is this conduct,
I am sure they would never exhibit it.

8. Let us now look at George, standing beside
his father, a fretful, complaining, dissatisfied boy.

HkWhat," said his father, ''is the matter? this
» morning I left you cheerful and happy. It is now
eleven o'clock, and you are peevish, fretful, and un-
easy. Tell me, my child, what ails you?" ** It is
the rain, which has spoilt all my pleasure to-day,'*
said George. ** The rain," interrupted his father
— " are you not fond of vegetables, George— of
peas, beans, strawberries and cream, and cherries?"
*' But what have they to do with the rain and my
bad feeling," said George.

9. '* The rain," replied his father, ** has much to
do with them. The fruits of the earth are dropping
off; — ^the grapes drying up — the leaves are falling, in
consequence of the severe drought; and my only son
is whining and crying, because the refreshing rain
is reviving and renovating all nature."

10. George felt he deserved the reproof, and was
silent. ** But is it the rain which is the cause of t.\\v^
disquietude? "said his father. '* lcl«L^V\vfc«vvxv^^'^^x

would your countenance have Wv^V^'sve^ X^^"^^^

hia beams? did it yesterday, wView ^o\x\^V>yi\v^^^Q

BchooJ, complaining of dust, aad Omx^X.^ ^ffA ^«

124 THIRD-CLASS READKR.

Now/' said his father, '* tell me what, of all thingg,
do you most desire ? "

11. *' I wish," said George, " to feel happy; but
you can't make me. I mean, I want to feel as I
did, when I went to ride on Saturday, when I drove
part of the way." ** And was it because the sun
shone, that you were then so happy?" ** I don't
know, father, but I felt so pleased because it was
* something new * for me to drive, and ride among neto
things, and visit neto places. ■ 1 always feel better
when 1 am entertained in that way."

12. "Then," said his father, ** 1 will give you *»omc-
fhing new,* which if you observe it, will always make
you happy, when it rains, and when the sun shines,
when you are at home and abroad." ** Do, father,"
said George, ** I will keep it, and not break it, nor
tear it, nor deface it in any way — Do give it me now.".

13. His father deferred thegifl until dinner-time^'"
promising then to bring it home, and present it to
his unhappy son, on condition, that he should find
him cheerful and easy when he returned.

14. The expectation of this valuable gifl soon re-
stored a smile, and led our little fellow to feel a new
interest in what before was so ' old* and tiresome;
and when his father returned, he immediately discov-
ered that the promise must be fulfilled. It was a pack-
age which was not to be unsealed till afler dinner.

15. George ate hastily, and watched his father's pro-
gress; and never was there a more welcome * More
off* than in this case. Ho accompanied his father
to the chamber, and there was the precious deposit
unsealed. It proved to be a little manuscript, con-'
taining •* Interesting hints for the cure of bad tem-
pcrs.** — It had the desired effect. George was

amused, and instructed by \l,^tid\t eu^a^ed him the
remainder of the day.
J 6. ii explained to him the ^T^^\.^«^V.^'^^>s^'^^^\-

THIRD-CLASS READKR. 1S5

piness; it gave him directions never to become so
aga.n; and with his parents' excellent counsel,^ and
his good improvement from passing events, it i i,Uji|j|l8
a change in his temper, and this made him alwG^
happier and more contented, every rainy and pleas-
ant day afterwards.

LXVI. Lesson Sixty-sixth. — Mamma knows Best,

1. It happened on a summer's day,
When little Ann went out to play,

She thought she 'd make a garland fair,

And bind it in her curly heir.

But when she crossed the lawn, she found

"No daisies left upon the ground;

And other flowers she lik'd as much,

Mamma had told her not to touch.

2. At last, she reached the garden gate,
And, there too restless long to wait,

She rais'd the latch, and stealing through.
Picked all the flowers within her view.
When this was done, not far beyond,
She saw some blue-bells by a pond.

3. " Oh, dear! " thought Ann, " iMramma it out,

And no one knows what I 'm about,

I '11 get these flowers; but no-^I '11 star,

And come again another day. **

4. So' saying, Ann return 'd unseen.
No one imagined where she 'd been:
She laugh 'd and play'd as well as ever,
And thought herself extremely clever.
The morrow came, and Ann again *'
Went out to play; a heavy ia\Tv,
Within the night, had \e£l lYveAwtv^

Jjpo damp for Ann to sit ot a\.a\x^»

126 THtRDOLASS HXAI»BS«

But well wrapped up, secure and warm,
A little run could do no harm.

6. Now Ann was thinking all the while,
About the flowers across the stile ;
And, when she fancied no one knew,
Undid the gate, and scampered through.
The stile was climbed, and just below.
She saw the pond where blue-bells grow ;
Where sweetest violets love to hide,
Forget-me-not, and rushes wide.

6. " Oh, dear," thought Ann, with secret glee;
" What a fine garland it will be !"

She fillM her cap, but not content.
Still o'er the reeds she fondly bent,
To grasp one flower more rich, more gay,
And as she pluck'd her foot gave way.
She scrambled up to reach the bank ;
But, as she strove, still deeper sank.
Her flowers were scattered in the mire,
And soon she felt her patience tire.

7. " Oh, how I wish I were at home !
'Twas wrong, 'twas silly, thus to roam ;
My frock is torn, my stockings too,
And here I am — what shall I do !"

She look'd again ; — at last she spied
An aged stump, before untried.
And, clinging fast with eager hand.
She gain'd at length the level land.

8. And hurried back, and did not fail
To teH at once the dismal tale ;

And though she knew it would surprise.
Confessed her faults v7il\\o\3A. ^v&f,\3Aafc\
Her iDother^8 hand in ieax^ a\v^ \.xe^^ ^>

w she owns, '' lS/lamm^>uciwi^^^'^

THIRD-CLABS RSADEB. 127

LXVII. Lesson Sixty-seventh. — TTie wild HoneB

of South America.

1 . Captain Head, who travelled over those wild and
wide plains of South America, between the Andes and
Buenos Ayres, which are called Pampas, gives a very
amusing account of the way in which one out of the
number of horses, running loose on these plains, was
caught when it was wanted for riding — very rough
riding indeed it seems to have been.

2. He had with him some of the Guachos, people de-
scended from the Spaniards, who live in huts about
these plains. They rode generally with a troop of from
thirty to seventy wild horses which they drove on be-
fore them, to be ready when they were wanted. They
catch every animal they have occasion for, by means
of the lasso, which is a noose of strong cord, and this
they throw with such exactness, that they always lay
hold of the creature so surely that he cannot possibly
escape.

3. Once, when the party got towards the mountains,
and each of them wanted to mount a fresh horse, the
whole troop of wild ones were driven to the edge of
a precipice, which overhung a torrent ; there the crea-
tures stood, all crowding together so close, that at last
the hind legs of one actually slipped over the edge.

4. He managed however .to hold firm to the ground
by his head and fore feet, and meanwhile the lasso was
thrown so exactly to support him, that he was soon
dragged up, and on his legs again : the horse seemed
so well to know his danger, that he remained perfectly
quiet the whole time. Afterwards everybody mount-
ed a fresh horse, caught from amongst the troop, and
rode away at full gallop, drWm^ i)ii ^^ "t^^N. \i^^x^

tljem,
5. It 18 supposed tliat ihcae laox^ea ^x^ ^^'&^^^\^

128 THIRD-CLASS RSADBR.

from some, which might have got away from the Spa-
niards, when they went from their own country in Eu-
rope, to take possession of a part of South America as
their own, for no horses were found there on the first
discovery of this new world.

6. They may now sometimes be met with in troops
of ten thousand each, and they have always a chief or
leader, which is the strongest and boldest horse among
them. All the/ others follow him in perfect obedience.

7. If they have eaten all the grass in one spot, and
you know it must take a great quantity for such a great
number as any thing near ten thousand horses to feed
on, the chief leads the way, and they seek a place
where more is to be found ; and if they have to fight
against any large wild beasts, the chief is the foremost
of the party.

8. Horses generally gallop away from lions and
tigers ; but when they must battle with them, it is for
the most part with their hinder feet that they defend
themselves ; and they will in this wild state give such
kicks as quite to disable the animals from pursuing
them ; and then they all gallop away far out of reach.

9. The wild horses of §outh America are not of the
very largest size ; they have no fixed places to rest in,
like the den of the tiger, or the cave of the bear; for
indeed no caves could hold the numbers which collect
together. They choose a dry and sheltered spot at the
foot of a rock, or the edge of a wood, where they may
be protected from the winds. They have the same
dread of storms and tempests that may be seen in most
other animals ; and often when a violent clap of thun-
der is heard, they will all gallop off* together at fuD
speed so rapidly that nothing could overtake them, and
whatever animal came in. tlieit way would certainly be

trampled to death.

LXVm. hEaBOnSixrv-EiBB-m.— TTieZilile
Teacher.

1. Charleb lived in the country with his papa, who
Iras BO good as to teach him to read and write, and

Eromised hint that, if he would be a good boy, when
e was a year or two older, he would teach him &
great deal more.

2. When the morning leseon was finished, his papa
went into his study, where he always spent an hour;
and then look g walk with his son before dinner.

3. During that hour, Charles was at liberty to amuse
himself where he pleased : for his papa knew he was
a good boy, and would not get into any mischief.

4. There was a very fine river at no great distance
from the house, and on its bank stood the hut of n
fisheriDsn.

S. This poor fellow mamtoittei 'Vrtft ^wi^-'i'.'^ ^"^
^ing the &Bh which he caught to l-^e i\eT.\\o"«^»'*^*

130 THIRD-CLASS READlfiK.

he was glad to sell it for what they would give him ;
and, as there was great plenty in that part of the
country, he got but a poor livelihood, though he took
a great deal of trouble; was often wet to the skiii
many hours together, whilst sitting in his little boat ;
aad sometimes came home so cold, that all the wood
they had in the corner of their littJp kitchen, was
scarcely sufHcient to warm him.

6. His wife was a very careful, good woman, and
kept her spinning wheel going early and late ; but
4ihe« as well as the poor fisherman, had one very great
uneasiness, which they foresaw no prospect of being
able to remove.

7. Their little boy (for they had but one child)
would never know either how to write or rei^ ; his
mother could not teach him, for she had never been
taught herself; and his father, though he could read a
little, never had a moment to spare ; he was obliged
to go out very early every morifing ; and when he
was fortunate enough to catch his basket full of fish,
he must walk immediately three or four miles to try
to sell it, and bring home something for their suppers ;
and when that was done, he was so tired, that he was
glad enough to go to bed.

8. Charles called at the fisherman's one day, to
inquire for his dog, which he had missed all the morn* .
ing ; and found little Joe sitting by the table, on which
he was making marks with a piece of chalk. Charles
asked him what he was doing.

9. ** I am trying to write, sir," said he ; " but I
only know six letters, and those are a t, an H, an e ;
and an s, an h, an i, and a p."

10. ** You have reckoned seven," said Charles—
*'but how did you Imtu them ?"

11. " Yes^ sir," replied Joe," \\vw^^jfc^Qtfi^^<&
B twice ; but I learned them ^tom ^e «v^ ^^x '^^
3 ' the yiUaige.

THIRD-CLASS REA]>EB. 131

12. Somebody told me, that a t, an r, and an s,
made the ; and an s, an h, an i, and a p, ship ; for I
ean no more read, than I can write ; but I would give
I any thing in the world, if I could. I should be so
L happy, that nothing would vex me afterwards."
f 13. ** Then I will make you happy," said Charles.
'; " I am but a little boy ; but if you will mind to be
* ready for me every day at twelve o'clock, when I have

(learned my lesson from my papa, I will come here
and teach you ; I have an hour given me to amuse
myself as I like ; and if you are as willing to leaiA
as I shall be to teach you, you will soon be able to
read ^nd write as well as I do ; and, I assure you,
papa says I do both very well for a boy of my age."

14. Both Joe and his mother were ready to fdl on
their knees, to thank little Charles ; for it was what
they both wished for above all things : and, the next
morning, he put his book ir.to his pocket, when his
papa dismissed him, and went to the fisherman's hut,
where he gave Joe his first lesson in reading ; and as
soon as he had brought him a little forward (having
provided himself with pen, ink, and paper), he began
to teach him to write.

15. Some months passed away in this manner,
when a gentleman, calling at the house one morn-
ing, asked Chaurles's papa, if he knew where his son
was gone. He said, he supposed he was taking his
DBual walk, which he always allowed him to do at
twelve o'clock, when his lesson was finished.

16. *' I am afraid, sir," answered the gentleman,
** that he does not always amuse himself in a way
you would approve of ; I see him every day go at
the same hour to the house of old Joe the fisherman,
and I cannot imagine what pleasure he finds ia suck
companjr, unleggltia that he goeB omX viVCtv ^%;ifiL \&.

Stii0 boat."

17. Charlea'a papa was a good AeA aJwtafc^ ^ "^^^

182 THnU>-0LA88 READBR.

news, and also a little displeased ; for he had so
good an opinion of his son, that he thought he might
have trusted him to go anywhere, without fearing
he would either get into mischief, or run into any
kind of danger, particularly that of venturing on
the river, which he had been ordered never to ap-
proach.

18. The moment the gentleman had led him, he
went out in search of Charles ; and as soon as he
came near the river, began to look up and down, and
on every side, with Uie utmost anxiety, in the hope of
seeing the boat.

19. But not perceiving any thing like it, he grew
extremely uneasy, for he concluded that he was gone
with old Joe a long way up the river.

20. Not choosing to go home without gaining some
intelligence of his son, he went up to the hut, and
put his head into the window, which happened to be
open, little expecting the agreeable sight which met
his eyes. Charles was seated at the upper end of the
kitchen table, ruling lines in a copy-book, whilst Joe
was reading to him very attentively ; and hii mother
sat at her wheel in a comer of the room, but so de-
lighted with the objects before her, that she forgot her
work, in the pleasure she felt at her boy's wonderful
progress, and reflecting that she might, perhaps, live
to see him clerk of the parish.

. 21. Charles was a little confused when he saw his
papa, and feared he would be angry, at his having un-
dertaken such a task without his permission ; but he
had no need to be uneasy ; on the contrary, he was
very much applauded; and, the very next mominrr
was taken into the town, where he was presented wiUi
s great number of very pretty books, both for himself
and JoBf with an inkatodtoT\v\m^^sA^^^siQ^^^sj».\^
<?/* writinff-paper and peua an^Vt^. ^

22. Charles was the bapV'^^*N'0^^«^^'«««^^'«^

'THIKD-CLAflS RSADBR. 133

he scampered away to the fisherman's hut, his little
bands filled with the parcels, and his heart beating
with joy ; and his pleasure was increased, when he
spread out his presents on ^ kitchen table, to the
wondering eyes of Joe and his t&other.

LXIX. Lesson Sixty-ninth. — The Wolf and the

Fox.

1. Some time since, there was a large wolf, who
used to live in a cave by the side of a wood. He

.had laid up a good store of food, and kept much at
home, lest those who were in search of prey should
come and rob him, when he was out for a walk.

2. A fox, noted for playing bad tricks, had learnt
that the wolf's den was full of good things of all
kinds ; and, as it is said, wished to have part with
him, or, in some way, get rid of the wolf, and thus
secure the whole.

3. It soon came into his mind that a certain man
kept sheep in a field hard by. So he goes and asks
him, if he did not know, that a wolf had a den near
his flock of sheep ? "No," said the man, ** I do not,"

4. " I met the wolf last night," says the fox, " with
a fine sheep on his back, and I dare say it was yours."
— " So I think," says the man ; " for when I counted
them to-day, there was one missing. Pray, Mr. Fox,
where does the wolf live ?"

6. «* I will tell you : it is down by the side of the
wood, in a large cave by the side of yonder hill. If
jrou get over this gate, and go down the path close to
tta hedge, you will find a large track that he has made,
which leads straight to the den.''

6. The man forthwith took h\« do^ ^tl\ ^gs^>*«&.^
•^ 0et off down ibe field, the way iliie ^ox \^^ ^wsNfc^
^cat When be came to the side ot xSaft ^ wi^'»^^» ^^^

184 THXIU>-CLA8e BSABER.

found the den, and the wolf within. Without delay,
the man fell upon him and killed him. So there waa
an end to the wolf.

7. In a few days after, the man was passing the
same road again, and when he came to the den, he
thought he would just have a peepin : and who should
he see there but the very same fox, who had told him
of the wolf.

8. " Ah ! what, Mr. Slyboots, you are here, are
you T Very well, sir, I know your tricks. So, your
motive, in telling me about the wolf, was, that I might
kill him, and thus afford you a chance to possess his
store and his home.

0. " Well, Mr. Fox, I will take care of you too.
No more shall you play your pranks. If you do not
like mutton, as you told me, I know you like lamb ;
so no more shall you cheat the world ; tod there's the
blow that strikes you dead." He then, with a stick,
beat out his brains.

10. Now, boys and girls, as you see this cheat did
not prosper, take warning by the fate of this knavish
fox. And do not tell stories about others, to serve
your own ends ; for if you do, you may expect to be
found out, and put to shame.

LXX. Lesson Seventieth.— 7%e Jlnt and the

Butterfly.

1. A BirrTERFLY, who, all the day,
Did nothing else but sport and play

From one flower to another,
Look'd down upon a toiling ant,
And thus in pity or in taunt,
jAddreit'd his Tep^iie \)ito>&!At«

5 S. <* I wtmder ycra can mipeiA'jcrat lasBfc^

' When Nature*! irweeUi we Va >ia«a ^T«cfc,

THIRD-CT.A88 READER. '1S5

In delving, or in hoarding ;
Why not, like me, to-day employ,
In all the luxury of j.oy

That earth is now affording ?

3. *< Why shwdd you task yourself to toil.
And gather heaps of useless spoil,

Still of the future dreaming ?
Look up, and see how fair the flowers,
How green and leafy are the bowers,

On which the sun is beaming !

4. " But I forget — poor, helpless thing !
You cannot flutter on the wing,

As / do, through existence ;
To you, slow, dull, and downward eyedt
That gravel walk of six feet wide

Must seem a dreadful distance.

5. " Why, you might just as well have been
Shut out from gardens gay and green,

An inmate of the city.
As live in this delightful spot :—
Poor thing ! the more I view your lot.

The more your case I pity."

6. The ant heard all he had to say ;
Then, ere he journeyed on his ^v^ay,

Replied, in ant-like fashion,
** To me 'tis pleasure thus to live ;
Therefore, your taunts I can forgive,

And need not your compassion.

7. *' You think my toilsome lot is hard ;
To me, it brings its own reward ;—

And 80f my pretty neighbor,
Since you have nothivvg e\ft^ \o A^^
Four happier lot you m«j ^\K«sift,
And leave me to my Asibot^^

186 THIRD-CLA88 READSR.

8. They parted. — ^In a few months more.
Descending rains, and rime-frosts hoar,

Had swept off hud and blossom ;
The butterfly on earth lay dead.
The happier ant was housed 8ud fed

Securely in its bosom.

9. And there he kept, all snug and warm,
'Till snow and ice, and wind and storm.

Had fertilized each furrow;
Then, with the blithe and busy bee,
As busy and as blithe as he.

He came out from his burrow !

LXXI. Lesson Seventy-first. — TTie BirtTs-nest.

1. *' See, brother, I have brought a n^st

Of eggs from yonder wood !
And yesterday I found a prize—

A blackbird's callow brood.
Believe me, it was famous sport

To see their beaks divide,
Like pairs of yellow compasses.

They gaped so monstrous wide !'*

2. *• Sport could it be, to see them pine.

Within the pilfered nest,
For their accustomed food, and warmth

Of the maternal breast ?
And were the parent's sufferings sport,

When, from some distant spray.
Perchance she saw her home removed.

Her offspring borne away ?"

3. " Brother, forgive me if I laugh —

What sentimenlaV vfox^Va \
Surely you deem l\iem \vwtivMv^w^^
Instead of senseVe&BVvc^&X

What shoDld the parent blackbird feel

For her deparUd brood,
Save joy ihat she no more is talked

To cram their beaks with food ?"
I. " What ! would she choose the builder's toili

And ply her task so well,
Then Bit u(l wearied, day by day,

Till they had cast the shell —
And would she tend them every hoar,

Nor from her duty rove,
Had not Almighty wisdom wrought

In her a mother's love I
i. " And having this, when ruthless hands

Have left her homeless, lon&>-
Can sfae be callous as the clod.

Insensible as stone 1
Still unconvinced, you smile, I sea

Reason will not avail ',
Vet Harry I wou\d tam ^taM«&«
To listen to a tal«.

138 THIRD-CLASS RSADKIL

6. •« Last year a linnet's brood I bought, *v.

Just (aken from the spray,
To save them from their captor*s hands,

Who tortured them with play.
Upon (he lawn I placed my charge,

ScreenM from the noontide dare.
And far from cats ; and ere an hour

The mother found them there.

7. " Day after day, and hour by hour,

To feed her young she sped,
Placed every sunny morn by me

Beneath an arbory shed.
They lived, and feathers grew apace

Where down was spread before.
Till one bright morn they disappeared**

IlBaw my pets no more.

8. " Now, if that tended mother bird

Felt not a parent's pain.
Would she have sought and labored thus

Her lost ones to regain ?
All feel that crawl, or walk, or swim,

Or poise the busy wing :▼-
Then seek not pleasure in the pain

Of any living thing !"

LXXn. Lesson Seventy-second. — A Walk on the

Seashore.

1. CoHS, let us walk by the seashore ; upon the

smooth sands of the winding beach. Let us search

for its colored shells and curious pebbles. Let us ga-

iAer the delicate blossoms of the seaside pea, that

Joves to draw its freshness atvd Veiv^et \i^^\y\73 ^t^xft. the

^^^irsty soil, along the hedges o^ xVv^ ^^\iq\n ^\wis.*

r 2. Take up handfuls of tYve spwVXvw^ ^?l\A^.

^^^

TflnU>-CLAS8 READER. 139.

we Bnmber the shining grains ? No, we cannot ; but
God knoweth the isum of the sands of the sea, upon
its thousand, thousand shores.

3. Let us watch the little flocks of beach birds,
skimming low along the sands, keeping time with the
flowing and retreating waters. Listen to their voice,
low, soft, and musical, as if they sang to the waves.

4. Here are the ringed plovers; the sand-pipers;
the purres, flying in flocks, throwing alternately their
dark and light plumage to the eye ; the sheer-watet
with its curious bill ; the blue-winged teals, that love
to sit together, and sun themselves on the sands ; and
the surf and the golden-eyed duck, that swim and
dive among the breakers ; these, and many others,
haunt the sand-bars, and the low reefy shores.

5. God careth for them all. He teacheth some of
them to collect the drift sea-weed for their nests, and
others to hollow out the sands. Though no reeds, or
grass, or leaves, screen these nestlings, yet God pro-
videth for their safety.

6. No bright or various plumage attracts attentioa
towards them. Colored like the sands on which they
run, if danger approach, they cower down, motionless
as the small stones of the beach, till the deceived eye
is turned away ; while the tender mother entices from
them the foot of the stranger, in vain pursuit of her-
self.

7. How solemn is the lonely shore, where the sea
uplifts its voice, as it were the voice of God ! No one
dwelleth here. The fiisher moors his skiff, and seeks
his home in the cheerful village.

8. And we also must go away to our evening rest.
But the spirit of God will still move on the face of the
deep. And in the stillness of the night we may wake
and listen to the waves, as they bt^^V;.«sA ^^isi^ xss^w
the distant beach. ,

9. Let us not go away ummvt^w^^'^^'^^^'^^^^**^

140 THIRD-CLAM READKB.

and goodness of God. The sea obeys his wiU^ but
it is unconscious of its obedience. Let us also obey
him ; not' as the passive sea, but with the active intel-
ligence of living spirits, to whom he has given his
written and perfect law*

LXXIII. Lesson Seventy-third.— 7%« little Lord

and the Farmer,

1. A LITTLE lord, engaged in play.
Carelessly threw his ball away ;
So far beyond the brook it flew.
His lordship knew not what to do.

2. It chanced there passed a farmer's boy,
Whistling a tune in childish joy ;

His frock was patched, and his hat was old,
But the farmer's heart was very bold.

3. " You little chap ! pick up my ball !'•
His saucy lordship loud did call— -
He thought it useless to be polite

To one whose clothes were in such a plight.

4. *• Do it yourself, for want of me/'
The boy replied right manfully ;
Then quietly he passed along,
Whistling aloud his fav'rite song.

5. His little lordship furious grew—
For he was proud and hasty too.

** I'll break your bones !" he rudely cries.
While fire was flashing from his eyes.

6« And heedless quite what steps he took.
He tumbled plump mU> \!l\e btQ^k;
And as he fell, he dTOipiped\v\ft\i^V»
And next he loaX his \>e«.N«t Wv

7. " Come, help me out !'* enraged he cried^
But ihe iturdy farmer thus replied :
" Alter your toue, my little man.
And then I'll help you all I can —

8. " There are few things I would not dare
For gentlemen, who speak me fair ;
But for rude words I do not clKtose
To tire ray feet and wet my shoes."

9. " Please help me," then his lordship said ;
" I'm sorry I was so ill-bred."
" 'Tis all forgot," replied the boy.
And gave his hand with honest joy.

10. The proffered aid hia lordship took,
And Boon came safely from the brook i
His looks were downcast aud a&id&.
For be felt ashamed of \a,\ wi^ ^Tvte.

142 TBIRD-CLAM RKADSX.

11. The fanner brought his ball and bat, j*
And wiped the wet from his drowning hat ; q
And he mildly said, as he went away, ;p
" Remember the lewon you've learned to-day. f\

12. " Be kind to all you chance to meet,
In field, or lane, or crowded street ;
Anger and pride are both unwise-^
Vinegar never catches flies."

LXXIV. Lesson Seventy-fourth. — Health better

than Riches.

1. Little Martin was a poor boy who gained bii
living by going on errands. One day, as he was n-
turning from a village very far from his own, he found
himself much fatigued : aiid, sitting down at the doo^
of the little inn, he procured a small glass of beer
and a piece of bread.

2. While he was taking this humble refreshment, i
young gentleman and his tutor stopped in a carriagf
at the door of the inn. They were elegantly dressed,
and followed by servants on horseback.

3. The innkeeper immediately came to the door,
and asked if the travellers would do him the honor
of alighting ? This, however, they declined ; and,
without getting out of the carriage, they regaled them*
selves on part of a cold fowl and some wine and water,
which were brought to them in an instant.

4. Martin, having now finished his little repast,
fixed his eyes upon them with much attention, and
looked as if he would say, ** Those gentlemen ait
making a very good dinner, and I have had a Toy

bad one.''
5. The tutor, having acd3LftTi\a5\^ ^^\.V\&«^%fl^\w^

THIRD-CLASS RXAOER. 14S

little Martin, guessed his thoughts, and said to Juf
pupil, ''Look how that little boy's eyev are fixed
upon us. I imagine that he says within himself, 'I
Vrish I were in that young gentleman's place.' "

6. " Well," said the youth, who, though extremely
Unwell, was of a gay temper, " let us make the pro-
position, for a moment, of changing places with me."

7. The tutor immediately beckoned Martin to the
csarriage, and said to him, " Seein|f how attentively
yovL look at this young gentleman, it appears to me,
my little friend, that you would like to be in his place.
"Will you change with him ?"

8. " Ah, sir," replied Martin, " you are in jest : but,
if the young gentleman be willing, it shall soon be
done. Ah, ha ! what a gainer I shall be by my jour-
ney ! Our neighbors will be confounded, when they
see me return home this evening in a fine carriage !"

^ 9. *• I take you at your word," said the young gen-
fleraan ; " I am going to resign to you my carriage
and my horses. And I engage to give you every thing
that yoiAave not ; provided that you, on the other
'hand, give me every thing that yon have, and that I
want."

10. Martin having agreed to these conditions, the
young traveller called his servants, and desired tiliem
to assist him in getting out of his carriage.

11. Alas, what a sight ! The legs of the amiable
invalid were completely crooked, and incapable of
supporting him. He was therefore obliged to be held
by the servants till crutches were brought, on which
be propped himself.

12. " Now," said he to Utile Martin, ** have ypu
^t&l an inclination to change with me ?"

I 13. " O dear, no, sir ! I have no such wish," cried
Hartin, retreating from one w\io Tio\ot^gst ^^^\\fe\>KA
^ry; ''DO, I do not wish to ch«xvf[;&. '^\»>b»^^
^luci I enjoy, and the use of my YmXw^ «t^ ^ \os»^

144 TfllKDKXABS READER.

valas than any thing you can give me. I had rather
eat my dry bread, and not want anybody to help me
to walk; and I had rather be without poultry and
wine, than be carried like an image. Good afternoonr
sir," added he, and immediately ran homeward.

14. *' You are right," cried the young gentleman ;
•* if you could only give me your legs, I would cheer-
fully strip myself of all that I possess in the world, to
give you in return."

15. So true it is, that a poor person, with a good
constitution, and well made, enjoys more true happi-
ness than the most wealthy individual, who is a stran-
ger to the blessings of health and strength. It must,
therefore, be acknowledged tliat health is preferable
to riches.

LXXV. Lesson Seventy-fifth.— S'/oriM of

1. I THINK you will be amused by two storioL which
I read not long since. Some young cameu were
travelling with an army in India, when they had occa-
sion to cross a river in a flat-bottomed boat ; the camels
were quite unused to this, and they could neither be
driven into the boat, nor coaxed to go of their own
accord.

2. As notiiing could persuade them to do what wai
wanted, one of the mohouts^ or elephant keepers,
called to his elephant, and made him understand that
he was to drive the camels in.

3. Immediately the animal, who seems to have
been observing all that had passed, put on a furious
look, made a terrible snorting with his trunk, shook

bis ears, roared, struck \]he ^toxxik^ \x^ \\\ft tv^ht and
left, and blew the dust in cAouAa \o\«^^tv 'Cwwa.*^ '^vsk
ciunela quite forgot ihew few ol ^^njCvw^ Vonx^ '^

THIRD-CLASS RSADER. . . 145

boat, through their much greater (bar of the elephant ;
they bolted in, without a moment's delay ; and the
elephant, becoming in an instant calm and sedate,
coolly walked back to his usual station* ^ '

4. The other story is of an elephant, which belonged
to a collection of beasts at Exeter 'Change, in Lon-
don. This animal had been used to pick up a piece
of coin, thrown within its reach for the purpose, with
the pointed piece of flesh at the end of his trunk,
which is not very unlike a finger in shape, and often
answers the purpose of one to him.

5. On one occasion, a sixpence was thrown down
to him, which happened to roll a little out of his reach,
and not far from the wall : being desired to pick it
up, he stretched out his trunk several times to reach
it, but finding this was impossible, he stood quite
still, considering, as it seemed, what to do.

6. He then stretched out his long proboscis — yon
know that his trunk is called by this name — well, he
stretched out this proboscis in a sti-aight line as far as
he coiid, at a little distance above the sixpc;nce as it
lay flat on the ground ; then he blew with great force
against the wall ; the air from his trunk, meeting with
the wall in its course, rushed back in a slanting line,
and raising the coin, drove it towards the elephant;
it seems by the account, that he blew in this way
several times, till at last the sixpence got close enough
for him to pick it up as usual. ^

7. This, I think, is one of the most curious stories I
ever met with, of an elephant's sagacity. Sagacity
means quickness of understanding in an animal with-
out reason, and clever contrivance in difficulty.

8. There was a story of a cow and some sheep, in
the same account of animals, not less curious in its
way. It 18 told by Major UaimVlow ^m\^> ^ ^\!^^-

man, who has made it hia Wsvcveaa \» ^Vvss^^ ^s^ "^^
Aa6itsr and manners of aTi\ia«i»i «cA ^>m> ^^ ^"^

I^B

140 THIRD-CLASS READER.

beautiful drawings of many of them which he has
seen in different countries.

9. This Major Smith was walking with a friend on
a hill near Coventry, in Warwickshire, England, and
they observed several sheep, standing with steadfast
looks, round the head of a cow which was grazing;
the eyes of the sheep were so fixed on the cow, and
they seemed so much in eaniest about something, that
the two gentlemen were curious to know what they
could possibly want.

10. Just as they came close to the animals, the cow
raised her head, and the sheep moved away from
before her, as the gentleman supposed, to get oat of
their way ; but the cow walked on till she came to a
^oor ewe, so large, and so heavy, that having fallen
upon its back, there it lay, unable to get again on its
feet without help.

11. The cow placed the tip of her horns close
under the ewe's side, and gave a slight toss, just suf-
ficient to enable the poor beast to get on her feet ;
meantime the other sheep had gone away to ^nibble
the grass as usual, and the cow having quite under-
stood what they wanted, and having performed the
kind office requested of her in the cleverest and gen-
tlest manner possible, walked away also.

12. The elephant tried a method to get his sixpence
towards him, that would perhaps only have occurred to
an ingenious man ; and the cow behaved just as a
good natured human being would have done in the
same circumstances — she gave up her own pleasant
occupation to be of service to a creature in distress.

13. It seems as if we never could say how far the
sagacity of brutes may ^o ; it baffles the intelligence
of man to tell exactly where U 8to^«

J4, Instinct, which is l\ie ^oodi «^t«^ <A \srQL\fc^^\^
:wery dilTerenU nevertheless » itoxa m\«?OL^^V» -^VxOa.
4ftc " ense of human beVnfji.

THIRD-CLASS READER. 147

15. Instinct teaches an irrational being^^-that is, a
creature without reason— all that is necessary for his
preservation or advantage; but it never teaches one
irrational being to learn or to improve, from the wis-
dom or contrivances of another.

16. The great gift that God has bestowed upon
man, reason, alone can teach us this ; reason can teach
as to imitate the sagacious elephant, in the patient use
of the best means we can think of, to serve either
ourselves or others ; and reason can teach us a noble
lesson against selfishness, even from the example of a
dumb cow as it grazes in the field.

LXXVI. Lesson Seventy-sixth. — The Farm.

1. Bright glows the east with blushing red.
While yet upon their wholesome bed,

The sleeping lab'rers rest ;
And the pale moon and silver staf.
Grow paler still, and wand'ring far,

Sink slowly to the west.

2. And see, behind the sloping hill.

The morning el«ids grow brighter stilly

And all the snades retire ;
Slowly the sun, with golden ray.
Breaks fcrlh above th' horizon gray.

And gilds the distant sj^ire.

3. And now, at nature's cheerful voice.
The hills, and vales, and woods rejoicet

The lark ascends the skies ;
And soon the cock's aY«\^Tio\ft"i^ 'sSSacwa.
The sleeping people 2^ ^<& I^tg^v^

And bid th^oa iU. uVae.

148 THIRD-CLASS RSADEIU

4. Then to the dairy's cool retreat.
The busy maids together meet :

The careful mistress sees.
Some tend with skilful hand the chums.
Where the thick cream to butter turns,

And some the curdling cheese.

5. And now comes Thomas from the hoasc.
With well known cry to call the cows.

Still sleeping on the plain ;
They, quickly rising one and all.
Obedient to the daily call.

Wind slowly through the lane.

6. Aafi see the rosy milkmaid now, .
Seated beside the homed cow.

With milking stool and pail ;
The patient cow with dappled hide^
Stands still, unless to lash her side

With her long bushy tail.

7. And then the poultry (Mary's charge)
Must all be fed, and let at large.

To toam about again ;
Wide open swings thegreat bam door.
And out the hungry creatares pour,

To pick the scatter'd grain.

8« '.Forth plodding to the heavy plough,
The sunbui^nt lab'rer hastens noV|

To guide with skilful arm ;
Thus all is industry around.
No idle hand is ever found

Within the busy farm.

THIRD-GLASS READEft. 149

LXXVII. Lesson Seventy-seventh.— 7%c Guide-

post.

1. The night was dark, the sun was hid

Beneath the mountain gray ;
And not a single star appeared,
To shoot a silver ray.

2. Across the heath the owlet flew,

And scream'd along the blast.
And onward, with a quickenM step^
Benighted Henry past.

3. At intervals, amid the gloom ^

A -flash of light'ning play'd, #H
And show'd the ruts with water fill'd.
And the black hedge's shade.

4. Again, in thickest darkness plungM,

He grop'd his way to find ;
And now he thought he spied beyond
A form of horrid kind.

5. In deadly white it upward rose.

Of cloak or mantle bare,
And held its naked arms across,
To catch him 6y the hair*

6. Poor Henry felt his blood run cold J||

At .what before him stood ; ^^

Bat well, thought he, no harm, I'm sure,
Can happen to the good,

7. So calling all his courage up.

He to the goblin went ;
iind eager through ike dv&m^ ^^^\ol
Hia piercing eyes \ie \mtlX*

150 THIRD-CLASS READll*

8. And when he came well nigh the ghost

That gave him such affright,

He clapt his hands upon his side,

And loudly laugh' d outright.

9. For 'twas a friendly guide-post stood,

His wand'ring steps to guide ;
And thus he found that to the good
No evil should betide.

10. And well, thought he, one thing I've learntt

Nor soon shall I forget.
Whatever frightens me again,
To march straight up to it.

11. Aj^ when I hear an id^e tale

V>f^oblins and a ghost,
m tell of this, ray lonely walk.
And the tall white guide-post.

LXXVIII. Lesson Seventy-eighth. — Tlie Flatierer*

1. There are a great many fables about foxes. A
fox is a little animal, hardly so big as a middle-sized
dog. lie lives in the woods, and is seldom tamed. He
is very fond of fowls and geese, and steals thcoiy
whenever he can, for his dinner.

2. The»farmers therefore are his great enemies ; for
they^ not like, when they have been > at the trouble
and ffpense of breeding the poultojrt iliat the fox
should come and eat them up. The fox, however, is
a cunning little fellow ; he is full of stratagems and
wiles ; and when we speak of aiiy body that is very
5jy, it is usual to say, he is as cunning as a fox.

3, A fox, as Esop says, \\a.\)\>^w^d Vi W xwy hun-

ffry. He was walking a\oT\g c^vuVa aex\ows^ ^w ^^-w^

are ant to be serious wheu t\v^y as^\«wv^gPJ- ^^«^

THIRD-CLASS READER* 151

a raven perched in a tree, with a delicate cheese in
his beak. I suppose this cheese must have been about
the size of an apple ; I believe they make such in
some countries.

4. The fox thought with himself, ** I dare say that is
a very nice cheese ; I wish I could taste it." But
what could he do? The raven sat upon a high
branch ; the fox did not know how to climb to him.
If the raven would consent to fight for tlie cheese, the
ibx, perhaps, could have beaten him. But, suppose
the raven had been upon the ground, he had fine large
wings, and could have fiown away with the cheese.

5. While the fox was thinking thus, he fixed his
eyes on the raven. ** What a beautiful bird you are !'*
says he. " I never saw any thing so gloMv as your
shining black feathers. What a twist yoiMKive with
your neck ! And what a nobl^ beak ! I dare say it
holds that cheese as tight as if it were a pair of pin-
cers. Do you know that I think you the finest bird
I ever saw ; and, if your singing is but equal to the
manner in which you hold yourself, the nightingale
must be notliing to you.''

6. Now you must know that the only noise a n^en
can make, is as frightful a scream as you ever hettd.
Whenever he begins, I am always disposed to put my
fingers to my ears. But this silly bird was delighted
with the fine speeches of the fox ; he knew that his
feathers were as black, as the cunning creature said^
and that he had a ffood handsome beak of his ij^wn ;
and he began to think, that jperhaps he might b^iTlne
singer too*

7. So he tuned his pi^es to try : the cheese dropped
out of his beak ; this, was all the fox wanted ; he
caught it up, and ran away with it, and left the raven
to sing to the crowv.

8. Foxes are never taag)^\. \i\v^\. \% ^^^^^z^^^^*^^
h naughty. Bat, if 1 veie ^lYiVCl^^^oo^ «^ ^\^5^^ ^^

152 THIRD-CLASS READBS.

I would rather go without cheese all the days of m;
life, than gain it by such cheating and wicked speeche
as this fox is said to have made.

LXXIX. Lesson Seventt-nintb.— JS^inn*

1. Who taught the bees, when first they take

Their night through flow'ry fields in spring.
To mark their hives, and straight to make
Their sure return, sweet stores to bring T

2. Who taught the ant to bite the grains

Of ^eat, which, for her winter store.
She boms, with unwearied pains.
So careful that they grow no more T

3. Who taught the beavers to contrive

Their huts, on banks so wisely plann'd,
That in the winter they can dive.
And shun their foes, from thence by land ?

4. Who taught the spider*s curious art.

Stretching from twig to twig her line.
Strengthening her web in every part,
Sure and exact in her design ?

5 WJbo taught the swallows when to take
, 4heir flight before chill winter comes T
The wren her curious nest to make ?
The wand'ring rooks to find their homes ?

$0 The God whose work all nature is :

Whose wisdom guides iVv^ n^\ da^l^^
Man sees but part ; bu\ vrWvV^ ^^^^
Telia him this wisdom \a (i^NYttfi*

TBIUMXAM SXADXK.

LXXX. Lemon 'EiamivTH.—TJuViptr and the File.

1. A TiPBR having entered a Bmith'a shop, looked
up and down for Homethiag to cat ; vhen, casting hta
eye upon a file, he greedily seized upon it, and fell
to gnawing it with his teeth.

2. Afler he had spent eome time in his attempts to
devour it, the file told hira very gruflly, that he had
better be quiet and let him alone ; for he would get
very little by nibbling at one, who, upon occasion,
could bite iron and steel.

3. This fable is intended to show us how foolish it
is, for one person to make an attack on another, out
of mere spite or envy. If we do so, the injury is
sure to come back upon us with tenfold violence ; be-

|. cause the innocent person, whom we attack, is pretty

[ 90X6 to repel us without receiving any injury, and at

t ■ lfa» Mine time to point out our bai nia'Cwe» •, ti-v.^ '^'«»*

Ktpime Its to the scorn and contom'^x o^ "So* -wsi^.

154 THIRD-CLASS READER*

4. Whoever fails in a base and malignant attacli
upon his neighbor, comes out of the contest with as
bad a grace as the viper did from his famous battle
with the file.

LXXXI. Lesson Eighty-first.— -7\7/or Tai, m.

1. Tit for tat is a very bad word,

As frequently people apply it ;
It means, as I've usually heard,
They intend to revenge themselves by iL
There is but one place where its proper and pat«
And there I permit them to say ** tit for taU'*

2. Poor Dobbin, that toils with his load,

Or gallops with master or man.
Don't lash hini so fast on the road.

You see he does all that he can :
How long has he serv'd you ! do recollect that,
And treat him with kindness ; 'tis but ** tit for tat**

8. Poor Brindle, that lashes her tail.

And trudges home morning and night,
'Till Dolly appears with her pail.
To milk out the fluid so white ;
Don't kick her poor haunches, or beat her^ and that*
To be kind to poor Brindle is but ** tit for tat."

4. There's honest old Tray in the yard,
What courage and zeal has he shown ;
*Twould surely be cruelly hard
Not to cast the poor fellow a bone.
How fiercely he barka ^X '^'^ x^^^vn^ ts^'^hoA,^
I'm MtuOf theut to 8taxve\mxit\&TiQX^*'>o.\il^>3i

THIRD-CLASS READER. U5

5. Poor Puss, that runs mewing about,

Her white body sweeping the ground ;
The mother abus'd and kick'd out,

And her innocent little ones drown'd ;
Whenever she catches the mischievous rat,
Be kind to poor pussy, 'tis but ** tit for tat»"

6. Whatever shows kindness to us,

With kindness we ought to repay ;
Brindle, Donkey, Tray, Dobbin, and PusSy

And ev'ry thing else in its way ;
In cases like Uiese, it is proper and pat.
To make use of this maxim, and say, ^' tit for tak*'

LXXXII. Lesson Eighty-second. — Tlie Wolf.

1. I DARE say you have neyer thought of a wolf,
but as a creature so fierce that it could not be tamed :
but I have been reading an account of this beast,
written by a gentleman who says, that every one of
the savage animals that feed on flesh may, by kind
treatment, be made gentle to those who attend on
them, and give them their food ; and the wolf, for
one, is so fond of its young, and so capable of attach-
ment to a kind master, that it must have some good
qualities afler all.

2. I will tell you a story that will perhaps help yon
to remember some of the good that is known of tliese
creatures.

3. A young wolf was taken, when he was not quite
three months old, by a gentleman who had watched
the old one leading her young ones out to drink, and
who had contrived, by frightening her for their fia.(fit«f>
to get this one, which had rambled «. YiVOtfi S.xwbw '^^
thers, while she was collecting Mid cw\ftWNW»!^ n»
ide them.

156 THIRD-CLASS READER.

4. He brought it up fondly as if it had been a do^ :
the animal was handsome of its kind ; being constantl)
well fed, it had not the gaunt and ravenous look tha
wolves have in their native forests, where food li
scarce, and where there are many to scramble for it
and meeting with nothing but caresses from ever]
body, it never seemed to think of snapping at them.

5. At the least word from its master in a kind tond
or the slightest pat of encouragement, it would pre!
against him, turning all manner of ways as if to toucl
him better, and sending forth a soft ccy, very dif
ferent from the wild howl of its hungry brothers ii
the woods.

6. It followed its master everywhere, and when he
happened to be away, it was easy to see that the woli
felt lonely and sad. At last, the gentleman was oblige<l
to go on a journey, and therefore he made a preseni
of his favorite to the menagerie at Paris.

7. This, you know, is a place where animals arc
kept and exhibited to strangers. Here, shut up in thfl
compartment allotted to it, the animal remained foi
many weeks without showing tiie least gayety, and
almost without eating.

8. But by degrees it recovered ; and it seems tc
have been a creature which could not live withoui
some one to love ; for it attached itself to its keepersi
and seemed to have forgotten all its past affections.

9. However, after being absent a whole year and i
half, its old master returned, and went immediately U
the menagerie. The wolf was faithful after all ; for
like a dog, it knew its master's voice even before i
saw him, and it showed its joy by its quick move
ments and eager cries.

10. As soon as it w^a %^t a.1 liberty, it rushed to
warda him just as a CavoiVve ^o^ ^o^^ -^Xv^^l ^^>q. ti

turn to it after a few days* «}oaew^^/V^Txv^vci%>^^ -wg
««d ucBiii so eagerly, ih^xl ^^^^ ^M ^v^ wv^xtfoX'

THIRD-CLASS READER. 167

lo see a wolf on such good terms with any human
being, would have been frightened, lest it should tear
the gentleman in pieces even from mere rudeness.

11. The creature continued as fond of its master
as before, till a second time the gentleman set out on
his travels, and again he left his friend, the wolf, at
the menagerie.

^ 12. This time he was absent three years : the poor
wolf was, for some time, just as sad as before ; but
the keepers gave it a young dog for a companion, and
the affectionate creature grew so fond of his little friend^
that when the gentleman did return, these two ani-
mals were living very happily together.

13. It is said, that even dogs, in general, do not imme-
diately recollect a person who has been so long as three
years away from them ; but the wolf had not in the
least forgotten his old friend* i •

14. When the gentleman went to see him it was
evening, all was shut up, and so the animal could not
make use of his eyes for want of light ; he could not
see his dear master's- face, but he well remembered
khe sound of a voice, that had always spoken in kind-
ness to him : he started forward the' moment h^ heard
it ; he answered by the most impatient cri^ ; &nd
when he was let out of the place where he had been
kept, again and again uttering eager cries of joy, he
rushed forward, placed his two fore-feet on the shoul-
ders of his friendy licked every part of ^ his face, and
threatened, with his sharp teeth, his very keepers
when they came near, atthough not long before he had
shown them the greatest fondness.

15. This poor beast seems to have had the strongest
feelings of joy and sorrow; and when again his master
was obliged to leave him, he became sad^ «.wd '^^xs^sL
lot stir from one place in his den; \v^ ^wsX.^^'c.'kw.^
ike a morsel of food, even aomeWmea ^w^^>^^^ ^"^^
Bing may : bi8 hairs briatled vi^ awi \v» ^^'^» «^

168 THIXU>-CLA88 READER.

became rough, as is usual with sick animals. Al
end of a week he was so altered, that he would
have been known, by any one who had seen hu
his happier days, and ail who saw him supposet
would soon die of grief.

16. But the story does not really end in this ^
and as this is a true account, I will tell it to you
as it happened.

17* After a time the wolf got better ; he seemt
recover his strength, and his coat was once moi
smooth and as shining as ever. Wolves are in ge:
such rough and meagre animals, that I suppose
creature was much handsomer than any of his 1
in consequence of his good living and kind usage
M. Frederic Cuvier, who tells Uiis story, speak
his coat as actually brilliant, which, you know,
mean very sleek and glossy when we speak of fi

18. You have seen the fur of the sea-otter, and
know how bright that looks, especially when the
is shihing on it. Well, our friend the wolf recoi
his fine coat, and his good looks, and even his gc
ness to his keepers ; but never again would he lei
person caress or fondle him ; and to strangers he vt
show Ids teeth fiercely, as if to threaten them
mischief, if they should attempt to pat, or in any
show him kindness.

LXXXni. Lesson Eiohtt-third. — 77ie Creat

1. Father, who made all the beautifiil flowers,
And the bright green shades of the summer boM
Is it the warm beaming sun that brings
The emerald leaves aiwi \,\\e bV^^omiufrs —
JF7owers to the fieVda BlW^^l V\i^ lt\sA\a \«5 >ift& Vx^^'
— 2Vot the sun, my Oieat c3m\^,\wN. «ti^ ^««^^
he I

'f. TH1IU>-CLASS READER. 169

2. Father, whose Tiand formed the blue tinted sky,
Its colored clouds and its radiancy ?
What are those stars we view shining in air ?
What power ever keeps them suspended there ?
Was it man formed the skies and the glories we see ?
—Not man, my dear child, but one greater than he !

ather, from whence came our own lovely land,
rVith its rivers and seas, and its mountains so grand ;
Its tall frowning rocks and its shell-spangled shore ?
Were these not the work of some people of yore !—
Owe these not their birth to man's own good de-
cree?
-—Not to man, my dear child, but one greater
than he !

4. From God came the trees, and the flowers, and fl#
earth —
To God do the mountains aod seas owi^theiif Inrth ;
His glory alone, love, created on high,
The sun, moon, and stars, and the beautiful sky : *
It was He formed the land, and no people of yore.
— ^Bend thy knee, my sweet child, and that God
now adore ! ^

»
LXXXIV. Lesson EioHTYrFouRTH. — Tht ChiUTs

1. O God ! I ami|«liiae child

Who fain te'^e would pniy»
But am 80 mazed in folly's wild,
I know not what to say.

2. O teach my light and erring tongue

To render thanks to lihee \
And mould my siiiple heaiX^ -wYAftlcs^^^^
To deep humility'.

100 THIRD-CLASS REABIK

Film,

3. For thou hast made me wha

With brightest hopes before,
And put a reasoning soul within,
To live for evermore.

4. That thou art kind, and great, and good,

I joyfully believe ;
But, oh ! thy boundless love td'^an,
My mind cannot conceive.

5. That thou shouldst send thine only Son

From reeions of the sky.
For this whole sinful race of mine
A dreadful death to die,

0. I cannot grasp. But teach me. Lord,
With grateful heart to bow ;
And be that reylrenced and adored,
Which none^conceives but thou*

THBBKM..

'"my

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