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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 S 6 CANADIAN CATHOLIC READERS. 1 Christ Giving the Keys to St. Peter, %b (^ana^ian Catholic 'Readers. ■jr "t: -a- FOLTKTH EEA apphoved by the education department for use in the roman catholic separate schools of ontario. MONTREAL : CADIEUX & DEROME. I '7 -.■■ ■ ■• ■»"' X a n.«.;) in our waUo, imd wo'll f(ivc you tho cU>iiuin]t(N for yoiu* wmkom 1 " Tlioy piwlillod onwHi'tl liotu' iiftor iKun', Hlit^Konn;; iln>uim»lvoM im Im^nI {\wy rouM unilor Uio hIwuIovv of (ho Houihoni imwk, wliilo on llioir n^lit hand (ho full huii- ^laro lay \\\Hm (ho ononnous wall of niinioHaM. W^h, and lauivln, which foruHMJ iho nor(>h(»rn fonn»kon hy iho Hlondor Hhafi.N of iMunhoo (uf(.M, and d<»ckod with a thousand piudy ])arasi(>(«M. Hank upttn Uank of p)r^<>oUN 1)Uhmii piled upwani to (ho nky, (ill whon« itn outline cut the l>luo, lloworH and loavos, Uh) lofty to iMMliNdn^uinhod hy tho oyo, fornu»d a ln*okon r»iinlM)W of all Iiuoh tjuivor- iuji; in tho luscondin^ Hd'oains of a/.un» nuNt, until (hoy hoouumI (o molt ami niin^lo with (ho vory Iumivouh. Ami lUM tho mu» n>Mo hi^iior and higher, a ^roat ntill- noHH foil u|)on tho foroHt. Tho ja^uarH and (h(* nionkoys hat! hidden thonisolvi^N in (ho darkest tl(»p(hH of (ho whkhIw. Tho hinls' no(t»M died out one hy one; (ho vovy buttorUiovS cxNiustHl their lli((injL!jM over tlu> tro(»-topN, and 8lep( with ouiHpremI win^s upon the K^^^'^^^y leaves, undistin^uishahlo fixHu tho llowei\M ai'ound thoni. Now anti then a parn)( swun^* and .seroanu»d at (Ihmu from an overhiinjjinj; lH)Uifh : or a thirsty monk»»y slid lazily down a swinj»;inji" vine to the surface of the stream, dipiHHi up the water in his tiny hantl. and started ohatterinu; Imck. aw his eyes nu>t thosi* of some l\)ul nlliivator peering upward through the clear depths below. On a 'ritopK^Ai. KivKit. 10 \\\ Hhadml ikniUh ImwiohUi tlu^ Ih)U^I)n, riihbiU m lar^o fiN Nhoop wont [>iMlpily roiiiid and round, tlirUHt- in^ up ilioii* \inwi(^ldy IkmuIh atnon^ i)io hhKHnH of ilio hUu) wator lilioH; wliilo black and ptu'plo wator-hiMm ran U|) and down tipon {\m raflH of floating loavoH. Tlin Mliinin^ Hnout of a frimli-wa.ti*r dol[)liin roHo Hlowly io (lir Nurfaro; a jot of Hpray wliirrod up; a rainbow liun^ upon it for a niuniont; and tliu black nnout Hank la/.ily a^ain. Hero and tluM'«\ too, upon Hoino hIuiIIow pobbly nhoro, Hcarlot llaniin^ooM Ht<»otN. w bid I crow< I tl 10 air cloHo to til IO carlli ; a con fuHod Hwarniin^ murmur wbicb lianj^H round ovory ImihIi, in tbo crackoM, in tbo Hoil uiidorminod by lizardH and hvvn ; a voict^ proclaiming to uh tbat all Natun> broatboH, tbat under a tbouHand diHori^nt forniH lifo HwarniH in tbo ^apin^ and dtiNty (^artb, a.H miicli aH in tbo bonom of tbo watorn, and in tbo air wliicOi broatboH around." Avo Maria ! blosHod }»o tho liour, Th« timo, tho cliino, tho Rpot whom T ho oft Ifavo f<»lt that moinotit in its fullent power Sink o'or tho onrth, ho bountiful and Hoft ! V. 16 Fourth Reader. Ilf.-THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK. I'll seek a four-leaved Shamrock in all the fairy dells, And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my spells ! I would not waste my magic mite on diamond, pearl, or gold, For treasure tires the weary sense —such triumph is but cold ; But I would play th' enchanter's part in casting Lass around — Oh ! not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found. To worth I would give honor ! — I'd dry the mourner's tears, And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years. And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had grown cold. Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle as of old ! Oh! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around, And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found ! The heart that had been mourning o'er vanished dreams of love, Should see them all returning — ke Noah's faithful dove; And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's darken- ing sea. And Misery's children have an ark and saved from sinking be. Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around. And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found! — Samuel Lover. IV.— THE JOURNEY ONWARDS. • As slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look'd back To that dear isle 'twas leaving. So loth we part from all we love, From all the links that bind us ; So turn our hearts, as on we rove, To those we've left behind us ! Teaching and Character of Jesus Christ. 17 Aud when, in other climes, we meet Some isle or vale enchanting, Where all looks flowery, wild and sweet, And nought but love is wanting ; We think how great had been our bliss If Heaven had but assign'd us To live and die in scenes like this, With some we've left behind us ! As travellers oft look back at eve When eastward darkly going, To gaze upon that light they leave Still faint behind them glowing, — So, when the close of pleasure's day To gloom hath near consign'd us, We turn to catch one fading ray Of joy that's left behind us. — Thomas Moore. v.— TEACHING AND CHARACTER OF JESUS CHRIST. Jesus Christ appears among men full of grace and truth; the authority and the mildness of His precepts are irresistible. He comes to heal the most unhappy of mortals, and all His wonders are for the wretched. In order to inculcate His doctrine, He chooses the apologue, or parable, which is easily impressed on the minds of the people. While walking in the fields, He gives His divine lessons. When surveying the flowers that adorn the mead, He exhorts His disciples to put their trust in Providence, ii 18 Fourth Reader. I ■ who supports the feeble plants, and feeds the birds of the air; when He beholds the fruits of the earth, He teaches them to judge of men by their works ; an infant is brought to Him, and He recommends innocence ; being among shepherds, He gives Himself the appellation of the Good Shepherd ^ and represents Himself as bringing back the lost sheep to the fold. In spring He takes His seat upon the mountain, and draws from the suiTounding objects instruction for the multitude sitting at His feet. From the very sight of this multitude, composed of the poor and the unfor- tunate, He deduces His beatitudes. Blessed are those that weep — blessed are they that hunger and thirst Such as observe His precepts, and those that slight them, are compared to two men who build houses, the one upon a rock, and the other upon the sand. When He asks the woman of Samaria for drink. He expounds unto her His heavenly doctrine, under the beautiful image of a well of living water. His character was amiable, open, and tender, and His charity unbounded. The evangelist gives us a complete and admirable idea of it in these few words: He went about doing good. His resignation to the will of God is conspicuous in every moment of His life ; He loved and felt the sentiment of friendship: the man whotn He raised from the tomb, Lazarus, was His friend; it was for the sake of the noblest sentiment of life that He performed the greatest of His miracles. In Him th»^ love of country may find a model. "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem," He exclaimed, at the idea of the judgments which threatened that guilty city, "how often would I have gathered thy children together, ev ar th ' a ! ov H M_ Lead, Kindly Light. 19 even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!" Casting His sorrowful eyes from the top of a hill over this city, doomed for her crimes to a signal destruction. He was unable to restrain His tears: "He beheld the city" says the evangelist, '* and wept over it." His tolerance was not less remarkable : when His disciples begged Him to command fire to come down from heaven on a village of Samaria, which had denied Him hospitality, He replied with indignation, " Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of" — Chateaubriand. VL— LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT. Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on ; The night is dark, and I am far from home, Lead Thou me on ; Keep Thou ray feet ; I do not ask to see The distant scene ; one step enough for me. I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou Shouldst lead me on ; I loved to choose and see my path ; but now Lead Thou me on : I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will — remember not past years. So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still Will lead me on, O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till The night is gone, And with the morn those angel faces smile, Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. — Cardinal Nevnnan. 20 Fourth Ukader. VII.— THE DAFFODILS. I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils, Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way. They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay : Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance . The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee ; — A Poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company ! I gazed — and gazed — but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought ; For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Wliich is the bliss of solitude ; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daflbdils. — Wililam Wordsworth. i i God often giveth in one short moment what he hath a long time denied. ,11.. Hunting the Deer. 21 VIII. - HUNTING THE DEER. After it was thoroughly dark we went down to make a short trial-trip. Everything working to satisfac- tion, about ten o'clock we pushed out in earnest. The night was clear, moonless, and still. Nearing the middle of the lake, a breeze from the west was barely perceptible, and noiselessly we glided before it. The guide handled his oar with great dexterity ; without lifting it from the water or breaking the surface, he imparted the steady, uniform motion desired. How silent it was! The ear seemed the only sense, and to hold dominion over lake and forest. Occasionally a lily-pad would brush along the bottom, and stooping low I could hear a faint murmuring of the water under the bow: else all was still. Then, almost as by magic, we were encompassed by a huge black ring. The sur- face of the lake, when we had reached the centre, was slightly luminous from the starlight ; and the dark, even forest-line that surrounded us, doubled by reflection in the water, presenting a broad, unbroken belt of utter blackness. The effect was quite startling, like some huge conjurer's trick. It seemed as if we had crossed the boundary-line between the real and the imaginary, and this was indeed the land of shadows and of spectres. What magic oar was that the guide wielded that it could transport me to such a realm ! Indeed, had I not com- mitted some fatal mistake and left that trusty servant behind, and had not some wizard of the night stepped into his place? A slight splashing inshore broke the spell and caused me to turn nervously to the oarsman : " Musquash," said he, and kept straight on. 22 Fourth Header. After ail hour's delay, and near midnight, we pushed out again. My vigilance and susceptibility were rather sharpened than dulled by the waiting ; and the features of the night had also deepened and intensified. Night was at its meridian. The sky had that soft luminous- ness which may often be observed near midnight at this season, and the "large few stars " beamed mildly down. We floated out into that spectral shadow-land and moved slowly on as before. The silence was most impressive. Now and then the faint yeap of some travelling bird would come from the air overhead, or the wings of a bat whisp quickly by, or an owl hoot off in the mountains, giving to the silence and loneliness a tongue. At short intervals some noise inshore would startle me, and cause me to turn inquiringly to the silent figure in the stern. The end of the lake was reached, and we turned back. The novelty and the excitement began to flag ; tired nature began to assert her claims ; the movement was soothing, and the gunner slumbered fitfully at his post. Presently something aroused me. "There's a deer," whispered the guide. The gun heard, and fairly jumped in my hand. Listening, there came the cracking of a limb followed by a sound as of something walking in shallow water. It proceeded from the other end of the lake, over against our camp. On we sped, noiselessly as ever, but with increased velocity. Presently, with a thrill of new intensity, I saw the boat was gradually heading in that direction. " Light the jack," said a soft whisper behind me. I fumbled nervously for a match, and dropped the first one. Another attempt, and the light took. The gentle motion fanned the blaze, and in h HrsTiNtj THK Deer. •2n a moment a broad glare of liglit foil u|Mm i\\o. water in front of us, while the boat remained in utter darkness. By this time I had got beyond the nervous point, and had come round to perfect coolness and composure again, but preteniaturally vigilant and keen. I was ready for any disclosures; not a sound was heard. In a few moments the trees along-shore were faintly visible. Every object put on the shape of a gigantic deer. A large rock looked just ready to bound away. The dry limbs of a prostrate tree were surely his antlers. But what are those two luminous spots ? Need the reader to be told what they were? In a moment the head of a real deer became outlined ; then his neck and fore- shoulders ; then his whole body. There he stood, up to his knees in the water, gazing fixedly at us, apparently arrested in the movement of putting his head down for a lily -pad, and evidently thinking it was some new- fangled moon sporting about there. " Let him have it," said my prompter, — and the crash came. There was a scuffle in the water, and a plunge in the woods. " He's gone," said I. " Wait a moment," said tlie guide, " and I will show you." Rapidly running the canoe ashore, we sprang out, and holding the jack aloft, explored the vicinity by its light. There, over the logs and brush, I caught the glimmer of those luminous spots again. But, poor thing! there was little need of the second shot, which was the unkindest cut of all, for the deer had already fallen to the ground, and was fast expiring. The success was but a very indifferent orj.e, after all, as the victinr turned out to be only an old doe, upon whom maternal cares had evidently worn heavily during the summer. —John Burroughs. 24 j! 1 Fourth Keadeu. IX.— THE BAREFOOT BOY. Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! With thy turned-up pantaloons. And thy merry whistled tunes ; "With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace : From my heart I give thee joy, — I was once a barefoot boy ! Oh, for boyhood's painless play. Sleep that w^akes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge, never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase. Of the wild-flower's time and place. Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood ; How the tortoise bears his shell ; How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well ; How the robin feeds her young. How the oriole's nest is hung ; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow. Where the groundnut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; Of the black wasp's cunning way, — Mason of his walls of clay, — And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans '- - The Barefoot Boy. For, eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks ; Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy, — Blessings on the barefoot boy ! Oh, for festal dainties spread, Like my bowi of milk and bread, — Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude ! O'er me, like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent. Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; While *or music came the play Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; And, to light the noisy choir. Lit the fly his lamp of fire. I was monarch : pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy ! Cheerily, then, my little man. Live and laugh, as boyhood can ! Though the flinty slopes be hard. Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew ; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat : All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod. Like a colt's for work be shod, Made to tread the mills of toil, 25 26 Fourth Reader. Up and down in ceaseless moil ; Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground ; Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy ! -John O. Whittier. X.— FLOW GENTLY, SWEET AFTON. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise ; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dreai^i . Thou stockdove whose echo resounds through the glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear, — I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills. Far marked with the courses of clear, winding rills, — There daily I wander as noon rises high. My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below. Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow, — There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resid llage. 81 How often have I paused on every charm, — The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topped the neighboring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made ! Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; There, as I piissed with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came softened from below; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung. The sober hei-d that lowed to meet their young, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool. The playful children just let loose from school. The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; — These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled. And still where many a garden-flower grows wild, There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear. And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; Remote from towns he ran his gcdly race. Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place ; Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power. By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train — He chid their wanderings, but relieved their i>ain : The long-remembered l>eggar was his guost. 'At is;^ 32 Fourth Reader. Whose beard, descending, swept his agfed breast ; The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed ; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, .Sat by his fire, and talked the night away ; Wept o'er his wounds or tales of sorrow done. Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride. And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at every call. He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all ; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies. He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid. And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace. His looks adorned the venerable place j Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway. And fools, who came to scoffs, remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; E'en children followed with endearing wile, And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile ; His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, t J The Dkskutki) Viixaijk. U:\ Their welfare pleased liiin, and their earns