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. 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Tl si Tl w M dl ei bi ri( n n\ 26X 30X y 12X 1CX 2im MX 3SX 32X ^^mm^^ Th« copy fllm«d h«r« has b««n r«produc«d thanks to tho gonorotity of: Saminary of Qutbae Library L'oxomplairo film4 fut raproduit grica i la gin4roaitA da: Slminaira da QuAbae Biblioth4qua Tha imagaa appaaring hara ara tha l»aat quality possibia conaidaring tha condition and lagibliity of tha original copy and in liaaping with tha filming contract spaclficationa. Laa imagaa suivantaa ont At* raproduitaa avac la plus grand soin, compta tanu da la condition at da la nattatA da I'axampialra film*, at 9n confcrmit* avac laa conditions du eontrat da fiimaga. Original copias in printad papar covara ara filmad baginning with tha front oovar and anding on tha last paga with a printad or illuatratad impras* sion, or tha bacic oovar whan appropriata. All othar original copiaa ara filmad baginning on tha first paga with a printad or Illuatratad impraa- sion. and anding on tha laat paga with a printad or illuatratad impraaaion. Laa axamplairaa originaux dont la couvartura an papiar aat imprimia sont film*s 9n common^ant par la pramiar plat at an tarminant soit par la darnlAra paga qui comporta una amprainta d'impraaaion ou d'illustration, soit par la sacond plat, aalon la caa. Toua laa autraa axamplairaa originaux aont filmte 90 commandant par la pramiAra paga qui comporta una amprainta d'impraaaion ou d'illustration at mn tarminant par la darniAra paga qui comporta una taila amprainta. Tha laat racordad frama on aach mierofleha shall contain tha aymbol — ^ (moaning "CON- TliyUED"). or tha aymbol ▼ (maaning "END"), whichavar appliaa. Un daa aymbolaa suivants apparaftra sur la darniira imaga da chaqua mierofleha, salon la caa: la aymbola -^ signifla "A SUIVRE". la aymbola ▼ signifla "FIN". IMapa. plataa. charu, ate. may ba filmad at diffarant raduction ratioa. Thosa too larga to ba antiraiy includad in ona axpoaura ara filmad baginning in tha uppar laft hand cornar. Ml to right and top to bottom, as many framaa aa raquirad. Tha following diagrama iliuatrata tha mathod: Laa cartaa. planchaa. tablaaux. ate. pauvant Atra filmte i daa taux da rMuction diff*ranta. Loraqua la documant aat trop grand pour Atra raproduit an un aaui ciich*. 11 aat film* A partir da I'angia aupAriaur gaucha, da gaucha * droita, at da haut an baa. an pranant la nombra d'imagaa n*caaaaira. Laa diagrammas suivants illuatrant la m*thoda. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 Ltc u^ TBX 63,rueS!J0SLPHstlloCH MEtEaPQLITlN THIRD RE^i^DER: FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS. Bt ▲ MSMBKR OF THB ObDIB OV 4t9M jpitmfjiMit Mnffp^^tiacu^ NEW YORK: D. * J. SADLIER & 00., 31 BAKCIAY^ ' B06TO2r— 198 FlDKBAL-BTBEEt. MoinmBAi.— ooKim kotu daub and n, feamcu XfLnmi iitlk 1866. Lne iriiHE •*: wei I and wi adopte conyex Hav , youth, ipublisl the 01] adapte made i and same 1 thing j Dr. des<aril Jiativ prasset wisht* "Ln as che fishes, nopal themJ i^ 'v PREFACE. iniHE First, Second, and Foni^h books of this serioi ■^ were published some months in adyance of this, [and we rejoice to saj that they hare ahready been adopted in a large number of our Oatholio coU^es, convents, and schools. Having had some experience in the education of .youth, and haying examined most of the Beaders I published, we noticed that, with the single exception of the CSiristian Brothers' series, all the others are better adapted for pagan than Ohristian schools. They are made expressly for mixed schools, where Flrotestant and Oatholic, Jew anci pagan, may read out of the same book,^ widiont discovering that there is such a thing as religion in the world. Dr. Brownso% in his Beview for July, has so well described what Beaders should and s^^ould not be^ Jiat we will be pardoned for quoting him, as he ^• presses ht more clearly than we can what we would wish to say: ** Instructions in natural history ox natural sdenee; as chemistry, mineralogy, geology, quadrupeds, blrds^ fishes, or bugs, may be vecy interesting, but they fin m no part of education, and tend far more to i|||terti||iiw the mind than to elevate it to God, and to fltoMt'iite -Ws. ■*«.- ramrAXJE, moral and religious principles, which may one day fmctifjr, and form a character of moral and tme reli- gious worth. A book may contain much useftd in- struction on nouns, adjectiyes, verbs, adyerbs, par- ticiples, and other parts of speech, Very proper in a grammar-book, but quite out of place in a reading* bck>k ; 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«<kiiliM. 68 ▲ l^aniihAiieodote 61 Anecdotee of Dogi ifirfMMi JMsry. 62 Barial of flit John Moore Wtiff*. 66 ITfeytobeOood 66 The Qreen Mo«y Bank 70 On «he Baptismal Yowa ....iJM^^rflOSMMian. 71 TiMtitaoy 78 The agn <tf the Cross .74 The Slume Friends 77 SonciofthiB&dhroad ....O. Fl Jlritoi. 78 Yic^Mnns 89 Goaidiaa Angels.. .......,,'«. i| 8 OORTBHTS. MM I 82. UMlkinirraoUonofUieBody.... BUkBihr^, 84 88. AStorjofaMonk 87 j 84. Th* Ditotorj Soholar ( 88. BpMilihBTniiiigByinii....... Mi 86. OhrMitimngthaltoiMit 91 87. HoUdayOhUdrai 82 tm0ity^^m0^^>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.Prtw<Mlv«ndoiitoCPl1ion ToMtaM^mm. 296 90. The Hermit. QoUtmUk. 298 91. FbpeLM>tiieOfei^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 " wfa<dow. com-prom-mise " com-pro-mise. separate " sep«rrate. hol-ler " hollow. The oommon deftot in the artionliitioB of ft^ is » want of foioe in eov» l^reMinf (md opening thei qaonth. OM TBB PBINOIPLBS OF SKAUDIO. 18 EmPHAHTB Am) AOOENT. Empluuda and Acceqt both indicate some spedal stress of the voice. Emphasis is that stress of the Toioe by whidi one or more words of a sentence are distingnished above the rest. It is used to derignate the important words of a soitenc^ without any direct reference to other words. — ^Example : Be we menf And suffer snch dishonor 7 Men, and wash not The stahi away in Nood/ Emphasis is also used in contrasting one word or dans* with another; as, ^ Beligion raises men lAove themselves. Jrrdigion sinks them beneath bmtes. To determine the emphatic words of a sentence, the rervder must be governed wholly by the Sentiment to be expressed. The idea is sometimes entertained, that emphasis is expressed by loudnees of tone. Bat it should ]be borne in mind that the most intense emphasis may often be effectively caressed even by a whisper. ACKJBNT. Accent Is that stress of voice by which one eyUabte of a word is made more prominent than the others. The accented syllable is sometimes designated thns (') ; as, in'terdict. Words of more than two syllables generally have two or more of them accented. The more forcible stress is called the primary accent, and the less fordble the secondary accent ; as, mni'tipli caption, com'prehend". Kote. — The change of accent on the same word often dwnges its meaning ; as, ob' ject, ultimate purpose, oon' duct, behavior. object', to oppose conduct', to kinSL H THE THIRD BEADSB. Infleotions OB Modulations ai% those yariations of the voice heard in speaking or reading, which are prompted by the feelings and emotions that the sab- ject inspires. A correct modulation of the voice is one of the most important things to be tanght to children. Without it they cannot become good readers. If the voice is kept for any length of time in one continaons key or pitch, the reader and the hearers equally become weary. Whenever a habit of reading or speaking in a nosoZ, shriU, harsh, or rough tone of voice is contracted by the pupil, no pains should be>8pared 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 <rtd man— ^ honest blood Alike we ficmc^claim. BEWARB OF IMPATIBNOB. fli We in one mother's anns were lock'd- Long be her lore repaid ; In the same cradle we were rock'd, Round the Muane hearth we T^fd, 4. Onr boyidi sports were all the sune. Each little joy and woe : Let manhood keep aliye the flame, Lit np BO long ago. 6. Wk abi bot two— be that the band To hold ns till we die ; Bhonlder to shoulder let ns stand, TQl side by ride we lie.. 5. Bbwabb ov IiiPATiBifraB. Db-xj'oxoub, excellent to the taste. Mm'BHRT, wretchedness ; woe. Abz'ious, wi^ trouble ^ TM-M>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<i uiy father did not come bacic, my mother and all c'' a*) vept aod mourned bitterly, and she sent me t' > 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 <rrth ; to direct, snp- krt, and assist them in theur' apostolic labors, is one of the ^iof objects of the pastoral solicitude of the Bishop of B«me. this, however, he is assisted by the Sacred College of Car> 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 <aste for unnecessary talk, they i never so well satisfied as when they have discovered a nnmlj of incidents to circulate among their frient^ and acquaintaoj 3. Their inquisitive air, — their prying and intrusive ners, — ^their incessant questions, — their eager impatience to| informed of every incident that takes place, and minute mqv into the affairs of. others, would lead to the idea that tlj were commissioned to investigate the origin, ancestors, nan tempers, fortunes, and faults of every individual who falls | their way. Even the secrets of families, which curiosity iti should respect, are not too impenetrable for the inquisitive,! are the most insignificant domestic occurrences below tb notice. 4. On the contrary, to gun such information, they do hesitate descending so low as to ques^on children and sd ants ; thereby givii^ occasion to innumerable crimes charity, often i^ainst truth. Another propensity of curitj persons is a desire to hear and see precisely those things wb they have been told were dangerous, and to read every i of publication which they have been recommended to avd or know to be exceptionable. This contemptible dispont^ can only be rectified by many years' strict attention to short rule of never interfering in what does not concern j cxcepi when charity or duty dictates the contrary. rKKIX>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 occnpati<m the mischief they may occasion, even hf ih often escapes their tongue and merooiQrlill 60 THE THIRD RKADKiU time, how bitterly woald they regret the dearly bought pie are of talking 1 how carefally would they study the virtue silence and prudent restraint I and thus spare themselves tlj regret of having unfeelingly published faults too true to I contradicted, and stories too mischievous in their effects to I easily remedied ; thus inflicting wounds they cannot afterwan heal. 9. There are some persons who possess many amiable quo| ties, yet destroy the effect of them all by one predomina failing, a fund of caprice and inconstancy. Those peno^ rarely succeed in gaining one sbcere friend ; on the contraii they seldom fail to disgust those whom they had at fiij attracted, because they frequently receive with marked reser one day, those whom they treated with kindness the day befo | On one occasion these changeable bemgs will scarce alloi others to join in a conversation — the next, they ^ not byj single word manifest a desire to please. 10. Their projects or undertakings are as variable as thi| ideas, and are never pursued with such steadiness as woq encourage any rational person to join in them ; nor cu^ it evj be co1\jectured, flrom the projects of one day or hour, wh those of the next may be. They eagerly seek one moment aftj those objects which the next they desinse ; and ara one da dissolved in vain joy, another oppressed with melancholy. BJ what is infinitely worse than all is, that this hrrational cap ciousness, besides rendering them the jest of others, and a bd den to themselves, materially endangers their eternal salratioj 11. Their ideas and feelings on spiritual matters are just { variable as on all other occasions ; thoir plans of amendnuj and regularity, though fluently mtered on with ardor, ' as frequently abandoned ; consequently there can be no sons so little likely 1o gam a crown, which' is prcnnised onI;| perseverance. 12. Se^ishness U a common failing, and ft pecnliarly miable one, when it predmninates in a character. Tlioj persons who make se^tiidr idol, are firom morning till n^ occupied in providing for their own hkdividaal gratification! pleasure, and in taking measures for warding off from tli PRKDOMINANT PASSIONS. dl jcB erory thing in the shape of trouble, inconvenience, prov« |tion, &c.; thus they become almost the sole objects of own thoughts, solicitudes, and exertions. [3. They generally manifest their predominant failing to least attentive observer, by an habitual inattention or liTerence when the gratification of others is in question, by [unfeeling hiseusibility for the misfortunes of their fellow- itures, and by being the last to make an exertion for their bf. They seem almost incapable of taking part in the pains Pleasures of others ; every species of misfortune or gratifi- |on pleases or grieves them, precisely only in as much as perceive it is likely to affect them individually. [4. A propensity to extravagant partialitiea its a fault which inently predominates in some warm, impetuous characters, ^se persons are distinguished by a precipitate selection of )rites in every society ; by an ovei^ow of marked atten- to the objects of their predilection, whose mterests they )uae, whose very faults they attempt to justify, whoiiio lions they support whether right or wrong, and wLose they defend often at the expense of good sense, chanty, leration, and even common justice. |5. Woe to the person, whether superior or inferior, who tures to dissent from them in opinion concerning the objects leir admuation ; that alone exposes them to aversion and lure. The friendship or affection of such characters does [deserve to be valued, fbr it results not tcom discernment \ent, but bUnd prejudice ; besides, they are remarkable for ]>ymg 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 tend<r lively devotion to the Blessed Virgin. If he felt it hard to endure the jeers and ridicule of his apanions, yet, when he considered that he had neither read- ss, memory, nor mtelligence, he thought within hunself that ftbably he deserved all their reproaches ; and that the career [science, which he so ardently desired, was not his vocation. Deeply influenced by this conviction, at the age of six- ^n, he applied, for admission into the Dominican Order, thmk- that if he did not shine among the brilliant men who were glory, yet at least he might the better save his soul. The ^neral of the Order, who was of his own country, gave him dnd welcome, and received him into the convent to complete studies. |6. But, alas ! he found m the cloister the same sorrows he sought to avoid. His slow wit and dull intellect could ke in nothing, or express nothing ; and though he found ^re charity among the novices than among «;he turbulent ients of the univeiL;7ity, yet he saw clearly that ho was ^ked upon as the lowest in the house. r. His piety and humility for a long time suj^rted him ; courage did not fail ; he looked forward mih hope to the when his perseverance would surmount all obstacles and ^ak the bonds which held him captive. He took the habit, became a monk ; but still his backwardness as a scholar |i tinned. After two years <^ patience, he began to be thoroughly couraged ; he thought he had been mistaken ; that perhaps had yielded to an impulse of pride in ent«ring an order lose mission it was to preach to the people, and to proclaim ]the world the faith of Christ; and which, eonseqiumtly, (ht to be dictinguiihed for science as well as for vbtae : 56 1UK rtllRD RBADKR. and considering that he should never be able to master eitlj lof^ic or eloquence, he resolved to fly fh)m the convent. 9. Concealing the matter from every human being, he fided the subject of his departure to the Blessed Vii^n, I consolation in all his trials. On the night fixed for his ( partnre he prayed longer than usual, then, after waiting ti\U the convent was asleep, he went from his cell, gained witho noise the walls of the garden, and fixed a ladder against the But before he ascended, he knelt again and prayed to God i tu .condemn the step he was takmg, for that nevertheless I would serve him, and belong to him, and to him alone. 10. As he was about to rise, he beheld four majestic la advancing towards him. They were surrounded b} ^ radiance, while their dignity tempered with sweetm ^i . renity, inspired him with confidence and respect. Two of thei ]daced themselves before the ladder, as if to prevent him fro^ ascending. 11. The third drawmg near, asked him kindly why he thJ departed, and how he could desert his convent and tlurow hq self without a guide into the dangers of a wicked world, bert, without rising fh)m the ground, pleaded as an excuse obstinate incapacity, which resisted iJl the efforts of his severance. 12. " It is," sud the lady, " because you seek in the me human strength of your own intellect, the light wldch coi only fh)m God. Behold your Mother," pointing to the four lady, " your amiable protectress, who loves you tenderly ; her for the gift of knowledge ; implore her with confideiice| our intercession shall second you." 18. The scholar recognised in the fouHh lady the Immao (ate Queen of Heaven, and bending his face to the ground, i tsked her in all the fervor of his heart for the light of scieno as heretofore he had only prayed for the graces which tendc^ c salvation. II. "Science, my son," answered the amiable Virgin, "I "ul^ of dangers ; but your prayer shall not be rejected. If philosophy, which you so much desire, beware of pride ; not your heart be pnffod up. Long shall yon possess the THE 8CH0LAB b VISION. M bience ; and I promise yon, as a rewaijl of jova piety, that ^ght shall be withdrawn from yon the moment it becomes Brons to yon." . The vision disappeared, bnt Albert remained for an on his knees thanking God, and pouring forth the most ent devotions to the Qaeen of Angels, who had so kmdly )8ed in his behalf. He then removed the ladder and ed to his cell. ). The next morning the whole convent was surprised at (extraordinary change that had come over Albert ; m his Bes he astonished both the teachers and scholars. His ler heavmess had given way to the liveliest and most subtle |lligence; he understood every thing; the most difficult )lems were solved with a clearness that astonished all. \1. No one, however, was aware of the vision, for the ible scholar kept it a secret. So rapidly did he advance lis studies, especially in philosophy, that in one year ho Bed all his companions, and even eclipsed his teachers. piety and humility increased with his learning, and he ever liained inaccessible to the seductions of the world and vain 18. The scholar, who obtamed this extraordinary gift [knowledge, as the reward of his tender devotion to the ^ssed Virgin, was the celebrated Albertua Magnus, who so distinguished during the thirteenth century. For fifty ^rs he astonished all Europe by the vastness of his learning the profoundness of his teaching. 19. Whenever he spoke, crowds gathered to hear him ; and I ^scourse always produced the most salutary results : yet I to the age of seventy-five, he had never experienced the ^htest movement of vanity. iO. It happened, however, on a certun occasion as he wtm ^aching at Oologne, and seeing the immense audience eleo- led at his discourse, he lifted his head with an air of dignity was about to indulge in a thought of self-admiration, when [stopped suddenly in the middle of a learned sentence, and pcended firom the pulpit without being able to finish it. He lost his memory. \ 88 TIIR TIIIKD RKADKR. SI. Hie Holy Tirgin, tbrongh whose intercession he obtained the g'ft of knowledge, appeared to hhn and deprifi him of it at the moment when it was about tc become dangJ ons to him. He fell back iato the state oT dnlness which ( had deplored at Padna. He understood the warning, ai devoted all his thoughts to prepare himself for a holy deal irhich took place two years after, on tl.e 15th of >j /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 G<H)n. 69 JArCT, penrewenesi fas noted for obstinacy, one of the worst faults of man or He had an indulgent mother, who kindly softened his jippy hours by devising various ways for his entertainment : t/ said he, ' if she did not succeed in the plan, I was sure ^ear a sullen face.' " But, to teach him how unjust and insensible he was to kindness, his mother was taken ill, and died. It was he felt how much he owed to her ; and bitter was his (f that he could not, by future acts of love, repau: the nn- )iness he had caused her. But now that her warning be could not visit him, he was left to go on more nnre- led: 'And,' stud he, 'until I began to see this trait of tinacy manifested in my own children, I never began in lest to correct it in myself.' " Let this, Emily, be your warning," said her devoted Ither. "The little trials of life were designed to uiswer the le purposes ui diildren, that heavier ones are to people of |turity ; and jnst in proportion as we bear them now, shall be fitted to endnre life's future ^sdpline. It is not a small ^ter, if an evU temper Is permitted to be indulged under ery disappointment. |5. "Do yon remember, Emily, that ugly-shaped tree, that |u desired the gardoner to remove the other day, because it ew so diq)roDortioned ; and you remember tbat he told you reason of its being so Hi-shaped, was because it was not led as it grew up." 6. " Yes, mother," said the smiling ^^1 ; " and just so it be with me : if I do not watch over my evil temper now, -I suppose you mean to say, — that like that tree, I shall be eformed m mind, which yon always told me was a much Bater blemish than a deformed body. I will endeavor to- |korrow to be cheerful all day." "And if yon desire to be )od," added her mother, " the vurtaons attempt will be attend* with saocess." 70 TBK TIM kit KKACRR. 24. Tub Gkekn Mossy Bank. In'fan-cy, the first period of life. Wan'der, to rove, to ramble. Stream, numing water. Mr, Sprat, water driven byi wind. But'teb-cup, a smah yelj flower. zyj mm .IV^;. 1. AH, my thoughts are away where my infimcy flew, V/ Near the green mossy banks where the butter grew. Where the bright silver foantain eternally play'd. First laughing in sunshine, then sighing in shade. There in my childhood, I've wandered in play. Flinging up the cool drops in a shower of spray, Till my small naked feet were all bathed in bright dew, As I play'd on the bank where the buttercups grew. 2. How softly that green tmnk sloped down from the hill, To the spot where the fountain grew suddenly still ! How cool was the shadow the long branches gave, As they hung from the willow and dippM in the ware i ON THE BAFTIBMAL VOWS. Tl Ind then each pale lily that slept on the stream, 986 and M with the wave as if stirr'd by a dream. lie my home 'mid the vine-leayes rose soft on my view, Ls I play'd on the bank where the bnttercnps grew. le beantifol things ! how I watch'd them unfold, ['ill they lifted their delicate vases of gold. )h 1 never a spot smce those days have I seen, rith leaves of such freshness and flowers of such sheen ; [ow glad was my spirit, for then there was nanght, fo harden its wing, save some beantifol thought, breaking np from its depths with each wild wmd that blew Vet the green mossy bank where the buttercups grew. le paths I have trod, I would quickly retrace, ?ould I win back the gladness that look'd from my face, Ls I cool'd my warm lip in that fountain of love, rith a spirit as gentle as that of a dove, yould I wander agun where my forehead was starr'd^ rith the beauty that dwelt in my bosom unmarr'd ; ind calm as a child, in the starlight and dew, i'all asleep on the bank where the buttercups grew. 25. On the Baptismal Yows. I-CI-PATINO, r'l-nED, confirmed. >el'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»mmetUy<ifth«plaet. TTIOTOBINTJS, a celebrated orator, had been professor o V rhetoric at Borne ; he had passed his life in the stndyt the liberal sciences, and had attained a great proficiency in i of them. He had read, examined, and explained ahnost the writings of the ancient philosophers, and had had tin honor of instmcting all the most distinguished of the Bos senators. 2. He had, in fine, foiiowed his profession so sncces that a statue had been erected to his honor in a public sqnanj of Borne, a distinction then considered the highest that could attain. Yet he was still a pagan, an adorer of idoltl and not only that, but he employed all his eloquence in pc^| Buading others to adore them as he did. 8. What extraordinary grace did it require to touch anjl convert such a heart ! Behold the means which Qod employdl hi doing so. Yictorinns began to read the Holy Scripturc^l and having for some time applied himself to that study, toj gether with other books explanatory of the Christian religioij he said one day to St. Simplician : " I have sometUng to you which will interest you very much : I am a Christian "-I TIOTORlNin. PBR-ATE, to TWt, tol \o not believe a word of it," replied the Saint, " nor ghall ^lieve yon, until I see you in the church where the faithful [wont to assemble." " What then," exclaimed Yictorinns, " is it only within iDclosure of four walls that one is a Ohristian f" So it ^t on for some time, as often as Yictorinus protested that fM a Christian, Simpliciati made him the same reply, and other- always put it off with a. laugh and a Jest. The truth was, that he feared to exasperate his pagan ^uds, \t. their anger and opposition would be sure to crush i; if once called forth, and this rislc he could not bring hbn- to incur. Bnt after a time courage and generosity were given him fm above because of his close application to the study of Sgion, and the docility with which he opened his heart to its ^ths, and he became convinced that it would be an enormous 10 to blush for believing the mysteries of Jesus Christ, ^ile appearing to glory in the sacrilegious superstitions oJF ^anism. 1*7. No sooner did he obtain this conviction than he hastened I tell St. Simplician, at a time, too, when that holy man was St expecting him : " Let us go to the church," said he, " I resolved to show myself a Christian, nor content myself nger with being one in heart." Simplician, transported with f, immediately took him to the church, aad had his name Itered on the list of those who demanded baptism. 1 8. All the city of Eome was struck with admiration and tonishment ; and the hearts of the faithful were filled with ly, because of the celebrity and high reputation of that great |an. At length the happy day arrived when he was to make profession of faith, in order to be baptized. 9. It was then the custom in the Roman church to make Ills profession hi a regular foiciula of words which the cate- lomen learned by heart, and pronounced aloud before all the Boplo. The priests, through respect, would have waived this istom, and permitted Yictorinus to make his profession in ivate, a privilege which was sometimes granted to timid per- ms ; but Yictorinus declined, declaring that he would pro- THE THIltD liKADRR. claim alond, in presence of the whole assembly, his belief] those doctrines which were to gaide him to endless happine; 10. No sooner had he appeared in the tribune than a suddj transport of joy seized all hearts, and nis name was echo* aloud from month to month, and although each one restraioij his joyful emotion through respect for the sanctity of the plai and the sacrament about to be administered, yet all arouiJ was heard the murmured exclamation : It %» Victorintia! Il\ Victorinus! 11. But every sound was speedily hushed, in order to mit him to speak ; whereupon, he with holy fervor, repeatf in a clear, distinct voice, his belief in the truths which fon the basis of our faith. Willingly would the people have take] him and carried him around in triumph, for every heart ovej flowed with the joy of beholdmg him a Christian. 12. This splendid conversion had great consequences, when St. Augustine was informed of it by St. Simplician, 1 acknowledged that he felt strongly moved to follow the cxd pie of Yictorinus ; this intention he soon after carried inlj execution under the ministry of St. Ambrose, to whom Simplician had been a father from his baptism. Em'a-nat-in6, issuing, or floi ing from. 31. Guardian Anoels. Sub-ser'vi-ent, serviceable. Wayward, unruly, perverse, Do not say moles for moulds. 1. rVH. I he may brave life's dangers, \J In hope and not in dread, Whose mother's prayers are lighting A halo round his head. For wheresoe'er he wander. Through this cold world and dark. There white-wiug'd angels follow. To guard life's wayward bark 2. Go, let the scoffer call it A shadow and a dream. OUABDIAM ANGELS. 88 3sembly, his belief] to endless happine tribune than a suddJ iis name was echo h each one restrain I sanctity of the plaJ ;ered, yet all arouij ! ia VictorimisI III lied, in order to loly fervor, repeat«| e truths which fon tie people have takej for every heart ova hristian. tt consequences, )y St. Simplician, I i to follow the cxi-tii n after carried loll brose, to whom )tism. Those meek, subservient spuritsf Are nearer than we deem. Think not they visit only The bright, enraptured eye, Of some pure sainted martyr, Prepared and glad to die ; NO, issuing, or floi 1. I. jgers, ighting d dark, ow, rk Or that the poet's fancy. Or the painter's magic skill. Creates a dream of beauty, And moulds a work at will 84 THE TUIBD UKADUB. ( 8. They live, they wander round xu, Soft resting on the cloud, Although to human vision, The sight be disallowed. They are to the Almighty What rays are to the sun, An emanating essence, From the great finpemal One. 4. They bend for prayers to listen, They weep to witness crimes. They watch for holy moments. Good thoughts, repentant times; They cheer the meek and hnmble. They heal the broken heart. They teach the wavering spirit From earthly ties to part. 6. Unseen they dwell among us, As when they watch below, In spiritual anguish. The sepulchre of woe. And when we pray, though feeble Our orisons may be. They then are our companions. Who pray eternally. 82. Thb Bbsxtbbbotion of the Body. In-ook-ceiv'a-blk, not to conceived. Cor-rup'tion, decay. Mont'DKR, to rot. Im-pas'si-blb, not subject Es-tab'lishxd, fixed. Be-sus'ci-tatb, to bring to life. Om-mip'o-tence, unlimited power. Oive itg proper sound. Do not say cotuerlation for eoiuolatkn ; fg for together; t'o-eate for to enate. IT is an article of fdth < 'rit our body shall one day rise agab All men shall dio, and they shall rise agam with the 8bd bodies they Had in this life. The body, laid in the earth, sh THE RKSUKRKCmON OF THE BODY. 85 drongh the process of corruption, and moulder into dust ; rhat changes soever it may have undergone, its ashes shall [day be gathered together and reanimated by the breath bd. Life is but a dream, and death a sleep; but the rection will be the beginning of a life which shall never " The day will come," said Jesus Christ, " when aU who the grave shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and who have done good works, shall rise and live forever ; they who have done evil shall rise to be condenmed." a moment," says St. Paul, " in the twinkling of an eye, at [sound of the last trumpet, the dead shall arise to die no ." That resurrection shall be general ; all shall arise, the it and the small, the just and the wicked, they who have before us from the beginning of the world, they who are on the earth, they who shall come after us, all shall die, rise agam at the last day with the same bodies they had this life. It is God who will work this prodigy by his Omnipotence. [ he has drawn all things from nothln^r by his will alone, so ^11 he with as much ease, gather together our scattered ibers, and reunite them with our souls. It is not more Icdt for the Afanighty to reanimate our bodies than it was I hun to create them. Nay, ve have under our eyes, every r, a figure of this resurrection. , Are not the trees, as it were, dead during the wmter, do they not appear to resuscitate in the spring? The ^in and other seed which is cast into the earth, decays there- f only to come forth again fairer than at first : it is the same p our body ; which, like a seed, is laid in the earth for a Bon, to come forth again full of life. The bodies of the just shall not then be solid, heavy, and :^T)tible, as they now are ; but they shall shine like the sun, fhall be free from all sorts of pain and inconvenience, full - sf rength and agility, such as was the body of our Lord his resurrection, p. The just, who are hi« children, sanctified by his grace, 86 THB THIRD KEADKK. nDited and incjrporated with him by faith, shall arise onto himself; Jesus Christ shall transform theu" mean andi ject bodies, and render them like nnto to his own — glori(j and impassible. 8. The body, which htis had its share in the good done] the soul while they were joined together, shall participate i in its happiness. The wicked shall, indeed, rise again, their bodies shall have none of these glorious qualities ; tl^ shall arise, but only to be given up to torments endless in tb duration, and inconceivable in their greatness. 9. " AH the multitude of those who sleep in the dust oft earth," says one of the prophets, " shall awake, some for 1 eternal, and others for endless ignominy and disgrace." What a spectacle shall then meet our eyes I what sentimemj will arise in our hearts, when we hear the sound of the tm pet, and when that dreadful voice shall echo over the eartlj " Arise, ye dead I and come to judgment I" — ^when we sh see all mankind assemble, without any other distinctioA tb that made by their own works I 10. In the reign of Antiochus, the seven young Mac^abe( and their mother generously suffered the most cruel tortneoij rather than violate the law of God, because they hoped i the resurrection. The first had his tongue cut out and til skin torn off his head, and he being still alive he was cas* inij a caldron over a huge fire. The second, when expu'ing, sa to the king : " You now put us to death ; but the Rule" the world shall one day raise us up to life everlasting." 11. The third said with confidence : " I have received tb«!si members from Heaven, but I now hold them as nothing defence of the laws of God, because I hope that they slitl be one day restored to me." The fonrtkoij^^e in these tennsl " It is better for us to be slam for obeying God, than to pr«| serve oar lives by disobeying him ; we hope that in the resnrj ection, God will render glorious these bodies which we w| ceived from him." 12. The others marafested sunilar courage and intrepidit;,! Nevertheless, the youngest still remained ; and Antiochus txm to shake his purpose by caresses and the hope of reward ; lul A STORY OF A Mf)NK. 87 lent him to his mother, hoping that she 'would persuade sacrifice to the idols. But that generous mpther said to her son ; " Look up [aven! raise thine eyes to God, who hath created all B, and thou shalt not fear these torments, but will follow rethren to death I" Antiochus, more than ever enraged, \d out all his wrath on the boy, and caused the mothe Icrgo the same torments as her sons. 33. A Story of a Monk. z, a member of a religious mnity of men. 3'ter, a convent or mon- tery inhabited by nuns or }nkc. ^OT, the head of a commu- ^y of monks. Stu'oi-ous, given to books or learning. CnRON'i-cLE, to record, to write down. Cuu'ci-Fix, an image of our Saviour's body fastened to a cross. tANY years ago, there dwelt fai a cloister a monk named Urban, who was remarkable for an earnest and rat frame of mind beyond his fellows, and was therefore isted with th» key of the convent library. He was a 88 TUB TIIIKD UKADKB. carefol guardian of its contents, and, besides, a stndionsi of its learned and sacred volumes. One day he read iaj Epistles of St. Peter the words, " One day is with the '. as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day ;" | this saying seemed impossible in his eyes, so that he many an hour in musing over it. 2. Then one morning it happened that the monk desceil from the library into the cloister garden, and there he saJ little bird perched on the bough of a tree, singing sweetly, ( a nightingale. The bird did not move as the monk apprt^ ed her, till he came quite close, and then she flew to anotlj bough, and again anotber, as the monk pursued her. singing the same sweet song, the nightingale flew on ; andi monk, entranced by the sound, followed her on out of I garden into the wide world. 3. At last he stopped, and turned back to the cloister ; I every thing seemed changed to him. Every thing had be larger, more beautiful, and older, — ^the buildings, the ga and in the place of the low, humble cloister church, a lol minster with three towers reared its head to the sky. seemed very strange to the monk, indeed marvellous ; bntj walked on to the cloister gate and timidly rang the bell, porter entirely unknown to him answered his summons, i drew back in amazement when he saw the monk. 4. The hitter went in, and wandered through the chu gazing with astonishment on memorial stones which he mi remembered to have seen before. Pr^ently the brethrentj the cloister entered the church ; but all retreated when tli^ saw the strange figure of the monk. The abbot only (bnti his ubbot) stopped, and stretching a cm^sifiz before him, (I claimed, " In the name of Christ, who art thou, spirit or ngj tal ? And what dost thou seek here, conung from the dei among us, the living?" 5. The monk, trembling and tottering like an old man, ( bis eyes to the ground, and for the first time became avii that a long silvery beard descended from his chin over I girdle, to which was still suspended the key of the libp To the monks around th'i stranger seemed some maryelloi THE DILATOKT SCHOLAR. 89 Eirance ; and, with a mixtnre of awe and admiration, they to the chair of the abbot. There he gave to a young the key of the library, who opened it, and brought out a Inicle wherein it was written, that three hundred years ago jmonk Urban had disappeared, and no one knew whither gone. " Ah, burd of the forest, was it then thy song?" said the Urban, with a sigh. " I followed thee for scarce three ites, listening to thy notes, and yet three hundred years passed away 1 Thou hast sung to me the song of eter- which I could never before learn. Now I know it ; and, myself, I pray to God kneeling in the dust.'' With these he sank to the ground, and his spirit ascended to heaTen. 34. The Dilatoby Soholab. jin'obb, to delay, to be dil- Itory. iPbo-test', to declare. Satoh'el, a little bag used by schoolboys. At'las, a book of maps. ononnoe distinctly. Do not ^j breakm for breaking; nothm foi ; plmfin iatplaymg. OH I where is my hat? it is taken away. And my shoestrii^ aB« all in a knot 1 I can't find a thing w Mp rit should be to-day. Though I've hunteppivcry spot. |. My slate and my pencil nowhere can be found. Though I placed them as tafe as could be ; While my books and my maps are all scatter'd around. And hop about just like a flea. Do, Bacbel, just look for my atlas upstairs j My Virgil is somewhere there, too ; And, sister, brush down these troublesome hairs, — And, brothtr, just fasten my shoo. 90 TUS THIRD BEADKR. A.nd, mother, bog father to write an excuse ; But stop— he will only say " Na," And go on with a smile and keep reading the news, While every thing bothers me so 6. Sif iwwibcl is heavy and ready to fall ; 1 bis o(d pop-gun is breaking my map ; I'll have nordng to do with the pop-gun or ball,- Therc's no piaying for such a poor chap ! 6. The town-clock will strike in a minute, I fear ; Then away to the foot I must sink : — ^here, look at my history, tumbled down here t And my algebra cover'd with ink ! 35. Spanish EysNiNO Htmit. Wva'kt, tbed, fatigued. Watoh-firb, a fire used as a sig Sound the aspirated h. Do not say $ailor zim for sailor'* hj/mn i /roil if for from his ; foutiiun sealing tovfoxoU utuecHmg. 1. 'ft/rOTHEB I now let prayer and music, ITL Meet in love on earth and sea I Now, sweet mother I may the weary, Turn from this cold world to thee I CHRIST STTLLINO TliJC TRMPKST. 91 d. From the wide and restless watera, Hear the sailor's hymn arise ; From his watch-fire 'mid the mountains, Lo ! to thee the shepherd cries ! 8. Yet, when thus full hearts find voices^ If o'erburden'd souls there be, Dark and sOent in their angolsh, Aid those captives, set them fteet 4. Tonch them, every fonnt unsealing, Where the firozeu tears lie deep ; Thou, the mother of all sorrows, Aid, oh ! aid to pray and weep I 36. Christ stxlmno thk Trmpest. ^t the Hhip wan now in the niidi^t of the Heu, to<w«d with waves; tot ad was contrary." — Matthew xiv. 24. [lows, waves. feATH'tEss, out of breath. Kioht'e-ous, Jnst, npright. Man'dates, commands. |nounce each toord distinctly. Do not say rottin 'igh an' dark foi ' high and dark. 1. THEAB was within the tossing bark, J- When stormy winds grew lond ; And waves came rolling high and dark. And the tail mast was bow'd. 9. And men stood breathleBs in their dread, And baffled lu their skill— But One was there, who roBe and said To the wUd sea, " Be stUI I" 3 And the wind ceased— it ceased 1— tlifl). word Pass'd through tlie glnora? sky ; The troubled billows know tlielr Lord, And sank beneath his eyu. . % TilK TllIRO RKADKR. i. And Blumber settled on the deep, And silence on the blast, As when the ' 'ghtcoos fall asleep, When dea s fierce throes are past. 6. Thon that diust rnle the angry hour, And tame the tempest's mood — Oh I send thy spirit forth in power, O'er oar dork souls to brood I 6. Thou that didst bov/ the billow's pride ! Thy mandates to fulfil — Speak, speak, to passion's raging tide, Speak and say — " PcLce, be still I" 87. Holiday Children. Christ'mas, the day our Sa- viour was bom. Mu-se'um, a repository of cu- riosities. CoAx'iNO-LT, flatteringly. Scutoh'eon, the ground I which a coat of omi pamted. ONE of the most pleasing sights at thie festive season, isj group of boys and girls returned from school. Go wt! you will, a cluster of their joyous chubby faces presents ih selves to our notice. In the streets, or elsewliere, our elb are constantly assailed by some eager urchin whose eyes jij peep beneath to get a nearer view. 2. I am more delighted in matching the vivacious workid of their ingenuous countenances at these Christmas shows, titJ at, the sights themselves. 3. From the first joyous huzzas, and loud-blown horns wli announce their arrival, to the faint attempts at similar : on their return, I am interested in these youngsters. 4. Observe the line of chaise's with their swarm-like loai hurrying to tender and exulting parents, the sickly to be chd HOLIDAY CiniJ)KK!l7. 93 merotis demands; her '^r in, her patience trn and toss oror aoop is their choice, the strong to be amused ; in a few mornings you shall lem, new clothes, warm glores, gathering around their jer at every toy-shop, claiming the promised bat, hoop, [or marbles; mark her kind sm ' ^ at their ecstasies ; her BQt shake of the head at t jual yielding as they couxt' their whims and clamor >v 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<N^ v ^v <> ^. 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 <m his breaat ; lac THK THIRD BEADBB. He pray'd, bat none could hear the prayer His withered lips expressed. 13. He ceased, they raised the holy man, Then gazed in silent dread, Chill throngh each vein the life-blood ran,-- The pilgrim's soul had fled. In silence pray'd each voyager, Their beads they coxmted o'er, Then made a hasty sepulchre, On that lone ravine's shore. 14. Beside the altar where he knelt, And where the Lord released His spirit from its pilgrimage. They laid the holy priest. In fear and haste, a brief adieu The wondering boatmen take, Then rapidly their course pursue Across the lonely lake. 15. In after years, when bolder men The vale of ^spirits sought. O'er many a wild and wooded glen They roam'd, but found it not. We oidy know that such a priest There was, and thus he fell, But where his saintly relics rest, No living man can tell. 12. Abbaham. ISMAEI/S banishment restored peace to Abraham's fanuljJ and left Isaac the indisputable heir of his father's foi Isaac was growing up in the full promise of early youth, whei God was pleased to make trial of Abraham's faith, in a poiDtl the prajer man, hblood ran,^ ABBAHAM. 121 most decisive ; ne orderea him to take that very Isaac, his loved SOD, and to offer him in sacrifice upon the mountain should show him. ?* i:{ , m m - ilk m^3 : m ' Jk^'j^^^^^I Ja^ ';»' -^^ r '^^ ^*^> b 2. Abraham had always looked upon his son as a special <ft from God, and, therefore, did not hesitate a single moment to give him back in the manner that God required. He had been assured that his posterity should one day become as ' nu- merous as the sands upon the shore, or as the stars in heaven. A 122 THE THIBO K£AD£B. ^ \ Steadfast, therefore, in that belief, and nnshaken in his hop Abraham stifled every doubt he might otherwise have formij of the repeated promises God had made him ; he rose early J the morning, and keeping his secret to himself^i went silentlj OQt with Isaac and two servants. 3. He carried with him the wood necessary to consume thtl holocaust, and directed his way towards the mountain. Fbcedl in his resolution he went on for two days, and on the tbirdl came in sight of the destined place of sacrifice. He told hia] servants to remain at the bottom of the hill, while he with son should go up co adore their God. Inflexible to the sug-l gestions of flesh and blood, he took in his hand the fire andl the sword, and gave to his son the wood that was intended] for the sacred fire. 4. Charged with his load, Isaac proceeded up the hill, a I lively representation of him who was afterwards to ascend the | mount of Calvary loaded with a cross, on which he was to consummate the great work of our redemption. As they were goii^ on, Isaac asked his father where the victim was ? The question was too interesting not to awaken aU the tenderness of a father's love in such circumstances ; Abraham dissembled the secret feelings of his heart, and with a manly firmness an- swered, that God would provide the victfan. 5. Being come to the appomted spot, he erected an altar, and laid the wood in order upon it ; then having bound and placed his son Isaac thereon, he took up the sword, and stretched out his hand to strike. The firm obedience of the father, and the humble submission of the son, were all that God reqmred of them. An angel at that moment was dis- patched to stop the father's arm, and to assure him that God was satisfied with the readiness of his obedience. The angel called aloud on Abraham ; Abraham answered the voice, and looking round saw a ram with his horns entangled amid th brambles, which he took and offered a holocaust for his son. 6. This history, which is so mysterious, and in almost everp circumstance so resembling the passages of our Saviour's pas- sion, is, according to the holy fathers, an mstruction for all parents to consult the will and implore the aid of God, before I pien in Ms hor^ T'WMe have fo J » *® rose earJj J ^^K went silenti] I - *o consame t J "•onntain. p J H on the t J I^JJehewithJ .exiWe to the suJ [hand the fire a/d *»' was intendedj ;? op the hill, af «8 to ascend the '^«J ie was to ' \,^^ they Were jtimwas? The "the tenderness 7»n» dissembled ''Jfinnnessan. pcted an altar 'DfiT bound and '^.«^ord, and Joience of the ^ere an that ?ent iras dis- ^ that God The angeJ I® voice, and «d amid th >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<nii^ Ho f 6. How piercmg are these pure limpid drops ! How < they find their way into the depths of the earth, and ctchiI solid rock I How many thousand streams, hidden from ( view by mountain masses, are steadily pursuing theur com deep from the surface which forms our standing-place for few short days 1 In the air, too, how it diffuses it: Where can a particle of air be found, which does not m an atom of water ? I 6. How much would a famishing man give for a few of tb pure limpid drops of water I And where do we use it in < daUy sustenance ? or rather, where do we not use it ? TVii portion of the food that we have taken during our lives, not contain it ? What part of our body, which limb, vlii organ, is not moistened with this same faithful servant ? E(j s our blood, that free liquid, to (jrculate through our veif without it ? 7. How gladly does the faithful horse, or the patient o!,| his toilsome journey, arrive at the water's brink ! Andi faithful dog, patiently followng his master's track,— tow e gerly does he lap the water from the clear fountam he me< in his way I THB DTINO CHRISTIAN TO UI8 HOUL. 145 ^ean,— what er? Howl lountain's the plain J many mijj ow m&njt ^ging-place] ihine, thei »psl Hoirl hi and erall dden fronn f their com ng-place fo^ diffuses Hi >es not com a few of tli B use it in i >it ? Wii our lives, ( h limb, wlii viint? H(| gh our Tfli Whose heart ought not to overflow with gratitude to abundant Giver of this pure liquid, which his own hand deposited in the deep, and diffused through the floating and the solid earth ? Is it the farmer, whose fields, by gentle dew and the abundant rain, bring forth fatness ? lit the mechanic, whose saw, lathe, sphdle, and shuttle are J>Tcd by this faithful servant ? [9. Is it the merchant, on his return firom the noise and the plexities of business, to the table of his family, richly sup- ped with the varieties and the luxuries of the four quarters the globe, produced by the abundant rain, and transported ^rosB the mighty but yielding ocean ? 10. Is it the physician, on his admmistering to his patient bme gentle be*, erage, or a more active healer of the disease htch threatens t Is it the priest, whose profession it is to ake others feel — and that oy feeling himself, that the slight- st favor and the richest blessing are from the same source, Dd from the same abundant andconstant Giver ? Who, that till has a glass of water and a crumb of bread, is net uu- Ettefnl to complain ? The Dying Chbistian to bis Soul. 1. TTITAL spark of heavenly flame, T Quit, oh, quit this mortal fhtme 1 T^mblii^, hoping, lingermg, flying, Oh, the pab, the bliss of dying 1 Oease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life. 2. Harkt they whisper; angels say, Sister Spirit, come away ; What is this absorbs me quite T Steals my senses, shnts my sight, Drowns my sphits, draws my breath : Tell me, my soul, can this be death 7 7 146 TUB THIRD BKADSS. 8. The world recedes ; it diBsppeara f Heaven opens on my eyes I my ears "W ith sounds seraphio ring. Lend, lend your wings ; I moont, I Qy % Grave t where is thy victory! Death I where is thy sting t 22. H'lioht into Eotpt. HEROD was impatient for the sages' return Arom Beth hem, till finding they had slighted the charge he gari them, and were gone home another way, he was hurried intti a transport of anger, which deluged the country with innoceul blood. By an act, the most inhuman that ever was done hj, the worst of tyrants, he has shown the world what his inten-l tion was, when he so diligently interrogated the sages, and so] strictly ordered them to bring him back an account of the child] they were in quest of. 2. But God, who laughs at man's presumptuous folly, si- lently defeated the tyrant's malice, and made his bloody craeltj | instrumental to the glory of the innocent. An angel in the I night informed Joseph of the murderous design that Herod ' had upon the child's life, and admonished him to save both hiiA and tme mother by a speedy flight into Egypt. Joseph in thii iMtance is a perfect model of that prompt obedience whicb «H>ry Ghnstian owes to the commands of God. He was coamiMMled to rise that moment, to leave his native conn- try, and iy off with the child and his mother, not towards the sages, <^ to any friendly nation, but into Egypt, aiudst the iddatro; ^ 9aA natural enemies of the Jewish people. .3. The tender a^e of the infant, the delicate compleslon of the virgin mother, seemdd to require every comfc^ that his own pri\ ate dwelling could have afforded. But titat sleadei comfort wui to be giv«a up ; it was dark nii^t, and bo time \, Herod bege Atened by di It would have L« for every ' [t years, in an jrbarous shifta lliticsl An I' lembie upon W tt,hodrenwhe« >iiB destructi* mm of ^**^ koymcnt of » 6. But no 1 al enjoymeni ^hile it opem loke: nor c !t it ; amids lone escaped 1 No mal lecrces of ( )\ease8 to d rhole world FLIGHT INTO K0T1»T. 147 ! lost in making provisioD for a long and laborious Journey. J faithful guardian of the Word Incarnate rone upon the [notice that was given him, punctually fulfilled every tittle be order, took the child and bis mother, and set off for pt, uncertain when or whether he should ever return or The love he bore to Jesas, the desire he had of serving I to the extent of his power, softened every hardship, and je him forget the labors of an unexpected banishment. 1. The divine Jesus might have rendered himself invisible, \j a visible exertion of his power might have disarmed hd, as he did Pharaoh in ancient times ; but he chose to [for the encouragement of those who were afterwards to br banishment for his sake ; by his own example he would [met bis followers, that in the heat of persecution they laudably fly to save their lives, in hopes of some future Herod began to rage with all the violence that Jealousy, ;htened by disappointment, could inspire. With a cruelty |it would have shocked the miA«t savage barbarian, ho gave jm for every male child tWat had been bom within the two ft years, in and about I9«t)ilehem, to be killed. To such irbarous shifts was t^ admbitious monarch driven by his (litics! An innocent) babe, be knew not who, made him emble upon lus tluN«e ; he tried his utmost skill to find hun ht, ho drem;hed tlw country with harmless blood to make sure rjiis destruction, he filled the air with the shrieks and lamen- pons of diaoonaolate mothers, that he might draw out the pjojment of a crown to a somewhat greater length. - 6. But DO honors purchased by such crimes could give any al enjoymrat. His cruelty heaped confusion upon himself, ^hile it opened the gate of happiness to those who felt its oke : nor ooold it n^ beyond the bonuds that God had et it ; amidst the thousands of slaughtered innocents. He done escaped, who alone was aimed at. 7. No malidous efforts of the wicked can ever frustrate the decrees of God; their hatred or their love become, as he pleases to direct, the instruments of his holy designs; the rhole world, combined with all the powern of darkness, can 148 THB TIIIKU RKADKR. DOTer stop the execution of what an omnipotent Frovij has once decreed. 8. If once assured of the divine will, we have but toi it without fear : if in the station of our duty we have anytj to suffer, we suffer for justice* sake. Herod's cruelty I the glory of the innocents : his sword could hurt their 1 only ; their souls were sanctified by the effusion of their ]^ their memory through every age is celebrated on earth; I reign eternally with God in heaven. 14. Alas, all Whyl "Wert til Whei 33. The Fbekp Bird. 1. "p ETURN, return, my bird I Xv I have dress'd thy cage with flowers, 'lis lovely as a violet bank In the heart of forest bowers. 2. " I am free, I am free, — I return no more I The weary time of the cage is o'er I Through the rolling clouds I can soar on high, The sky is around me — the blue- bright sky I 8. " The hills lie beneath me, spread far and dear. With their glowing heath-flowers and bounding deer, I see the waves flash on the sunny shore — I am fipee, I am free, — I return no more 1" "From Through And its < Sigh'dfc 1. Wasi Tel Ihavi In5 "Itflasi With tl With tl Woo ID I9. "Myt Mykii Andtl Andt 10 Fai ] An 111. "If^ Thoi The; Toi THB FREED BIBD. 149 14. Alaa, alas, my bird I Why seek'st thoa to be free? Wert thou not blest in thy little bower, When thy song breathed nanght bnt glee? " Did my song of summer breathe nanght bnt gleet Did the voice of the captive seem sweet to thee? Oh 1 hadst thou known its deep meaning well, It had tales of a bummg heart to tell. "From a dream of the forest that music sprang, Through its notes the peal of a torrent rang ; And its dying fall, when it soothed thee best, Slgh'd for wild flowers and a leafy nest." 7. Was it with thee thus, my bird? Yet thine eye flash'd clear and bright I I have seen the glance of the sudden joy In its quick and dewy light. " It flash'd with the flre of a tameless race. With the soul of the wild wood, my native place I With the spirit that panted through heaven to soar-— Woo me not back — I return no more I 1 9. " My home is high, amidst rocking trees. My kindred things are the star and breeze. And the fount unchecked in its lonely play. And the odors that wander afar — away I" 10 Farewell, farewell, thou bud 1 I have calPd on spirits gone, And it may b9 they joy like thee to part, Like thee that wert all my own. 1 1. " If they were captives, and pined like me. Though love might calm them, they joy'd to be ftee ; They sprung from the earth with a burst of power. To the strength of their wings, to their triumph's hour. 150 THE IHIRD READER. I 12. " Gall them not bock when the chain is rlren, When the way of the pinion is all through heaven. Farewell ! With my song through the clouds 1 8oii;| [ pierce the blue skies — I am earth's no more !" 24. Deoollatioit of St. John. ALTHOUGH the doctrine of our blessed Saviour wa8( pure in its prindples, so conformable to reaM)n, so i 8ru!cd by miracles, and so pleasing in its promises of eten glory, yet few embraced it. A general increduUty and ob r&cj of heart prevailed in the cities of Judea, and in no i more than in that of Nazareth. 2. It was natural to imagine that the Nazarenes woil have thought themselves in some sort honored by the fame^ one who had lived and grown up among them, and that tb would have cherished him as the most valuable of their i zens. Their behavior was diametrically the opposite. Tbi}] had seen and conversed with him from his youth ; they no leammg that he had acquired ; in his figure they discoven nothmg that set him above the common level ; in his motb and relations they beheld no title that distinguished him fron| the poorer class- of the people. 3. To his doctrine, therefore, they would give no credit, not) would they allow his miracles which they had not seen. The! great reputation which Jesus had acquired among othen] made them jealous, and their jealousy grew into a violent! antipathy against him. 4. They laid hands upon him, and led him to the steep point I of the rock on which their town was built, with an intention I to throw him headlong down. But the hour for Jesus to die| was not yet come, and no hum{i,n malice could advance it. He slipped out of their hands, and walked away thipugh the | midst of them. 5. This perverse incredulity of the Nazarenes hindered Jeuoi I from working any miracles among them, excepting the cure o( DECOLLATION OF ST. JOHN. 161 ae of their sick, which he did by imposing his hands upon em. On his return from Nazareth, he was informed of John ! Baptist's death. 1 6. A short time before this St. John had been cast into (isoQ on account of the reprimand he gave to King Herod, his incestnons connection with Herodias, the wife of his other Philip. Herodias had often solicited the king to hav put to death, and the king as often refused to consent |)t only from a principle of esteem for the holy man, but like- from a fear of the people's resentment, for they venerated b Baptist as a wonderful prophet. 7. Eh - iVa imprudence betrayed hun soon after to com- mit the b?<t.' eed. He celebrated his bu*thday with great th and magnificen<!e ; a grand entertainment was prepared, Dd the chief men of Galilee were invited to attend ; the anghter of Herodias was introduced before the company, and sired to dance. S.'^The manner of her performance so pleased the king, that ^e rashly promised upon oath to give whatsoever she should sk, though it were half his kingdom. The girl immediately bft the room to consult her mother what she should ask. I' Go and ask for thi& head of John the Baptist,'' replied the Mteress. 9. The girl ran back to Herod, and desured that he would forthwith give her on a dish the head of John the Baptist. Strack at the unnatural request, the king was sorry for the [rash promise he had made, but, out of respect to the company, [resolved to keep his oath, not to displease the daughter of Herodias. He therefore ordered an executioner to go forth- with to the prison, and cut off the Baptist's head. The head was given in a dish to the girl, and the girl presented it to I her mother. 10. Thus was the great precursor of our Lord impiously I slain in the vigor of life; thus was John murdered by the sword oi*Herod, who had always admired and esteemed him for his purity of doctrine and sanctity of morals. Herod fell not all at once into the enormity of guilt ; by gradual steps he had advanced towards the depth of crime ; one excess had 152 THK THIKI) KEADKR. led liim on to another ; a lur.tful passion opened the mil incest, and incest plrmged him into morder 11. Herod was permitted to take away the life of St. Jii the Baptist, greater than whom no prophet had ever i^ among the sons of women. 12. The life of that holy man was sacrificed to the capridgj revenge of a wicked woman ; it was sacrificed for a Ilonce we see, says St. Gregory, in what light we are to ( sider this mortal life, which is so liable to misfoi tunes, and J miserably harassed by the suspicions, by the hatred, and I slanders of wicked m^x 13. It is to a-future life that we should constantly looki a life which neither the tongue of sktnder, nor the sword i persecution can affSBct. Tyrants may rage and threaten ; may crumble these mortal bodies into dust; but a death will open us an entrance into that heavenly kingdoi where the blessed know no change and fear no decay. 25. Satubdat Aftbbnoon. 1. T LOYE to look on a scene like this, JL Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself that I am not old, And my locks are not yet gray; For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, And makes his pulses fly. To catch the thrill of a happy voice, And the light of a pleasant eye. 2. I have walk'd the world for fourscore years : And they say that I am old. That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death, And my years are well-nigh told. It is very true ; it is very true ; I'm old, and " I 'bide my time :" But my heart will leap at a scene like this, And I half renew my prime. 8. PM II led SATURDAY AFfEUNoCN. 158 |>Penod the wa;j JelifeofStjJ 9t had erepi J *o the caprijj M for a dm pt we are too, fijbi tones, and j 'hatred, and I wtantljlook, ^' tie sword, » threaten; ; bnt a p^ ^^e% fangd, 8. Play on, play on ; I am with you there, In the midst of your merry ring ; I can feel the thrill of the daring jump. And the rush of the breathless swing. .WVM. Mr^ fieart, Jars: th, l^^^< I hide with you in the fragrant hay, And I whoop the smother'd call, And my feet slip up on the seedy floor, And I care not for the fall. 4. T am willing to die when my time shall come. And I shall be glad to c:^ : t54 THK TIITKD KKADRK. For the world at best is a weary place, And my pulse is getting low ; But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail In treading its gloomy way ; And it wiles my heart from its dreariness. To see the yonng so gay. 26. LbABNINO and AoCOMPLISHHENTB not INOONSISIOn] WITH QOGD HOUSBKBBFINO.' [Biiplanatorjf NoU. — ^Mr. Benny tells this story; Marcella Is Mr. Ben-I ny'a wife ; Clnra is their daughter. Justin and Laura are Mr. and Un.| Hubert, who haye just oome ou a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Benny, anil Mary is their daughter. Aunt Bobert is the aunt of Mr. and Mn,| Benny.] MABY has accompanied her parents ; her first appearance gives a punfol impression. She is small, thm, and very sallow : almost ugly. Lanra and Jnstin presented her to me without a word, and during the first two days, I took scarcely any notice of her ; but the other morning, I heard her con- versing in German with her father ; and I know that she i<i acqnunted with the English and Spanish languages.* ' 2. Marcella obliged her to seat herself at the piano ; and we soon perceived that she has already far outstripped her mother. She has also learned all that can be taught to one of her age, of geography, and natural and political history. Clara is in a state of bewilderment at such an amount of learning, and I am still more surprised at so much modesty. 8. The latter, however, does not soften Aunt Bobert ; who, when she was informed of the number of Mary's acquirements, only shook her head. Aunt Bobert's prejudices, on that point, are not to be overcome. She is suspicious, almost to hoHtility, of all those who are, what she styles, learned women. A ecording to her, literary studies are perfectly ^reconcilable with household duties. No one can understand orthography ^ backstitch I jtherto"8*®' 14 ««0h,ye8' Ld to Marcel] ;,ina with theij innot uudersta ith accoriusy t nowbowtotij [y dear girl; * t-epers to the 5. Notwithsl [aiy like everj imiliar klndnj lorny goosew and a few set 6. For the [he young fff rhims, and la i footstool, toad of her. ieally is i^^ [been taught n 1. Consequ Ifeel the incoi vited us to d Mary to con spite the ire ' given, it wat 8. Aunt of the little .ng royalty with ati an busy makija 9. Now piimacle of She bee to her the wi LEARNING AND A0GOMPLISUMI£NTS. 155 loesg, >« Mr. and Mm "•Benny, anj *"^' wid Mn, * appeaniDce N» and Teiy « her to me / 'Ook scarcely ! ^rd her coii^ f that she « piano ; anj Wpped her ight to one al history, amoant 0/ lodesty. ert; who, lirements, on that ilmost to 1 women, oncilable 'ograph^ backstitch too, or speak ai^ other language bat onr )tber tongae, and saperintend a roast. 1 4. "Oh, yes ! I have seen yoor little prodigies before," she a to Marcella, yesterday, "who talk aboat revolutions in luina with theur stockings in holes ; who read poetry, and yet Innot Qoderstand the receipt of a padding ; who will describe jith accuracy the costume of the African savage, and do not now bpw to trim a cap ! do not talk to me of such women, ly dear gurl ; the very best they are good for, is to be lodge- ^•epers to the French Academy. 5. Notwithstanding these strong prejudices, she treats [ary like everybody else ; that is to say, with her usual rude, uuiliar kindness; for Aunt Bobert compares herself to a [horny gooseberry bush : to get at the fruit, people must not lind a few scratches. 6. For the rest, these peculiarities do not seem to disturb |he young girl in the least : she laughs at the old lady's rhims, and is the first to offer to carry her bag, or fetch her footstool. I have reason to believe the good aunt is very k'ond of her. "After all," she said, the other day, "there really is good in the child, and it is not her fault it she has [been taught more grammar than cookery." 1. Consequently, she has been very anxious to make her |fet;l the inconveniences of her education. Yesterday she in- vited us to dine with the Huberts at her house, and begged ^Mary to come early and assist her in her preparations. De- spite the ironical manner in which the latter invitation was 'given, it was accepted. 8. Aunt Robert was determmed to display before the eyes of the little blue-stocking all the splendor of her house-kecp- .ng royalty ; and Mary found her enveloped in a large apron with an ample bib, her sleeves turned up above her elbows biisj making a favorite dish. 9. Now in the opinion of the best judges, this dish was the pinnacle of glory in Aunt Roberts' culinary art. She beckoned tc Mary to approach, and after explaining to her the particular merits and difficulties of her dish, pro* ceeded with her cookery. 156 THE TIIIRl) READKK. 10. "Yoa see, my dear," mixing, in her oiotherl7iH.iQQa,t? yo moral precepts and practical explanations, "one of the dHfBabell" daties of a woman is to make the most of every thiii|V n j^ is a f) (Keep the whites of the eggs for another occasion. )--Li{(H^ ^q long made for something more than learning to coi^agate the tqH g « Fad('' I vxdk, or I talk; to assure to those around us Stealth iH^^w, "K comfort — (don't put in too much lemon juice) ; — when (H^^jg^t they m< makes it a principle to be useful — (the crust is beginning^, ^^ ^)iat rise), — it is sufficient to keep peace and a good consciem (we put the whole into a mould), — and we live happily-(| the Dutch oven)." 11. Maiy smUmgly looked on, not a little bewildered by odd mixture of philosophy and cookery ; and this tune, the first most certainly injured the second ; for a thing unhi of before, just when Aunt Robert, being of opinion it was done enough, with serene confidence opened the o door, intending to display before her pupil's eyes her sparklii pyramid, she found nothhig but a crumbled ruin blackened bj^ the fire ! 12. The disappointment was the greater, because complete-] ly unexpected. Besides, dinner-time was drawing near, uj the dish would have taken more time to make again thaa m could ipare. 27. Lbarnino and Aooohplishments — continued. AUNT ROBERT had to go out and make several purchaser, to look after the servant, a new hand Whose experience she more than doubted, in uncovering the drawing-room furni- ture and laymg the cloth. She was speaking with resigned repugnance of resorting to the direful extremity of applying to the neighboring pastry-cook, when Mary quietly proposed to replace the missing dish with one of her own making. 2. Aunt Robert actually started with surprise. ** What ! my dear child 1 do you know what you are say ing?" she asked ; " is it possible that you can make any tbinn ith any ing^^ 4. Bat " ^boatitwith< . ibert retur indaing read; 6. Its app( After examii [little nod of i its looks," Ba tastes; for y the eating.* vithottt caps 6. But a 1 of tl- 8 china remained oi Bobert, ace do nothing mother was humble cot their meani garden, wl which she < by the mis 1. The fashioned were all MaTyad( the elegfl ehells to but she LBARNINO AND AOOOMPLISDMBNTS. 167 tr motherlj lone of the K every thL Jugate then M 08 health fee);— when is beginnlDp |od conscienc We happijjr-./J 5wildered hji this time, al a thing anhe >f opinion pened theovi Jsherspariia sanse compfc J ^g near, ai^f >Sain than M ontintied. alpurchaswj 8 experience! >room furni- tth resigned! aj^ljing to ►roposed to j a are m ' any thin« to eat? yon, who can speak all the langnages of the Tower Babel 1" "It is a family padding, which always sncceeds, and does lot take long to make," replied the yonng ^1. 3. " Padding 1" repeated Aant Robert a little contempt* onsly. "Ah I I understand; it is some foreign dish, like bat they make in England. Very well, Miaa Hnbert 1 let see what yon will prodnce ; the servant shaU supply you ith any ingredients you may require." 4. But Mary assured her she had all she wanted, ahd set iboat it without more delay. Half an hour after, when Aunt ibert returned fh)m making her purchases, she found the indding ready for the table. 5. Its appearance was such as to strike the eye of a judge. After examining it well, and inhaling the odor, she gave a little nod of satisfaction. "There is nothing to be said against its looks," said she. " I should only like now to see how it tastes ; for you know ' that the proof of the pudding lies in the eating.' However,* I see, my dear child, you are not without capabiUties ; now come and help me with the dessert." 6. But a firesh trouble arose. The servant had broken, one of the china baskets, indiroensable to the service ; and there remained only the broken pieces on the sideboard. Aunt Robert, accustomed to the old-fashioned arrangement, could do nothing without her basket ; but Mary, who with her mother was obliged to resort to all sorts of e3q)edients in their hnmble cottage, where the richness of taste hid the poverty of their means, dedared she could arrange it all. She ran to the garden, whence she gathered leaves, flowers, and fruits, with which she dressed the table, and hid the discrepancy occaaoned by the missing basket. 7. The fine damask, Aunt Robert's especial pride, the old- fashioned crystal, iae many-oolored china, and antique plate, were all most elegantly and tastefully arranged; and then Mary added all the graceful fancies which impart so much to the elegance of a well-arrang^ table, down ftom the butter in shells to bouquets of radishes. Aunt Robert was bewildered *, but she was still more so, when all the dishes, being served at 158 THR TIIIBD BBAOBR. oncc^ coTered the table, and, ub she said, " tramiformed homely dinner into a Belshazzar's feast." 8. " Ah, you sly Uttle puss !" she exclaimed, as, thorough! conquered, she warmly embraced her ; " who would ban thought there was all this hidden in you 1" The pudding vii unammonsly pronounced excellent ; and Aunt Robert did i fail to relate the history of her favorite dish. 9. From this moment, her opinion of Mary underwent il strildng change. She owned to me m a half whisper at dti-l sert, fhat she had been too severe ; and that our friend I not neglected the "essential" as much as she had at imagined. Still she was strongly opposed to " the gift oil tongues," which she maintained, could be available only to thil Apostles. 10. At last we rose ftom the table, and adjourned to thel little sitting-room; where, while waiting the advent of tea,! each lady brought out her sewmg or embroidery, and Aontj Robert sought the mittens she was knitting. Unfortunately, they had not escaped the general disturbance ; a needle had | fallen out, which was one of the little domestic miseries ooi ' worthy aunt felt most acutely. She uttered a slight exclamar tion of despair, and went off in search of her spectacles ; bat | on her return she found her knitting in the hands of Mary. 11. " Ah I you little puss, what are you about there?" s cried in alarm. Mary returned her the mitten with a smile, I and, on looking, she found the stitches taken up, and the pat- tern continued. She regarded Mary with a stupefied look^ then turning to me, she exclaimed 4n a tone of the highest admiration, " She can kmt, too I Ah, my friend, I retract my judgment; there If nothing wanting ; her education is complete." ■ ANE0DOTK8 OF TUE TIGER. 15» H 28. Anecdotes of the Tiger. IKE otaer voracions beasts, nothing will deter tbe tiger from attempting to obtain his prey when hungry, however ipareDt may be the danger he risks. A Scotchman, who a soldier in India, assured ns, that while the army was on march, in broad day, an enormously large tiger sprang from jungle which they were passing, and carried off one of the len in his mouth, with as much ease " as a cat would carry a mouse," and was oni of sight before any effort could be le for the recovery of the poor man, so quick and nnex* cted was the whole occurrence. 2. The postmen of India, who are called dawks, and who irarel on foot, are frequently seized by these creatures, as are who escort them ; nor can any thing be more dangerous Ihau for individuals to venture, unless in well-armed bodies, ithin their blood-stained neighborhoods. 3. In 1819, an official report was presented to the Indian ovemment, in which it was stated that eighty-four persons ad been seized and carried off by tigers, from one district only, II the course of the preceding year. It may be supposed how ucb the possessions of the East India Company most have ? 160 TIIU TIIIKD READKB. been infested with these depredators, when the amount il miums bestowed on those persons who slew them in the|[ 1808, is stated to have been $16,000. 4. Like most other animals, the tigress is attached stn to her jonng. In the " Oriental Field Sports," Captain 1 liamson tells ns that some peasants in India had found I •uhs in the absence of their mother, and brought him i which he placed in a stable. After howUng for several niid the tigress approached and responded to them ; and it i deemed pmdent to let them oat, lest their mamma ih break in ; the next morning she carried them off. 5. The tiger, like all animals when brought under the( trol of man, will evinoe sig^ of partiality towards his ke or others accustomed to treat him kindly. Still, we thioic^ familiarities of keepers are sometimes carried too far, as t!i are times when the natural instinct of savage brutes will i paramount, in despite of their training. 6. The impropriety, however, of strangers attempting take any freedom with such creatures, caunot be too oil nor too deeply impressed upon the minds of our readers— «!« from inattention to it, how many fatal accidents have occu A schoolmaster went to see a menagerie, where, admiring I beauty of the tiger, he offered it an apple. The creature seii his hand, dn^ging it into the cage ; and although, by thee forts of the keepers the brute was compelled to let it go, ] it was so dreadfully lacerated that amputation became ne< sary; and, in a few days afterwards, the poor man was a cor 7. The Orientalists have a very great partiality for witn ing the combats of wild and savage ammals ; and we now ^ve our readers, not only an illustration of their Ba,^ tastes, but also the Invincible courage of their fellow-beii who run the risk of a dreadful death in its gratification, statement from which we are about to quote is narrated bjj gentleman who was invited by the rajah of Goorg to becon a spectator of his cruel and terrific amusements. Goorg is j principality of Hindostan, which our youthful readers discover upon their maps, situated in the western Ghaut men tains of that vast region. ANECDOTES OF TUB TIOKB. 161 •nioont ofi |hem in tij 18. The n\)ah, with true Asiatic vanitj, prided himself upon nnmber of savage beasts be possessed ; having, it was said, ij lions and tlgen which had been brought to perfect sab* ion, besides others which were kept for combating. On the appointed day of the exhibition in question, the n^ah th his court, and other persons, were seated in a gallery, low which was an arena of a hundred yards square, wh' re le sports commenced. After some engagements of inferior mals bad ended, a man entered the arena almost naked, Ting on a pair of trowsers only, that Just covered his hip.; id reached scarcely half way down his thighs. 9. He was tall, and though slight, yet muscular, strong, d active. His body glistened with the oil with which it had n robbed to add to the pliability of his limbs ; and in his land he held what is called a Ooorg-knife, somewhat in shape ike a plough-share, about two feet long, three or four inches ide, and tapering a little towards the handle : it is heavy, md first swung round the head by the person who uses it, by hich means a blow is inflicted with a force that is truly won- lerful. The Hindoo, who now appeared, had volunteered to Ifight with a tiger; and, having brandished his weapon, I" the expression of his countenance," says the writer, "was jabsolately sublime when he gave the signal for the tiger to be [let loose ; it was the very concentration of moral energy — the [index of a single and settled resolution I" 10. Men, who were placed above, at his dgnal raided the I bars of a cage from which an bnmense royal tiger sprang before him with a halfHstifled growl, and waving its tiiii, upon which it erected the hair as a cat does when she is angry. It looked at its antagonist, who met it with his eye, and then at all around ; bat uneasy at its novel situation, it leaped again into its cage, from which the keepers above not being able again to force it, let fall the bars by which it was secured. 11. Some crackers were tied to the creature's taU, which projected through the bars ; to these the man applied a lighted match that had been handed to him, and the bars were again drawn up. The tiger now bounded out of its den in a state of frantic excitement, until the crackers having exploded, it t. .1 tea THB THIBD BBADKB. •onched gnarling in a comer, like a cat when she is annoyei the ban of its cage had been let down ; and the brave Hii who had been watcliing its motions, now slowly and resolntt advanced towards it. 12. Thus ronsed, the hairs of its body became erect, i tail (like the tail of an angry cat) twice its osnal size ; yet,i the man slowly advanced, it again retreated, koeping its froij towards its brave opponent, who still advanced with the m slow and measured step as before. Suddenly he stopped ; i now paced steadily backwards, his eyes still fixed on his enein]| which, as he thus retreated, raised itself to its extreme lashed its tail, and arched its back, preparatory to making^ spring. The Hindoo still moved gently backwards, and vba the tiger could no longer see tJte expression of his e^%\ bounded towards him with a growl. 13. With the swiftness of lightning, however, he sprang oil one side, whirled his ponderous knife around his head, aDil when the animal's feet reached the ground, it felt the full force , of the irresistible blow designed for it, just above the joint o( the hmder leg, the bone of which it completely snapped in two. 14. The Hindoo retired a few paces, and the wounded beast, | disabled from making another spring, roaring with pam, rushed | towards him upon its three 1^ (the other hanging by the i only) in a state of reckless excitement, while its courageom I foe stood calm and determined, awaiting the shock, poising | his trusty weapon above his head, and which, when his antag- onist had got within his reach, he struck with such force into ' its skull, as severed it from ear to ear, and the conquered brute fell dead at his feet. He then calmly drew his knife across the tiger's skin to cleanse it of the blood ; made a dignified " salaam," or bow, to the rajah, and, amidst the load plaudits of the spectators^.withdrew. she is annoyiK the brave Hind ^17 *nd resolat, ime erect, andii snal size; yet,, '''^epingitsfroi 5d with the gain he stopped • aoi ^edonhisened ' extreme heigj ory to making J ^ards, and wh J ^ of his eyejj^ JFf he sprang oil I his head, aii«, Jit the full for(» ^ve the joint ol( snapped in two. I »^ounded beast, *h pain, rashed ingbytheskiD its courageoM shock, poising hen his antag- ' inch force into I he conqaered ^w. his knife )od ; made a tidst the load THE FOUNTAIN. 29. Tbb Fountain. 1. TNTO the sunshine , i Full of Ught, Leaping and flashing, From mom to night ; 8. Into the moonlight Whiter than snow, Waving so flower-liko When the. winds blow* 8. Into the starlight, Bushing in spray, Happy at midnight Happy by day ; 4. Ever in motion Blithesome and cheery. Still climbing heavenwaidy Never aweary ; 6. Qlad of all weathers Still seeming best. Upward or downward Motion thy rest ; 6. Fall of a nature Nothing can tave. Changed every moment, Ever the same ; t. Ceaseless aspiring, Ceaseless content. Darkness or sunshine Thy element • 168 ie4 THK THIRD BKADBB. 8. Glorioas fountain I Let my heart be Fresh, changeful, constant, Upward like thee. 80. Benediot Abnold. THERE was a day when Talleyrand arrived in Havre from Paris. It was the darkest hoar of the French olntion. Fursned by the bloodhonnds of the Reign of Tei stripped of every wreck of property or power, Talle; secured a passage to America, in a ship about to sail, was a beggar and a wanderer to a strange land, to earn bread by daily labor. 2. " Is there an American staying at your house ?" he asl the lacdlord of the hotel. " I am bound to cross the wal and would like a letter to a person of influence in the ^eifl^B. "Who i World." W^ the next re The landlord hesitated a moment, then replied, " There isfl a-j^y name gentleman up-stairs, either from America or Britain, bfl ^^y ^\a,n. joy i whether an American or an Englishman, I cannot tell." He pointed the way, and Talleyrand, who in his life bishop, prince, and prime mmister, ascended the stairs, miserable suppliant, he stood before the stranger's dooi, knocked, and entered. 3. In the far corner of the dunly-lighted room, sat a mai of some fifty years ; his arms folded, and his head bowed on his breast. From a window directly opposite, a flood of light poured over his forehead. His eyes looked from beneath thil downcast brows, and gazed on Talleyrand's face with a pecu- liar and searching expression. His face was striking m ontr line ; the mouth and chin indicative of an iron will His fonn, vigorous, even with the snows of fifty, was dad in a dark, but rich and distinguished costume. 4. Talleyrand advanced, stated that he was a fugitive, and, under the impression that the gentleman before him was an American, he solicited his kind and feeling offices. He ponied edict Arnold Hewa8g< words, " An: 1. Thus, 3 with the wai eluded room and forced infamy. The last from whose the page ol 8. The 1 cannot do pursued hi and that canker at try, what BENKDIUT ARNOLD. 166 nsef"heaslj ross the watt, »ce inthejfei n, sat a u„ 'ad bowed oJ flood of JigJ 1 beneath the! with a pecn-l iking in onJ - His form, I a dark, but! |)rth bis history in eloquent French and broken English ; " 1 < a wanderer and an exile. I am forced to fly to the New hM, without a friend or a home. Yon are an American I |fire me, then, I beseech you, a letter of yours, so that I may I able to earn my bread. I am willing to toil in any manner ; Ihe scenes of Paris haye seized me with such horror, that a life of labor would be a paradise to a career of luxury in France. You will give me a letter to one of your friends? gentleman like yourself has doubtless many friends." 5. The strange gentleman rose. With a look that Talley- and never forgot, he retreated towards the door of the next Ichamber ; his eyes looking stQl firom beneath his darkened Ibrow. He spoke as he retreated backwards : his voice was [full of meaning. "I am the only man born in the New World , ■who can raise his hand to God and say, I have not a friendi;^ {not one, in all America !'' Talleyrand never forgot the over- Ivhebning sadness of the look which accompanied these words. L 6. "Who are yon?" he med, as the strange man retreated I to the next room ; " yonr name ?" " My name," he replied, mth a smile that had more mock- I ery than joy in its convulsive expression, — " my name is Ben* ! edict Arnold 1" He was gone ; Talleyrand sank into his chaur, gasping the words, " Arnold, the TRArroR I" 7. Thus, you see, he wandered over the earth, another Gam, with the wanderer's mark npon his brow. Even in that se- cluded room, in that inn at Havre, his crimes found him out, and forced him to tell his name : that name the synonym of infamy. The last twenty years of his life are covered with a cloud, from whose darkness but a few gleams of light flash out upon the page of history. 8. The manner of his death is not exactly known ; but we cannot doubt that he died utterly friendless ; that remorse pursued hun to the grave, whispering John Andr6 1 in his ear ; and that the memory of his course of glory gnawed like a canker at his heart, murmuring, forever, " True to your coun- try, what might you have been, oh I Arnold, the TRAtron I" * ] 166 THE THIRD READER. 31. EcTH AND NoEia. I rHE short, but interesting story of Both, happened under the Judges, and makes a book of itself. The fiacred writer tells ns, that at the time when the land of Israel was sorely vexed by famine, a certain man, by name Elimelech, oi the town of Bethlehem, retired with No6mi his wife and two sons into the country of the Moabites, not to Rtafve in his own RUTH AND NOEHI. 167 \, After his death, No€mi married her two sons to two Dg women of that coantry, whose names were Arpha and Jth. Tbey lived ten years together, bnt no issne came from U of the tWo marriages ; the two brothers died, and left ts disconsolate mother in a childless widowhood. Having IcoDsolation to expect in the land of Moab, NoSmi resolved I return into her own country, where the famme was no ger felt. I She commnnicated her design to Arpha and Bnth ; they jth desired to accompany her to Bethlehem. She begged fj would not think of accompanying a friendless widow, |m whom they had neither fortune nor comfort to expect, return to their relations, from whom they might meet Itb both; she represented to them, that by going with r, they would but throw themselves into fresh miseries ; |it her present distress was sufficient without any other Idition; that to see them suffer on her account would in- pase her pun; and that their sufferings would be more bictlng to her than her own. U. Arpha yielded to Nodmi's reasons, tenderly embraced fr, and returned to Moab. Buth was too much attached to rmotheri>in-law to think of leaving her; with the greatest aess she begged that they might be never separated from ch other. " I will accompany you," said she, " wherever you all go, and with you I will forever dwell ; your people shall I my people, and your God shall be mine ; in the same land ^th you I will live and die, and nothing but death shall ever ftrtns." 5. NoSmi could not refuse so affectionate and so resolute a > ; she consented to Buth's going with her, and they oth came to Bethlehem. It was then harvest time, and |lath desired leave of her mother to go into the neighboring elds, where she might glean some relief in their scanty jircnmstances. Kind Providence conducted her into a field elonging to Booz, a near relation of Elimelech, No^mi's for tier husband. 6. Her remarkable diligence drew the eyes of the reapers, Dd Booz, from the favorable account he had received from 188 THB THIUID MEAOlilB. his overseer, of Bath's dutiful behavior to her mot;ier,( of her diligence at work, ordered q'?tj kindness and dvilitj be shown her. H« bade his reapers scatter the com on | pose, and leave Eutli a snfiBcient qnantity to reqnito h :- for the pams she took ; if she i«honld be willing to a told them not to hinder her, and insisted upon L«¥ eating i drinking with his servants. t. This goodness of Booz to E.nth has been considered! the ho) J fathers as an emblun of that which Jesns Christ ( since shown to his Church. Booz did not disdain to notice of a poor stranger ; neither the present meanness of I appearance, nor the past errors of her religions sentimentsj eluded her from the acts of hie bomanity. 8. Buth's steady attachment to No€mi is an example | that unshaken fidelity which every Christian owes to Ja £!hrist and his Chorch. He that loves his father, mother,! toB kindred, more than me, says our blessed Saviour, is i worthy of me. Whoever will come after me, let him da oimself, take up his cross, and so follow me. 9. If in following Jesns Christ, worldly advantages iiiii| be sometimes given up, and hardships undergone, an apri mind and a peaceful conscience will confer an inward satisi tion, which, without virtue, no riches can purchase, and i power bestow. 10. Nofimi's poverty was to Buth of more advantage th the wealth of Moab ; and they who, by a firm and generi attachment, stand steady to the principles of duty, will receive their reward in the end. They may suffer, they i be oppressed for a time ; the hour of their delivery hastens ( an eternity of joys is ah^y prepared to console their ; «mI to crown their patience. FLOWEUS. 169 82. Flowsss. 1. AH, they look, upward in every place U Through this beautiful world of ours, And dear as a smile on an old friend's face Is the smile of the bright, bright flowers ! They tell us of wanderings by woods and streams ; They tell us of lanes and trees ; But the children of showers and sunny beams Have lovelier tales than these— The bright, bright flowers t 8. They tell of a season when men were not, When earth was by angels trod. And leaves and flowers in every spot Burst forth at the call of God ; When spirits, singing their hymns at even, Wandered by wood and glade ; An(S^the Lord look'd down from the highest heaven And bless'd what he had made — The bright, bright flowers. 8. That blessing remainetn upon them still. Though often the stomhclond lowers. And frequent tempests may soil and chill The gayest of earth's fair flowers. When Sin and Death, with their sister Grief, Made a home in the hearts of men, The blesoog of God on each tender leaf Preserved in their beauty, then, — The bright, bright flowers. i. The lily is lovely as when it slept On the waters of Eden's lake ; The woodbhw breathes sweetly as when it orepk» In Eden from brake to brake. 8 170 THB TUIBO UKADKM. They were left as a proof of the loTeluen Of Adam and Eve's first home ; They are here as a type of the Joys that bleat The jast in the world to come — The bright, bright flowenk ■V I I 83. The Soholab of the Bosabt. IN a certain district in the south of France, there liveii| noble lady, who governed her household and family in i holy discipline, and who was among the first to join the i fraternity in honor of the mother of God, on its re-establi ment in that conntry. 2. She had an only child, named Bernard ; a boy whose i position was as noble as his birth, although indeed be n rather distinguished for the angelic innocence of his life thao] for the endowment of his mind. He was sent by his motb to study at a school in the neighborhood, whence he wont to return home every evening, for she coulc'iot resold to trust him away from her own care while he was still n| young a child. 3. It does not seem that Bernard was in any way deficiei in abiUty ; and he even made considerable progress in some oil his studies, especially in granmiar ; but he was wanting l&l quickness and vivacity of imagination ; and the composition) of French and Latin verseid, which was one of the common j school-tasks of his class, became an insurmountable difficulty. i. One evening when he returned home, after a day of nn- 1 usual trouble, he sat down in disconsolate mood on the stops eading into the garden, and leaning his head on his hand, be gave himself up to very sorrowful reflections. He knew bow much his mother wished that he should grow up a learned | man, and then he was at the bottom of his class, with the rep- ! ntation of being the dunce of the school ; and ail because be ! was not bom a poet : it was certainly a little hard. 5. Poets, as all know, are bom, not made ; and it seemed THE 80IIOLAB OP THK KOSAUY. 173 it him )we». there lived, l»d family in to join % its re-€8tab!ii boy whose « indeed he wa of his life ti by his motl i^h^nce he w, ol<J*JOt resell »e WIS still al ' waj deficie_. ess in some of I w wanting inl > composition the common I le difficnitj. adayof nn-i on the stops his hand, k e knew how P a learned I ^th the rep- becaase be ! it seemed easonable thing to spend so many a long day in trying come what natnre had not made him. [Bernard," said his motho^ —and at the sound of that gen« Toice the poor boy started to his feet — "what is the mat- Yonr hair is hanghig abont yonr eyes, yooj* cap is on I ground, and I see something very like tears on those white I. Bernard hung his head, but did not say a iford. " Do not speak, my child ?" continued his mother : " you were cr wotot to hide your sorrows thus ; or is it, indeed, that have fallen hito some grieyous fault at school, and fear to laroit tome?" !"No, mother," replied Bernard, "they call me dunce, and I, and they speak truly : but though now I could cry, as ugh my heart would break, it is for no fault that you would m a grievous one ; it is that I am not a poet." And with le words, Bernard hid bis face on his mother's knee, and ibbed aloud. 7. " A poet, child 1" said his mother ; " is that yonr only able? Heard you ever that poets were happier or better in other men, that yon should crave a gift that brings little Lse, and ofttimes less of grace: covet the better gifts, Bernard; ir this is hardly worth yonr tears ; a holy heart and a spotless ith were fitter things to weep after." 8. " But, mother," replied Bernard, earnestly, " you know t how the case stands with boys : we have to learn so many ings yon would marvel to find the use for ; and among them there is none so strange to fit a meaning to as the making if these verses. 9. " And yet Master Roland says I am a duiice if I do not e them ; and shall abide as I am, the laglast of the school, ill I better know how to scan my lines, and have learnt the ference between a trochee and a spondee: and that," he jidded, with a heavy sigh, "I shall never learn." 10. " Bernard," said his mother, " I do not think I ew^ help to mend your verses, but I may chance to be able to ttend yonr courage. It was but the other day that liaatet Jl^ told me of a student whose books were as grievous to him as "'i: 173 THE 'iillUU UKADKR. Tm ftoy versefl of yoms cad be. and yet lie found the way notlfonnd it &11 in to read them, but to write them too ; and died a great doKe soon becai and professor in the nnircrsity." Si'the title, as 11. "And what was his way?'' asked Bernard. "PeiiKarr. his book» were written in prose ; it might have been diff^K]^ Every one if they had Ixien poetry." H, the head o " His way waa a very simple one," replied his mother ; 'Banls of leardi atiked our dear Lady's help, and every day said the rosarAth that delica^ her honor. I think there is little to hinder you from di the same. 12. "Master Alan has given yon a rosary, though I see that you often use it ; take it before her altar, every moi before you go to school, and say the prayers as he has tai you ; and remember that no one ever prayed to Mary ^tl obtaining relief." 13. Bernard was not slow in following his mother's co and not content with saying part of the rosary, he ever; recited the entire fifteen mysteries on his knees before image on our lady's altar. 14. Nor was it long before a singular change was obseni in the boy ; not only did his former dulness and heaviness capacity gradually disappear, but a certain depth of feeling gracefulness of unagery was displayed in his school-vei that placcKl them very far above the ordmary standard of productions. i 34. Ths Soholab of the Bosaay — continued. iding, he mig the doctor's 4. But their! the scholar c in store. C an aching pai ition had incr light, and w lere, spite of < mess could b 5. For two 1 .dually assuB iftus desired t! ,in lus room, jhtest object ;rictly obeyed 6. Neverthe ithvng preven Every d( |he rosary, aw ilie blindness 1 me which ne« ily the famil leck. 1. Alasl b THE masters marvelled at the change, and said many learni things about the development of the understan<^g ; t1 scholars wondered also, and soon cmne to beseech Bernard ti help them in their tasks ; as for the boy himself, the ligl Lis soul had stolen into it with such a soft and quiet gentle'Bo dread ; it ness, that he hardly knew the change. Batal form, w * 2. When they praised and qnestioned him as to whence biHiard was to drew his thoughts and imagery, ha was wont to answer, witlAiiayed taileni a wondering simplicity, that any one might do the same, forHad been so THE SCHOLAH OF THE ROHABT. 178 Ifoand it all in the rosary. This reply, which he constantly k soon became talked about among the rest, and gained the title, among his companicos, of the Scholar of the ary. 3, Erery one now predicted great tUngs of Bernard ; he h the head of his class and of the school ; the high.:.t fanl? of learning, he was told, were now within his grasp ; ]th that delicate and subtle fancy, and that solidity of unde^ knding, he might aspire to any thing ; the professor's chau jthe doctor's cap would never sorely be denied him. 14. But their hopes and expectations were not to be realized ; rthe scholar of Mary a higher and Tory different distinction I in store. One day he came home as usual, and complained [an achmg pain in his eyes ; before the moinhig the inflam- ^tion had increased to such a degree that he could not bear I light, and was obliged to keep his bed in a darkened room, here, spite of every care and remedy which his mother's ten- kroess could bestow, he suffered the extremity of pain. 5. For two months he lay in this state, while the disease iaally assumed a more dangerous character. The physi- ^ans desired that every ray of daylight should be excluded om his room, and the utmost care taken to preserve the lightest object from irritating the eye ; an order which was jtiictly obeyed. 6. Nevertheless, in spite of his pain and increasing weakness, Dthing prevented Bernard from fulfilling his customary pray Every day, as usual, he recited the fifteen mysteries oi llie rosary, and comforted his mother, when she grieved ovoi- llie blindness that threatened him, by saymg his devotion was bDe which needed neither book nor daylight to help it, but billy the familiar touch of those dear beads that never left his beck. I Alas! bUndness was before long not the only evil she had to dread ; it was soon evident that the malady had reached a fatal form, which no human skill could avail to remedy. Ber- ard was to die ; all the great hopes excited by his newly dis* blayed talents vanished into thin au:; and those whose tongues Bad been so busy with his precocious genius were now loud in i^ m m i -•^Qte**- 174 TIIR THIKD KBADKR. deploring the loss of one from whom so brilliant a career mini have been expected. 8. Hir mother entered the room to prepare him fori coming of the priest ; and as she did so, she desired the atttoj ant to bring a candle into the still-darkened chamber. " What need of a candle?" said the boy ; " tell them tli^ it JH not wanted." 0. " It is for the priest, my child," she replied. " Tou i try and bear the light for a few minutes ; for the good fatbi has come to hear your confession, and he could not see i enter without a light." " But there is light," he replied ; "the room is full of l| and has never been dark to me. I wonder that yon do not i it." 10. " What light?" asked the priest, who was by this tii bending over him. " Tour mother and I are standing be but to our eyes the room is darkened still." " It is from our Lady," replied the boy; "she is here by 1117 j bedside, and the rays are shinhig from her, and make it di There has never been darkness here since I have been ill." 11. The priest felt an awe stealing over him, and inTolniyl tarily bowed his head towards the spot indicated by the ch "And does that light hurt your eyes?" he asked; "yon] could not bear the daylight." "It is joy," answered Bernard, faintly; "joy and glory;] the sorrow is all gone now !" and the priest saw that in I lost words he was still thinking of the rosary. And so he died ; and those whom he left needed not the evidence of mir- acles to assure them that the scholar of Mary had been taken I to the fulness of that glory, something of whose radjance had thus rested over his dying bed. i! fMK VKlNin or MAT. 175 ^ career Qinl Wm fort. ed theatk^ nber. |teil them i "Yoa, |« good fath lot see I is full of i 00 do not i by this th anding hen ' here bjinj fnakeitda/.f >eenill.» / »nd involiiii.| •7 the e i... ked; "jool md gloiy..] 'hat in ^nd so hel >ce of inir. ] >een taken I jaoce had 35. The Momre of Mat. THIS is the sweet, the balmy month of May t — ^the season when nature comes forth in all her gayest attire, robed in violet and green, her brow encircled with garlands of flowers. To children, it is a season of mirth } — to all a time 3f gladness. Daring this month the Ghnrch, in a special manner, invites her children to honor and invoke the patronage of the immac- nUte Qneen of Heaven, in that beautifol devotion of " tha Month of Mav." 176 THE THIRD BEADEB. I' 2. As this devotion in honor of the holy Yirgin is now aniversally practised, we give the following sketch of it'^ for the instmction and edification of onr joong readers : 3. Daring the early part of the sixteenth centnry, Fatl Lalomia, a professor in one of the Jesuit colleges in Ital] proposed to the pupils of his class to perform each day di the month of May, some special devotion to the mother (}od. The happy suggestion was joyfully seconded by his pils, and accordingly, a statue of the blessed Yirgin was pi* upon a table at .the end of the clas^'room. Before this hombl altar, which they fervently decorated with flowers, the venei ble father and his pupils daily assembled and recited certi prayers in honor of Mary, and made a short meditation on tlie| virtues of her life. 4. The fathers of the college remarked with much gratifica-l tion the fervent piety which, from that period, distingoisiied the members of Father Lalomia's dass^ — an evidence hovl pleasing this devotion was to the mother of God. On the re- turmng May, the devotion which ccnnmenced in a smgle was extended to the whole college. The effect was most re- markable. 5. Boys who had been heretofore nntractable, now became models of obedience and docility ; those who had been remis^ in the practice of theur religion, now flew to the confessional; the slothM and indolent became examples in the punctual and faithful discharge of their scholastic duties ; the praises of Mary were heard from every tongue, her statue was daily crowned, and her altar strewed with flowers. 0. The fathers, seeing the good effects which the devotion of the month of May produced in this single college, immedi- ately introduced it into all their colleges in Italy, and in other countries of Europe ; and as they went forth from these insti- tutions on the mission, they established the devotion among he faithful, and thus it spread from church to church until it has at length become almost universal. T. Let our young readers, during this month, join in this beautiful devotion. Let them go forth every morning and crown the statue of their heavenly Queen, strew her altar with sb-gathered flc] leortB : Gv T TheiJ And^ Then THE MONTH OF MABY. 177 ion iMM.-^-'- A oo V to her in aU the fervor of their .sbgathered flowers, and say to her m ^'^''' Dearest tnotbor I on thy altar. Guide tby children "Wal^r Sftfely through thta valeot aea To thy Mcred heart devot^ Thou on us bestoirest P««« ' Blnclle<l to Heaven we p^t^ Till this dangerous Ufe snau ow»» 36. The Moiith of Mabt. , ,TOOTGM.y comes torfh taker flowery ate*. '•YC™,e,Je30ie.ta*.^U,«^. ^:^?^'t.of^.b-<^J-^i^. Prepare the wreath for her tesxw j To crave a boon from the spouc I,.g,„wi.ghe«^^.*7»o^^^^^ - mhttoe»aoni'ayo»rch»pletbe.i. ns TUB THIKD HEADER. 37. The Indian. Here lived and loved anathl^^^''Shia hole unscar,^ foed thepMting deer; g»2u>» „„,!,' " ^'^ '■"Mer p„r. paddled their light ^ l'"" "^S^ Wtes, aS now .t' jarred; the Xl^^^SllZS"' '"^^^ ^ death^ong, all were here • aid tl.,?^ «»??'«. the defyS he"- curled the ™„ke of'jj:^' *" "« «ger strife w«ZT not written his kws fn, *k *''® ^^eat Spirit ITn k ? traced them o„ the" b^'trth" • ?"" »' «'»«rbat^: Li -ature knew „„t a, ™^ »' *^ hearts. The i^or chfld „^ » verse he acW,edl:d' i^^.r ^ l"' '»« GodTth"i *• He beheld him in f),« * Y "^'"^ around. 'o->7 dwelling, t,^:j-»;hataa^^^^ ttoat flamed on hin, ft-o^ Tfra IKDIAN. 179 '"^led With ' rani this. 5 onscared. 'Oeath the inter pur- ^at smiles I mid^day throne ; in the flower-that snapped in the mormng breeze ; in the lofty pine that defied a thonsand whirlwmds ; lin the timid warbler that never left its native grove ; in the [fearless eagle, whose nntired pinion was wet in clonds ; in the vorm that crawled at his foot; and in his own matchless form, glowing with a spark of that light, to whose mysterious |Soarce he bent in homble, though blind adoration. 5. And all this has passed away. Across the ocean came I a pilgrim bark, bearing the seeds of life and death. The for- 1 mer were sown for yon ; the latter sprang up in the path of the sunple native. Two hundred years have changed the character of a great continent, and blotted forever from its face a whole peculiar people. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the anointed children of education have been too powerful for the tribes of the ignorant. 6. Here and there, a stricken few remain ; but how unlike their bold, untamed, untamable progenitors 1 The Indian, of falcon glance, and lion-bearing, the theme of the touching ballad, the hero of the pathetic tale, is gone I and his degraded offspring crawl upon the soil where he walked in muj osty, to remmd us how miserable is man, when the foot of the con- queror is on his neck. 1. As a race, they have withered from the land. Their arrows are broken, their springs are dried up, their cabins are in the dust. Their councU-fire has long since gone out on the shore, and their war-cry is fast dying to the untrodden West. Slcflrly and sadly they climb the distant mountains, and read their doom in the setting sun. They are shrinking before the mighty tide which is pressing them away; they must soon hear the roar of the last wave, which will settle over them forever. 8. Ages hence, the inquisitive white man, as he stands by some growing city, will ponder on the structure of their dis- turbed remams, and wonder to what manner of person they belonged. They will live only in the songs and chronicles of their exterminators. Let these be faithful to their rude vir- tues as men, and pay due tribute to their unhappy fate as ft oeople. ISO THE TIIIllD READER. 38. CHAErrY. 1. pHARITY was a Uttle chad, ^ Blue-eyed, beantifnl and mild, Eoll of loye and fnll of light, As the moon is to the night ; Tiny foot and snowy hand — Little carved ivory wand — Little osier basket white- Little vase of something bright Hid in her dress qnite cunningly, Had the sweet chUd, Charity 1 S. Where the aged totter'd on. Weak and haggard, cold and waiH- Loit'ring in the cheering sun, Shivering in the rayless moon, Wrinkled o'er by icy time. Moaning for his faded prime, Wrapp'd in rags and wretchedness, Lying down in hopelessness : With vase and basket there would be The beautiful child. Charity I 8. Where the sick were4ike to die. Unheeded all by human eye. Parching with the bleeding mouth, Gasping with the burning drought. Sleepless — ravmg — sore oppress'd. Staring eye and heaving breast. Deserted, sad, and comfortless, In that lone and last distress : With vase and basket there would be The beautiful child. Charity I 4. Where the starving peasant cried, Looking at his wasting bride — L( c Ci T Q 6. 6. THER stitut' Catholic THK KVKRLASTING CHURCH. 181 Looking at his yonnglings bright Fading away before his sight, Crying, poor man I — bitterly. Crying, the helpless sight to see- Then a little voice he'd hear Go ansinging in his ear : With yase and basket there wonld b« The beautiful child. Charity I 6. Where the blind man stray'd aside From the roadwsy high and wide, And felt for his I'>st path agam 'Mid the jeers of heartless men. Just as stumbling to his knees, A little hand is put in his, — A gentle voice sings up to him, Soothes his heart, and nerves his limb,- For there with pitying care would be The beautiful child, Charity I 6. Ah 1 the sweet child, Charity I It does one's heart a good to see ! In her milk-white simple dress — In her meek, bright, loveliness — With her ever-giving hand — With her peace-enchanting wand— With her osier basket white — With her vase of something bright Hid in her dress quite cunnmgly : God-loved— pure child — Charity I 39. The Everlasting Chubch. THERE la not, and there never was, on this earth, an in. stitntion so well deserving of examination as the Roman Catholic Church, The history of that Church joins together ■^ 182 TUB THIKD READER. the two great ages of civilization. No other institution bk left standing which carries the mind back to the time wLetl the smoke of sacrifice rose from the Pantheon, and vhe&l camelopards and tigers bounded in the Flavian amplii.] theatre. 2. The proudest royal houses are but of yesterday, when] compared with the line of the Supreme Pontiffs. That line | we trace back, in an unbroken series, from the pope y trowned Napoleon in the nineteenth century, to the pope who I crowned Pepin in the eighth ; and far beyond the tin^e of Pe* | pin does this august dynasty ejEtend. 3. The republic of Yenice came next m antiquity. Bnt the republic of Yenice was modem when compared with the papacy ; and the republic of Yenice is gone, and the papacy remains, not in decay, not a mere antique, but full of life and youthful vigor. The Catholic Church is still sendii^ to the farthest ends of the world missionaries as zealous as those who landed in Kent with St. Augustin, and still confronting hostile kings with the same spirit with which she confronted Attila. 4. The number of her children is greater than in any for- mer age. Her acquisitions in the New World have more than compensated her for what she has lost in the Old. Her spiritual ascendency extends over the vast countries which lie between the plains of Missouri and Cape Horn ; countries which, a cent ; '7 hf nje, may not improbably contain a population as large as that which r»aw inhabits Europe. The members of her communion are certainly not fewer than two hundred mil- lions. Nor do we see any sign which indicates that the term of her long dominion is approaching. 5. She saw the commencement of all the governments and of all the ecclesiastical establishments that now exist in the world, and feels no assurance that she is not destined to see the end of them alL She was respected before the Saxon had set foot in Britain, before the Frank had passed the Rhine, when Grecian eloquence still flourished at Autioch, when idols were stiU worshipped in the temple of Mecca ; and she may stUl exist in undiminished vigor, when some traveller from WKLCOMK TO YIIK RHINK. 188 jstitatioQ «Bfew Zealand shall, in the midst of a yast solitude, take his ^une wheiBand opon a broken arch of London Bridge, to sketch the and wlieiiBDing of St. Paul's. «y, whea That line I [pope wliof pope who! ^e of Pe. I %. ] with the he papacj •f life and ng to the as those •nfronting onfronted 40. Welcome to the Bhime. The Oemuui urmj of lib«r»ton, on their return from Fnmoe, an takd to IhkTe bunt into a iMtional chant of welcome to the Bbme, on coming in [ light of that celebrated river. The ohcras of this song is well adapted for the purpose of simultaneons I neding in class. SINGLE YOIOK. IT is the RUno ! onr moontfdn vineyards laving, I see the bright flood shine 1 Sing on the march, with every banner waving— Sing, brothers, 'tis the Bhine ! SI ^t I any for. lore than spiritnal between which, a ition OS ibers of red mil- ie term its and in the to see >nhad Jhine, 1 idols t may from CHORUS. The Bhine ! the Bhine I our own imperial river ! Be glory on thy track ! We left thy shores, to die or to deliver ; — We bear thee Freedom back t m SINGLE VOICE. Hail I hail I my childhood knew thy rush of water, Even as my mother's song ; That sound went past me on the field of slaughter, And heart and arm grew strong 1 CHOBUS. Roll proudly on t — ^brave blood is with thee sweepings Pour'd out by sons of thine, Where sword and spirit forth in joy were leaping, Like thee, victorious Bhine ! ,**.• 184 TDK TIIIUI) UKAUKIt. f SINGLE VOIOB. Home 1 — hom() ! — thy glad wave hath a tone of grcethig, Thy path is by ray home : Even now my children count tlie hours till meeting. Oh, ransom'd ones, I come I CH0RV8. Go, tell the seas that chain shall bind thee never, Sound on by hearth and shrine I Sinp: through the hills that thou art free forever — Lift up thy voice, O lUiine ! THE BICE iirVF;. 18ft 41. Xbx Bse-uivs. NATUEE affords bnt few more striMi^ evidences of thft wisdom and benevolence of the Creator, than may be ob- served in the labors of bees. The observer is at a loss which to admire most, the wonderful manner in which these insects are adapted to their circumstances, or the unity, industry, I loyalty, and sagacity which prevail among them. 2. When they begin to work in their hives, they divide themselves into four companies ; one of which roves the fields in search of materials ; another employs itself in laying oat I the bottom and partitions of their cells ; a third is employed ia smoothing the walls ; and the fourth company brings food for the rest, or relieves those who return with their respective burdens. 3 But they are not kept constantly at one employment | they oft on change the tasks assigned tliem ; tlioso that have been at work, being pertnilind to go abroad, and thuse that have been in the fields take 1 heir plnces. 4. They seem even to have signs by which they iiiiilerstaiid each other ; for when any of them wants food, he holds out his trunk towards the bee from which he expects it. The latter, understandmg the desire of his companion, |pi||}e4illl'P)| -'I • Si- ii'. f I 186 TUB TQISD READKR. TH deposits for his ase a small qaantity of honey. ThoirdlligeQ and labor are so great that in a few dayp ey are enabled make cells snfBcient for several thonsaui ees. In the pk and formation of these cells they display t fonderful sagacitjj 6. The danger of being stong by bees, may be in a greaj measure prevented by remaining qnlet. A thonsand bocs wlij fly and bozx about a person without hurting hiin, if he stati perfectly still and does not disturb them even if they are neal his face. It is said that a person is in perfect, safety in thj midst of a swarm of bees, if he is careful to shut his montl^ and breathe gently through his nostrils. 6. Many amnsfaig stories are told about the effect "oroduce* by the sting of bees. In 1825, a mob attacked the honse oj a gentleman in Germany. He endeavored in vain to dissua them firom their des^pis ; at length when every thing else h failed, he ordered his servants to bring a large bee-hive wludl he threw into the midst of the enraged multitude. The resuil answered his expectations. The mobites, stung by the bal immediately fled in all directions, and thus gave the gcDtleinaii| time to escape from their fury. 7. Bees have one fault common to bad boys, they areui-] clmed to fight among themselves. Quarrels and combats m\ frequent among them. Sometimes it seems that their contests! are commenced in the hive, as the combatants may ofteu bel seen coming out in the greatest fury, and joining in the deadly I strife the moment they reach the door of the hive. In somtl cases a bee {>;aceably settled on the outside of the hive is rude-j ly jostled by another, and then a fierce struggle is commenced,] each endeavoring to obtam the advantage of the position. 8. They turn, dance about, throttle each other, and such is I their bitter eagerness, that a person can approach near to them | without theu* perceiving it. Other times, the combat take place in the hive, and in those cases the contest usually con tlnues until one kills the other ; then the victor takes up the dead body of his antagonist and carries it outside the hive. 9. Bees are remarkable for their industry, and those among I them that will not, or cannot work, are driven from the hire I «nd not permitted to return. 42. T Look, d< Langiud 2. See, ho^ Look, h Even th And sea 3. Poor T And th And pa WithotJ 4. There f But vei Andhc That s< THB OHILDS VflHU IN JUNK. 187 42. The Child's Wish in Jcn 1 Tl/r OTHER, dear mother, the wu lYl. Prithee, let me be idle to-day : Look, dear mother, the flowers all Ho Langoidlj, under the bright blae skj. 2. See, how slowly the streamlet glides ; Look, how the violet roguishly hides ; £vea the botterfly rests on the rose. And scarcely sips the sweets as he goes. 3. Poor Tray is asleep in the noonday snc, And the flies go about him one by one ; And pussy sits near with a sleepy grace, Without ever thinking of washing her face. i. There flies a bird to a neighboring tree, But very lazily flieth he. And he sits and twitters a gentle note, That scarcely ruffles his little throat. 5. Yon bid me be busy ; but, mother, hear How the humdrum grasshopper soundeth near ; And the soft west wind is so light in its plaj, It scarcely moves a leaf on the spray. 6. I wish, oh, I wish I was yonder cloud, That sails about with its misty shroud ; Books and work I no more should see, And I'd come and float, dear mother, o'er thee Tl ti'V T!J.' IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) Lili 11.25 itt Uii 12.2 lit Bt IS 14^0 - 6" % .V y: 7 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STMIT WIBSTIR,N.Y. 14SM (716)«72-4S03 4^ 4u 1 188 THE TH1BP BBA.DEB. h 43. The Mabtyb's Bot. WE have a tale to tell our yonng readers, of Borne in^ early days of Christianity. In the third ^ntnry after Christ, towards the dose ot| mild September day, in one of the most hnposing pm boildings, dwelt a noble Roman matron. At the time that we discover her she is bnsily engaged i a piece of work, which evidently has no persoiud 'tue. Uiii a long rich strip of gold cloth she is embroidering with richer gold thread ; and occasionally she has recourse to or another of several el^ant caskets npon the table, : which she takes out a pearl, or a gem set in gold, and inti duces it into the design. It looks as if the predons on ments of earlier days were being devoted to some purpose. 3. But as time goes on, some little uneariness may be < served to come over her calm thoughts, hitherto absorbed, t aU appearance, in her work. She now occasionally raises . eyes from it towards the entoanoe ; sometimes she listens I footsteps, and seems disappointed. She Iboks up towards i sun; then perhaps tarns her glance towards a ciepsydnt water-dodE, on a bracket near her ; but Jns^ as a feeling i more serious anslety begins to make an impression on countenance, a cheerftd rap strikes the honse^loor, and bends forward with a radiuit look to meet the welcome visiti 8. It is a youth (tall of grace, and sprighi^iness, aAd candoi^ that comes forward with light and buoyant steps across tbi atrium, towards the inner hall ; and we shall hardly find tin to sketch him before he readies it. He is about foorteal years old, but tall for that age, with elegance of form manliness of bearing. His bare neck and limbs are well devdrl oped by healthy exercise ; his features display an open warm heart;* whfle his lofty forehead, round whid) his brotnl hair naturally curls, beams with a bright intelligence. A bnit>| die of papers and vellum rolls fastened together^ and carnedj THE MABTYB 5 DOT. 189 fan old servant behind him, shows us that he is jost retnm- • home from school. U. While we have been thns noting him, he has received his jother's embrace, and has set hunself low by her feet. She opon him for sotne time in silence, as if to discover in conntenance the cause of his unusual delay, for he is an bnr late in his retnm. But he meets her glance with so nk a look, and with such a smile of innocence, that every ond of doubt is in a moment dispelled, and she addresses him I follows : 1 5. "What has detained yon to-day, ny dearest boy? No cident, I trust, has happened to you on the way ?" " Oh, none, I assure you, sweetest mother ; on the contrary, I has been delightful, — so much so, that I can scarcely ven- I to tell you." A look of smiling expostulation drew from the open-hearted 07 a delidous laugh as he continued : 6. " Well, I sujqsose.I must. Ton know I am never happj, od cannot sleep, if I have failed to tell you all the Iwd and be good of the day about myself." (The mother smiled again, ondering what the bad iras.) "I was reading the other day at the S<7thians each evening cast into an urn a white or a ^lack stone, accordb^ as the day had been haj^y or unhappy; I had to do so, it-«would serve to mark, in white or black, he days on which I have, or have not, an opportnnity of re> to you all that I have done. But to-day, for the first ne, I have a doubt, a fear of consdenoe, whether I ought to eUyouiJl." 1. Did' the mother's heart flutter more than usual, as from first taadety, or was there a softer soUdtude dimnung her bye, that thb youth should seize her hand and put it tenderly > his lips while he thus replied! "Fear nothing, mother most beloved, your son has done Inothing that may give yon pain. Only say, do yon wish to Ihear aU that has befallen me to-day, or only the cause of my I late return home?" "Tell me all, dear Pancratius," she answered; "nothing I that concerns yo« can be faidifrerent to me." I 190 THB TBIBD BBADSB. 8. " Well, then," he began, "this Uist day of my fireqaa ing school appears to me to have been singidarly blessed,! yet fall of strange oocnrrences. First, I was crowned as succeasfal competitor in a declamation, which our good ter Oassianns set as for oar work daring the morning he and this led, as you will hear, to some singalar diBcoveri The sabject was, ' That the real philosopher shoald be en Toady to die for trath.' I never heard any thing so i insipid (I hope it is not wrong to say so) as the compositio read by my companions. It was not their fanlt, poor fellow what trath can they possess, and what indacemen^ can th have, to die for any of thdr rain opinions. 9. " Bat to a^Ohristian, what charming snggestions sachj theme nataraUy makes 1 And so I felt it. My heart glowo and all my thoaghts seemed to bam, as I wrote my essay, fuj of the lessons you have taaght me, and of the domestic es pies that are before me. The son of a martyr conld not fei otherwise. Bat when my tarn came to read my declamation I found that my feelings had nearly fatally betrayed me. the warmth of my recitation, the word ' Christian' escaped ni lips instead of 'philosopher,' and 'fait* wtead of 'trath.1 At the first mistake, I saw Oassiaafu st at the second, 1 saw a tear ^ten in hiseye^ as bending affecUonatoly towa me, he said, ic a whispor, ' Beware, my ehild ; there are sh ears listening.' " ; 10. " What, then," interrapted the mother " is Cassianos \ Ohristian 7 I chose his school for yoa becaase it was in tU highest repate for learning and for morality ; and now, indeed,! I thank Ood that I did so. Bat in these days of danger aodl a{qirebension we are oUiged to liye as strtfngers in oar owbI land, scarcely knowing the faces of oar brethren. Certainly,! had Cassianos proclaimed his faith, his school woold soon havel been deserted. Bat go on, my dear boy. W^re his appie-l hensions well grounded ?" 11. "I fear so ; for while the great hg^j of my schoolfel I lows, not noticing these slips, vehemently applauded my heartjl declamation, I saw the dark eyes of C^n^^os bent scowlin(^}| vpon me, as he bit his lip in manifest io$t^** TBM UAxmrB Bor. 191 |«Aod who is he, my child, that was so displeased, and efore?" I "He is the oldest and strongest, bat, nnfortnnately, the Dest boy in the school Bat this, yoa know, is not his Oidy, I know not why, he seems eyer to haye had an ^will and gradge against me, the canse of which I camiot dentand.'' I " Did he say aaght to yoo, or do 7" Vi. "Tes, and was the canse of my delay. For when we ^ent forth from school into the field by the riyer, he addressed insnltingly in the presence of oar conqwnions, and said, |Come, Fancratins, this, I nnderstand, is the last time we et here (he laid a particnlar emphasis on the word) ; bat I are a long score to denumd payment of from yoa. Ton haye to show yoar saperiority in school oyer me and otherx (ider and better than yonrself: I saw yonr saperdlioas looks ; me as yoa spoated yoar high-flown d<Hdamation to-day ; ay, 1 1 canght expressions in it which yon may liye to roe, and at yery soon ; for my father, yoa well know, is Prefect of I dty (the mother slightly started) ; and something is pre- wbich may nearly concern yoa. Before yoa leaye as '. most haye my reyenge. If yon are worthy of yoar name, it be^ not an empty word,* let ns fi^ly contend in more dy strife than that of the style and t^bles.f Wrestie with n, or try the cestas| against me. I bam to hamble yoa as idesenre before these witnesses of yoar insolent trinmphs.' ** 18. The anzioas mother bent eagerly forward as she listened, scarcely breathed. ".Ajad what," she exclaimed, "did oa answer, my dear son T' "I told Um gently that he was qnite ndstaken ; for neyer Ihad I conscionsfy done any thing that coald giye pain to him lor any of my schoolfellows ; nw did I eyer dream of clidming * Th9 paneratinm wu Um exeraiM which oombined all other perBonal |(ontesto; wraitUng, boxing, Ao, t The imptleoMntf of wiitiog in cohoolt, the tablets being oovend with |*u, on vMoh the I t jUn were traced by the sharp point, and efitoed b-r I the flat top, of the alyle. { The hiuid-bandaffriHrom in png^liatic oombats. 193 TBB THIRD RBADKB. iaperiority orer them. 'And as to what yoa proposei'f added, 'yoa know, Oorrinns, that I have always refosedl indulge in personal combats, which, beginning in a cool of skill, end in an angry strife, hatred, and wish for reTe 14. " ' How much less conld I think of entering on now, when yoa,aTOw that yoa are audoos to b^^ them ] those evil feelings which are nsnally their bad end?' schoohnates had now formed a circle ronnd as ; and I de saw that they were all against me, for they had hoped to ( some of the delights of their cruel games ; I therefore cha fully added, 'And now, my comrades, good-by, dpd mayi happnesp attend you. I part from you as I have lived ' you, in peace.' ' Not so,' replied Corrinns, now purple in 1 face with fury j * but' " — 15. The boy's countenance became crimsoned, his tohJ quivered, his body trembled, and, half choked, he sobbed i " I cannot go on ; I dare not teU the rest !" " I entreat yoa, for God's sake, and for the lore yoa your father's memory," sud the mother, placing her upon her son's head, " conceal nothing from me. I shall octi again have rest if you tell me not alL What fiirther said did Gorvinus?" The boy recovered himself by a moment's pause and a i prayer, and then proceeded : 16. " 'Not so I' exclaimed Oorvinns, 'not so do you dep cowurdly worshipper of an ass's head ! Yoa have coi your abode from us, but I will iBnd you oot ; tiU then 1 this token of my determined purpose to be revenged 1' saying he dealt me a furious blow i^n tho^face, which me reel and stagger, wMle a shout of savage delight o<;th from the boys aroond us.'^ He burst into tears, wlpdi reeved him, and then went <n.| THk mabttb's bot. 108 44. Thb Maktb'b Bot — concluded. I, how I felt my blood boil at that moment t how my lieart seemed bnntiDg within me ; and a voice appeared Iffhisper in my ear scomAilly the name of 'coward!' It. WM an evil siurit. I felt that I was strong enongh — rruDg anger made me so— to seize my nqjost assailant by I throat, and cast him gaqung on the ground. I heard al- Aj the shont of applause that wonld haye hailed my victory I tomed the tables against him. It was the hardest stmg- lof my life ; never were flesh and blood so strong within God I may they never be again so tremendously pow- Ijii 'And what did you do, then, my darling boy?" gasped 1 the tr«nbling matron. 1 8. He replied, " Hy good angel conquered the demon at my 1 thought of my blessed Lord in the house of Gaii^ias, oonded by scoffing memies, and struck ignominioudy on ) cheek, yet meek and forgiving. Gould I wish to be other- 9 ? I stretched forth my hand to Oorvinus, and sud, ' May ^ forgive you, as I freely and fully do ; and may he Uess 1 abundanUy.' Gasmanus came up at that moment, having all from a distance, and the youthful crowd quickly dis- I entreated him, by our conmion faith, now acknowt between us, not to pursue Gorvinns for wbnt he had ^ne ; and I obtained his promise. And now, sweet mother,'' inmured the boy, in soft, gentle accents, into his parent's |b(ffiom, " do you not tUnk I may call this a happy day 7" 8. SSently, and ahnost unknowingly, he had changed his Ipodtion, and was kneeling before her; and well he might; ' was die not to him as a guardian spirit, who had shielded I him ever from evil ; or might he not well see in her the living laint whose vhrtues had been Ms model from childhood ? Ln- I dna broke the silence, ia a tone full of grave emotion. 4. " The time has at Iragth come, my dear child," she sdd, IN THB TBIBD RUADKB. ** which has long been the subject of my earnest prayer, I have yearned for in the exuberance of maternal love, ly have I watdied in thee the opening germ of each CI yirtne, and thanked God as it appeared. I haye noted I docility, thy gentleness, thy cUligence, thy piety, and thy] of God and man. I haye seen with Joy tiiy Uydy faith, i thy indiflieirenoe tc worldly things, and thy tenderness to i poor. But I haye been waiting with amdety for the which should dedsiyely show me, whether thou wonldst 1 content with the poor legacy of thy mother's weakly or art the true inheritor of thy mar^rred father's i^obler | That hour, thank God, has come to^y t" 6. ** What haye I done, thet, that shouM thus l«.ye i or raised thy opinion of me?" adted Pancratfais. "listen to me, my son. lliisday, which was to be tbel of thy school education, methlnks that our merciful Lord been pleased to giye thee ft lesson worth it all ; and to proij that thou hast put off the things of a child, and must be 1 henceforth as a man ; for thou canst thiiik and speak, yes, i act as one." ** How dost tlion mean, dear mother?" 6. " What thou hast told me of thy declamation this mon "Whatisthi 10. "Itishii lllowmg in my ing," she replied, "proyes to me how fhll thy heart must haTBvish that it to< been of noble and generous thoughts; thou art too sincere i honest to haye written, and f eryently expressed, that it inu i glorious duty to die for the fldtb, if thop hadst not belieTo it, and felt it." " And truly I do beHeye and fSsel it," interrupted the bojj " What greater hajqsiness can a Ohristian desire on earth?" 1. "Yes, my diild, thou layest most teuly," continued Lv dna. "But I should not haye bem satisfied with wor What followed afterwards has inrayed to me tiiat thou beur iirtrq»idly and patiently, not aerely pain, but what !■ inheritance, t know it must haye been haider for thy young patrician bloodi i,ave conceal< to stand, the stingh^ q;nominy of a disgraceful blow, and UmI than gold an scornful words and gliuices of an unpitying multitude. Nayl tbee." more ; thou hast proyed thyself strong enough to foi^ye audi 12. With to iHray for thine enemy. Tlds day thou hast trodden tbel golden chaii ontinloyeof 1 "Enough, ei ing with a hoi childhood, I h Heobey®^ U. «»Thou mother, with liigh station, there is one t TUK MAftrnes bot. 196 her pathi of the moontain, with the cross npon thy shouMen ; I step more, and thou wilt plant it on its sunmit. Thon ; proved thyself the genuine son of the martyr Qatetinos thon wish to be like him?'' 1 8. " Mother, mother t dearest, sweetc»t mother 1'' broke out I paothig youth ; " could I be his genuine son, and not wish I resemble hhn? Though 1 uerer ei\)oyed the happiness of owing him, has not his hnage been erer before my mind? las he not been the rery pride of my thoughts ? 9. " When each year the solemn commemoration lua been de of him, as of one of the. white-robed anuy that surrounds lie Lamb, in whose blood he washed his garments, how hare bj lieart and my flesh exulted in his glory ; and how have I ayed to hun, in the warmth of filial piety, that he would ob- I for me, not fame, not distinction, not wealth, not earthly boi what he yalned more than all these : nay, that the jnlj thing which he has left on earth may be appUed, as I now he now considers it would most usefuUy and most nobly b" " What is that, my son?'' 10. "It is his blood," replied the youth, "which yet remains lllowing in my veins, and in these only. I know he must Iwish that it too, like what he held in his own, may be poured |oat in love of his Redeemer, and -in testimony of his faith." "Enough, enough, my cUldl" exclaimed the mother, thrill- ling with a holy emotion ; " take from thy neck the badge of [chOdbood, I have a better token to give thee." He obeyed! and put away the golden bulla. 11. "Thou hast inherited from thy father," spoke the I mother, with still deeper solemnity of tone, " a noble name, a bigb station, ample riches, every worldly advantage. But there is ofie treasure which I have reserved for thee from Us bheritance, till thou shouldst prove thyself worthy of it. ■ 1 have concealed it from thee till now ; though I valued it more than gold and Jewels. It is now time that I make it over to thee." 12. With trembling hands she drew from her neck the golden chain which hung round it ; and for the first time hoc 106 TUB TIIIKD RUADKR. son Raw that it sapported a small bag or parse richly broidcred with pearls. She opened it, and \ drew from it «ponge, dry indeed, but deeply stained. "This, too, is thy father's blood, Pancratins," she u!i with faltering voice and streamhig eyes. " I gathered it m self from his death-wound, as, disgnised, I stood by his gidi and saw hun die for Christ." She gazed npon it fondly, and kissed it fervently ; and hcj gashing tears fell on it, and moistened it once more. Au thas liqaefied again, its color glowed bright and warm, as if ii had only jnst left the martyr's heart. \ 13. The holy matron pat it to her son's qnivering hps, m they were empnrpled with its sanctifying toach. He venerati the sacred relic with the deepest emotions of a Christian andl a son ; and felt as if his father's spirit had descended into hiin, and stirred to its depths the fall vessel of his heart, that ita waters might be ready freely to flow. The whole family thus' seemed to him once more united. 14. Lucina replaced her treasure in its shrine, and hang iti round the neck of her son, saying : "When next it is moist- ened, may it be from a nobler stream than.that which goshei from a weak woman's eyes 1" But Heaven thought not 8o; and the future combatant was anointed, and the future martyr was consecrated, by the blood of his father mingled with his mother's tears. 9. la a son ,ore happy thai ipon earth. SI lod, and in CO Ibwjkbyasolei 45. Anna's Offxrino of Samuel. SAMUEL, a renowned and holy prophet, was from his in* fancy trained up to virtue. Anna, his mother, had for many years been married to Elcana, without having any chil- dren. Overwhelmed with the excess of sorrow, she wept and prayed to God for comfort to her affliction ; she joined fasting to her prayers, and bound herself by vow, if she should obtaiQ a son, to consecrate him all the days of his life to the divine service. Samuel was the fruit of his mother's piety, and the recompense of her faith. ANMA*8 OFFEBIMO OF BAl^UBL. 197 9. In a son like him, says St. Ghrysostom, Anna became pore happy than if she had been mother of the greatest prince jipon earth. She received him as a present firom the hand of }od, and in compliance with her tow, hastened to give him clc by a solemn act of religion. 8. As soon as she had weaned him, she carried him to the tabemade^ pnt him into the hands of Hell the high-priest, and consecrated hun irreyocably, as she had promised, to the ser* vice of her Creator. Gratitude and piety alone gnided the tender feelings of her lore ; she parted with her child at a ".■Vj,my : 198 TBB THIBD BBAOKB. time wboD the ohftrmi tad Bmiles of innocence made him more dear. She knew what was good for her ion, and wh was acceptable to Qod. 4. Her sacrifice hi some sort seems to resemble that Abraham. She offered to God her darUng, her only son; offered him for life, and "Stripped herself of all fatnre claii over him. The mother's piety was repaid by the Tirtnea her son. The little Samnd ministered to the Lord ondeil Heli's direction by day, and at night slept within the tabe^| nacle, near the ark of Qod, and there It was that Ood faTondl hfan with a spedal reyelation, the preparatory walk of m futore greatness. 6. Daring the sQenoe of the idght, he heard a rdce callingl him by his name; unskilled as yet hi the langnage of the] Lord, the holy yonth thonght that it had been Hell's Toice, hastfly rose, and asked him what he wanted. Hell told him he had not called, bade Urn go and compose himself to sleep. Samuel had scarce liUd himself down, when the same voice called hhn np agahi ; he ran to the high priest, who ordered him to return and sleep. Samuel was called the thhrd time; he again rose and went to &eU, who perceiyed that the Lord had called the youth. " Oo sleep," said hcto him ; " and if thou hear the Toioe again, thou shalt answer, ' Speak, Lord, for thy seryant heareth.' ** 6. Samuel retired to take his rest, and upon hearing himself called by name for the fourth time, answered in the words that Hell had comnumded him. The Lord then informed Samuel of the heavy judgments which were soon to fall npon the high-priest and his ftuni^f , In punishment of sins that were toa ononnous to be eqiiated by the saeriflo^ they offered He declared that he could no longer bear the sinfhl negligence of a father, who, knowing the disorders, and seeing the pro- fane excesses of his two sons, had contented himself with a gentle reprimand, when a just leal for the honor and sanctity of God's altar required the most exemplary severity^ 1. Heli was very pressing the next morning to know what the Lord had said. Samuel showed a great unwOIirgness to speak, and nothing but Hell's importunity could have prevaOed THC ^ahlmtolmpar itted to the dlvlii ipagtmisoonduG [I father. It wai rer ought to ha ijldren; he acikn j the punishment 8. Hell, says S iorchandpriva en of their enti, either tn dons to grow ,.a chedc^d at t ) the ruin of the ofh opon thenuM 46. Ti 1. i 8.1 8. < THI BOT AMD THV OHILO JRIUt. 190 I him to impart the melanclioly leorat. Heli humbly lab- ^tted to the diyine iecreet, mmI with the deepest regret for I past mifoondnct, became sensible, that to fulfil the dotics fi father, it waa not enough to be singly good, that he more- tr ought to hare endearored to insUI goodness into his en ; he acknowledged his neglect, and resigned himself I the ponishment thereof. 8. Hell, says St. GregCKry, has many Imitators both hi th horch and private fkmilles. Pastors rilently behold the dis- of their flocks, which they onght to correct; and ents, either ftrom indolence or false fondness, snlfer those dons to grow np in their children, which ought to have 1 checked at thdr first appearance. Such a ncf^lect tends I the ruhi of their souls, and draws down Qod's displeasure, oth upon themseWes and their children. 46. Thb Bot AMD THS Ohild Jbsus. 1. A MONO green pleasant meadows, ia. All in a grore so mild. Was set a marble hnage Of the Virgin and the Ohild. 2. There oft, on summer cTenings, A loTdy boy would roye, To play beside the Image ^Hiat saaot{fied the grore. 8. Oft sat his mother by Mm, Amoi^ the shadows dim, And told how the Lord Jesus Was once a child like him. 4. "And now firom highest heayen He doth look down each day, And sees whate'er thou doest. And hears what thou dost say.^' SOO THB THIRD BXAUBB. 6. Uras spake his tender mother ; And (m an erening bright, When the red ronnd sun descended 'Mid clonds of crimson Hght, — 6. Again the boy was playii^ ; And earnestly said he, " Oh, beantifnl Lord Jesus, Come down and play with mo. t. " I will find thee flowers the ftdrest^ And weaye for thee a crown ; I will get thee ripe red strawberrijw If thou wilt bat come down. 8. " Oh, holy, holy mother, Pat him down from off thy knee ; For in these silent meadows There are none to play with me." 9. Thns spake the boy so lovely ; The while his mother heard ; Bat on his prayer she pondered. And spoke to him no word. ■ I 10. That self-same night she dream'd A lovely dream of joy ; She thonght she saw yoang Jesas, There playmg with the boy. 11. " And for the froits and flowers Which thon hast brought to me^ Rich blessings shall be g^n, A thonsand-fold to thee. 12. " For in the fields of heaven "- Thon Shalt roam with me at will, And of bright fraits celestial Shall have, dear chfld, thy fill." 18 TUi 1 An 14. An Th 16. A II Tl 16." n. 1 rl invit*^ holy aac Eacharist. ^ act of human this. 2. Not on from endless merited by ' A mother, b< OUT food an THE HOLY SU0HABI8T. 18 Thus tenderly ttnd kmdly The fair child Jesus spoke ; And full of careful musings, The anxious mother woke. 14. And thus it was accomplish'd : In a short month and a day, That loyely boy, so gentle, Upon his death-bed lay. 16. And thus he spoke in dying : " mother dear I I see The beantifid child Jesus A-coming down to me ;— 16. " And in his hand he bearetfa Bright flowers as white as snow, And red and juicy strawberries ; Dear mo^r, let me go." It. He died — ^but that fond mothw Her sorrow did restrain ; For she knew he was with Jesus, And she asked him not again. aoi w 47. The Holt En<^Bi8T. ^E invite the attention of our young readcirs to the most holy and the most subiime of the sacraments — ^the Holy Eacharist. To die for one's friend, is regarded as the highest act of human virtue ; but our Divine Lord has done more than this. 2. Not only has he offered his life as a sacrifice, to save us from endless misery, from that just punishment which we have merited by our sins, but with a love more tender than that of A mother, he has left us his own sacred body and blood to be oar food and nourishment in our journey through this woi 202 THE THIRD BBADER. 3. The Holy Eucharist is then the sacrament which conti the body and blood of Christ, nnder the form or appear of bread and wme. The history of this sacred institution! oonlained in a few words. Jesus had promised his c that he would give them his body and blood to be their foi v^ UtohisApostte ament, which s .ins." And th< me" 6. Happy monei the body and Jm the love, tl that august mon iroach his Lord lie elements of h ittder affection glo he bent before Holy Comnmnio^ 1. This holy sac ,68 thanksgiving ;he thanksgivings itation, an4 to render to our 1 imetimeB called i it the last supped Lost commonly a Lion, because by Ud forms a bon^ world. 8. This holy s When he first made this promise, many of his followers ▼onldl , x. ^^ress not believe his word, and left him. But his Apostles believed ■ , , t .^^ the 1 what he told them, though they did not know in what ™^i"^f l^koge whom the he would redeem hjs promise. ' 4. As the time approached when our blessed Lord was about to leave this world, he assembled together his twelve faithful Apostles, for the purpose of eating with them his last supper. After this supper was over, Jesus taking bread into his sacred hands, blessed it, and immediately it was changed into his own body, which he g^ve to his Apostles, saying, "This is my body." 6. He then took the wme which was upon the table, and (Jpessed it, and it was changed into his blood, which he 'Xi THE HOLY EUOIIABIST. 208 ^re to his Apostles, saying, " This is my blood •4>f the New iment, which shall be shed for many onto the remission OS." And then added : " Do this for a conmiemoration fme." 6. Happy moment 1 when the Apostles received for the first the body and blood of our Divine Lord. We may well ;ine the love, the fervor, the awe which filled their hearts that aogost moment. With what veneration did St. Peter [troach his Lord to receive from his sacred hands the adora- ble elements of his body and blood. What sentiments of ender affection glowed in the bosom of the. youthful St. John, he bent before Jesus, to receive, for the first time, the 'Holy Conmiunioo." 7. This holy sacrament is called the Eucharist, which sig^ ^es thanksgiving, and is applied to it in commemoration of be thanksgiving which our Saviour offered at the time of its titation, an4 to remmd us of the grateful thanks we ought render to our Divine Lord every time we receive it. It is gmetimes called the Lord^s Supper, beicause it was instituted at the last supper which Jesus took with his Apostles. It is Imost commonly called, at the present time, the Hcly Cofnmur nim, because by it we are united so intimately with Christy land forms a bond of union among Catholics throughout the (world. 8. This holy sacrament was prefigured in the old law by iMelchisedec, who ofttered sacrifice, using bread and wine. But [the most express figure was the killmg and eating of the Pas- ichal Lamb, the blood of which was. sprinkled on the doors of whom the destroying angel was to spare. So Christ is I called the Lamb of God, and his blood being sprinkled over I the earth, has redeemed man from sm. 9. The matter of this sacrament consbts of wheat bread, and wine of the grape, which Christ made use of, and without these the consecration would not be valid ; a small portion of water iff mingled with the wine, in commemoration of the water mingled with blood, which flowed from our Divine Saviour's' eido, when pierced with a lance after he had expired on the cross. In the early ages of the Church, communion was given II- 204 THE TIIIRI) RKADBR. in both of these consecrated elements ; bnt by d^^rees i custom was discontinued. The reception nnder both foi was not deemed necessary by onr holy mother, the Chn becaose Glirist being wholly present under either form, ' ever receires under one kind alone, receires the true bodyi blood of Ohrist. Hhia was found necessary, also, to confoij certain heretics, who mi^tained that the consecrated bn contained the body of Ohrist without his blood, and to others, who held that the reception of both kinds was of difi precept. 10. The reception of this holy sacrament, espednHy fori first time) is the most important act of a Christian's Children who have not receiyed it, should look forward viti longing desire to that happy period. Eveiy action of tb lives, from the dawn of reason to the day of their first muhion, should be made a preparation for that sacred evei They should never forget the important truth, that a conununion renders them the associates of devib, and them as candidates for hell, while a good commuidon elerat^ them to the companionship cf angels, and seals them as diildren of Qod. 48. Thb Houbb of Lobbtto. THE house of Nazareth, in which the Blessed Yirgin^ bom ; in which our Divme Lord passed his holy childho and the years of his manhood until the age^'of thirty, becamej after the death of the Blessed Vbgin, an object of peculia veneration to the early Christians. It "was converted into chapel, where mass was celebrated every day, during the l centuries of the Church. Towards the close of the ninth m tnry, when Palestine was in the hands of the Infidels, th house was miraculously carried through the air into Dahnatu In the same miraculous manner it was finally translated Loretto, where it now stands under the dome of a magnific eathedral, which has been erected around it. TIIK HOUSE OF LOBBTTO. S. Sweetly low the laurels bending, Trail their bright leayes on the sod, For the angels are descending, With the holy house of God. O'er the Adriatic gliding, Bathed in light, most heavenly fair, Silently the air diyiding, Angels their blest burden bear ; Blissfiil dome, most dear and holy, Speeding softly o'er the sea, Laurel brandies bowing lowly. Bid us bend the suppliant Imee. 8. Weep Balmatia for tiie treasure Borne from off thy sunny shore, For thy tears in untold measure. Shall be ponr'd forerermore ; Far from Nazareth imparted, Lo! our mother's home was giren, Weep your loss, then, brokeu'hearted. Of this holy gift of heaven ; BUssfnl dome most dear and holy. Speeding softly o'er the sea. Laurel branches bowing lowly. Bid us bend the suppliant Imee. 4 Dome whose humble walls enfolded. In the land of Galilee, She, the maid whom Heaven had moulded, Mother of our God to be ; Dome wherein her infant beauty. Infant purity, and truth, Nourish'd were for mystic duty, Waiting her angelic youth, Welcome, by the angels guided. Softly o'er the summer sea. Blest the air so late divided By the house of Gililee. 205 I'h S06 THR TIITKD BBADEK. 6. Blest the ground whereon it rested, And forever there will bloom, Flowers with light unearthly crested, Yerdore midst the desert's gloom ; From these walls the iitfant maiden, Saintly glory ronnd her form. To the Temple, sweetly laden. Bore her tribute pure and warm ; Not of gold, nor flowers that wither, She her yotive offering made. But a holiw g^t bore hither, And upon the altar laid. 6. 'Twas herself, the " Star of Morning,'' "LUyof Jadea»fair, Sweetly God's dear shrine adorning, Unreserved she offer'd there ; Here returning firom the Temple, With her holy spouse onoe more. This sweet flower so pure tad simple^ Lived the humble life of yore ; Blissful dome most dear and holy. Speeding softly o'er the sea. Laurel branches bowing lowly. Bid us bend the sui^liant Imee. 7. Gentlest mother, humbly kneeling. Sorrowful witiun thy walls,* Sound of heaven^ iMons stealing. Softly, as we listm, falls ; While we see thy beauty holy, Beandng with a light divine. And miotic Qabriel slowly Enters where thy glories shine ; * At St Mary's Aeademj, imt Boath B«ii4, a ditp«l fcr tiM '^OkUdno of Uuf I ha* bera cnetod In tbe ezMt model of the honae of Loratto^ botk mtmnunr and lnu^ tuUj. Tba daalgns bronght from Italy hav* been atdetly foUowad. Omr Holjr Fatbw Plus QL baa llberaUy endowed tbla eb^wl ia the Weat with all tb» Indolceooei | attaaiiad to tba world-ranow^rd pllgrimaga of Loretta EXTREME UNOnON. 207 Hear that voice like pnrling waters, Falling sweetly on the ear, " Mary, blest of Israel's daughters, God the Lord is with thee here." 8. " FoU of grace" 'tis he who led thee, Smless pure, his chosen one 1 And his power shall overspread thee, And his will in thee be done ; From thy tender heart's pore fonntaii:, God shall be incarnate made. And the tide firom sin's dark monntidn, At thy holy feet be stay'd. " Handmaid of the Lord behold me," Joyful word falls on the ear, Sinfid earth let ^ht enfold thee, Lo I the Word Incarnate here^I 9. Fairest dome, the angels' treasure. Earth can hold no shrine so blest, And our hearts in untold measure, Pour their tribute here to rest ; By our loving Mother guarded, Here we hopo her aid to g^in. And our love at last rewarded. Heaven shall echo our refhun ; BlissM dome, most dear and holy, Spee^Bg i^ftly o'er the sea, Laurel branches bendbg lowly, Bid us bend the suppliant knee. 49. ExiBEHE XTNcrnoN. IHE sacrament of Extreme Uiiction is administered to sick persons when in danger of death, and on that account it I called Extreme. It is uncerttvin when this sacrament was 208 THE TUIKI) UKADKB. institated, but the Oonncil of Trent has dechtfed that iti instituted like the other sacraments, by our diTine Lord ! self. 2. That it was recognized as a sacrament by the AposJ is evident from the Epistle of St. James/ where he says inj 5th chapter of his epistle : " Is any man sick among yon,! him bring in the {ffiests of the Church, and let them pray J hun, anointing him with oil, in the name of the Lord: the prayer of faith shall saye the sick man, and the Lord i raise hun up ; and if he be in sins, they shall be forgiven 1 St. Mark also relates that the Apostles anointed with | many that were sick. 3. The matter of this sacrament is oil blessed by a bish^ The words used on the occasion of administering the^ ment are the following : "By this holy unction, and his own most tender meii may the Lord pardon thee whatsoever sins thou hast mitted by the sight, by the hearing,'^ and so of the otl senses. 4. No one, except a bishop or priest, can administer tl sacrament. It may be received several times, but not moj than once in the same sidmess. Persons ought to prepare! it by a good confescion; and where this is impossible,! reason of the loss of speech, by a smcere ,act of contritioj and detestation of their sins. 6. The parts generally anointed are the eyes, ears, noi lips, hands, and feet. Ilie effects of Extreme tTnction first, to remit all venial sins, and mortal sins forgotti second, to heal the soul of her infirmity And weakness, certain propensity to sin which often remains in the sool i the guilt has been remitted ; third, it ^ves strength and { to the soul to bear with patience the pains and infirmities J the body; and lastly, it sometimes restores the corpoij health, as has been attested on many occasions "what is that, mother?*' 209 60. "What ib that, MothebI'* 1. TTTHAT is that, motberr^ " The lark, my child 1 V Y The moon has hut Just look'd out and smiled, When he starts from his hnmble, grassy nest, And is np and away with the dew on Us breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere^ To warble it ont in his Maker's ear. Ever, my child, be thy mom's first lays Toned, like the lark's, to thy Inker's praise." 2. " What is that, mother f " " The dove, my son 1 And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan. Is flowing ont from her gentle breast, Constant and pure by that lonely nest. As the wave is ponr'd from some crystal nm. For her distant dear one's quick return. Ever, my son, be thou like thcrdove, In friendship as faithful, as constant in loye." 8. " What is that, mother?" " The eagle, boy I Proudly careering his course of joy ; SIO TUB THUD BKADBII. Firm, on his own monntoin vigor relying, Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying, His wing on the wind, and his eye on the snn, He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right oa. Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine. Onward and upward, and tme to the line." 4. " What is that, mother?'' " The swan, my love! He is floating down from his native grove ; No loved one now, no nestling nigh, ^ , He is floating down by himself to d^e ; ^ Death darkens his eye, and nnplnmes his wipgs, Yet his sweetest song is the last he sings. Live so, my love, that when death shall come. Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home." 51. Ohasitt. TURN not away your face from the poor, and harden notl yonr hearts agunst them." This, my child, is the bean-l tifol admonition of the wise man, inspired by God himseltl Of all the virtues which religion commends to the practice oil her children, charity is the most pleasing to God, the mosti ▲NRODOTES or H0BBB8. 211 ,» \' h!ial to our fellow-creatnres. When the world ii so ftall irerty and wretchedness, what would become of the poor, ^rich did not give them of their abundance, and relieve [wants and sufferings by the exercise of charity, Children, especially, ought to practise charity as far as Imeans will idlow. If that beautiful Tirtue be not culti* I in early youth, when the mind is fresh and the heart Oed by the world's rough ways, it will neyer bear fhiit ) heart in after life. When little boys and girls have pocket-money given them, ; better can they do with, at least, a portion of it, than k it on some person who is in need. If part of the w spent in every family among the rich, on cakes and lies, were only given each week to some deserving object, [the decent poor woman in the picture, it would provide ]eif and her hungry little ones with, at least, some loaves Let children think of that when they spend their I gjlver pieces on Mrorthless toys and trashy sugarnBticks [are of no earthly good to them, but are, on the contrary, tirely injurious to- their health. Would not the blessing which that poor woman seems :80 ferventily to those good little girls, who have given I child bread, be worth a thousand times more to them, any thing they could buy for themselves to eat or to rwith? 52. Anbodotbb of HoBsnk IE method of taking the wild horse in the forests of I Sonth America, by throwing a cord (called a lasso) over , is effected by men mounted on domesticated horses, that been tnuned to the business, pnce made a prisoner, I kept for a couple of days without food or drink, he soon omes tame and is broken-in ; but if not closely watched, he escape to his friends of the forest, and yet he will after- allow himself readily to be taken. Several instances ro been known of persons who have met with their tamed S12 THK THIRD ABAPES. ranaways in the herd, which after a long absence hare I up to them, agahi to receive their caresses — and have [ become their willing sla?es. By some travellers it is i that the wild herds endeavor by stratagem to sedoctl horses to Join their community. 2. We, some years since, saw the favorite charger ol naparte: he was a handsome white barb, scarred witnf wounds, which the groom stated him to liave receii various battles ; and he also said that, since he had loi master, he would not allow any stranger to monnt him;. •nitting only the groom himself the honor of dohig so. %^^-^ = /-V^ ^^v <^^-^ ^^ always spoke to tlie ai^al in Frenrli, aid V.i cmm were readily obeyed. - 8. He would bid him to retire, to lie down, to rise, and slj how he fought in the service of Bonaparte; and how be sh his provisions when they were scarce. After obeyhig the j yiovLS commands of his groom, he would, in obedience to] 7asf., show how he shared his food, by going to a pulj «v J ter, I' wM>.h there was a cleanly scraped carrot, and i t>ie end oi iMn his mouth, he would bring it to the la whose month he placed the other end, and then bit two, eating his own portion only. 4. Occasionally equine attachment exhibits itself in a^ ▲MRotK/rua or iiursioi. 213 [ted and creditable as that of the hnman mbd. During 'eniosalar war t ho i rampeter of a French cavaUy corps I fine cbar^'t r 4$: ml to him, of which he became pas- \\j foil 1, ana wtu^ b, bj gentleness of disposition and '^ocilii/, ^■<]nall7 winced its affection. Ml' "toand of the trumpeter's voice, tht sight of his J II, or the twarg of his trumpet, was sufficient to throw mimal into ( state of excitement ; and he appeared to be and happy only when nnder the saddle of his rider, he was mimly and useless to ererybody else ; for once, ling removed to another part of the forces, and consigned joung officer, he reRolntely refused to perform his otoIu- I, bolted straight to the trumpeter's station, and there his stand. Jostling alongside his former master. This animal, on behig restored to the trumpeter, carried daring several of the Peninsular campaigns, through many and hair-breadth escapes. At last the corps to he belonged was worsted, and in the confusion of retreat ipeter was mortally wounded. Dropping from his horse, ly was found, many days after the engagement, stretched award, with the faithful charger standing beside it. t Daring the long interval, it seems that he had never quit- the trumpeter's side, bnt had stood sentinel over his corpse, away the bhrds of prey, smd renudiymg totally heedless is ovm privations. When found, he was in a sadly reduced i^'Mon, partly firom loss of hi«i<)od through wounds, bnt chiefly want of food, of which, in the excess of his grief, he could Ese and sll'^ prevaOdd on to partake. owheshiV' ^^^^S^ Providence seems to have implanted in the horse yij^g ijigSenevolent disposition, wkk at the same time a certain awe lience to ■^''^ human race, yet there «« instances on record of his a DBill"^^^^ u\juries, and fearfully revenging them. A person uig^^ con , and 1 the len bit fin ' Boston (Mass.), ma in the habit, whenever he wished to th his horse m the ttM, of taking a quantity of com in a are, by way of bait. |9. On callmg to him, the horse would come np and eat the D, while the bridle was put over his head. Bat the owner deceived the animal several times, by calling him when H 214 THE THIRD BBADEB. he had no corn hi the mo^nre, the horse at length begJ suspect the design ; and commg up one day as usual, on I called, looked into the measure, and seeing it empty, tn round, reared on his hmd legs, and killed his master on the 8 10. The docility of the horse is one of the most remark of his natuni)|gifts. Furnished with acute senses, aiide:| lent memory, high intelligence, and gentle disposition, he f learns to know and obey his master's will, and to perform | tarn actions with astonishing accuracy and precision, range of his performances, however, is limited by his phy{ conformation : he has not a hand to grasp, a proboscis toj the minutest object, nor the advantages of a light and i frame ; if he had, the monkey, the dog, and the eleph would in t)m respect be left far behmd him. 11. It has been before remarked, that the horse is infej to none of the brute creation in sagacity and general inti gence. In a state of nature, he is cautious and watchful ; the manner m which the wild herds conduct then: marcfi station their scouts and leaders, shows how fully they obrnd hend the necessity of obedience and order. All their mo| ments, indeed, seem to be the result of reason, aided bjl power of communicating theur ideas far superior to thatj most other animals. 12. The neighings by which they communicate terror, alaij recognition, the discovery of water and pasture, &c., are [ essentially different, yet instantaneously comprehended by evd member of the herd ; nay, the various movements of the bo^ the pawing of the ground, the motions of the ears, and expressions of the countenance, seem to be fully understood] each other. 18 . In passhig swampy ground, they test it with the foj foot, before trusting to it the full weight of their bodia they will strike asunder the melon-cactus to obtam its sncculd nice, with an address perfectly wonderful ; and will scoop o| a hollow in the moist sand, in the expectation of its filli with water. All this they do in their wild state ; and domij tication, it seems, instead of deteriorating, tends rather i strengthen and develop theur intelligence THE BATTLE OF BLBNHEIlff. 215 |u The Arabians try the speed of their horses, by hanting goitridi — ^the bird endeavors to reach the mountains, nin- j along the sands with great rapidity, assisted in its efforts [tapping its wings. A horse, however, possessing the high- tqatJity of speed, is enabled to come np with it ; when the r creature hides its head in a bush, or w^rever it can, lis quietly taken. By this criterion the hunter rates his ); and as the animal evinces his speed and perseverance I the chase, his master estimates his value. The Arabs om their horses to fatigue, and give them milk whiwii bles them to bear it. 53. The Battle of Blenhedl * 1. TT was a summer evening, J- Old Rasper's work was done : And he before his cottage-door Was sitting in the sun. And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 2. She saw her brother Peterkin * Boll somethmg large and round, Which he beside the rivulet, In playmg there, bad found ; . He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth and round 8. Old Easper took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by ; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh, " 'Tis some poor fellow's skull,'' sud he^ " Who fell hi the great victory. 4. " I find them in the garden, for There's many here about, S16 THK TUIKD READER. And often when I go to plough, The ploughshare turns them out ; For many thousand men," sud he, Were sldn m the great victory." 5. " ^ow tell us what 'twas aU about,'' Toung Peterkin he cries, And little Wilhehmne looks up With wonder-waiting eyes ; " Now tell us all about the war, \ And what they kill'd each other for.'' 6. " It was the English," Easper cried, " That put the French to rout ; But what they kill'd each other for, I could not well make out. But everybody sidd," quoth he, " That 'twas a famous victory. 1 " My father lived at Blenheun then, Ton little stream hard by, They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly ; ■ So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his heact. 8. " With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide, And many a childmg mother then, And new-bom infant, died; — But things like that, yon know, must be At every famous victory. 9. " They say it was a shocking sight, After the field was won. For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun ; — . But things like that, you know, must bt After a famous victory. THB AMxlUNCIATION. 10. " Great praise the Duke of Marlbro* won, And onr good Prince Engene.'' " Why, 'twas a very wicked thing 1" Said Uttle Wilhelmine. " Nay— nay— -my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory. 11. " And everybody praised the Duke Who such a fight did win." *' But what good came of it at last t" Quoth little Peterkin. '' Why that I cannot teU," said he, " But 'twas a famous victory." 217 54. The AxnnniozATioir. WHEN the plenitude of time was come that God had fixed from eternity to shower down his blessings upon man- Idnd, by giving them a Biedeemer, the angel GaMel was first deputed to Zachary, a holy priest, whose wife was Elizabeth, one of the daoj^ters of Aaron. The heavenly messenger came to tell him that he should have a son, whose name should be John, and whose birth should be a subject of joy to jiiuuijinlsrael. i. Six months after. Almighty God deputed the same I angel to a virgin whose name was Ifory, residing in Nazareth, a city of Galilee. Mary had been espoused to a holy man called Joseph, a descendant of the house of David. The divine Providence had in a special manner presided over tiiose nuptials, which provided the Tlrgin with a guardian and protector of her purity. For with the same sentiments of virtue, and in the same dispositions of mind, says St. Ans- I tin, both Mary and Joseph entered into a mutual engagement of joining the marriage state with a state of virginity, of which the world had not seen an example. 8. Almighty God honored this alliance with an issue which wu to set open the gates of heaven, which for ages had been 10 218 THE THIRD KKADKR. shut against us by the crime of our first parents. Mary waa the woman destined by Almighty God to crush the serpent's head, as it is written in the book of Genesis (chap, iii.), and it was to obtain her consent that God then sent his angel to Nazareth. The angel found her alone, as St. Ambrose ob- 1 serves, and respectfully said unto her — " H& ! full of grace the Lord is with thee ; blessed art thou among women 1" ■I, ■ J ... ' • M n ■ • - ^H » 1 .^■J?!ll\x^ , '• .- 1 / Ha \ ^i ^^F ^■o^ * - . " i-^^ 4. The bumble virgin was disturbed at t^e angePs saluta- tion, and trembled with fear, lest, as Eve had been deceived by the serpent, she also might be misled by a similar delusion. She considered the sense and import of his words, and thereby gives ns an admirable example of discretion, which teaches ns not to be too hasty in consenting to a proposal before we roderstand the nature of its obligation. 5. The angel saw the trouble of her miod, and to appease t, said — " Fear not, Mary ; for you have found favor with the Lord.'' He then opened the subject of his commission, and told her that she should conceive and bring forth a son, and call his name Jesus ; that he should be great, even the Son of the Most High ; that he should sit upon the throne THE ANNUNCIATION. 2id of David ; that he shoald reign in the house of Jacob, and that of his kingdom there sho Jd be no end. 6. The Yurgiu listened to the angel with great attention ; she heard the wonderfal things he promised, but desired to know how it could possibly be done, because she was a virgin. It wasi not an idle curiosity, but a mark of her submission to the divine will ; nor was it a want of faith, but an intimation of the chaste purpose of her mind, which induced her to ask the angel that qu^tion. 1. The angel, in reply, assured her that no concurrence of man was requisite for what the sole power of the Most High, with her consent, would operate within her ; that by the in- effabld^ virtue of the Holy Ghost she should conceive, bear a son, and still remain a pure virgin. It is what the prophet Isaiah (chap, vii.) had expressly foretold. But to convince the Yirgin that nothing was impossible to God, tho angel, moreover, told her what had happened to her cousin Eliza- beth in an advanced age, who, notwithstanding the many years she had l)een reputed barren, had miraculously cou' ceived, and was six months gone with child. 8. The Yirgin having thus received the information she desired, and being told the manner in which the mystery was to be wrought within her, gave her consent. In terms the most humble and submissive, terms that expressed the holy disposition of her heart, she said — " Behold the handmaid of the Lord : let it be done to me according to thy word." 9. The angel having thus happily completed his commis- sion, returned to heaven, and the wonderful mystery of the Incarnation took place that instant. For Mary had no sooner given her consent, than the Son of God, the second Person of the most adorable Trinity, by an invisible and in- explicable operation of the Holy Ghost, took fle^h and became man in her womb, without the least detriment to her vii^inal ntegrity. That was the happy moment in which the work of man's redemption was begun ; that was the moment when an incarnate God unlocked the source of those plentiful graces which were to flow for the salvation of mankind, to wash our Honls from sin, and to sanctify them for eternal life. 820 THB THIRD BKADE&. 55. St. Fbugitas and heb Sons. THEBE lived at Borne, in the reign of Marcus Anrelios, « noble lady called FeUcitas. She was a widow, and had tCTen sons. On her husband's death, she took a vow of chas- tity, and gave herself up to a life of prayer, fasting, and good works. One of her principal occupations was the education of her sevi^n sons, whom she loved very dearly. Felicitas' love for her sons was not merely such as all women feel for their children. 2. She remembered that they were not her children only, but that they were the children of God, who had lent them to her, and who would one day ask her account of them. She did not wish to see them great in this world, but wished to lay up in store for them the inestimable riches of eternal glory in the next. 8. She therefore traf'^ them firom their infancy in all holy and pious practices suited to their age, and she offered them up to Jesus to live and die in his service, in whatever way it might be his will to make use of them. Our Lord acc^ted the offering, and gave her and them the high honor of suffer- ing martyrdom for his sake. 4. FeUcitas was so good and holy that the women of her own rank thought very highly of whatever she said or did, and many of them who were pagans were converted by her example and influence. This displeased the heathen priests, and they complained to the emperor, and persuaded him that the gods were very angry, and would not be pacified till Feli- citas and her chilcbren would offer sacrifice to them. 5. She and her sons were accordingly made prisoners, and taken before Publius, the prefect of the city. Pnblius was unvrilling to use violence with a lady of such high rank and character as Felicitas ; so he first took her aside, and tried gently to persuade her to sacrifice to the gods. But Felicitas answered — " Do not hope, O Publius I to win me with fair words, or to terrify me with threats ; for I have within m^^ the spirit of God, who will not let me be overcome by Satan ; uid therefor the servant < 6. Pnbliui he would mo therefore sa yon are so dren live, b cruel tormei t. "My < lasting deat now, since i irill Uve wit Publius disi consider co< tnres she w( when she dii 8. The n he sent for lum, he tui mother, he who are noi birth, and s highest hon 9. But ] advice is i dren, jhe s expects yoi of your 80 the love ol peratedPt that ihis^ commando and head. 10. The rius, the el to adore brava anc -m t.^m I BT. FEUOTTAB AND HBB SONS. 221 wid therefore I am sore I shall be too hard for yon, who are the servant of Satan.'' , 6. Pnblins seeing that she had no fear for herself, thought be would move her bf speaking to her of her children, and he therefore said to her — " IJnhiippj woman 1 is it possible that jon are so tired of life that yon will not even le u yonr chil- dren live, bnt will force me to destroy ihem by bitter and crael torments 7" 1. "My children," replied Felicitas, "would die an ever- lasting death if they were to sacrifice to yonr gods. But now, since they acknowledge and worship Jesus Christ, they will live with him forever." After making this first attempt, Publius dismissed her, thinking it would be better to let her consider coolly and quietly what he had said, and what tor- tures she was bringing on herself and her children, hoping that when she did so, she would come to a better mind. 8. The next day, as he was sitting in the temple of Mars, he sent for Felicitas and her sons. When they came before him, he turned to her, and appealing to her feelings as a mother, he said — " O Felicitas I take pity on your children, who are now in the prime of youth, and who are of such noble birth, and are so good and clever that they may look to the highest honors of the state." 9. But Felicitas answered — "Tour pity is cruel, and your advice is impious and deceitful." Then, turning to her chil- dren, Ahe said — " My sons, look up to heaven, where C^urist expects yon with all his saints 1 Fight manfully for the good of your souls, and show yourselves faithful and constant in the love of the true God, Christ Jesus." These words exas- perated Publius, who looked upon it as an intolerable affront that this woman should defy 1dm to his very face, and so he commanded that she should be cruelly beaten abont the face and head. 10. Then he turned to her sons, and be^nning with Janua< rius, the eldest, he tried to induce him, by promises and threats, to adore the gods. But the boy was not unworthy of hii brava and suntly mother, and he answered — " Yon wish to persuade me to do a foolish thmg, contrary to all reason ; but :3s«=»- 223 THB THIBD BKADER. I tnut in my Lord Jesus Christ that he will preserve me from so great an impiety." On hearing these words, Publius o^ dered that he should be strippe-' and very severely Kconrged; after which he was thrown into pruion. 11. All the other brothers were brought up in turn, and every art was used to conquer them, and induce them to obey the emperor. But it was all to'^no purpose ; for they were supported and guided by the Holy Spirit, and they all made Publius the same answer, though in different words, as Jana* arius had done. They were therefore scourged so severely that their whole bodies were a mass of wounds, and in ihis state they were thrown into prison, till the emperor's ftirther pleasure should be known. 12. During all the time that her sons were being thus to^ tured, Felicitas was forced to stand by and witness their suf- ferings. This holy mother remained firm and unmoved, whUe she looked on the torments of hor children. She did not shed a tear as the noisci of the blown resounded in her ears ; she did not shrink at the sight of their streaming blood, their quivering flesh, and their involuntary writhings of agony. 13. The only words she spoke were to exhort them to stand firm, and to inflame them with love for Jesus. It seems strange how a mother could act in this way. It was not be< cause she did not love her children, or because she had not the natural feelings of a mother ; for, on the contrary, every torture they endured pierced her to her very heart, and gave her even more pain than it did them. But it was because the supernatural character of her love for them gave her strength to conquer the weakness of a mother's natural feelings. 14. Looking on them with the eyes of faith, she saw in their temporal death only their gain of eternal life ; in their present wounds, the jewels of their future crown ; and in the severity of their torments, the greater blessedness prepared for them in glory. She would have feared to leave them behind her on earth, lest any one of them should fall short of heaven, and therefore she rejoiced as much in the death of her sons as other mothers weep when theirs are taken from them. 15. Marcu feel the least all her sons s eyes. The t ing death, b was first toi with lead, tO broken with bodies being 16. A mi thrown fron were behead would have Christians d 17. The ( cold dungeo her patience row, she wc firom solitu than ever ( of her chil( might be is 18. She Jesus; for in it couh wept had i as many b bad childi with them them, and 19. At her conse her to be martyrdc ceasing t of the C mother ^ tas love< ■•■ M ^ i t rt - * '! ■ ■ii ynn Wii K iii ■ ' ill il *i»> t l|^»i i ii » lliii »H WI>i»i i<i »ii ■ ■ " * O,—* ST. rETilOITAS AND HBR SONS. 228 15. Marcus Aurelias was so hardened that he could not feel the least compassion for Felicitas, and he ordered that all her sons should be put to death in Tarious ways before her eyes. The three e^'^est underwent a very horrible and linger- ing death, beinf <«. yly beaten tUl they exphred. Januarius was first torn w^bii whips, and then with tUck cords, loaded with lead, till he died ; and Felix and Philip were bruised an broken with cudgels tUl, every bone being fractured, and theu bodies being reduced to. a shapeless mass, they at last expired. • 16. A milder fate awaited the others ; for Silvanas was thrown from a rock, while Alexander, Yitalis, and Martialis were beheaded. To have put their bereaved mother to death would have been a deed of mercy ; but the persecutors of the Christians did not know what mercy was. 1*7. The emperor ordered her to be thrown into a dark and cold dungeon, where she was kept four months, in hopes that her patience being worn out, and her spirit broken by her sor- row, she would at last be willing to do any thing to escape from solitude and torture. But there was now less chance than ever of St. Felicitas giving up her religion, for the loss of her children had only strengthened her to bear whatever might be inflicted on her. 18. She had now no temptation to save her life by denying Tesus ; for this world was become a blank to her, and nothing in it could give her the least happiness. She' would have wept had not her sons died for Christ ; but now that she had as many bright and glorious saints in heaven as she had once had chUdren on earth, her only hope and longini; was to be with them in the presence of Him to whom she had offered them, and for the love of whom they had laid down their lives 19. At last, when it was plain that she would never give her consent to adore the heathen gOds, the emperor ordered her to be beheaded. Thus did this blessed saint suffer eight martyrdoms — being martyred in each of her children, and ceasing to suffer only when she ceased to breathe. A father of the Church, in speakmg of her, says — " She is not a true mother who knows not how to love her children as St. Felici* tas loved hers.'' S24 TUB THIRD BBADEB. 66. Immobtautt. I LINGERED several weeks around the grave of my mother, and in the neighborhood where she had lived. It was the place where I had passed my own childhood and youth. It wm the scene of those early associations which become the dearer to ns as we leave them the farther behind. I stood where I had sported in the freedom of early childhood ; bat I stood alone, for no one was there with whom I oonld spoukof its frolics. One feels singnlarly desolate when he seoi only strange faces, and hears only strange voices in what was the home of his early life. 2. I returned to the village where I redded when I first introduced myself to my readers. But what was that spot to me now ? Nature had done much for it, bet nature herself is very much what we make her. There mui£ be beauty in our souls, or we shall see no loveUnesn in her face ; and beauty had died out of my soul. She who might have recalled it to life, and thrown its hues over all the world, was — but of that I will not speak. 8. It was now that I reaUy needed the hope of immortality. The world was to me one vast desert, and life was without end or um. The hope of immortaUly I We want it when earth has lost its gloss of novelty; when our hopes have been blasted, our affections withered, and the shortness of life and the vanity of all human pursuits, have come home to us, and made us exclaim, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity:" we want then the hope of immortality to give to life an end, anaim. 4. We all of ns at times feel this want. Tho infidel feels it in early life. He learns all too soon, what to him is a withering fact, that man does not complete his destiny on arth. Man never completes any thing here. What then shall he do if there be no hereafter? With what courage can I betake myself to my task ? I may begin ; but the grave lies between me and the completion. Death will come to in* terrupt my work, and compel me to leave it unfinished. 6. This is n to be. I coul be no more, tiny ; but to < tiny is but bej ft8a"Kingol 6. The hop iteps in to sai the hope to b< the finished pi lug easel; the and the indpi begin; thoul Went TJnmi Shoo TIpt The I Bear And Wal Mov Swu His Ben Onl Cm Fol Fal Fel MHiMamiiHlilin rtiiiii<iilii ■ pii ^ mm „ mmimitm0t THR WIDOW or MAIN. 225 5. This is more temble to me than the thoaght of ceasing to be. I cotild almost (at least I think I could) consent to be no more, after I had finished my work, achieyed my des- tiny ; but to die before my work is completed, while that des- tiny is bat begnn, — ^this is the death which comes to me Indeed as a " King of Terrors." . 6. The hope of another life to be the completion of this, iteps in to save us from this death, to giwe us the courage and the hope to begin. The rough sketch shall hereafter become the finished picture ; the artist shall gire it the last touch at his easel ; the science we had Just begun, shall be completed, and the incipient destiny shall be achieved. F«ar not then to begin ; thou hast eternity before thee in which to end. 67. Thb Widow of Naiw. 9rilWAS now high noon. i- The dull, low murmur of a funeral Went through the dty — ^the sad sound of feet Unmiz'd with Toices— «nd the sentinel Shook off his slumber, and gazed earnestly Up the wide streets along whose paved way The silent throng crept slowly. They came on, Bearing a body heavily on its bier. And by the crowd that in the burning sun, Walk'd with forgetful sadness, 'twas of one Moum'd with uncommon sorrow. The broad gate Swung on its hinges, and the Roman bent His spear-point downwards as the bearers pass'd, Bending beneath their burden. There was one — Only one mourner. Close behind the bier. Crumpling the pall up in her wither'd hands. Followed an aged woman. Her short steps Falter'd with weakness, and a broken moan Fell fh>m her lips, thicken'd convulsively, io» 229 TIIK TIIIUD KKADEK. As her heart bled afresh. The pitying crowd i'ollow'd apart, but no one spolce to her. She had no kinsmen. She had lived alone— Ji A widow with one son. He was her all — The only tie she had in the wide world— And he was dead. They could not comfort her. ***** Forth from the city-gate the pitymg crowd FoUow'd the stricken mourner. They came near The place of burial, and, with straining hands, -~S!»5«S£rcr3 mmm MONUMENT TO A MOTUJCR'S OUAVK. 227 Closer upon her breast khe clasp'd tho pall, And with a gasping sob, quiclc as a child's, Anl an inquiring wildness flashhig throagh Tho thin gray lashes of her foTer'd eyes, She came where Jesas stood beside the way. He look'd upon her, and his heart was moved. " Weep not 1" he said ; and as they stay'd the bier, And at his bidding laid it at his feet, He gently drew the pall ft-om out her grasp, And laid it back in silence from the dead. With troubled wonder the mute throng drew near. And gazed on his calm looks. A minute's space He stood and pray'd. Then, taking the cold hand, He said " Arise 1" And instantly the breast Heaved in its cerements, and a sudden flush Ban through the lines of the divided lips. And with a murmur of his mother's name, He trembled and sat upright in his shroud. And, while the mourner hung upon his neck, Jesus went calmly on his way to Nain. 58. MONTTMBNT TO A MoTHEB'b GbAYB. > I FOLLOWED hito a burymg^ound in the suburbs of Philadelphia, a small train of persons, not more than a dozen, who had come to bury one of their acquaintance. The clergyman in attendance, was leading a little boy by the hand, who seemed to be the only relative of the deceased. 2. I gathered with them around the grave ; and when the plain coffin was lowered down, the child burst forth in uncon- troUable grief. The little boy had no one left to whom he could look for affection, or who could address hun in tones of parental kindness ; the last of his kinsfolk was in the grave, and he was alone. 3. When the clamorous grief of the child had a little sub- sided, the olergyman addressed us with the customary ezhor* 228 THE THIRD READER. tation to accept the monition, and be prepared, and in turning to the child, he added, " She is not to remain in the grave forever ; as sure as the grass, which is now chilled with the frost of the season, shall spring to greenness and life in a few months, so trae shall yonr mother rise from that grave to another life : a life of happiness, I hope.'' 4. The attendants then shovelled in the earth npon tbe coffin, and some one took little William, the child, by the hand, and led him forth fh>m the lonely tenement of his mother. 6. Late in the ensmng spring, I was in the neighborhood of the same bnrying^ound, and seeing the gate open, I walked among the graves for some time, reading the names of the dead ; when, recollecting that I was near the grave of the poor widow, bnried the previous automn, I turned to see what had been done to preserve the memory of one so utterly des- titute of earthly friends. 6. To my surprise, I found the most desirable of mementoes for a mother's sepulchre : little WiUiam was sitting near the head of the now sunken grave, looking intently at some green shoots that had come forth with the warmth of spring from the soil that had covered his mother's coffin. 7. William started at my approach, and would have left the place. It was long before I could induce him to tarry; and indeed, I could not win his confidence until I told hhn that I was present when they buried his mother, and had marked his tears at the time. 8. " Then yon heard the priest say my mother would come out of this grave 1" said William. "I did." " It is true : is it not?" asked he, in a tone of confidence. " I most firmly believe it," said I. " Believe it I" said the child, " believe it I I thought yea knew it. I know it." " How do you know it, my dear?" 9. " The priest said, that as true as the grass g^w up, and the flowers bloomed in spring, so true would mother rise. I came a few days afterward and planted flowernseeds on the grave. The grass came green in the burying-ground long ago; C-v MONUMENT TO A MOTHKB S GBAVE. 229 and I watched every day for the flowers, and tonlay they came up too. See them breakmg through the ground 1 By-and-by mother will come again." 10. A smile of exulting hope played upon the features of the boy, and I felt pamed at disturbing the faith and confi- dence with which he was animated. " But, my little child," Baid I, " it is not here that your mother wiU rise." "Yes, here," said he with emphasis: "here they placed her, and here I have come ever since the first blade of grass was seen this year." 11. I looked around, and saw the tiny foot of the child had trod out the herbage at the grave-side : so constant had been his attendance. What a faithful watch-keeper 1 what mother would desire a richer monument than the form of her son bendmg in tearful but hoping trust over her grave? 12. "But, William," said I, "it is in another world that she will rise ;" and I attempted to explain to him the nature of that promise which he had mistaken. The child was con- fused, and he appeared nether pleased nor satisfied. "U mother is not coming back to me, if she is not to come op here, what shall I do ? I cannot stay without her." " Yon shall go to her," said I, adopting the language of the Scripture, " you shall go to her, but she shall not come again to you." 13. "Let me go then," said William: "let me go that I may rise with mother." " WiUiam," said I, pointmg down to the plants just break- uig through the ground, " the seed which was sown there, would not have come up, if it had not been ripe : so you must wait till your appointed tune ; until your end cometh." "Then I shall see her I" " I surely hope so." "I will wait, then," said the child; "but I thought 1 should see her soon : I thought I should meet her here." 14. In a month William ceased to wait. He died, and they opened his mother's grave, and placed his little coffin on hers. It was the only wish the child expressed when dying. Better teachers than I had instructed huu in the way to meet 230 THE TUIBD BEADEB. his mother ; and young as the little snfferer was, he had learned that all the labors and hopes of happiness, short of heaven, are profitless and vain. word that is c( us." And lea'v .//'fr ^IW 'C:- #v. 59. Adobatton of thb Shbphebds. THERE were in the neighborhood of Bethlehem some shepherds watching their flocks by night. They saw the radiance visible in the heavens ; they heard the angelic voices and were struck with awe. Immediately one of the blessed spirits who were singing glory to God and peace to men, de- tached himself from the heavenly host, and coming to the shepherds, said: " Fear not, for behold I brmg you tidings of great joy, that shall be to all the people. This day is bom to you a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, in the city of David. And this shall be a sign unto you : you shall find the infant wrapped in swaddling-clothes, and laid in a manger." The angel spoke and then vanished, like a stray beam of light. 2. And the shepherds, stunned and stupefied, said one to ftnother : " Let us go over to Bethlehem ; and let us see this ADOBATION OF THE 8HKPUEBDS. 231 word that is come to pass, wluch the Lord hath shown to 113." And leaving their flocks they went, and they saw the holy old man St. Joseph, the Yirgin Mary, and the infant Go^, wrapped in swaddling-clothes, and laid in a manger. And they adored him. And they went away joyfully, telling I everywhere the wonders they had seen. 3. Now, children, was not this birth of the Son of God I great miracle? It seems as though the whole earth should have been in motion to receive him : yet he is bom by night jQ a poor stable ! And by what a sign was he recognized — 'Tou T^Ul find the child wrapped in swaddling-clothes and lud m a Lmnger 1" What then I Gould he not be bom in a palace, amid kingly splendor, he the Creator and Master of ill things? He could, if such had been his will, but it was Dot: that sign would not have marked hun out sufficiently as I onr Saviour. 4. Remember, children, what I have told yon he came ^o I do; he came to instract and save us. To instruct us, he bad to heal a triple wound in our soul — ^pride, avarice, and lore of pleasure : this he did by presenting himself to us under I the sign of humility, poverty, and suffering. To save us, he I bad to expiate our faidts by his pains ; hence it was that he I was bora in a stable. In beginnfaig to live, he begins to do two great things, which we shall see him follow up in after years by preaching and sacrifice ; from the crib he is onr Teacher and our Saviour. Nevertheless, we cannot mistake him in the humiliation of his birth. 6. That little child who cannot yet speak, is the very Son of God, his eternal Word. Hear the evangelist St. John : "In the beginnmg, before all beginning, without beginning, was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. All things were made by him, and without him was made nothing that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. That was the true light which enlighteneth every man that cometh mto this world. And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us ; and we saw his glory, the glory as of the only-'oegotten of the Father, full of grace and truth." -.'■Tim •53S3C' i*^ 283 THB THIBD BEADBB. 6. The prophets sang : " Great is the Lord, and worthy of all praise !" We shig around his manger : Small is the Lord, a little helpless child, and worthy of all love. O child, the fairest of aU children, where do I behold thee? what destitaJ tion I what nakedness i what sufferings I He is laid on straw; the night is cold and firosty: thns does loye suffer! Ho weeps, he ntters plamtiye cries : thus does love speak I Who I woidd not love a God who has so loved ns? t. Mary and Joseph were amazed at all these things, they gathered and treaiiiared them in their hearts. Hac Mary I happy Joseph 1 Ton it was that first beheld Saviour of the world I It was your hands that received as he came from the maternal womb, wrapped him in swa dling-clothes, and laid him in the manger. Mary, it was thoQJ that nursed him 1 Adore him as thou performest that sweet duty, and give admission to the other woi£b!^>pers sent by the angels ; soon there shall be others conducted from the fai | East by a star, appearing as a prophetic sign in the heavens. 60. Tub AvoBLrs Bell. 1. rpHE large moon of antunm, •!■ The guardian of night, Had closed b?r pale lamp Jn the firmament's height ; From the Black Abbey's towem The wild doves career'd, As the bright dawn of mom . Awaking appear'd ; And the old marble city, From campanile grey, Proclaim'd to the burghers All Noreward — " 'twas day I" Then the long, mellow knell Of the Angelus Bell THB ANOELUS BETX. Seem'd psalming and singing O'er bless'd crypt and cell, Where the Black Monks were wont In the old times to dwell. * « « 4c * 'Twas noon, at the market-cross, In the quaint town. And the burgher so comely, The tall peasant brown, And the gaunt maorat-arms. And mild maiden meek. With the peacfahblush of beauty And peace on her cheek. Were crowding together In hundreds around. While the tall cross stood stately 'Mid tumult and sound. Then the long, mellow knell Of the AngeluB Bell Upon the dense crowd In the market-place fell ; And the burgher knelt down, And the peasant as well, And the g^unt soldier rude. At the peal of the bell. While the pure maiden voice Join'd the long, mellow kneU * * ♦ * « 'Twas night o'er the abbey. The moon *t()^o again O'er the grand domes of pleasure And poor haunts of pain ^ And the wild dove was nestled Again in the cleft Of the old belfry tower That early he left ; And the pale monks were sitting Alone and alone. 284 TQB THIRD READER. With lamps still nnlighted, And penitent moan ; When the Angelas Bell, With its long, mellow knell, Broke up their lone reveries Like a blest spell ; And down on the cold earth The holy men fell, The grand prayer to chant And their long beads to tell ; While sang with its psalm-voice The Angelus Bell. 61. The Adoration of the Haoi. WHEN the eastern sages beheld this wondrous and long expected star, they rejoiced greatly ; and they arose, anq taking leave of thehr lands and their vassals, their relations anq their friends, set forth on theur long and perlons journey ovei vast deserts and mountains, and broad rivers, the star goind before them, and arrived at length at Jerusalem, with a grea^ and splendid train of attendants. Being come there they aske at once, " Where is he who is bom King of the Jews?" 2. On hearing this question. King Herod was troubled, and all the dty with him ; and he inquired of the chief priebta where Christ should be bom. AJid they said to him"Ii| Bethlehem of Juda." Then Herod privately called the men, and desired they would go to Bethlehjem, and search foi| the young child (he was careful not to call him King), ing, " When ye have found him, bring me word, that I ab may come and worship him." 3. So the Magi departed, and the star which they had secij in the east went before them, until it stood over the pla where the young child was — ^he who wap born King of king They had travelled many a long and weary mile ; " and vl had they come to bee V Instead of a sumptuous jpalace, il 1US ADOBATION OF TUK MAGI. 285 aud lowly dwelling ; in place of a monarch suiTOunded rhis guards and ministers and all the terrors of his state, an (faot wrapped in swaddling-clothes and laid upon his mother's between the ox and the ass. \i They had come, perhaps, from some far-distant savage or from some nation calling itself civilized, where inno> nice bad never been accounted sacred, where society had a It taken no heed of the defenceless woman, no care for the ilpless child ; where the one was enslaved, and the other per lerted : and here, under the form of womanhoox' and child od, tLey were called upon to worship the promise of that righter future, when peace should inherit the earth, and right- bnsness prevail over deceit, and gentleness with wisdom reign |r ever and ever 1 5. How mnst they have been amazed ! how must they hava I^CMppi'* • 236 THn THIBD READER. wondered in their souls at such a revelation I — ^yet snch i the faith of these wise men and excellent kings, that thej once prostrated themselves, confessmg in the glorioas Inno who smiled npon them from his mother's knee, a greater I themselves — ^the image of a truer divinity than they had i yet acknowledged. 6. And havmg bowed themselves down — first, as was \ t, ofllBring tJiemaelves, — they made offering of their treaaij as it had been written in ancient times, " The king-q of ' flhish and the isles shall bring presents, and the kings of Sh snail offer gifts." And what were these gifts? Gold, fn incense, and myrrh ; by which symbolical oblation\they profJ ed a tlureefold faith ; — ^by gold, that he was king ; by inceij that he was Ood ; by myrrh, that he was man, and doon to death. 7. In return for their gifts, the Saviour bestowed n^ them others of more matchless price. For their gold he | them charity and spiritual riches; for their incense, perff faith; and for their myrrh perfect truth and meekness:! the Virgin, his mother, also bestowed on them a precious | and memorial, namely, one of those linen bands in which bad wrapped the Saviour, for which they thanked her great humility, and laid it up among their treasures. 8. When they had performed their devotions and theur offierings, being warned in a dream t« avoid Herod, tbj turned bade again to their own dominions ; and the star wlul had formerly guided them to the west, now went before thd towards the east, and led them safely home. When they we( arrived there, they laid down their earthly stater; and k nlation of the poverty and humility in which they had fon the Lord of all power and might, they distributed then: go and possessions to the poor, and went about in mean atti]| preaching to their people the new king of heaven and i the Ghitj)-Kino, the Prince of Peace. 9. We are not told what was the success of their missioi neither Is it anywhere recorded, that from that' time foil every child, as it sat on iU mother's knee, was, even fori sake of that Prince of Peace, regarded as sacred — as the lONA. 287 |i dime nature — as one whose tiny limbs enfolded a spirit ich was to expand into the man, the king, the Ood. Snch a result was, perhaps, reserved for other times, I the whole mission of that divine Child should be better lentood than it was then, or is riow. Bat there is an an* lit tradition, that about forty years later, when St. T^iomas I Apostle travelled into the Indies, he found these wise men «, and administered to them the rite of baptism ; and Hfterwards, in carrying the light of truth into the far it, they fell among barbarous Qentiles, and were put to jith; thus each of them receiving in return for the earthly ma they had ca"t at the feet of the Saviour, the heavenly jm of martyrdom and of everlasting life. i*'; 62. lONA. [LOWLT and sadly the company of Druids retired to their homes in the depth of the ancient wood, and not many hours passed when they quitted lona forever, and with it re* aed the religious supremacy of those far Western Isles, here they had for ages ruled ahnost as gods. > If:; ! 238 THE THIKD BBADBB. 2. Aft;,er solemnly blessing the little island, St. ColuJ kille proceeded to erect a stately monastery and a s] church. Some years after, he founded a convent of Ana tinian nuns, and the lonely isle of lona was soon as famous 1 Ohristian piety as it had formerly been for heathen siiJ stition. It haid early been chosen as a burial-place for princes of the Fictish and Scottish monarchies, on accoantl its remote and isolated position, and the sacred charactei had acquired. These causes continued to influence the neij boring sovereigns, in a still higher degree, after the island I become a distinguished seat of Christianity. 8. Even now, after the lapse of many centuriei prmce, or king, or bishop, was buried in lona, the travel! may still behold the ruined monuments which marked th place of rest. " A little to the north of the cathedral," e^ a modem writer, " are the remains of the bishop's house; i on the south is a chapel dedicated to St. Oran, almost entij sixty feet long and twenty-two broad, within the walls, 1 nearly filled up with rubbish and monumental stones. In tl are many tombstones of marble, particularly of the great loij of the Isles. 4. ** South of the chapel is an inclosure called Beilig On the burying-ground of Oran, containing a great number I tombs, but BO overgrown with weeds as to render most of t| inscriptions illegible. In this inclosure lie the remains forty-eight Scottish kings, four kings of Ireland, eight Nq| wegian monarchs, and one king of France, who were bitions of reposing on this consecrated ground, where thcj ashes should not mix with the dust of the vulgar.'' 5. Sic transit gloria mundi, might well be inscribed ov| the forgotten graves of lona, where so many princes n^Atj men have mouldered into dust — where the arclutt tnral glories of former ages lie around in broken and less masses. <"The column, with its capital, is level with tl e dust, And the proud halls of the mighty, and the a Im homes of the ju For the proudest works of man, as certainly, but slower, Pass lilce the grass at the sharp scythe of the mower t 8T. OOLUMBA BLB88UfQ THB IBLE8. 288 I'S 'But the gran growi again when in mi^eatj and mirth, On the wing of the Spring oomei the OoddeM of the Bartk| But for man. in this world, no apring-tide e'er return! To the labors of hie hands or the ashes of his urns." 63. St. Ooluuba blessino ths Isles. 1. 4 ND now the choral voices hnsh'd, iX And ceased the organ tone ', As to the altar-steps, high raised, Sad, silent, and alone, The traveller pass'd. To him all eyes Tam'd revere /.t as he trod. And whispering voices, eacl) to each, Proclahn'd the man of God — Golnmba, in his ancient place. Radiant with glory and with grace 2. Back fell h'j cowl — ^his mantle dropp'd, '^ And in a stream of light, A halo round his ag^ head. And robed in dazzling white — The saint with smiles of heavenly love Stretch'd forth his hands to pray, And kings and thanes, fuid monks and jarii^ Knelt down hi their array. Silent, with pallid lips compress'd. And hands crossed hmnbly on their breast 8. He craved a blessing on the Isles, And named them, one by one — Fair western ides that love the glow Of the departiog son. From Arran looming in the south, > To northern Orcades, Then to Icna back again. Through all those porilpns seas^ k\ 4 i f 1 840 TBS TUIBD BBADEB. Three nights and days the laint had lail'd, To count the Hebrides. 4. He loved them for lona's sake, The isle of prayer and praise, Where Truth and Knowledge found a homt When fall'n on evil days. And now he bless'd them, each and all, And pray'd that erermore, Plenty and peace and Christian loye, Might smile on eveiy shore, \ And that their mountain glens might be The abiding-places of the free. ' 6. Then, as he ceased, kings, abbots, earls, And all the shadowy train, Bose from their knees, and choral songs Re-echoed loud again — And then were hush'd — the lights bnra'd dii^ And ere the dawn of day. The saint and all the ghostly choir Dissolved in mist away : Atrial voices sounding still Sweet harmonies from Dnni's hill. And every year Oolnmba makes,, Whie yet the summer smiles, AImr, within his spectral boat, "Bm oiicrlt of the Isles ; — Aai monks and abbots, thanes and kiqgi^ FroBi vault and channel start, DtxiWried, in the rite to bear T^ dim, allotted part. And crave, nnon their bended kneen^ A blessing on the Hebrides. H lomt THE OBSIBVUfO JUDOK. 04. Thb Obsbbvino Juoob. 241 FN a district of Algeria, distingniflhed by a name which, be- L ing translated, signifies The Fine Oonntry, there lived, in the Ijear 1860, an Arab chief or sheik, named BoB'Akas, who llield despotic sway over tweWe tribes. 2. Haring heard that the cadi, or Judge, over one of these jtrelre tribes, administered Juitice in an admirable manner, and Ipronoonced decisions worthy of Khig Solomon hbnself. Boa- Akas determined to Judge for himself as to the truth of the [report. 3. Accordingly, dressed like a private individual, without linns or attendants, he set out for the cadi's town, mounted oa a docile Arabian steed. He arrived there and was Just entering the gate, when a cripple, seizhig the border of his I mantle, asked him for ahns. 4. Bou-Akas gave him money, but the cripple still main- tained his hold. " What dost thou want ?" asked the sheik , "I have already given thee ahns." ^^ Yes," replied the beg- gar ; " but the law says, not only ' thou shait give alms to thy brother,' but also, ' thou shall ak> ^or thy brother whatsoever tbou canst.' " 6. "Well; and what om I do for thee 7" "Thou canst save me—poor, crawliqf creature that I ami — ^firom being trodden under the feet of men, horses, mules, and camels, which would certainly happen to me in passmg througk the crowded square, m. which a fair is now going on." 6. "And how can I save thee?" "By letting me ride behind you, and patting me down safely in the market-place, where I have bimiwinn." " Be it so," replied the sheik. And, etoopiiig down, he helped the cripple to get up behind hun ; which was not accomplished without much difficulty. 7. TIm strangely-assorted couple attracted many eyes as J»j passed through the crowded streets ; and at length they reached the marke^llace. " Is this where you wish to stop ?" Mked Bou-Akas. "Yes." " Then get down." "Get down yourself." " What for ?" " To leave me the horse." 11 4 942 THB THIBL BBADBB. 8. " To leave yja my horse 1 What mean yon by that] " I mean that he belongs to me. Enow yon not that we now in the town of the jost cadi, and that if we bring the before him he will certainly decide in myfayor?'' "TThj should he do so, when the animal belongs to me?'' 9. "Do yon not think that when he sees ns two,— -yoi with your strong straight limbs, so well fitted for walking^ nd I with my weak legs, and distorted feet, — he will dc that the horse shall belong to him who has most need o^ him?'' " Should he do so, he would not be the jwt cadi,"| said Bon-Akas. 10. "Oh I as to that," replied the cripple, laughing, "al- though he is just, he is not infallible." " So 1" thought the I sheik to himself, " this will be a ca^Htal opportunity of judging the judge." Then turning to the cripple, he said aloud, "l! am content — we will go before the cadi." 65. Thb Obsebvino Judos — torUmued. ARRIVED at the tribunal, where the judge, according to the Eastern custom, was publicly administering justice, they found that two trials were about to go on, and would, of eourse, take precedence of theirs. The first was between a taleb, or learned man, and a peasant. 2. The point in dispute was the taleb's wife, whom the peasant had carried off, and whom he asserted to be his own better half, in the face of the philosopher, who demanded her restoration. The woman (strange circmnstance 1) remained obstinately silent, and would not declare for either; a feature in the case which rendered its decision extremely difficult. 8. The cadi heard both sides attentively, reflected for a momrat, and then said, " Leave the wonum here, and return to-morrow." The learned man and the laborer each bowed and retired, and the next case was called. This was a dillto- enoe between a butcher and an oil-seller. The latter appeared Btered witli oU, le butcher spoto ^ <« I went to pay him for it, le sight of the Ut. I cried 01 Ire, having come L hand, and he 5. Then spoke IcbaieoUfromnM yott change for a 'drew out my hai my shop. He « and my oil, ^^^f •Ilobberl' la tender the mow nnght decide th 6. The cadi varied one jot I a moment, and letum to-morr had never let which, I'e and 1. It was "My lord ca( taut country, asked for ahn hind me throi In the crowd, place he refn to him, and who wanted 8. Then i wascon^ which beloi apparently with me a me Bat, THB OBSBBVIMG JDDOB. 243 by thai] rt We the [tiro,-yot need 0/ fU8t cadi "I ng, "alJ >«ght the I alond, "I •rdlng to r jnstice, roald, of tireen a torn the Ws own led her fflained reatare It. for • retnrn Iwwed differ. eared irered with oil, and the former was sprinkled with blood. le batcher spoke first and said : 4. " I went to bay some oil from this ma% and, in order pay him for it, I drew a handftd of money from my parse. e sight of the money tempted him. He seized me by the iffrist. I cried oat, bat he woald not let me go ; and here we ire, having -come befbre yoar worship, I holding my money in ny hand, and he still grasping my wrist." 5. Then spoke the oil-merchant: "This man came to par* chase oil from me. Whea his bottle was filled he^said, 'Have joa change for a piece of gold?' I searched my pocket, and drew oat my hand fall of money, which I laid on a bench in my shop. He seized it, and was walking off with my money and my oil, when I caught him by the wrist, and cried oat 'Robber I' In spite of my cries, however, he woald not snr- lender the money ; so I brought him here, that your worship might decide the case." 6. The cadi caused each to repeat his story, but neither varied one jot from his original statement. He reflected for a moment, and then stdd, " Leave the money with me, and return to-morrow." The butcher placed the coins, which he had never let go, on the edge of the cadi's mantle. After which, he and his opponent bowed and departed. 7. It was now the turn of Bou-Akas and the cripple. " My lord cadi," said the former, " I came hither firom a dis- tant country. At the city gate I met this cripple, who first asked for ahns, and then prayed me to allow him to ride be- hind me through the streets, lest he should be trodden down hi the crowd. I consented, but when we reached the market- place he refused to get down, assertmg that my horse belonged to him, and that your lordsUp would surely adjudge it to hun who wanted it most." 8. Then spoke the cripple. ** My lord," said he, " as 1 waa coming on business to the market, and riduig this horse which belongs to me, I saw this man seated by the roadside, apparently half dead from fatigue. I oifered to let him ride with me as far as the market-place, and he eagerly thanked me Bat, on our arrival, he reftised to get down, and said 244 THE THIRD BEADEB. that the horse was his. I immediately required him to ai peai before your worship, in order that you might decide tweeu us." 9. Haying required each to make oath to his statemen and having reflected for a moment, the cadi said, "Leavj the horse here, and return to-morrow." It .was done, au Bon-Akas and the cripple withdrew in different directions. 66. The Observing Judge — concluded. t the sUghtest 5 ««»T58 weU," l-The cadi soon af cripple arrived, ji fl^e," said the «| him." Then to It was done; voi g. When the c was retiring to h •'Art thou diso "No, qaite the to ask by what N the morrow, a number of persons, besides those imnieB^®'*)' j ^ - diately interested in the trials, assembled to hear th«l *^ vas^^' judge's decisions. The taleb, or learned man, and the peasant,! twelve tn i were called first. " Take away thy wife," said the cadi to the| ^^^^JJ: ^j hand. "I««tt Bons which det< lord," tepUed t saw that I dei «I^d." 8. "WeU,* called, and I stand.' Like fljed times b washed them fresh ink, doi So I said to about inksta 9. "Gooc money?" ••that the i oil?" "Ce placed it in at it, and of the wat( former, " and keep her, I advise thee, in good order." Then turning towards an officer, he added, pointing to the peasant, " Give this man fifty blows." He was instantly obeyed, and the taleb carried off his wife. 2. Then came forward the oil-merchant and the butcher. "Here," said the cadi to the butcher, "is thy money; it is truly thine, and not his." Then pointing to the oil-merchant, he said to his officer, " Give this man fifty blows." It was done, and the butcher went away in triumph with his money. 3. The third cause was called, and Bou-Akas and the crip- ple came forward. "Wouldst thou recognize thy horse among twenty others?" said the judge to Bou-Akas. "Tes, my lord." "And thou?" "Certainly, my lord," repUed the cripple. "Follow me," said the cadi to Bon-Akas. They entered a large stable, and Bou-Akas pointed out his horse amoi^ the twenty which were standing side by side. 4. " 'TLs well," said the judge^ " Betum now to the tribu- nal, and send me thine adversary hither." The disguised sheik obeyed, delivered his message, and the cripple hastened to the stable as quickly as his distorted limbs allowed. He had quick eyes and a good memory, so that he was ablo, with- THE OBSEBVINO JUDOS. 245 1^ toai decide statemes K "Lew done, ao StiOQS. • botcher, ley; it is aerchant, It was inonej. 'he crip. 9 ftmong fes, my ied the They 9 horse ) tribu- ignised stened • He with- it the slightest hesitation, to place his hand on the right il. 5. "'Tis well," said the cadi; "return to the tribunal." {The cadi soon afterwards resumed his place, and, when the cripple arrived, judgment was pronounced. "The horse is thine," said the cadi to Bou-Akas ; "go to the stable and take Mm." Then to the officer, " Give this cripple fifty blows.' I It was done ; and Bou-Akas went to take his horse. 6. When the cadi, after concluding the business of the day Iras retiring to his house, he found Bou-Akas waiting for him "Art thou discontented with my award?" asked the judge "No, quite the contrary," replied the sheik. "But I want to ask by what In -^''-^Hon thou hast rendered justice ; for I doubt not that tb i .* two causes were decided as equitably as mine. I am n^b n. merchant.; I am Bou-Akas, sheik of the twelve tribes, and I wanted to judge for myself of thy reputed wisdom." 7. The cadi bowed to the ground, and kissed his master's hand. "I am anxious," said Bou-Akas, "to know the rear sons which determined your three decisions." " Nothing, my lord," replied the cadi, " can be more simple. Your highness saw that I detained for a night the three things in dispute?" "I did." 8. " Well, early in the monung I caused the woman to be called, and I said to her suddenly, ' Put fresh ink in my ink- stand.' Like a person who has done the same thing a hun- dred times before, she took the bottle, removed the cotton, washed them both, put in the cotton again, and poured in firesh ink, doing it all with the utmost neatness and dexterity. So I said to myself, 'A peasant's wife would know nothing abont inkstands — she must belong to the taleb.' " 9. " Good !" said Bou-Akas, nodding his head. '- And the money?" "Did your highness remark," asked the cadi, " that the merchant had his clothes and hands covered with oil?" "Certainly I did." "Well; I took the money, and placed it in a vessel filled with water. This morning I looked at it, and not a particle ot oil was to be seen on the surface of the water. So I said to myself, 'If this money belonged 246 THB THIRD READER. t ;he oil-merchant, it would be greasy, from the touch of I bands ; as it is not so, the butcher's story must be true.' " 10. Bon-Akas nodded in token of approval. "Go.>dli said he. "And my horse?" "Ahl that was a differentl business ; and, nntU this morning, I was greatly puzzled,'{ "The cripple, I suppose, did not recognize the animal?" re-l marked the sheik. "On the contrary," said the cadi, "hel pointed him out immediately." " How, then, did you discover | that he was not the owner?" 11. "My object," replied the cadi, "in bringmg you (!cp< j arately to the stable, was not to p^o whether yon would know the Jiorse, but whether the horse would acknowledge ym. Now, when you approached him, the creature turned towards you, laid back his ears, and neighed with delight ; but when the cripple touched him, he kicked. Then I knew that yon were truly his master." 12. Bou-Akas thought for a moment, and then said, " Allah has given thee great wisdom. Thou oughtest to be in my p^ace, and I in. thine. And yet, I know not ; thou art serlainly worthy to be sheik, but I fear that I should but l)adly fill thy place as cadi I" Honors ai And bad Some soli Had mad The little 67. HiEiTRY THE Hermft. IT was an island where he dwelt, A soUtary islet, bleak and bare, Short scanty herbage spotting with dark spoto ' Its gray stone surface. Never mariner Approach'd that rude and unmviting coast, Nor ever fisherm&n his lonely bark Anchor'd beside its shore. It was a place Befitting well a rigid anchoret. Dead to the hopes, and vanities, and joys, And purposes of life ; and he had dwelt Many long years upon that lonely isle ; For in ripe manhood he abandon'd arms, No At fie HENBT THB HBBMIT. 247 >nch of] true.' >> '"Go..d|«| <iiffereiit( puzzled "f cadi, "j,e[ |a discover f you ficp. j >aJd knoif I towards [but wlien that Honors and friends and country and the world. And had grown old in solitude. That isle Some solitary man in other times Had made his dwellmg-plaoe ; and Henry foand The little chapel which his toil had built i3 ■f" .;' ' .. m W 1 V !' ii if i'^mmiujh. ■Ill ii.ii!iuiiii!i;iiiiiflii' 111 \^ Now by the storms unroof d ; his bed of leaves Wind-flcatter'd ; and his grave o'ergrown with grass, And thistles, whose white see jls, winged in vain, Wither'd on rocks, or in the waves were lost. 80 he repaired the chapePs ruin'd roof. t V S48 THE TTIIRD BBADEB. Cleared the gray licbons from the aItar«tone, And nndemeatfa a rock that shelter'd him jj^rom the sea-blast, he bnilt his hcormitage. The peasants from the shore wonid bring him food, And beg his prayers ; bat human converse else He knew not in that utter solitude, Nor ever visited the haunts of men. Save when some sinful wretch on a sick-bed Implored his blessing and his aid in death. That summons he dehiy'd not to obey. Though the night tempest or autumnal wind Madden'd the waves ; and though the mariner, Albeit relying on his saintly load. Grew pale to see the peril. Thus he lived A most austere and self-denying man. Till abstmence, and age, and watchfulness Had worn him down, and it was pain at last To rise at midnight firom his bed of leaves And bend his knees in prayer. Tet not the less, Though with reluctance of infinnity. Rose he at midnight from his bed of leaves. And bent his knees in prayer ; but with more zeal, More self-condenming fervor, raised his voice For pardon for that sin, 'till that the sin Repented was a joy like a good deed. One night upon the shore his chapel bell Was heard ; the air was cahn, and its far sounds Over the water came distinct and loud. Alarm'd at that unusnal hour to hear -. Its toll irregular, a monk arose. The boatmen bore him willingly across, ^ For well the hermit Henry was beloved. He hastened to the chapel ; on a stone Henry was sitting there, cold, stiff, and dead. The bell-rope in his hand, and at his feet The lamp that streamed a long unsteady light. nOMB, -Bditb \\j BaidCbarlet 'upon the Vftter a^wiUBotbe 2 iipernaip came to the v the noble ^es etoTmy ocean. 3 "Why I should be ^ 4 i«-yon Charles, one place a« eveiywbete. 5. "Bnt Charles?" land," reig father tolc 6. "Tl danger. this saUoi the sea u of the T GOD 18 j-VEBYWHEBB. U^ ^M ''\ *ix 68. God ib Etbktwhbeiu ^l tTth.Uo^'^.^n^^.e broad I*«to»- 8. .. Whj »ot, ^*^ „^ the UtUe girl : „ .j lAoridbedro^' «^«* ^, „ you are ^-J^ ^ ., Yon wda_be 3?f " j, ^ u.»t w »«> " '•*^ ^ ^i::ee :;r»^s.c*^^o«^ ''''' ^^'^ -^ "' "■ one place as lu »" » tlie sea undiatnrDea u ^ ^.^^ ^^^ bailor, wny »" of tho pafisengora. ^o, i^^^ ,-6)«W»»***f' S50 THB THIBD BBADEB. be afraid?' 'We m0>y all be drowned/ said the passei 'All of us hare once to die/ ca^y retomed the sailor. 7. " The passenger was surprised to see the man's com] snre. ' Have yon followed the sea long?' he asked. 'Et( skice I was a boy ; and my father followed it before me.' 8. "'Indeed I And'where did yonr father die?' 'Hewt drowned at sea,' fSfflied the sailor. 'And yonr grandfather,] where did he die P ' He was also drowned at sea/ said th( sailor. * Father and grandfather drowned at sea !' ezclaimedl the passenger in astonishmoit, 'and yon not afraid to go to{ sea ?' 'No I God is ererywhere/ said the sailor rererently. 0. " ' And now/ he added, after pausing a moment, ' may I ask yon where yonr father died ?' ' In his bed,' replied the passenger. 'And where did his father die?' 'In his bed,' was again answered. 'Are yon not, then, afraid to go to bed,' «aid the sailor, 'if yonr father and grandfather both died there?'" 10. " Oh yes ! I remember it very well now/' said Edith. " I know that the Lord takes care of ns always, wherever we may be. I know that he is everywhere present." 11. "And he wiU take as good care of the people in that ship as he does of those who are on the land," replied Charles. " Father says th&t we should always go whore our duties call us, whether it be upon land or upon sea, for the Lord can and will protect us as much in one place as in another." e, apart of Wsw« Klttding^*^^"^®°' L to her wants. 8. The king »«*' ducats, and slid th« Returning to his Lge awoke, openc l'^^^ «« You have lui apology, and, ihand into Ws po< [He drew it out, into tears, ^thou 5 "What 18 Ufeet,"80ineb< IcamebythiBn 6. "Myftienc in our sleep. G» nfloie, and assur* 1. TWb story tudi and duty V fortiinatepaien 8. And, if t1 ,„,pleofFrede ibe reward tm tecompensedl and by that G expression of 69. Aneodotb of Fbbdebiok the Gbbat. 1 FREDERICK the Great, king of Prussia, having rung . his bell one day, and nobody answering, opened the door where his page was usually in waiting, and found him asleep n a sofa. 2, He was going to awake him, when he perceived the end of a billet or letter hanging out of his pocket. Having the curiosity to know its contents, he took and read it, and found it was a letter from his mother, thanking him for having sent "" ^ SMALL 0ATB0HI8M. 261 Loniiig to bis <f^^ Za^L<A. I A "Von have slept weu, bw" »"* rT°__»„ed to put hia his feet "somebody has »"»«'"'„ I came'by this >>«>»«y.'?SS "Ood oBea sends «s good ' « " Mt Weld," snid I'ledenck, «"" . ^^ hw in my J;Sfdr^SSi^«-*-«'*'*^-'*^'"" ts^t^'X-TiS^-rtbro:::^: repression of filial love. 70. A Small Oateohmm. 1 TITHY are children's eyes so bright? ^' \V Tell i:.e why?" S52 TUB TUIBD BEADEB. 2. " Why do children laugh so gay ? Tell me why?" " 'Tib becaase their hearts have play In their bosoms, every day, Free from sin and sorrow's sway — Therefore, 'tis they langh so gay." 8 " Why do children speak so free 7 Tell me why?" " 'Tis because from fallacy. Cant, and seeming, they are free, Hearts, not lips, their organs be — Therefore, 'tis they speak so free." 4. " Why do children love so true ? Tell me why?" " 'Tis because they cleave unto, A familiar fav'rite few. Without art or self in view — Therefore children love so true." 4 «< And return Lrvantfllnmy^a*^ IperlBhwlthhungei land say to Wm : J Ibefore thee; la Lake me 88 one Lent to to fathei 71. The Pbodioal Son. A CERTAIN man had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father : ' Father, give me the portion of substance that falleth to me.' And he divided unto them his substance. 2. " And not many days after, the younger son gathering all together, went abroad into a far country, and there wasted his substance by living riotously. And after he had spent all, there came a mighty famine in that country, and he began to be in want. 3. " And he went, and joined hunself to one of the citizens of that country. And he sent him into his farm, to feed his iwine : and he would fain have filled his belly with the husks the swine did cat ; and no man gave unto hun. 5. •' And him, and wa « Father, I ^ am not now 6. "Bnt quickly the hand, and and kill it, was dead, And they and drew ' 268 THE PUODIPVI^ SON. •A ' How nttttDy Wrcd U»*< to >"y '»*«\''TJ^ &m go to my f»*«. Lake me as one of thy nire Lent to bis fot^er. _1^ ftff his father saw ,, .. ind when he was yet a great way m . ^^ ^^^ V Intwas moved with compasB.on at^, J'. ^^| ,,1,^ him, and was ^.^^^^ ^^^ And tne ^ ^ felUponhi8necic,a^ ^^^^^„^ „d betore '^^^^^^^'^^irlTto be called thy son; ^^^h T'Xrtt'^^^er Bf :;rhCnrputrSn|onlns Tnd ^ey began to be merry. ^^^ ^ten he came 1 254 TRB THIBD BBADKB. he called one Of the senranti, and asked what these tbingi I meant. And he said to him : ' Thy brother is come, and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, becaase he hath receired him | tah.* And he was angry, and would not go hi. 8. "His father, therefore, coming out, began to entreat him. And he, answering, said to his father : ' Behold, for lo many years I serve thee, and I have never transgpressed thy commandment ; and yet thoa hast never given me a kid to make merry with my Mends : but as soon as this thy son ii come, who hath devoured his substance with harlots, thoo hast killed for him the fatted calf.' 9. " But the father said to him : ' Son, thou art always with me, and all I have is thine. But it was fit that we shodd make merry and be glad : for this thy brother was dead, and Is come to Ufe agahi : he was lost, and is found.' " 10. After this parable, so tender and so touching ; after this language, so simple vaA yet so profound, so far beyond all human conceptions; after these lofty revelations of the world, of life, of the human heart, and of God, one would wish to speak but cannot : the heart is full, but we cannot give ex- pression to our feeUngs. What shall I tell yon, children t do yon not understand, do yon not feel the parable, that this father is God ? that these two sons are men, the children of God, some fdthftil, others unfaithftd to their father ? 11. If it is the youngest who leaves the paternal house, it is because that it is in youth, the age of weakness and mex- perience, that the errors and uregnlarities of life usually occur. When a man has remained faithful to God, on through youth to mature age, the age of strength and reason, it is very rarely that he falls away from his service at a later period. 12. That a prodigal squanders away his substance In the distant country to which he betakes himself, yon can also easfly understand. At the very moment when one abandons God, he loses all the treasures of the soul, sin robs him of all. That there is famine in that strange, land, how could it be otherwise ? 'God is the only source of life, of good, of happi* ness ; away from him, what can there be but famine, indigence^ and misery. an b w th T>LANOHE D Castile, ar she displayed manners far^ tUrteen to t guBtuB, and VIII. This vras one of year between the bride. 3. She wi took place ^ toterested in vogue was i betrothed V They were which coul founded t1 BLAMOB» )F OAOTILK. 26ft rt always we shoold lead, and ng; after T beyond 18 of the oald wish t giye ex- tdrent do that this tuldrenof P house, it and inex- Jly occur, tgh yonth t is very leriod. ce in the can also abandons dm of all. >ald it be of happi- indigence^ Utten ; MbUitj of ''"*;J'1„ hambl« himelf. at th. C^iight of, «d the ^i^ ^0 ; a„t ta to m. *• L„M pwion. of *?^ •_, "h„ food but that wblcb P, th< .irine, namely, t^m P"" C-Tb.«wtr»ttb««r,^*Mj;^'»^'tSCiU L^ the «.»!. *.ke. pl~«»;^to f ^^^ ^un to the «r, L„ i. the mort croel ni«>»« lL . ..flow dom," " W k-rt rJST^tt tJS:«. and It t«ap... bim "and let me paw , Bl- onder its feet. ' 72. Blakohb of Oabtilb. I TJLAKOHE was' the aa««bt« ofA.ph»». ^.^ D CartBe. and of Ele«>ot <^f'«^^'^ „ austerity of mannen far beyond ha age. on ^^ ^^ p^j,^ ^^ brt^IeirS-ialheS.^^--^-'-- the bride. - ^ , .„ Normandy, wbere tbe ma^^age 2 Sbe was conducted to ^^^^^^'^ ^he three kingdoms tooi place with a -l^^if ^^X^!^^! :nd amusement then m inter^ted in this alhi^ce^ . ^^^^ /^be occasion ; but the two vogue was inaugurated in ^^^l^' ^^^ g^M ornament. 256 THE THIRD BEADEK. nonnced on them, that they lived together for twenty-t years without a single disagreement. 8. Bat the wit and wisdom of Blanche were no markable than her beanty and nobleness of character ; so tha| her father-in-law, the king, wonld often consult her, and the greatest deference to her advice ; and so great was th^ ascendency she acquired over her husband, that he would i sist on her presence in the council-chamber, and even at military expeditions. 4. When Blanche became a mother, she exhibited stil greater virtues. Esteeming it a great duty to nourish he^ children, she would not suffer this care to devolve on another.l The eldest of her sons dying at an early age, the second! oeing destined to rule over France, became the object of hisj mother's tenderest care. She seemed to foresee the gloryj which this prince would shed over his house, and at hia birth I ordered the church bells to be rung (which had ceased for fear of disturbing the queen), " to invite all the people to go | and praise God for having given her so sweet a son." 5. Blanche devoted herself entirely to the formation of the mind of this young prince. Every evening before they retired to rest, she took her children on her knee, caressed them most affectionately, and told them some little anecdote of some vir- tuous action, so as to impress it on their infant minds. She repeatedly said to Louis— "My son, God knows how ten- derly 1 love you 1 butl would rather see you dead at my f«tet than guilty of one mortal sin I" — ^words repeated ttom ag* to age to the praise of the good Blanche of Oastil» 1 73 Hail! Vibgin of Vibtinp 1 TTAILI Virgin of virginsi -U. Thy praises we smg, Thy throne is in heaven. Thy Son is its King. HAIL, VIEOIN OF VTROniS. The saints and the angelB Thy glory proclaim; All nations devoutly Bow down at thy name 257 II Let all sing of Maty, The mystical Boa, The Mirror of Justice, The Handmaid of Gpd Let vaUey and mountain IJnite in ber praise; The sea with its waters, T\ie sun with itn rays. «*«*»«?*• 268 THB THIRD BBATIinL i;BQSXn> < 8. Let souls that ore holy Still holier be, To sing with the angels, ' Sweet Mary, of thee. Let all who are sinners To virtue retain, That hearts withont niunbor With thy love may bom. 4. Thy name is onr power, . Thy lore is our light ; We praise thee at morning, At noon and at night. We thank thee, we bless thee^ When hai^y and free ; When, tempted by Satan, We call upon thee. 6. The world does not love thet^ O beautiful one 1 Because it despises The cross of thy Son. But thou art tiie Mother Of all Adam's race ; The birth-stain of Eva 'Tis thine to eiface. 6. Oh I be then our Mother, And pray to the Lord, That all may acknowledge And worship his Word ; That good men with courage May wtik in his ways, And 'bad men conyerted May join in his praise. A Y4. Tjbqvsi LnIBL the Anc the eva times Uy of God bai ^yen. She has ft noses not to Tii Btearof sympatl ijrd. T^®'® ^ ^^ he rose and trinffl line, and its rays U. The stream o Ldtheholyina» rilowingTobe,WM (Dgel close by bis generate the me« md motioned bin iermitage. " * ° Irtte cbMity for t 1 3. The Ancbo ■his head, he foU< ■they went on n Iboring town, an Icottage and dise ■the scene befor lee. Blocks o^ |by the chisel. Is Icupantofthec 1 4. The craf nnder a canoj ] bonches of p« few aged peW I around the si conversation instructing « thankful *o^ privations wl UBOBIID OF DA»IBL THK AMOHOBSrr. 259 '"'oL n.t to vi.lt e»rth ^ ^», a» poor of ^ L tear of -y»P»'V •« leftt^u «» ««'b," 8«id »•»'«', U There to bo «l»nty 1«^ SS^k™, before his f awnte t^ Utrimm^tbeh^pOM^J^^ ^^^W„r Vm .Bd its rajB Ut up 1>B <»^ J"™ ^^ grow into shape. hX stream of BgM "^"^^f a^weUed saBW, U the holj man became "^"^^ ';„^ the presence of an U dose by Ws side. »« 'j\.t the angd fortf« >r; Erate the messenger of «od^ ^ ^rth from the ht"*..^uo*:r.^x^*-«'« <»•''- '»* 11^ WO" 1^ "^^.^^TertSne.rongh-shapened C ^Icks of marble md d»bs otft»« ^__^ ^^ a^ ^ r JUl, Uy scattjrji ronnd^^^ fTlhe craftsman ^\X^-^- »«* ^"""i Che. of p«ple 8™Pf;iifSdT«ril>pM. ''TfCtt.t few aged pen«.«. ^ "^Zl^, » »W«f^ "C wm .romd the •'o'*?"^' '"^^d, ^.s Edogtas. Ho was 260 THE THIRD READER. LEGEND 5. It becam3 ultar, from the paxting blessings of the poi that they wcr^ tc see him again on the morrow, and farthi more, that he was in the habit each day of gathering thi aronnd him and distributing among them all his earnings strictly necessary to supply his own simple wants. Anchoret was charmed and edified beyond measure by all had seen and heard. He rejoiced exceedingly and gave thi to God. 6. Here, then, was one true friend of the poor. Bat o! he began to thinJk, what a pity it is that one who is so grei of heart should be so poor himself, and able to do so littl good. His charity is indeed unbounded ; but his means, ali are not equal to his good-will. And straightway the hoi man betook himself to prayer, and he begged of God that tl generous artisan might become rich and great ; for if he wi so liberal in a condition bordering upon indigence, he would much the more liberal with unlimited resources subject to command. 7. The angel appeared again to the Anchoret. "Th; prayer, O Daniel, is not a wise one; it were not well foi Enlogius to become rich." But Daniel could not help think' ing of the greater number of poor who would be relieved, &n of the splendid example the vurtnous and frugal Eulogios' would give to other rich men, .were he indeed to become rich himself. He continued to pray that his wish might be granted, and in the fervor of his zeal he pledged hunself to God as security for the good use his fellowHSiervant would make of wealth and power, were they to become his portioo. 8. So, then, God granted the prayer of the Anchoret, and he ordained that Eulogius, while hewing stone firom the side of a hill, displaced a mass of loose fragments and earth, which took his feet from under him and threw hun upon the ground. Enlogius was terrified ; but when the noise was over, and the dust had cleared away, he rose and saw lying at his feet a huge lump of pure shhiing gold. He was rich, and that neighborhood saw him no more, for, taking with him his wonderful treasure, he went to the court of Justin the Elder, and became a great general of the empire. 76. liEGEND OF iBVBRAL yea J Anchoret still burned beforb the hosen for his eel lower and less fii nsit and console inch. 2. The old ma His long hair and "crests," he woi break upon the about this season |it seemed to 1^ erected as for a i culprit summone (but oh ! how dresser Eulogitii 3. Daniel, lil called to appeal he had pledged promote the w< of sins was br< He had nsed purchase the s access to his f 4. He had the chief of « soldiery in ex be rose above and paiaged and one H the Empero throne. 6. Daniel bitterly, he LBQBND OF DANIBL THE ANOHOBBT. 261 et. "Th; t well foi help think' lieved, and Eologlasi ecome rich' might be himself to ant would a portion. ihoret, and tn the side urth, which be ground. »r, and the his feet a and that 1 him his the Elder, , mim, SHE AJJOHOBEr-cOT*"^'- 1 76. liBflUND OS VkSSSL TBn ^^ ^^ 5 Anchoret rtUl «:''*™f.„*l„Xi. eave, which he had Ulo.gl>air«Hl,;»«f ^rftT'ave .f toe about to •creBts," he wodd say, «P ^^^^ed one mght, Li„»t this sewon. that D^^ ^^^^^ „ God »ddedy Lr « .^^^-i«7^ert;«^- dresser Eulogiiis. ^ ^^rrow and dismay, was 3 Daniel, likewise, to tas innm ^^^ ^^^dttct Jk to appear by the side of ^ ^imjor^ j^^rate zeal to if ^ plSged Winself as security, m his^jc ^^^^^^^^ LcesB to his favor. ^ ^^bery and corrnption. 4 He had been made, by mea ^ntstripped all the the chief of a g^«-\«^y;ld ^Tesame Proportion as !oldiery in excesBes of every ^^J^^^^ .^b^ed the churches the Emperor Justmian, ^" too"- „t able to «. or h«« more, but we^«.| ,.*««#»«»!•" 262 THE THIRD BBADBB. and begged him to bring Eologins back to his formfer d dition, and to release him from a pledge that IhA proved | injurious for both parties concerrst^d. 6. The angel bore to the foot of the throne thv> prayer the aged servant of Qod, whose heart was lilled with gr^ and bitter remorse, and the request it contained was np mernifally granted. The conspiracy in which Eulogiu: iinnlicated came to be discovered, his accomplices wtjre bronglj to justicfc, and he narrowly escaped with his life. 7. .Tl(^ did penance for his sins, returned to his furmj obscmit./, worked again at his craft as a stone-dresser, an in tlmo resumed the practice of alms-giving, which he ha changed in an evil hour for deeds of rapine Hud plunder. Thii the good angel guardian of Daniel the Anchoret succeeded i length in convincmg him that avarice but too often harden the heart of wealth, thus disturbing the order of Qod's prov deuce on earth, land that the poor are not tmfrequently th^ best friends of the poor. 76. Obildhood's Yeabs. 1. TN yonder cot, along whose mouldering walls, •^ In many a fold, the mantlmg woodbme falls, The village matron kept her little school. Gentle of heart, yet knovnng well to rule ; Staid was the dame, and modest was her mien ; Her garb was coarse, yet whole, and nicely clean : Her neatly-border'd cap, as lily ffur. Beneath her chin was pum'd with decent care ; And pendant ruffles, of the whitest lawn. Of ancient make, her elbows did adorn. Faint with old age, and dun were grown her eyes, A pair of spectacles their want supplies ; These does she guard secure, in leathern case. From thoughtless wights, in some uiweeted plao*. If.ore first 1 The low vei Enter'd wil Though 801 Hnch did '. When I w Severe 1 1^ To soothe And oft, ^ Tomyloi And thou 8. But 81 Alert First A lit And HeU And Tail) 4. Oh. Of Ooi childhood's tbabs. 268 former cd d proved j K prayer I with gr^ I was m alogiu- wfd brouglj his furmj dresser, an lich he ha inder. Thii mcceeded i rten harden dod's prov eqnently thJ rails, falls, men; f clean : are; er eyes, AiEM dplao». a. Much did I gnew, on » . ^ t borne •, ^d oft she »«»f "(^g n,^, right i And as she gave my uuis Talk'd of the honors of my futore oay Oodd she have seen me when revolving yv« .^.,..«.«ni»-- *"■ ,.-Mi««H«*W*^ S64 THE TniBD BBADBB. BBl Had oiought me deeper in the vale of teara, Then had she wept, and wish'd m; wayward fate Had been a lowlier, an unletter'd state ; Wish'd that, remote from worldly woes and strife, Unknown, unheard, I might have pass'd through lifft fi. Where in the bnsy scene, by peace nnblest, Shall the poor wanderer find a place of rest ? . A lonely mariner on the stormy main, Without a hope, the cahns of peace to gam ; Long toss'd by tempests o'er the world's wide shore^ When shall his spirit rest, to toil no more ? Not till the light foam of the sea shall lave The sandy surface of his unwept graye. Childhood', to thee I turn from life's alarms, Serenest season of perpetual calms, — Turn with delight, and bid the passions cease, And joy to thmk with thee I tasted peace. Sweet reign of innocence, when no crime defiles, But each new object brings i»ttendalit smiles ; When future evils never haunt the sight. But all is pregnant with unmixt delight ; To thee I turn, from riot and from noise, — Turn to partake of more congenial joys. 6 'Neath yonder elm, that stands upon the moor. When the clock spoke the hour of labor o'er. What clamorous throngs, what uappy groups were seen, In various postures scatt'ring o'er the green I Some shoot the marble, others join the chase Of self-made stag, or run the emulous race ; While others, seated on the dap()led grass. With doleful tales the light-wing'd minutes pass. Well I remember how, with gesture starch'd, A band of soldiers, oft with pride we march'd ; For banners, to a tall ash we did bind Our handkerchiefs, flapping to the whistling wind ; And for our warlike arms we sought the mead, And g«M ^^^ Then, in nncot We storm'd bc 1. Pleased with ' To set her wl And o'er her To view our i Stm OS she 1« With its bel< ■When tired ' (For out of And wondei For who CO Her sheets, To strangei Though we How 'twas I 11 one day ! one in a ^o<*^ "An object teaches the pi any thmg whi object; so is 2. "Alee^' diatinguish a braaches, its and the usee luse our BenB( " I shouW ffood as to 1 ^ 8. "Iv^ 264 BEKAKFAflT-T^BLB 80IBS0B. A .««a«i we made of brittle reed ; And gona and bj^mb we wm ^^ ^^^^^ Then, in uncouth away, out We Btonn'd some ruin'd pig-Bty »r ;, -fh our Kay diBports, the dame was wont ,. Pleased^th o« gay^ P ^.^^t '^" r L^' h« ^tS would often peer, rrrgria^^^^ And wonder at »>« 'Wt-^^ Garnet r„, ,ho eodd m^ ^S^Z^'i «i* pride Her Bheets, he' to™' '^^ testifled ; To rtrwger., "t""^" '"^"^o^er mneh, to troth. -f7. BMAOATO-TABtK Somoit, Iw^ 9» a«^!«l Ijuct to ber mother, ^HAT to an ''''Jf\^"'..itave b^n re«Ung abort W on. daj after ^'Vf'^.^^.^X, what it r<^'' o„e to a book, and I «» "?* "^"^other, "is » !«»»» '^t toacUlts l«»T-'?i^^^ Olj;et lemons t«>chn» to ^ the nwB made of vte wooa j ^ ^^^^ „ T.reh'r.ien:C'o::?oV'?— '"^»" - ^J^Xw^raTdJ^huy. «». condition, >^^ ...' .M'tHft ll '*"^' ..«.,,.ifrti.<m>!f^ -«s«WP»» Me THXC TUIBU JEtJBADBB. Ii, thttt 70a give me your careful attention. Ton must listed to me with your ears, and gke heed to me with your mind." " I will do so, my dear mother/' said Lucy, " and be much obliged to you besideti. What object will you teach me about V> 4. " Here is the breakfast-table/' said her mother, " with the remains of the breakfast upon it, with cups and saucers, poons, plates, and knives and forks. Here is substance enough for many object lessons. Suppose I give you some lessons in the science of the breakfastrtable. And, first of all, let us see what it is that all these things rest upon and are held up by." "It is a table." 6. " Very good. And the table is made of mahogany. Mahogany is the wood of a tree which grows in the West Indies, in Central America, and in many parts of South America. Men go into the woods and cut down the trees, just as lumbermen go into the woods of Maine and cut down pme-trees. They are then floated down to the searcoast, and shipped to Europe or this country. 6. "This is very hard work ; the men who do it are obliged to go into woods and swamps, where it is very hot, and often unhealthy. *' Mahogany, as you see, is a beautiful wood, and takes a fine polish. It was introduced into England about the end of the seventeenth centroy.* 7. " A captain of a West Indian ship brought home some logs, which he had put on board his yessel simply as ballast ; that is, as weight to make it steady. He gave them to his brother, a physidan, who was buildmg a house, supposing they wight be useful to him ; but the carpenters would not do any thbg with the wood, saying that it was too hard for their tools. 8. " Some time after, the wife of this physician was in want of a candle-box, and Ami told the cabinet-maker to make it out of one of the logs bf mahogany which had been thrown ■ ■■■III! I I !■■ II I ■ I II 11 L I II ■■-■■I.I, l..,MB« ■! I ■■ ■ ■■■»■■■ — !■■ ■! H IM * 2nU MMftlMfitA Mfi<«f^ is the f«riod between 1600 and 1701. bbh iie He was un ould spoU his tooh J was made and Lician's new hoti 9 "Al^dyofrt todfrom this tin LdedtUUtbecw 1 <« Articles of m Ud wood, which Ibcen obviated by ] 10. " A. log 0* called veneers, b; Ued upon pine, Uogaay table, covering of malw 'thanifltj«!« cloth. Thte 18 plant caUed Am n. "Yes, ft afieldongrfttt pretty blue flo^ a piece of po« wreck, and ^* 5'atber told m those flowers. ^2 ••lorn what yonr fi plants are p stalks are « bleached, nn hair. These into cloth. 13. "Yt xmiform, wrought i genlons tn "Flax BEEAKm-^-^^BLK BOI«HOE. •261 I coTenng of in»iioB» ' ^.. Then next «T»V, ^„ » I tlian if ft wre »U f»'''J^„ Limn to pwdncea i" ■ tbose flowers » ^ that you T««^«T^deftd the 12 " I «m very glad, my «« » ^^^^^ are deiw, ^ hair. in«Bei» r ♦aWe^loth is not ^ught into It. TM .„„,«. thew rl°^rm«ch taiBed to .« country •, "^S^JP- 268 BB THE TUIRD HEADER. are covered many manafactories of linen here. They raise it ^ in gre«»o^» * «oinxnon qnantities in England, Ireland, Belgium, and parts of QeletU^' ^ Q\^\[ar^ many ; and it is manufacbured in Scotland, England, the norflio"'^® ,|^. » ^^^s ci!y. The finest are nw^de partly been burned, po« •ilhig materia otpasteordougl or dishes, and It ^ accustomed t 3 "They^se an ov of Ireland, and Germany. 14. " This table-cloth was brought in a ship from Lireil pool, in England." " You said just' now that the flax was bleached. What that ?" " To bleach is to make white. The natural color of flax iil a kind of brown, like the brown Imen thread I have in m;] work-basket ; and it has to be whitened by art. 15. " Most linen fabrics are wiiitened after they are woven. _ It used to be done by spreading the cloth upon the gross, Bp^* Hfl andson in the sun, and frequently wetting it; but now the cloth ■ 8^**®*^', -jTrr^^^^j d, is dipped into a kind of liquid which takes the color out | *;.. i^nV at once. 16. " Now we hare the table set, and the cloth spread ; -vre will next see what there is on the table. Here are the coffee- pot, the teapot, the water-pot, the cream-jug, and the 8uga^ bowl. What do you think these are made of?" IT. "They are made of silver, I suppose. They look like the silver half-dollar father gave me once." " Your answer is a natural one, my dear Lucy. Older pe^ sons than yon judge of things by their outward L/pearance. These are not made of silver, though they look like it. 18. " Rich people have them of silver, but ours are made of a white metal, commonly called German silver, covered over, or plated, with real silver. German silver is made of copper, zinc, and nickel ; all of which are metals. Articles of this kind are made in great numbers in the city of Birmingham, in England. They are also made in our country." 78. Breakfabt-Tablb Soienob — coniinued. LET us next go to the cups and saucers, and the plates. They are of the same substance, and of a white color ; but they may be of other colors. Our dinner-plates, yon i« xf yon look the surface is something lik« Bubstance ©ad water, and ^ niftkeaUqtudl require gla^^^f g uXheyfl glaring make; u Earthen* France, CWi ft plafie in J cers which 1 or flowers, • ft. "The at them, i* day and fl: ••Thete handle, iron. Ir< now see i BEBAWABT-TABLE BOHfiNOB. 260 re woven, he grass, the cloth lolor out *ad; ve ^e coffee* le saga^ ook like Ider pe^ earance. • re made covered nade of tides of ingham, plates, color J s, yoit r 3. " AU tod. of f'*'"^"! ^^rttaie. cUed potceWo, Lt The «M.t .ort., '''J^'' "^.'trutot BtoM. whloh tare Cmad. partly of ctay, "f^'^^; „7powd.r. ^ .constomed to it. ^ tape It. The" » " 8. ..They .»« » '"f'^jj Ll «hea it come. o. it 1. ' i-I What do yoti mean by P»»°; "^ ,„„ wlU see that t.-H y« look at a e.p, <" P'^^ti'^^r^iiied «.d hrig". :::r:'at^-*"Ser^-^-«^--^"'"'' require glaring ftre dipped. ^^^^^^tedagi^. The Urhletr^oTXSl paint^-^""-""""" o'r^«lK;a^w^-Sl^,t»^» »t«.em,it«»<««taP««»W«*»'»^ 2T0 THE THIBD BEADEB. is pat into a furnace and melted, and the iron is drawn off in a liquid form. Iron is the most useful ofjnetals, and it found in nearly all parts of the world, y^ 8. " Steel is made by putting bars of Iron into a close box] with fine-powdered charcoal, and then heating the whole reryl hot. The yapor of the charcoal acts in a peculiar way npoui the iron, and makes it harder, more elastic, and less liable to mst. Steel, also, when struck, sounds, or rings, louder than | iron, and it takes a brighter polish. 9. " The handles of knives are made of ivory, bone, horn, or wood. Ours are made of bone. Knives are made in Eng- land, Germany, and also in our own country. Sheffield, in England, is a place where many are made. "Do you see any thing else on the table that is made of iron?" 10. " No, mother, I do not." ' ' There is something else, though yon do not perceive it. This waiter is made of iron. It is made of very thin iron, called sheet iron, which is firjt painted, and then varnished. A great deal of ware of this kind is made in Birmingham, m England. This is a large and rich tlty, and the people are mostly employed in various manufactures of metal. 11. "They make buttons, buckles, thimbles, pencil-cases, steel pens, teapots, trays, cake-baskets, and many other simi- lar articles. " The spoons are made of silver, — real silver. Silver is a metal, which is dug out of the ground. It is one of the pre- cious metals, so called ; it comes next in value to gold and platinum, which latter is rarely used. 12. " Money is coined from gold and silver. Silver is used for many purposes ; and various beautiful and useful things are made from it. It comes mostly from Mexico and South America. " Havmg now disposed of the table, it<? covering, and th furnishing of the table, let us proceed to consider what we have had to eat. 13. "Our breakfast has consisted of tea, coffee, sugar, bread, butter, milk, boiled ^;gs, and baked apples. "Tea is the I 1 Japan. I* }* gathered twice , ' are dried a litti and afterwardd There are mvoi «eat claflses, « 14. "Tiicsel «« The Chine 80. Itwaair it is now ter ^ great manj ^thtea. It of lead. 15. "Coff« in Arabia, ai iugh, and its cherry. A.t sun, and the rieaareagai -^eiL we ^ toasted, grc from Mochi 16. "Te -whicb nnci were when coffee is a you ptom hard woT( n. "1 andinftiB ««yott but yon tides of nerves, t are not Qgedon 18. BBSA&FA8T-TABLB BOIENOB. 271 ^'ni off ia and it I close bo J whole verjl V^y npoaf P liable to I pder thaof '^e, hoTD, inEng. ^ffleld, in nuadeof , We it [hin iron, inufihed. rhain, in ople are 3-cases, }r fiimi. er 18 a lepre. i and nsed hinga oath th we a^ "Tea is the leaf of a shrab which grows in China and Japan. It is from fonr to siz feet high. The leaves are gathered twice a year ; in the spring and the antnmn. They are dried a little in the snn, then laid on plates of hot iron, and afterwards rolled on mats with the pahn of the hand. There are many varieties of tea, but they are divided into two great classes, black tea and green tea. 14. " These do not come from the same kmd of plant. " The Ghmese are very fond of tea, and always have been so. It was introdnoed into Enrope about the year 1660 ; and it is now very mnch nsed, especifdly in England and America. A great many ships come from GMna which are entirely filled with tea. It is packed in wooden chests, which have a lining of lead. 15. " Coffee is the berry of an evergreen shrab which grows in Arabia, and the East and West Indies. It is abont ten feet high, and its berry, when ripe, is red, and not very nnlike a cherry. At the proper tune the fhiit is gathered, dried in the Bon, and the berries extracted by the help of mills. The ber- ries are again dried^^cked in bags, and sent away in vessels. When we wart to make coffee, the berries, or grains, are roasted, ground, and boiled in water. The finest coffee comes from Mocha, in Arabia. 16. " Tea is made by steeping the leaves in boiling water, which uncurls them, and makes them look larger than they were when put in. Thus tea is properly an in/itsion. But coffee is a deeoction, because it is made by boiling. Now will you promise to remember the distinction between these two hard words ?" It. "I wiU try. Decoction is when you boil any thing, and infusion is when you only steep it." " Your father drinks coffee for breakfast, and I drink tea ; but you drink milk. Tea and coffee both belong to those ar- ticles of food which are called stimtUants. They act upon the nerves, and produce a slight exhilaration or excitement. They are not good for little boys and girls ; and th^y should be nsed only in moderation by grown persons. 18. "When your father comes home at night, tired with 272 THE THIRD BBADEB. his day's work, a cap of tea refreshes him ; bat if ho were drink too mach, or drink it too strong, it would keep awake, and he would have a headache the next momi Many persons injure themselves by drinking too much stroi tea and cofifee. ^ ' • 19. " Sugar is the produce of a plant called the sugar-cam which grows in the West Indies, and many other warm eoi tries. It is about ten feet high, and about two inches m di< ameter ; it looks a good deal like our Indian com. Whesl ripe, the canes are full of a rich, sweet juice. 20. " They are then cut down, and next crushed in a mill , the liquid that runs out is boiled away, and a little lime-water is mixed with it, to help to clarify it, that is, make it clear. "When this liquid cools, it settles down in the form of brown sugar ; and the liquid that runs off is molasses. Brown sugar, which is sometimes called raw sugar, is refined and pu- rified, and thus turned into loaf-sugar. To do this, it is boiled in lune-water, and the heated liquor is cleansed, or purified, and then poured into conical moulds ; and when it cools, it appears in the form of a loaf of hard white sugar. 21. " Sugar is made from other substances than the juice of the sugar-cane. In France, the juice of the beet-root is much used for this purpose. Sugar has also been obtamed from grapes, and from liquorice root. In our country, much maple-sugar is made by boiling down the juice of a kind of maple-tree." 79. Breakfast-Table Soienoe — cotu^/uded. YOU will observe that there are two kinds of bread on the table ; one is brown and the other is white ; but they are )oth made of wheat. Wheat is the growth of a plant which ooks something like a very tall blade of grass ; when it is ripe, it is cut down, and spread upon the floor of a bam, and then beaten with a wooden stick called a flail, which causes the wheat to drop out. 2 ««Ittbeni big'a« apple-seel i« These g^aui This is done byl er of ^1^<^VJ brown bread^ fromtbeimll-' tliTOUgba^er ijhe outer M vrben ground,] tbia bran is t< wbo are no^ bealtby for tl 4. «'1jiot ia ^ibteb sta Btirred abot vater and t put into Jw ^ 5 ««-Wb( is porous, < produced t into tt^ ^^ 6. ''Y* from bop« there are stances \ yeast ac explain 20 int« ^ 1. " dersta!: leaven, means At tin 8. thing brea ,E«AKFA8WA«L« SOnSSOK. 278 brown bread is made of ttour m from the mm. ^. ^^de of flour whicli has been passea T « The white bread is ^^de ^t n sometimes caUed. Tteu pound, a '■"-ri'n.^WtSTt ^ not. ^1 f """^ ^r^r-^to n«ue .«aa. tue «- ^^ ^^s^:^!:; Btirred about, for a cons perfectly. Then yeas ^•. I^f DouKhwhichhasUenii^edm j^ dlj^ad o. " , i. 9 T have eaxe" »" e- - bread «!>»«'"* -*^ m- 274 THE THIRD READEB. ** Yon are right, my dear. Bread is sometimes made of rye, of barley, of oats, and of Indian com. The bread of which you speak is made of rye floor and Indian meal. Bye is a grain of the same kind as wheat. 9. " Indian com is the fmit of a plant which we call by the same name, and is also termed maize. It grows in the form of yellow grams, much larger than those of wheat, which are let round what is called the cob. Bye and Indian bread is very comnon among New England farmers. 10. " 1 have now told you about every thing we hove had to eat for our breakfast, except the milk and cream, the but- ter, the baked apples, and the eggs. Milk, as you know, is drawn from the cow ; you have often seen them milk the cows at your grandfather's. '' Butter is made of cream, and cream comes from milk. Milk, when first drawn from the cow, is composed of two parts, one of which is watery and sweet, and the other oily, ^fter it has been allowed to stand some time, the cream rises to the top. 11. "This is the oily part of the milk, audit rises because it is lighter than the rest. The cream is taken off, or skimmed from the top, and put into a long, round-shaped box, called a chum. Here it is shaken and stirred by a handle, and in a short time the watery particles of the cream separate from those which are oily. The watery part is called buttermilk. and is commonly given to the pigs; the oily part is but- ter, and is given to good little boys and good little girls, like you. 12. " The apple is a fruit which grows upon a tree, and is gathered in the autumn. A collection of apple-trees is called an orchard. You have sometunes been into your grandfather's orchard and helped to pick up apples. There are many kinds of apples ; some are sweet and some are sour. 13. " Bweet apples are commonly used for baking, and sour ones for making pies. The apple is a very valuable fruit, and many persons in our country support themselves by raising and selling apples. " Eggs are produced or laid, by hens. You know how fond l,ouateofgo)^gj eggs- "^ ^ng-^ird'8 eggj «« Att egg ^ ^ay bereaf tet of a ben. yo* the yollf . *^* * the vrl»t«- 15. "T^ete featbers, or ft< Bit upon It a J it, a»4 turns runs about, a «» Ibis 19 t taU turkey ' vbenyouY* ^agxuficeut MountaittS. 16. "'^ vforltB. ^ tbi»g tTaat tbattbe^ em but w< «« Aud there be n. " ««Yer of your tree. ^ or p^aVi batvrl in Asi 18. ftuesi ftotn BBE^AST-TABLE 80IE«CE. 275 AUtads ^., „, out head. »*»'"^ the yolk, .»d "o™* " * ' . , V, IVke bones, or it, and turns it w creature. , ^^ That „»g,dfleent e»gle tW » ^^^^.^^ "r*^"ws property "' *^ ''^rtT; ttot >«■ " " T"; ^t; We Bometimes call it ^/J^f^^ „<,t know how . « works, vv e »" „„aet8t»i>d. "'"""„ into a chick- ttog ttat wo er^'lC's body converW «i egg »to there be any ^^J^^,*^ / ^^^ere are the matB and the sa ^^ 1 T » Yes, mother, iu«^ . ^ j^aKe suci g*' u^ .V trie • and I am glad '^^^^ ^^ ^^^^es of the palm- - r..^et:^n:«a. -;to:Lffa sS-'^'St ■'■^' ; A o^rifl 01 potash, rotasu i jaatenalfl tor rtl^s^trplltsaud vegetables, The ^rf^'^^t. 276 THE THIRD KBADBR. forming glass are pat into largo pots, and melted, ijitil it be- comes a red hot liquid substance. Then the workman dipg the end of a long iron tube into it, and takes up a bit, which he first rolls on a polished iron plate, to make it smooth on the outside. Then he blows into the other end of the iron tche, and the hot glass swells and expands, and it is shaped into the required form. In this way bottles and decanters are inade. 19. " Salt-ceUars and other thmgs of the kind are shaped in a mould. The finer and costlier articles of glass are cut. This is done by grinding the surface with small wheels of stone, metal, or wood. The glass is held up to the wheel. A small stream of water is kept continually running on the glass, to prevent its getting too hot. Friction, or the rubbing of one thing against another, produces heat. " The process of making glass is very curious, and the arti- cles made are very beautiful. One of these days you shall go with me to a glass manufactory. 20. ** Salt is formed from sea-water, which has, as you know, a salt taste. It is pumped into shallow pans, or reservoirs, and evaporated by the heat of the sun. Water is said to be evaporated when it is dried up, or taken away, by the air. The water in time passes off, and leaves the salt at the bot- tom. This is afterwards boiled, skimmed, purified, and dried 21. " In many parts of our country there are springs of salt- water, a great vrej off f^om the sea. Salt is made from the water of these spi^ngs m the same way as from that of the sea. Salt is also dug out of the earth, in a solid form, in many parts of the world. This is called rock salt. " Thus, my dear Lucy, I have told you all about the broak- fast-table, and the various objects upon it. I hope you will remember it." 22. " I will try to remember it, mother." " And now I want to make one or two remarks upon what we have been talking about. I wish you to form the habit of reflecting as well as of observing ; that is, I want you to think about what you see, and hear, and read. You will notice that the articles of which we have spoken have come from all parts l{ the vo^^^' L sugar from 'g thetable^ll 23. •• A.nd tfl prepare our l^tl L The iron <J ffirst d«l^^*^; Vumace^y™^j Letofwortanei^ ted into the M 24. •• A.^^Jj jertoralBet^l {actuTed,tlaei theabipan^i VfaUthepeotf our breaUfas^. ft considerabW 25. "TH caUed a etatj laws, and o« culture, cot« ^orlisforaV Ittdiau gvrv, fish, a |iant gourd.' ^ 26. "■^* girl." K That Nvaut you caused yc blesslugs clotUug> ftud boo 2^" «' M go to « that t1 BREAKFAST-TABLE SOIVNCE. 277 tkman d' W ^® ^^^^^' ^^ ^^^ ^^ fi'oi^ China, the coffee from Java, ' ^^'t wIu'^P'® ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ "WeBt Indies, the mahogany from Honda- I smooth W^* ^^® tablecloth frohi Europe, k the ir^'^u 2^- "■^'id then a great number of persona have helped to the iron ^ is shaned V^'^P^'^ ^^ breakfast, and oar breakfast-table fomitore, for decanter 1^' ^® ^^^ ^^ which the knives are made, for instance, was "first dag oat of the earth by miners ; then it was melted in a e shaned I ''™^^*^ ^7 firemen ; then it was converted into steel by another >8 are cat V^^ ^^ workmen ; then the steel was made into blades, and fit- ted into the handles by catlers. 24. " And so of the table-cloth. First, we have the farm- er to raise the flax, the workmen to prepare it to be manu- factared, the men and the machines to spin and weave it, and the ship and the sailors to bring it to this coantry. Indeed, if all the people who have directly and indirectly helped to get our breakfast for as were brought together, they would form a considerable village. 25. "This is one of the advantages of living in what is called a state of civilization ; that is, a state in which we have laws, and books, and trades, and arts, and sciences, agri- culture, conmierce, and manufactures. In su"^ <» state each works for all, and all works for each. Had yoa been a little Indian girl, your breakfast would have been a bit of broiled fish, a handful of parched corn, and some water out of a gourd." 26. "Mother, I am veiy glad I am not a little Indian girl." " That is just what I was coming to, my dear child. I want you to be not only glad, but grateful to God, who has caused you to be born in a situation where you enjoy fto many blessings; where you can have convenient and comfortable clothing, and abundance of healthy food, and schools to go to, and books to read." 27. " And a dear good mother, who tells me every thing I want to know," said Lucy. " And now it is time," said her mother, " to get ready to go to school. I hope I have not filled your little head so full that there will be no room for your lessons." ' 0^ stone, A small ' fir^ass, to fS of one the arti- shall go a know, ervoira', id to be the air. ie bot- dried 'fsalt- mthe 'f the n», in oalt- will lat of it 278 THE THIRD BEADER. »\*» 80. TiBBD OF Plat. 1. rriRED of play ! Tired of play I A What hast thou done this livelong day ! The birds are silent, and so is the bee ; The son is creeping np steeple and tree ; The doYes have flown to the sheltering eaves, And the nests are dark with the drooping Igavei | • Twilight gathers, the day is done — How hast thou spent it— restless one I 2. Playing ? But what hast thou done beside To tell thy mother at eventide ? What promise of morn is left unbroken ? What kind word to thy playmate spoken ? Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven ? How with thy faults has duty striven ? What hast thou leam'd by field and hill. By greenwood path, and by fi'nging rill f OlslE of t where \ Scotland, magmftcettt most beaut persona of interesting by.gone aj a. "M< vast aiad MELUOBK ABBKY. 27S vei| ,. There wiU eome » ,f «'» l^A 1 That wiU find thee tured— but nor. m v j With drooptog limb, and »«W«g ^•. Ld wteh the »h»do«. woold f»8tei cteep, l^To»gtogotothyq»let.teop. . OT.ll«OTe it then if thine whing brow *• wt X fro-n »ta »»* *r, " ■"" ' wtufortheeifthyUpconldt* U to I«rtott' epmng to wretched»»»- ", A taunbled thy he«rt '^J P^^^^ If Natttte-B voice, have Bpoken to tuee xffXhep holy meanisg. eloqnently- ^^wtoTh. night rteal. on, « now, ^J'^bring relief *» *7 -^K^J^J^ of re.t, ^^^t^r'^Ton^— .brea.. 81. Melbosb Abbbt. U where to be found. >« ""^ ^ J^j the remain, of four Scotland. There "''"^^^tiXf Melrose i- perhap. tl,o ro«rrJ:r^^^^^^^^^^ by^ne age.. , „„aem writer, "1. indeed ■ i rSti». X person ean help ad.,rin» It, 280 TIIK Tiilltn RKADER. whether ho survey it narrowly, or contemplate it t son distance ; whether he exumiue it in detail, or in on compH hensive view. It is not one of those rude edi6ccs whicl when seen from afar, when contrasted with some neighborii| object, and magnified or embellished with imagined perfection strike the eye with admiration of their vastncss and beautjl but from the coarseness of their materials, or the ignorartl of those who constructed them, sink into deformity whcj jBubjected to a minute and critical inspection. ,^T- -^f'^ 8. It is impossible to view it from any quarter, or fc any durection, without perceiving it to be a most admirable speci- men of the architecture of former tunes, and a striking monu- ment of the taste of the builder, as well as of the piety of its founder. It pleases alike by the magnificence of its plan and the exquisite fineness of its workmanship, by its local situation and the interesting associations to which it gives rise. 4. He who can view the abbey of Melrose without being highly gratified, has neither understanding that is cultivated, nor feelings that one might envy. He is ruder than the ground on which he treads, he is more insensible than the structure whose beauties he cannot see. 1^ l>OOB.b\ii A along, «a Btrength: "J< di8c\p^.e9 vronl louder: "J^* Jesus, having that I do f 01 2, «'liOtci «« fleceVve inade thee ^ And 'vai andhefoU Utude ^hc jtlving * 3. But gave Big^ from his OVRINO THR BUND. .:!«'? 281 1 -^^-^ -y 82. CtiRiNO THB Blind. AIb^ c.me forth *» -^^^^^etevey o« meV- J.« "Receive tuy sig""' ^. ^t<J^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 4^ 1.0 1.1 ■50 ■^B ^ tto 12.0 25 2.2 — '"^ Ilii4 Photographic Sciences Corporation ^ 23 WBT MAIN STRilT WIBSTH,N.Y. 14SM (716)t72-4S03 ^"^V"^" ^V^ V 282 THS THIRD TtWAT)1i'.lC who hath sinned, tMs man or his parents, that he should \» bom blind?" As though the infirmities wherewith some are bom were always chastisements from God, whereas they are often in- tended as special graces in the merciM designs of Provi- dence. 4. The SaTionr answered : " Neither hath tlils man sinned, nor his parents ;'' he is bom blind in order " that the works of God may be made manifest in him." f^ He then spat upon the ground, made day of the spittle, and with it nibbed the eyes of fl» Mind man, saying : " Go wash in the pool of SUod." 6. This was a pnblio fomxtain of Jerosalrai. The man went accordingly, washed himself, and reooyered his nght. And his fri^ds and aoqnaintaoces asked each other, "Is it, indeed, the same man whom we have seen ritting here begging?" " Yes," he replied, " I am he." .6. And tney asked him how his eyes had been opened. And he told them: "That man who is called Jesus, made clay with lus spittle, and anointed my eyes, and said to me : 'Go to the pool of SiloS and wash.' I went, I washed, and I see." And they asked him, " Where is he?" And he replied, " I know not." The man was immediately brought to the Pharisees, and to them he related how Jesus had restored his sight. t. Now, it was on the Sabbath, the day of rest, tha^ Jesus had cured him ; and the Pharisees were embarrassed. Some sud: "This man is not of God, who keepeth^not the Sab- bath." But others said : " How can a man that is a sinner do such miracles?" And then they asked the man that had oeen blind: "What sayest thoii of this man?" And he •aid : " He is a prophet, a man sent from God." 8. But the Pharisees, still obstinate in their incredulity refused to believe that he had been blind, or cured, and they questioned his family on the subject. Behold, children, how the most da^ding miracles of the Saviour were strictly exam- inied, so that their authenticity was clearly established. 9. "Is this your son, whom some say was bora blind f i,aidtbePli« .•How, then,i "Yea,** bM lie now sees.! ' 10. "GH fliftn is a an^ ' «ifheb«| 1 toiow,tbftt,l that God dj world it h^ eyes of onj conld not dl 11. The ««Wwtch,' us?" A^^. lieard of t« in the Soul Uxlumr AndJ< ingtl«8i^ 1. I'HB COUHTBT FELLOWS AND THB ABS. dsd i»e should bel ^^ wetel often in,\ of Provi. I n»an sinned^ it the works '^^0 spittle, ^fir: "Go »««» irent ??*• And ' i*» indeed. opened, laade clay me: 'Go ndl epiied, "j ft »» and to laid the Pharisees to the parents of hfm who had been blind. " How, then, doth he now see?" " Yes," said thej, " he is our son. He was bom blind, and he now sees. Ask himself how he was cnred." They were, themselves, afraid to tell the truth. So the Pharisees went again and interrogated the man who had been cured. 10. " Give glory to God," said they, " we know that this man is a sinner." " If he be a sumer," he replied, " I know not. One thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, I now see. And we know that God doth not hear simiers. From the beginning of the world it hath not been heard that any man hath opened the eyes of one bom blind. Unless this man were of God, he conld not do the things that he hath done." 11. The Pharisees, being angry with the man, exclaimed : " Wretdi, thou wast wholly bom in sin, and dost thoa teach OS ?" And they drove him from their presence. Jesus, having heard of this, came to the man, and said : ** Dost thou beUeve in the Son of God?" And he answered : " Who is he. Lord, that I may believe inhun?" And Jesus sud : " It is he who talketh with thee." Hea^ ing this, the man fell down and adored, bim. "^ Jesus Some iieSab. > sinner lathad ^od he inlity I they » how ttam. i> 83 Thb Ck>ui!rrBT Fellows ard the Ass. 1. A OOXTNTRY fellow and his son, they tell •A- In modem fables, had an ass to sell : For this intent they tum'd it out to play. And fed so well, that by the destined day. They brought the creature into sleek repair, And drove it gently to a neighboring faur. S. As they were jogging on, a rural class Was heard to say, " Look ! look there, at that ass I *«6««i«fJtSg~... 284 TUB THIRD BBADBB. And those two blockheads tradging on each side, That have not, either of 'em, sense to ride ; Asses all three !'' And thus the country folks On man and boy began to cnt their jokes. 8. Th' old fellow minded nothing that they said, Bnt every word stuck in the yoong one's head ; And thas began their comment iihereapon : "Ne'er heed 'em, lad." " Nay, father, do get on." " Not I, indeed." " Why then let me, I pray.*' " Well do ; and see what prating tongues will say.** 4. The boy was mounted ; and they had not got Much farther on, before another knot, Just as the ass was pacing by, pad, pad, Oried, " Oh I that lazy booby of a kd I How unconcernedly the gaping brute Lets the poor aged fellow walk afoot." 6. Down came the son on hearing this account. And begg'i^ 1 pray'd, and made his father mount : Till a tMrd , / on a further stretch, " See 1i see !" exclaimed, " that old hard-hearted wretch i How like a justice there he sits, or squire ; W 'Jtile the poor lad keeps wading through the mire." 6. " Stop," cried the lad, still vex'd in deeper mind, " Stop, father, stop ; let me get on behind." This done, they thought they certainly should please, Escape reproaches, and be both at ease ; For having tried each practicable way. What could be left for jokers now to say ? 7. Still disappointed, by succeeding tone, " Hark ye, you fellows I Is that ass your own ? Get off, for shame t or one of you at least 1 You both deserve to carry the poor beast ! Beady to drop down dead upon the road, With such a huge unconscionable load." * Contrive} The ass Witli Others Ab over 9, The coi B.ubVd| Wa&'c' And «»Xiett TotWi P^iTEl deao made a tratedV voice l^roclaS aide^ ?t on." THB FIB8T OBITSAOB. 8. On this they both dismounted; and, some say, Gontrived to carry, like a tmss of hay, The ass between 'em ; prints, they add, are seen With man and lad, and slinging ass between ; Others omit that fancy in the print, As overstraining an ii^nions hint. 9. The copy that we follow, says. The moa Bnbb'd down the ass, and took to his first plan, Walk'd to the fan*, and sold him, got his price. And gave his son this pertinent advice : " Let talke::? talk ; stick thon to what is best ; To think of ploasuig all — is all a jest." 285 84. Thb Fntsrr Cbubadb. PETER the Hermit, the preacher of the first cmsade, was descended from a noble family of Ficardy. Having made a jdlgrimage to the Holy Land, one day, while pros- trated before the holy sepulchre, he believed that he heard the voice of Christ, which said to Mm, — " Peter, arise I hasten to proddm the tribulations of my people ; it is time that my SdH THB THIRD BBAOER. servants shoald receive help, and that the holy places shoQldj be delivered." 2. Foil of the spirit of these words, which sounded un- ceasingly in his ears, and charged with letters from the| patriarch, he quitted Palestine, crossed the seas, landed on the coast of Italy, and hastened to cast himself at the feet oi the pope. The chair of St. Peter was then occupied by Urban II., who had been the disciple and confidant of both Gregory and Victor. Urban embraced with ardor a project which had been entertained by his predecessors ; he received Peter as a prophet, applaud^ his design, and bade him go forth and announce the approaching deliverance of Jerusalem. Peter thb Hbrmtt and !Kbrbooha. 3. The leaders of the Christian army who had prepared the enthusiasm of the soldiers, now employed themselves in taking advantage of it. They sent deputies to the general of the Saracens, to offer hun either a single combat or a general battle. Peter the Hermit, who had evinced more exaltation than any other person, was chosen for this embassy. 4. Although received with contempt in the camp of the infidels, he delivered himself no less hanglitily or boldly. " The {ffinces assembled in Antioch," said Petor, addressmg the Saracen leaders, " have sent me to demand jnttioe of you. These provinces, stained with the blood of martyrs, have belonged to Ohrtetian nations, and as all Ohiistian people are brothers, we axe come into Asia to avenge the ii\juries of those who have been persecuted, and to defend the heritage of Ghrist and his disdples. 5. " Heaven has allowed the dties of Syria to fall for a time into the power of infidels, in order to chastise the offences of his people ; but learn that the vengeance of the Most High is appeased ; learn that the tears and penitence of the Ohristians have turned aside the sword of divine justice, and that the God of armies has arisen to fight on our side. Neverthdess we still consent to speak of peace. 6. " I coi^nre fon, in the name of the aU-poweiAd God, to prr ibandon the country. The Uolestyouin you that the you to see the 'to us, how del brethren, and H^ "But if ofTpeace or i of "battle at. Christian*''" accustomed combat" g. -When the leader c the bravest number of tl ^an princes ever may « enemies arc whom we » 9. Kerb who was 1 Vn their di remained 1 but at leu them it i< ftud not men, phw are not ii 10. "I upon be ome pit may for fower; elothes, theKc U. PITBB THE HEBlirr AlTD KBRSOOHA. 287 ahouldj »P or the » boldly, ^idressing • 0^ yon. ^t We Mes of lieritage I* a tune snoes of ristiang lat the theless ibandon the territory of Antioch and return to yonr own country. The Christians promise yon, by my yoioe, not to molest yon in yonr retreat. We ?dll even pnt np prayers for jon that the tme God may tonch yonr hearts, and permit yon to see the tmth of onr fkith. If Heaven deigns to listen to ns, how delightfnl it will be to ns to giro yon the name of brethren, and to conclude with yon a lasting peace I I. " Bnt if yon are not wilUng to accept either the blessings of peace or the benefits of the Ohristian religion, let the fate of 'battle at. length decide the jnstioe of onr canse. As the Christians will not be taken by snrprise, and as they are not accnstomed to steal Tictories, they ofTer yon the choice of combat." 8. When finishing his discourse, Peter fixed his eyes npon the leader of the Saracens, and said, " Choose from among the bravest of thy army, and let them do battle with an eqnal number of the Cmsaders ; fight thyself with one of onr Cluris- |pan princes ; or give the signal for a general battle. W hat- ever may be thy choice, thou shalt soon learn what thy enemies are, and thou shalt know what the great God is whom we serve I" 9. Kerboghft, who knew the situation of the Christians, and who was not aware of the kind of succor they had received in their distress, was much surprised at such langm^. He remained for some tune mute with astonishment and rage, but at length sud, " Betum to them who sent you, and tell tiiem it is the part of the conquered to "eceive conditions, and not to dictate them. Miserable vag^ibonds, e3i:tennated men, phantoms may terrify womra; but the warriors (of Asia are not intimidated by vain words. 10. " The Christians shall soon learn that the land we tread npon belongs to us. Nevertheless, I am willing to entertain ome pity for them, and if they will ^knowledge Mohammed, 1 may forget that this city, a pnj%o famine, is abeady in my power ; I may leave it ia theur hands, and give them arms, dothes, bread, women, in short, all that they have not ; fo» the Koran bids us pardon all who submit to its laws. II. *' Bid thy companions hasten, and on this ^^ery day takt TUB THIKO BKADKK. adrantage of my clemency ; to-morrow they shall only leave | Antloch by the sword. They will then see if their cmcified God, who conld not saye himself Arom the cross, can save them from the fate which is prepared for them." 12. This speech was loudly applauded by the Saracens, whose fanaticism it rekindled. Peter wished to reply, but the Sultan of Mossoul, placing his hand upon his sword, com- manded that these miserable mendicants, who united blindness with insolence, should be driyen away. 18. The Christian deputies retired in haste, and were in danger of losing their liyes seyeral times while passing through the army of the infidels. Teter rendered an account of his mission to the assembled princes and barons; and all im- mediately prepared for battle. The heralds-at-arms proceeded through the different quarters of the city, and battle was promised for the next day to the impatient yalor of the Crusaders. 85. Thb Battlb 07 Antiooh. ALL at once the Saracens commenced the attack by dis- charging a cloud of arrows and then ruphing on the Crusaders, uttering barbarous cries. In spite of their im- petuous shock, their right wing was soon repulsed and pene- trated by the Christians. 2. Godfirey met with greater resistance in their left wing ; he succeeded, howeyer, in breaking it, and carrying disorder among their ranks. At the moment that the troops of Kerboghft began to giye way, the Sultan of Nice, who had qiade the tour of the monntun and returned along the banks of the Orontes, fell with impetuosity upon the rear of the Christian army, and threatened destruction to the body of reserye commanded by Bohemond. 3. The Crusaders, who fought on foot could not redst the first charge of the Saracen cayalry. Hugh the Great, warned of the danger of Bohemond, abandoned the pursuit of the fii^tiyes, and hastened to the succor of the body of reserve 1 fben the b Arslan, whc weU as the big troops, clothed in terror throi 4. The I away, and infidels. < Hugh and the death • 6. The firmly witl the comba low bush< me^^ately masses ofj broken; i The Sultj stratagen hands of 6. At Been to d by three armor, succor y Christia odore, < turned the Ch coving waahe 1.1 and ^ theCi contii thMik fOBOO THB SATTLB OF AlHIOOH. 989 |o«JrIeaTc cindfied can save Saracens, fit bat the ^ord, com. blindness c bjdis- on the heir jm- Id pene- t wing* iisorder ops of !io had banks of the >dy of 8ft the anied f the lerre Then the battle was renewed with redoubled fnry. Kilicy Arslan, who had to avenge the shame of seyenJ defeats, as well as the loss of his states, foaght like a lion at the head of hi9 troops. A sqoadron of three thousand Saracen horse, clothed in steel and armed with clnbs, carried disorder and terror throagh the ranks of the Ohristians. 4. The standard of the Count de Yermandois was carried away, and retaken, corered with the blood of Gmsaders and infidels. Qodfirey and Tancred, who flew to the assistance of* Hugh and Bohemond, signalized their strength and yalor by the death of a great many Mussulmans. 6. The Sultan of Nice, whom no reverse could overcome, firmly withstood the shock of the Clhrih<jans. In the heat of the combat, he ordered lighted flax to be thrown among the low bashes and dried grass which covered the plain. Im- mediately a blaze arose which enveloped the Christians m masses of flame and smoke. Their ranks were for a moment broken ; they could no longer either see or hear their leaders. The Sdtan of Nice was about to gather the fruits of his stratagem, and victory was on the point of escaping from the hands of the Crusaders. 6. At this moment, say the histo^ V'."^, a squadron was seen to descend from the summit of the Jionntuns, preceded by three horsemen clothed in white and povered with shining armor. "Behold!'' cried Bishop Adhemar, "the heavenly succor which was promised to you. Heaven declares for the Christians; the holy martyrs, Qeoige, Demetrios, and The- odore, come to fight for you." Immediately all eyes were turned towards the celestLal legion. A new ardor inspired the Christians, who were persuaded that God hhnself was coxping to their aid, and the w(UN»y "JRiathe wiU cf Ood/" wad heard as at the beginning of the battle. t. The women and children who had remained in Antioch, and were collected on the walls, animated the courage of the Crosaders by %eir cries and acclamations, while the priests continued to raise their hands towards heaven, and returned thanks to God by songs of praise and thanksgiving for th* tooeor he had sent to the Christians. 18 A 390 THB THIRD BBADBB. , 8. Of the Omsaden themselveB each man became a hero, and nothing conld stand before their impetaoos charge. In a moment the ranks of the Saracens were everywhere broken, and they only fonght in confosion and disorder. They en< dearored to nlly on the other side of a torrent and upon an elevated point, whence their trumpets and clarions resounded ; but the Oount de Yermandois attacked them in this last post, and completely routed them. They had now no safety but in llight, and the banks of the Orontes, the woods, the plains, the muuntabs were covered with the fugitives, who abandoned both their arms and their baggage. 9. EerboghA, who had been so certain of victory as to have announced the defeat of the Ohristians to the Oaliph of Bagdad and- the Sultan of Persia, fled towards the Euphrates, escorted by a small body of his most faithful soldiers. Several of the emirs had taken to flight before the end of the battle. 10. Tancred and some others, mounted on the horses of the conquered enemy, pursued till nightfall the Sultans of Aleppo and Damascus, the Enur of Jerusalem, and the scattered wreck of the Saracen army. The conquerors set fire to the intrenchments behind which the enemy's infantry had sought refuge, and a vast number of Mussulmans perished in tiie flames. 11. According to the account o' several contemporary his- torians, the infidels left a hundred thousand dead on the field of battle. Four thousand Crusaders lost their lives on this glorious day, and were placed among the ranks of the martyrs. 12. The Ohristians found abundance beneath the tents of their enemies ; fifteen thousand camels and a great number of horses fell into their hands. As they passed the night in the camp of the Saracens, they had leisure to admire the luxury of the Orientals, and they examined with the greatest surprise the tent of the King of Mossoul, resplendent with gold and precious stones, which, divided into long streets flanked by high towers, resembled a fortified city. They employed several days in carrying the spoils into Aniioch. The booty was immense, and every Crusader, according to the remark of Albert d' Aix, found himself much richer than he was when hs quitted Europe. TUB yUjj^OB WHOOtUABTKE. m > 86. Thk Village SoHOouiASTBR. A man severe he waa, »««* ^ I knew him weU. ««^f ^"'J *!!^artfd to trace W had the boding tremW^^^^ The day's f "*«" ^.^^th Srfeited glee rnllwelUheylanglidwithco ^^ M an his jokes, for "'^ * J^ «,nnd, • Full well the busy wM^'.«^^ Oonvey'dthed^a^^^^^jJ:^,,^^^^ Yet be was kind, or tf w^ew ^ The village f\*«^f^J^^ and cipber too ; ,Twa8 certain be «>^J ^J^^ ^d tides presage, I^ands be cf ^^meas^e ^^^ And even the story '«^^;" ,4 his skill, Inargaing,too,tbe^;7/eonldargne8tiU; For even tbongb ▼a^l^.^J'' " .^d thnnd'ring sound Wewordsofleaxnedl^l^^*^^^^ Amiaed the gaptogTMt^ t ^^^^^, gjew 292 THB THIRD BKADBR. TBI V, 87. The Hector of Quionbn and bis Yioab. THE rector of Guignen, a venerablo old man, and his vicar, had been a short time before guillotined ia the city of Rennes, when I went to see my sister, Madame Junsions, vrho lived at a short distance from Goignen ; she related to me the following incidents of the capture of these two victims : 2. They had been warned of the search that was being made for thorn, and attempted to escape through the fields, when they were perceived by those in pursuit of them. They wore, however, a considerable distance ahead, and the vicar, who was much the youngest and more active, might easily have escaped. 8. They gained, however, upon the old priest, firing their guns at him as they pursued him. The vicar had crossed a brook and ascended the opposite bank, and was out of the reach of his pursuers, when looking back he perceived that the aged rector was unable to get up the steep ascent. His pur- suers were shouting with joy at hip unavailing efforts. 4. The young man immediately turned back, to the surprise of the soldiers, who could not but admire his heroic charity, and endeavored to assist the good o\d parish priest. He de- scended the bank, recrossed the brook, and covering him with his body, strove to aid him across. But he was unable to do so before the soldiers came up and took them both prisoners, to be led, as they well knew, to certain death. 6. The gendarmes stopped at my sister's house, with their prisoners, on their way to the city. The leader pf the prrty, the infiimpus and dreaded D ^n, who had already distin- guished' 'Umself by many sidiilar captures, and was a man of frightful aspect and most sanguinary disposition, told my sister '.he circumstances which I have related above, with some ex pressions of a sort of admiration and pity, the more striking from the mouth of such a monster. 6. " I ahnost regret," he said, " that such a brave fellow will have to be put to death, after such a noble action. He was quite safe, citizeness {eitot/enne)," he added. " We had given him up, but we were gaining on the old one, when lo I ho turned time covet THR SKOTOB OF OUIONKM AND niB VIOAR. 298 lOAB. [his vicar, h city of fons, wrho to me Btims ; f^ made when fey wore, fho vraa 'Scaped. »fir their mossed a of the that the [is par- orprfee 5hority, He de- a ^ith to do anew, their frty, istin- inof ister ex JDg ow le >d >/ ho tarnod back and came to help bim cross the brook, all the time corering him with his body against the fire of oar guns It was a remarkable and affecting scene." Yet, as soon as they had got some refreshments, they hurried on with their prisoners to the tribunal, ani from the tribunal they went the same day to the 8caff6ld. 894 THE THIBD BBADBB. 88. The Three Homes. 1. TTTHERE is thy home V I ask'd a cluld, VV Who, in the morning air, Was twining flowers most sweet and wild In garlands for her hair : " My home/' the happy heart replied, And smiled in childish glee, " Is on the sunny monntain side, Where soft winds wander fiwe." Oh t blessings fall on artless youth, And all its rosy hours, When every word is joy and truth, And treasures live in flowers ! S. " Where is thy home?" I ask'd of one Who bent with flushing face, To hear a warrior's tender tone In the wild wood's secret place. She spoke not, but her varying cheek The tale might well impart ; The home of her young spirit meek Was in a kindred heart. Ah 1 souls that well might soar above, To earth will fondly cUng, And build their hopes on human love. That light and firagUe thing I II Where is thy home, thou lonely man?" I ask'd a pilgrim gray. Who came with fnrrow'd brow, and wan Slow musing on his way : He paused, and with a solemn mien Uptum'd his holy eyes— " The land I seek thou ne'er hast seen. My home is in the skies I" T [^ th< ha tb tl f 295 n. 1 bto'd-ttoico bWa the heart mmt be ""loXm such tho»gh« are g.«n. -J: II. ftoM worldly fetters free- Its only home in he»«'»- 89. St. 7^ '>«"'»™' °"^ *" ^'^''' 89 oT. Jrjffi»» *»— :- r.. V Gt Peter gave of his excur- mHB favorable account ^ji^f ,f ^J^^^ the objections of Kn to CsBsarea, '-^^l^ZJ, the faitMnl wore the faitb at Antioch. Scriptures witness, fnU of 2. Barnabas, a good man aBtbe ,^^^ ^^ promote the faith and the Holy Ghost^;^^^^^^^ Upon work which the grace of »oa na 296 THB THIRD BBADEB. his arrival he could not but rejoice at the pleasmg |«ospect of rel%ion : an extensive field was opened to his zeal 1 the harvest of souls was very great, the workmen few. He encouraged them to persevere in the happy coarse they had undertaken, and went to Tarsus in quest of Saul. 3. He found Mm and brought hun back to Antioch, where they employed themselves for a whole year in the service of the Lord ; they preached, they instructed, they labored with unwearied zeal, and had the consolation to see their labors crowned with success. The proselytes they made irere very nu- merous, and each one vied with his neighbor in the study of good works : then and there it was, that the followers of Christ's doctrine were first distinguished by the name of Christians. 4. About the same tune there came prophets thitb<nr ftom Jerusalem, and among them one called Agabus, who foretold a great famine. The Christians were alarmed at the pro^Aecy, and began to provide against the tune of distress, which hap- pened under Claudius. They collected considerable sums, which they put .into the hands of Saul and Barnabas for the relief of their brethren dwellii^ in Judea. 5. The church of Jerusalem was at that time sorely aggrieved by a persecution, which Herod, at the instigation-of the Jews, had commenced agcdnst the faithful ; the wicked king had al- ready slaiu St. James, the brother of St. John, and was then meditating the death of St. Peter. Having caused him to be apprehended during the Easter time, he kept him in prison under a strong guard, till the holydays were over, when he intended to bring him forth to the people. \i 6. The faithful were in the deepest consternation at the disastrous event, rightly judging that the welfare of the flock was closely connected with that of the pastor, and therefore day and night did they send up the& most fervent prayers to heaven for his deliverance. The Almighty graciously heard their petition, and delivered his Apostle on the very night that preceded his intended execution. t. Bound with two chams, St. Peter lay asleep between two ' soldiers in the prison, perfectly resigned within himself either to life or death, when the angel of the Lord came with great brightness 1 quickly- "^ hands-, he I round him,| ward,tffl^ 8. Af vent on tj rbc saint f been in a ' sent Ins J from fttt ^ be cam* knocked 9. ^a ■Rhode h andinnn bim^»^ panythi bet seni BtiU the bad he« 10. went t ished. gUentl what ratioi the 1 ptivi 1 beei has 8h G< he h( P „. PBTIEB 1.SUVBEED Ot>T OF PBBON. 29T D*. *"* . Lcldy. That moment the cba^feu^^^^^^^g^^ent hands • he speedUy »'°««' f Vn^Xot^l^ he first and second .onnd him, and ^oUo-f ^e^^f ^^^^^^ led to the city, ward, tUl they came to thejon^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^ ^^ey 8. At their ^PP'^^f.f^f!!. where the angel left him. went ontotheend of the ^eet^^^^j,,,eem^^ rhe saint then came to ^f^'J^^^ow that the Lord^atl been in a dream, and sf^^, Nowl ^^ ^^^^^^ ^^, sent his angel, and deUvered me from t j^^^ the event from aU the expectations of tWews 8^^ ^^^^^ ,,, he cam* to the house of Mary, knocked at the gate ^^ y . a girl called 9. Many of the f^^^^^l^X wl^^^ l^earken at the door, Bhode hearing some one toockw^t;«j^^^^ and immediately knewit to ^^^^^J to acquaint the com- S in, she ran back ^ a tra^^^'^ ^^^^/told her she had lost pany that Peter was at t^« ff ^^^.^ them that so it was : !^V;:S:"S"^^^^ itwashisangelshe -Kerinthemeanw^-n^^^ went to the door, ^^d on ,«^"^fi, hs hand not to say a word ished. He beckoned to ^^^^''^ them an account of .ilently enteted into ^^'^'^^ ^^^^^^^ had finished ^s nax- what God had done for ^^' ^ . ^^ j^^es and the rest of ^tion, ^l^^^fJ'^^^lCe^i^^y out of the city, as the brethren, and hastenea nrivately as he could. . t of prison has P"u. ihe wonderful '^^^^ ?^ .^J; J o ^^ Church, that she heenthought to ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ <>- "^^^''^i has instituted a ^jfj^^ often experienced smce, that She then experienced, ^ she ^ ^^^re below ; that unchangeable decrees. ^^^ 298 TIIK THIRD KBADBR. \i ^y-/ ^ 90. Thr Hermit. 1. rpUBN, gentle Hermit of the dale, J- And goide my lonely way To where yon taper cheers the vale- With hospitable ray. 2. " For here, forlorn and lost, I tread With fainting steps and slow — Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem lengthenmg as I go." JB. "Forbear, my son,'' the Hermit cries, " To tempt the dangerous gloom ; For yond^ futhless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom. 4. " Here, to the houseless child of want My door is open still ; And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will. POPB LBO THE OttK^T AMD A'lTILA. 6. " Then turn to-night, and freely share Whatever my cell bestows — My mshy conch and frugal fare. My blessing and repose. 6. "No flocks that range the vaUey free To slaughter I condemn — Taught by that power that pities me. I learn to pity them ; 1. " But, from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring — A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring. 8. " Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ; All earth-bom cares are wrong : Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long." 299 91. FoPB Lbo the Gbbat and Attila. IN the year 450, Attila began his expedition agunst the Western Empire. With an umuense ai Jiy, he set oS from Hungary, directing his course through Germany, towards the Lower Bhine. Large swarms of adventurers joined him upon the march, and swelled hift whole force to half a million of hardy combatants. Deymtatl jn, plunder, CTuelty, and bloodr shed, with every kind of outrage that can be dreaded flrom armed and lawless savages, accompanied the march of Attila. He bore down all before 1dm : Metz, Triers, Tongres, Bheims, Gambrai, and all the towns from the banks of the Bhme to the very centre of Gaul, were plundered, burned, or laid in ruins. 2. The former invaders of Ganl, the Goths, Bnrgundians, Franks, and Alains, then saw themselves in danger, of losmg their new possessions, and that to preserve tbeur existence it 300 THK TllUtI) KKADBB. was necessary to unite their forces against the common ene- my. They joined the Roman standard under the command of iBtius. 3. In the plains of Champagne, near Chalons, the two armies met. Fierce, obstinate, and bloody was the conflict. No less than a hundred and sixty-two thousand Huns are said to have fallen in that memorable battle, fought in the year 451. This defeat forced Attila to quit Qaul, and to lead back his broken troops into Hungary. 4. In the following spring, Attila overran Italy. Meeting with no resistance, he ravaged the country at discretion, re- duced several of the fairest towns to heaps of stones and ashes ; and, to finish the work of desolation by one decisive stroke, marched against Rome. Rome was not in a state to resist. Submissive offers and negotiation were the only weap- ons she had to ward off the. blow. In the chair of St. Peter was seated the holy and eloquent Leo, the successor of Sixtus III., who had succeeded Gclestine. 5. The venerable Pontiff, moved at the danger that threat- ened the capital of the empire, generously consented to put himself into the power of a savage Tartar, and to expose his life for the public safety. Without arms, and without a guard, relying solely on the protection of God, who guides the hearts of kings, he went to treat with the sanguinary mon- arch, who was styled the scourge of God and the terror of mankind. 6. Contrary to expectation, Attila received him with honor, listened with attention to his pathetic and eloquent harangue, and for once suffered the natural ferocity of his temper to b« softened into reason. He promised peace to the Romans drew off his troops and evacuated Italy. 7. Not long after his return to the royal village which h< had chosen for his residence in Hungary, upon the fertil« banks of the Danube, he burst an artery in his sleep, and wai suffocated in his own blood. The quarrels that divided hii' ions and the followers of his standard, dissolved the vast, un> wieldy empire of the Huns, which had extended from the Volga to the Rhine. CHILDHOOD OF CUHlBT. 301 92. Childhood of C^ibtst. A «fl Toseph brought ba^k that boly WHEN Herod was dead, Josepn o 6 ^^^^ j^^^^ famaytoNazarethmWe. B^^^^^^ .^ ,«,, S\r^ti:f Ofd wasinh^^^ ^,,^ ,,,,.. 2 Is he not ^d^^^^V If Wlf to the condition of Jkon as a God, but b«^3^*^« ^'^^ hidden in Nazareth . and'wisdom winch are in hun! ^^^^^ j^^^,^ ^o yon 3 And you, cluldren, hke t^«^^^^ that the grace ot God may be with yon. O chi«i'^^" ^^^^^ ^^dren Sill ag'es 1 age of im^cence !^ But^ ^o y^.^^ .^ ^ ^^^^^ ^^^,, what innocence 18? Listen, a 80» THK TUIIU) KKADKM. on earth. Look in that spotless mhror : how well your image is reflected I Thus the heart of an innocent child reflects the image of God. 4. Behold that pure and limpid stream where the heavens are mirrored, and the twinkling stars I Thus is God mirrored in the heart of a pure and innocent child. Behold the dazzling whiteness of the lily, and mark wbat a sweet, fresh perfume exhales from its graceful cup ! So is innocence the perfume of the soul, which embalms earth and heayen. Behold the snow that whitens the fields, and covers them in the dreary days of whiter with a mantle of surpassing beauty ! Thus in> nocence is the beautifhl coveiing of the souL 5. Oh unhappy day, fatal day, when a child first loses its in- nocence, — Closes it forever? Oh, how his soul is disfigured I Who could recognize it f The foul mirror no longer reflects your unage; the troubled stream g^ves back no longer the azure of the sky; the withered IQy hangs its faded head, with- out beauty or sweetness ; the white snow is become filthy mud. A pure child is, as we said, an angel ; but, alas ! if his wmgs are once defiled with earthly mir^, can the angel still fly up to heaven ? 6. It is to the little infant Jesus, chfldren, that you must recommend your innocence, praying hun, at the same tune, to ^ve you a portion of his wisdom. His modesty made him conceal his treasures ; but he one day manifested them, and then even the wise themselves were mute with astonishment. \\ a. OntheBi Benettthl Seethe To anei ^. Andth^ "Who Andtl Audi .. Andtl AnAt \^ho Butil 6. Then M'^ And 6. A« A^ The An< • A B 93. The Buttbbflt's Ball, and the Gbasspoppeb's Fbabt. «.1 I. pOME take up your hats, and away let us haste V To the Butteirtfly's ball and the Grasshopper's feast : The trumpeter Gad-fly has sunmon'd the crew. And the revels are now only waitimc tor yoo. «,tv AMD (,*AB8U0rFl£R. ^^^ THE BCrnfiBFLY AMD W»*»^ , t. ««.«aB by the Bide cf» wood, *!,- w««tle BO blind and bo black, S. And there came the B^J^^*^^;^^ on hto back ; mo c«med ^%?^Stt^JSrbragon.fly too, ABd there came *be Gn^d »^^ ^^e j And all their relations, green, onmB-. ♦».« Moth i»ith her plmnage of down, - — «l«ll'a<^rt«fl^'"•'•• 5. Then the O, »t«l?*rX& *« «<"• ' . „ ABd M ^ tto fa«0^^^;^ out of h« ** Th. viMid. were ;r "^to^ t^ ^<^ '^ '«"* ' And the Bee btoogkt tbe nonej „,,„tio the SMil m ttSvunee, ,. -With rtepe r" '^.'!^„ . mmet to deuce ; And he PWjr* ** JS that he drew to to herf. Their watchman, the <*1^;[ ^ ^ Ve can see ; SohomeletnBhastenwWeyetw ^^^^^^^^ For no watchman IB waitmg tor y 304 THB THIRD RBADBB. 94. The Asgbnsion. OUR blessed Lord remained forty days upon earth after his resurrection, appearing sometimes to all his Apostles at once, and sometimes only to some, that he might thereby fnlly convince them of his being risen, and wean them by degrees from his corporeal presence. During that tune, he instrncted them in the nature and the use of those spiritual powers which he had imparted to them for the good of mankind. What those instructions were m particular, the evangelists do not mention. St. Luke in general terms says, that he spoke to them of the kingdom of God, which, according to St Gregory, is his Church upon earth. 2. St. Matthew and St. Mark finish their evangelical hiS' toiy with these remarkable words of our blessed Saviour to his Apostles, saying, " To me is given all power in heaven and on earth y go ye, therefore, teach all nations, baptizmg them in the nai QhoBt. HI but be wq them, therl ed yon ; f J of the wo^ 8. JesB came do^ 01 death ; V yealed w mands al the Spiri vicar as name, absence that sea bumanit 4.1:1 the dea« near J< their e; intervc ^vine right' wiUb andt Apo« men thus take eom 6 fer Ch of ou TUB ASCENSION. 805 In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. He who shall believe and be baptized, shall be saved; but he who shall not believe, shall be condemned. Teach them, therefore, to observe every thing that I have command* ed yon ; for, behold, I am always with you, even to the end of the world." 8. Jesns Christ had now finished the work for which he came down from heaven and dwelt among ns. He had en* lightened the world by his doctrine, and redeemed it by his death ; by his miracles he had confirmed the tmth of his re- vealed religion ; he had established his Ghnrch, which he com- mands all to hear ; he had promised to assist his Ghnrch with the Spirit of Truth to the end of ages ; he had appointed hia vicar as a universal pastor, to preside over the Church in his name, and to feed his flock, both sheep and lambs, in his absence : nothing more remained than to take possession of that seat of bliss, which he had merited for his own sacred humanity and ns. 4. Therefore, on the fortieth day after his resn)rrection from the dead, he led his disciples forth to the Mountain of Olives, near Jerusalem; he there gave them his last blessing and raised himself (torn the earth towards heaven. They fixed their eyes upon him, as he ascended through the air, till an intervening cloud received him out of their sight. By his own divine power he ascended into heaven, where he sits at the right hand of the Father ; being, as he always shall and ever will be, the same consubstantial and co-eternal God with hun and the Holy Ghost in one and the same divine nature. The Apostles kept their eyes stili fixed on heaven, when two young men in white apparel came and asked them why they stood thus gazing at the heavens : the Jesus whom yon have seen taken from you into heaven, said they, will in the some maunei come again from thence to judge the living and the dead. 5. IMvial is the pomp of this vain world to a devout and fervent Christian, when he contemplates the glory of Jesus Christ, and considers the never^nding happiness of the citizens of heaven. Heaven is the ol>ject on which we ought to turn our eyes; thither ought our hearts and wishes to aspira 8oe TBB TBISO MIADRN. We neror should foifcet, that the country to which wo belong, that the bread which nourishes our sonls, that tho }p ire which supports our yirtues, that the happiness whiih ".. !u)]>o to partake of, and the Head of which we are mombers, is in heayen. 0. The sphritual treasures which we hore oi\)oj, and the temporal advantages which we receive t'roui creator cs, are appointed us by Almighty Ood, liS helps towardi our las' end. It was to open us an entrance into heayen that Christ shed his blood ; it was to dra^- our hearts thither that he ascended before the last day. The heayonly princes were commanded to lift up their eternal gates, and the King of glory, the Lord of powers, entered into his kingdom, which he had acquired by his sufferings and death. Oreat^ 95. Thb Tbavbllbb. 1. Tl'EN now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, J-i I sit me down a pensiye hour to spend ; And placed on high, aboye the storm's career. Look downward where a hundred realms appear— Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. S. When thus cre.r,io'a*n ' , us aroo. i combine. Amidst the store . uiuid tliankless pride repine? Say, should the philosophio mind disdaia That good whidi makes each humbler bosom yain ? 8. Let school-tanght pride dissemble aU it can, These little things are great to little man ; And wiser he whose sympatt3tic mind Exults in all the good of all mankind. 4. Ye glittering towi:;s with wealth and splendor crown'd ; Te fields when summer spreads profusion round ; Te lakes whose ressels catch the busy gale ; Te bending swains that dress the flowery yaie; ro belong, tho gi ice htn, u \n and the ;ard8, are oar las At Christ ' that he iCes were King of m, which ni'd; THB MOOaiBtt WAM 1« «*^1»- 807 T,or me your l^^^^Jl^i::^^. mine! Ore»tlon'« heir, the wono, mi- Ho«a. •«« hoMd. "r™^ ""^^uag .till ! Yet .an h. •W»'/"^J^o» Z ^::sx':s!^>s:tTeav.uto»»»««-. 96. Tra MoowBH Wam is S""- 808 THE THIRD READER. Moors from Africa, who had oyemin their faur country and reduced the Christian inhabitants of many of its provinces to a state of abject slavery. 2. They had possession of the entire province of Granada, one of the fairest and most fertile portions of Spain, and in its ancient capital they had established their seat of empire. The palace of the Moorish kings of Granada, called the Alham- bra, is still to be seen in a fnined state in the neighborhood of that city, and appears to have been one of the most magnifi •ent boildings ever erected for a royal dwelling. 3. Bat at length the Christian princes of Spain succeeded in conquering those rich and powerful Moors, whose cruelty can hardly be told h words. The honor of that great triumph was resOTYed for Ring Ferdinand and Queen Isabella his wife. and wlien tl infidels, they rightful own dan worsbil 4. There ^lonao d'i tues and g the queen i their expt» to his Stan 5. The Christian Bacrifice o ^and wf but the q self pla«* defend it to do 80, THE MONKS OF OLD. 309 AlUd'Ag»il«.toting«sbM«m«^ He it ^« whom taes md gte»t v.aor « for ?» »« ^^ ^^^ „„„ and the queen inttosted Witt, to fi.^«^_^j, i^neiiately flocked ClirUtian army m bra "T"™™ ' j this new emsiide. Jer ^ce of fte m«8 f' *« ^^t'\^^; dominions at the t««., r^eT^:K'5-r,s::^d»^^^, t:r.o,«>dhetept his word.. 97. This Mokks ot Ou>. To hnm«. softness dead ^^e*^ ^^,^ ^^ty. 4': . They dwelt lilce shadows on the earth, 'f^^ from the penalties «">^^i, lor let one feeling «nt»e^f*ty. *i,.m . their cloister'd hearts *-k™^noUh:>Sr pang that parts Beings that all »ff««'"''^» ^ udtM in mity. 810 THB THIRD RBADSB. 4. The tomb to them was not a place To drown the best-loved of theur race, And blot out each sweet memory's trace In didl obscurity. 5. To them it was the calmest bed That rests the aching human head : They look'd with envy on the dead, And not with agony 6. No bonds they felt, no ties they broke, No music of the heart they woke, When one brief moment it bad spoke. To lose it suddenly. 1. Peaceful they liyed, — peaceful they died j And those that did their fate abide Saw Brothers wither by their side In all tranquillity. 8. They loved not, dream'd not, — ^for their sphere Held not joy's visions ; but the tear Of broken hope, of anxious fear. Was not their miserf. 9. I envy them, those monks of old. And when their statues I behold. Carved in the marble, calm and cold. How true an effigy ! 10. I wish my heart as calm and still To beams that fleet, and blasts ihat chill, And pangs that pay joy's spendthrift ill With bitter usury, w ly. ire 89TJ, yi THB 8A0RBD PICTURES. 81i 98. Thb Saobkd PicrruBBS. 9S. i-BK «*-""- «^ TTildebrand, had beefl deeply . VALIANT kri^W-nam^^^d^^^^^^ ^ niffbt • and at dawn of day n« b ^^ ^^g yery early, no t CTv8 of the morning sm- g. presented out 8a^i„rrtbe pnrple robe o soon. Wo« ^^^_ ,^^ "'^Pan^dS tr:i tSU««on>t-..se and prayed. I 812 TnF, THIRD BBADEB. Now, when he left the chapel, he met serrants coming from Bnmo, who said: "We seek you. Our lord demands to Bpeak with you ; he is dangerously ill." And he went with them. When Hildebrand entered the hall where the knight lay, Bruno said : " Forgive me my injustice. Alas, I have injured thee deeply 1" 4. Then the other said kindly : " My brother, I have noth ing to forgive thee." And they grasped each other's .hand, embraced and comforted each other, and parted in shicere amity. Then the light of evening was more lovely to the retnmmg knight than the light of the morning had been. 99. Tbuth in Pabbnthbses. 1. T REALLY take it very kind, J. This visit, Mrs. Skinner 1 I have not seen you such an age — (The wretch has come to dinner !) 2. " Your daughters, too, what loves of girls^i What heads for painters' easels I Oome here and kiss the infant, dears, — (And give it, perhaps, the measles I) 8. " Your charming boys I see are home From Beverend Mr. RussePs ; 'Twas very kind to bring them both,— (What boots for my new brussels !) 4. " What I Uttle Olara left at home 7 Well now I call that shabby : I should have loved to kiss her so,— (A flabby, dabby babby I) 6. " And Mr. S., I hope he's well, Ah I though he lives so handy, JAPANESE MABTYB8. 818 ig from uds to Qt with ht lay, injared e noth 3, hand, sincere nrning He never now drops in to sup, — (The better for oar brandy !) 6. '' Come, take a seat — I long to hear About Matilda's marriage ; You're come of course to spend the day !- (Thank Heaven, I hear the carriage I) t. What! must yon go? next time I hope You'll give me longer measure ; Nay — I shall see you down the stairs— (With most uncommon pleasure !) 8. "Good-byl good-by! remember all. Next time you'll take your dinners! (Now, David, mind I'm not at home In future to the Skinners !) i 100. Japanese Mabtybs. THE martyrdom of Don Simon, a Japonian nobleman and valiant soldier, was full of a noble interest; he was con* demned to be beheaded : when the tidings were brought him in the evening, he put on his best robes, as if he had been going to a banquet ; he took leave of his mother, his wife, and family ; they wept bitterly, but Agnes would not be comforted. This beautiful and great soul fell presently on her knees, praying him to cut off her hair, for fear, she added, " that if 1 chance to survive you, the world may think I have a mind to marry again." 2. He told her that after his death she was free to take her choice. "Oh, my lord," replied Agnes, "I vow, in the presence of God, I never wUl have any spouse but you." He < then desired his three cousins to be called in. " Am I not a happy man," he said, "to die a martyr for Jesus Christ? what ean I do to be grateful for so singular a favor?" " Pray fo( u 314 THU THIRD KEADKR. US, we beseech you," said one of thorn, " when you come to heaven, that we may partake with you in your glory." " Pre- pare to meet me," he replied, " for it will not be long before you follow." 3. Having foretold them what soon came to pass, they all fell on their knees, the mother, the wife, and the relatives reciting aloud the Confiteor ; this done, he entertained himself a while interiorly with God : then desiring the picture of our Saviour to be brought, they walked down into the hall where he was to suffer, each bearing a crucifix and a lighted torch in their hands. 4. Many now gathermg around him, gave way to their sorrow. " Weep not for me," said the martyr, " for this is the happiest moment of my whole life ;" then kneeling down, his head was struck off at one biow, in the thirty-fifth year of his age. . Agnes looked at the scene, pale and immovable ; she then knelt, and gazed on the face for some time, and kissed it, and : .i.- .^mjuammtmttimtum to fre- 3re JAFANBSE MARTYBS. 315 leir the his his len nd bathed it with her tears. " Oh ! my hasband, who had the honor of dying for him who first died for thee — oh I glorioub martyr, now that thoa reignest with God in heaven, be mind- fnl of thy poor desolate wife, and call her to thyself/' Hei words were like a prediction. 5. An intunate friend of Simon, of the name of Don John, a man of rank, was also beheaded ; leaving his widow Magda- lene, and his little son Lewis, a boy abont seven or eight years of age. In the course of a few days they were all called upon to follow the dead. Four crosses were erected at the place of execution, to which they were borne in palanqums. The first they crucified was the mother of Don Simon, a person of heroic resolution ; the next was the Lady Magdalene. 6. Her own torment was nothing to what she endured from that of the little Lewis, whom they executed in her sight. The child, seeing them tie bis mother, went of his own accord to the executioners, praying them to fasten him to his cross : "What," said they, "are not you afraid to die?" "No," replied the child, " I fear it not ; I will die with my mother." Then the executioners took and tied him to his cross, that stood right over-agaiost that of Magdalene ; but drawing the cords too tight, he gave a shriek. Bemg raised aloft in the air, he fixed his eyes on his mother, and she hers on hun. " Son," said she, " we are going to heaven ; take courage : say Jesus, Mary." 7. The child pronounced them, and the mother repeated ; and these, their last words, were spoken with so much solem- nity and sweetness, that all wept around. After they had hung in this manner for some time, one of the executioners struck at him, but the lance slipping on one side, he missed his blow. However, if he spared the child, it is certam he pierced the mother to the heart. Fearing that he might be daunted by such a stroke, she called to hun, " Lewis, take courage ; say, Jesus, Mary." 8. The child seemed not in the least dismayed, and neither gave a shriek nor shed a tear, but waited patiently till the ex- ecutioner, redoubling his blow, pierced him through. The Japonian crosses have a seat in the middle, for the sufferer te #>• 816 THE TIIIBD RBA.9ER. lit on ; ir'^ead of nailing tho body, they bind the hands and feec with cords, and place an iron ring about the neck ; that done, the cross is raised aloft in the air, and after a few min utes, the executioners, with sharp lances fit for the purpose, strike right at the heart through the left side. By this means, the sufferer dies almost in an instant in a deluge of his own blood. There was now only remaining the ardent and beautiful Agnes, whom they reserved to the last; she knelt on the bank, and, clasping her hands on her breast, blessed God aloud for permitting her to die on the wood of the cross, which himself had sanctified by his precious death. 9. She then made a sign for the officers to tie her : but not a man approached her, all were so oyerwhelmed with grief. She called to them again, and still they stood immovable like statues : she then extended herself in the best manner she could on the cross. Some idolaters that were present, between the hopes of a reward and the menaces of the officers, stepped up and bound her fast, and then raised her aloft in the air. 10. The spectators, seeing a person of her quality, so deli- cate and tender, ready to suffer for no other crime but that of being true and faithful to her God, could not keep from tears. Some wept most bitterly ; others again covered their faces, and were not able to look up at such a spectacle, which was ready to tear their hearts to pieces. 11. In the mean while she fixed her eyes on heaven, and prayed without intermission, in expectation of the fatal blow ; but not one offered to do her this favor, insomuch that the same persons that bound her were forced to take up the exe- cutioners' lances, and do the office for them ; but being quite inexperienced, they gave her blow upon blow before she was dead. 12. The lady all the while fixed her eyes on the picture of Christ, upon which her husband had gazed so fondly before his death, and which she held in her hand. Many Christians forced their way through the crowd, and without regard to the soldiers' threats, dipped their handkerchiefs in the blood, and cut off small pieces of the robos. Bhovi She's Bun I ho Bill, Gre Th« W S ' ji-t ' .- »-J-— "■ ' ^' V -.I ' JBL. ' - i i-jaun'J ' "" ! ^ T* PAIN IN A PLEASUBEB0A1. 817 and that mm )08e, lieans, own 101. Fain in a Flbasubb-Boat. » Boatman. Shovk off there I — ship the radder, Bill — cast off I she's under wayl Mrs. F. She's under what ? — I hope she's not { good gracious, what a spray I BOATICAN. Run out the jib, and rig the boom 1 keep clear of those two brigs! Mrs. F. I hope they don't intend some joke by rnnnmg of their rigs I Boatman. Bill, shift them bags of ballast aft — she's rather out of trim I Mrs. F. Great bags of stones I they're pretty things to help a boat to swim. Boatman. The wind is firesh — ^if she don't scud, it's not the breeze's fanltl Mrs. F. Wind fresh, indeed, I never felt the air so full of satt I 818 THB THIRD BEAOBB. Boatman. That schooner, Bill, harn't left the roads, with oranges and nuts! Mrs. F. If seas have roads, they're very rongh — I never felt snch rots I BOATKAN. It's neap, ye see, she's heavy lado, and couldn't pass the bar. Mrs R The bar! what, roads with turnpikes too? I wonder wherv they are I Boatman. Ho I brig ahoy 1 hard up I hard up I that lubber cannot steer! Mrs. F. Yes, yes, — ^hard up upon a rock I I know some danger's near] Gracious, there's a wave ! its coming in j and roaring like a bull! Boatman. Nothing, ma'am, but a little slop 1 go large. Bill I keep her fnlll Mrs. F. What, keep her full I what daring work I when full she must go down! Boatman. Why, Bill, it lulls ! case off a bit — it's coming off the town ! Steady your hehn I w;e'll clear the Pint! lay right for yonder pioJcl Mrs. F. Be steady — ^well, I hope they can ! but they've got a pint of drink 1 Boatman. Bill, give that sheet another haul — she'll fetch it up tliis reach. Mrs. F. I'm getting rather pale, I know, and they see it by that speech! « I wonder what it is, now, but — I never felt so queer I ' .IUW» ' ' - J„ I W.- II J I * ll ' -l« PAIN IN ▲ PLBASUBB-BOAT. 819 and irntflf bar. ■ '* innot Boatman. Bill, mind yonr luff— why Bill, I say, she'a yawing— keep her nearl Mrs. p. Keep near! we're going farther off; the land's behind oar * backs. Boatman. Be easy, ma'am, it's all correct, that's only canse we tacks ; We shall have to beat aboat a bit, — Bill, keep her oat to seu. Mbs. F. Beat who aboat? keep who at sea? — ^how black they look at me I Boatman. It's veering roand — I knew it woald ! oiT with her head! stand by I Mrs. F. Off with her head! whose? where? what with? — an axe I seem to spy. Boatman. She cannot keep her own yoa see ; we shall have to pall her inl Mrs. F. They'll drown me, and take all I have ! my life's not worth a pin! Boatman. Look oat yon know, be ready. Bill— just when she takes the sand! Mrs. F. The sand — O Lord ! to stop my month ! how eveiy thing is plann'd! Boatman. The handspike, Bill — qaick, bear a hand ! now, ma'am, jnst step ashore. Mrs. F. What I ain't I going to be kill'd — and welter'd in my gore ? Well, Heaven be praised I bat I'll not go a sailing any more 8S0 TBB THIRD BRADBB. 102. Flowbbs for thb Altar ; or, Plat and Earnbr. DRAXATia PIBSONA HiLur, ton jttn old. Aorh, Mttn jun old. OtwAts, nln« jun old. Fathbb Domiiiio. Tb« Oardeur, Miller, iu. • Scene I. mUUstroam, with ftweir, down which the water rushes toworde the mill. Aawn orouee a little bridge, listens, and then searches for a while among the sedges on the bank. At length she utters an exclamation of Joy, and at the same moment a beautiful bantam hen rushes oui., ducking. Agnea. Five eggs, and all my own 1 One each, for papa, mamma, Helen, Oswald, and myself! Yet, no; poor old Kitty Oliver shall haye this one, and I will boil it for her in her Uttle tin saucepan. sly Bantam, naughty Bruydre, to make your nest in such an out-of-the-way place I Had I not been up so very early this morning, and heard yoitr " Cluck, duck !'' you would have cheated us all. Hden and Oswald coil, Agnes 1 Agnes ! Agnea. They are coming this way, and calling me. I will not tell them of my good fortune until breakfast-time, and then it will be such a pleasant surprise. They will all won- der so to see Brnydre's eggs, but they will never guess where she had hidden them. £nter Hblsm and Oswald. Aonm hastily gathers up her apron with the eggs. OsvoaJd. Agnes, we want you. We have invented a new game ; and while we are planning all the rules and the meet- ing-places, and so on, you must gather some sedges for us. Agnea. What can you want with sedges? Oawdd. What is that to yon ? Ton will know by and by when play-time comes ; so lose no time, if you please, but do as you are bid. Agnea. In a minute. Just let me run to the house and back. I will fly as fast as a bird. Oawald. Stuff and nonsense I Who can wait for you? Breakfast will be ready in a quarter of an hour, and we have invented a new game, I tell you ; so go and gather the sedges. Agne% have in n know it p Oavodi your aprc altar, an have beei BO you ai Agnea that par Bhe turns takes, r< Into tea Bden , Bruyftre than a ^ Oawc she was Selfish Hde She is some c Ost eggat [flea Ai wiU^ Brii tihei you IXOWBBS FOB TBB ALTAB. 821 po iljjmes [imploringly]. Oswald, pray let me take what I have in my apron to the honse. It is a secret; yoa shall know it presently, but let me go. Osvoald. I know what it is, by the way you are holding up yoor apron. Yoa have been gathering some flowers for the altar, and wish to make a mystery of it ; bat there woald have been plenty of time before four o'clock to gather them, so yoa are a great simpleton to do it so early. Agnes [aaide]. The eggs at breakfast will set him right in that particular, so I will say no more now, bat ran for it. Bha turns quioklj, »nd runs m fiwt m she can. Oswald pnrsn«B, over- takes, roughly seizes her apron, and breaks all th» eggs. Agnes bursts into tears. Helen. O Oswald 1 what have yoa done? Those mast be Braydre's eggs, that Agnes has been banting for for more than a week I Oswald. Then why did she not say so at once? I suppose she was afraid I should want one of them for my breakfast. Selfish little animal 1 Aeins sobs violently, but says nothing. Helen. Gome, come, Oswald, do not be unfair to Agnes. She is a Aretful little thing, with plenty of faults, as well as some of her neighbors, but she is not a greedy child. AavEs smiles, and looks grateftilly at Hium. Oswald. In that case it is a pity certainly for ua that the eggs are broken, and a greater pity to cry about the matter. [He sings']: "Hompty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dnmpty had a great fall ; Not all the Jdng's horses nor all the king's men Could set Humpty Dumpty up agiun." Agnes {Umghing]. That is very true, Oswald, dear ; so wo will think no more of our Humpty Dumpty's misfortunes. Bhe runs to the brook, and begins to gather sedges. Ostoald. By the way, tho&e sedges are not quite the thing. Bring me the tallest flags and bulrushes you can find : pull them up close t) the root. Every one must be as tall as yourself. 14» 322 THB THIBD SEADBB. Agnea. They are very hard to break off ; I am afiraid they will cat my hands. Oswald. Oh, that is a trifle. Yon most pull the harder ; and when yon hare finished, lay them in a handle at the door of the sammer-hoase, that when the recreation-hoar comes, we may begm without loss of time. Agnea. I wonder what the play is to be. Eden. I will tell yon all aboat it at breakfast-tune. Oswald. And remember, that if you cry at every word that is spoken, and if yoa complain when the flags cat yoar hands, yoa will never make one in oar game. None but the very bravest of the brave can learn to play with as at that. Exeont Hxuir and Oswald ; manet Aomts, who gathen flags and bolrnsh- es, and carries them to the summer-honse. She performs her task with mach perseverance and patience, and never looks at her bleeding hands until the breakfast-bell is heard. Agnes. There is the beU for breakfast, and 1 have not gathered my flowers, though I thought of them the last thing at night and the first thing in the morning. Well, well; patience was my virtne for yesterday's practice, and it cer- tainly was not mach tried 1 1 mast keep it until after break- fast, and then choose another for to-day. She dips her hands into the stream to wash them, lays her bundle at the door of the summer-house, and trips gayly homeward. SCBNB II. A flower garden. Enter the three children. ' Agnes. Oh, yes, it will be lovely I To walk m procession and sing the litanies with flags in our hands to look l^e palms! Thank yoa again and again, dear Helen, for inventing such a iweet play. Oswald. It was not Helen who mvented it ; it was I. ffelen. For shame, Oswald ; how can yon say so I Oswald. Well, though you may have tkougJU of it first, I put your thought into shape for you. Agnes. Thank you, then, dear Oswald. OsuHild [to Agnes'], Now, mind, we only allow yoa a 32 mmmm^ FLOWEltS FOB THE ALTAB. 323 they lerj ioor we that ids, rerjr quarter of an hour to gather your flowers; and the very moment I whistle, you must come and join us in the forum. Agnea. The forum 1 What is that? Oswald. Why the grass-plot, to be sure, stupid. Do you not remember that the summer-house is the temple of Jupiter, where the martyr's are to refuse to offer sacrifice : and that the weather-cock is the Roman eagle, and the grass-plot is — Agues. Oh, yes, I remember all about it now I I promise to join yon when you whistle for me in a quarter of an hour. [Exeunt Helen and Oswald. Agnes Iwhile putting on her garden-apron and gloves, and taking oui her Jlotoer-shears']. Oh, happy day, happy day 1 To dress our Lady's altar with my own roses, all my own 1 Thirteen wMte ones that I counted yesterday, with ever so many buds, and twenty-five red ones ; and then the moss-rose tree, that seems to have come out on purpose for to-day, it is so full of buds I How beautiful they will look t Our Blessed Lady shall have them all — every one ; I would not give one to anybody else to-day for the world — unless, perhaps, — [she pauses a moment^ and then, clapping her hands together, adds with a happy smile and upward glance"] no, not even to Father Dominic. This is far better than even our new play r this is happiness, while that is only pleasure [she looks thoughtful, and a cloud comes over her countenance]. Fathxb Doimno is seen approaching with his brevisry in his hand. Agnes [stiU musing]. There is Father Dominic. I would ask him, only he is saying his ofBce. Fatbbr Dohinio crosses the path, and, without speaking, holds oat his finger, which Aokxb takes, looking up in his face, and walking beside him Sot a few minutes in silence. Father D. [shuts his hook and smiles gently at Agnes]. Well, my cuild, what is it you are wishing to say to me ? Agnes [aside]. How is it he knows so well wiiat I have in my thoughts? [aloud] Father, is there any harm in playii^ ut martyrs ? Father D. You must first explain to me a little what sort of a game that is. Agnes. We are to pretend that we are some of the holy 824 THK TillKD KBADEB. saints who suffered martyrdom under the emperor Diocletian. Oswald is to be the pagan tyrant ; the snmmer-hoose is to be the Roman temple, where He.en and myself are to refuse to offer sacrifice to Jupiter ; and then we are to walk to prison and to death singing the Litanies, with make-belieye palms in our hands. Father D. And you wish to know 1 — Agnes. Whether the sufferings of the samts is not too holy a subject to be turned into play ? Father D. Tell me, my child, which is the most holy occu- pation that children can have ? Agnes [after thinking a while], father, you have told me that, with simplicity and obedience, every occupation is holy to a little child ; so that play in play-time, is as holy as study in school-time, or even as meditation itself. FatJier D. And what is it that sanctifies your meditation, your work, and your play, so as to make them equally accept- able to our Lord ? Agnes. The constant remembrance of his adorable presence. Father D. Go, my child, to your play. For my part, I think it the prettiest I have heard of for many a long day, and I should like to be a little child like yon for a while to join in it. Though your palms are make-believe ones, your litanies are real, and whenever yon sing them your angel guardian joins his voice with yours. Who knows but that our Lord, when he sees little children amusing themselves with good disposi- tions, may bestow on them in reality the spuit of martyrdom f Agnes. Do people need the spirit of martyrdom now, when there are no longer any heathen emperors? What is the spirit of martyrdom. Father ? Father D, {sighing']. Yes, my dear child, we want it still, and shall do so to the end of the world ; but if yon ask me what it is, I answer it is a gift from Heaven, to be obtained, ike all other perfect gifts, by asking for it. Let this be the virtue yon choose for to-day ; pray for it, my dear child, and it will be given to you both to know and to practise it, whether in play-time or at any other time, should the occasion be given when yon need it ; and this may be sooner than yon think ,,«•. •l»«t»*"*I^J(J**f^^^'^ FLOWEKS FOR THE ALTAB. 325 rA\ I am afraid of Affne,. O Father, im '^^'^^^l, .UghOy tot, can ^lij tettato from i^- O™*^" ^^ u^t h, doe. not A^^biBtleisheard. we are waiting. , what must I do ? I prom- . iZ^^Zl^'^-^' ^^' -' '^'^ "^ ^»SL....Keep.o„pr-^»r^;:''"*=^-; .disappototmeat rather than b^kap^ ^.^^^^ ,.4 „„, of 4S^». But there '««*7PXaoi» Blessed Lady every ^ '^^inpot'^y- ^^yj^lm. Offer to om rTerD. Give me ^rj^^ttwa for the altar. IvriU Lori every Uttte good «t.» «^ a^« j„ t^, ,^.^ house i whUe yon fo^T y,^ th»t do ? I yM say it at the same tm.e. vv ^^ ^. SCENE III. o AM>» S^lflowerinborboBom. 326 TUB THIUD BEADEB. Oswald [fieft'cely]. Gome on, wretches, and suffer the pan* ishment which Csesar so jostly awards to yonr crimes. Thrice hare yoa impiously refused to sacrifice, and thrice shall yon be beaten with these rods before the axe closes your miserable and detestable lires. In the mean time, thrice shall yon bd driven through the city and round its boundaries, that every Ro- man may behold yonr ignominy, and may tremble at yonr fate. no drives them before him for eome time, and then stops opposite the summer-house. Oswald to Agnes. Maiden, your tender years inspire me with some compassion for your folly : only bow as yon pass that standard, and I will intercede for you with the emperor. Aemts walks erect past the summer-house. Oswald. WUt thou noi uend ? Agnes. No. Helen {pushing her]. You do not do it properly. Make a speech, cannot you ? Plain " no" sounds so stupid. Agnes. I do net know what else to say. Helen. You ought to make a grand speech, to defy the lictor, and abuse the emperor and the gods of Rome. Yon shall hear by and by how /will do it. Oswald [threatening with his rod]. Once for all, wUt thou bow to the standard of Rome, to the royal burd of Jupiter 7 Agnes. Never 1 Oswald. Here then will I teach thee what it is to be ob- stinate. [He strikes her somewhat harder than he intended.'] The Angel guardian of Aems approaobes and whispers to her frequently during this scene and the rest of the drama. The words of the Angel seem to AeNxs thoughts, for she does not see the Angel, but she knows hfl is near, and speaks to him also in thoughts. Angel. Courage, Agnes. A flower for the altar I Oswald to Helen. To thee also is mercy for the last time offered. Disgrace not a name held in honor throughout the world, that of a Roman matron ; nor afford a pretence to thy children to desert the holy temples, where their an'^stors wor- shiped, and forsake the protecting gods of their hearths and homes. naynm w)» wb *«•"»• 327 .wrUlB. they '-"i*.^"' ^'S^les «e dem «f *e rf st empMort command tto mu x Bae« [ansrily]. "oj^' ^'r^Libte. IH* Agnes much yon do it again. ^^y^ ^n if you caU me Os- a aowei for the dtM. ^ h»„ hurt Helen » ^ene.. Dear Oswald, I f«* J,"" ftere is » »lae mark Uttt'mor. th»> yon '»'»*«*• t^'C.ff tbis part of «;« an her arm. Had 'e notbetor^^^ ^ ^^^^. TbcI^. ^'"'•"7?:S^Uy; .»itor»b.gi«^i'-'n OskmW. Very ^"W^^h throw away my fasces, kick down the altar of Jnpiter, and tnro ^.^^^^ 828 THB THIRD BKADBB. l8t Child. Well, if that ain't beautiful? I wonder whether we could play at that, or whether it could be only for t^enile* folks. 2d OhUd. Why shouldn't us? If us can sing in the church, us has as good a right as they any how and any- where. Angel to Agnes. Love the poor and welcome them every- where. Agnes. Perhaps this may be a flower for the altar. She mns to her mother, who is sitting reading on one of the garden-seats, and asks permission for the viJage children to join their procession. This being granted, Aonbs tells the children where to find the bundle of palms, and again takes her place b.3hind Hxuen. They walk on, singing, *' Virgo slngularis, inter omnes mitis," &o., &e. Krmr Ou* TKB, who is weeding aliower-bed, looks np when she hears their voices, and calls to the gardener. Kitty. John, John, come here and hearkec. You have heard me tell about Miss Agnes' singing. Gome and listen to it yourself, and you will say with me that there is not one of them to be compared with her. Bless her little heart I she sings like an angel, as she ii. AsMxs, who hears this, blushes. Agnes to her Angd guardian. If it will be a flower for the altar to shun human praise, let me sing in my heart only, and do yon sing for me. The Angel sings, and Aonsb keeps silence. The/ walk along the bank ol the river, singing the Litany of Loretto, when the village children arrive carrying their mock palms : they follow the procession, and join in the litany. Oswald [turning sharply round]. Who is that roaring the Orapro nobis, spoilmg our singing? 1st OJMd [slinking back']. 'Twasn't me, sir. 2d Child {pulling his forelock, and scrajping a rustic hoto]. I humbly az your pardon, shr. 3d Child [^frituMing]. I don't see. what harm there is, when missis gave us leave. ith Child [sturdily]. Mother says that the aay may come wheb tltiB quality and the gentlefollcs 'twill be glad enough to have the prayers of the poor i KL0WEB8 FOB THE ALTAR. 829 { • T And your mother Said BOH, yott W ™ ^5tM totmce, nod »ot to 8U.g ^„««J <o ^»n«. 0« Lord »» »»'^ *XXds. , oiota..""**"*""*" ,11 sir I found tto to the ,,mffl»-ko«e, who* M«J;f°^ ™a »»ted these row to l^»he« • »nd tWntoag mayhap yo» ^^^^ ^th 'd^I^Tfono'" ?"<»»"'"• ^'^•'° „ ■"•^Z«. Oh.*hatUfa»o.. We;^'„t.»o a^,«,rittog the rfiltS ome ChriB«aa-«»rty«. r^ioB to»itue« *« *Sf I^DWor Diocletian, and rone C.ymyp»to! »»a*"T^ .»a dl the rest, except you prevent me I *""* 1l ".MBli i lJ P 880 THE THIBD BBADBB. Angel. Ooarage to soffer for Justice' sake is a flower worthy of the altar. Agnea. Oswald, you shall not touch one of those flowers. They are neither yours nor mine ; they were given to our Blessed Lady, and she shall have them. OattxUd [sarcaaHcally']. Oh, ho I A(,iies turned yixen, and daring to dictate to me : that is capital I It is very remark- able that I don't feel more fHghteit>?d. Never was cooler in my life, ha, ha, ha I [Me holds tha basket over his head and laughs.] Angel. To bear a£fronts and mockery is a choice flower, and very dear to our Lord. Agnes [meekly]. Oswald, I forgive you firom my heart; but pray give me those flowers. The poor children snrronnd her. Omnes. Never mind. Miss Agnes, yon shall have plenty of flowers for our Lady's altar ; we will all go and gather the very best we have, and will be back again in ten minntes. They run ia diiferent directions to gather flowers for Agnes. Oswald. There I do yon hear? yon will have twice as many as these in ten minntes, so don't be bothering me any more, for I mean to have them, and have them I will. Angd to Agnes. Zeal for the honse of our Lord is beauti- ful and fragrant to him. Agnes. No, Oswald, no : yon shall not even tonch them. What is given to the Church is already holy, and I will pray that yon may not have one of them. Helen. For shame, Oswald I What a coward yon are to take advantage of a child like Agnes ! Put down the basket this instaat, or I will go and tell mamma. Osuxdd [angrily]. Qo along with you then, and tell tales, and see what you will get by them. There is no use in hold- ing out your hands, Agnes ; they are tied fast enough. He runs across the bridge pursued by HxiucN. When he has reached the other side, h<« throws the basket into the mill-stream, and Inaghs aoom* taPf. AoNxs bur8t« into tears. Angel. Pray for Oswald. Agnes. And do yon also pray for him as I do. P,^WBK8 FOB THB ALTAB. 831 M she is carrlod by tM «ro»f"r^ .« M, hani>, and throm hxm>af on mo 9 ««w.] .„ t_^i Motto of good comsel pray for »s I M"«» "'.''^■SLedte «««» I'"' •^"": tW goodness o AtogMy Go^ j^^ „ y„„ c» to he iter Dotninic. ,„ mukes towards the lane, but miliar, P"^"" , _m mtpt !»«• ■ gJLgt S 382 THE TIIIUD BBADEB. Hjilbm sobs heavily Arom titna to time, and they walk on for some way without saying another word. Helen. Who is that coming across the field towards the road? Father D. It is Dick the miller ; he is hurrying towards ns. Dick shouts: Not that way, Father ; to the house, to the house I He Uikes off hie broad hat, and wipes his fboe, which is as pale at death, and quickly Joins them. FaJther D. To the house, did yon say ? Dick. Tes, Father ; she is found and carried home. Father D. [aside]. I dare not ask the particulars — I see how it is. Helen. Oh, tell me ; is she dead ? The miller looks at her sorrowfully. Helen. Oh, let me go on by myself : I cannot wait for you • I must go and comfort mamma. Father D. Go, my child ; and may your ht avenly Mother help you in youi* task. [Exit Helen.'} Now, tell me, I pray you, every particular. Who found her? Was life quite ex- tinct when she was taken from the mill-wheel ? Dick. The mill-wheel t [Ae shudders.'] No, thank God, we are spared that trial I Her cheek is as smooth as a lily flower, and as pale, and there is neither scratch nor stain on her little white limbs ; and there she lies, with a smile on her face likp an angel asleep. Father D. God is mdeed merciful in the midst of his judg* ments. Dick. Here is how it was : when Master Oswald told me what had happened, away I ran at once to the mill to stop the machinery ; and (God forgive my want of faith 1) I said, " Of a certamty it is too la^/C ; nothing can hinder the course of a mill-stream, and we she 11 find her all torn and mangled among the wheels." No^ sir, she had never reached the mill. Away I went up the river t )wards the bridge ; and there, just in the bend, on the side next the mill, there she lay among the flags and sedges. The current must have carried her within reach of them, for she had caught hold of them with the clutch / ■ /' FL0WBB8 FOtt TUB ALTAB. 888 ol death; -d th. H .^ tbat^^^^^^^^^ o.er the weir. She had bo firm ^^ ^ ^er ; was obUged to cut t^«°^^«^.f '^^^^^^^ bound, and the long and to Bee her lying there. 7/*°^ °^' 7^ ^^en playing at mar- LveB in them that t^^ ^^^^^^^^^^ on he? counte-nce I tyrs with, and with ^^^l^'^'^^l.^ i ^ere to Uve a hundred I never should forget that «8^ " ^ ^^,,^. Jears. and a h^ed more on ««» top ot^ ^^^^^^^^^^ ^,, Faih^ 2>. That Bght^ D^^. ^ ^^^ attention of men eternity in heaven. It w one and of angels. ^ ^ . for close beside her, ^^- «"• '"' ^:f J^'"t if tS! Miss Ag^es ^ «ot oat of hte seiaes, for J«J^ "* .n^, «>d «»* "^ "^^ *"* dead. I carried her ^^^J^'Zi^>^ eonnng apo- her. to prepare madam for «» «»f°^t,„ the bwtot and had gone As for Master Oswald, he !>»?'"*«"; „ „„ch as lifting «P ^;°„. He wanted alongJ^lr'^;«^^,'Ji,,i^ the basl»t his eyes , but I saw to «»■? '™',™ „ot worthy to carry rt, that he held in »»» ^^^ "jf,C I sh«kened my steps, «r, ,„,ta I lost sight of tarn oltoKJ*"-^ '^t the heart to thtok ol „ I came near ^'^»^'>Z2lil«tm, head how I shodd the mother-a»d 1 was Pjo*^^^,, ^ho should I see but behave, and what I »'^*J'S,'JS with the seryantx. and .Mdarn herself commg o"' »' *2» „ coUeoted and oahn as "alking without hurry or agitationjMC ^^^ ;hen she goes up «>« "f « ^^ l^ unns, oh, so t«toly 1 ^ to me, «xd ifk^ ^Jf^ZA through the p««h ">»» ^a wato stnught «P *« f I^; " the foot «f *« '^' "^ rr^'S::^frhS^^.owr:ir^ B WBB Sg 834 THR THIRD KBADER. himself in somo corner wlien we came in, for I heard him sobbing. When we left the church I followed them home. Madam carried Miss Agnes herself np-stairs, where every thing had been made ready to receive her ; and when I came away, the mother and the old narso.were busy chafing the body, and nsing all the means possible to restore Ufe, if snch a thing were possible. When I came out of the room to go and meet you, sir, there was Master Oswald outside the door on his knees. He will not stir firom that spot ; but he tells everybody that goes by that his sister is not dead, and that she will not die, because t: len he would be a murderer. But as to that — as to any chance of that I — I carried her home in my arms, and bless your heart alive, sir I . Horo Diox shakos hla gray Itoiul, and tho toars trioklo down his ohooks. SCENB VI. A bedchamber. Aonks is lying pale and apparently lifeless on her little bod. Her mother and IIklkn, with the nurse, are olmflng her limbs and applying restoratives. No one speaks. Enter Fathkb Dowmo. Father D. Sweet little lamb ! dear to our Lord ! Your prayer of to-day went straight up to heaven ; it was soon an- swered. He kneels beside the bed; the others also kneel. A pause. Father D. to the mother. Was there any thing like life ? Mad you, have yon, any hope that life is not quite extinct ? . Mother. I have fancied, fi:om time to time, that there was » slight pulsation of the heart, but my own beats bo strongly ^at I may easily be mistaken. Fmheb Doimna places his iiand on the child's heart, and bemling his ear 4lowr> listenaatiNitfvttly ; he then takes a gUuss from the table, sad holds it to iter month* The mother watches anxiousl; He gives the glass to the m( ther. Mother. The glass is dunmed by her breath,— she lives 1 Father T). No thne must now be losa in givii^^ her the last lacrament of the Church. Perhi^ it was for +bis great grace FLOWBM FOB TMK ALTAR. 336 -blch pl««l« for 1* ^ *r If^ HhaU bring health to the Tick M ««U w (orgl»en«« to the ''"""^ ^ j,,jh„ Domioio ^n^eZ «;W«p«r« to Agnea . ow . SCBNB VII. . «...H.lt.watoWngbe.ld.thebod,Midfrom ;S Woom on her cheek »dfto" h»d^. J^ __^^^ ^ Cut » few hours «nee, "'"^/J^'^aSighthl to .it here, if „pon h« bosom « ^ T'l even for that I codd never T^r. oriy to h^ "er b«ath^e«n for ^^ to weary of tta«.kmg God. ^ ^ ^„,^ tut «t Kk, .0 »»T't"'t'»mtb'^tltorth»tI»*l'thav.h»ri here, and llrten to the »°» ™""^* How Uttle we thmk of at aW time for the tort Be«n ye»m^^ ,^^ ,e are CJereie. .vejy day ^tow«l n^'-^l;;^^ ^ ^,^a never Mver without them 1 Th'Jf^ " „, <«er «p ."ry breath he without g~tit«de to Godl^ ^^J ^^^ But .eel of my Bte now, once for '^'"'^ ^01 clowd Ae m»h«. 1 Love., .he **.. i J'* ^er ;y«^ ^^ ^^^ ,„ ^ the iiign of the «os8, and offer, up n ' jtjne.. I. Oswald there? ^ou .hall not we OiwaM flaen. No .^reet^t » ^ J^ ^^ going to tea., you untU you vnsb it yonrseu. anymore. 836 THE THIRD BBADBR. Agnea. Good morning, dear Helen. Give me a kiss, and then ask Oswald to come to me directly ; but do not distnrb mamma, for she wants rest. [Exit Eden. SDter Oswald. Agnet. Come hither, dear ; I want to speak to yon. OtWALD eomes forward in tears, and bories his head in the ooanterpane as he kneels beside Aonis. A«nx8 puts her arm round liim, and draws him near enough to wliisper in his ear— [ know all abont it, dear ; I know what yon are thinking of. Oswald beats his breast, bat does not say a word. My poor Oswald ! how mnch yon haye suffered ! Would you do any thing I asked yon now ? Oswald kisses her hand and sobs. Yon will. Well, then, promise me that, when at any tune yon think of yesterday and of all that happened to us, you will think of it this way: Once upon a time Almighty God, in his infinite mercy, preserved my little Agnes in a wonderful way, in order that she might love me and I love her, and both of us love him a thousand tunes more than ever we did before, or ever could have done otherwise. Omoald. I will. Agnea. And when yon cannot help reproaching yourself, you vrill not do it more unkindly than yon can help, but wiU say, " Out of this fault, with God's help, sLaU spring ten vir- tues!'' Oswald. I wiU. Agnea. And now, dear Oswald, give me a drink. I am still very weak, but shall soon be well. If Helen comes in, tell her it is your turn to watch. There, put your hand under my cheek, that I may kiss it when I awake. That is nice ; I can go to sleep again now. Good-night, dear. How happy we shall all be, now, if Almighty God gives us the grace oi perseverance to the end 1 THE END. '■ v~l"^fiftli i t 11 . :: iiirSiiiijfl fr: vry>,(|ir,l<B!!»r.a>— ■-»».T.r«riiim~ mi / kiss, and t disturb It Helen. a. iterpane u and dra\rs iking of. buld yon any time ) us, you hty God, wonderful and both id before, yourself, I, but will I ten vir- k. I am comes in, smd under is nice; I ow happy ) grace oi