IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) : *% 1.0 1.1 m m ^ U& 12.0 u& llli 1^ u^ < 6" ► ■> Photographic Sciences Corporalion 23 VKIST MAW STRUT \MIUTIR,N.Y. UStO (716) •73-4503 ■»^ A^> 1 > CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/iCIViH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Instituta for Historical IMicroraproductiont / Inatitut Canadian da microraproductions liistoriquas <7^m Technical and Bibliographic Notas/Notas tachniquas at bibiiographiquaa The Institute hae attempted to obtain the bast original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checlced below. D □ D D D Coloured covers/ Couverture de couleur I I Covers damaged/ Couverture endommagte Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaur^a et/ou pelliculte I 1 Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque □ Coloureu maps/ Cartes giographiquas an couleur □ Coloured inic (I.e. other than blue or black)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) I I Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur Bound with other material/ Relik ; but all these lessons bdong to the department of special instruction, and either haye no bearing ob education proper, or tend to giye to education a dry, utilitarian, and materialistic character. . . . The aim of the reading^book is not instruction, save in the single art of reading, but education, the development or cultiyation in the mind and in the heart of those great principles which are the basis of all religion.'' Wo have endeavored to ^ake these Beaders as at- tractive in evPTy way as any series published; while from a Oatholic point of view, we can oonscientiouBly claim for them some degree of merit The s^le in which the pubHshers have got up the other books of this series is very creditable to tiiem; but in this third book they have suipasfed themselves, it is embdlished with numeroub engravings, many ot them very fine, and far superior to what is generally in s^ool-books. 1^ OOMPILBB. CONTENTS. 1. 2. 3. 4. 6. 6. 7. 4. 9. 10. 11. 12. 18. 14. 16. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 28. 24. 26. 26. 27. 28. 29. 80. n PART I. loonom OR THa Fuvowui 01 BaADiadr. 11 Bftptifm 16 Th« Soaile ot LmooanGe 18 KlndWonls 19 Th« Brother! 2C Beware of Iin{Mitience 21 The Two Ways 28 OooBiel to the Toong 26 Ob a PIctare of a Qirl leading her Blind Mother throogh the Woods .Waiu. 26 The Honeit Shefdierd B07 28 The Wonden of a Salt Mine Toulk'$ O. iUgiaim. 82 The Starrj HeaTens 88 CafeleMMM t 86 OoBipegatloa of the Propagation of the lUth. . IMb't 0. Mag. 89 live im Something 42 Fiedominani Faadons 48 " " (aMftMMd) 47 MyBoyAbaalom :tr. ^.WUk. b\ The Soholar'a Yidmi *64 BrChotonrSaTioar. ...DM^y«0^t0*0^i^t0t^0>m0>^0^00tm0t^ PA'RT 11. ^ 1. The Draun of the OraMMl«r 06 2. ** •• «• " (Qmimti) 07 8. The Loid'e Pmjrer BiUtSMm. 00 4. Legend of the Infant Jfltos 101 6. The Do-Nothingi 102 6. Heding the Daughter of Jalnu »WUUi. 106 7. StPhiUpNeri and the Youth Bgnm. lOB 8. OonftrmaMtm 109 0. Bird! In Sammar 110 10. The Ohlldien and the Xnfimt Jeeoa 112 11. TheQfaTeof IMberlfarqnette JtkffiXmM^. 117 12. Abraham and laaao JIMfiftfary. 120 18. HohenUnden flwytrfl. 128 14. LugnageofFlowen diflmlimla. 124 16. Homeward Bound WUk, 127 16. 1007*6 Death ^.Oiflmnmtt. 128 17. Autobiography of a Boae RMOulkrk. 182 la ** " (OmikHnIi ** 186 10. Winter 188 20. Hm Snow 141 21. yiea of Water k 148 Dying COiriitlaa to hiaBonl Apt, 146 XL Flight into l^ypt ^.AUiAorte. 146 28. TheFreedBlid m9.Hmm$. 148 24. Decollation of 8i John AMAorte. 160 26. Batuiday Afternoon WOit. 162 26. T^eamlng and Aooomplialimenie not inoonriitent with Good Housekeeping 164 27. Tieaming and Aocomplielmienie {Omtinmi) 166 28. Aneodotee of the Tiger , JIToAmI Atory. 168 20. The fountain 168 SO. Benedidt Arnold ^ 164 ooMTsim. 9 in. BaMkaKllioeml AUiAorw. 106 12. Fkmtn ...* 169 18. llMHohokrolUkilioMry 170 84. • •• (Chmmmi) 172 >86. TlMlfoiithn(il»]r 176 86. The lloDth ofibrr O. TmA'a ¥i»— 1» 177 87. ThalndlMi 178 88. Oluuritj O t rnf i am . 180 80. Th« BverlMtlng Ohoroh Macmb^. 181 40. WeixnnetotlMBhlB* Omt rn . 188 41. nieBM-HlTe 186 42. llie OhUd'i Wish in Jane 187 48. The Mnrtyr'i Boj < CMiNoI W immmt. 188 44. " •* <• (OmUmitd) '* •« 108 46. Annn'i Offering of Sunael BAhSUHm. 106 46. 'llieBojMid the Child Jeiiu Btitr, 100 47. llieHolyBaohuiet BUkakHm. 201 48. TheHooMofLoretto. KKOvArk. 204 40. Bztreme Unotlon Dul^ ^ • ChrkHm. 207 60. •• Whirls that, Hotherf Daam. 209 ,61. Ohuity OHgiHti. 210 62. Aneodotet of Honae AmiUmif AmmA. 211 68. The Bettte of Blenheim JStmOuf. 216 64. TheAnnnnoietlon... JNbkaMm, 217 66. StFeUoitMendherSone Mr*.aft. 220 66. Immortnlitj 0. A, Jkmm mm. 224 67. The Widow of Naln ^.WiOa. 226 68. Monument to a Holher's Onre J,R.CImtt0r. 227 69. Adoimticpoi'theBhepheidi JWtAorte. 280 60. llie Angela! Bell Cmfkti. 282 61. The Adoration of the Magi ....AUi Aorte. 284 62. Iona....r 287 68. StOolnmbablealhigthelilee Jftwihy. 280 114. The Obeerving Jadge 241 66. *• '* •* (OmAhmO .^242 66. " «* *< (OmmIwM). 244 67. Henrj the Hermit ANriMr. 246 68. Qod li Brerywhen 240 60. Anecdote of Frederick the Oreal ^ 260 70. ABmallOatedhiim ^^....JfeOtt. 261 71. TheFMdigalBon 69iU8U>Hm. 262 72. Blanche of OtatUe 266 78. HaU Virgin of yiigina L^raOdMlm, 266 74. Legend of Daniel the Anchoret Jfra .fiwpji 269 76. «• •• (Omikmi) " 261 76. Ohndhood'iTean J^rktWkit. 262 1» 10 oowrmnm 77. Brnkflwl-Tkblc BotoDM «... 20ft 78. •* •• (Omlkmd) 268 79. M •• (ONMfNdM) 272 88. TlndofPtoy WUUa. 278 81. MelrawAbbqr. Ot^ImI. 279 82. OmlaitlMBIbMl i^^CRrM/pr YMk. 281 88. AwntiyVeUoviMdtlMAM Bynm, 288 81. llMnniOniMMlc MkHmd. 286 86. The Buttle of Antlooh 288 86. VUkg«8QliooliiMiter GMmUi. 291 87. TlMBMtorofOiiigiMn.. J Mt f Baf/kn. 292 88. Th* Tlurw HomM 294 89. 8t.PrtwtiieOfei^MidAttiU Briifift MikUm Bkkrf. 299 92. OhUdlModorJeras I^t^CMrM/ar IMk. 801 98. Hie Butterfly's Bell, eta Jbtto*. 802 94. TheAioeBrioa .Sibk aiorim. 804 96. TheThkiwller OoMmM. 806 96. ThellooriahWenlnSpefai 807 97. TbeMonkeofOld O.P.R.Jmmm. 809 96. TiM Beoied Ftetwee BOtkBlMim. 8U 99. Thrth in Fteeatheaee Bood. 812 100. JqwiMie Mertyn Or**. 818 101. IUnia*n«enie-Boet Baod. 817 102. nowen for the Alter (n^'^rm^ 820 1 b»T« giTen the munee of lome anthore; bat in aneogliig this Baeder, mtf old«o( WM to Monre piaoee miteble for oUldivn who ware oommenoing to read ntber fluently. Many of them are /ittgiUTe. I aonght rather te I it pleaaent and inatmotiTo, than to oell fW>m parttoaler aathon. aof 268 278 ...WiUk. 278 ..OHgiMl. 270 M raulk. 281 ..Bifrm. 288 MMmA 286 •••••••., 288 OtUrnHk 2»1 AiyAy. 298 294 igmiM. 296 GIoUmiM. 298 IMwy- 299 ArliMM. 801 ..JbNot. 803 bUSMm. 804 GoUmnM. 800 807 ^Jmm. 809 UiApriv. 811 ...Bood. 812 ..OmUi. 818 ■ •••xModL 817 ' iMflKwH 820 THE THn(D REAH ^•» PART FIBBT. nsTBUonoKis oir the pmciPtES All fhat artionlate Uuigntge can eflisct to inflaenoe others b dependent npon the Toloe addnseed to the enr. A akil* Ad management of it 1^ oMiaeqaentlj, of the hlgheM import- ance. Distinct articulation formi the foudation of good reading. To acquire thia, the roice ihonld be flreqnently ezerdaed npon the elniMitaiy aonndi of the language, botii i^ple and com- bined, and claisei of worchi containing lonndB liable to be per* rerted or suppreaeed in utterance, ihodd be forcibly and aeon* rately pronounced. rtUsBMKler, ■ > ooBmenoing M JbLHMXHTABT YCOAL SOUSDB. ght nther to ■ Mthon. ■ .r « VowdSomdi. 1 as in ape. as in old. 1 41 arm. " do. 1 tt ban. " oz. 1 U mat u " use. ^ 1 II. Vffi,' tt «• tub. 1 II end. n " fun. 1 1 n ice. oi " voice. 1 i II it on " sound IS THE THIBD intApK It- Oonxmant Sountb. b'" as in bag. r as in rain. d i< dnn. T II rane. g J 1 1$ it u gate jam. lore W 7 s II II II war. yes. naL m n it u moaent not. th II II song, there. AspmATB Soinn)B. \ The aspirate consonant is distinguished Arom the vocal fa Its emrndation < the former is prononnced with a M emission of breath ; the latter, by a mnrmnring sound of the yoioe. Exercigea in ihe Aspirate Consonants. f as fa fate. h as m hate. k as fa key. p " m- s " sign. t " telL ch " diann. sh " shade. th " thauka. Avoid the snfqpiresdon of a syllable; as, caVn for cabin. particHar" particdar. desolate for desolate. memory *' memory. Avoid the omission of any sound properly belongiiig to a word ; as, for seeing. swifly for swiftly. seefa' wa'mer " warmer. government " government. 'appy " happy, b'isnes^ " busfaess. Avoid the substitution of one sound for another ; as, wfl-ler for wiUow. tem^r-it for tem-per«te wifrder " wfa8pared in eradicatii^ it, and in securing a clear, full, round, and flex- ible tone. Three degrees of variations are usually recognized in reading — the high, middle, and low. The low is that which falls below the usual speaking key, and is employed m expressing ^notions of svMimihf, atoe, and reverence. The middle pitch is what is usually employed in common Conversation, and in expressing unimpassioned thought, and modenUe em(^n. The high|>itch is that which rises above the usual speaking key, and L used in expressing j'oyous and elevated feelings. The great object of every reader should be, first, to read so ap to be faUy and easily understood by all who hear hun ; and next, to rt^ with grace and force, so as to please and mov«' his hearers." BAPTISM. 16 1. Baptism. O-Rio'i-NAL, first, primitiye. Mar'tyb-dom, death in testi- mony of the true faith. SuF-Fi'ci-BOT, enough. Va-lid'i-tt, legal force. Reo'is-terkd, recorded. Our Bavloar baptised bjr Bt Johiii rHE first of the Sacraments which we receive is baptism. It was instituted by onr Lord to free ns firom original sin, and also from actual sin committed before we receive it. Bap- tism makes as children of God and of his holy Church; and it 16 THB THIBD BKAPICB. . to the most necessary of all the Sacraments, because, onlesi we receiye it, we cannot enter the kingdom of heayen. 2. There are commonly reckoned three kinds of baptism: first, by water; second, tiutt of the spirit; and third, of blood. The first only to properly a sacrament, and to admintotered by ponring water on the head of the person to be baptized, repeatkig at the same time these words : " I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ohost.»' 8. The baptism of the spirit takes place when a])6rson has a tme sorrow for hto sinS|^and an ardent desire to receive- bap> tism, bnt to placed in drcomstances wherdn it to impossible for him to reoeiTe the sacrament. By tbto desire ordinal and actoal sin to foigiyen. The baptism of blood to that which takes place when a person snffars martyrdom for the faitL Hence the Hofy Innocents, pat to death by the order of Herod, when that wicked Ung sought to kiU onr Lord, are esteemed as mar^rs, and as hkor; baptized in their blood. 4. At what partibnlar time during the, life of onr divine Lord baptism was institnted to not exactly known. Some holy Fathers tUnk it Was instituted when Ohrist was baptized by St John ; others, when He said, nnlesB a man be bom of water and the Holy Ghost^ he cannot enter the kingdom of Heaven. It to certain, however, that the oUigation b^gan with the pronmlgation of Gfartotianity. 6. Baptism to performed in three ways. Fkst, by immer don, that to, by plunging the person under the water. Seo ondly, by infbsion, or pouring the water on the person to be baptized ; and tldrdly, by aspersion or sprinkling. The prao* tice now to, to pour l^e water three times on the person about to be baptized, using the words, " I baptize thte, &o.,** which we mentioned before. The pouring of the water once is suffi- cient, as to the validity of the sacrament ; and it to not abso- ' lately necessary to make the sign of the cross while pouring the water, though it to usually done. 6. The ceremonies made use of in admhustering the sacra- ment of baptism are impressive and instructive. The ppiiest breathes upon the infant or other person to be bi^tized, to BAPTISM. H rignify splritaal life. It is used also to drive away the devil, by the Holy Ghost, who is called the Spirit of God. The person is signed with the sign of the cross, to signify that he is made a soldier of Ghrist. Salt is pat into his mouth, which i is an emblem of pmdenGe,and signifies that grace is given to I preserve the sonl incorrupt. V. The priest ai^lies spittle to the person's ears and nostrils, ' in imitation of Christ, who used that ceremony in curing the deaf and dumb. The anomting the head denotes the dignity of Christianity ; the anointing the shoulders, that he may be strengthened to carry his cross ; the breast, that his heart may concur willingly in all the duties of a Christian; the white garment in whidi the person is dothed signifies inno- cence ; and the lighted candle the light of faith with which he is endowed. 8. When children are baptized, they have also a godfather and godmother, whose duty it is to instruct the child in the duties of its reIi{^on, in case of the death or neglect of parents to do it. The office of godfather or godmother is an important one, and should not be undertaken without due con- sideration of its responsilHlities. 0. At baptism, tibe devil and all his works are solenmly re* nounced; a {Nromise is re^^stered on the altar to bear the white robe of innocence without stain of dn before the throne of God. Children, have you kept this promise ? \ 18 THK THIRD KIADER. 2. The Smilb of Innookmob. Tran'sibnt, passing, fleeting. MB'nM>R, a laminons, tfan- Ma'ni-ao, a madman. sient bodj, floating iu the Pen'sive, thouglitfal. Plao'id, qniet. En-rol', to register. atmosphere. Im'no-oence, freedom from gnilt. 1. rpHERE is a smile of bitter scorn, X Which cnrip the lip, which lights the eye ; There is a emile in beanty^s mom Just rising o'er the midnight sky. i J S. Thereisasmileofyonthfnljoy, Wl^eM^opS's blight star's the transient gnest ; ThereW ' le of i^aoid age, Like snnie^ton the billow's breast 8. There is a smile, the maniac's sm3e, Which lights the void which reason leaveiy And, like the snnshinie throngfa a clond, Throws shadows o'er the song she wearee. XUID WOADB. 18 4. There Is a smile of love, of hope, Which shines a meteor through life's gloom ; And there's a smile, Religion's smile, Which lights the weary to the tomb. 6. It is the smile of innocence, Of sleeping infancy's light dream ; , Like lightning on a snmmer's eye, It sheds a soft, a pensive gleam. 6. It dances round the dimpled cheek, And tells of happiness within ; :^ Xt smiles what it can never speak — A human heart devoid of shi. 8. £iND Words. Mbn'tal, relating to the mbd. I Wbath'fdl, Airious, nfpaag. Mo-bo8k', sour of temper. I Dib^a-obib'a-blb, offensive. Do not aay ttimPl for nuntd ; 'eomptiih or tioeofiiplii& for aoooiiij)IM ; mIn for fMolM ; perduee kttpnAm. -.^ rpHBY never blister the tongne or Mpe. And we have A never heard of one mental trouble ailili^ flrom litlH quarter Thonc^ they do not cost much, yet they aocoaiplish nrooh. 90 THB THOKD BSADRR. They help one's own good-natnre and good>wiII. Soft words ■often onr own sonls. Angry words are fuel to the flame of wrath, and make the blaze more fierce. 2. Kind words make other people good4iatnred. Cold words Areeze people, and hot words make them hot, and bitter words make them bitter, and wrathftd words make them wrathfol. There is snch a rash of all other kinds of words in onr days, that it seems disagreeable to giro kind words a ohanoe among them. j 8. There are vain words, and idle words, and hasty words, spiteful words, and empty words, and profane words, and wor^ like words. Kind words also produce their own image in man's soul. And a bcAutiftd image it is. 4. They soothe, i^ quiet, and comfort the hearer. They shame him out of his sour, morose, unkind feeUngs. If we have not yet b^n to use kind woids in abundance as th(>y ought to be used, we should resolve to do so immediately. K 4. The Bbotobbs. Sa'obkd, holy. XJMyrBouB'uu), not troubled. Sound d oorreotly. Do not ny $aenid for aueni; wan for a singing tone in reading poetry. fNTfc Avoid L TTTIBi ABB BUT TWO — ^tho othttrs sfoep Tf Through death's untroubled night : We axe but two>— oh, let va keq> The link that bfaids m bright. S. Heart leaps to heart— thie sacred flood That warms us is the same; That good Kr'AN0B, conaeqaence. Ad-tibbb', to have given ad yice. PLuiraBD, thmst !n. Bb-wabb', to take care. Poi'scN, what is ncttions to life or health. THS THIRD SRADBB. THERFS many a pleasure in life wliich we might possess, were it not for our impatiencd. Yoong peoj^e, especially, miss a great deal of hi^^^ness, because tliey cannot wait iSl the proper time. 2. A man onice gave a fine pear to hia Uttle boy, saying to him, "/The pear is green now, my boy, bat lay it by for a week, and it will then be ripe, and reiy deUcions.'' 4f " Bat," said the child, " I want to eat it now, father." " I tell yon it Js^ot ripe yet," said the father. " It wfll not taste good y and, besides, it will make yoa sick." /-- S. " No, it won% father; I know it won't, it looks so good. Do let me eat it IJK AftA a little 4aore teasing, the father consented, and the child eat the pear. The conseqaence was, that the next day he was taken sick, and came very near dying. Now, all Uub happened becaase the child was impatient.. J 4. He conld not wait, and, acoor^ngly. Hue pear, thaljgiigfat have been veiy pleasant and harmless, was the occanon of seT«« illness. Thns it it tiiat impatience, in a thonsand in* •taaoei^ leads oU^Fen, and pretty dd (mes too, to oonvert sources of hapinnoss into adtnal misddef and misery. 5. Thcure were sol|» boyt once, who lived near a pond ; and when winter eamO| t|py were nxj anxious te have it fiwesse a^fekt so that theji dnld dide and skate npon the ice. At last, there came 4 veryeqld night, and in the morning th* nOB TWO WATa. IP lyi went to the pond to see if the tee would bear then, leir father came by at that moment, and leeing that it wai Ij thick enongli, told tie boya that it was not safe yet, Id adrised them to wait poother day beflfe they yentured )n it./ » u.'«''-> ].■ 1 ' 6. Bat the boyt were in a great hury t^ ,ei({6y!thepleasare sliding and skatiqg.- Sorthey wa^Mdi <^ npiottiie iee ; bat Btty soon it w«it craek-H9rack---'«raeht and' down they ^ore all plunged into the water! It was not rery deep, so ieygot out, though they were very ^et, and came near drown- ; and all because they could not'irait. 7. Now these things, though they may seem to be trifles, ^re full of instraction. They teach us to beware of impatience, wait till the fruit is ripe ; they teach ja that the cup of [pleasure, seised before the proper time, is turned into poison. By show us the importance of patience. 6. Thb two Ways. Rhine, the prindpal riyer in Qermany. OoN'scneircK, internal* or self knowledge. Galh'kkss, quietness. MouBNBD, sorrowed. lUyEN, a species of black bird. Rust'uko, slight noise. Mis'k-rt, wretchedness. Pab'a-blk, a fable; a simili- tude. IN a yillage on the Bhke, a schoolmaster was one day teaching in his school, and the sons and daught^s of the lyillagers sat around listening with jdeasure, for his toachinfl^ I was fhll of interest. He was speaking of the good and (bad cousdence, and of the still yoice of the heart. . 2. After he had finished speaking, he asked his pupils : l« Who among you b able to tell me a parable on this mat* Iter 7" One of the boys stood forth and said, " I thhdi I can jteU aTMffable, but I do not know whether it be right.'' ' " Speak in your own words," answered the nuMltar. And [the boy began: "I compare the calmness of^-good exm TBI TUIBD SKADKB. science and the dUiqaletude of an otH one, to two waTi on which I walked once. 8. " When the enemy paiied through oar rfflage, ''> t " Id* rn carried off by force my dear father and our bor m. Vt^hb the to\m to inquire for my father. I went ; bat late at night . came back sorrow< fully, for I had not foand my futher. It wm a da^'k night io autumn. 4. " The wind roared and howled in the oaks and fin, and between the rocks ; the night-rayens and owb were shrieking and hooting ; and I thought in my soul bow we had lost my father, and of the misery of my mother when she should see me return alone. A strauge trembling sdnd me in the dreary iu>bt, and each rnstUng leaf terrified me. Then I thought to myself, — such must be the feeUngs of a man's heart who has a bad conscience." 6 " My children,'' said the master, "would you like to walk in the darkness of night, seeking in vain for your dear father, and hearing naught but the roar of the storm, and the screams of the beasts of prey V 6. " Oh ! no," exclafaned all the chQdren, shuddering. Then the boy resumed his tale and said, "Another time I went the same way with my sister ; we had been fetching many nice things from town for a feast, which our father was recretly preparing tor oai^ mother, to surprise bor.the next day. 1 *' It was late wUea we returned ; but it was In spring ; the sky was bright and clear, and aU was so calm, that we could bear the gentle murmur of the rivulet by the way, and on all sides tilie nightingales were singing. I was widkii^ hand in hand with my sister ; but we were so delighted that we hardly liked to speak ; then our good fkther came to meet is. Now I thought again by myself, — such must be the alMlf of the man who has done much good." 8. When the boy had finished bis tale, the master looked kindly at the children, ard they said nnanimonsly, " Yes, we will become good men 1" OOUNBiCL TO TUK YuUNO. 7. ConsrsBL to thb Vouno. V7iB, net-work. Trou'bli, care. OHKRB'ruL, pleasant. IIas'tT) impetnooB ; with eagemeBB. Mourn, to grieye. Bub'bli, a Bmall bladder of water. TBi'rLB, a 1 latter of no im portanoe. Re-vbkob', rbtnming trll for efU [EVER be cast down bj trifleB. If a spider breaks his web twenty times, twenty times will he mend it. Make ip yonr minds to do a thing, and you will do it. Fear not if trouble comes npon yon ; keep up your spirits, though the ly may be a dark one — V. ^ TroublM never last forever. "^ The darkest day will peH away. S. If the sun is going down, look up to the stars ; if the artb ia dark, k«ep yonr eyes on heaven. With God's pns- Biioe and God's promise, a man or child may be oheerAil. Kever despair when fog's la the air. A sviuhiny morning will come without warning. 8 TUB THIBD BEADBR. 8. Mind what yon ran after I Never be content with a babble that will borst ; or a fire that will end in smoke and darknesR : bat that which yon can keep, and which is worth keeping. Something startling that will stay, When gold and silver fly away. 4. Fight hard against a hasty temper. Anger will come, nt resist it strongly. A spark may set a honse on fire. A fit of passion may give yon canse to moam all the days of your life. Never revenge an ii^ary. He that revengcth knows no rest ; The meek possess a peaceful breast 5. If yon have an enemy, act kmdly to hun, and make him yoor friend. Yon may not win him over at once, bat try again. Let one kindness be followed by another till yon have compassed yoor end. By little and little great things are completed. Water fiillin|r day by day, Wears the hardest rock away. And 80 repeated kindness will soften a heart of stone. 8. On a Pioturb of a Gibl leadino heb Buin) MOTHBB THBOnOH THB WoOD. 1. rriHE green leaves as we pass -L Lay their light fingers on thee unaware, And by thy side the hazels closter fair, And the low forest-grass Grows green and silken where the wood-paths wind- Alas t for thee, sweet mother I thou art blmd ! 2. And natare is all bright ; And the faint gray and crimson of the dawn, Like folded curtains from the day are drawn ; And eveni^^s parple light cojtentwlth a in smoke and rfaich is worth GIRL LEADING HER BLIND MOTHER. Quivers in tremulous softness on the sky — Alas I sweet mother I for thy clonded eye. 37 ^ .^ ^i4>/ 3. The moon's new silver shell Trembles above thee, and the stars float up, In the blue air, and the rich tulip's cup Is pencil'd passing well, And the swift birds on glorious pinions flee — Alas 1 sweet mother 1 that thou canst not see 1 4. And the kmd looks of friends Peruse the sad expression in thy face, And the child stops amid his bounding race. And the tall stripling bends 28 THB THIRD BEADSB. Low to thine ear with duty nnforgot — Alas! sweet mother 1 that thou seest them not 1 6. Bat thon canst hear! and love " May richly on a hnman tone be ponr'd, And the least cadence of a whisper'd n^ord A daughter's love may prove — And while I speak thoa knowest if I smile, Albeit thoa canst not see my face the while I 6. Yes, thoa canst liear I and He Who on thy sightless eye its darkness hong, To the attentive ear, like harps, hath stnu^ Heaven and earth and sea I And His a lesson in oar hearts to know — WUh hvi one sense the sotd may overflow. 9. Tbb Honest Shephbbd Boy. Shxp'hbrd, one who has the care of sheep. Fru'oal, saving of expenses. Crook, bold, a shepherd's staff. GArr, manner of walking. Des-ti-na'tion, place to be] reached. De-pict'ed, portrayed. Ca-pac'i-tt, the power of re- ceiving and containing. ! I AM going to tell yoa something which happened in Eng- ! land. It is about a shepherd boy, named John Borrow. It was a cold, wmtry morning when John left his home, as osual, to tend the sheep of farmer Jones. In one hand John carried his fhigal meal, and in the other he held a shepherd's crook. He walked briskly along, whistling as he went — now tossing with his feet the still untrodden snow, and then, occa- sionally, running back to slide where his own feet had made a way. Had you looked into the bright, sunny face of John Borrow, you would not have been surprised at his cheevful THE HONEST BHBPHEBD fiOT. SW lit. - ]^is countenance bore the impress of a happy disposi- )n, and a warm, confiding heart. 2. John had been carefolly brought up by his only surviv* \g parent — a poor mother ; he was her only Ron, and though ^e had many little daughters to share her maternal care, still ^e seemed to think that her first-bom, the one who was to the stay and support of the family, needed the most of her Mchful loYe. 3. Hitherto John had not disappomted her— he was beloved ly all for \d$ open, firank manners, and his generous, honest leart; and he promised fair to become all that his mother lad so earnestly prayed he might be. N, place to be 4. But while I have been telling you a little about our young triend, he, in spite of his playing a little by the way, has reach- \A his destination. He first deposits his dumer in the trunk |)f an old oak, which always serves him for a closet ; and then lie begins to feed the poor sheep, who do not seem to enjoy lie cold weather so much as himself. 5. John manages to spend a very happy day alone in the leadows with his sheep and his dog. Sometimes he tries how Pepper likes snow-balling ; sometimes he runs up to the wind- lill, not far off, to see if he can get any other little boys to lome and play with him. This morning, however, he had a jittle more business to do than usual ; he had to take the sheep another fold, where they would be more sheltered from the 80 THE THIBD READEB. irind. And just as he is in the act of driving them throaglii the large field-gate, he sees farmer Jones coming towards him.i 6. "John/' exclaimed the farmer, as he came up to the other] side of the gate, "have you seen my pocket-book about any- where? I was ronnd here about half an hour ago, and must I hfiye dropped it." "No, sir; I have not seen any thing of it, but I'll look] about, if you like." 7. " That's a man, John. Be quick, for it's got money in it, and I don't at all wish to lose it. We will hunt together." Whereupon they both separated, one gomg one way, and the other another, with their eyes on the ground, searching for the missing treasure. Presently John heard Mr. Jones calling him in a loud voice ! from the other side of the field. 8. John, thinking the book was found, came running with great alacrity ; but, as he drew near the old ock where farmer Jones stood, he was taken somewhat aback to see the look of ! anger depicted on his master's face ; and still more was he | surprised when he saw the missing book lying open by the side of his own dmner, and Mr. Jones pointing to it. "Well, 8u>, what does this mean?" ezdumed the indignant farmer. " I thought yon told me you did not know where it was ?" 9. John, whose amazement at the strange circumstance was very great, and who-'e sense of honor was no less so, felt the color mount to his cheeks, as he replied : " Yes, sir, and I spoke the truth." ' " Then, how do yon account for my finding it open in the trunk of an oak, close to your dinner ?" " That I cannot say ; this, only, I knt>w : that I did not put it there." 10. But Mr. Jones would not be convinced — ^the fact seem* ed to bun so clear and so self-evident ; for John acknowledged he had not seen any one else about there this morning ; so, after severely reprimanding the poor boy, he dismissed him on the spot from his employment. 1 1. It is easier to imagine than to describe the feelings of poor THB H0NB8T SHEPHERD BOT. 91 it, but ru look m in a load voice : John, as he slowly found his way home that evenbg. To be fepriTed of the means of assisting his dear mother was bad lough ; but to be suspected of lying and stealing, was, to iple, honest John, ahnost too hard to bear. He consoled Limself, however, with the thought — "Mother will believe ft le; 12. Yes, and his mother did believe hun, and told him no feel angry with fanner Jones, for appearances were certain against him, and he did not know hii^ as well as she did. p Besides," she added, "truth must come out some time or )ther.» And so it did, though it was months afterwards ; and I tell yon how. 13. John had long been seeking another situation, but no )ne would take him, on account of the aj^parent blot on his character. This cost John many a tear and many a sigh, but lie trusted that God would right him, and he was not discour- iged. 14. One day he went to see a gentleman who had inquired jTor a lad to work in his garden. As us>!«l, John told his stoiy lust as it was, and his face brightened as the gentleman sud, " Then that must have been your dog I saw with a book hi mouth. I was riding through the field you mention, one lay, some months dnce, and I saw a dog with a book in his lonth, run and put his head in the trunk of an old oak." 15. John clapped his hands^for joy, ezclainung : " I knew the truth would come out. Then Pepper — ^poor Yeppet I it was kindness to me that caused all the trouble ; he thought it ras mine, and he took it to where I always keep my dmner, ad then, I suppose, in dropping it into the hole. It came jpen." 16. John lost no time in acquainting farmer Jones witk these droumstances, who was very sorry for his suspicions, id wanted to take him back ; but John, who saw some chance )f promotion in the gentleman's garden, declined the favor. It. John remained some time with his new master as gBO- len>boy, but he became so great a favorite, both among the Ifamily and servants^ that he was afterwards taken ipto the 32 THK THIRD KhiADEB* house, where he remained in the capacity of confidential swi yant to his kind master, until his death. He never married—] in order that he might be better able to support lus widow* i ! mother and his four sisters. See, my dear children, how true it is that all things wop together for good to those who love God. 10. Thb Wonders of a Sal' Mink, a pit from which min- erals are dug. Oa'blb, a large, strong rope. Mi'neb, one who works in a mine. Oat'ebn, an opening under ground. Vault, a connhned arch, a] cellar. I'ci-CLBS, ft hanging mass of| ice. lN-HAB'n)>ANT, a pcrsou who] resides in a place. Com'pobbd, formed. rf a country of Eurqm called Poland, there is the largest! salt mine in the world. It is quite a little town, into which there are eight openings, six in the fields, and two in a Ufim called Oracow, near which thd mine is situated. At the top of each of these openings is a large wheel with a cable, by which persons are let down, and sometimeiB as many as forty persons descend together. They are carried slowly down a narrow, dark well, to the depth of 600 feet, and as soon as ! the first person touches the ground, he steps fiK)m the rope, , and the rest do the same in turn. 2. The place where they land is quite dark, but the miners i strike a light, by means of which strangers are led through a number of whiding ways, all slo^^ng lower and lower, tiU they | come to some ladders, by which they descend again to an im« mense depth. 8. At the bottom of the ladders the visitors enter a small, I dark cavern, i^parently walled up on all sides. The guide now puts out his lamp as if by accident, and catching the yja- \tm i^ tiie hand, dn^ him through a narrow cleft into the TUB STABRT HEAVENS. 88 at all thingg wo^ )dy of tho mine, where there bursts npon his sight a view, ie brightness and beanty of which is scarcely to be imagined* 4. It is a spacious plain, containing a little world under- round, with horses, carriages, and roads, exhibiting all the istle of bushiess. This town is wholly cut out of one vast ed of salt, and the space is filled with lofty arched vaults, ipported'by piUars of salt, so that the building seems com- )8ed of the purest crystals. 5. Lights are continually burning, and the blaze of them eflecting from every part of the mine, gives a more splendid ;ht than any human works above ground coidd exhibit. The lit is, in some places, tinged with all the colors of predons [tones, blue, yellow, purple, red, and green ; and there are en« I columns wholly composed of brilliant masses of such colors. 6. From the roofs of the arches, in many parts, the salt |iangs in the form of icicles, exhibiting all the colors of the imbow. • In various parts of this spacious plain stand the huts of the liners and thehr families, some single, and others in clusters re villages. The inhabitants have very little, communication ith the world above ground, and many hundreds are bom id end their lives there. t. A stiream of fresh water runs through the mine, so that the inhabitants have no occasion for a supply fh)m above : and Vbovo all, the Almighty Creator of all these wonders is not Forgotten ; they have hollowed out a beautiful chapel, in whicli phe Adorable Sacrifice is offered ; the altar, crucifix, ornaments of the chapel, with statues of our Blessed Lady and several lints, are all of the same beautiful material. 11. The Stabby Heavens. ^ir'ua-ment, the heavens. i^Ro-CLADi', announce. ?LAN'rr, a celestial body re- volving about the sun. U'oi-ANT, bright. Ter-bes'tsi-al, relating to the earth. Bea'son, the faculty of judging. Qlo'ri-ous, ilhistrious. «» 84 TUB TIIIBD KEADKlt. m 1. rpHE spacious firmament on high, X With all the bine, ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame. Their great Original proclaim. 2. Th' nnwearied sun, from day to day. Does his Creator's power display, And publishes to every land, The work of an Almighty hand. 3. Soon as the evening shades. prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, OAUULUSSMESa. 8ft And nightly to the listenbg earth Repeats the story of her bhrth ; 4 While all the stars that round her bom, And all the planets in their tnm, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. 5. What thongh in solemn silence all Move ronnd this dark, terrestrial ball, — What thongh no real voice nor sound Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 6. In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, Forever singing as they shine, " The hand that made us is divine.'' 12. Gabelessness. ^ual'i-tt, an attribute. [iOven'u-ness, untidiness ; carelessness. riELo'iNG, giving up. Frao'ment, a small portion. A-void'ed, shnnned. Sur-prise', wonder suddenly excited. 'ARY BELL was a little girl who, thongh she had many good qualities. Was also, like most persons, pos- pssed of some very bad one4^ Oi}e of her worst faults [as her negligence and carelessness, which showed itself in my matters, and especially in her dress. 2. She was affectionate, kind-hearted, and good-natured ; [ways ready to assist others, even when by so doing she )d in the way of her own pleasure. But, alas I her sloven- ness. " Like a cloud beforo the gkiei, '' Hid all her better qiwliUua." 36 THE THIRD RRADEB. 8. This trait in Mary's character gave her mother a deal of trouble. She did not want her little girl to be vaiiil of dress, which is very foolish as well as wicked, but 8h(| wished to see her neat and carefnl. Mary sometimes suffered] mnch inconvenience f^om her carelessness. She would often, when preparing for a walk or ride, waste half an hour in look- ing for a missing glove or ctocking, and when found, the'arMcli was generally so much out of repair, as hardly to be wcn^ with decency. t 4. But she had got the habit of throwing her tidngs aboad and letting them go nnmended, and it seemed impossible tol break her of it. So true it is that children should be veijl careful how they form habits that may cling to them throughj life, and, if bad, cause them much trouble. 5. About half a mile from Mrs. Bell's there lived a verjl nice old T7omaru who had formerly been a housekeeper in thej family, and who was very fond indeed of little Mary. Mary,} in return, loved Mrs. Brown, as the old woman was called,! and was always delighted to be the bearer of the little delicar] cies which her mother often sent to her. 6. One Saturday momhig Mrs. Bell called Mary to her,! and told her that as she had been a good girl, and learned all] her tasks that week very well, she might go over and spend] the day with Mrs. Brown, adding, that when she was dressed,! she would find a pitcher of broth on the dudng-table, whicli| she wished her to take with her. Mary was delighted witbl the permission, and ran up-stairs as fast as possible to get! ready. t. As usual, half the articles she wanted to wear were miss-l faig, and no two in the sauB place, so that a long time wail consumed in looking for them. One of her shoes was in heil bedroom, but where the other had gone was a mystery whicli| no one in the house could solve. The servants were callcdl from their work to know if they had seen it, but none of theiii| knew any thing about it. * 8. After wasting a long time in this way, Mary happenedl to recollect that the night before she had pilled it ofT, on a&l count of its hurting her, and tlirown it under the parlor lounge,! OAKRLK88ME88. 87 (here it was foand. The string was out , bat being by this le in a great harry, Mary concluded it would stay on with* it one, and put it on as it was. In changing her dress, she )ticed a snudl rent in the skirt, which her mother had told ir of some days before, but which she had forgotten to mend. ' 9. " Never mind," thought she, " it will not be noticed, and can sew it up when I come home." One gloye was in her )cket, and the other, after some search, she found in her ret- Bule. These required mending also, but were thrust on with- kt it. The string of her bonnet was ripped off, and being in }o much haste to fasten it properly, she merely stuck a pin it, hoping that this would answer the purpose. Being at ist ready, Mary took the pitcher, which was a very handsome |>ne, and started on her journey. 10. It wa:> a lovely day, and she went on for some distance |n high glee, notwithstanc^g her shoe kept slipping up and lown in a most uncomfortable manner. She was thinking. Iiow much pleased Mrs. Frown would be to see her, and get the nice broth, when, in crossing a stile, the comer of one of the steps caught in the rent in her dress, and tore a hole in pe thin lawn nearly a quarter of a yard wide. 11. Poor Mary could have cried heartily at seeing her pret- |;y frock spoiled, but remembering that crying would not rc- sair the injury, she forced back her tears, and pinned it up as rell as she could. After hav&g done this, she took up her pitcher and went on, though not quite so gayly as before, for Bhe was afraid of receiving a scol^g from her mother ; and she felt that she deserved one for not having mended her Iress, as she was told to do. 12. Her troubles had hardly ^gun ; for she had not gone luch farther when the pin came out of her bonnet-string, and gast of wind carried away her bonnet, and sent it flying icross the field. Mary sat down her pitcher and ran after it fast as she could ; but every time she got near to it, [another puff of wind would take it far out of her reach, until iat last it was blown into a sort of marshy place at the bottom lof the field. 13. In her efforts to regain it, her foot sank deep into tha 88 TIIK TUIBO BJfiADKJC loft, yielding earth, and when she got it oat, the shoe whielk had no string to Iceop it on was left behind. Poor BCary wai ] almost heart>broken at the loss of her shoe ; and her bonnet— . which was floating in a mnd-puddle — was a mere mass of wet ' ribbons and dirty straw. She stood crying for some thno, when happening to remen* oer the pitcher which she had left at the end of the field, she started to look for it. 14. The stones and sticks were so painfbl to her nnprotect* ed foot, that she was abnost lame before she reached the spot, ^ Here, alas t another ndsfortone awaited her. A dog happen- ^ big to come along during her absence hcd smelled the soup, and endeayored to get it. In so doing he had knocked the i pitcher over against a stone, and there it lay, broken hi a j dozen pieces. This was too much for Mary. 16. She sat down on the ground by the fragments, and ' ' cried as though her little heart would break. Poor child I she was hi a sad dilemma indeed. She could not go to Mrs. i Brown's hi this plight — without her bonnet, with but one| shoe, her hair tangled and matted, and her frock soiled and torn ; and she was afraid, if she went home, her mother would ' be oflbnded at the results of her carelessness. She thought how easily all this could have been avoided by a little care and a few stitches. 16. She was still sitthig sobbhig, when -she heard a voice behind her exclaun m a tone of surprise, " Mary, is it possi- ble 1 Why, what can yon be doing here V* Mary turned, and saw through her tears her father's face looking khidly but wonderingly upon her. As well as her sobs would per- mit, she told Urn the events of the mondng exactly as they had occurred. 17. " Well, Mary," said her father, when she had finished, *'I am sorry to see yon in so much trouble ; but your mother has often warned yon of the effects which must result from your extreme carelessness ; but dry your eyes now, and come home with me ; this is no place for you." " Oh ! papa, how can 1 7 Ma will be so angry with me for losmg my bonnet and shoe, and breaking her pitcher." 18. " Never mind, my poor child ; come with me, and I do PBOPAOATIOll OV TUB PAFrH. 80 thiuk yoar mother will poniih yon, if ihe leei how sony are for your carelessness ; come 1" [ra. Bell was surprised at Mary's appearance ; bat when heard her story, and saw how distressed she really was, did not scold her, bnt merely told her she hoped her mom- f 8 adventares would teach her to be more oarefal in fatnre. L9. I am happy to be able to tell my little readers, that ry has learned wisdom by experience, and is now all that parents can desire. 1. OoNOBEOATION GW THE PbOPAQATIOK OF THB FaiTH. -pRBm', highest and great- lest. ^'oAN, a heathen, an idola- ter. -per-in-tknd'bnck, act of loverseehig. iN-sTi-Tu'noK, system estab* lished. Ap-pro'pri-at-ed, applied to some pnrpose. Ses'sion, stated meetbg of a public body. th me, and I do 'OW many have heard of the Gongregation for the Prop agation of the Eaith, and of the famous College of the janda, at Rome f but how few, even among Catholics, ^ow any thing about the history of the Gongregation, or the ject of the College 1 We propose, in the following pages, i give our young readers a short account of the origin of the i>Dgregation, and the designs for which the College was in- Itnted. [2. The Pope, the successor of St. Peter, is the supremo )ntiff or chief bishop of the Catholic world. He is the innel through which the missionary receiireB his commission carry the light of the gospel to pagan nations. To send brgymen to the remotest puts of the Inals ; and to a portion of their number, called the Sacred 40 TUB TUIKD KEADEB. then! Congregation de Propaganda Fide, is committed the snperi tendence of the Catholic missions. 8. This body owes its or^ to Pope Gregory the Fifteeni who, in the year 1622, formed the institution and supplied with the necessary fnnds for its support. His successor, Uii ban the Eighth, in a special manner favored the institutioi and appropriated a large sum of money for its success. 4. In view of the great advantages derived from it, sources of the institution were greatly increased by privati' donations. By these means, the palace in whi0h the Couj gation holds its sessions, was erected. 5. The body intrusted with the management of the institi tion consists of eighteen cardinals, and a large number of coi suitors, selected from among the prelates and different religioi orders. The chief officers are the Prefect, the Prefect Economy, and the Secretary. They hold frequent meetini for the transaction of business, and the result of their delil ations are transmitted to the Holy Father for his approvi In the archives are preserved all original letters and the swers returned ; all decrees and resolution, apostolic rescripi briefs, &c. 6. The printing establishment connected with the institutioi is, without exception, the most valuable in the world, in thi variety of its types and the foreign languages :l^ which il publications are issued. # 7. It is furnished with types, or characters, of forty-eigll different languages, by means of which the Holy Scriptures' works of instruction, and other books, may be printed in thai number of languages. This greatly facilitates the missioui in the labor of spreading the truth of the gospel among fore! nations. 8. But the most important department of tiia institution iil the College of the Propaganda, as it is usually called. Thu famous literary establishment was founded by Pope Urban the Eighth, in the year 162t, and may justly be considered as thej seminary of the universal Church. The design of this institu tion is to educate for the priesthood young men from all tbe nations of the earth. PROPAGATION OF THE FAITH. 41 Here may be found Chinese, Greeks, Arabians, Ethio- is, Syrians, Bolgarians, Turks, Italians, French, English, Bh, Scotch, Americans, Dutch, Germans, Flemish, Spaniards, frtuguese, Poles, Bnssians, with the inhabitants of various ier portions of the globe-^representing, in all, between forty fifty tribes and nations of the earth. [10. These are taught gratuitously all the branches of sacred Id profane learning, and thus prepared, when raised to the fly order of priesthood, to enter upon the duties of their ssion in their native countries, or to bear the light of Chris- ity to pagan nations. 11. Each year, within the octave of the Epiphany, it is lual for the students of the College of the Propaganda to flebrate the festival by a solemn academical exhibition. A itin prose composition is first read, and this is followed by a splay of poetical talent in the various languages. In 1841 lie poetical and oratorical compositions delivered on the occa- >n, were in forty-four differenj^anguages. 12. In this diversity of languages are beautifully typified le catholicity and the unity of the Catholic Church. Com- ssioned to teach all nations, she trains her ministers and Missionaries for every clime and every condition of life. They into all countries to discharge their sacred and benevolent ice. 13. No dissunilarity of language or custom can arrest their egress. By means of the College of the Propaganda, they enabled to speak to the various tribes of the earth in their itive tongue, and in this manner are more effectually spread )ng them the divine truths of the Gospel. A2 THB THIRD READEB. 14. LlVB FOB SOMETHINO. Eic-PLOT'MENT, occupatioii. Selp'ish, regarding one's own interest solely. Op-pressed', burdened. Stu'pa-tht, compassion, fc^ low-feeling. Wka'bt, fatigued. Foun'tain, a jet of water. 1. T lYE for something ; be not idlo; — Xi Look about thee for employ ; Sit not down to useless dreaming — Labor is the sweetest joy/ Folded hands are ever weaiy, Selfish hearts are never gay, Life for thee hath many duties — - Active be, then, while you, may. ^ 8. Scatter blessings in thj pathway I Gentle words and cheering smiles Better are than gold and silver, "With their grief-dispelling wiles. As the pleasant sunshine falleth • Ever on the gratefhl earth, So let sympathy and kindness Ohulden well the darken'd hearth. PBEDOmMANT PAEN3I0NS. 48 8. Hearts there are oppress'd and weary ; Drop the tear of sympathy, Whisper words of hope and comfort, Give and thy reward shall be — Joy onto thy soul returning From this perfect fountain-head ; Freely, as thou freely givest, Shall the grateful light be shed. 15. Pbbdohinant Passiovb. 3bn'den-ct, superior influ- ace. sebn'i-blb^ evident. ^PEN'si-rr, Inclination, ten? ency. HAuaH'n-NXBS, an overbearing manner. DicKtnsT'iNe, exciting dislike, odious, hateful. €on'tbiift, act of despising. is not usual, that in young persons, whose characters have liot taken any settled form, any vice should have gamed so led an ascendency, as to enable themsdvee or others to em clearly the nature of their predominant passion. Gen- ^y speaking, they should be more anxious to correct all faults, than to find out the chief among them ; as that ^ot discernible until they are placed amid the busy scenes tie world. Still, as they cannot be made acquainted too early with |evil consequences of vice, it would be advisable for them their dispositions occanonally lest any evil propen- may take root in their hearts, thereby become the princi- {of their actions, and frustrate the ends proposed in Chris- education. The predominant passion of most persons is Pride, which fails to produce not only thoughts of pride and vanity, also such haughtiness of manner and selfHSufficiency, as to l«r them absolutely disgusting and ridiculous. Incessantly endeavoring to attract admiration, and bo* *=S#?(^k... \, 44 THB TUIKD BBADKB. come the sole object of attention, they spare no pains to oil others, to set themselves off, and by their conceited airs, tl| forwardness, their confidence in their own opinion, and neg or contempt of that timid, gentle, retiring manner, so ai ' and attractive, particularly in youth, they defeat their purpose, and become as contemptible as they aun at being | contrary. 5. Many are so little sensible of the awfiil duties imf oy Christian charity, as to be ever ready to blame, criticj and condemn all who come under their observation, one of the most dangerous propensities, as the occasional manifesting it occur incessantly, and frequently lead to tal sin. The persons thus uncharitably disposed, talk conl| ually of the faults of others, which they are always incli to exaggerate, though often those defects exist only in detractor's emblti^cred imagination, which represents othenl so unfavorable a pomt of view, as to subject their actions [ the most unkind censure. 6. To this may be added a satirical propensity, which icises and turns every thing and every person into ridid sparing neither superiors, friends, enemies, nor even the mil sacred characters, such as clergymen. This disposition nei| fails to make numerous enemies; and, though occasioi encouraged by laughter and smiles of approbation, it nev theless is generally as hated as it is hateful. 7. Those whose temper is violent and unrestrained, be ignorant that anger is their predominant passion — ^tl frequent, unreasonable, and impetuous sallies of anger, on • slightest occasions, render intercourse with them as unsafe I it would be with a maniac. Such dreadful and melanchd consequences have followed from even one fit of passion, as | render any family truly unhappy, who may possess a memb with a violent temper. 8. Those who feel inclined to this passion, should, wh young, use all their efforts to overcome so dangerous a < position. Reason, affection for their family, consideration f^ all those with whom they may be connected, and, above religion, furnish powerful motives and means for reducmg i PREDOMINANT PASSIONS. 45 f, however violent, to the standard of Christian meek* The chief among thoss means is prayer, and the next, ,ps most efflcacions, is absolute sUePce under all emotions ger. ^ There are many other persons who, though they do not among the passionate, are nevertheless the pests of so- \, — ^particularly of domestic society. Their predominant Ion is a certain iH-humor, fre^iUneaa, peevishneaa, and JlaMity, which pervades their words, manners, and even and it is usually brought into action by such mere tri> I as liBave no chance of peace to those who live in the house them. Childron and servants are not the only butts of their Bn ; but even their best friends, their superiors themselves, [not always secure from their ill-tempered sallies and their ssont complaints. In a word, their sourness, their cBssat- 1, discontented manner, effectually embitters every society, throws a gloom over the most innocent amusements. As luckless disposition is peculiarly that of women, young |ions cannot be too earnestly recommended to combat in th any tendency thereto, lest they become, when older, the itest torment of that society they are certainly intended [>less and ornament. |1. Sloth, which is the predominant passion of many per< B, is also one of those vices most difficult to correct. It rs itself by habitual indolence, and such negligence and [thy, that 1*0 duty, however serious, can rouse a person of character to exertion. Days, weeks, and even years, pass 'Without any account of how they have passed ; for though muolent form many projects of amendment, yet those ^ects are never executed, because procrastination is the ;hter of sloth. L2. Any time but the present appears calculated for the jsharge of duty, precisely because the most heroic efforts in Ispect cost less than a single actual exertion. Thence it >ws, that spiritual duties are so long neglected and defer* that the torpor, which in youth could easily have been ^ken off, gains such an ascendency as to.become almost un< 16 THE THIBD BEAOEE. oonqnerable, and at longth reduces the soul to that dread state generally called tepidity, which is only another word| sloth in spiritual matins. 18. Then it is tha^^^ety social and personal daty is ab doned ; children, servants, aflkirs, spuritnal and temporal, or cleanlmess, every thing is neglected, and permitted to run u| snch disotuer and confusion, as to render the persons de^ by this vice, no less a disgrace to themselyes than to tli| friends and to society. In a word, there is no passion iktU leads more certainly to misery hereafter ; for, after all, the I anhnate victim of sloth, who has lived without energy, withi sentiment, abnost without a soul, will at last be effectnaf roused by death, whose approach is terrible indeed to thij who lead a useless, inactive, idle, and consequently most t ful life. 14. Those whose predominant passion is deceit, are quently not considered dangerous characters, until they hij given many persons cause to repent having had any mtercou with them. Their manners are generally as insmuatmg as tlif motives are base and interested. They are usually dist ed by a total disregard for truth ; a base system of appeaiil to coincide with every one, the better to gain thas confidej which they only intend to abuse ; deceitful expressions — et| nal manoeuvring— equivocations — and so great an oppositi to candor and plain dealing, as to adopt jft thousand nnderhaj means for carrying on their most simple and ordinary trail tions, thereby ragagmg themselves and others in tk l^b} of dincnlties, and spendhig their whole lives in perplszli entanglement, and chance. \ . 15. Independently of religion, the natural desire we all for happhiess and security, should be motives enough for i efforts to counteract every tendency to this mean vice. jHTOves in general, sooner or later, its own punishment ; f| itotwithstanding the deep-laid schemes, the cunbing and fices .of those who seem to Uve for the purpose of deceit their felloWMSreatnres, yet the depravity and meanness of tb motives hi all theur actions, are seen through much clearer i more frequently than they are aware. Besides, one lie or 1 PBEOOMINAMl TASSIONS. 47 reqnires many more to prop its crazy saperstmcture, and brent these their mind most be incessantly on the rack ; [as their craft is generally discoyered, they are exposed to contempt and distmst as deprive them of all credit. I. Even when by chance they intend to deal fairly and ly, they are carefully shunned, because a long habit of inlation has so indelibly stamped their character with the of iosincerity and knavery, as t'^ render truth and false- eqnally disbelieved from their lips. In a word, they are ' riably, in the close of life, so hated, despised, and distrust* to become outcasts in society, a burden to themselves, {almost as degraded and unhappy, even in thij life, as they .76 to >»e. 16. Fbsdominanx Passions — continued. Be-puo'nanok, feeling of dislike. Ob'sta-olx, that whfch hinders. ,m-^ cai^tal fault of some persons is inordhate, ungovenu ^le ouriosiiy, a vice which is a certun road to many rins, Dhurly in youth. It should, howev sr, be observed, that I are two kinds of curiosity, one allowable, and even com* Etble, the other dangerous and sinful They may be eaai^ 48 THK THIUD KKADKR. distinguished, one from the other, by their different elTec That species of cariosity which is innocent and deshrable,! pecially in yoong persons, consists in a laudable desure of fnl information ; this thirst after knowledge, when well re| lated, produces emulation, application to study, patience i perseverance in difficulties, good employment of time, an^ love for the society and conversation of the learned. 2. The vice of curiosit;, on the contrary, is the bane I ttSdful acqmreraeut, because it consists chiefly m an eager ( sire to hear and see every insignificant trifle that passes, i gives persons so much to do with the concerns of c I/hers, as| leave them no time to attend to their own. Curious per are always on the look-out for what is termed news ; and| that levity and shallowness of mind which produces misg curiosity, creates also a MIMANT PASSIONS. 49 There are few persons, even among the best Christians, bare not had occasionally to regret offending with the jue; bnt the faalis committed and mischiefs occasioned those whose nnbridled passion for talk is their predom- it failing, can scarcely be estunated. This propensity gen- )y characterizes persons of weak heads, vacant minds, and low understandings, who seem absolutely incapable of one int's serious reflection, and know not what it is to think minutes, even before they undertake to decide upon un- int matters. Those who talk always, cannot hope always dk sense, consequently their least material faults are ab random opinions, giddy, inconsistent expressions, and |uent faults against politeness and good-breeding ; for the ability of great talkers never allows others to deliver an ^ion, or finish any sentence without helping them out. Their laughable and disgusting egotism, perpetual rela* ^s of their own unimportant adventures, ideas, or opinions, :h they are too frivolous to perceive are interesting only |heir own eyes ; then: system of laughing, whispering, and Buling, generally mark out great talkers as persons of little ko intellect, though they often do not want sense, if they bd bnt prevail on themselves to be silent, and reflect ever fttle on the necessity of making use of that gift. ^ But those, however, are the least serious faults produced kzcessive love of talk. Sins agamst charity, breaches of Menj^, dibcovery of the secrets of others, indiscreet com- Scation of their own afbirs and those of their families to untances, strangers, even to servants; remarks on the Bts of others, breachei of truth, habitual exaggeration, of time, dissipation and levity, are all the infallible con- ences of a passion for talking ; besides the dreadful evils |h unguarded repetition of stories has be«)n known to pro- m society, by disuidting the members of families, Irntar [ and disgusting friends, breecUng disturbances, Ae. : ev^It are much easier occasioned than removed. Could those useless beings, whose occnpatiymg those whom they think proper to rank among their frites, both by expecting to engross their whole attention )nftdence, and resenting every mark of kindness they may proper to show to others. However, as their affections In general as short-lived as they are ardent, no one person ^ely to be tormented long with the title of their friend. The foregoing are the chief among those passions to ^h the generality of mankind are subject. There nre also riety of other shapes, in which the capital sins generally }minate in different <;haracter8. It would not be easy to lorate them, but you will not find it difficult, aided by the •f TMK lillKI) RKADKK* gr«ce of Ood, to discover your capital enemy, provided ;| ordevitly beg that grace and light, and are sincerely deHiru to overcome it to the utmost of your power. 17. The following marks by which you may discern p roling passion, are pointed out by St. Chrysostom, and assist your examination on this important point: 1st. Yo predominant passion is that propensity, disposition, or fuilii| which is the ordinary cause of your faults and sins. 2d. Ill that which chiefly disturbs the peace of your soul, and oul sions yott most remorse and uneasy reflections. 8d. That I which yon are obliged to accuse yourself most frequentljj confession. 18. 4th. That which gives occasion to the greatest conflid in your soul, and which you fee\most repugnance to overcoi 5th. That which usually influences your deliberations, inU tions, or projects, and which is the chief motive of all ytj actions ; that, in a word, which is most untractable and dei ly rooted in your heart ; for if, when wounded on that poi^ you feel sensibly hurt, it is an evident mark that there is jq predominant passion, your capital enemy, tho greatest obstii to God's grace, and to your eternal salvation. 17. My Bot Absalom. Pulse, the motion of the blood. Tress'es, knots or curls of hair. Reed, a hollow knotted st a pipe. Pall, a covering thrown the dead. 1. A LAS 1 my noble boy 1 ihsA tbon shonldst die I ■^ Thou, who wcrt made so beautifully fair 1 That death should settle in tby glorious eye, And leave his st31ne» in this clustering hair t IIow could he mark thee far tb.o silent tomb I My prouil boy, Absalom I MY BOY ABSALOM. enemy, proTltled ;l are sincerely deHiro| »wer. rou may discern ]^ Chrysostom, and ant point : 1st. Y(^ disposition, or fuilitj \M and sins. 2d. Iij your soul, and okI ections. 8d. That! elf most freqnentljj the greatest confliij tugnance to overcoij r deliberations, inti 3f motive of all yij untractable and da tunded on that ^rk that there is ]i the greatest obstai ation. " Cold is tliy brow, my son I and I am cU311, As to my bosom I have tried to preiw th»e I How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill. Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet ' mxjfatherV from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom t ^^ >>^ hollow knotted at .^;a^- " But death is on thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young ; And life will pass me in the mantling blush. And the durk tresses to the soft wmds flung ;— But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come To meet me, Absalom ! " And oh I when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed is waiting to be broken, 54 TMJfi THIKI) RKAI>FJK. How wiU its love for thee, as I depart, Team for thine ear to drmk its last deep token 1 It were so swCet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom 1 ■ 6. " ^nd now, farewell I 'Tis hard to give thee np, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee ;~- And thy dark sin I — Oh ! I could drink the cup, If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have calPd thee, like a wanderer, home^ My lost boy, Absalom I" 6. He covered up his face, and bow^d bunself A moment on his child ; then, giving him A look of melting tenderness, he clasp'd His hands conTularely aa if in prayer ; And, as if strengtb were given him of God, He rosQ up calmly, and composed the pall Firmly and decently — and left him there— As if his rast had been a breathing sleep. 18 Thb Sgholab's YiBioir. Vis'ioN, supematoral appear- ance. Gen'tu-rt, a hundred year». Stu-pid'i-tt, extreme dnlness. Tub'bu-lbnt, tnmnltnous, di» | orderly. Sup-pobt'ed, aided, assisted. Con-ckal'ino, hiding. AMONG the students of the TJniversity of Padua during I the early part of the thirteenth century, there was aj scholar by the name of Albert de Groot, a native of Lawingen [ a town of Swabia, now fallen into decay. Albert was remark able for his stupidity and the dukess of his intellect, and waij at once the object of ridicule to his companions, and the vie*! tim of his teachers. 2. In addition to his mental defects, he was timid and shy,} and without any powers of speech to defend bunself agninsi THE BCROLAK'S TI3ION. 55 tanntg and jeers of his schoolmates. Even his diminutiye for one of his age, being then fifteen years old, did not ipe the keenness of their satire. Albert was not insensible to their raillery, and more than ^e would have listened to the temptation of despair, had it been for the care of Us virtnons mother, the ardent piety ^h which she had inspired his youthful nund, and his tendj /ember, 1282. 22. Let children learn from this example, to place tli(| studies under the patronage of the Queen (f Hearen, andi ceive with the ^ft of knowlevige, those Tirtmes which render them ornaments of society, and worthy candidates i heaven. 19. BiBTH OF OUB SaYIOUB. Gbn'sub, an enumeration. Naz'a-reth, the vUIage in which our Saviour lived. Bkth'le-hev, the village in which our Saviour was bom. Ma'oi, wi-ie men of the East] Ad-mis'sion, admittance. Pur'chased, bought. Mes-si'ah, name given to on Saviour. Bead deliberately, and pnuM to take breath and compress your lip Give t its proper sound. Do not Mjpukhm (or purehoie; Mesiiarin^ Muriah. AUGUSTUS G^SAR having commanded a census to 1 taken .of all the population of the empire, Joseph au Mary went fh)m Nazareth to Bethlehem, whence their faniil;9 had its origin. There it was that, m the year of the worU[ 4004» the Son of Qod came into the worlds at the dead hon of night and in a poor stable, the poverty of Joseph being lo great to pay for admission to an inn. 2. His bhrth wai speedily announced by the angels to soml shepherds who were watching their flocks by night. " Olor^ to Ood" sang the heavenly messengers, making known tb joyful tidings, " Olory to Ood in 0\e higheai, and on ear(i| peace to men of good will!" i. Eight days aftei his birth be was cirenmdsed, and oil bikth of ouk saviour. B» snmeised, and oil same day the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph, conforma- tbe command which they had received from Qod by an \\, gave him the name of Jesua, which signifies Saviour, [use he came to save all men, and to deliver them from sin Ihell. To 'the name of Jeavs has been added that of Christ, ^h means sacred or anoiiited, not that he was visibly con- ited by hands, but by reason of his hypostatical union the Father. fe also caU Jesus Christ Our Lord, because he has a par> lar claim on all Christians, whom he has redeemed and Chased at the price of his blood. A few days after Jesus was circumcised, he was recog^ ^d as God and as king by three Magi, who, guided by a came from the East to adore him. Having reached salem, they lost sight of the star, and went about inquir' i for the new-bom king of the Jews. The doctors of the law, being interrogated by Herod, of Galilee, made answer that the Messiah was to be bom {ethlehem. Herod, being alarmed by this announcement, already meditating the death of the divine infant, engaged Magi to return and acquaint him with the place where the Id wcs to be found, falsely saying that he, too, would wish idore hun. The Magi, resumiig their journey, found the child, to )m they presented gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh ; being warned by an angel that Herod only sought to kill ) infant, they returned by another way to their own country. Forty days after the birth of Jesus, the Blessed Virgin St. Joseph took him to the temple, to present him to God, )rding to the custom of the Jews, he being the .first-born. Blessed Vir^ at the same time fulfilled the law of puri ition, and offered what the laV ordained, that is to say, 9 lb for her son, and for herself, a pair of doves, being th« ts usually maae by the poor — what examples of humility, ~ of obedience to the law I ). Herod, seeing that the Magi refeurocd no mere, conodved design of putting to death all children under two yiun do TIIK 'rilllcn KKAhKB of age, whom he could find in Bethlehem or its vicinity, ing thua to make sure of destroying the Saviour. But! Joseph, apprised of this design by an angel, fled into Eg with Jesus and Mary, where he remained till after the dc of that barbarous prince. 10. He then returned to Judea, and again took up Ijode in Nazareth of Galilee ; hence Jesus was called, throi^ ontempt, the Nazarene. The gospel tells us that at the age of twelve years Je was taken to Jerusalem to celebrate the festival of the Pa according to the custom of the Jews, when he remained I hmd in the temple unperceived by his parents. 1 1. When they found that he was not with thorn, they son^ him in vain for a whole day, whereupon they returned to . rusalem, where they found him in the temple, seated amid til doctors, listening to them and proposing to them questions | a manner so astonishing that all who heard hun were surpiij ed by his wisdom and his answers. 12. At the age of thirty years, Jesus Ohrist was baptii/ by St. John the Baptist in the river Jordan ; at which tii the Holy Ohost descended upon him in the foni) of a doij and the eternal Father declared from the highest li^vens th Jesus Christ was indeed his beloved Son. 18. Soon after this, Jesus Christ waS conducted by Holy Ghost into the desert, where he fasted forty days, is in honor and in commemoration of this fast of Jesus CI that the Church has instituted the fast of Lent. Our Lord at that time permitted himself to be tempted 1 the devil, in order to teach us not to fear temptation, and al^ the manner in which we must resist it, so as to rendeV it eTtj meritorious for our souls. 14. ExAMPLB. A certain mother whose piety was as 8 her faith was enlightened, recommended to her- children pass no day without asking the child Jesus for his blessii "When," said she, "yon are at your mormng and evenioj tirayers, picture to yourself the Blessed Virgin, carrying i ler anps the infant Jesus. 15. "Bow down respectfully before her. and say with SI'ANISII ANHCDOTK. 61 d again took up ua waa called, throa Bible fenror ; 'O Marj ! deign to extend over me the hand \hj divine Son, so that being blessed by him, I may avoid evil which is displeasing to him, and practise the good ^ch is agreeable to him ; that I may imitate him in his obe* nee and in all his other vittnes, so that I may become wor^ of possessmg him with thee in heaven I' " 20. A Spanish Aneodotb. B-rxo'TO-BT, a diidng^room in (convents and monasteries. -ron'o-mitx, a monk. is-oebned', descried, seen. Fa*mil'iar, intunate, wd^ known. Eo'sTA-sT, rapture, trance. Va'oakt, empty. 1. TT was a holy usage to record -L Upon each refeotory^t side or end The last mysteriou supper of oar Lord, That meanest aiqpetites might upward tend. 2. Within the convent-palace of old Spun, — \ Rich with the gifts and monuments of kings, — ^ Hung such a {ucture, 8a'4 by somd to reign The soyreiga glory of those wondrous things. 8. A painter of far fame, in deep delight, Dwelt on each beauty he so weU disoemM ; While, in low tones, a gray Geronomite This answer to his ecstasy returned : 4. " Stranger 1 J hare received my ^ly meal In this good company now threescore years ; And thou, whoe'er thou art, canst hardly feel How time these lifeless images endears. 6. "Lifeless I ah, no, while in my heart are stored Sad memories of my brethren dead and gone, e^ TIIK 'tlllKD KKADKR. Familiar places vacant round onr board, And still that silent supper lasting on 1 6 " While I review my youth, — what I was then,— What I am now, and ye, beloved ones all, — It seems as if these were the livmg men. And we the color'd shadows on the wall.'' 21. Anbodoteb of Doos. Keek'nkss, sharpness. Lrr^ER-A-TURB, learning, ac- quaintance with books. S^A-GAo'i-TT, quick discernment in animals. Giv'iL-izBD, reclafaned flronf barbarism. Do-mks^i-oa'tiok, the aict ol| making tame. Em-phat'ic, forcible. I^HE dog stands to man In the relation both of a yalnable . servant and an engaging companion. In many employ- ments, especially those of shepherds and herdsmen, he perfonns services of great importance, such as could not be supplied without him In those sports of the field, such as hunting and ANKODOTKS OK IM>G8. «% ag, which mauy persons pursue with such eogerucss, the mce of the dog is essential, to success. [By his keenness of scent he discovers the game, and by nftness of foot he runs it down. There is no period of recorded by history in which we do not find tlie dog the and the servant of. man; nor is there any literature does not contain some tribute^to his faithfulness au« tity. : The savage, roaming over the pathless wilderness, and ident upon the animals in the forest and the fish in the IS for his daily food ; and the civilized man, dwelling in ifortable honse in a town or village, agree in the attacb- they feel for their fonr-footed friends. Many men of eminence in literature and science have been remarkable ^eir fondness for dogs ; and more than one poet has Bnug |>raises of particular specunens of the race. Sir Walter Scott was strongly attached to them, and me or more of them about him at all tunes during his In one of his works he thus speaks of them : " The jighty, who gave the dog to be the companion of our Bures and our toils, has invested him with a nature noble [incapable of deceit. He forgets neither friend nor foe ; )mbers, and with accuracy, both benefit and injury. " He has a share of man's intelligence, but no share of f s falsehood. Ton may bribe a soldier to slay a man with bword, or a witness to take life by false accusation, but [cannot make a dog tear his benefactor. He is the friend m, save when man justly incurs his enmity.'' A long course of domestication, and peculiar modes of img and rearing, have divided the canine race into nearly iindred varieties ; many of which shoW marked difference in and appearance. The savage bnlldog seems hardly to bg to the same race as the delicate lapdog, that sleeps on rug, and is washed and combed by its fair mistress almost ^arefully as an infant. The swift and slim greyhound looks very little like the ^dy and square-built mastiff. Bat there are cwtiiin traits Character, which, in a greater or less degree, are cuinmon 64 TUB TillKl) UKADBR. to all the kinds. Sagacitj, docility, benevolenoe, a oaj to receive instraction, and attachment to his master's per are qualities which belong to the whole race. Many anecdotj are to be found in books, illostrating the Tirtnes and intelj gence of the dog, Arom which we hare made a selection for tl| entertainment of our young readers. 8. Many instances have been recorded in which per have been saved firom drowning by dogs, especially by tho of the Newfoundland breed, which have a natural love of tlil water. A vessel was once driven on the beach by a storm ii the county of Kent, in England. Eight men were calling f({ help, but not a boat could be got off to their assistance. 9. At length a gentleman came on the beach aocompaDiei by his Newfoundland dog. He directed the attention of tU noble animal to the vessel, and put a short stick into mouth. The intelligent and courageous dog at once undo stood his meamng, and sprang into the sea, fighthig his m\ through the foaming waves. He could not, however, close enough to the vessel to deliver that with which he wii charged, but the crew joyfully made fast a rope to ai otbd piece of wood, and threw it towards him. 10. The sagacious dog saw the whole business in an instantj he dropped his own piece, and immediately seized that whid had been cast to him ; and then, with a degree of strengtlj and determmation ahnoet incredible, he dragged it through tb surge, and delivered it to his master. By this means a line ( communication was formed, and every man on board saved. 11. A person, while rowing a boat, pushed his Newfoo land dog into the stream. The anunal followed the boat foi| seme time, till probably finding himself fatigued, he endeavor to get mto it by placing his feet on the eide. His ownei repeatedly pushed the dog away ; and in one of his eflforts i lo so, he lost his balance and fell into the river, and wouldj probably have been drowned, had not the affectionate generous animal immediately seized and held him above water| till assistance arrived from the shore. 12. A boatman once plunged into the water to swim witii| another man for a wager. His Newfoundland dog, mistakiufj ANKClwrrKS OV D()08. 6» purpose and snpposing that his master was in danger, knged after him, and dragged him to the shore by his hair, the great Aversion of the spectators. [13. Nor are the good oiBces of dogs to man displayed only the water. A young man in the north of England, while was tending Ids father's sh^p, had the misfortune to |i and break his leg. He was three miles firom home, in unfrequented spot, where no one was likely to approach ; lening was fast approaching, and he was in great pain from le flracture. In this dreadful condition, he folded one of his |oves in a pocket handkerchief, fastened it around the dog's ck, and then ordered him home in an emphatic tone of voice. 14. The dog, convinced that something was wrong, ran )me with the utmost speed, and scratched with great violence the door of the house for admittance. The parents of the )ung man were £preatly alarmed at his appearance, especially [ben they hod exammed the handkerchief and its contents, stantly cotaclnding that some accident had befallen their son, ^ey did not delay a moment to go in search of him. The )g anxiously led the way, and conducted the agitated parents the spot, where their suffering son was lying. Happily, he Iras removed just at the close of day, and the necessary assist- |nce being procured, he soon recovered. 15. On one of the roads leading Arom Switzerland to Italy, [ailed the Pass of St. Bernard, is a convent situated at more lan eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. In the iter tine, when the cold is mtense and the snows are deep, [ivellers are eicposed to great danger ; and the inmates of the )nvent, when storms are raging, are in the habit of going ^broad to assist such wayfarers as may need their services. 16. They are accompanied by their dogs, a noble breed of Itnimals, who are called by the name of the convent where they ire kept. They carry food and cordials fastened at their nocks, lud are able to pass over snow-wreaths too light to bear the ireight of a man. They are aided by the acuteness of their icent in finding the unfortunate persons who have been buried |q the snow, and many men have owed their lives to the timelj Buucoi afforded by these ft)ar-footed philanthropists. 66 THE TIIIHD BBADKR. 17. One of them, which senred the convent fur twelve ye Is said to have been instramental in saving the lives of f» individuals. He once found a little boy, who had become I numbed by the cold, and fallen down upon a wreath of sno^ By licking his hands and face, and by his caressen, he induct the little fellow to get upon his back, and cling with his an around his neck ; and in this way he brought him in triuni|| to the convent. 18. This incident forms the subject of a well-known picti When this dog died, his skin was stuffed and deposited in I museum at Berne ; and the little vial in which he carried | cordial draught for the exhausted traveller still hangs ab jis neck. How many men have there been, endowed reason and speech, whose lives were less useful than that i this noble dog I 22. The Burial op Sir John Hoorr. RamVart, the wall of a fort- ress. \[ar'tial, military. Ran'dom, done without aig left to chance. Beck, care, mind. Do not Bay ubbraid for upbraid. 1. lyrOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 1^ As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero was buried. 2. Wo buried him darkly at dead of night. The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. 8. No useless coiBn inclosed his breast, # Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound hun. v: THE BOKIAL or 81 K JollN MOOKK. But he laj like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of stfrrow ; But we steadfastly pnKcd on the face of the deod, And we bitterly thought of the mo'Tow. 67 Wc thoujrht as we hollow'd his narrow bed, . And smooth'd down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger v«rouId tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes npbraid him ; But little he'll reck, if they let hun sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done "W hen the clock toU'd the hour for retiring ; as TUB TIIIKI) RKADKR. And we heard the distant and randum gun That the foe was sullenly firing. 8. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone in his glory. 23. I TRY TO BB Good. Vbx-a'tion, canse of trouble. Dia-couR'AOB-MBin', that which abates conrage. Wabn'ino, previous notia caution. Ob'bti-na-ot, perversenesa.! I TRY to be good,'' said Emily, "but I have so many vei tions, that I find it difficult to do as I wish ; for whenei I feel pleased and happy, something will happen to give i h(?avy heart." " But, child," said her mother, " you should i ubove these little trifles ; a sincerely virtuous endeavor, | ^ceding from right principles, enables one to overcome liU diRcouragements. It was but last evening I was readiDg| story illustrating this veiy sentiment. 2. " It was the confession of a man who had severe strog with a bad temper. He said that when he was a little cm I TUY T«» UK Gel'i-tt, faithfulness. 3E3'SAMT-LT, withOttt CCaS- •FBs'sioN, avowal. A-pos'ta-st, renouncing oiw't faith or solemn promises. Pre'cefts, commandments. Thiul'dom, bondage. * Vi'o-LATB, to transgress, to break. liTe each vowel its sound. Do not say 'potlaty for apodasy ; Jiiddelil§ "'"'fi kwammUy for metuanUy, ^HEN presented to the Church to receive holy baptinaa, we were asked if we believed in God, if we wookllivi ording to the precepts of the gospel, and if we renomiced 72 THK TUIKS) KKADKR. with all oar heurt the devil and his pomps, the W'>rld an maxims ; and it was only when a formal and affirmative i had been returned, that we were admitted amoi^ the chO of God. 2. It was, therefore, in the face of heaven and earth, inl presence of God and his holy angels, that we promised! Qher the law of Christ, and to practise it in its fullest extt 8. It is true we had not the use of reason at the tin our baptism ; but it was for us and in Our name that I promises were made ; we have since ratified them as oftol we made a public profession of Christianity ; we also con ed them every day by making on ourselves the sign ofi cross, by reciting the Lord's prayer, assisting at the holyi rifice of the mass, and by participating in the sacraments. 4. We are not, therefore, our own property, but belongj God,^ur soul, our body, and all are his. To follow I maxuns of the world, to seek after its vanities, to love I pomps of the devil, to be ashamed of the gospel, would bel renounce the character of a Christian, violate our engagemea trample on the blood of Jesus Chi^, outrage the Holy Ghoj and shamefully expel hun from our hearts. 6. Let us, then, never forget that these vows are writtes| the book of life, that God has account of them in heavi and that we shall be judged by them at the hour of d« On our fidelity in fulfilling them depends our salvation andc eternal destiny. 6. In order to keep them in our minds we ought oftenj renew them, and incessantly to thank the Lord for haii snatched us from the thraldom of the Bvil One, and called] • to the kmgdom of his Son. 7. We read m the history of the Church that a holy i con, named Murrita, having answered at the sacred font for| young man named Elpiphodorus, had the misfortune to i him become an apostate and a persecutor of the Christians.] 8. One day, when he was publicly tormenting some Gli tians in the midst of an immense crowd, the holy deacon denly appeared ; he had preserved the white robu wherei Elf^phodoms had been covered at his baptism ^ presentij THE LITANY. 78 him, he cried in a loud voice : " Behold the witness of apostasy ; this will bear testimony against thee at the lent-seat of God. " Look upon this white garment wherewith I clothed at the sacred font ; it will call for Tengeance npon thee, [it shall be changed into a robe of fire to bom thee for all ity." The spectators were moved to tears by this ad bs, and Elpiphodoms withdrew, covered with confusion. 26. The LrrAmr. TLE, cunnmg. ^nL'cHRAL, relating to the smb. To Lurk, to he m wait. LrTANY, a solemn form of prayer. I tills lesson slowly and pronounce the consonants distinctly. I. BY thy birth and early years ; By thy human griefs and fears ; By thy fasting and distress, In the lonely wilderness ; By thy victory, in the hour Of the subtle tempter's power — Jesus 1 look with pitymg eye, Hear our solemn litany. 4 74 THK riilBD RKiVT:)K«. S By th*-! ayiQpa/hy tl t wepi O'er the (ipraTe where Lazaros slept $ By thy bitter tears that flow'd Over Salem's lost abode ; By the troubled sigh t -.at t( Id Treajion Inrk'd vrithm thy fold— Jesus I look m itJ T^itymg eye, Hear onr eolemn liuuiy. 8. By thme hour of dark despair ; By thine agony of prayer ; By the purple robe of scorn ; By thy wounds, thy crown of thorn, Gro»fl and passion, pangs and cries ; By thy perfect sacrifice — Jesus I look with i^tying eye, Hear our solemn litany. i By thy deep ez{nring groan ; By the seal'd sepulchral stone ; By thy trinn^ o'er the grave ; By thy power from death to save — Wf^ty God 1 ascended Lord I To tihy throne in heaven restored ; Prince and Saviour I hear thetiy Of our solemn litany. 27. ThB SiOK 07 THB C^088.. DisHn'puB, a follower, a learn* er. Mts'tk-bt, something unez- phuned. Oow'abd-iok, hfll>itnal ity. Ohkst, the breast Ix-poBr'Airr, momentous. Do not mfptrfeubm fmpnfmtion; bm or bemi tmbtm(t/ba) ; Aorj! tOtAeirfaUh; an ueeompttA fat md meon^Utk; wUh th$ aiilmct ^ tkt tofytatwOhthi attktanet tfthe Mad Bofy. THB SIGN OF 'I UK CK()88 n loz, habitual tin make profesaion of our faith is one of our most essential dnties, for Jesos Ohrist yiSi not recognize as his disciples Be who haye been ashamed of belonging to him, and slirank declaring their faith openlj. S. One of the best means of showing that we are Christians, ^g in that title, is to make rehgionsly npon onrselves the st sign of the cross. ). There are two ways of making the sign of the cross : first is by making a cross with the thumb on the forehead, ith, and bosom ; it is thus that the priest makes it daring mass, when he begins to read the gospels, and all the (hfol shonld do the same. 1. We make the sign of the cross on onr forehead, to show |t we are Christians, and not ashamed to act as such ; on month, to testify that we are ever ready to make profes- of believing in God and iu Jesns Christ ; and on the st, to show that we love the cross of Christ, and heartily teve what we profess. w THE THIRD AKADER. 5. The second method of makmg the sign of the cross isl placing the right hand on the forehead, then on the chij then on the left shoulder, and afterwards on the right, say " In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Ghost." 6. When making the sign of the cross we profess the niii of God by saying these words In the name, in the smgii| namber ; the Trinity of persons, by naming each in torn ; i mystery of the Incarnation and that of the Redemption 1 making the form of the cross on which the Son of God nuj man died for us ; and the mystery of grace, by carrying i hand from the left side, which is the figure of sin, to the which represents the grace merited for us by Ghrist. 7. The words " In the name of the Father," signify ag " I am going to perform this action by order of the }i\ Holy Trinity; I will obey it fidthfolly, and accomplish! will; I do this in honor of the Blessed Trinity, desiring | render it all the homage of which I an capable. 8. "I am about to perform this action with the assistance] the Most Holy Trinity ; acknowledging that I can do noth without the strength which comes from the Father, the { which the Son has merited for me, and the light which ceedd from the Holy Ghost." 9. We should not fail to make the sign of the cross at lei mormng and erening, before and after meals, at the beg and end of our prayers, and when setting about any impor action ; it is a great means of drawing down upon oorseiij and our u! iertakings the blessing of God. 10. We should also make it, at least on our heart, whenj find ourselves exposed to danger or temptation, to the that we may be delivered therefrom, and preserved fi^ offending God. 11. A young girl blushed while making the sign of the ( on an ocMsion when it is usual to make it, and that stranger was present. This was noticed by a certain pioj person, who soon made her ashamed of her cowardice, want of love for Jesus Christ. 12. "What!" said he, '* Jesus was not ashamed todiej TDK THREE FSTENDS. w {cross to redeem yoa, yet yon blush to form on yonrself the ist sign of your redemption I" He added, " I hope that iture V (1 will glory in belonging to your adorable Master. the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost bless yon, throngh the ^ion and death of Oar Lord Jesos Christ 1'' 28. The Tf.beb Friends. ftusT, confidence, reliance). I^Ris'oK, a jail. Wor'tht, deserving. Heed, care, attention. t ashamed to diet ITJST no friend whom yon have not tried. There are > more of them at the festive board than at the prison door. \. A man had three friends ; two of them he loved mnch, for the third he cared little, though he was well worthy lis affection. This man was once sommoned before the ^e and strongly accused of a crime of which he was really scent. " Who among yon,^ said he, ** will go with me, and evidence in ny behalf? For I have been accused with- canse, and the king is angry." I. The first of his friends excused himself unmediately ; say- [that he could not go with him on account of other busi- The second accompanied him to the door of the hall istice ; there he turned round and went back, throngh fear Ihe angry judge, lltie thurd, on whom he had least depend- [went in, spoke for him, and testified so fully to his inno- g, that the judge dismissed him unharmed. 1. Man has three friends in this world. How do they be- te in the hour of death, when God calls him to judgment? |. The gold, the friend he loves best, leaves him first, and not go with hun. His relations and friends attend him the gate of the grave, and return to thehr homes. The i, of whom in life he took least heed, is represented by his (d works. They attend nim to the throne of the Judge ; go before hun, plead for him, and find morcy and grace [hun. 78 TBK tfrrlKD RRADSJI. 29. SOMQ OF TUB EaILROAD. Brakk, a place overgrown vrith fom, a thicket. AiiiVK'nvcT, n channel for carrying water, supported bj«8oaie atmcture. l(f ar'oin, the water's edge, the shore. Mould, fine, soft earth. Goal, the point set to aniT; at, the end of the journoj. Ex-PAN'siON, the state of beiij expanded or btretched onij Geasb'lxss, without a stopo pause. *^ :aT' .r. T r., TLi-- ,„ 1. rpHROTTGH the monld and through the clajj JL Through the com and through the hay, By the margin of the lake. O'er the river, through the brake. O'er the bleak and dreary moor, On we hie with screech and roar 1 Splashing! flashing! Crashing! dashing! 2. Over ridges. Gullies, bridges ! By the bubbling rill, And mill — Highways, byways, Hollow hill— BONO OF THB RAtLROAD. It Jumping — bomping— Booking — roaring Like forty thoasaud giants snoHugl B7 the lonelj hat and mansion, By the ocean's wide expansion — Where the factory chimnej smoke, Where the fonodry bellows croak — Dash along 1 Slash along I Crash along ! Flash along ! On I on t with a jump, And a bomp, And a roll I Hies the fire-fiend to its destined goal! t. Over moor and over bog, On we fly with ceaseless jog ; Every instant something new, No sooner seen than lost to view ; Now a tavern — now a steeple — Now a crowd of gaping people — Now a hoUow — now a ridge — Now a cros^way — now a bridge— Grumble, stumble, Bumble, tumble — Church and steeple, Qaping people — Quick as thought are lost to dew I Every thing that eye can survey, Turns hurly-buriy, topsy-turvy I Each passenger is thnmp'd and shaken. As physio is when to be taken. 4. By the foundry, past the forge. Through the plain, and mountain gcnrge, Where cathedral rears its head, Wlwre repose the silent dead ! -"^gSk^k- 80 THK TIIIKD KRADRR. Monnmcnts amid the grass Flit lilce spectres as yoa pass I If to hail a friend inclined — Whisk I whirr I ka-HSwash I— he's lefc boLin Rnmble, tumble, all the day, Thus we pass the hours away. 80. ViOTOEINUB. pRi>-n'oiBN-oT, adviuicement, improyement gained. Ez-PLAN'A-'ro-RT, Containing explanation. To EX-AS'PER-ATB, tO XOX, tO| provoke. Ad-iiin'is-t£rkd, managed,! supplied. Do not my pemouneed tor pronouneed ; peifeuion impn^ftuiimi rtipttji ihet(melyqfth»plae$fi>tn»p0(i/orth»mmetUyv slaythings, as now a sword, u like their elders, the possesBion of one bauble does but [e them sigh for another. View the fond father, his pet little gkl by the hand, his walking before, on whom lus prond eye rests, while am- ^us views float over his mind for them, and make hun bnt attentive to their repeated inquiries ; while at the musemii |h6 pictm'e-gallery, his explanations are interrupted by the ture of discovering that his cliildren are already well ac- linted with the diiferent subjects exhibited. p. At no season of the year are their holidays so replete pleasures ; the expected Ohristmas box from grand-papa grand-mamma; plum-pudding and snap-dragon, with adman's-bnff and forfeits ; perhaps to witness a jnvenUe play Lcarsed and ranted; galantee-show and drawing for twelftb- ^e ; besides Ohristmas gambols in abundance, new and old. I. Even the poor charity-boy at this season feels a transient ^w of cheerfulness, as with paJe blue face, frost-nipped hands^ ~ thin scant clothes, from door to door he timidly ^splays the blotted scutcheon of his graphic talents, and feels that the ice bestowed are hia own, and that for once in his life he i,y taste the ofieiit-desired tart, or spin a top which no one snatch from him in capricious tyranny. ^ %r '^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 11.25 Ui|28 |15 ly tiX 2.2 Htou U 1^ HiolDgraphic Sciences Corporation r ^. 23 WIST MAIN STUIT WIBSTIt,N.Y. MStO (716) •72-4503 v\ f:^ ''^ PABT SECOM A WOED TO TEAOHEBS. I^ «•« papa. ^ „d ™il th,^ ^''• •«'' Je«o. befo„ «™.»^ ^-•* •' toe ^ » t l-rf for tU. ttd, h^a^"^ *»** *••« -h QoMHom OB tie 8aU«it of th. i r THE DRBAM OF TBB OBUSADKB. 95 1. Thb Dbbak of thb Obusadeb. TTTHEN OhriBtian mendid YV hear aghast, The soU that Christ had trod Was in the might of P&ynim men, Who scorned the Son of God} 2. Arose there then through Ohiistendom One aniver^ cry, To wrest that land from snch ft grasp- To win it or to die. 96 THB THIKD READKR. 8. That ciy went forth through Europe's r. From one end to the otherf ^r;f„^5e the thunder' voice That naught on earth can smotW. *. And France's fairest chiTahy p3*T?«'»»* at that loud ci, I^mKormandytatoR.oyrc; If one tarried in his halL *^* ®T^n? ^''^ ^ fast-flowing Loir^ And others ftom the Rhone^ T* The banks of the Garonne. '^^ «. One common badge they aB do ol^"^?^«''««»>hi«>n'db«lriit On each left ann and breast. ^*^FniS''^*^*Wood.redc««. Fpnused as for ft sign. ^^ And animating an ^.'IJ^t With thoughts , Jestine. 8. And day by day they fought their «>• StiU o:;rards from thelel ^ "^ With <3auntless constancy. *' ^mn*^?^^^»oWeN8ht. ^-^^^^ THB DBBAM OF THB OBDBADEB. 97 [2. The Dream of the Obusadeb — carUintted, 1. One early morn, the aim as yet Was scarcely in the sliy, He begg'd the priest to shrire him then, And make him fit to die. 2. He wished to take the sacrament As soon as he was shriren, That he might dare to meet his Qod With hopes to be foxgiren. 8. Now all did manrel at his words, For he was fresh and well ; And why he deemed that he should die^ No mortal man conld tell. 4. Bnt good Sir Anselm with grave uden Thus spake— ''My race is ran 1 Ere yonder snn shall set again, life's jonraey win be done. 6. My friend, Ingolram of St. Pol, Who fell at Maura's fight. And whom we all lamented so, Fve seen in the past night. h. This very night he came to me. And stood beside my bed ; 'Twas not'a dream — ^I was awake, And heard each word he said. t. I asked him, ' Whither comest tho^ And why so bright and fair? ^ For thou wert kQl'd at Maara, And we interr'd thee there.' 8. He was so Inight and beantifnl, And mild each placid feature ; *,, 98 TUB IHIBD BKADKB, He was not like a mortal man, Bat some angelic creatnre. 9. He answered me, 'I am so fair, And beantiftd and bright, Because my dwelling shineth so With aU-respIendent light. 10. And this to me my Qod hath giyen, Because I serf ed him well ; for laying down my life for him Against the InfideL ^ 11. And it hath been lereal'd to me, \ That snch a dwelling-place, Bat br^hter still, awaiteth thee, Throngh God's great soTerdgn gnm, 13. And I am come to bring to thee These tidings glad and sweet ; Thy dwelling it is wondrons fair- To-morrow there we meet I' " 18. Again Ihey went to fight thdr way gUJl onwards from the sea ; They charged upon the Infidel With wonted oonstam^. 14. The Paynhn men advance again, To drive them to the sea. Bat on them rosh'd the rednsross men With all their chiTahy. 15. And when the day's hard strife was o'er, The son went down apace. The good Sk Ansdm he was missed At his aocostom'd place. . 16.>'They sought him on the battltf-field, They found him 'midst the dead : A stone, by some huge engine huri'd, Had struck him on the httid. THB LOBO'S PBAYEB. 99 8. Thb Lobd'b Pbatbb. [UR Lord hu himself taught us what we are to beg of God, and the order in which it is to be asked. He has en TonchsDtfed to draw up the petition which we are to pre- it to the Father in his name, and to leave ns an excellent of prajer, which is thence called The LorcPa Prayer. Jesaa Ohrist," says St. Qyprian, ''among other salutary |yice8 and precepts which he hath given to his people in ier to gnide them to salvation, has prescribed a formula of Btyer, to the end that we may be the more readily heard by ^e Father, by addresnng him in the very words which his on hath tai^t ns. 1 3. " Let ns, therefore, V^j" ^^dds this holy doctor, " as 'master and onr God hath directed ns; that prayer mnst be ^eanng to God which comes from himself, and strikes his ear }ngh the words of Ohrist; let the Father recognize in onr lyer the words of his divine SoA. 3. " Since Jesus Ok^t is onr Advocate with his I'sther, kt ■% «i^ ■ *rSs;: ?W <:. 100 THE TUIRD UKADKB. OS make use of the very words of oar Me^ator; he US that the Father will grant whatever is asked in his how mnch more willingly if asked, not only in his name,| in his own very words!" The Ohurch, accordingly, continual nse of that divine prayer; by it she begins and! all her offices; she introdnces it particularly in the holyj rifice of the mass. The faithftal should recite it daily, mon and evening, and recall it often to their minds thronghl course of the day. 4. The Lord's Prayer is composed of a short preface,! seven petitions or requests, of which the three first relattl God, and the other four concern ourselves; it contaimi that we can desire and ask of God; it is the rule by we are to form our sentiments and our desires. Wei indeed, make use of other words in our prayers, but vej to ask nothing of God save what is contained in this mo any request that is not consistent with it would be unwoil a (Xbistian, and could not be agreeable to God. 5. The preface consists of these words: "Our Father, \ art in heaven ;" Jesus GhrLst has thrown into these few m all that is most capable of engaging God to hear us, and| inspiring within ourselves senthnents of respect, confide and love. ^ . 6. We call God our Father, for so has Gmrist instmctedj to do. God is indeed our father by creation, smce he given us life, and formed us to his own image; he is still our father by the grace of regeneration, seeing that in ^\ tism lie adopted us as his children in Christ Jesus, sidef;" says the Apostle St. John, "what love the Father! had for us, cdnce he would have us call^ his children, i really be sol" "Because ye are children," adds St. Fii " God has sent into your hearts the sjMt of his Son, i ffig 'My Father, My Father P" Oh, name full of sv ness and delight! what love, what gratitude, and what i fidence should it excite in your heart I 7. If it be true that God is your Father, can you fear tli your prayer will be ng'ected when you remind hiin of a i by whi(^ he takes pleasimre hi hearing us address him ? LBGEND OF THB INFANT JBBUS. lOj I he not grant to a child who prays to him, after he has red him into the number of his children by a grace which ^pated his prayers and desires. Fear only that by yonr disobedience yon may render self unworthy to be called the child of Ood; that alone [obstruct the flow of his grace and the effect of your rers. Each of us says, when addressing God: "Our » and not My Faihetf because hayhig all the sajne Bf, and expecting ttom. him the same inheritance, we jnot only to pray for ourselyes, but for all the faithful, are our brethren. By that we understand that it is not own name we pray, but in that of Jesus Christ, and in ^n with the whole body of his Church, whose members re. We add; " Who art in heaven," for although God is rhere in his immensity, we neyertheless consider heaven lie throne of his glory; it is in heaven that he puts forth [his magnificence, and reveab himself Mty to his ikect liout the shadow of a dond to obscure his brightness. to heaven that we ourselves are called; "heaven is our itry, and the inheritance destined for us by our Father. |ien we kneel, then, in prayer, let us raise our thoughts and desires to heaven; let us unite with the society of blessc ! ^ts, and excite in our hearts the hope and the desire of sessuig God. 4. Lbobnd of THB Infant Jestth. 1. pOME, chUdren, all whose joy it ia V/ To serve at holy mass. And hear what once, in days of faith. In England came to pass I 2. It chanced a priest was journeying Through dark and gloomy wood» And there, where few came i)as8ing by, A lonely chapel stood. 102 TRB THIRD BSADBB. 8. He Btay'd his feet, that pilgrim jHrieit, His morning mass to say, And put the sacred yestments on Which near the altar lay. 4. Bat who shall serve the holy mass, For all is silent here? He kneels, and there in patience wait! The peasant's hour of prayer. 6. When lo I a child of wondrous grace, Before the altar steals. And down beside the lowly priest, The infant beanty kneels. 6. He serres the maar; his voice is sweety lake distant mnsic low, With downcast eye and ready hand, * And footfaU hnsh'd and slow. f . " Et yerbnm caro factom est,'' / He lingers till he hears. Then turning he to Mary's shrine, In glory disappears. 8. So round the altar, children dear. Press gladly in God's name. For once to serve at holy mass, The Infant Jesus came. 5. Thb Do-NoTHmos. THE Do-Nothmgs are a very numerous family : some mem- bers of it are found in all parts of the country ; and there are very few sdiools in which some of them are not in attend- ancis as pupils. They are known by their slow and listleBS steps, their untidy appearance, and the want of animation acd THE 00-NOTHINOt. 108 Brest in their faces. They do not do any tUng, whether 9r]c or play, with a hearty goodrwill. 1 2. Their hair is apt to be in disorder ; their hands and faces not always clean ; their clothes look as if they had been pat on. They are always in a hnrry, and yet always bhindhand. They are sometimes absent from school, and BD tardy; bnt for erery neglect of duty they always havt Dme sort of an ezcose. 8. A ghrl of this family gets np in the morning late, dresses Braelf in a harry, and comes down-stairs a little oat of hamor [)m the feeling that she has began the day wrong. The lily breakfast is oyer, and she is obliged to tisJce hers alone ; rhich does not improve her temper. She knows that she has French lesson to learn before school ; bnt she is attracted |>y a new pictnre-book which had been bronght home the day Bfore for one of her little brothers, and she takes it ap, mean* Qg only to look oyer the pictares. Bat she becomes interest- in the story, tarns oyer one leaf after another, and at last ne o'clock strikes before she is aware of it. 4. She hnddles on her shawl and bonnet, and hastens to chool as fast as possible ; bat she is late in spite of her harry, land is marked for tardiness. It takes her some time to get [seated at her desk, and to recover from the heat and flarry of |comiog to school so fast. She at first proposes to learn the {French lesson, which she ongV^ to have done at home; bat [after stadying a few moments, she finds some leaves missing [ from her cUctionary. She tries to borrow one from a neigh- bor, bat in vain ; so she becomes discoaraged, and thinks she will do a few sams in arithmetic. 6. So she takes oat her slate, and be^^ to wash it ; spend- iig mnch more time in this process than is necessary. She tries a som and cannot do it, and thinks it the fanlt of the peocQ. So she proceeds to sharpen that with great delibera- tion, making everybody around her nneasy with the disagree- able, grating sound. When this operation is over, she looks at the dock, and sees that it will soon be thne to recite in geography, of which she has not learned any thing. 6. She pats np her slate, pencil, and arithmetic, and takes 104 TIIR TIIIKD UKADKB. ont her geography and atlas. By the time these are op and spread before her, she hears a band of mosio ioi street Her seat is near the window, and she wastes precious minutes in looking at the soldiers as they paaal Bhe has hardly made any progress in her study of geog when she is called up to recite. She knows very little of I lesson, girei wrong answers to the questions put to her, i gets a bad mark. t. Soon after this, the chus in French to which she beloij goes up to recite. TUs lesson she has only half learned, i she blmiders sadly when called upon to answer. She goes to her desk in an unhappy state of mind, and takes up arithmetic once more. But she feels dissatisfied with he and cannot fix her attention upon her task. She comes to i conclusion that she has got a headache, which is a rery ooi mon excuse with her, and that she cannot study. So she p a oorer upon one of her books, and writes a note to one of 1 young fHends about gohig to a concert ; and when this is onr] the bell for dismissal rings. 8. And this half day may be taken as a fair sample of tin] whole school-life of Misi Do-Nothing. It is a long sucoesnoil of lessons half learned, of sums half done, of blotted copj^ books, of absences and tardinesses, of wasted hours and' lected opportunities. Most of the annoyance which teadienl suffer in the dischaige of their duties, comes firom boys vAl girls of this family. They haye two secnningly opposite traits:! they are always idle and yet always restless. They moT6 about on their seats, and lean upon their desks in a great variety of postures. They talk with their fingers ; and keep up a constant whispering and buzzing with their lips, which { disturbs scholars and teachers alike. 9. The boys are very expert in catching flies, and moul^g I pieces of paper into the shape of boats or cocked hats. Tliej ' draw figures upon their slates, and scribble upon the fly-leaTei of their books. In summer they are alBicted with a constsDt thirst, and in winter their feet and hands are always cold. Both boys and girls are apt to be troubled with drowsiness in the daytime ; and yet they are very reluctant to go to bed BBAUSfO TIIIC DAUOIITKB OF JAIRU8. 105 fen the proper hoar comei. They are fond of laying the lit of their own indolence upon the weather ; they would re learned their leison if it had not been lo hot, lo cold, or ! rainy. J 10. There ii one remarkable pecnUarity abont tUs family i lery boy and girl that chooeei can leare it, and Johi the Do- Wethings ; the membeiv of which are alwayi glad to wel- Ime deserters flrom the Do-Nothings. The boys and girls of ^e Do-SometUng family are always bosy, always cheerfiil ; }rking heartily when they work, and playing heartily when |iey play. They are neat in their appearance, and pnnctnal attendance upon school ; erery thing is done in proper order, ad yet nothing is harried ; they are the Joy of tiieir parents, ad the delight of their teachers. 11. My yonng fHends into whose hands this book may fall, which of these two famiUes do yoa belong? Remember liat the oseAilness and happhiess of your whole lires depend ^pon the answer to this qaestion. No one can be trnly hi^y rho is not oseftil ; and no one can be nseftal who is idle, care> and negligent. 6. Hbalzno TH8 Dauohtbb of Jaibub. 1 . pRESHLY the cool breath of the coming ete •1^ Stole through the lattice, and the dying girl Felt it upon her forehead. She had lain Since the hot noontide in a breathless trance— Her thin pale fingers dasp'd within the hand Of the heart-broken Ruler, and her breast. Like the dead marble, white and motionless. 2. The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips. And, as it stirr'd with the awakening wind. The dark lids lifted from her languid eyes. And her slight fii^^ers moved, and heavily She tum'd upon her pillow. He was there — The same loved tireless watcher, and she look'd Into his face until her sight grew dim 6* 106 THIS THIRD READER. With the fast-falling tears; and, with a sigh Of tremnlons weakness mnrmnring his name, She gently drew his hand npon her lips, And kiss'd it as she wept. The old man sunk Upon his knees, and in the drapery Of the rich curtains buried up Ms face; And when the twilight fell, the silken folds Stirr'd with his prayer, but the slight hand he held Had ceased its pressure — and he could not hear, In the dead, utter silence, that a breath Game through her nostrils — and her temples gave To his nice touch no pulse — and, at her mouth, He held the lightest curl that on her neck Liy with a mocking beauty, and his gaze Afibcd with its deathly stillness. HEALING TUB DAUQUTBK OF JAIKUS. 107 8 AU was still. The echoing vestibule gave back the slide Of their loose sandals, and the arrowy beam Of moonlight, slanting to the marble floor, Lay like a spell of silence in the rooms, As Jaims led them on. With hushing steps He trod the winding stair; but e'er he tonch'd The latchet, from within a whisper came, " TrouMe the Master not— for she is dead /" And his faint hand fell nerveless at his side. And his steps falter'd, and his broken voice Choked in its utterance; — ^but a gentle hand Was laid upon his arm, and in his ear The Saviour's voice sank thrillingly and low, " She is not dead — hut deepeth." 4. ' Like a form Of matchless sculpture in her sleep she lay— The linen vesture folded on her breast. And over it her white transparent hands. The blood still rosy in their tapering nails. A Ime of pearl ran through her parted lips. And in her nostrils spiritually tUn, The breathing curve was mockingly like life; . And round beneath the faintly tinted skin Ban the light branches of the azure veins; And on her cheek the jet lash overlay, Matchmg the arches penciled on her brow. 6. Her hair had been unbound, and falling loose Upon her pillow,' hid her small round ears In curls of glossy blackness, and about Her polish'd necb^ scarce touching it, they hung Like airy shadows floating as they slept. 'Twas heavenly beautiful. The Saviour raised Her hand from off her bosom, and spread out The snowy fingers in his palm, and said, " Maiden f Arise !" — and suddenly a flush 108 THB THIRD RBADEIU Shot o'er her forehead, and along her lips And through her cheek the rallied color ran; And the still outline of her graceful form Stirr'd in the linen vesture; and she clasp'd The Sayiour's hand, and fixing her dark eyes Full on his beaming countenance — ^abosbI 7. St. Phh.tp "Nebi akb tbb Youth* ST. Philip Neri, as old readmgs say, Met a young stranger in Bome's streets one day ; And being ever courteously inclined To give young folks a sober turn of mind, He fell into discourse with him ; and thus The dialogue they held comes down to us. St. Tell me what brings you, gentle youth, to Rome? F. To make myself a scholar, sir, I come. iSK. And, when you are one, what do you intend f Y. To be a priest, I hope, sir, in the end. St. Suppose it so— what have you next in view? T. That I may get to be a canon too. St. Well ; ana how then ? Y. Why, then, for aught I know, I may be made a bishop. St. Be it so— What then? Y. Why, cardinal's a high degree — And yet my lot it possibly may be. St. Suppose it was, what then? Y. Why, who can say But I've a chance of being pope one day ? St. Well, having worn the ntoe and red hat, And triple crown, what follows after that? Y. Kay, there is nothing further to be sure. Upon this earth that wishing can procure ; When I've enjoy'd a dignity so high. As long as Qod shall please, then, I must die. CONFIRMATION. 109 ',. What, must yoa die, fond youth? and at the best )at wish, and hope, and may be all the rest I Take my advice — ^whatever may betide, Tor that which most be, first of all provide ; Dhen think of that which may be, and indeed, Then well prepared, who knows what may succeed? jBat you may be, as you are pleased to hope, I Priest, canon, bishop, cardinal, and pope. 8. OONFIBMATION. ^UR young readers have learned from their little catechism, that confirmation is the sacrament by which they are ele- cted to the dignity of soldiers of Jesus Christ ; that, as by aptism they were made children of God, so by confirmation lieir names are inscribed in the army of the faithful followers ff oar divine Lord, and they receive strength to battle agunst m, the world, and the deidl, which they had so solemnly re- pnnoed at the baptismal font. 2. Oonfirmation is conferred by a bishop, who first imposes Ills hands on those to be confirmed, invoking upon them the [oly Ghost, with his sevenfold gifts ; he then signs the fore- bad of each with chrism in the form of the cross, saying at the same time : " I sign thee with the sign of the cross ; I con* lirm thee with the chrism of salvation, in the name of the Far |ther, and of the Son, atad of the Holy Ghost. Amen." 3. The bishop concludes the ceremony by giving the person I confirmed a slight blow on the cheek, to signify that as fol- lowers of Jesus Ohrist, we must bear trials and persecutions for I his sake. 4. The chrism used in confirmation, is an ointment made oi the oil of olives and balm. The oil signifies the effiact of this holy sacrament, namely, spuitual strength and purity of heart, and preservation from the rust of sin ; and the sweetness of bahn, the odor of a good and virtuous life. 6. Oonfirmation can only be received once, hence it is a 110 THU THIRD JiBADBB. great misforttme not to receive it with the proper dispositioj Formerly it was the custom to confirm children immediatj after baptism, bat now it is generally delayed until after i have made their first commnnion. It is not a sacrament ah lately necessary for salvation, bat it woald be a grievoiuj to omit receiving it throngh contempt or neglect. 6. Children oaght to look forward with a longing desircj the moment when they shall have the happiness to receive tij holy sacrament, and daily ask of Almighty God the grace i] receive it worthily, and as often resolve to live np to the ob^ gations it imposes, when they shall have received it. 9. BiBDB IN SUMMBB. 1. TJOW pleasant the life of a bird most bc^ XL Flitting aboat in each leafy tree ; In the leafy trees so broad and tall, Like a green and beaatifal palace hall, With its aury chambers, light and boon,* That open to son, and stars, and moon ; That open onto the bright bine sky. And the firolicsome winds as they wander by ! 2. They have left their nests on the forest bongh ; Those homes of delight they need not now ; And the yonng and die old they wander oat, And traverse their green world ronnd aboat ; And hark I at the top of this leafy hall, How one to the other in love they call I « Gome np I come ap I" they seem to say, "Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway. 8. " Come up, come up I for the world is fair ■ Where the merry leaves dance in the sammer air." * Boon, pleaaant. BIKD8 IN SDMMKR. Ill And the birds below give back the cry, « We come, we come to the branches high.'' How pleasant the lives of the burds must be, Living in love m"& leafy tree I And away throngh the air what joy to go, And to look on the green, bright earth below I 4. How pleasant the life of a bird must be, Skimming about on the breezy sea ; Cresting the billows like silvery foam. Then wheeling away to its cliff-bmlt home t What joy it most be to sail, upborne By a strong, tree wing, throngh the rosy mom t To meet the young sun face to face. And pierce like a shaft the boundless space ; — 5 To pass throngh the bowers of the silver cloud ; To sing in the thunder halls alond ; 11^ TBK TUIHD RBADBB. To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight With the apperKdoad winds, — Oh, what delight I Oh, what would I give, like a bird, to go Bight on through the arch of the snn-lit bow, And see how the water-drops are kiss'd Into green, and yellow, and amethyst ! 6. How pleasant the life of a bird must be, Wherever it listeth there to flee ; To go when a Joyfiil fancy calls, ^ Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls ; « Then to wheel about with their mates at play, Above, and below, and among the spray, Hither and thither, with screams as wild As the laughing mirth of a rosy child ! 7. What Joy it must be, like a fiving4)reeze, To flutter about 'mid the flowering trees ; Lightly to soar, and to see beneath The wastes of the blossoming purple heath, And the ydlow furce, like fields of gold, That gladdened some fairy region old I On mountain tops, on the billowy sea. On the leafy stems o^ the forest tree. How pleasant the life of a bird must be I 10. Thb Childbbn and thb iNTAirr Jesus. A T the time that the celebrated Egidius was provincial of I u\. Spun, he gave the habit of the order to a young Gascon I named Bernard, who was received into the convent of Santa- rem, and became distinguished among that suntly commumtj | for the holy simplicity of his life. 2. The circumstances attending his death, attested by &!■ j most all tJj^ writers on the history of the order, are of pecoliat beauty. Bernard filled the office of sacristan in the convent TUB OUILDRBM AND THB INFANT JflSUB. 118 Santarem ; an ofiBce, the exercise of which was peculiarly fUghtfol to him, from the many opportnnities it gave him of lalging his deyotion unseen by any one but his Lord, whom loved to honor by a reverent care of the altar and every jiing belonging to the Divine mysterieci. Besides this employ- fent, his spare thne was occupied in the education of two liildren, the sons of a neighboring gentleman, who sent them rery day to the convent, where they remahied until evening, [nly sleephig at their father's house. 3. These two boys were permitt«d to wear the novices' Lbit of the Friars-Preachers, bebig probably desthied for the krder, although not as yet received into the community ; and Iheir innocence and goodness of disposition rendered them pe- culiarly dear to Blessed Bernard. It was his custom, when busy in the sacristy, to allow them to remain in a chapel, then dedicated to the Holy Eiogs, on the right of the high altar, rhere they used to sit on the altarsteps, reading or writing ^heir exerdses ; spinding their time happUy until their master's etom. Here also they were accustomed to spread out the Idinners which they brought with them from home, which they Itook together in the same place, as soon as they had finished [their daily lessons. 4. On the altar of this chapel, which was seldom used for [the purpose of saying mass, there was an image of the Blessed I Virgin, holding her Divine Son in her arms; and the two ' children came to look on the Holy Infant almost as a com- I panion, and were wont to talk to him, as he seemed to look down on them from his mother's arms, with the simple fa miliaril^ of their age. One day, as they thus sat on the altar- steps, one of them raised his eyes to the image of the little Jesos that was just above hun, and sold, " Beautiful child, hew is it you never take any dinner as we do, but always re- main without moving all day long ? Come down and eat some dinner with us, — ^we will give it to you with all our hearts." 5. And it pleased God to rewarid the innocence and simple faith of the children by a wonderful miracle ; for the carved form of the holy child became radiant with life, and commg down from his holy mother's arms, he sat with them on the 114 THE THIBD ByAniq^ gronnd before the altar, and took some of their dfainer ^ them. Nor need we wonder at so great a condescension,^ membering how he came onhiTlted to be a gnest with Zaoch who was a sinner, and that the two whom he now consenlj to treat as his hosts, were clothed in that pure robe of tismal innocence which makes ns worthy to recciye him no our roof. 6. Now this happened more than once, so tliat the neglecti chapel became to these two children fall of the Joy of heaTei| and by daily conrerae with their Divine Lord they grew in i fervent love towards him, that they wearied for the ho^ when they might have him with them ; caring for nothing eli than this sweet and familiar interooorso with the Lord heaven. And their parents perceived a diange in them, how their only pleasure was in hastening to the convent, as ! it contained a secret source of happiness which had not revealed before. They therefore questioned them closely ; anil the children told them every thing without reserve. 7. But the tale seemed to those who listened, nothhig bntl an idle invention, or perhaps an artifice in order to obtain i] larger quantity of food ; and they therefore took no notice ol[ what they said beyond reproving them for their folly. But when they repeated the same story to Bernard, hel listened with very different feelings; for he knew the holjl hearts of his two little disciples; and he felt, moreover, tbt^j there was nothing unworthy of belief in the fact that he who, being God, became a little child, should condescend to give a mark of favor to those of whom he himself has said, that " of such is the kingdom of heaven." When, therefore, after many inquhries, he had satisfied himself of the truth of the tale, ' he bade them give glory to God for his goodness ; and then I considered whether there was no way in which these circam- stances might be made to serve yet further to the happiness «nd sanctification of his pupils. 8. And hearing how they in their childish way expressed a wonder that,, after they had so often invited the child to eat some of thdjfdinner, he had never brought any food with him to share with them, he bade them, the neit time he came, ask THK OHILDBBN AMD TUB INFANT JK8DS. 116 I bow this was, and whether he would not ask them aome to dine with him in his Father's honse. The boys were ;hted with this idea ; and they failed not to do as they I directed the next time that they were alone in the chapel. ^n the child smiled on them graciously, and said, " What say is very jost ; within three days I inrite yon to a ban* ^t in my Father's honse :" and ?^th this answer they re aed fall of Joy to their master. He well knew the meaning of this invitation ; the chaifge ^t had gradually appeared hi his two beloved disciples had been unmarked by him ; he had seen them, as it wnre jfore their time, gro^rhig ripe for heaven ; and he understood it it was the Divine pleasure, after thus trahdng them for iveu in a marvellous way, that they should be transplanted to I angelic company, before their hearts had once been touched the knowledge df siii or the contamination of the world. 1 10. Tet he sighed to think that they should thus bo granted pass to Christ in their happy infancy, while he, who had [>wn old in the spiritual warfare, was to be left behind ; and olving to make one more trial of the condescension which been so bounteously lavished on his pupils, he bade them back to the chapel, and tell the Divhie child that since they [ore the habit of the order, it was necessary for them to ob* lerve the rules ; and that it was never permitted for novices to cept of any invitation, or to go to the house of any person, ^xcept in their master's company. "Betum, then, to your laster," said the Holy Child, " and bid hun be of the com- einy; and on Thursday morning I will receive you all three ogether in my Father's house." 11. Bernard's heart bounded with emotion when he heard these words. It was then the first of the Bogation days, and jthe day which had been appointed was therefore Ascension [day. He made every arrangement as for his approaching death, and obtained leave on that day to say his. last mass,— ^ his two disciplefi servkg during the celebration, and receiving I communion from his hands. Doubtless it would be hard for OS to realize his feelings of devout and joyful expectation daring those moments. J'r^ k" 116 TUB THIRD BBADBR. 12. And when mass was ended, he knelt before the altar with the children, one on either side, and all three mended their souls to QoQ, as though thej knew their hoar was come, and the altar-steps were to be their deati And it was even so. An hoar after, some of the bretl found them still kneeling thus before the altar, Bernard ti a8 for mass, and the two boys in their serving^robes. 18. But they were quite dead : their eyes were closed, their/aoes wore a sndle of most sweet tranquiUity; and it evident that there had been no death-struggle, but that souls had passed to the presence of God while in the very of prayer. They were buried in the chapel of the Holy which had been the scene of so many of our Lord's visits the two children ; and a picture was hung over the spot, resenting them seated on the altarnstep, with the Divine c1 between them. 14. This was the only monument to mark the place of t1 burial ; and in the course of years the memory of it was 1< and the chapel became disused and neglected as before, of the succeeding priors of the convent, wishing to find soi further record of the ancient tradition, dug down beneath t1 spot indicated by the picture ; taking care to have two a] tolic notaries and the vicar-general of the diocese present, t»| gether with other authoritieB of distinction and credit. 16. At a little distance beneath the surface a carved stoail sarcophagy was found, which being opened, the church W immediately filled with an odor of surpassing sweetness ; and on removing the clothes that lay on the top, the remains of three bodies were discovered, which they could not doubt wen' those of. Blessed Bernard and his novices ; for the bones ol the middle skeleton were the size of a grown man, while those on either side were small and delicate. 16. From the great number of years that had passed, most of them were reduced to mere dust ; but some portions oi white doth showed that they Lad been buried in the habit oi the order. The memory of this history has been preserved even up to our own times ; for A'om the time of this solemn translation of their bodies, a mass of the ascension was oelo' everyl ;bem, 9SiA ^hom tl ilr death ] year 131 U. 1. -m- THB OBAVK OW FATHER MARQUETTB. m eyery Thondaj, in thankBgiring for the graoes granted Ithem, and a confraternity of the Infant Jesus established, (whom the onstody of the ancient image was intmsted. eir death is supposed by Sosa to have taken place about I year 127t. 11. Tab Gbatb of Father MABQUETxa. 1. rpHERE is a wild and lonely dell, •L Far in the wooded West, Where never summer's sunbeam fell To break its long, lone rest. Where never blast of wmter swept, To ruffle or to chill, ' The calm, pellucid lake that slept, O'erhung with rock and hill. 2. A woodland scene by hills inclosed. By rocky barriers curb'd. Where shade and silence have reposed. For ages undisturbed. Unless when some dark Indian maid. Or prophet old and gray, Have hied them to the solemn shade. To weep alone or pray. 8. One mom, the boatman's bugle note. Was heard vdthin the dell. And o'er the blue waves seem'd to float, Like some unearthly swell. A skiff appears, by rowers stout Urged swiftly o'er the tide. An aged man sat wrapp'd in thought, Who seem'd the hehn to guide. 4. He was a holy Capuchin, Thin locks were on his brow ; 118 TBS TBWO RBADKll. HIi eye, that bright and bold had beel^ With age wm darkened now. * From diatant landa, beyond the lea, The aged pilgrim came, To combat base idolatry, And spread the holy name. 6. From tribe to tribe the good man went, The lacred cross he bore. And sarage men on slanghters bent, • Would listen and adore. Bat worn with age, his ndssion done, Earth had for him no tie. He had no farther wish, saye one,— To hie hhn home and die. A. The oarsman spoke, " Let's not delay, (iood father, in this dell ; "lis here that sayage legends say, Their sinless sjririts dwell. The hallowed foot of prophet sere, Or pore and spotless maid. May only dare to yentnre here. When night has spread her shade." 7. " Dispel, my son, thy gronndless fear, And let thy heart b" ()>!*], For (!ee, npon my breenL I hinr^ The consecrated goivL ^>^- v, The blessed crqss that long hath been Companion of my path, Presenred me in the tempest's din. Or stayed the heathen's wrath, $ '* Shall goard US from the threatened ham, What form soe'er it tske, '' The hurricane, or sayage arm. Or spirit of the lake." TBI OSATI Of rATBBB MAKQUBTTB. U9 ** Bat fAther, ih«U we neTer ceue, Through MTtge wildi to rounf My heart If yeunlDg for the peftce, Thftt imilM for na at home. 9. 'We're traced the riTer of the Weat, From aea to fomitain-head, And lail'd o'er broad Bnperior'a breaat^ B7 wild adTentore led. We've slept beneath the oyprem ahade^ Where noisome reptile hj, We've chased the panther to his bed, And heard the grim wolf bay. 10. " And now for sonny France we iic^ For qniet and for home ; Then bid na pass the vallej bj, Where on^ spirits roam." " B>epine not, son ! old age is slow. And feeble feet are mine; This moment to my home I go, And thou shali go to tUne. 11. " But ere I qdt this Tale of death, For realms more bright and foir, On yoft green shore my feeble breath, Womld rise to Heaven in prayer. Then high on yonder headland's brow. The holy altar raise ; Ulffear the cross, and let as bow With hamUe hearts in praise." 12. Tin ayd, ^ cross was soon npreaFd, On that lone, heathen shore, When new Ohristiaa roioe was heard In prayer to Ck>d befbre. The old man knelt, his head was bare, His arms crosi'd b 2. Abraham had always looked upon his son as a special r his son. hnost every poor's pas. 'ion for alJ H before HOHEN LINDEN. las iej presume to dispose of their children. Nothing less than ^e eternal welfare of their souls, and the service of Almight; (od, ought to guide their intention, and regulate their con- juct in this respect. 7. Saint Chrysostom more at large deplores the misfortune )f those parents who, notwithstanding their Christian profes- sion, sacrifice their children, not to God as Abraham did, but \o Satan, either by engaging them in the pursuits of a vain rorld, or by drawing them from the practice of a virtuous fe. " Abraham is the only one," says he, " who consecrates his [son to God, while thousands of others turn their children over to the devU ; and the joy we feel in seeing some few take a 'christian care of then: little ones, is presently suppressed with ' grief at the sight of those greater numbers, who totally neg- lect that duty, and by the example they give, deserve to be considered rather as parricides, than the parents of their children." * 1. 2. 13. HOHBNLINDBN. ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow : And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight. When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. 8. By torch and trumpet fast array'd, Each horseman drew his battle-blade ; And furious every charger neighed To join the dreadful revelry. 4. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then msh'd the steed to battle driven, 124 THE TUIBD KHADER. :f ! And loader than the bolts of heaven Far flash'd the red artillery. 6. Bat redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 6. 'Tis mom ; but scarce yon leyel sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 1. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory or the grave 1 Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry i 8. Few, few shall part where many meet I The snow shall be their winding sheet ; And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 14. Language of Flowers. ' /^ OOD news ! joyful news 1" cried the happy voice of Alice VJ Telford, running in with a huge bunch of roses in her hand. "Gome, Gattie I come. Honor I we are to go to help Sister Theresa in the sacristy, — oh, I do so love that I The great candlesticks are out, and the new branches, and such a lovely veil for the tabernacle I I was peeping in with one eye, after I had helped to clean the chapel, and Father Ash* urst said, ' Gome here with me ; I see what you want ;' and be went into the nuns' sacristy, and told Sister Theresa there was a poor beggar outside who wanted to speak to her ; and when she came out, he did so laugh I and then Sister Theresa told me to fetch all the girls to help to dress the sanctuary." the sac Jcodd not [labor, and ■marked o\ 4. "Yc "Do I [them at w "Whic "Inev^ I but all tb "True. 5. "Y I but I an j They sa^ "Whi "The thought melhas, They w Can yo 6. " pore V Heart blood Bweet< 1. "and laugli ^NOUAOB OF FL0WBH8. 123 ireo oice of Alice foses in her o go to help that I The ,^ and such a *« with one Father Ash- '«^ant;' and leresa thcFe her ; and ier Theresa wctaary." 2. She was still speaking, when all the children began to here and there, to gather np their flowers, vases, and trings ; bat the lay sister, who was darning stockings at the table, qoietly collected her work into her basket, and with a few cahn and controlUng words stilled the excitement, and |ooD reducing the scattered elements into order, a quiet pro- ressive movement was effected towards the convent. 3. They found Lucy Ward and Magdalen in the nuns' sac- hsty. The former was silently arrangmg a large basket of ^xqnisite hot-house flowers in tall fairy-like white vases ; and the sacristan glanced at those which were finished, she coald not but marvel at the faultless taste which guided the llabor, and breathe a fervent prayer for the soul that seemed |marked out by God for some special grace. 4. " You love flowers, Lucy ?" "Do I not love them, sister?" replied Lucy ; "I dream of I them at night, — ^I shotld like to die looking at them." "Which do you love best ?" " I never coidd quite tell. They speak such different words , but all that they say makes music." " True, Is that why you love them ?" 5. " Yes, sister ; I get very tired of hearing people talk, but I am never tired of the silent words of my dear flowers. They say so much." " What do they seem to say to you this evemng ?" " They all seem to whisper something new," replied Lucy thoughtfully, and as if to herself. " Look at these white ca- mellias, and side by side with them these blood-red ones. They seem to me to mean so much, but I cannot read it. Can you, sister ?" 6. "Yes," replied the nun, gently. "The sight of that pare white and blood-red reminds us always of the Sacred Heart of Jesus that was pierced for us. Look, here are the blood and water that flowed out for us. They speak the sweetest music to our hearts." T. "That is beautiful 1" said Lucy, hangbig on the words ; " and you understand the floweis too. Everybody has always laughed at me if I spoke about it, except Matthew. Dear 126 THK THIKO BKADEB. I Matthew — he never langhs at me but he shakes his he and says I have wild talk, and he can't make it oat.' *' You love Matthew ?" 8. " Oh, I love him in my deep heart 1" said Lucy, lie| wax-like cheek and brow flushing with a thrill of feeling. " You have, then, two hearts ; and you love sometiniol with one and sometimes with the other ?" " Yes, sister, I have an outer heart for everybody ; but nol one is in my inside heart but Matthew and — " she stopped) short. 9. " And our Lord, now, Lucy ?" " I can't tell," replied Lucy, returning to her old reseneJ " No, I think my inside heart is very empty. Let us talk abonti the flowers again. Look at these roses, sister ; their heads! are quite bowed down with their weight ; they cannot keep! in their sweet smell ; it seems as if it burst out from their great I cups. That says something beautiful, but I don't know what." I 10. " I think it does," replied the nun : " it says that thej , are a faint poor type of that great One who said, ' I am the] Rose of Sharon ;' and whose thorn-crowned head was bo bowed down with his weight of love on the cross, that the < ort^^rflowing scent of it converted first the poor thief, and aft«*rwards thousands of miserable sinners. Let it draw you, raj child, till yon run after those most precious odors, and | mfke them yours forever." 11. Lucy was quite silent for a few minutes, and then draw- ing out a rich cluster of geraniums, she turned her large eyes full on the nun and said, " These I love best of all, but I never could make out what they said. They all seem to sing together a very rich song that goes through my heart, like a hymn I heard the Spanish sailors sing down on the Parade last summer at night. Can you read these ?" 12. "Perhaps not in a way that you can understand These may represent the 'royal and special gifts which God bestows on the friends he has chosen to himself. They are set apart and separated from other gifts. They are oidy to be bought at a great price, nay, they aro often of priceless Vjftluo. They cost labor, and pains, and watchmg ; but when (i HOMEWABD BOUND. 127 pes bis he* kid Lacy, feeling. «^e sometinij ^7; butnol slie stoppcdl oM reserve,! »« talk aboati their headsl cannot keepl « their great I £nowwhot."l YB that the; J t 'lamthej Jad was sof ss, that the j thief, and] ' draw you, odors, and then draw- large eyes aU, but I •w to sing *rt, like a e Parade ierstanA ich God rhey are ' only to priceless at when [e work is done, where can we find its like ? Those who Assess them will be the brightest jewels iu his crown at the St day." 13. " And who can win these gifts ?" said Lucy, breath- 8sly awaiting the answer. "Those who lorie," replied the nun, and her words seemed Lacy the solemn voice of God. The teais rushed to her eyes, and she mormnred to herself, [When shall I know hun? When will he JUl my inner keafv »» ■Hi*i li 1. 15. HoMEWABD Bound. OH I when the hoar to meet again Creeps on — and, speeding o'er the sea, My heart takes np its lengthen'd chain. And, link by link, draws nearer thee — When land is hail'd, and from the shore, Gomes off the blessed breath of home, With fragrance from my mother's door, Of flowers forgotten when I come— 128 THE THIRD READElt. When port is gaia'd, and, slowly now, The old familiar paths are pass'd, And, ent^ing — unconscions bow — I gaze cpon thy face at last, And ran to thee, all faint and weak, And feel thy tears upon my cheek. 2. Ohl if my heart break not with Joy, The light of heaven will fairer seem ; And I shall grow once more a boy : And, mother ! — 'twill be like a dream, That we were parted thus for years — And once that we have dried our tears. How will the days seem long and bright — To meet thee always with the mom. And hear thy blessing every night — Thy " dearest," thy " first-bom I" And be no more, as now, in a strange land forlorn? 16. Luot's Death. HOW is Lucy?" asked Mildred of Gattie, as she softljl entered the children's class-room on the morning of the eve of the Octave of the Assumption; " have you seen her J Cattie?" " Oh, yes, I have been with Magdalen to talk to her, and to say our office," replied Cattie ; " Magdalen thmks she will die very soon, but I cannot believe it. Oh, she does look bo bright and beautiful—just like an angel I" '' 2. '* That's why I think she's going to die," replied Mag dalen, who now followed Gattie into the room with her office- book in her hand. "Lucy looks much too beautiful to live; I mean not commonly beautiful, but she has such a wonderful look. Her eyes seem as If they had seen our Blessed Lady already ; and she smiles every now and then to herself, as ii the angels were talking to her." 3. " So they do, and our liord, too, I am sure," added LUCY 8 DEATH. 129 « she 80% I 'On seen her, | to hep, and nks she will oes look 60 plied Mag heroflSce. fnl to hve; '^fonder/icl Med Lady raelf, as' if Pattio ; "for she said when nobody was speaking, ' Tes, that qaito true — jea, dear Lord ;' Jast as if onr Lord were sitting hj the coach. Oh, I hope we may go again soon and see lerl" 4. " Sisf ^ayier said we might sit np part of to-night," kplied Magdalen ; " we four are to take it in tarns, and I am ^0 glad we may. Bat now we mast go into school, for the bell is jast going to ring." 5. The said bell accordingly did ring before Cattle had dished washing her hands; and the half-sad, half-rejoicing Igronp in the class-room was dispersed by its well-known sonnd. We shall take the opportanity of walking np to the convent, land into the cool infirmary dormitory, where Lacy lay upon a [large coach, with dear Sister Xavier i)y her side. 6. The dormitory was long and high, and refreshingly [shaded by outside awnings from the scorching san, so that the breezes blew in cool and fhigrant over the garden and from ' the sea beyond. The tnrfy downs oatside the walls looked now green and bright, and now shadowy, as the cloads flew over them ; and beyond, the castle-crowned hill, and distant, pictoresqne old town, the chalk' cliffs washed by the waves, the far-off fleet of fishmg-boats, and the wild everlasting sea,— > coold all be seen by Lacy, as in some lovely Italian landscape, exqaliitely painted. i. Bat though at times her eyes were fixed apon the bine sky or bluer sea, her thoughts were not of them. Beaqtiful as was the world without, — ^the glorious " earth-rind" of the external works of God, — ^there were far lovelier visions floating before the eyes of the pure and lo ving soul that was bidduig earthly beauty farewell for her eternal home. 8. For now, indeed, Lucy was dying. The longing desire of heaven, and the face of her Licamate God, had s0 firetted the frail body, which already inherited the most rapid form of decline, that thread after thread of the delicate frame had snapped, or, as it were, been consumed by the ardent fire within. 9. A careless observer might have been even now deceived ; bat to a practised eye, the alabaster temples, the starting azare vems, the bright cheek and lips, and the deep, glittering 180 THE YHISD READER. brightness of the eye, told that in a few hours the thirsty soul would be at rest. 10. ** Sister," whispered Lucy, " will Father Ashnrst cod sopn ?" " Very soon, dear child ; it is not three o'clock yet. Jkl you feel worse?" " I feel well," replied Lucy, speaking with difficulty, " quiii well ; but oh, I see such lovely things, and I want to get thcre| very much." 11. The sister listened with breathless attei)i.ion, while LncjJ as if from a heavy dream or half ecstasy, in broken sentencei| continued — " No words can tell what they are like .... white shapes,! all snow-white, with gold dew-drops on their wings .... and! they bow down softly all together, like white lilies when the! wmd blows over them. They are going up and up, such 1 1 glorious place .... and they (ao me with them .... but! where I cannot see There is one there who sits like t king, but I cannot see his face ; he says it is not time." 12. Two sisters at the moment came softly into the dormi- tory, one of whom whispered something to Sister Xavier ; the I other was Mother Begis, the novice-mistress, whom Lucy bad I always greatly loved. But now she did not perceive her ; and 1 as they quietly sat down behind the couch, she again cpoke : 13. "And now, I think, it would be time, if Father Ashurst were to come and bring me my last food. I think if he were here, I could beg him so much that he could not leave me be- hind. Dear Sister Xavier, will you ask Father Ashurst to come now?" 14. "He is coming, my child," replied the sister, softly rising, and bending over her ; " but, Lucy, you promised to be very good and patient." " Yes, sister, I was wrong. Indeed I will be good. I will wait ; but every moment seems a year. I cannot think hov you can be always so patient when you see those shapes, and see his face so often, and hear his voice. Now I see them going up again. 15. " Oh, how many, many thousands, with their hands to LUCY 8 DKATII. 131 nher, and their long, long wings, and their snow-white robes I [nd there are more, more, with bare heads, /tnd crunson fosses on their breasts, and bright armor, and cloaks all fashed in the blood of One. Oh, let me go with theml |)iow me thy face, and let me live 1" 16. Sister Xavier rose and glided away ; bat she soon re* limed with a religious, at the sight of whom the sisters Dse, and removed farther from Lacy's couch. It was the lotber Superior, who quietly took her place beside Lucy's lillow, and wiped the death-drops that now stood thickly on fcr transparent brow. " Reverend mother,'' said the child, catching hold of her [and, and kissing it with joyful respect, " where am I ?" Then aediately she relapsed into her former dreamy state. n. "There is one sitting by his side. She is coming soon jfor me, for her hands are spread out towards me. O Mary ! I Mother ! Mary, lead me to Jesus 1 . . . . Gome quickly, dear Hesus; I am very tired of waiting. Oh, let me see thee I lioa art sweeter than honey and the honeycomb. Thou rt calling me to be crowned on the mom^tains. How long bare I cried to thee to come !...." Lucy sank back, gasp- |iog on the pillow ; her breath coming thick and thicker from ber laboring breast, while the drops stood on her forehead like irain. Her eyes opened, and their depths seemed deeper than lerer. " Food ! food !" she gasped, " the end is coming." 18. At that moment the faint sound of a distant bell was [heard coming along the corridors. It was borne so famtly at first, that the sisters did not observe it; but the first sound I was enough for the ear of the listener. To her it was the " cry of the voice" of the Beloved. She sprang up from the lows, clasped her hands together, and gazed at the door of the dormitory with her whole soul in her eyes. 19. Sister Xavier immediately perceiving that the blessed sacrament was approaching, went out with Mother Regis to meet it. The little altar had been freshly prepared by the infirmarian with large bouquets of flowers, and was now lifted by tho other sister to the foot of Lucy's couch, at a little dis- tance from it. Nearer and nearer came the bell. The acolytes 132 TIIK TIlIliD KKADRB. entered, two and two, with lighted candles ; then all the i ten ; and lastly came Father Ashnrst, in sarplice, Tell, i Btole, bearing the blensed sacrament in the ciborlom, from chapel. The " children of Mary" stole in behind. 20. Lucy's glorious eyes were upraised to the Sacred Hoi and fixed with such adoring love as filled the witnesses withi iiwful joy. "Jesus," she said, and the clear tones of young voice sounded through the breathless stilhiess lilce ty voice of an angel, — " Jesus, my food, my strength, my lift! come to my thirsty soul. Now I see thy face. It is enoug)i( I come into thy precious, precious wounds !" 21. She received the bread of life, the strength and helpfoJ her last Journey, and immediately sank back on the pillonl Her hands were clasped ; her deep eyes fixed : a bright, beai-| enly smile flitted across her face. "Jesus, O Jesus! novl| see thee I Jesus, Mary, come 1" 22. The long, level rays of the evening sun streamed npoiil the conch, g^dhig the angelic face and shining waves of hair, the smile yet lingering, the lips yet apart, the hands still geih( tly clasped upon the breast. The pilgrim was gone on her way ref^hed ; the wanderaj was at home. 17. Atjtobioobapht of a Boss. ON a fine morning in June, I opened my eyes for the firsts time on as lovely a scene as could be imagmed. I was in the heart of a most beautiful garden filled with flowers. Fuschsias, geraniums, jasmmes, tulips, and lilies were my companions. I saw them all wide awake, and smilmg throagh the dew upon their bright lids ii^oyouB greeting to the moro- ing sun. A gentle breeze would sometimes wander by, and then the tears of rejoicing would fall upon the delicate blades of grass at our feet. 2. The dew made the robes of my neighbors as bright as ii covered with diamonds, so that I cast a look npon my own pink vesture, to see if I were likewise adorned with the same AUTOBIi ORAPUY Of A ROSE. 188 r fth and help fi >n the piUowJ * bright, hea J Jesual nowjl » for the firstl ^' I was in 'ith flowers, es were mj ling throogh ;o the mora- der by, and icate blades Hory. As I bowed my head to Inspect myself, a few drops If the crystal water, condensed at nightfall, fell upon the gmsa It my feet, and Arom this I learned that I was indeed gifted ]rith as beantifal gems as were those around me. 8. Let me describe to you one of the little community of irhich I was a member — a sister rose-bud growing at my side, kt is trae that she bad not opened her glowing heart to the jfresh breezes and to the sunshine, as I had done, bat the bcaaty and fragrance thus concealed were so sweetly promised, that I am sure nothing could be more lovely. 4. Spreading tenderly, her calyx held her heart, bursting jwith the wealth of its own beauty, lest the wooing winds jshoold call forth her fragrance prematurely ; and two sister baby rose-buds rested their little heads almost upon her cheek. Pretty twins, these baby rose-buds I The tellrtale zephyr told me that they would be as beautiful as the one I am now de> I scribing, when she, poor thing, had faded away. 5. Now, you see, my heart first tasted sorrow ; for hereto- fore I had not heard of decay or death ; and the emotion aronsed by this thought agitated me so violently, that my dew- diamonds were almost all cast, like worthless bubbles, to the ^onnd. This joy, this sunshine, this fragrance, this beauty, was bom to fade— or rather we flowers, who love all these, and treasure them in our hearts, toe must fade, and so the joy, and fragrance, and beauty must die. But my beautiful sister was lovely enough to be immortal — and I shut my heart against the story of the zephyr, determined not to believe in clouds till clouds should overshadow me. 6. The bright green leaves spread their glittering palms to catch the sunshine for the fair creature they were ho proud to enckcle, and every motion of the parent stem brought a flood of smiles to the face of my peerless sister. 7. A beautiful creature, endowed with wings, and with a throat colored like the rainbow, only with hues more soft, played about her like an embodied breeze ; now darting, with a motion that made it invisible, up into the air, and in j. mo- ment swaymg, with a musical hum of wings, around my rose- neighbor, and making her sunny vesture tremble with the 134 TUK THIRD HEADER. happy emotions of her heart ; then, with kisses and care on my sister's stainless brow, the wonderful creatare was loi in the air above me, and I think that the hnmmmg-bird mn! have gone to a place where there is no death. I think it J with the breath of these beautiful beings that the rainbow i colored, and with their brightness that the stars are lighted. 8. I saw strange, lai^e beings, with power in every motioij bending over ns, and afterwards learned that they were called men. They held dominion over us, and though some scorneil our gentle natures, they who were pure and good among theoj were very tender to us, and could not bear to see us wonndei 9. At noon of my first day, when the shadow of the mon tain-ash waving over our heads completely hid me from sun, for which kindness I was deeply grateful, as the rays, sol cheering in the morning, were almost scorching now, one oil the daughters of men, rob^ in white, came and kneeled besidel me, and laid her pure cheek close to mine, and then with heij eyes she talked to me. 10. " Rose,'' said she, " beautiful rose, thou art an emblem { of my blessed mother," and here a dew more pure and sweet than the drops I had sacrificed in the morning at the thought of death and decay, floated along the dark fringes of her M, and I could not hear the voice from her eyes until those pee^ less gems had faUen upon my bosom. Then it seemed to ma | tliat I could hear and see thmgs more wonderful than were ever given to rose before to hear and see. 11. ** Beautiful rose 1'' she continued, "lift thy royal head, and look eastward; thou beholdest there a buil^g most sacred to our hearts, for it contains the King of Heaven — th« Creator of the world — ^the Author of my being and of thine. Lovely flower, ages and ages ago, longer ago than thou or I can think to measure, in the glorious country beyond the stars —in heaven — ^where stands the eternal throne of our King, a beautiful angel, a being of power and light, rebelled against his God, and was cast out of his holy home forever. Then the world was created. 12. " It was made as perfect and delightful as our Heavenly Father could frame it, and there was neither sin, nor team, AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A K08K. 185 [es and care, ■eature wag Ju ling-bird mu I think it [ the rainbowi ^re %hte4 1 every motion 'ey were called some scomail •d among thei^ '6 as woonde of the moo me from . M the rays, i S now, one ofl Reeled besidel then with herl "^ an emblem i are and Bweet t the thought i « of her lids, '^ those pee^ I eemed to ma ul than were i royal head, lilding most [eaven— tho id of thine. "» thou or I id the stars ►nr King, a led against wr. Theu ' Heavenly nor tears, Seath, nor sorrow there. In this garden of Otod was man [created. He was formed holy, sinless, and pure, hnt free las the bright angel who, with bis brethren, cAose to ques- ] the power of the Onmipotent. The name of this angel ] Lucifer, and his dominion was established in oiUer dark- \, far away from the eternal fountain of all light. " Beautiful rose," said the maiden, " thou who art nur by, and wouldst die but for the light, thou canst not Iseive of this outer darkness — but it exists, and the fallen bis seek to blacken the universe with its gloom. The firi^t sankind, who were to enjoy eternal light so long as they I obedient to God, were discovered by the prince of dark- ^, and he took the form of a reptile, and tempted them to the truth of the Almighty Father. They believed his |tle words and fell, and were banished from the garden as cifer had been banished from heaven." 18. Atjtobiogbaphy of a Eobb — contintced. WE^T rose, I dare not ' tell thee the wretchedness this disobedience brought upon man. There came sickness, id sorrow, and sighing — there came hatred, crime, and death. lur Heavenly Father saw this wretchedness ; saw the triumph Lacifer and his rebel army, and he so loved the world that sent his only-begotten Son upon earth to be a man — ^to iffer poverty, to 8u£fer temptation, to suffer ignominy and |eatb — ^that thus man might be saved from eternal death. 2. "This God, hicamate in humanity, was bom of a spotless irgin— spotless and perfect as thou art, O Rose, and thus art ihoa in thy beauty her emblem, just as one little fleeting sun- leara is a type of the innumerable hosts of snns and worlds that revolve in the heavens. 3. " This God-man, whose name was Jesus, was slain cruelly by those whom he came to save. He died on the cross ; but Ibofore he left the world, he gave to man his body and blood, Ms divine humanity, as food to nourish his soul. By this 136 THE THIRD BEADEB. means he unites himself to ns, and we who love hii4 delig offer what is richest and dearest in return for his unbon love ; for by his death he has snatched us from the poi the prince of darkness, and in exchange has given ns aj| inheritance with him in heaven, where there is no deatl decay." 4. The white-robed daughter of men ceased speali rather her gentle eyes, that told this all to me, were tn away eastward, to where the dome of the palace, where i the King of kings, glittered calmly in the sun. 5. She looked long and lovingly ; and the ^fiw, so pria and sweet, flowed in two pearly streams down her fair f J and I came near worshipping her, becaase so great tendeq seized my heart as thus I gazed upon her. But the speal eyes turned once more, and said, "What shall we offer?" from the inmost depths of my heart swelled the fragrant ( that the twilight had stored there. " What shall / offerl* repeated ; '' I who am so poor in treasure ; I who have notli but my beauty, my freshness, and my unsullied purity? . 6. "What can I offer to God for his generous love tol race, beautiful maiden? He gave the life of a Man-Ood. bear me to his presence I I can do no more than give m^ to him I Take me, then, dear maiden — I would lie at his fij Mayhap he may accept the odor of my sacrifice, and beari in his bosom, where there is no decay or death 1 Hasten, i his love draws me, and I would tarry here no longer 1" 1. The young lover of Jesus severed me gently from : companions, and clasping me to her heart, bore me to the fee of her Saviour. As we passed forward to the sanctuary, f made the sign of the cross — ^because Jesus died upon the en — ^by passing her hand from her forehead to her breast, and tin from shoulder to shoulder ; but before she did this, she dipp the tips of her fingers in holy water, and some of it fell up me, and I experienced sensations I had never before ima^ci| 8. As I rested there at the foot of the altar, it seemed t me that more life came to me from those sunple drops tbai had ever been bestowed by the heaviest -shower or gentlei rain before. The maiden now bent over me, and her eyes ven AUTOBIOOSAI'HT OF A BOSE. 137 tenderly upon me, and again her voice nvhispered to my ;: " humble, gentle, mnocent rose," said she ; " thou who ; so soon to pass away, let me learn from thy devotion, and elj give to my God aZ2 that he has so freely bestowed upon ,; however little, however much, sweet rose, thou hast bght me to offer all as the just due of my Creator I'' Then white hand veiled her eyes, and her bosom heaved, and, in |e great tear that fell upon me, I saw her beautiful soul mir- red. I saw what I had never dreamed of before. J 10. Lucifer, the fallen angel, was striving to lure this noble [ing to disobedience, that she might be diSven from the par- se of her Redeemer's love. This was why the tears fell ; was why her bosom heaved. Then I saw an angel of ^ht with his powerful wings sweep through the ahr, and the Lys from his glorious brow dazzled the eyes of the prince of arkness, and he reeled away from the presence of the weepmg ttnghter of earth. 11. Oh t then what an ocean of sweetness flowed over that ^mpted soul, and bore her unresisting to the eternal fountain ' all sweetness. She pressed her cheek once more to mine in ^or of the mother of her Saviour, and music issued from her \ low and soft as the voice of a night-bird. 12. " Thou gavest thy life to God, dear flower, unquestion- Thou hadst no assurance of immortality in return. In be name of the Fiither, and of the Son, and of the Holy }host, I bless thee, beautiful flower, for I have learned of [bee a lesson that, by the grace of God, will earn for me life ktemal. Be my witness, humble Hose 1 be my witness, angels |i07ering near me I I give my life, my love, my bemg through I tirnea to thee, my bleeding, suffering, patient Jesus ! Hold t to my pledge, dear Saviour, by the might of thy tenderness and let me never swerve from the integrity of my purpose, ound this day toith my heart to thy dear cross!" 13. Night fell over us both, and I slept with the sweet mur* Imor of that voice still vibrathig the chambers of my soul. iThrough the season of my freshness, I daily caught the incense lof this maiden's devotion arising before the altar ; and, by a 138 THR THIRD READER. seeming chance, after my leaves had withered and fadei was concealed from the sight of the sacristan, and eveni months lay happily at the feet of the Redeemer of the wo^ Thus I witnessed the formal consecration of this maiden to I will of her chosen one. 14. She was arrayed in white, and her brow was crov with bads from the rose-tree that gave me birth. She ! not that I beheld her then, but I felt that my image had neij faded from her heart. The pure folds of her snowy yeili over her shoulders like the plumage of wings at rest ; remembered the angel who had put to flight the prince of i ness, and I was sure he was near her ; for her face had becod like his, and I think it was because he was so constantly! her side, and because she loved hun so. I think she was I earthly mirror of l;he heavenly bemg who protected her fro danger, and that her face and bearing reflected his beantji grace, as the tear-drop that feU upon me from her eyes i fleeted her soul at that moment. 15. I never saw this maiden more ; but I thmk her will lead her to heaven. Yesterday, as I lay here, a litl wilted remnant of a rose, the sacristan raised me in her fin and supposing me to be a particle of incense that had fa she placed me m the censer. Thus, when the benediction i this evening is pronounced, I shall have fulfilled my miss and shall ascend upon the gentle clouds that then will ov shadow the tabernacle of the Most High. 19. Winter, rpHE scenes around us have assumed a new and chillmg ap X pearance. The trees are shorn of their foliage, the hedges are laid bare, the fields and favorite walks have lost theiti 3harms, and the garden, now that it yields no perfumes and I offers no fruits, is, like a friend in adversity, forsaken. The I tuneful tribes are dumb, the cattle no longer play in the mcad-l ows, the north wind blows. '' He sendeth abroad his ice-liue| WINTKR. 139 bis: who can stand before his cold?" We rush in for pr. I But winter is not without its uses. It aids the system and vegetation ; it kills the seeds of infection ; it refines [)lood ; it strengthens the nerves ; it braces the whole Snow is a warm covering for the grass ; and, while it ^ds the tender blades from nipping frosts, it also nourishes growth. When the snow thaws, it becomes a genial are to the soil into which it sinks ; and thus the glebe blenished with nutriment to produce the bloom of spring the bounty of autumn. p. Winter has also its pleasuies. I love to hear the roar- of the wind ; I love to see the figures which the frost has ated on the glass ; I love to watch the redbreast with his Dder legs, standing at iae window, and knockmg with his 1 to ask for the crumbs which fall from the table. Is it not [asant to view a landscape whitened with snow ? To gaze on the trees and hedges dressed in such sparkling lustre ? behold the rising sun laboring to pierce the morning fog, gradually causing objects to emerge from it by little and |tle, and appear in their owr forms ; while the mist rolls up I side of the hill and is seen no more? 140 THK THIRD KEADRB. 4. Winter is a season in which we should feci graJ for our comforts. How much more temperate is our ci( than that of many other countries ! Think of those wli within the polar circle, dispersed, exposed to beasts of] then* poor huts fumishmg only wretched refuge 1 dure months of perpetual night, and by the absence oil almost absolute barrenness reigns around. But wef houses to defend us, and clothes to cover us, and fires to^ us, and beds to comfort us, and provisions to nourish ns, ! becoming, in our circumstances, is gratitude to God I 5. This season calls upon us to exercise benevolence, we are enjoying every comfoi't which the tenderness of '. dence can aJQTord, let us think of the mdigent and the i Let us think of those whose poor hovels and shattered ] cannot screen them front the pierdng cold. Let us tli the old and the infirm, of the sibk and the diseased. OliJ ** the blessmg of them that are ready to pOrish come nponj Who would not deny himself superfluities, and somel more, that his bounty may visit " the fatherless and thei ows m their affliction." 6. This season Is instructive as an emblem. Here M picture of thy life : thy flowery spring, thy summer strenj thy sober autumn, are all hastemng into winter. Decay i death will soon, very soon, lay all waste 1 What proT hast thou made for the evil day? Hast thou been laying | treasure in heaven ? hast thou been laboring for that wea which endureth unto everlasting life ! 7. Soon spring will dawn agam upon us with its beauty a its songs. And "we, according to his promise, look fori heavens and a new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness." wjmter there ; but we shall flourish in perpetual spring, in eij ess youth, in everlastmg life t ■I THE SNOW. 141 .^'>:f-^. 20. The ^'now. 1. rpHE snow I the snow I 'tis a pleasant thing J- To watch it falling, falling Down npon earth with noiseless wing As at some spirit's callmg ; Each flake is a fairy parachute, From teeming clouds let down; And eai'th is still, and air is mnte, As frost's enchanted zone. 8. The snow ! the snow ! — behold the trees Their fingery boughs stretch o it, The blossoms of the sky to seize, As they duck and dive about ; The bare hills plead for a covering, And, ere the gray twilight, Around their shoulders broad shall cling An arctic cloak of white. 142 THE TIIIBD BEADEK. t\ 8. The snow 1 the snow ! — alas I to me It speaks of far-ofif days, When a boyish skater, mingling free Amid the merry maze ; Mothinks I see the broad ice still, And my nerves all jangling feel, Blending with tones of voices shrill The i-ing of the slider's heel. 4. The snowl tke snow I — soon dnsky night Drew his morky curtains round Low earth, while a star of lustre bright Peep'd from the blue profound. « Tet what cared we for ^1^'^g leaf Or warning belt ««r^/ *ui,ei With shout and^ery r -Iuj^ j& by, j And found the biiM "We sought. I» The snow I the snow I — 'twas ours to wag«^ How oft, a mimic war. Each white ball tossingin wild rage, That left a gorgeous scar ; While doublets dark were powdw'd o'er, Till darkness none 'could find, ' And valorous chiefs had wounds before, And caitiff chiefs behind. 5. The snow I the snow I — I see him yet, That piled-up giant grim, To startle horse and traveller set, With Titan gurth of limb. We hoped, oh, ice-ribb'd Winter bright I Thy sceptre could have screen'd him ; But traitor Thaw stole forth by night. And cruelly guillotined him t 7. The snow ! the snow I — Lo I Eve reveals Her starr'd map to the moon, USES OV WATBB. 148 And o'ei hush'd earth a radiance steals More bland than that of noon ; The fur-robed genii of the Pole Darce o'er oar mountains white, Chain up the billows as thej roll, And pearl the caves with light. 8. The snow ! the snow 1 — It brings to mind A thousand happy things; And but one sad one — 'tis to find Too sure that Time hath wings I , Oh, ever sweet is sight or sound. That tells of long ago, And I gaze around with thoughts profound, Upon tl^and' '^'" ""®'^* 21. TTsss OF Water. I OW common, and yet how beautiful and how pure, is a drop of water I See it,^ as it issues from the rock to sup- |the spring and the stream below. See how its meander- through the plams, and its torrents over the cliffs, add Jthe richness and the beauty of the landscape. Look into factory standing by a waterfall, in which every drop is fal to perform its part, and hear the groaning and rust- [of the wheels, the clattering of shuttles, and the buzz of B, which, under the direction of their fair attendants, I sapplymg myriads of fur purchasers with fabrics from the ^ton-plant, the sheep, and the silkworm. Is any one so stupid as not to admire the splendor of nunbow, or so ignorant as not to know that it is pro- Iced by drops of water, as they break away from the clouds |ich had confined them, and are making a quick visit to our th to renew its verdure and increase its animation ? How JBfol ia the gentle dew, in its nightly visits, to allay the brching heat of a summer's sun I |3. And the autumn's firost, how beautifoUy it bedecks tb4 144 THE THIRD RKAU£B. trees, the shrubs, and the (^rass : though it strips them of i summer's verdure, and warns them that they must boon ccive the buffetings of the winter's tempest ! This igi water, which has given up its transparency for its beai whiteness and its elegant crystals. The snow, too, — vbj that but these same pure drops, thrown into crystals by I tcr's icy hand? and does not the first summer's sun re| them to the same limpid drops ? 4. The majestic river, and the boiuidless ocean, — what] they? Are they not made of drops of water? Hovl river steadily pursues its course from the motmtain'sl down the declivity, over the cli£f, and through the plain,! ing with it every thing in its course I How many ni^ ships does the ocean float upon its bosom I How manyf sport in its waters 1 How does it^Srma a lodging-place] the Amazon, the Mississippi, the Da£be.^ the Rhine, the I ges, the Lena, and the H