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22X

?;*^

'■■V^-'

:,^9:

,'10

■im I

vik l„.

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WE^^Z^^

^r^&-^

DE LA SALLE
SERIES OF READER8

THE

INTERMEDIATE READER

MONTREAL
DTXE STREET.

M. M. GRAHAM,
in th. Office on.1.0 Miui3ter of Agriculture and Statistics, at Olla^.a.

Again
nborn ci
I For llio (
[ciples of
[deeper si
But as
■faculties,
[heart maj
Isentiment
Tho qu(
guides. ]

PREFACE.

"•« ^'"^"'cr, &<ulen of the SerL. ' '^'""'"^ "-*

it of Canad. i„ th. I ^^'' '""" '™''""y """I"' ■'outmo. The lo33„„s hav„ >,

j arranged as to give variety, an,, ,h„3 enable tl.rZi, „ "

|faeility,n„„j„,„,„„ „„,, Henee inJ le T''"" "

tati,lic», at Odawa. | '''^ '^«"ersational nature. """^ '"'"^"""'^ "«

But to carryout successfully any system whaleve. T u
b. devoid Of a„ pe. .„e„rie, a'nd LLa tl te 'alr:^: """
cplesof k„„,,ejge and moral Irutl.s with a f ee eL '"";
[w.se appreciation, that bring conviction. ' ""'' """

Ag,ain, many of the selections are oaln„lated to excite then,, V
abom curiosity, which sho„MI » , , ""'° •'■T"I'll s

iFor the elomcu ry notons t h "'n f "'"*'' """ ™^-"8cd.

cipl« of Natural H,s. ^ p'^i,:"""" ^"«""""8 "■» P™-

|*cper study hereafter. "'^■' "^^ '"''"" O™ '-

h<.rtmay,,.c„,seb It to::,,r; '"™t '^r^"'' "'^' «^'

Tha questions at the end of .„), i„..

SU.dc.. It is not supposed that ,hT„™ '"°"'' '"'™*'' "
W°«d that they fully anal;,.2e the subject. '

INTERMEDIATE READER.

matter, or bring out all the leading ideas of the selection. This is
left to the Teacher. -

The pupil should be required to follow out the directions that are
given after each lesson. Hence, it is well to insist upon the little
compositions or letters they are requested to write. There is no
exercise bptter calculated to develop a taste for good literature, and
to give a habit of correct and refined language.

Furthermore, the pupil should be required to study the few short
sketches of authors as Home -Exercises, i.:j that he may learn some-
thing of tho writers who have afforded him such interesting reading-
matter. They are mere hints, and hence give ample opportunities
for well-adapted developments, according to the ability of the pupil
studying the intermediate beadek. . -

W-...

CONTENTS.

Preface.
Introduclion.

LESSON.

SELKrTKlX.

Love of God,
The Whistlr.,

TheBirdofChrisduas,
Better Than That,
The Costly Diamond,
The Hoar oj I'raijrr,
A Wah-us Hunt,
The Children'^ Hour,
Franklin and the Gout,
The Brook,

AUTHOR.

Gerald Griffin...

Benjamin Franklin...

James Johonnot...

Felicia, J), llemans...

l>r. Eliaha Kane...

Jhnry If. Lout /fellow...

Benjamin Franhiin..

Alfred Ten. ni/ fit in

bt Elizabeth of Hungary, Coun( of Ifonfalmd.ni.
Giants of Desert and Plain, . James JohonnoL.
Smchc Wreaths, . . ^..^.y ^, ^^,^,^,^.^,

TheRamh^o, . . Flieia 1). Heman. ..

The Complaint ot Wild Piower.s, . Anonmnon,...

The Two Pictures. a

_,, ' ' * • Anonymous...

The Albatross, />.,„ r ,

' • • ■ Juvies Johonnol..,

\\ hat a Child can Do, . . ,
The ThovghtofGod, The Jie,,. F,-ederic W. Fiber. ^.
' ' ' • ^saac Uisraeh..,

l'A(JK.

17
10

-'52

3.3

3!)

■12

■lo

i'j

51)

r>3

59
62
65
CG

LESSOX.

21
22
23
24

2(j

q.-)

35.

INTEBMEDIATE READER. •

AUTHOR.

SKLKOTION.

Leaves, . ■ • • • " /,,
The Mod lUrrr, • ^^■"':'/ ^\ ■ l'mfcllu^v...
Twullunavea Lashes for a Turl.ot . ■

, ,, Adclnid A. J'rorfrr ..
One hy Our,

Life of Our Lord— L, ■ • • ■".,,'
Importance of EnriyM.L.U, M,r. J.-R -V"-""-
Slnny-Co»(«, . Ad«rlr.l/,:.m /..-«- ./.■'"'»»« -
,;,Ulo W,lr,-ur»Mt,on, . ',V.,.,-</,,r,..™»c...
I MrmcnUr! I Bn.cni..r! . n » «.«(...

PAGK.

67
70

Useful Trees.— rai-tl.,

p, III (I id Tnijh

'or..

I. Lidia-Rubli.r Tre(^

II. The Cork-Tree,
A Chal aliout Lions— L,

A Chat about Lions— II., • . ,,

Our Near and Kindly Ne^hbnrs, .A...^.s ^"/'OHH.^..

Useful Trees— Part H.,

TIL riutta-Percha,

IV. Wadding-Tree,
r„rii(uidi)n'- du Born,
I^itb of Our Lord— II.,
./.y;vs/. Fndai/ N<m:cr.s,
The An.Kious Leaf,
5'/,Kc and Eternity,
Good Tsaturc,

Moose-Hunting in Canada,
I'rosncrily and Adversity

^' •' . John F. M(dcrs...

Thf. Desert. • • * . 7, ,

Our Dady Bread,

Ivind Words,

Lydi<i 11. SUjovrney-

Joseph. \V. ^. ynrrifi...

jr. W. Bceeher...

Gerald Griffin..-

Joseph Addison...

Earl of Dunraren...

J'Vaneis Baeon.-

/o .

76
70
80
84
8G
SO

02 ■
94
94
96-
OS
100
102
105
105
106
108
110
113
115
117
119
121
124
125
127
130

2hc

nev, K W. Fubcr, l\l),^, 133

CONTENTS.

LESSON,

48
49
50
51

69.

SELECTION. AUTlioK.

The Emperor of Austria and Little Mozart,

I. The Meeting near the Forest,

II. Tlie Interview, ....
Life of our Lord — III.,

The Maple Tree, . Mr^. J. L. J.eprohon...
A New Year's Niglit,

The Master-Piece of an Anonymous,

The Sultana of the De.s<-rt, . Jnnui^ JuhnnnnL

I. The Meeting with 1 lie J':ui(her,

II. The Couiiiiuiionshij),
Canada,

The Canadian Dixit Sona,
A^olcanoes,

Don't,

Leaves. — II.,

Little Yozarfs Feast,

The Mole,

Give vie Tlnj Jfciot,

The Prairie on Fire,

(■'har/cs JJuLcus...

Thomas Moore...

Charles Khifjsleij...

Georges L. Biiffon...
Adelaide A. Procter...

James F. Cooper...
The Man with an Ax tn(i,i„,l, Jknjamiii Franklin...
Don't— 11.,

^^^^^^^^, . . . (leor;,es L. liajha...

Our Lady of Ihe ^„ered Heart, . A. T. Drane...

Little Mozartat theCourtuf Austria,
('onipound Leaves,

Air,

* • • .

The Elk and the Pu.in-T)e.^r, Ueor,jes L. lUiffon
Don't— IIL.

A Prayer,

i^alt.

Life of Our Lord— I \'

Posa MidhoUand:

I'AGE.
133

133
136

141

145

147

140

154

158

1G2

164

165

170

172

176

181

185

18S

11)2

11»4

197

200

202

20G

209

213

216

219

221

223

INTERMEDIATE READER..'

LKSSOX.
74
75
7G

S-l

9(i

SELKCTION. AUTHOB.

Giants with Trunks ami Tusks, Geonjcs L. Buffon...
"Water, . . ... • •

When My Heart is Yexetl, 1 lu'dl Complain, . ■

Christina G. Bossdli-

Malachi's Account of the Boaver— I., F. Murryat...

Malachi's Account of the Bouvsr— II.,

A Letter from Martha, . . . •

Itespi ration, ...•••

St. Patrick an'l St. Bnilget, . . Montnlemher

Tlie Three Enemies, . Christina (l Jiossrtli..

Commerce, ... . . • •

A Reply to Mart.lia's Lnttov,

,\ Picture of Dawn, . . Kdward Ju^erett..

Th.> Innuenceof Mu.sic, . Gerahl G'rijfin..

The BcUh of Shandon, Rev. Fra)iris Muhoney..

Peptiles, ,...•••

Rain

Friendship, . . The Fee. James Casey.
The Martyrs of Sandomir, . . . •
Daman and Pythias, . . Anonymous.

Jtcflcctionsin Westminslor Alil.cy, Jos. Addison.
Rivij Out, Wdd Bells, . Alfred Tennyson.

Tht; Monk, . . . I.aurenee Sterne.

William T.U,

Di(),ij;ni])iiical Sketches, ....

PAGE.

228
232

2;i7

, 241

. 243

. 246

/ 249

. 252

. 255

. 258

. 2G3

. 2()5

,. 2G7

. 2(:.9

. 271

.. 274

. 27G

.. 280

.. 283

.. 285

.. 28G

. 289

. 298

PAGE.

228

232

1 1

235

237

241

243

. 246

! 249

. 252

. 255

. 258

. 203

. 205

. 207

■<

2(J9

. 271
. 274

, 270

. 280

t
J.

. 283

. 285

,. 286

. 289
. 298

?
(

INTRODUCTION

Reading b the key nolo of a compfelo <,l„oa(io„. Jt ,„„,,« ,l,e

tlio Co,c„tial principles of good Eoadinir. Tf .e slionM U^ JX I

Gesture attitude, and facial oxprossion have little to do with Read-
Articulation and Clear Understandino.

THE PRINOIPLBS OP READINa

Tli:i;;lom..:ttor'^"''"' ^^^""'-"^^ ^^"^^^"- P-^ed idea.

wr?;erorpr r:t;^^ '''' V7"^^'^^" «" «- --^«f the

what is coLtrl :l^ -P~or

wntten or printed .atter. eL: -Sd^J^H^^ir ""^~ ^^' '''

auL taZ' mfl' ^^l''^^--'- understanding of the
meaning. This olear understanding may be facilitated :

Yin INTEUMEDIATE READER.

1 Bv Icaniing well the meaning of the words employed by the
author.-2. By analyzing rapidly the sentences as they come before

the mind. ■, . ,, 3- i- „

The meaning of the words will always be found la the dictionary -
The rapid analysis of sentences calls attention to the following points :

1. The relation of subject, predicate, and object.

2. The selecting of the parenthetical clauses or phrases.
8. The discovering of Rhetorical Pauses.

4 Strict regard for Grammatical Pauses.

5. The determining of the words that convey the full force of the

sentence. , '■,

The relation of subject, predicate, and object, demands a know edge
of the Clements of (irammur. Ignorance of the elementary knowledge
of Grammar cA never be supplied, except by imitation; hence we
read the selection for children, who lack this knowledge, before we
require them to read it alone.

The second rule is : — Determine the Parenthetical clauses or

phrases. . ^ ,. . , . , ,

A Parenthrlieul Phrase is.-l. An Adjective, Participle Adverb,
Noun or pronoun, inserted m u sent-nce to explain or inodity one of
the leadin- words.-2. A collection of words governed by a prepo-
sition or a participle, and inserted to mo.lify or explain some preceding

word or idea. , n? . • /

The third rule for facilitating analysis \b -.-Discover the Rhetorical

The' Rhetorical Pause is the delay that is demanded by the necess-
itv of giving the mind of the listener, time to grasp the main words,
of the idea which is being enunciated by the reader. No particular-
sign is used to mark the Rhetorical Pause. It is determined Dy the-
understanding of the reader. .

Tlie following rules are suggested t\)r understanding the Rhetorical

1.'. Pause before ami after the principal parts of a sentence.

2 Pause before and after every adverb. ^ ^

3. Pause before and after every prepodtional an<t parttcmal

phrase. ^ t

4. Pa^lse after the adjective when %C exT^resses quality and not

quantity. -■ -•- " • • •

Introduction.

oyed by the
■ come before

dictionary.—
)wing points :

U force of the

I a knowledge
iry knowledge
on; hence we
ge, before we

:al clauses or

iciple Adverb,
modify one of
1 by a prepo-
3onie preceding

(he lihelorical

by the necess-
he main words.

No particular-
>rmined Dy the'

tlu! Rhetorical

sentence.

md 'participial

ualtty and not

5. Pause after the j^articij^le.

The Rhetorical Pause, then, is merely a short delay in order to
mable the word emphasized to prove effective. This delay demanded
by the Rhetorical Pause never admits of the rising or falling inflection;
it i.s simply a suspension of the voice.

The advantage of the Rhetorical Pause is that it makes Reading
pleasing to the listener by removing the causes of mental fatigue, and,
t.) tlie reader, by allowing him to economize the breath-supply.

The fourth rule for facilitating analysis is : — Give strict attention to
Gr(t)ti))ialic(il Pauses.

Grammatical Pauses are those fi.xod by the rules of Grammar: as,
the Period at the end (jf a declarative or imperative sentence, and the
like.

The Grainniatical Puu.sesare: — Period (.), Interrogation (?), Ex-
clamation (!), Colon (.), Semicolon (;), and Comma {,).
In Reading those Pauses might be marked thus :

1. The Period takes a falling inflection and a delay sufficiently long to
enable the reader to draw a full, deep breath.

2. Tlie Iiilerrogation, generally the rising inflection and a delay equi-
va' at to that deinandetl by the Period.

3. The E.Kclamation, the falling inflection and a delay equivalent to
that required by tlic period.

4. The Colon, a sus;icnsion of the voice, i, e,, neither a rising nor a
falling inflection, and a delay sufliciently long to enable the reader to
count six.

5. The Soinicolon, a suspension of the voice and a delay sufficiently
long to enable the reader to count four.

G. The Comma, a suspension of the voice and a delay sufficiently
long to enable the reader to count two.

The fifth rule for facilitating mental analysis is: — Determine the
words (hat convey (he full force of the sen(ence.

We may determine the most imi)ortant words by finding those
which convey the main idea of the sentence. Thus in the following
sentence,—" The good boy is here. " " Good " is the most important
word, because it conveys the distinguisiiing characteristic of this par-
ticular boy.

We distinguish the important word in reading by Emphasis.

INTERMEDIATE READER.
EMPHASIS.

minor, ■' ''"'P'«»"3 , anil, % and tnolhtr (lie

ARTICOLATION.

"-nta'tlirr" n* '" V''"'"''""^ correct uflerancooriho ..o-
Accent B classd as ;,n»Mry and sccoWarj, accent

J; :7:r"' " ""' "'""" ■"""" ""''""^'' '— -"sn, , a,

'.ave a ;rar7 ccen: !: JfT'^^ T" """'■ '" "^'''^"- «
, ''^'^y^^*^*^"''!" ^J^^V' ami a secondary accent in <o' /;

.«^.*"'™,'s s;/: "'°''7,"" -p™4 :>,:..r J :,

divi,l,,l as wlows, ^ "''""''' "'">' "" '""y-^'"' ""'l .™ sub.

arc't^tm::""* "'^ ''°'' '•">^""' 'y "■« l>-"' a-ne. The,
WHin'wh™::;;/, ■;:;'' ^'^ '" »""- «« '" ^'-^. TH in ...in,

INTRODUCTION.

dsin a sentence,

nportant word,
in the sentence

•Is in a sentence

!r, " the words
md mother the

ice of the ele-
^uisite

•slrongth; as

■led only when
abitation, we
in la'— tion.
iinds used in
and are siib-

'onnds.

1. They are

k, E in eve,
, 0\] ill out,
. 01 in oil.

done. They
'H in tliin

Z in axnro, TH i„ Ih.y, „„., NO m 1„„" '' " '"- '^ '" '■•°"-'
AIopur.ATioN is (ho af^reomon^ nnUn ,-^;„ -^ ,,

,„,<., wlumc nflhe or,linar>- conversational

.H,!™":/"" " ""'•""' '° "« "''■«,>. of a »,ect.on „Ke .he

"Only waiting till Ihoroapers
Havo (ho ,ast sheaf gathered home,
For the Kiiinmor time is faded,
Anddioiuiluiiin winds havo come.
Quickly, reapers, gather quickly,
The last ripe hours of my heart '
For the bloom of life ia witherecl,
And I hasten to depart "

^.;".:;'i:r,tr ' "■"*«« -'-'-'y >.-r..in.,.o „„i,„ar,

Nn.«;;l,r""'-' ""■''*«'■"' °' "■'«■•'>• '.-li» earnesi, „„,.ed
ran*nr, and IjoraUon ''"'"''" ^ '" '''■*'"■<' S"Wimity,

1 11. Pitch is force and feel
•nous emotions have (heir

in£r

combined, by means of which the

proper expression

XII

INTERMEDIATK READER.

It niiiy also bo dofiiiod lo be the place upon the musical scalo i
which (he sound is littered.

By the musical scale wc understand a graded arrangement of a
l)<)ssible sounds. Therefore every sound, whether produced by ll
vocal organs, or by other means is found .somewhere in this scale.

Thus, we speak of the low notes of the organ, the high notes of ll
fife; of (he low tones of the male voice, the high tones of the feiii;i
voice.

Con.si^ijuenlly, excellence in Reading or spe.^king rerjuires soperfr'
:i control of the different divisions of iV/cA that at j)leiisurc the vm -
can be lowered, or raised according to the feeling or emotion uttenc

In music the law governing Pitch is absolute. Two ])ei-sons sin.,
iiig the same tune, however widely their natural pitch of voice mj
differ, use ju'ecisely (he same key.

The law governing Pitch in Reading is relative. Two ])er3ons vuiJ
read the same selection in widely dilTorent key.s; and, yet, each nij
be entirely appropriate.

This dillerencc has its existence in the fact (hat in singing, (hekJ
is de(ermined by (he immu(ubility of musieal hurmonv : in Picadii
(he guide is each one's voice.

The divisions of Pi(ch are ;— Vehy llrcii, Huiii, Middlk, l.u-
and Very Low. — These divisions should include a compass of, at Iim
(wo octaves, but have no definite juisitien on the musical scale, vai
ing according lo the natural key of the different voiees.

Eaeh one's voice gives him (he Very Low and Very High, tli.' i
(ermediate notes should difTer by two or three keys so as to make i
coin})lete double octave.

The divisions of Pitch may be more readily ajjpreciated by refeivi i
to selections embodying these divisions.

Vert/ Hiijh Pikh. i

"Quick ! Man the life boa! ! See yon bark
That drives before the blast !
There's a rock ahead, the night is dark
And the storm comes quick and fast. "
Hifjh Pilch.

"Under his spurning feet, the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,

INTRODUBTION.

XIII

11 the musical scale

led arrangoinont of a
■thor produced by l!
wh'vo in this scale.
I, tlio high notes ol'
gh tones of the feiiia^

cing rerjuires soperfc
t at j)leasure the voi*
ig or emotion utteicci
e. Two j)crsons !<ii
ral jiitcli of voieo lUi

VC. Two J)01'30nS ill: ,

s; and, yet, each iii:;|

hat in singing, tlieb-
liurmonv : in Reai

And the landscape sped away behind,
Like an ocean flying before the wmd."

JtOIV

Pilch.

"Tis now the very witcliing time of night,

When churih-yards yawn and hell itself breathes out

Contagion to the world; now could I drink hot blood

And do such bitter business, as the dav

Would quake to look on. .Soil ! now to my mother.

Oh ! heart, lose not thy nature: let not ever ^

The soul of Nero enter this linn bosom.

Let mc be cruel, not unnatural,

1 will daggers to hei', but use none. "

Very Lmi- Pitch.

"Roll im thou mail ie.sounding d(>e{) !
Tho' billows o'er thee roll ; —
Thou'rt calmness to the storms that sweep
This moment o'er his soul ! "

liKill, MlDDLK, Lo

.^ a compass of, at leU'
le musical .scale, vai
t voices.

id Very High, the i
ceys so as to make i

ludhlj/ as applied to Heading is the pecnli.'ir tone of voice used,
"he liilTerent qualities or tom^s of llir voice, aie: Pure Tone,
)/iin(f, Aspirate, Pectoral, Uallnnil, ()r<tl, and Nasal.

. Pure Tone is the 'piality of voice in which all the breath is con-
ted into a clear, round, smooth, mu.sical sound with the energizing
iver in th<; back part of the mouth.

2. The Orotund Tone is that quality of tho voice in which tlio
l^atli is converted into a full, deep, round musical tone, with encr-
)preciated by refeivi gUfi'ig power in the upper part of the chest.

J The Aspirate Tone is that quality of the voice in which tho
agind is sent forth from the organs of speech without being converted

o vocal sound.
|4. The Pectoral Tone is I hat quality of tho voice in which tho
ath is by a rigid contracting of the organs of speech anil the
^iscles of the throat and neck, converted into a harsh, husky souml
with the actuating power in the upper part of the throat. The Pect-
oaal tojic characterizes a sentence like the followin^^ ■
t Traitor !— I go. But J will return !

- This— trial?"

on
lark

St."

lark

ii il

XIV

iNTEBJf RDIATE HEADER.

\ The rfuttuml Tone is (hat -iualily of voice in which the sound
.« ..nt lorlh from the organs of speech in a rough, harsh, disconlont
lone, with the energizuig power in the lower part ofUw, throat.
The guttural lone characterizes I lie following selection :
" I'll hav my bond : I will not hear the speak :
I'll have triy bond : and therefore speak no more. "
6. The oral Tone is (hat .,uali(y of (he voice in which (he sound is
sent forth horn the organs of speech in a (hin, feeble (one, wKh ener-
gizing power in (he forward ])art of (ho mouth.
It occurs in lines like (he following •

" Mother ! (he angels, (hey do sweetly smile,
And beckon Little Jim ! I have no pain.
Dear Modier, now !— But, oh ! 1 am so dry !
Just moisten poor Jim's lips again.
And Mother don't you cry !"

The Oral (one is indispensable in (he personation of characters ex-
hibiting feebleness, weakness, languor, or sickness.

7. The Nasal Tone is (hat quality of the voice in which tho sound
seems to have its origin in the nasal organs.
The Nasal Tone is employed only in mimicry and burlesijue.

INFLECTION.

Ill flection is the peculiar rising or falling of the voicR u.sod to give
adractiveness or harmony to reading.

The quality opposed to Inflection is called Monotoitc.

Monotone is the total absence of modulation.

The rules governing Inflection are :

... The voice should rise in exultation, astonishment, and conflict

. 7\p. ^-oite should fall in affirmation, affection, and dejection.

Vy •<-,' ' oici uould neither rise nor fall in hesitation.

■1 l-.i-.n..,; .tion, when we do not know the answer to what wc ask
shouj f I. expressed by Jie rising inflection.

5. Interrogation, when we know in part the answer to the question
vre ask, should be marked by tho falling inflection.

• ^m^

INTRODUCTION.

1 which the sound
, harsh, discord.inl
'I'lht! throat,
action :
J leak :
no mort'. "
vhich (he sound is
L' tone, with on<T

smile,
I dry !

Ratk as applied (o Readme refers to thfl (hnrl \r ^ .
^leUvery of th., matter be.ng read ^ ' '^'''''' ^' ^^'"^

I ,leL,S"'^ '"'° '•' ' •'•«' "■ "■"-■^ -er,io„, „a„,n,, a,,.,

of characters ex-
which tho sound
burlesiiuc.

jicR u.':('d to give

nc.

'■f, and conflict.

md dejection.

ion.

to what wc ask,

r to the question

■-J»t.T»»

XVI

INTERMEDIATE READER.

PHONIC CHART.

VOWELS.

lake

what

6 as

in b5x

u "

" u§e
' tip
" fur

far

ISt

tt "

all

Ice

u "

e&re

oo "

" too

ask

do "

« ld6k

DIPHTHONGS.

oi, oy (unnnarked), as in oil, boy
-" « II tt

CONSONANTS.

<^"' *^^ " « « out, now

b
d

bSd

m
n

me
no

y OS

z «

in ySs
" froze

fox

put

ng"

" sing

rfit

eh '•

" chiek

sh"

" she

jtist

((

too

th '^

" think

kite

vSry

th "

" the

((

iSg

((

wh(l

iw), w^h^t

EQUIVALENTS.

VOWELS.

9 like w as in what
6 " A " « where

e
e
1
i

(I
It
tt

a "

Ci "

u "

e «

" they
« her
•* girl
poli9e

o, u like oo as into, rule

o
6
V.9

«
«

U "

a "

I «

T «

" eonne
« f6r

"put,€9uld
"by
« kit'ty

CONSONANTS.

^ MHe s as in race
« « k " « efit
ilr " j " " ijage

n Hk^ ng as in think

§ '^ z '< « hfis

Jt «ks,orgz« box.eyist

L b5x

((

u§e

('.

tip

fur

too

166 k

boy

t now

ySs

froze

sing

chl-ek

shg

••

think

(

the

1(1,

IW),

wh^t

5 into, rule
" come
" f6r

"put,<j9uld
"by
" klt'ty

in think
« hfis;

" box,eyist

INTERMEDIATE READER

Lesson I.

THE LOVE OP GOD.

1. And ask ye why he claims our love ? '

answer, all ye winds of even,
answer, all ye lights above,

That watch in yonder dark'ning heaven :
Thou earth, in vernal radiance gay

As when his angels first array 'd thee
And thou, deep-tongued ocean, say
Why man should love the mind that mad(^ thee.
2. There's not a flower that decks the vale,

There's not a beam that lights the mountain,
There's not a shrub that scents the gale,

There's not a wind that stirs the fountain.
There's not a line that paints the rose,
There's not a leaf around us lying, '
But in its use or beauty shows
True love to us, and love undying.
3. For in the past, ere time began,

Ere first the new made sun ascended.
Or light illumed the world, and man
Arose amid the order splendid ;

1 i 1

INTERMEDIATE READER.

Even tlion, for tlioo, that lioimtoous Mind,
UiiaskM, amid the witlo creation,

In I'ar lulurilv <lesi(fnM

Thy dwelling Wait and lasting station.

4. And }^(vk wo argnnionts of love,

And a.sk wo who ho is that claims it?
Mark yonder sun that rolls above,

(Jhediont to the will that aims it;
Go watch, when treads the silent moon

Her maiden })ath o'gr cartli and ocean,
Or see yon host at starry noon

Roll onward with majestic motion

5. Are these not lovely ? Look again,

Count every hue that clothes the valley,
Each grain that gilds the autumn plain.

Each soniJi; that wakes the vernal allev.
All that in fruit or flower is found

To win the taste, or charm the vision,
All — all that sight, or scent, or sound.

Or feeling hath of joy elysion;

G. That calm that lulls the noontide hour.

The mind repose of power appalling, ■
The rain that feeds each op'ning flower.

Like mercy's tear-drops sweetly falling;
Those show what our Creator was.

While man preserved his early duty,
What still to those, his later laws

Who keep, in all their stainless beauty.

lieqi

words I

pp-v.1-

ific'ri-l

t^f^x-a't

Gerald Griffiii.

jhi

it?

I'fiE U'filSTLE.

Qu^^Uons: How does the autl.or answer (ho .juostion : "Ask ye
Jhy he claims our love?" What docs ho say of the earth (hat

d"ll- 7 : 'rf"- ''''"'' ''''' '^ ^'^^^^ --> was "designed
d.elhng ast and lasting station V" Mow does he answer ^vhen

,^.ed who claims our ov. 7 What other reasons does he adduce in

^o <,f the love 01 God? How does h. speak of (he power ot (ho

reator over all things? Why should you love (Jod ?

^uire tkepuinl u..te the Jlrd sianza in prose, and point out the
words that express action.

ity,

3auty.

rerald Griffin.

Lesson II.'"
THE WHISTLE.'

t^-cQ'mu-lat-t^ng, adj., Jicapimj np .- amassinff.

m-bl"^tlt^ds, adj., aspirinij; ca,jcr for fame.

'ar'gsjin, n., an agreement bdu-ccu parties.

'e-nSv'ci-lgnt, adj., havimj a disposition 'to do good.

harm'^d, p.p , dcliyhtcd; enchanted

^^s'ti-rr,at^§, v., t., to judge and form an opinion of the value of.
,ri enc sla.p. n., an attaekment to a perron ; personal hindaess.

■J.,/'';:'"-^' " ' 'r''' '""^ ""'"' 'W^^'"%''^'v ^'luipages; ornaments.
ou-day ,.., « dau set apart to celebrate an inrportant event in his-
10) ij ; ajestiral.

an-kTnd', n., the rare or speeies of human beings.
'Ol l-tios, n., the sei.nee of government.
>op-u-!ar'i-ty, w, /«w of the people.
nc'ri-ne-ing, ppr., surrendering or suffering to be lost.

ol Qn-ta-n-ly, adv., spontaneouslg , of one's own will.

jhohcay, fil od mypockets with coppers. I wentclirec'tly
■M> where they sold toys for children ; and, being
aiinedjvith^the sound of a whistle that I met by the

iNTEEMEBiAtU HEADER.

f'mily My l,^i,7 """"'•' >"" '"•^"'Aing all the

tin... .s jeh^^^Ti !ri:t;r -- ^ "^'" *>"™" '-

C^C^l^: '1";' "''•" «°°'' *■■"«« I »i8l.t have

.ivo. .00 mn:h t: hiiVu^r " ■""' '° '"^■^^"'' " "'"-^ ™ '■'

.■"ioS'li™!.- i':f T/™"' °f P°'™'-'3', constantly
-»V1 I, '• too „,„eh fo/thi, ^iX'' "" '^^y-^' "'J^*J' "

fortwl li!w7lHl''"''; "'" ^"™ "'' "-'^^y '^'•"<' of --"-
. - mg, all tho pleasure of doing good to others, all

Quesdom
Who is a coi
What did h
Wliat did he
a man of plea
luiinan miser:

Iie(j\ure thi

! 'I

ly offered him

'er the liouse,
[•bing all the
Lisins, iHKler-
ad given four

- might have
' laughed at
:ation.

me, the im-

ten, when I

said to my-

and so I

bserved the
'ery many,

Piivor of the
ic dinners,
d perhaj)s
Thi

:;onstantly
m affairs,
, indeed. "

THE WHISTLE.

I man," I^d I, "you o " ,rr'"'''"""S -altl,,"r„or
whistle. " ^ " '"''™' f'^y too much for y„„r

)->'' endclhi, career i„ pio?- 1 'T.^^'fT'^'^ ''«"''■''
I r-1 "oar, very dear, for llil ^Lt.f " ' ^"•' I' " '^ ^-^

y Kad »ade oH Jtltr, t" 1^° ■^^'■'"*^
I too mu,;h for their whistles. ' ^ *'"'"' S'ving

-Brnjamin Franklin

«i,at did he think of those nlio I0V..H „ ? . ° "'" W™*?

.-n „tp,ea„„e? What jj: ,;„ ^X^^rL '"'"' ^^'^ ''» »'
I luiman miseries ? §" ^"^^ ^^^ greater part of

Jie^uire the pupU (o recite the lesson in hi, o.n u^orke.

I of eom-
•thers, all

^^ INTERMEDIATI-: KKADER

Lesson IH.

THE BIRD OF CHRISTMAS.

_ 1. Wo now como to tlio l.irJ which is a universal favor-
ite, especially when, as at Christmas-.linjier, it lies on the
platter, well roasted, >>rown, tci.ler, and juicy, and hot
from t le oven. How cold and drea,-y would Ciiristmas
be without the presence of this silent, roasted friend?

2 Eager eyes of little lolks .Iwc-ll loudly upon the i;>ast
fit to set before a king, " and, when tlie carvin- is done
spoons must be tlirust into little mouths, to la-ei, them'
from crying out " Turkey ! " before time.

3. When no peacocks arc about, the turkey is the most
showy of Its companions; and its coat is shiny and always
clean. By turning in different ways to the light, the wild
turkey appears at one time nearly black, and again it
shows a bright green or a rich, deep bronze color. Li the
form-yard may be seen turkeys of different hues : some
white others brown or bronze, whilst most of them like
Joseph, have coats of many colors.

4 The hen-turkey is plain in her dress, so that"she may,
as httle as possible, attract the attention of her enemie.
She IS shy in her manner, and is disposed to make but few
acquaintances. She talks to her young with a soft, cooing
note, when she feels safe; but, when danger comes, sh^
bids them hidem the grass by her sharp^' quit, quit !"
The little ones in turn, answn- the voice of their mother .
bj high-keyed, affectionate, and contented " nepps " that ■
fjeem to say, "• All is well, " ""^ '' ^

THE BIRD OF CHRISTMAS

nivor.^al favor-
it lies on the
"icy, and hot
iM Christmus
1 IVicnd ?

il'on tlu; i;.>a,st
"ving is done,
:o Ivecp tlioni

y is tluj most
y and always
gilt, the wild
and again it
3lor. In the
hues : some
)f them, like

hat she may,
lor enemies,
lake but few
t soft, cooimr
comes, she
luit, quit ! "
loir mother
>eeps, " that

5 The turkey-gobbler wears gayer clothes than tho
hen-turkey His feathers shine with deeper, brighter
colors; and his tail is more gorgeous than hers. He is a
fine-lookn.g follow, and like the peacock, he knows it, and
..M>ro|Kl. He struts about with his red face and wattles
with las head drawn back, his tail spread like a, fan his
Nvn.gs dropped and dragging on the grotmd ; an.l ho seems
to say, I am the finest bird in the world. "

6. Getting foo<l and eating are the main business of
turkeys. Though they are scratchers, they spend little
t.;ne in scratching. The farm-yard is too small for them.
Irreat walkers and wanderers arc they. Tender grass,

BBEf'

i m

^■

INTERMEDIATE EEADER.

leaver, bugs, and worms tempt thorn ; and for these they
roam over the fields, for away from home, leading their
young ones along, and, with the declining sun, return to
the ihrni-yard with full crops.

7. Turkeys are natives of America. They once roamed
wild all over the country, and are still found wild ji the
forests of the South and West. They do not go from
North to South with the changes of the seasons ; hut,
when food and water fail in one part of the country,' they
are obliged to go to another. They are' social, and live in
smjdl fomilies; but when they leave for a more abundant
region, they collect in great mmibers.

8. Very careful and tender mothers are these hen-
turkeys, and tkey show their care in the selection of nests.
In a hollow place, among dry leaves, by the side of a log,
or in a follen, leafy tree-top, but always in a dry place,'
they lay their eggs. Shyly and secretly they deposit and'
cover them so as to preserve them from the hungry crow,
which is ever watching for the chance of a feast When
^he returns to her nest, tiie hen-turkey follows a different
I^ath from that by which she left it. If her eggs have been
touched by a snake, she abandons the nest forever.

James Jofionrhoi.

Qurdions .-What is the subject of to-day's lesson? Why is it
called the bird of Christmas? Are little children fond of turkey"?
\Vhich ,is the more showy, the peacock or the turkey? Can you
dc^scnbe the wild turkey ? D( scribe the hen-turkey ? What do you
know concerning the turkey-gobbler? Can you describe him?
How do they get their food? Upon what do they live? To wh«re
do turkeys belong? Do they go from Korlh to South is wintertime?

BETTER THAN THAT

3r these they
leiiding their
-in, return to

oneo ro.imed
wild .11 the
not go from
casons; but,
ountry, they
I, and live in
re abundant

! thcKo hen
tion of nests.
ide of a lour,
% dry place,
deposit and
ingry crow,
ast. When
a different
;s have l.ieen
sver.

fofionnoi.

? Why ia it
d of turkey?
y ? Can you
What do you
escribe him?
? To where
wintertime?

When do they go to other countries? Are turkeys sociable? Where
do<..s the hon-turkey build its next? How docs it fix the eRRs ?
Does she return by the same path ? Why not?

Acquire the pupil lobriyig on paper the foUowiruj words defined ■
muer,juicy, roasted, slmaj, bronze, acqmiinlances, v.ooinn, forests
gorgeous. "^ '

Lesson IV.

BETTER THAN THAT.

The Emperor of Austria, Joseph the Second, was as kind-
hearted as lie was plain and simple in liis manner. He was
neither fond of display nor affectation. The following inci-
dence is often related as an instLnce.

One day, being simply dressed and accompanied by a
smgle servant, he went out for his morning drive. This
morning on his return from one of suburbs of Vienna, his
pleasure wa^ interrupted by an unexpected shower of rain.

Being still a considerable distance from the capitol, he
was met by a soldier, a sergeant, who beckoned the driver
to stop. The order was obeyed.

The soldier approaching nearer, said: "Sir, if you do
not think me impudent, I would ask you a place at your
side. I do not believe that I shall prove an inconvenience
Besides, I wish to save tliis uniform which I wear to-dav
for the first time. " ^

"That is ri^t my brave ma«; save your uniform
L^l?"^ T^ yourself at my side, " kindly responded
=™^x tlie Second. "■ Wh^uc^ do you come ? " gpu^ited
the emperor,

INTERMEDIATE READER.

"I hail," replied the sergeant, "from a friend, a game-
keeper, and with whom I partook of a. splendid l)roakfast."

"May I ask," said the emperor, "what that good thin"-
was?"

"You may divine it?" answered the sergeant.
"Is it I? What do I know? Perhaps a beer-soup?"
remarked Joseph the Second.

"Ah! indeed! a plate of beer-soup ! No, no; something
better than that. "

"A dish of sour-kraut?" asked Joseph.
"No, indeed; something than that. "

"Was it, then, a nice round of veal?" continued the
emperor.

"Not at all; it was something better th iv that, I tell
you. "

"Well, really, I admit, I can not think what it could
have been, " said Joseph.

"Why, my worthy sir, it was pheasant? Yes, a pheas-
ant! and at the expense of his majesty's })leasurc!" said
the contented soldier, striking his companion, at the same-
time, on the knee. " All, all, at the expense of his majesty's
pleasure ; can you imagine any thing better? I can vouch
for that. "

The rain still contimied to fall. Joseph the Second,
questioned his companion as to his place of residence.

"Sir, you are altogether too khid," said the sergeant.
" I do not wish to trespass upon your kindness. "

" You need not be uneasy, " replied Joseph. " Give me
the naniQ of the street and your number?"

n<l, a gnme-
.1 hreaklhst."

t good thing

nt.
beor-soup?"

: somethin*:!'

ntinued the

that, I tell

lat it could

es, a plieas-
surc ! " said
it the samc-
lis majesty's
I can vouch

:,hc Second,
idcnce.

le sergeant.
"Give me

BETTER THAN THAT. 27

The sergeant gave the necessary information, and then
re(] nested liis companion to let him know to whom he
indebted for such civility.

was

"Well, sir, it is now your turn to divine," answered
Joseph.

"It would seem that you are a soldier, " said the ser-

geant.

"As you say, sir." ^

"Might you be a lieutenant? continued the questioner.

" Yes, indeed; but something better than that. "

"A captain, then?"

" Oh, something better than that. "

"A colonel, perhaps?"

"You speak correctly; but something better than that.

Then pushing himself into a corner, he exclaimed:
"What, then, are you? Arc you the field-marshal?"

" Oh ! still something better than that. "

"Are you the emperor?"

" I am the emperor, " answered Joseph, standing to un-
button his coat to show his insignia.

The sergeant was surprised and confused. He knew
not what to do. The carriage would not permit him to
bend his knee. He endeavored to excuse himself, and
rec[uested to be allowed to walk,

•ttl

INTERMEDIATE READER.

"No, no; not at all," replied Joseph. "Ah! I see,
now that you have eaten my pheasant, you are quite
anxious to get rid of mo. I shall do mynelf the pieavsure
to leave you at your door. " And there he left him.

Questions : — Who Avas Joseph the Second ? What is said of him ?
Whom did he meet on his return to the capital? What did the
sergeant request of the emperor? Did he know him? Did the emperor
refuse him? Can you give me their conversation? What does
dcvino mean here? What other meaning has it? What is a
pheasant? Why did tlie sergeant rejoice? Can you relate the
second conversation? Did the emperor reproach the soKlier? How
did he look at him? What does the emperor's conduct teach us?
What lesson does the soldier teach ? Would the soldier have been
as frank had he known the emperor ?

Mequire the jnipil to tell the facts of this lesson.

Lesson V.
THE COSTLY DIAMOND.

ad-drfis^^d', v., t., to direct u-ords ; to speak to.

de-t§€'tion, v., discovc'>-y of a person or thing attempted to he

concealed,
dis-mount'ed, v., t. , to alight from a horse ; to descend or get off.
em-ploy^d', v.., i , to occupy the time, attention, and labor of; to use.
en-rlcli^d', v., t., to make rich, weaWiij, or opulent.
en-trOst'ed, v.,t., to deliver in trust; to confide to the care of.
im-p6r'tant, a., weighty ; of great conscquc^vx.
in-clud'ed, v., t., to covfine ivithin; to hold; to contain.
sfit'is-fl^d, v., t., to gratify wants, icislics, of desires io the full

extent.

1. A rich man, feelins' that his end was fnst ar>r)roachine:,
and finding the cares of business were too great for Jiini,

THE COSTLY DIAMOND

resolved to divide liis wealth among hi.s three sons, James,
John, and Thomas. He, however, kept a small portion to
protect him in his declining days.

2. Being respoctial and dutiful sons, they were satisfied
with the share their venerable parent assigned to them.
They promised him that they would use it to the best ad-
vantage.

3. But there was still another treasure/ It was- a costly
diamond. How was it to be awarded ? The hihor, liaving
attentively regarded his sons, said : " My sons there is one
thing which I have not included in the share of any one
of you. It is this costly diamond which you see in my
hand. It shall be awarded to him who shall have mei-ited
it by the noblest dc^d.

4. "Go, therefore, attend to your respective duties;
travel and observe; and, at the end of a year, we will
meet here again, and you shall tell me what you have
done. "

5. The sons thereupon departed. Each resolved to do
his utmost to gain the prize. They toiled and traveled.
They were no idlers. They worked for an end. All their
talent and strength was given, in order to attain that end.
At the end of the year, tlioy returned. They came to
their father to give him an account of tbeir acts. James,
Uie eldest son, spoke first.

G. " Father, the share you have given me, was pro-
ductive of much good. I have not lost any of ->,. As I
was crossing the ocean, I fell in wifcli a friend who en-
trusted me with a case of very valuable jewels without
taking account of them. Indeed, I was well aware that
he did not know how many the case contained.

iNTffiRM£DiAtE RfiADER.

7. " I could easily have taken several of them, and they
would have never been missed. However, I resistcci the
evil thought and returned him the case exactly as I hai*
received it. Was not this a noble deed?"

8. "My son," replied the father, "simple honesty cau
not be called noble. You did Avhat was ridit, and nothing
more. If you had acted otherwise, you would have been
dishonest, your deed would have shamed you, and you
would have been an luiworthy and undeserving child. Yon
have done well, but not nobly. "

9. The second son, John, now spoke. He said : "I too
have gained. 'But one day, as I had to undertake an im-
portant step, and on my way I saw a poor little child l>lay-
ing beside^the bank of a river; and just as I was approach-
ing the child, I saw him slip and fall into the water.

10. " I mmediately plunged into the water, and saved
the life of the helpless child. Some who haj)pencd to bo
near by, came running to my assistance. T thanked tliem
for their kindness, and disappeared with many blessing
showered upon me. Was not this a noble decxl?"

11. "My son," replied the aged fiither, "you did only
what was your duty. You could hardly have left the child
to die without exerting yourself to save him. You, too,
have acted well, but not nobly. "

12. The youngest son, Thomas, came forward rather
timidly to tell his tale. He said : " Father, I had an
enemy, who for years had done me much harm and who
tried even to take my life.

The cosTt.Y DLv^roND.

!m, and they
resistc(il the
tly as I ha?

honesty cai
and nothing
L have been
)U, and }'oii
5 child. You

aid: "I too
take an im-
e child J>lay-
is approach-
kvator.

, and saved
[)encd to bo
lanked tlieni
my blessing

on did only

eft the child

Yon, too,

rard rather
, I had an
na and who

IS " One evening during my journey, I was passing
along a dangerous road which ran beside the summit of a
cliti'. As I rode along, my horse started at the sight of
something in the road.

J 4. '< I dismounted to see what it was, and l)ehold, there
was my enemy sound asleep on the very edge of the cliff.
The least movement in his sleep and he must have rolled
over and lieen dashed to pieces on the rocks below. "

15. " His life was in my hands. I looked at him and
forgave him. I drew him away from the edge and then
woke Inm, and told him to go his way in peace. "

16. '• Bravo ! my child, " cried the happy father. " The
costly diamond is yonrs, for it is noble and divine to lielp
an enemy, and to return good for evil. "

Questions. What is to-day's lesson about? Who Avas the owner
of the diamond? Was he very wealthy? What di.l he do with his
woaltli? What share did he not divide? Wliat did the veneralile man
say conocniiiig it'' What (hd he advise them to do? What did
James do? Did the lather consider it a nobU; action? Why not?
What about John ? Was his deed not noble ? What was the tale
of Thomas? Why do you say that his action was noble ? Wliat is
it that renders an action noble? Can you mention any one who did
a noble action ? What three important lessons are taught ? Do jou
know how David spared the life of King Saul?

Require thepnpilto write a leller, giving an account of a little history
he mai/ have Iceard a bout forgiveness ; or, let him xcrite to-day's lesson
in his own simple way, containing the leadi7ig ideas, and such ex-
pressio?is as impressed him.

*■■%

zntbrmediate: header

illii

Lesson VI.

THE HOUR OF PRAYER.

Child, amidst the flowers at play,
While the red light fades away ;
Mother, with thine earnest eye,
Ever following silently ;
Father, by the breeze at eve
*Caird thy harvest-work to leave ; —
Pray !— Ere yet tlie dark hours be,
Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

Traveler, in the stranger's land,
Far from thine own household band ;
Mourner, haunted by the tone
Of a voice from tliis world gone ,
Captive, in whose narrow cell
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell .
Sailor, on the darkening sea ; —
Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

in.

Warrior, that from battle won,
Breathest now at set of Hua '
Woman, o'er the lowly Slain
Weeping on his burial plain;

^■

1 <36

33 ..^ A WALRUS HUNT.

Ye that triumph, ye that sigh,
Kindred by one holy tie ;
Heaven's first star alike ye see,
Lift the heart, and bend the knee.

Felicia D. ITemans.

Quesh .—What is the name of this poem ? Why is it called a
poem? What is prayer? How many persons does the p<iet mention '?
How does she describe the homo? What line ends each stanza?
What do you know concerning the traveler? the mouraer? the cap-
tive? and the sailor? Of whom docs the last stanza treat? What
do you mean by kindred?

Require the pupil to write the words indicatinff action (md <jive
their principal parts ; as, fade, faded, fading, faded.

ifi

Lesson VIL
A WALRUS HUNT.

1. The party which Morton attended on a walrus hunt
had three sledges. One was to be taken to a cache in the
neighborhood; the other two were dragged, at a quick
run, toward the open water, about ten miles to the south-
west. They had but nine dogs to these two sledg(\s, one
man only riding ; the others running, by turns. As they
neared the new ice, where the black wastes of mingk>il
cloud and water betokened the open sea, they from time
to time removed their hoods and listened intently for the
animal's voice.

2. After awhile Myouk became convinced, from signs
or sounds, or both— for they were inappreciable by Morton-

INTERMEDIATE READER.

that the Walrus were waiting for him in a small space of re-
cently open water that was glazed over with a few days'
growth of ice ; and, moving gently on, chey soon heard the
characteristic bellow of a male walrus. The walrus is fond of
his own music, and will lie for hours listening to himself.
His vocalization is something between the lowing of a cow
and the deepest baying of a mastiff.

3. The party now formed in a single file and wound be-
hind hummocks and ridges in a serpentine approach toward
a group of pond-like discolorations— recently frozen ice-
spots, but surrounded by firmer and older ice. When
within half a mile of these the line broke, and each man
crawled toward a separate pool— Morton, on his hands and
knees, following Myouk. ^

4. In a few minutes the walrus were in sight. They
were five in number, rising in a body, at intervals, through
the ice, and breaking it up with an explosive puff that
might have been heard for miles. Two large grim-looking'
males were conspicuous as the leaders of the group.

5. Now for the marvel of the craft. When the walrus
is above water the hunter is flat and motionless ; when he
l)egins to sink, alert and ready for a spring. The animal'^
head is hardly below the water-hue before every man k
in a rapid run ; and again, as if by instinct, before the
beast returns all are motionless behind protecting knolls
of ice. They seem tc know beforehand not only the time
he will be absent, but the every spot at • ' 'ch he will re-
appear.

6. In this way, hiding and advancing! 7 turns, MyouK
with Morton at his heels, has reached a plate of thni ice

• A WALRUS HUNT.

all space of re-
h a few days'
soon heard the
alms is fond of
ing to himself,
owing of a cow

and wound bc-
pproach towai\l
tly frozen icc-
er ice. When
and each man
n his hands and

n sight.

Th(^v
tervals, through
losive puif that
go grim-look iiiii;
tie group.

hen the walrus
)nless ; when he
T. The animalV
'e every man i-
Linct, before the |
rotecting knoll^ |
)t only the time |
' "ch he will ri-

7 turns, MyouK
)late of thin ice

hardly strong enough to l,oar them, at the very l,rink of
the water-pool in which the walrus are frolicking. Myouk,
till now phlegmatic, seems to waken with excit° ment. Hi.s
coil of walrus-hide, a well-trimmed line of many fathoms'
length, is lying at his side. He fixes one end of it in an
iron barb, and fostens tliis loosely, by a socket, upon a
shaft of unicorn's horn ; the other end is already looped,
or, as sailors would say, " doubled in a bight. "

7. It is the work of a moment. He has grasped the
harpoon— the water is in motion. Pufling with pent-up
respiration, the walrus is close before him. Myouk rises
slowly— his right arm thrown back, the left flat at his side.
The walrus looks about him, shaking the water from his
crest : Myouk throws up his left arm, and the animal,
rismg brea ,t-high, fixes one look before he plunges. It
has cost liim all that curiosity can cost— the harpoon is
buried under his left flipper.

8. Thougli the walrus is down in a moment, Myouk is
running at desperate speed from the scene of his victory
paymg oil' his coil freely, but clutching the end by its loop
As he runs he seizes a small piece of bone, rudeW pointed
with iron, and by a sudden movement drives it xiito the
ico; to this he secures his Hue, pressing it down close to
the ice-surface with his feet.

9. Now comes the struggles of the wounded animal ; the
ine is di-awn tight at one moment, relaxed the next The

hunter has not left his station. There is a crash of the
ice; and rearing up through it are two walrus, not many
yards from where he stands. One of them, the male, is
excited and seemingly terrified; the other, the female, is
collected and vengeful

* 'I J

INTERMEDIATE IIEA.DER.

"r¥

10. Down they go again, after one grim survey of tlio
tield; and at that instant Myouk changes his position,
carrying his coil with him, and fixing it anew. He has
hardly fixed it before the pair has again risen, breaking up
an area of ten feet in diameter about the very spot he left.
As they sink once more he again changes his place. Thus
the conflict goes on between address and force, till the
victim, half exhausted, receives a second wound, and is
played like a trout by the angler.

11. Some idea may be formed of the ferocity of the
walrus from the fact that the battle which Morton wit-
nessed — not without sharing in its dangers — lasted for
four hours, during which time the animal continued to rush
at the esquimaux as they approached, tearing ofi" great
tables of ice with his tusks, and showing no indication of
fear whatever. He received upwards of seventy lance-
wounds — Morton counted over sixty — and even then the
walrus remained hooked by his tusks to the margin of the

ice, either unable or unwilling to retire.

Dr. Elisha K. Kane

Questions. — What is the walrus? Where is it found? What is said
of the bellowing of the walrus? Explain "pond-like, discoloration "
" Marvel of the craft"? Give a short description of the manner in
which the walrus is taken ? What is a harpoon? Explain "played
like trout by the angler" ? What-time does it take to kill the wal-
rus? What use is made of it? Give a short biography of Dr. Kane
Mention some others who tried to find a North-West passage?

Require the pupil to wi'ite a letter tc a friend, (jiving a description
of the Walrus Hunt.

''^.

''«-J.

.nm

ig a description

THE CHILDREN S HOUR.

Lesson VIII.
THE CHILDREN S HOUR.

1. Between the dark and tlio daylight,

When the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the day'.s occupations

That is known as the Children's Hour.

2. I hear in the chamber above me

The patt(3r of little feet,
The sound of a door that is opened,
And voices soft and sweet.

3. From my study I see in the lamplight,

Descending the broad hall stair.
Grave Alice, and laughing Attegra,
And Edith with golden hair.

4. A whisper, and then a silence ;

Yet I know by their merry eyes
They are plotting and planning together
To take me by surprise.

6. A sudden rush from the stairway,
A sudden raid from the hall ! '

By three doors left unguarded
They enter my castle wall !

6. They climb up into my turret

O'er the arms and back of my chair ;

If I try to escape they surround me ;
They seem to be everywhere. '

38 INTERMEDIATE TEADER.

7. They almost devour me with kipses,

Their arms about me entwine,
Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen
In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine !

8. Do you think, Iduo-eycd banditti,

Because you have scaknl the wall,
Such an " Old mustache " as I am
Is not a match for you all ?

9. I have you fast in my fortress,

And will not let you depart,
But })ut you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.

10. An<l there will I keep you ibr ever,
Yes, for ever and a day,

Till the walls shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away !

Henri/ W. Longfellow.

Q?<fsCions.— What is time called between dark and daylight? What
name is given to it in the poem just read ? Explain " palter of little
feel " Give another signification o( jxiUcr .? Ex])Iain " Merry Eyes "
jiloUhuj, i^lanniiuj. What do you understand by " Sudden raid from
the hall"? "Castle Wall"? Give the meaning of ia/u^/i!//. Ex-
plain the ninth Stanza ? How long are the prisoners to be kept in
the fortress ?

Jie<juire the jnqnl to write the jwon in prose

igfellow.

light? What
liter of little
lerry Eyes "
!en raid from
iditti Ex-
j be kept in

FRANKLIN AND THE C. T. '.39

Lesson IX.
FRANKLIN AND THE GOUT,

Franklin Eh ! oh ! eh ! What have I done to merit
these cruel sufferings ?

Gout. Many things : you have eat and drunk too free^
ly, and too much indulged those legs of yours in their in-
dolence.

Franklin. Who is it that accuses me ?

Gout. It is I, even I, the Gout.

Franklin. What ! my enemy in person ?

Gout. No ; not your enemy.

Franklin. I repeat it, my enemy ; for you would not;
only torment my body to death, but ruin my good name.
You reproach me as a glutton and a tippler ; now, all the
world that knows me will allow that I am neither one nor
the other.

Gout. The world may think as it pleases : it is always
very complaisant to itself, and sometimes to its friends ;
but I very well know that the quantity of meat and drink
proper for a man who takes a reasonable degree of exercise
would be too much for another who never takes any.

Franklin. I take — eh ! oh ! — as much exercise — eh ! —
as I can, Madam Gout. You know my sedentary state,
and on that account it would seem. Madam Gout, as if you
might spare me a little, seeing it is not altogether my own
fault.

Gout. Not a jot. Your rhetoric and your politeness are
thrown away ; your apology avails nothing. If your situa-
tion in life is a sedentary one, your amusements, your re-

INTEMEDIATE HEADER.

creations, at least, should bo active. You ought to walk or
ride; or, if the weather prevents that, play at somotliing.
But let us examine your course ol' lite. Whilo the morn-
iugs are long, and you have leisure to go abroad, what do
you do? Why, instead of gaining an ai)potite for breakfast
by salutary exercise, you amuse yourself with books.
l)amphlets, or newspapers which commonly are not worth
the reading.

Yet you eat an inordinate breakfast . four dishes of tea,
with cream, one or two buttered toasts, with slices of hung
beef— which, I fancy, are not things the most easily digest"
e<l. Immediately afterward you sit down to write at your
desk, or converse with j)ersons who apply to you on bus-
iness. Thus the time passes till one, without ativ kind of
bodily exercise.

But all this I could i)ar<lon, in regard, as you say, to
your sedentary condition; but what k your practice after
dmner? Walking in the beautiful gar. 2ns of those friends
with whom you have dined would be the choice of men of
sense ; yours is, to be fixed down to chess, where you are
found engaged for two or three hours.

This is your perpetual recreation— the least eligible of
any for a sedentary man, because, instead of a(3celeratin-
the motion of the fluids, the rigid attention it requires helps
to retard the circulation and obstruct internal secretions.
Wrapped in the speculations of this wretched game, you
destroy your constitution.

What can be expected from such a course of living but
a body replete with stagnant humors, ready to fall a prey
to all kinp of dangerous maladies, if I, the Gout, did not
occasionally brnig you relief by agitating those humors,
and so purifying or dissipating them? Fie, then, Mr.

FEANKLIN AND THE GOUT.

:ht to walk or
it somotliing.
lilo the morn-
"Oiul, what do
for broiikl'ast
with books,
re not wortii

dislies of tea,
dices of hung
easily digest-
^rite at your
you oil bus-
'> any kind of

you Kay, to
)ractico after
those friends
ce of men of
lere you are

■it eligible of
accelerating
squires helps
1 secretions.
\ game, you

f living but
I fall a prey
)ut, did not
)se humors,
then, Mr.

''ranklin ' But iimid

insti

ructions I had almost forgot
|to administer my wholesome corrections; so take tliat
twincre— and that !

I Franklin. Oh ! eh ! oh I As much instruction as you
^please. Madam Gout, and as many reproaches, Ijut pray,
^ madam, a truce with corrections !

i Gout No, sir — no! I will not abate a particle of what
^is so much for your good, therefore —
I Franklin. Oh ! eh ! it is not fair to say I take no ex-
gerciso, when I do very often go out to dine and return in
M my carriage.

;^ Gout. That, of all imaginable exercises, is the most
f slight and insignificant, if you allude to the motion of a
carriage suspended on sj)rings.

■; By observing the degree of heat obtained by different
kinds of motion, we may form an estimate of the quantity
of exercise given by each. Thus, for example, if you turn
\ out to walk in winter with cold feet, in an hour's time you
[will be in a glow all over; ride on horseback, the same
: eflect will scarcely be j^erceived by four hours' round trott-
: ing; but if you loll in a carriage, such as you have mention-
I ed,you may travel all day, and gladly enter the last inn to
' warm your feet by a fire.

Flatter yourself, then, no longer that half an hour's
lairing in your carriiige deserves the name of exercise.

Providence has appointed few to roll in carriages, while all
j have a pair of legs, which are machines infinitely more

commodious and serviceable. Be grateful, then, and make
[ a proper use of yours.

Benjamin Franklin,

INTERMEDIATE KEADER.

Qxrstiuiis—lMwoon whom is tho ronvorsation held? Of what
docs Franklin complain? What i.s the Gout '.^ Wiiat ammtion
does It make against Franklin ? How docs ho defend himself? Givo
the meaning of tho words lippier complniHa„i,jnf, Sedentary, rholorie
What prescription does Madam Gout give \xn- patient? Explain
stagnant humors? What part of speech is Oh! Kh!> Give hom-
onyms of y;,v,y, you, so, all, fair? What pardcular <.x<>rcKso does
Ma,lam Gout suggest? Why is waking superior to riding, as an ox-
ercise?

lieqairc th. pupil to write a similar dialogue r,phuing Uoul hu
Dyspepsy. ''

\ i

Lesson X.
THE BROOK. ^

1. I (;omo from haunts of coot and hern;
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a \-allcy.

2. By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip liotwcen the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town
And half a hu ,ired bridges.

I I:

3. I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles;

(1) ror questions au.l suKRcstions on this l.Pautifi.l poem, tl.o teacher is referred
to the exeeUftut ii-trao" analysis aua .lUcries to the Lessons in English, " Inter,
mediato Cuu.se, Teacher's Edition, pp. , 25, 20, and 27.

THK J! ROOK.

1 Ijiihlilo iiitu e<l"lyliiy bays,
1 babblo on the pebbles.

4. I chatter, chatter as I flow

To join the brimming river ;
For men may come ami men may go.
But T go on for ever.

6. I wind about anii in and out.

With here a blossom sailinaf.
And here and there a lusty trout
And here and there a grayling,

6. And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as T travel,
With many a, silvery water-break,
Above the golden gravel.

^■n

if If

!£■ II I 111! :

INTERMEDIATE READER

7. I.n^urmur under moon and Stars
in brambly wilderness !
i dinger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses.

8- And out again I curve and flow

Tojom the brimming river- •■

For men may come and men mn!y go
But I go on forever '

Alfred Tennyson.

a vaikyr. Whore do.' Urt^rLttT '''i: '"I"*- ^-v"
How doe, ll,e brook pa,, over stonir K , .^'"" ■"■" "">T«?
;-Jdying bay," „„d ■• I babble o^ W p'bM,.^""'?, "\ ^'"""^ "'">
brook stay? What i, a brimmin.. rivers p /»'» "t"' <!<«» Ibe
oo.„e and men n,ay g„, but I g„ :„°C;^ .J^^^" " 'or men ,nay
.com I,, .say about a trout and a g ay „, ?, ^'f ^" »'« ^""k
meet "here and there?" Where d„r,r, , ' ''""' "" •"""k
the n,ean,„« oror.«, What lest do^ttrkTch „,?"'"

^^^^H|]

^...

Little deeds of kindness,

Little words of love, '
Make our earth an Eden,

Like the Heaven above.

Men may come and men may go
^ut I go on for ever, '

ST. ELIZABETH OF HtlNGAllY.

Lesson XL
ST. ELIZABETH OP HUNGARY.

^ so,

Tennyson.

^tisa brook?
I^o bicker down
t are thorps?
I bubble into
''hat does the
for men may
>os the brook
es the brook
•Jr? What is
ach us ?

Wi write the
'yuage, in a

en-count'ered,

sttd'den-ly,
€ru'9i-frx.

ap-pS^r'an9e,

rfic-ol-lfie'tion,

ca-rSss'es,

neigh'bor-ing,
re-t<lrn'ing,
sur-mount'ed,
dis-trlb'ute.

1. St. Elizabeth loved to carry secretly to the poor, not
only money, but provisions, and other matters which she
destined for them. She went, thus laden, by the winding
and rugged paths that led from the castle to the city, and
to the cabins of the neighboring valleys. One day when
accompanied by one of her favorite maidens, as she des-
cended from the castle, and carrying under her mantle,
bread, meat, eggs, and other food to distribute to the poor,
she suddenly encountered her husband, who was returning
from hunting.

2. Astonished to see her thus, toiling on under the
weight of her burden, he waid to her : " Let us see what
you carry, " and at the same time drew open the mantle
which she held closely to her bosom ; but beneath it were
only red and white, roses, the most beautiful he had ever
seen. This surprised him the more, for it was no longer
the season of flowers.

3. Seeing Elizabeth was troubled, he sought to console
her by his caresses, but he ceased suddenly, on seeing over
her head a luminous appearance in the shape of a crucifix.

4. Ho then desired \\pv to continue her route without
being disturbed by him, and he returned to Wartbourg,
meditating with recollection on what God did for her. He

4(6

INTfiRMEDlATE READER.

remembrance of that IhidZ'Z ^'T'^ .'»'• ^'^ *^
liea<l of hia wife. ' ''"^""8 "^f t"><^

Charles Forbes, Count Montalemhert.

QuQStlOnS. Who Wia CJ(. w 1 ,, „

I'^cnbc tl,„ ,„ee.i„g „f ki„g„„„ , ^Jr Vhl t 7 "'"■"''°"'
such acjueslion ? How ,va» 1,° ,l,,„v , fl, . '^ ""= '""« »*' '"■>■

di>i he act ;vh™ he ,, v ,| ' „! , "'"■"J""'«"(liii< thought? How

ho- Whether ^lii^'r"^:;';,^,:?' T:' '" '"=->•"'

What „,., he do .0 eor„„,e„,;:te.'it;r ''«•'; ™"''"'°°'''
inm,„|e,l hy a ei-oss ? What ],.,.„„ i , . ''^' ™ " »'"■-

a....n.e...auee»n.a,r^:;-:t":L.S-irs::r

Lesson XII.
GIANTS OP DESERT AND PLAIN

lumdred pouncb The o^ "-''"""■" ^"^^"^ ""■"«

«.-^.i..-.staL, and th J ,:; , X'r o7''^''' "'^'" ■■' '"'^
of "'hioh ia enough to kill a tl» ° "''''' °"'-* '^'^'>-

- both wa™-,„o^ 1; th^lZ';:,';™'''?- ,^''^'^

. "^7^ia\e 'wk bones, feathered

OSes, which he

({lANTS 01^ DESERT AND PLAIN. 4/

wings, hviihi b)V j;uv,s, hollow bones, feathers, ami lay <'ggs
iVom which they protluce their young.

3. AntI yet the osii-ich is a (|ueer-looking creatm'O.. ITo
h;is a lonf, skinny neck, reaching up into the air like that
of a camel. He stamls six to eight feet high, and can carry
a man on his Itack. The natives of Africa, where the
ostrich is at home, call him the " camel of the desert. "

4. What strange feet he has, with but two toep, and one
of these twice as long as the other ! He has a droll appetite
lor stones ; some ol those he swallows are as large as hen's
eggs. These stones find their way into his gizzard, and
help to grind and digest his food, which consists mostly of
reptiles, rats, and birds When tame, he has been known
to swallow nails, coppoi coins, keys, and the bolts and
screws of an iron bridge ; • ,; ..

i '

4«

12^1^ERMEDTATE READEft.

5- .0 .tiling brings him into clo.* relation tn tt,
l.unm:,.g-bird, namely, his beautiful feathet Wi^ tt"
Btubby «ngs he hoa, the ostrich can not fly It J

^teps of tweiveVt^Sin "f„ :r :;i ^ ^ ^'"

-or the African plains with the sp:fo;r'rrSr

4i";s::a^:irfrir^^^^^^^
4:™ri^::hts:fgtrser ^ ■- ™v'r

t-n. The male ot^^a ty'ret^^r^"'"/ ''^'■
^^J;o-stpartoftheaa/thee:;::::Ter.^^^^^^^^^^^^

..; tender charge/' SrftL?~"«:.'^-
thousands of acres, arc devoted tn tl, ' "°»*»""ng

i- the profit arising from u!!^ LS^r'"' °' ''' '"^^'

» a snt l^vttro7:;tih''"f ' f f ' ''"'' ^«™' '''-
ha!i thf sizeTtk A, '■ "f"^' "'"^ '•''^*- It ia but

two toes ''™" '"^'^' «"'' '>* three instead ol

: I

GIANTS OF DESERT AND PLAIN.

10. These birds run swiftly, are easily tamed, steal coins
and nails to eat, and hate no one but their Indian enemies,
who hunt them upon horse-back. The male does all the
sitting upon and hatching off the eggs, his gentle compan-
ion retiring until he brings of the brood. The egg of the
rhea is equal to fifteen hen eggs, and, like the ostrich's
egg, is cooked and eaten from the shell.

11. The emu of Australia, is, next to the ostrich, the
largest of birds. The male bird alone hatches and broods
the young. The female is noisy, quarrelsome, and cruel
to her offspring. As a household pet it is cunning, and
often mischievous.

3 If
iff

Q}icstio7is. — What is the subject of to-day's lesson ? To what bird
is the ostrich compared? Can you give the comparaison ? Describe
the ostrich ? What strange kind of food seems to invite the ostrich's
appetite? AVhy does he take that? What is the ordinary food of
the ostrich? Does he at times take any other kind of food ? What
do you know concerning his wings? Describe tl;e ostrich's egg?
Wh;;t care is given the young? What did Dr. Livingstone observe?
Who was he? Where is the rhea found? Can you describe him ?
What about the Emu? Where is Chili? Australia? Brazil?
Peru? Is Brazil a republic, kingdom, or an empire? And Aus-
tralia ?

Bcquire the jmpil to give a toriUen exercise, cjplaining what they
hioiv of the Ostrich and to give some other jiarticidars not inentiotied
in (hfi lesson.

Define the foUmviiig words : giants, buzzing, skinny, creature,
<tp])etite, gizzard, stubby, forethought, quarrelsome, cunning, and,
niisehierous,

'41

Ml'. 11 I I

IS II

!■■ ,:

ill

i. >.

50:

INTERMEDIATE READER.

Lesson XIII.

SMOKE- WREATHS.

1. Watcl) tlie curling wreaths of smoke!
lTi>vvar<ls tlioy ascend the sky,
Like sonic sj)ir!t just awoke
To the music of its sio-h.

2. Past the tall and stately spire,

With its belfry high and wide-
Upward still, and yet still higher, '

. On the smoke-wreaths smoothly gJJde.

3. Now they reach the azuie space.
And have vanished into air;
High o'er earth their paths they trace,
As if seeking, " over there, "

4. Rest or solace, or reward,

f"«« ^'lieir earthly fight is done.
Up they mount where angels guard,
lill methinks the end is won.

For the nearest clouds divide,

And the smoke-wreaths enter through ;
Soon the floating vapors hide

Every vestige from my view. '

6. Down upon the peaceful air,

Back to earth my thoughts return,
And my eyes are seeking where

Still the cinders feebly burn. _

THE RAINBOW.

7. Smoldering they are left behind,

Like to actions good and tried,
From which lite-breath soars to find

Eest in That for which we've sighed.

8. But unlike this suljstance void —

Airy fumes that h^ad to naught —
Justice's scale is upward buoyed

By the acts good-will has wrought. --

Mary G. Burke.

Questions. — Give the meaning of rureaths ?■ Construct a sentence in
which wreaths have another signification ? What is a behry ? What
part of speech is smoke-wreaths ? Explain "Azure Space." Give
synonyms of mount, fade, yuardt end, won, vestige ? Change the
sixth stanza to prose ? Why is That in seventh stanze spelled with
a capital? Explain the last stanze.

Mequire the pupil to w rite this j'oem in prozc.

:•»!■

ft?

, m

1 <

Lesson XIV.
THE RAINBOW.

1. Soft falls the mild reviving shower

From April's changeful skies,
And rain-drops bend each trembling flower
They tinge with richer dyes.

2. But, mark ! what arch of varied hue

From heaven to earth is liowcd ?
Haste — ere it vanish — haste to view
The rainbow i:i the cloud !

'] l\ m

■

^■',

^■kI

11 ii

■■■ 1

Wi 1

^^^Hi' i

. . .f '

i ; ■

^■i

^-^ INTERMEDIATE READER.

3. Yet not alone to charm thy sight

Was given the vision fair ;—
Gaze on that arch of color'd hght,
And re;ul God's mercy there.

4. It tells that the mighty di'(>|),

Fast by tir Etei-nal chain'd,
No more o'er earth's domain shall sweep,
Awful and unrestrained.

5. It tells that seasons, heat, and c^old.

Fixed by His sov'reign will.
Shall, in their course, bid . lan ])ehold
Seed-time and harvest still.

6. That still the flower shall deck the field,

When vernal zephyrs blow ;
That still the vine its fruit shall yield, '
When autumn sunbeams glow.

7. Then, child of that fair earth ! which yet
Smiles with Ciu-h charm endowed,
Bless thou His nanu?. Whose mercy set
The rainbow in the cloud.

Felicia D. Hemam.

Qnestinm. i —What is the subject of the poem? Wliat is a rain-
bow? What is said in the first stanza? How is the rainbow de-
scribed? What does the rainbow indicate? What does it tell us"?
What does it say concerning fiowers? What does the last stanza
teach ? Whf t do you mean by giving thanks ? AV'hen wa3 the rum-

m\i^a "''*" '*"""'"" '''"^ suggestions, seo "L^ssoua in English, " Master's

THE COMPLAINT OF THE WILD FLOWERS.

bow first seen? To whom did God give it as a covenant? What is
a covenant ?

Require the pupil to write and define the verbs of the first
four stanzas. Lee him write a letter describing his wonder at seeing
the Rainbow and whatever he may have heard at home or elsewhere.

■A

Lesson XV.
THE COMPLAINT OP THE WILD FLOWERS.

f1 eld, gre\A^ (groo),

m&^d'•o^, bt^Tlt,

dan'-de-lT-on,

€Ot\Kd,
daV-5y,

thTs'-tl^.

1. In the corner of a largo field, and close to a swift-
running brook, grow a groat many wild flowers. The
farmer had not driven his plow near them; and, as it was
not a meadow, the cows and sheep had not cropped them
off. They had a very pleasant time of it. The sun shone
on them all day long, the soft wind played with them.
Many, by reaching over a little could see themselves in the
water, and they could all hear the sweet songs of birds,
who had built their nests in a tree close by.

" How gay we look, in our snug little corner ! " said the
Daisy one day ; " that last shower has made us all so
fresh!"

2. " It is all very well, " said a Dandelion who grew
close by, " but this place is too dull for me. I want to
go and see the world. "

" That is very foolish ! " said a piece of Ivy who had
l)oen busy for the last three years covering up sone large

INTERMEDIATE READER.

I'Vh

' fit

i li

11 J il;i

Iff if'

stonoH that where lying in a heap beside the brook;
wandei'ing about is nut the w;iy to get on.

" Well, " said the Daisy, "I should be quite content if
only tlio little children would come and see us, and vlap
their hands, and say how pretty we are ! "

3. A Lark, whose nest was close by, heard what Daisy
said, and loved her for it; so he (lew in the air and sonc.
as he wont : °

" The Daisy has a gold eye set round with silver. She
looks always up into the sky like a little star : but she
does not shine at night. But the birds sing on, for they
love the little flower, she is so meek and fair."

The Daisy heard what the Lark said, and blushed quite
red.

4. "It is quite true," said the Buttercup, when the
Lark had flown so high they could no longer hear him.
" Little children once loved us very much, but now they
go by to school, and do not even look at us ! I am as bright
a yellow as any flower can be— so bright that they used
to put me under their chins to see who loved butter. I
made a little chin a bright yellow, and they laughed, and
said, "See how he loves butter!" I was merry to hear
how they laughed. They called me Buttercup, because I
was as yellow as butter. "

5. " I hope I am yellow too, " said the Dandelion, " and
larger than Buttercup. The Lark called the Daisy a star;
but I am a little sun. I am not a single flower, like Butter-
cup, but a great many little flowers made into a large
flower. When I go to seed I shall have a round, white
head; them my head will blow to pieces, and I shall set

THE CuMfLAINT OF THE WILD FLOWERS.

out on my travels. Wherever I stop I shall plant one of my
»o.e(h. There will be more dandelions than ever next year.

0. '-'Wait till you see if we leave y^u any room ! " naid
a grufl" voice, and tlu'V all knew that it was a Thistle who
>^poke. "My seeds iiy ahout, Cousin Dandelion, like y'Hir.i;
and my prickly leaves take u}) !^o nuieh room, 1 ;nii n.jl
^^ure you will have space to grow. "

That was true enough, for the thistle i>' larger than the
dandelion, and, though its flower is pretty and red, no one
can gather it without pricking himself.

7. " I am glad I have in-ickles, " said a sweet voice, that
filled the air v/ith scent. "Hike to be i)lucked by the little
children. I send out a sweet smell to meet them, and they
cry, " There is a Violet ! " They lift up my green leaves
gently one by one ; they find me hidden there, and their
eyes s[)arkle with pleasure as they carry me off. "

"Every one leaves you, dear Violet," said the Daisy,
" and your sweet scent attracts more even than your
l)eautiful color and thick green leaves. "

8. " Yes, it must l)e the scent, " said a Dog-Violet,
who was growing where every one could see him ; "for
my leaves are just like my sisters, and I have a large
blossom, yet no one cares to gather me. It surely can
not be because I am few shades lighter in color. "

"No, No!" said a Cowslip, shaking his long, yellow
bells ; " it is scent you lack. But even we who have it
ore not loved by the little children as we should be.

9. When they named me Cowslip, because my breath is
like that of the cow, so sweet and pure, they used always

<\i

INTEnMEtirATE REAMH.

fhotrtn^''" """'''■^ '"'^* wine and tea of me b,.t
tho httlechadren mack, meinto cow3lip-balls_ro„„,I i" ;,
l.ngl.f yellow balls. They tK.ow me in t ai "„"? fil^
't w.th «ce„t, and dropped down into tl "'ia \ ' f
;f ""; Kfy *i* n,y pfeas.ant flight, " B t now ' ?
the Cowslip, in a ., ad voice "the lit.l> in', '■'

know how to make eowslipl,,, ■ Anlft ''\'"'
inrl fl.mr „ '4' '-•'"is- -^11 the flowers strhcd

;;;1.""'^ wore so sorry the httlo olidren did not love

'1.0 liltio speech of the <lZ r H^:"'™ "'" ''°'-'>°""-' ' VVh,U ,v,„

lion? What ha,, the Iv/t„ say" wIt did'TTl''' "° """*■
of the daisy? I, it „uL tr„„, ,,,/"'*',"''"''»* "'"g in praise

™y or herself? Di.l the daisvCnZ ^^l""*'' "■» modest violet

™vi„n, „.„r,l, of the „g. Z ?Trvr,T* ' *<"" --'<' ">o

ing the eowslip ? Who n ade all ,t, T "? ""^ "''"^ "™™-"-

«;o thistle disp'nte with trld'h t" '^'S n^,:T "•"^- *'
all countries? '*'*' 'ne nottcrs the same in

Jiegoire Ihe pupil to mentwu l/w pronoum sir „,. ,
ar,M. n..ns the, qualify, a„, thrL^Zlll l^^ °**"

Lesson XVI.
THE TWO MOTURES.

waLn^TongTsleT 0? V^'^'T' ''^'"'" ^^''^' ^^

desponfent ifcont^LCrf " v^ 7' ''^"^'^"'' ""'

when he heheld a litH ! I T "^ '"fortune,

^ _ nenew a little boy of s«ch surprising beauty that

Tlir. TWO nCTURES.

he foi'got hi.s own trouble and gloom in looking upon tho
almost angelic face before bim.

2. "I must liave tbat face for my studio," said tbo
artist to bimself. " Will you come to my room and sit for
a picture, my little man ? " The boy was glad to go and
SCO the pencils and curious things in the "vi M^t'sroom, and he
was still more plei^sed when he saw vvhat s..'(med to bean-
other boy, looking just like himself smiliig from the
artist's canvns. ^'

3. The artist took great pleasure ni looking nf tlie
sweet, innocent fac^e. When he was troubled, irritated, or
perplexed he lifted his eyes to that lovely image on the
wall, and its beautiful, hopeful features and expression
calmed his heart and made him happy again.

4. jMany a visitoi- to Iuh studio wished to purchase that
lovely face ; but, though poor, and often in want of money
to buy food and clothes, he would not sell his " good angel,"
as he called this portrait.

5. Years passed by. Oftentimes, as he looked u[) to
the face on the glowing canvas, he wondered what had
become of that beautiful boy. " I Hhould like to see kow
ho looks now, " said h(> ; " I wonder if I .should know him ?
Is lie a good man and true, or wicked an<l l)ase ? or has
ho died and gone to a better world ?"

6. One day the artist was strolling down one of the fine
Avalks of the city, when he beheld a young man whose face
and mien were so vicious, so depraved, that he stopped
involuntarily and gazed at him. " What a spectacle ! I
should like to paint that face and hang it in my studio
opposite the angel boy, " said the artist to himselif.

" -m

TNTI^RMEr^fATF! READER.

UH-

i \

, 'i

„,'• J/'" '"""= '"''",f '-'^'l ""^ pointer for money; for k,
v..» a beggar a., well as a thief. « Come to n.yLm ,„ 1

ti;"'iMtrr;r™'' ""'-''-«---

«. TJ.e young man followed the painter -m.] .-.f f

ssiss:ss

9. What troubl(\s you inui'^" ..^i- > i n

1 1 „ -^ ' '"'"■• asked tJie avf ^f Tf

was „„g Leforo tl,e y„„„g ,nan ,,,,,1,1 ,,,,,,1 • ,'1,,
alo,„l a,.,l .s...™e,l j.ier,,,! with a,-o„v. At It' I , "
->P to the ,.ict„re o„ the wall, a.Td i . h.-ot t ■!' w hM
see,«ed to <»me from the heart, sai,l : ' '""''

10, "Twenty years ago yon asked me to come „n i
a".l s,t for a pietnro, a,„l that a,„..l f„, i T ^

Behold ,,,e,,ow a r,.i,,e.l,,,a,.-soMl,,:,^^^'^;^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
all J.y.nre ,„„, ,„,, ,.,„ ,.„. „^^.^, ,.,.^_,^ ^^^'^^ 'hat

hi "w,''::,:i" - Prr:;;'. £ ^"•"■'rr'^ "«"-

ho aske,l. ^' " '"^ "•'"'•""' "''« '■I'ange?"

12; The young man then toi,l him his stI m„„ i
I'on.g an only .son and very b antifnl if ? ' ''"''■•
and spoil,,,] him- i,„„ ,„. , '" , ' ' !«'■«"•■' l«(te,l

ioarneS to,ove.:d!:Ua:rt:~ . Ht T:"'"^", "'""
01 money, he was , tioe,l into wiS,, "; i','«,f:''-^

SintsttT'' ""'^'""r ^'°'*'""" -'"--11 ,1 :

"^5*^" CO ,steal, war :^iiM-lit ,111,1 ;..,. • ^ , 'o? ^i*-

i.iieedsee,„ed.o.,.ii;:::rr;r'::r^^

iLlk.

THE ALBATROSS.

13. Tho story was a fearful one, and brought tears into
the artist's eyes. He besought the young man to stop in
his career of crime, and offered to help him. But, alas ;
it was too late. Disease, brought on by dissipation, soon
prostrated him, and he died beibre he could reform.

14. The painter hung his portrait opposite that, of the
l)e;uitiful boy, and when visitors asked him why he suffered
so liideous a face to be there, he replied, " Between the
aiigol and the demon there are only twenty years of vice."

Qi(<'!ifi(ms. — What is tlie subject of tlie lesson? Who is tlie char-
;;c(er mentioned? Where did he live? Whom did he meet? What
said the artist to himself? What was the result of their conver-
sation? What did the artist do with the picture? What did he call
the youth? What said he to himself when gazing upon it? Did the
artist ever meet his angel-faco? What was the contrast? What
followed the conversation he held with him? What did the youn"
man relate? What became of him? What did the artist do with
tlic second jjortrait? What did vi.iitors remark on beholding the
(■Inking contrast between the two pictures? What was the reply?
What are the iniji-' -tant lessons taught?

liequirc the pupil to icritc a short composition on the lesson.

ul'ba-tross,
cela'-men,

Lesson XVII.

THE ALBATROSS.

hSlms'-man,
mSr'i-ner,

growl)ad,
dis-trSssfc^d',

1. The Albatross in an immense sea-flier, three feet loner,
and seven feet or more in the extent of its wint^s. Its

upper feathers are either white or brown, and it is found

TNTKRMEDTATE RRADKR.

mostly in the .southcrn-soa, whore it visits the village of the
P^- to rent a plac. to. its nest. The auXf

ir ' ^'""T "' ''^"- ''^^"''"S through the sea air for
niany days without rest.

com age. Tlie great albatross is often attacked, and some-
times torn m pieces, I ry the little sea-mew

is ^^^ "7^ '''^"'^ ^"'^^"'^ *'- ^^^^'--^ storms, and

Kgauled by the human sailors as a bir<l of good omen

- account of its size, they call it "man-of-war!" To di"-
'S --on it i. a welcome visitor, as we find m Z
Kime of the Ancient Mariner. "

— WHAT A CHILD CAN DO. 61

" The ice was here, the ice wuh there,

The ice was all around ;
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,

Like noises in a swound !

lu ate the food it ne'er had eat,

And round and round it Hew;
The ice did split with a thunder-fit ;

The helmsmen steered us throuu;h !
And a good south wind sprang up behind ;

The albatross did follow.
And every day, for foorl or i)lay,

Come to the mariner's hollo! " '

Questions.— iJoacrWjc the albatross? Wliat kind of a liinl ia it ?
"Where docs it go to build its nest? What is said of the power of its
wing? By what bird is it often attacked? How is it regarded by the
sailors? What do they call it? Why? Who wrote the " Kimo of
the Ancient Mariner"? What do you mean bv n, rinio?

Lesson XVIIL
WHAT A CHILD CAN DO.

5tlf'linq-ly,

un-f6rt'u-nate,

whTs'per^d,

stif'fer-ing,

re-ll^Sv^d,

Tl-Itts'trat-ing,

re-pe)^t'ed,

gratt^'ful,

in'strtic'tion,

tSn'der-ness,

pre-vSnt'ed,

rc-pro^ch'ful,

blt'ter-ly,

stid'den-ly,

rQtigh,

f^erc^'ly,

re-tort'ed,

inter-rtlpt'cd

1. It was a hot day in July; the flagstones burned one's
leet along the uneven, l)roken pavement. No shade seemed

(1) This beautiful jioem liy S, T. Cokridgc may be found in the Advaaoed
Beadcr,

INTERMEDIATE READER.

Misery could be read every where Tl,7, ^ ^ ^''■
child ha<l a very sore knee tIT .. ^'' ""fortunate

wa. .negleeted, and reduced to= very^ sc»; f^ '

--,-e:4rt;nr^r''«s^^^^^^^^^^^ <>- hcpie.:

read in order disfro^f i ov ""^ "^^^^ ''^ ^^ok to

because 4;atr:eanT '"^ ^'^ -' ^o relieved,

her on my rHurn in TJ""^ '^''^''^' I Promised to bring
^n«-ay^;:Zredt«rKT.:r^^"''-

trati„gthSo7oufwd r' t""f °' pictures lllu.

of each Picture ^LT^a ' ''''P'^'""^ '" ^"^ "'^ meanino-
atn picture. She had an excellent memorv »„^ i,

I found my mission easy. I tan^ht |7 7' ^^"'=''
the " Our Father " nv.mf ■ i ^ ""'' ^"° "* part of
ingday. ' ^"""^'"S ''^'- *» ^-Unuo it the follow-

that swt.u'^S irm:,'^'f'^'^ "'''> ''^'^ P'^'"-.
beside her'Cd 30 hTtt, °P?'' "''"" ™ *» --"

repeatedJo^hert,;:„tatXf ^ '"^"••- '''

WHAT A CHILD CAN DO. (Jo

7. When I returned to her the next morning, I was
greet^hya pa,r of bright, grateful eyes. Thf glZ
nd sullen of her countenance h.ad vanished. I gave he
furfcr explanations, and resumed the teaching of 1 "Our
Father and also taught her the " Hail Maiy." When

r T ,'""'' S''""""™ ™J taJornoss that even

J was moved by her piety.

of her neglect ot duty. But the child prevented it. " Oh
mother ! why d,d you not tell mo all this before ?"said Mar^
-n a reproachful accent. The mother felt the reproth 3
.ud sobbmgly : '■ And is it not enough to break any oL™
heart to see poor little Mary there, having to comfort he
m her dymg state, and seeing all the wages spent in drink '
All ! ala.s ! poor, unfortunate me I"

0. I consoled the afflicted mother s n^ promised to aid
.or and attend to the want, of her dying iu For manv

I"s Ho 1 ,7«'"^'™'-«'' to enter the room of wretch-
C^; 1 ? ^ "™''"* '"""''f °f "y invitation, and

.t'stxrr'™''^^'^'''*''^''^^'''-'*''^^'^

10. One day as I was engaged in reading to her parts
of the P<.,s.on of our Lord, the door opened suddenlTnd
a man entered, of rough and surly aspect. ^'

„"fy '""..^r '^'''"8 ^'"'■" ">e exclaimed to me in
great anger, I w.„,t no cantmg S.ter of Char.ty m my

INTERMEDIATi; READER.

" But, father, father ! " entreated the poor child, '^she
has been so kind to me, you do not know.... and....

"And I do not want her to f^t.y here,' l;e rctorttd,
fiercely interrupting her.

11. Days elapsed. I did not sec the dear, sutTering
child. But God who had J I is own plans, had allov.od the
good seed to tak .; lecp root. Her fatlier in the nieautime
was taken suddeniy ill. She crawled to his bed and
persisted in remainin:^' 'vitli Uim.

12. Though !-'he was weak, she zealously did her
work. She repeated to him all she had learned, and taugiit
him his prayers. And as I was one day visiting in tlo
neighborhood, I was told that my services were requested
at I hastened to the room.

13. The father covered his face and wept bitterly.
Maiy joyfully said ; " He can say it all, and ho is never
going to be drunk any more ! " I looked at the little
apostle, as she lay with her thin, wasted face close to his,
and smoothed the hair on her white forehead.

14. Tlie child had fulfilled her mission. She converted
her father. Her strength was exliausted. She slept the
sweet sleep of the just. Her father was deeply moved.
Many years after that he recalled that happy day ; he
thanked God for having saved him through his child.

Qucslions. — What is the subject of to-day'a lesson ? Who can v . H
me why the child fell ill? Was .she a catholic? Why did ;i'
not know her religion ? Wh • '.. i.s to bhime ? Describe th' ' ■ 'ref< ' 1
•condition of the child and n; ' -r? How was the change '■ ' ?
What dispositions did the child evince? What did she lovt '/- hear ?
What do you know of the priest ? How was the father convc ru d ?

THE THOUGHT OF GOD.

Kow .1.1 the child die ? What mission did «ho accomplish ^ Can w.
do any good hhe little Mary? How would you do it? Why did
Mary not undertake to convert her father before.

Ecnuirelhe pupil to write a IcLter, stating the principal ideas Let
/am also jive other instances he may have heard.

fl '

■):J'

Lesson XIX.

THE THOUGHT OP GOD.

1. The thought of God is hke the tree

Beneath whose shade I lie,
And watch the fleets of snowy clouds '"
Sail o'er the silent sky.

2. It is a thought which ever makes \

Life's sweetest smiles from tears,
And is a day-break to our hopes,
A sunset to our fears.

t .n

3. One while it Lids the tears to flow.
Then wipes them from the eyes,
Most often fills our souls with joy,
And alwavs sanctifies.

4. To think of Thoc is almost prayer,
And is outspoken praise;
And j)ain can even i)assivc thoughts
To actual worship raise,

66 INTERMEDIATE READER

5, All murmurs lie insido Thy "Will
Which are to Thee addressed ;
To suffer for Thee is our work,
To think of Thee our rest.

The Rev. Frederie W. Faber.

Questions, i — To what does he compare the thought of God?
What does he say concerning the power of this thought? What is
it farther capable of doing ? Is the thought of God a prayer ? What
lesson is taught us? When should we particularly think of God?
What sign in the class-room reminds us of this thought? What
prayers remind us?

Require the pupil to commit this j)oem to memory. Let him 2'>oi7ii out
the adjectives and the ivords qualified. Let him mention the verbs,
the prepositions and the words they govern. Finally, let him write
the ideas in prose.

Lesson XX.

BOOKS.

I have Friends whose society is extremely agreeable to
me : they are of all ages, and of every country. They
have distinguished themselves both in the cabinet and in
the field, and obtained high honors for their knowledge of
the sciences. It is easy to gain access to them ; for they
are always at my service, and I admit them to my company,
and dismiss them from it, whenever I please. Thy are
never troublesome, but immediately answer every question

(1) For other questions, suggestions ou this poem see "Lessons in English,"
Master's Edition, pp,, 0, 7, (tade.

LEAVES.

I ask them. Some relate to me tlie events of j.ast a.^e.
while others reveal to mo the secrets of nature. Homo
teach me how to live, and others how to die. Some, I.y
their vivacity, drive away my cares aii.l enliven my spirit^
while others give fortitu<le to my mind, and teach me the
nnportant lesson how to restrain mv desires and dopond
wholly on myself. They oyen to mc, in short, the various
avenues of all the arts and sciences, and upon their im-
formation I safely rely in all emergencies. In return for
all these services they only iask mo to accommodate tlmm
with a convenient chamber in some corner of my huml^le
habitation, where they may repose in peace : for these
hiends are more delighted by the tranquillity of retire-
ment than with the tumults of society.

Isaac Disraeli.

Qucstioru^.—l. What does he call his Ikm^Ics? Why are they his
friends? Are they difficult of access? Are they troubh.son.e'^
What do they relate? What do some teach ? What is the function
of others? To Avhat do they give me access? What do they claim
an return? Why? What books have you read ?

Lathe pupil define (hc/oUowlnrf : arjreeaUo, dislinr,uished hwwl-
edge, sciences, vivacity JorliLudc , information, emergencies, retirement.

■m

t'^i

Lesson XXI.
LEAVES.

Teacher. Well, James, v,;;; you please define leaves ?
James. In botany, leaves are organs which usually
shoot from the sides of the stems and branches.

INTP.ItMEUIA.TL- HEADER.

Teacher. William, do loaves always shoot from the
sides of stems and 1 ranches?

William. No, sir ; sometimes they 4i' ; i" m the root.

Teacher. You answered correctly William. Thomas,
are leaves all of the same shape ?

Thomas. Leaves are not of the same shape, hut present
a wonde'fid variety.

T. Can you mention some of the shapes or forms of
leaves, John?

John. They are flat, extended, linen r, cylindric. .

T. Eobert, how many parts has a leaf usually ?

Kobort. A leal' has usually two parts— the stalk or
petiole, and the blade or lamina.

T. Michael, what do you know concerning the p"Hole?

Michael. The pi.'tiole connects the leaf with the branch
or stem.

T. Hugh, of what is the petiole composed ? ^

Hugli. It is composcl ui a bundle of unexpand' d fibres
covered by a sort of skin.

T. Excellent, Hugh. But, Paul, su. posing a leaf has
no petiole?

Paul. Tlien the leaf is said to ■ sc le, that is to ;.ay,
it r >!nes directly from the main stem or branch, and oft^n

surrounds the stem.

par

tiallv

rely

T. Well said, Paul Now, Peter, when is the leaf said
t be simple ?

^ x^ •

LEAVES

Peter. The loaf is .simple when tli limb consists of one
jiiece either quite entire or variously indented.

T. Matthias, when is the leaf compound?

Matthias. The leaf is compound when it consists of one
or more leaflets, each of which is jointed to the common
petiole by intermediate ^j)e<io////'t'5.

T. Good, good, Matthias. Henry, can ou mention a
tree having simple or compound leaves?

Henry. The Lime-tree has a simple leaf, and the False
Acacia, a compound leaf.

T. Gerald, will you please tell the class wliat you un-
derstand by . Imtate leaves ?

Gerald. Leases are dentate when the edge is notched
nil irply toothed, n^ in the Chestnut tree.

T. I am pic ised wi \ your answers, and I shall now
give you a few general nts. At the hour marked by
God, the little buds we see on trees at the beginninf^ of
Spring, will open themselves step by step, and in a short
time the gardens, fields, and the woods will be clothed with
a dazzling mantle of green. Yes, the season for the re-
appearance of leaves is that Avhich exercises the softest in-
fluence on the human soul. The return of leaves tells us
that brighter and warmer days are coming. We see be-
fore us a beautiful field, and nature in general assumes a
gari), which offers at once to the eyes and the mind a most
charming picture; what pleasure do we not enjoy in t'le
shade and shelter of the forest in the burnincr flays of
summer!

Leaves almost always assume the horizontal position.

i! ;il

fjQ INTERMEDIATE READER.

Thoy luivo an upper surface turned toward the heavenn,
an<l a lower surface looking to the earth. This position is
so natur.1 and hence so necessary, that leaves assume it
themselves during day and night, should they have m any
^vay heon changed. If you place a plant in a room hghte.l
by a single window, it is soon to he noticed that all th.
deives direct their upper surface towards the light, ihis
you can all try as an experiment. Leaves also pimty the
surrounding atmosphere, thus contributing to our health.

I have not time to speak to you about other wonders
concernin<^ leaves, as for instance, the sensitive plant which
closes its feaves when touched. There are mysteries concern-
incr leaves which are beyond theunderstanding of the ablest
boUmists and most acute philosophers. God alone com-
T>rehends them, for He has made them. How thankfu we
should be to Him for having given us these beautilul
and inviting shades!

Lesson XXIL
MAD RIVER.

TRAVELLER.

Why dost thou widly rush and roar,

MadEiver, OMadEiver?
Wilt thou not pause and cease to pour
Thy burying, headlong waters o'er
This rockv shelf forever ?

MAD KIVER

What secret trouble stirs thv breast ?

Why all this fret and flurry ?
Dost thou not know that what is best
In this too restless world, is rest

From over- work and worry ?

THE RIVER.

What would 'st thou in these mountains seek,

stranger from the city ?
It is perhaps some foolish freak
Of thine, to put the words I speak

Into a plaintive ditty ?

TRAVELLER.

Yes ; I would learn of thee thy song,
With all its flowing numbers,

And in a voice as fresh and strong

As thine is, sing it all day long,
And hear it in my slumbers.

THE RIVER.

' *l

A brooklet nameless and unknown

Was I at first, resembling
A little child, tliat all alone
Comes venturing down the stairs of stone,

Irresolute and trembling.

! it ■ ;! -

72 INTERMEDIATE READER.

Later, Ijy wayward fancies led,

For the wide world I panted :
Out of the forest dark and dread
Across the open fields I fled.

Like one pursued and haunted.

I tossed my arms, I sang aloud,
My voice exultant blending
, With thunder from the passing cloud,
The wind, the forest bent and bovv^ed,
The rush of rain descending.

I heard the distant ocean call,
Imploring and entreating :
., Drawn onward, o'er this rocky wall

I plunged, and the loud water fall
Maxle answer to the greeting.

Men call me Mad, and v/ell they may.

When, full of rage and trouble,
I burst my l)anks of sand and clay,
And sweep their wooden bridge away.

Like withered reeds or stubble.

Now go and write thy littto rhyme,

xi.3 of thine own creating.
Thou scest the day is past its prime :
I can no longer waste my time ;

The nulls are tired of waiting.

Henry Wadsivorth Longfellow.

ABVENTTTRE WITH \ LION

Queslions.-llovf does the traveller address the river in the first and
second stanzas ? What answer does the river make ? What does the
traveller say v/hon lie speaks the second time? Give the meanin- of
freak, ditty, brooked. What does the river say when it speaks a°se-
condtime? What "stairs of stone" does it venture dow.r^ Ex-
plain " Wayward fancies", "thine own creating" "day is past i'a
prime. "Give tlie meaning of hamlet, exultant, stubble, reed ?

^rquirr the yv.jnl to wrilc a description of a liiver.

Lesson XXIII.
ADVENTURE WITH A LION.

ar-ti-fi'cial

fre'quSnt-ly,
nar-rat'ed.

ex-er'tion,
sit-u-a'tion,
Tn'ci-dent,
stu'por.

de-stroy)^d',
fa'-mt^tls,
htarl^d,
pro-duc^d'.

Dr. Livingstone, tlie renowned African traveller and ex-
■ plorer relates the following incident to point out the
dangers of lion hunting :

1. The villagers among whom I was staying were much
troubled by lions which leaped into their castle-pens and
destroyed their cows.

2. As I knew well that, if one of a number of lions jis
killed, the others frequently take the hint and leave that
part of the country, I gave the villagers advice to that
end, and, to encourage them, offered to lead the hunt.

3. The lions were found hiding among the rocks on a
hill covered with trees, and about a quarter of a mile' in '
length. The men circled the hill, and slowly cd^jd in
closer and closer, so that the lions might be'^conpletely
surrounded.

,. . ^1 a

INTERMEDIATE READER.

I! J

4. Presently one of the natives spied a lion sitting on a
piece of rock, and fired at him, the ball missing the breast
and striking the rock.

5. The lion turned, bit like a dog at the spot where the
bullet had struck, and then bouiidod oil' to the sIk.'IU.t of
the brushwood.

6. Soon I saw another lion in much the same situation
as the former, and, being not more than thirty yards from
it, I lot fly with both barrels.

7. As the lion was still on its legs, T hastened to reload
mv ffun : but hearinq; a sudden and friffhtful crv from the
natives, I looked up and saw the wounded lion spring'" ^
upon me.

^Sfl

ADVENTURE WITH A LION,

8. I was caught by the shoulder and hurled to the
ground. Growling terribly in my ear, the lion shook me
as a dog does a rat.

9. The shock produced a stupor, similar to that which
seems to be felt by a mouse after the first shake of a cat.

10. The lion then leaped upon one of the natives who
had tried to shoot him, and then sprang at the neck of a
second native who, armed with a spear, was rushing t(j the
rescue.

11. The exertion was too mucli for the wounded beast,
and so, with his claws bedded in the spearman's sboulder,
he rolled over and died.

12. I had escaped, but with a shoulder so Itroken as to
need an artificial joint, and with eleven teeth wounds in
my arm.

13. These wounds wore less severe than they would lipve
been, had not a heavy jacket which I had on, cleansed tho
teeth of the lion in tlieir passage. As it was, they were
soon vnved au'l gave me no trouble a,fterward.

David Llo'nxjHtonc.

Qnestiom.-—\\"\\a,i is llic sulijcrt of (o-day's Icasou? What do you
mean by an adventun;:' What is a Hon? Where arc lions to h,.
found ? AVho relates the story ? Why do you say he was renowned ?
V'here is Africa? (.'an you nanin any of tho divisions of Africa''
What did Livint^'stone for i\w. natives? Why did he lead the hunt?
Where did they spy tho lion? Wherein was the danger? Describe
the action of fh.f natives? Who was the injured man? What were
the extent of his injuries? Why was the bite of the lion's teeth not
so dangerous ?

Let Ihc j)iq>i.l write the sfon/ in his nini language.

INTERMEDIATE REA.DER.

Lesson XXIV.
TWO HUNDRED LASHES FOR TURBOT.

1. Great prices are sometimes paid for turbots wlii(}h
constitute a }»rominent dish at public dinners. A story is
told in which the turbot is a silent character, but becomes
the occasion of slippery dealing, followed by a merited
punishment.

2. A rich noV)leman was about to receive the king, and
great preparations were made at his castle for the feast.
Everything rare and costly was provided except fish.
Both the chief cook and the nobleman himself were surely
put out because the sea was so rough that fisherman dared
not venture out. However, the very day before tlu^ feast
a sturdy fisherman, who had heard of the lord's distress,
came from a distant village, bringing an unusually fine
turbot, and asked to be admitted.

3. The porter, sporting a fine livery and chain, and
feeling important, was quite willing to turn a dishon st
penny if he could not turn an honest one. As he refused
the fisherman admittance unless he could agree to share
with him half the price received from the nobleman for th^-
fish. The fisherman said he had worked hard to catch the
fish and bring it so long a distance, and that it would b<'
ridiculous to give the porter half the price he should get
for it. "As you choose, said the porter, sulkily, " only
you will not show your fish in yonder kitchen unless you
accept my demand. Say yes, and you will get what<.^vcr
you choose to ask. Otherwise, you can sttiy outside till
your fish spoils."

91!

TWO HUNDRED LASHES FOR TURBOT.

4. The fisherman tired and angry, felt obliged to accept
the unjust demand, and, having shouldered his turbot, was
marched into the great kitchen, where he met the noble-
man himself, who was delighted at the arrival of the
longed-for game. "Do not be afraid, " he said; "name
your price, for I will pay anything within reason. " And
ho displayed his purse filled with shining, jingling gold.
" rfir, " said the fisherman, " I am about to ask a strange
price, but it is the only one I will take for the turbot. " -

5. " Speak up, speak up, " cried the lord, impatient to
secure his treasure ; "I will pay your own price." "Well,
sir, I crave two hundred lashes on my bare back, " said the
man, with determination. " Nonsense ! Are you mad ?
Tell me your price and be gone, " said the nobleman, ang-
rily. " This is my price, and no other will I take, so please
you, great sir, " said the fisherman, as he began to repack
liis fish. All thought him silly, and joined to persuade
him to accept a money price, but with no success, for he
repeated, firmly, " Two hundred lashes, or nothing. "

6. The nobleman, concluding that the man must be mad,
ordered his men to give him the two hundred blows, saying
that he would soon cry " stop, " and that the lashes could
be laid on lightly. So the fisherman took off" his jacket,
laid bare his big, strong shoulders, and took the firsi
hundred lashes, when he cried, " Hold ! hold ! that will da"

7. " I am glad to hear that, " Sii.iil ine lord, clapping hi*
hands; " but I thought ycii d:^raanded two hundred
lashes?" "Aye, sir, so I dia." replied the fisherman,
"but T hnve a partner in the business, and I a«k that your
lordship will kindly order him that he may now receive
the other half of the pay, " " Why, yi .n do not moan th *

INTERMEDIATE HEADER.

there is another man as mad as yourself? " cried the lord,
deeply puzzled. " Yes, p.ir, and he is not far off, " said the
fisherman : "he is your own porter, and he insisted on my
keeping outside unless I shared with him whatever you
gave mo. "

8. "Oh, now I understand," cried the nobleman.
" Fetch him instantly, and let him have his share by all
means. Lay it on soundly, my men. Afterward he can
go, for I want no such clever gentleman at my doors. "

9. So the porter was paid, and heartily too, at the end
of the lash, while the honest fisherman received a silver
coin for every blow he had endured, and went on his way
rejoicing.

Questions. — What is a turbot ?What was the occasion of the feast?
Why had they no fish? Describe the interview between the porter
and the fisherman ? What was the result ? How did the lord receive
the fisherman ? Who can describe what took place ? Why such a
strange price? What opinion did the servants entertain ? How did
they settle the question ? How many lashes did he receive? What
followed the hundred lashes? Did the lord understand now the
mcanin" of so strange a request? How did the lord act? How
many silver coins did the fisherman receivu for his turbot? How
many persons enter into this lesson ? Can you give an idea of their
respective characters? How was honesty rewarded and dishonesty
punished? What does it teach us? What is the meaning of this
proverb: " Honesty is the best policy?" In what must we show
our honesty ? How many commandments would you violate by dis-
honesty ?

Require the pupil to give this story in his own language. Let him
give other instances he may have heard.

ONE BY ONE.

Lhsson XXV,
ONE BY ONE.

1. OiiG by one the sands are flowing,
One Ijy one the moments fall ;

Some are coming, some arc going —
Do not strive to gnusp them fJl.

2. One by one thy duties wait thee,
Let thy whole strength go to each ;

Let no future dreams elate thee,

Learn how first what these can teach.

3. One by one (bright gifts from heaven)
Joys are sent thee here below ;

Take them readily when given,
Keady, too, to let them go.

4. One by one thy griefs shall meet thee-
Do not fear an armed band ;

One will fade as others greet thee ;
Shadows passing through the land.

6. Do not look at life's long sorrows :
See how small each moment's pain ;

God will help thee for to-morrow,
So each day begin again.

G, Every hour that fleets so slowly

Has its task to do or bear ;
Luminous the crown, and holy.

When each gem is set with care.

80 • INTERMEDIATE READER

7. Do not linger witli rogi'etting,
Or for passing hours despond,

Nor, the daily toil forgetting,
Look too eagerly beyond.

8. Hours arc golden link;j, God'.s token,
Keaching heaven ; but one by one

Take them, lest the chain be liroken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.

Adelaide A. Procter.

Questions.— Row do our duties wait ^s ? IIow must wo do oarli
duty ? What is the meaning of "elate" ? Will all our troubles and
griefs come at once ? What will God do for us each day ? What is a
•' luminous crown " ? What are the hours of life like ? To what do
all these links, joined, reach ? What is a pilgrimage ? What do you
mean by the pilgrimage of life ? What are we taught ?

■Require the jnqnl to mention all the adjectives adverbs, and pre-
positions. Let him ivrite the x>rincipal ideas in his own lanr/uarjc.

■ Lesson XXVL

THE LIFE OF OUR LORD.

1. The whole world was deep in misery and sin. The
knowledge of God and his worship, were nearly facts of
the past. Empires and kingdoms were being overthrown,
nations persecuted, and peace lost in war. The Jews who
wore God's chosen people, were unmindful of their religious
duties, and gladly offered their services to the Gentiles for
money.

The life op our lord

2. But the time of the coming of the Messiah was at
hand. The King of Peace could not take up his abode in
a world where all was strife and confusion, God, however,
who rules nations and empires, established peace. The
Emperor Augustus, after many bloo.dy battles, was
now seated upo-n the throne. The turmoil had ceased and
peace smiled once more over the face of the earth.

3. Then it was that in the quiet and holy retirement of
the temple, a holy and unspotted Virgin was in profound
prayer. She earnestly prayed for the fulfilmont of the
prophecies. While thus occupied, behold ! there suddenly
stood before her, an angel of wonderful beauty and grace.
He uttered words, such as she had not been wont to hear.
Bowing low, he said : " Hail, full of grace, the Lord is
with thee ; blessed art thou among women. Fear not
Mary for thou hast found grace with God. Thou shalt
bring forth a son, and thou shalt call his name Jesus. He
shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Most
High ; and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne
of David his father, and he shall reign in the house of
Jacob's friends. "

4. These words of praise troubW Mary. The angol,
however, told her not to fear. Then, in words, full of
humility, she said : " Behold the handmaid of the Lord ;
be it done unto me according to thy word, " Thus was
accomplished th© great mystery of the Incarnation.

5. The Emperor Augustus desired to know the number
of people in his vast empire. He made use of a simple
means It consisted in the taking of the censu \ '^.uh
om was to go to the seat of his hmily. Mary and Jo;ieph,

It t-H,i

INTEKMKDIATK llKAbHU.

bclon"iH,^ 1') tlu! I'aiuily of havi-l, went tlit'i'oforc to Bctli-
leliem. On aiTivin<,' at the village, thoy iiuit a crowd of
i)00i)l(^ who Hocked to tlic iuns lor lodging. But Mary and
Joriciih were poor, and hence refused an entrance. Joseph

endeavored in vain to find a lodging. No roof would offer
them shelter. At last they came to a cave, a stable, and
there remained on that memorable night.

6. Here, in this lonely place, forgotten and despised, was
born to the world, Christ, the Son of the living God.

The life ok our lord

(. A.) so,m,T was our hlcs.nl 8avioui' l.or.,, th,u. un-ols
ranie from hoavcii, annouuciu^ir ],!« Mnh to Jowly
.shq.herds who wore guarding their f]o<k,s hy „ight. Tlie

appearancGofthcangol,s.suri>riso.hh('m the words thoylioard
.ntorod their hearts and fdled them with joy. They resolve.l
TO go to Betldeliem to sec the King of heavcm and earth,
ihither tliey went, and j.rostrating tlienisolves tliey a.iore.l
(lio Infant. They relate<l to Mary and Joseph liow they
<"ame to the knowh-dg,^ of liis l.irth an.l of tli(> messa-e of

UK' angelic choirs,

a Ahoiit til.' same time there aj. pea red a 1)riglit star in
the Ea:;t. Tiu-ee wise men wlio were traveling, noticed it
at mid.lay and were astonished at its remarkable hrillian-
<'y. They immediat.-ly resolvvd to follow it. Wlu-n they
came to Jerusalem, the star disappear^. Here they
made nupiirles ahout the newd.orn King of the Jews
Herod was alarmed. He called together his wis. men
and tl... do(;tors of the law to take their counsel They
••onsulted the Scrip.ture; which pointed toward Bethlehem
He tol.l the wise men or magi, that he whom they sou<dit
was to he horn in JJethlehem, th^ ity of David. ^ '

9. After the magi left Jerusalem, the star re-aj-peared
As they approached the city, the star stood still,
rhey found a poor stable, and there, in a manger a
iittle Inflmt, wound in swaddling clothes. Beside him
were Mary an<l Joseph. They entered with awe and
respect, and presented their offerings of gold, franKincensc
and myrrh. They returned to their own country'
'lit not by the same way they came, for an angel warned
tiiem because Herod was seeking to kill the child. '

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INTERMEDIATE EEADEE.

Qvrs/ioris. — Dcsciibo the comlilion of things at I lie time of tli<'
romiiig of our Lord? Who was tho Etnporor ? Wlio was to !"•
*hcniolhcr ofC.od ? Whore was .sheat this time ? What was her occu-
pation at the instant of the angel's appearance ? What were his
remarkable words ? What mystery was accom])lished ? What is
lli(! mystery of the Incarnation ? What were the orders of tlie
Emperor about the census ? Whither did Mary and Joseph go ?
Why could they get no room ? Where did they find shelter? What
happened during the night ? To whom was the birth first announ-
ced? Describe the scene. Who came after the shepherds? Whence
did they comi^ ? When did they se(i the star ? Did they f(jllow tln"
star ? Why ? Whither did it bring them ? What happened in
Jerusalem ? Can you describe Herod ? Where did they find tli.^
Haviour, and what did they ofier him ? What do each of the offerings
si"nify ? Where is Bethlehem ? What was it called ? Why ^
Where is Jerusalem ? Who built the magnificent temple of Jerusa-
lem ? Whe.i was our Lord born ? In whose reign ? Wli j was he ,'
What do you Iniow about him ?

Lesson XXVII.
IMPORTANCE OF EARLY HABITS.

cor-^iip'tion, v., vnclccdnrss.

€har'a-cter§, n., the persons ■wUk their asHcmhlage of qualities.

un-cha'ng^-abli^, adj., fixed, immutable ; always the same.

f6-lTc'ity, n., happiness.

mis-for'tunfe^, n., calamity.

pra-pSn'si-iy, n., inclinatio7i.

iin-por'tim-at^, ailj., jyressiwj, iiri/nit ; disquieted. |

in-stip-port'alDl^, ailj., ititolerahle, uvliearable.

tCi-intil'tu-ous, adj., ■noisy, eonfusedly agitated.

1. Wo shall not gather in old age that which was not
sown in youth. If you "sow cofruption," says the Apostle,
^you_shall reap coiTUption. '.'-.^t^Yousay ^ every day your-

IMrORTANfH OF PIVRLY HABITS.

lucli was not

selves, that we always die as wo liavo lived ; that char-
acters are uncliangoal>le ; that wo carry into advanced
life all the faults and |iassions of our early clays, and that
there is no greater ha})piness than to form in our youth
those laudable inclinations which accustom us, from child-
liorxl, "to the yoke of the Lord."

2. Il'vyO regarded only our rcjiose in this life, ami had
110 other interest than to prejuire for ourselves (juiet and
liapjty days, what previous enjoyment it would ])e, to
stifle in their hirtli, and turn at last to virtue, so many
violent passions which afterwards rend the heart, and
cause all the bitterness and misfortune of life ! What felic-
ity, to have encouraged none but innocent and amiable
jiropensities, so be spared the wretched recollection of so
laany criminal pleasures, which corrupt the heart and
sully the imagination, leaving a thousand shameful and
importunate iniages, which accompany us almost into
virtue, survive our crimes, and are frequently the cause
of new ones ! What happiness to have passed our first
years in trancpiil and harmless pleasures, to have accus-
tomed ourselves to contentment, and not contracted the
mournful necessity of engaging in violent and criminal
{pleasures, making the peace and sweetness of innocence
ainl virtue insupportable, by the long indulgence of ardent
and tumultuous passions !

3. When youth is jiassed in virtue and in dread of vice,
it draws down mercy on the remainder of our lives ; the
Lord himself watches over our paths ; we become the
beloved objects of his special care and paternal goodness.

Mgr. Jcan-B. Jifa-ssillon.

(iKCfidoiis. — Wjiat is tiic j^ulijoct of (o-iluy'K Icssuu ? ^^ iuil, is a
habit ? What can \vc not gatlicr in old ago ii we sow curruptiou iu

^^m^i'i^

INTERMEDIATE READER.

youth ? Explain the meaning. What are the words of the Apostle ">
What nieaning«.ilo they convey? What is it that we say to ourselves
every clay ? Expjain the words " to the yoke of the Lf>rd." Explain
the meaning of the fii-st sentence of paragraph sen md. What is felicity ':"
How is it promoted? What is happiness? llow is it attained?
What is tho lesson tauglu. ?

Lesson XXVIII.

SHINYOOATS.

1. Wc will now go, for a little while, to the great
temple of wng. We shall learn the value of the throat,
and a new use of the beak. We shall hear the music of
solo and chorus. Wc shall see that Viirds sing not only
to call or charm their mates, V)ut also to express their own

joy-

2. And for us, too, they sing. Think of a sum?Mer
without song-l>irds. As well have a summer without
sunshine, without buds, or blossoms, or fruit. With no
robin, no pewce, no bobolink, no mocker, no song-sparrow,
June would be December. These bird i are all lyre-birds
and poets. They make the heart light and free. The
burden of joy or sadness Heats away on their mirthful or
plaintive music. Places change, but the birds are always
the same.

3. The starlings are our happy songsters of spring.
When the curtain of winter rises, the • come in the midst
of bursting l>uds and opening flowers.

SIIINY-COATS.

Amontj; tliptn arc ooliolinks, cow-birds, mcadovz-larks,
oriolcp, and black bii-ls. Nature docs not deny a shiny
i;loss, but she prefers dark colors lor her musicians. The
bobolink's dress is black and white. The cow-bird sings
ill lustrotis black. The meadow-lark is happy in yellow,
brown, and black. Blackbirds must be black, though they
glimmer with blue and green ; while some relieve their
lioa«Is or wings with red, or yellow, or white.

4. The cow-bird lays sni.cdl eggs, but shirks work and
builds no nest. Into the nests ot other and smaller birds
she places luu- treasures, one egg in each. This egg is
hatched sooner than its com])anions, and receives the first
attention and love from the foster-mother. She V>ecomc3
bewildered over her own weaklings, and tosses them from
the nest and broods the little cow-bird alone.

5. The meadow or field lark, which is no lark, but a
starling, we are told, loves the broad, sunny, shadeless
meadow. She makes her nest in a tuft of grass, and jerks
and flutters in the grass before she rises on her wings.
The malo sits upon a stump, or a fence, and sings a sweet
plaititive note which we can never forget.

0. Of orioles, the Baltimore is best known to us, bring-
ing its name from the livery or arms of Lord Baltimore, of
]\raiyland. Its note is a short, simple, rolling one, not
so much a song as a tuneful way of talking. The oriole is
called a hanging-bird on account of the peculiar nest it
builds. On the south side of the house where the siui is
brightest, and prote(;ted from the storm, it hangs a woven
pouch or [)0cket from a bmber twig, which rocks in the
breeze but never breaks. Boblier-birds find it difiicult to
plunder this nest.

INTERMEDIATE READER.

7. Thero^fl winged blackbird i)ii»cs a flute-like song, and
chirps about the willows and bushes of the marsh or creek,
where the nest is made, and two broods of young are
raised. Blackbirds do not live in }»airs like other birds,
but love rather to assemble in groat flocks, covering the
groun<i and the tree-tops. The cow-blackbird looks like
his namesake, the crow, and is a robber-bird, as bluebirds
and robins sadly know.

8. But let uscoine back to our bobolink. When llu! bright
days of .summer have passed, he j)uts on dull feathers, and
becomes a glutton of the rice-fields in the South. But he is
the boy's bird. Washington Irving says of him : " Of all
the birds of our groves and meadows, the bol)olink was the
envy of my boyhood. . . It seemed as if the little varlet
mocked at me as he flew by in full song, and sought to
taunt me with his happier lot. Oh, how I envied him !
No lessons, no task, no hateful school ; nothing Init holiday
frolic, green fields, and fine weather. "

Questions. — Why is the subject called "shiiiy-couis"? Where
does the author wish to bring ns and for what ? Do they sing for
us ? What does he say of summer without song-birds? What do(>.s
he call them? In what sense does he call Uvm lyre-birds and po(»ts?
Is there such a liird as a lyre-bird ? Why the name ? Describe the
starling. Mention the different birds of your lesson. Describe (heir
dress. Tell me all you know of the cow-bird and its habits. What
do you know concerning the meadow -lark ? Which one is best
known of the orioles ? Where is Baltimore? Describe the oriole.
What is peculiar about the oriole's nest? What do you know of the
blackbird ? What of the bobolink ? What does Washington Irving
say of the bobolink ? Who was Washington Irving ?

Require the pupil to (livc in his own lunijitcKjc what he has learned in
to-day's lesson. Lei him write a short letter embodying the chief ideas,

LITTLE Wilfrid's petition.

Lesson XXIX.
LITTLE WILFRID S PETITION.

trai,'tor,

con-spTr'a-tor,

gra'cifc^tis-ness,

€ot^rt'ier, eSl'leg^,

in-dig'nant, en-€ount'Sr^d

mag-nan'i-mt^Cis, con-spIr^d'.

1. In the reign of Athelstan, one of the old Saxon nion-
archs, a noMeman, by name of Cendric, conspired with
other traitors against tlie life of the king. The plot was
discovered, the conspirators were put to death, and their
lands taken from them.

2. King Athelstan, who, like his grandfather, Alfred
the Great, was a just and merciful ruler, used to set apart
certain days on which he received petitions from the poor
and appeals from the wronged. At these times his humbl-
est subjects could come to him for justice even against
the most powerful.

3. On one of these occa'sions, as he sat on his throne,
with a group of nobles and courtiers around him, listening
to petitioners and giving alms to the poor, ho saw a Saxon
lady stantling at the lower end of the hall, holding a little
boy by the hand. Both were dressed in mourning ; tlie
lady wore a widow's veil and barb— that is, a pioce'^of fine
white lawn, covering the lower part of the face— which
denoted that she was a widow of high rank.

4. The king waved his hand to these two to approach.
Thoy came forward and knelt on the steps of the throne,

Who

are you?" said the king

INTERMEDIATE HEADER.

" I fim Ermongardc, the widow of Ceiiflric^ and this
child is Wilfrid, his only son," replied the widow, with
great dignity.

5. The king started and frowned, and the courtiers
looked shocked and indignant that ;iny one should ho so
bold as to say or do anything that might he unpleasant
to their royal master.

" Will your majesty answer ine one question?" said
the lady.

The king nodded rather stiffly.

" Is it right for the innocent to suffor for the guilty ? "
" No, " answered Athelstan, with a bluff honesty not
often seen in royal personages.

6. " Then, " said Ermengarde, who was a woman of
sj)irit, "rt^toro my husband's lands to his son ! It is true
Cendric plotted against your life ; but he lost his own life
for his crime. This |)Oor boy is not a traitor. Wliy should
he be doomed to [)0vcrty and scorn for his father's fault?
Be just, king, and give him back his own! "

7. Now, Cendric's estates were extensive, and the king
had found them a great addition to the royal domain. So
he was about to tell the Lady Ermengarde that her request
was unreasonable, and could not bo granted, when his eyes
fell again on little Wilfrid. The child was still kneeling
on the step of the throne, with his little dimpled hands
clas[)od in timid entreaty. Ho was a very pretty boy,
with a fair, frank face and wavy golden hair and large
blue eyes, which were now swimming in tears.

LITTLE WILFRID'S FETITION.

8. TIio kii.^^ was more moved l)y his i.moeonce and
Leauty than by the eloquent appeal oi'his stately mother;
and so, after lookinrr at him tenderly and thonyhtfully for
a lew moments, he said that he wouM keep Cendric's
pr..].erty hene(>f<,rth only in trust for his son, who should
have all when he grew to he a man, provi.h'd he should
remain goo.l and loyal. He promised to ],o the <ruardian
of Willri.l, and have him e.lucated at Oxford witlThisown
younge ■ brother, Prinee Edwin, the heir-apparent.

9. The widow and her son threw themselves at the feet
uftheking, and thanked him with tears of grateful joy
and as Athelstan kindly raJse.l them, he folt in his heart
that this generous deed had made him hapj-icr than the
possession of fifty sueh estates as Wilfrids eould have done.

10. Miss Striekland, in her "Stories from English
History, " gives a long and interesting aeeount of the trials
which Wilfrid encountered in his eollege-lifc. But all the
troubles and temptations which ho met with seemed to
make him only stronger and nobler ; for ho was always
truthful, faithful, and brave ; and so, of course, came out
right at last.

11. Ho took possessi.m of his estates and lived very
l>api'ily- He was honored by the king, and foved and
blessed by the poor. He was the j.ride of the court and
the country ; and, what was far nobler in God's sight the
comfort of his widowed mother, the sorrowful Lady
Ermengarde.

Grace Greemoood.

Quest-turn ~\Xhai kind of a subject is to-day's lesson ? Who was
.• tlulstan ? Who war, Ceiidrio and what was his crime ? What was
the runislinient, of the traitor ? What do vou know concerning tho

I NTKUM r.lHATR TIKAUKn.

justice of <h« kin^ '' Wlioso oxaini.lc <li'l he fnllow ? Wlm was
Alfred flic Great ? Pvlale soiim of liis .i^ivat d-Tcls. Whom iIkI (Im
king sec at the end of ih<' Hall ? T'csenlx.' thrir appfaraneo. What
answer did llien(.lili>giv.> ia r^'ply In lli.- kiu-'s (lurstion ? What
AVus the condiut of kin;^ and court whm Ihey h.ard Ihc reply ? What
was the rf'picst of (he noMo niotlnr and her reason llinvfor ? Did
ihc knii,' willingly grant her request and why not 7 What answer
did Iheliuig linaily give ? Ilowdidlhe jiiother act on hearing so
favoralile a'Teply ? What did slie promise? What is said of little
Wilfrid's coU.'ge course ? Who relates those facts ? Who was she ?
■\Vlii.t do you know concerning the author of the lesson ? What is
taught us l)y to-day's lesson '?

Jl, quire the l>iqnl lo vrilr. <t hltrr, rnnf((iiiiii</ the ,]u(f ulras and
luhl other thoHfjh(>i whieh the lenson nutHrdllj sii>j>jest)i.

Lesson XXX.

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER!

born^,
nitilqt,

ITl'y,
feE(tti'er§,

pe^p'ing,
breath,
btult,
th6t4gl:}t,

brot4^1:^t,
vi'-o-lgt§,
la-bur'-ntiin,
blrth'day.

1. I rcnu'inlior, I romcmbcr

The liouso where I was 1 •orn-
Tho little window where the sura

Came peeping in at morn.
He never eame a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day;
But now T often wish the night

Had borne my bi'cath away !

I KEMEMBEn, I KEMEMIiEIl!

2. T )vinoml)or, I romoinlior

The roses red aixl wliid',
Tlic viok'trt and tlio lily-cujis,

Those flowoi's iiKido of li'dit !
The lilacs where tho rohin Ixiilt,

And where my brother set
Tlu! laliurniini on lii.s hirthday —

The tree is living yet !

3, 1 reinoniher, I reincniher

lere I was used to swing,

And thonglit the air must rush as fresli

To swallows on the wing.
'My s[)irit flew in feathers then,

That

And

is so heavy now

uiimer pools could hardly cool

The f.

ever on niv brow

4. T rf^noniher, I rcniemher

The fir-trees, dark and hiah

1 used to think their

der t(

Ol IS

Were elose against the sky.
It was a childish ignorance,

But now'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from 1

leaven

Than when I was a hoy

lODia-.

Hood.

(1) Tliis poom breathes intense fwlin^g for home. Absence tends to stronglitlien
this feeling ratlier than weaken It. Tliis is true for aU sympathetic and sensitive
natiiref*.

INTERMFDIATE RnADKR.

Qi(rs/i(ni'<. — Of wlial ddCH (lie [himm rriiiiinl us? WluU .si'Oni.-!
vividly Ix'l'ori' llic iniiiil (if tlif |>(pc( ':* What dus lu; dcscnln' in (he
lirst stanza? What does h(^ I'ailhi r n nn'uilKi'? What is tlif mean-
ing of laluirnunr!' Kxiilain th<' nifanin^' cl' "My h\)]vi{ llcu in
ffallicrs then" Cnuid it mean tlial hi.s hopes flew lii;c a hnd?
" i'liat is so heavy now," how is it to lio iidiM'iirctfd ? l W'lial Ji.m
lie imply in (ho fourth stanza? What other word can ])o. iis( d in
phuv of sky ? l)ij wo iH't often say that a iiiMintain or tall ine
rw'clios tliP sky? Why!* Wiio was Tlunias llooil' Can \on
iiitiition any uf his poimlar poems? In what was lie umival!ed?
Wliut lesson d(ji'S the poet teach Us?

livfpi'.re llir piij}il In inilcu s/ioti CfniijMf^itiuii on Jluincjrl/iini lUi'
HDjs (ouf jt/i<(sii)<s of /iDiiic, roii//(is/itit/ (t i/ood innl ('<til Jn.inc, mid
what nidkcs a /intnc, a /riip Itomr. Lei him he cnnfiil lo iii/ioilure
(if (ipproj>nn/r j>/((C(s u J'tio rcisis of <i yfanzu c/v /he ,s//(v iiiiii/ ff-
ijiiirc to <iidiilli\k hi.i i-oiiijKisi/it/ii.

Lhsson XXXL.
USEFUL TREES.— PART I.

Juice, ee^li'c'er',

soft'Qn^, u-bCin'dant,

c-leo-tr Te'i-ty, quan'ti-ty,

ni'clii-pel'agG, t'qy'Sntiie,

<jloal:?,

gCU/ta-per'cha,
var'i'ety,
in'ter-vals.

I.-TJI.E INl»IA-l!tll!l'.KR TRHH.

1 . Tlio Iiulian-KiililKT Irci,' is found in ftoutli Anun'icjt,
Ooiitr.il Amei'iea, and in the East Iiidie.s. It is IVoni the
liai'denod, niilkdikc; juice oi' lliin ti'oo luid otlier plant.s tliat
\v(> olitain tlioindia-i'ubljor. In Brazil and f^outh Ainoi-ica
t]io ti'cc often attains a ifrowtli of sixty foot in height.

1. HikkI was ncvor vi'i-y striii;. His iU.s and pnins (1i<l not ronitrr liiin sail. ITn
Was freiiueiitly ()|i))ii!ssi>(l in spirit iKJCauso of the carca of liis family a-.i.l tln.'ir

i'lllllVl' JllOSlU'lts.

USEFUL ti:f.f:,s.

2. Tli(^ Tiidiaii.', make incision,-; llirou^li tlic Imrk ol' this
troo, t'liiol'ly in met wcatlicr. A milky juice onzcs out,
usually to the amount of ahout four ounces a day, whidi
is sjiivad over moulds of clay. When tho first layer is
dry, ;i second is put over it ; and this o|ieratiou is re|)eated
till the india-ndih.'r is of tlu; thickness required. After
this, it is |)laci d ov<r hurniiiLf vcLCetaMes, the smoke of

WiMcIl lial'ilrns ;ih<

ickens it.

.'>. Foi'incrly f^oiith America was the chief suii|>lier of
iiKha-rul.licr. To-day we receive a eonsidei'ahle (juantity
IVom many places in tlio East Indies. Alany and useful
are the things made of india-rul)ber ; for instance, bags,
caps, oversho(>s, water-proof coats and cloaks, bottles, rub-
bers for effacing lead and iidc inarks, flexible tubes,
syringes, and other instruments used l)y surgeons, physi-

INTERMEDIATE READER.

cians, jukI clioniists. It in also used in the construction
of Loat.s. Tn Cavonnc it is said to be used to give light as
a candle.

Qf/^.-sZ/o)?.?.— Wlifve tlocs the iiulia-rdhbor irop grow? Of wlmt is
it made ? How is it made ? What are i\w eliief places which supply
this useful article? Mention some of the things made.

II.— THE COKK-TUEE.

1. The Cork-Tree grows in the mountainous parts of
Spain, Portugal, and the south of France. Algeria pos-
sess(\s several forests of this tree in course of working. It
is a kind of oak, and grows to a height otMVoni thirty to
I'orty i'eet, having a diameter from two to three feet.

2. After havino; attained a ujrowth of about five or
six 3^ears, the outer bark which forms the cork, seems to
increase in a very marked manner. Its removal from the
tree does not .seem to injure it. It has been observed that
the tree thrives for a longer time, by having its outer bark
stripped. Some have llourished for one hundred and fifty
years.

3. When the cork is bo removed from the tree, a longi-
tudinal slit is cut, at the extremities of which, incisions
are made around the trunk. It can then be stripped oil'
with great ease, by means of a carved knife, with a handle
at both ends. The first crops of cork are of an inferior
fpiality. This is principally used for making floats for
fishing-nets. The finest quality is obtained when the tree

of about forty or fifty years growth.

rSEFT'L TRLES.

■onstnu;tioil

4. When the cork is taken lioni iho tree, it is piled up
ill a ditch or pond, and heavy stones are placed upon it,
ill order to flatten it. After being dried, it is slightly
I'urned or charred, and then packed for exportation.

5. Cork can he eiit into any shape, and, thdugh, it i,s
porous none of the common hquids can [.a^s tlirmigh it.
Olio principal use of (^ork is to stop bottles, for which pur-
pose it is well fitted by its elasticity. Its buoyant effect'
ill water, arising from its lightness, renders it useful to
those who are learning to swim. For the same reason it is
it used in the building of life-boats and making life-pre-
scrvei's. The Spaniards make kmp-black of it.

Qur.s/inns.—Whoro. docs the Corlc-trrc gnnv ? W'lmf, kind uf a tree
is it? How high docs 'it grow ? What part of (lie tree is tlie cork?
Does the removal of the bark injure the tree ? Descrilje liow the bark
is cut. How is cork made? Are there different qualities? Could
you call them inferior, medium, and sujicrior (jualities? Could
you exi)lain the different qualities? How is cork made? What
are (ho uses indicated in tlio lesson?

I'.. I

am^mmmmmmiaam

INTEEMEDIATE READER.

Lesson XXXIL
A CHAT ABOUT LIONS.-

t6ngn^,
Pasha',
han"§ry,

Shoobra',

h T p- f^o- p6 t'a- m ti s,
ac-etis'tom^d,
Ki^artot^m,
C^T'ro.

1. Wlieii I was in AlVicx three or fotir years ago, I saw-
more lions than ever before in all my life. I not only saw
them, bnt I became very well acquainted with them.

2. After I had travelled for two months over the desert
and up the Nile, I came to a large city called Khartoum.
A German, who was living there, took me to his house,
where I lived for two or three weeks.

3. When I went into the garden, the first thing I saw
was a largo lioness tied to a tree. My friend immediately
went up to her, patted her sides, and stroked her head
while she stretched out her great red tongue, like a cat,
and licked his hand. " May I touch her? I asked. "Oh,
yes, " said he ; " she is perfectly tame, and would not in-
jure any one. " I then went up to her, and for the first
time played with a lion.

4. In a short time we were very good friends. She
knew mo and always seemed glad to see me, though I
sometimes teased her a 1 ittle by getting -^stride of her back, or
sitting u})on her when she was lying down. When she
was in a playful mood, she would come to meet me as far
as the rope would let her, get her fore-paws around my

;e it into her mouth, as if she were going

then

to eat me up.

-D»

A CHAT ABOUT LIONS.

6. I was a little alarmed when she did this for the first
time, but I soon saw that she was merely in play, and had
no thought of hurting me; So I took her by the ears, and
slapped her sides, until at last she lay down, and licked
my hand. Her tongue was as rough as a nutmc"-"-rater,
ai}d ray hand felt as if the skin was being rasped off.

6. There was also a leopard in the garden, with which
I used to play a good deal, but which I never loved so
well as the lioness. He was smaller and more active, ar..l
soon learned to jump upon my shoulders when I stooped
down, or to climb up the tree to which he was tied, when-
ever I commanded him.

7. But he was not so affcctionato as the lioness, and
sometimes forgot to draw in his claws when he played, so
that he not only tore my clothes, but scratched my hands.
I still have the mark of one of his teeth on the back of my
right hand. My old lioness was never rough, and I have
frequently, when she had stret(?hcd out to take a nap, sat
upon her back for half an hour at a time, smoking my
l>ipc or reading.

• 8. I assure you, I was very sorry to part with her, and
when I saw her for the last time, one moonlight night, I
gave her a good hug and an affectionate kiss. She would
have kissed me back if her mouth had not been too large,
but she licked my hand to show that she loved me, then
laid her big head upon the ground and went to sleep.
Dear old lioness ! I wonder if you ever think of me — I
wonder if you would know me, should we ever see each
other again ?

100

INTERMEDIATE EEADER,

K. — A CHAT ABOUT LIONS.

1. I sailed up the White Nile, two or three hundred
miles hcyond Khartoum, until I reached the country
where lions, leopards, elephants, giraffes, and many other
kinds of beasts run wild in the woods.

Every day I used to sec the huge hippopotamus swim-
ming and snorting in the v\rater, the beautiful little gazelles
leaping along the shore, and the gray monkeys jumping
from one tree-top to another.

2. I heard the Hone, too, sometimes at dusk, roarmg in
the woods, but the bushes were so thick that I could not see
them, though I often know they ^ were near by the smell,'
for the skin of a lion has a strong odor like that of a horse
or a dog.

3. It was dangerous to~go far from the shore, because
they might have leaped out upon me at any time. To be
sure, a lion is a noble and dignified beast, and he will not
often attack a man unless very hungry ; but I thought it
best not to run any risk.

4. Mr. Berne, who went up the Nile farther than I did,
wtis walking on shore one day, when he suddenly met a
lion face to face. They looked a,t each other steadily for
about a minute, when the lion slowly turned around and
walked away.

5. This reminds me of a little adventure of my own,
which happened while I was staying in Cairo, after my
return from the White Nile. I went one day to a place
called Shoobra, where the Pasha of Egypt has a grand
palace and garden. It was a lovely spot ; the hedges
were composed entirely of roBo^, and the garden was filled
with orange-trees, covered with ripejruit*^

A CHAT ABOUT LIONS.

101

6. While I was walking about alone, I came ujion a
cage in which there was a very large lion. I had not
seen a lion for more than two months, and I was so
delighted that I ran up to tie cage at once.

"How do you do, old fellow?" I said, as I thrust my
arm through the bars, seized the lion by the ears, and
began rubbing his head.

7. He looked very much astonished, as if ho had not
been accustomed to such treatment, but held perfectly
still, staring me in the face.

All at once I heard a loud outcry, as two or three
gardeners came running up with all speed. "0 stranger ! "
they exclaimed, "come away ! come away ! that is a ter-
ribly wicked lion ; he is not tame<^l, and nobody ever
touched him before J "

8. I let go my hold of his head, but he looked so good-
humored that I put my hiind back and gave him another
pat before I went away.

The gardeners were very much frightened. It would
not have been safe for them to touch the lion, for he knew
they were afraid of him. He was friendly with me because
he saw that I had confidence in him.

Bayard Taylor.

Questions.— Who is the writer of this "Chat about Lions"? Do
you know anything concerning him? What may be said to comp-
rise his works ? What do you know about the branches that form
the Nile ? What city mentioned in Part I is situated at the Junction

(1) The White Nile flows from the centre of Africa to the north until it meets th»
Blue Nile flowing f^om the east, when they unite and form the Nile.

.1 '!

102

INTERMEDIATE READER.

of (he two rivors? Who befriended him in that city? What Was
llio iirsl thing that attracted his attention in the garden ? What did ,
the owner say about her? What was he in the habit of doing?
What action on her j.art seemed to alarm him? How did he succeed
in stopping her? What does lie say about the leopard? Which of'
the two was the more aiTectionate ? How is it related? What does
he say about his parting with the lioness? Where did he go after
that ? Who was his companion for a time ? What adventure does he
relate? Did Bayard Tayler also have an adventure with a lion?-
When and wherJ? Who is the Pasha ef Egypt? Why were the
gardners IViglitened? What reason does he assign?

Jiefjuirc (ho pupil to write a letter, rehtimi to a friend this, chat,
and let hiin add aomc other facts he viay heard about lions. Let
the pupil write the definitions of the words at the head of the lesson.

Lesson XXXTTT.
OUR NEAR AND KINDLY NEIGHBORS.

1. The poet says :

" Somewhat back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat,"

and we may add that, from the top of the old mansion rises
a chimney or stack of chimneys. In the nights of summer,
through the open fire-places, the people who live in this
home can hear strange flutterings and chirpings from the
flues above, and once i)i a while a young bird or two, half-
fledged and covered with soot, would fall into the fire-place.

2. If we watch about sunset, wo shall see a great flock
of birds collecting near the house-top. They are chattering
and twittering, as though discussing some weighty matter.
They are not still an instant, but take short flights, or hop

OUR NEAR AND ^INDLY NEIGHBORS.

103

on the roof, or from branch to branch upon tlie trees near
l)y. But at last tilings seoni to be settled to their miiuis.
As the sun sinks out of sight, they form into line, circle
round a little farther than usual, and then the leader flies
directly down the chimney, the others following one by
one until the whole flock disappears. These are the
chimney-swallows.

3. Before chimneys were built, these birds made theiv
nests in hollow trees, and often a single old tree would
contain hundreds of nests. But owls kept watch above,
and weasels invaded the tree from below, makini? sad
havoc among the defenseless tenants of the trees.

4. When houses and chimneys were built, the birds
soon discovered the tall hollow shafts, so like their old
homes. Here they made nests in unused flues, and they
soon found they were safe from their old enemies. The
smoke, vhich was sometimes disagreeable, was a more
tolerable companion than a weasel or a snake, and besides
there was a warmth very agreeable on a cold night.

6. The news spread ! and soon, whenever the right kind
of chimneys were built, the birds deserted their forest,
homes, and became companions to man : flitting above his
roof, chirping for him a pleasant little chorus as an evening
flirewell, and gliding into his chimney to pass the night in
silence, broken only by an occasional soft chirp, expressive
of contentment and security.

6. The chimney-swallow is not a true swallow, but be-
longs to the swifts, a fomily of birds resembling the swal-
lows in form and habits. In t^ie structure of their throats,
howev^, they are more akin to the humming-bird. - -

( 't

104

llNTERMEDIATE READER.

7. Tlio tail of the cliininoy-.swallow is square across tlio
end, and eaca tail-featlier ends in a stiff, naked spine.
When linil(hng its nest, this hird ehn<j;s to tlie wall by its
toes and these tail-spines, using its bill to aiTango the

twigs of which the nest is made. The twigs are cemented
, by a kind of glue which the binl ejects from its stomach.
In Java and adjacent islands the gluey substance used by
a bird of this kind forms the edible birds' nests, greatly
valued as an article of food in China.

James Johonnot.

Questions. — What does ilie poet say of our now and kindly neigh-
bors? What does the writer add? What scene greets us about

across the
<0(1 spine,
all l)y its
t'ango the

USEFUL TUBES.

105

fiunsot? What happens as the aiin sinks out of flight? Whom did
those birds build their nests before tlio chimney was made? Aftor
houses and chimneys were built, did the birds find a comforlidiK^
home? Tell what news was spread and its efToct. What do ynu
know of the chimney -swallow? Can you describe the tail u( lln;
swallow and its use? What is the meaning o( aUlih lun/.i iiryf-t ^
Where are they eaten? Where is China and what are its inhabitant.i
called? To what race do they belong?

Let the jmpil define the foUowing : mmisinn, e/id/teriii'/, lirilhr-
ing, dise.HSS, tolerable, disagreeable, JliltitKj, occasional, ehirp, Hccnrihj,
atrnctKre, conented.

Require the 2»q)il to write a short composition about Suudlows.

■z :_

nv^

^''.^

^«^

\ ^' ■>,

%«

: Z.fM

SSrSr

^ll^-jj

^r^-^m

^'-'^^

1 cemented

stoinucli.

2 used l>y
ts, greatly

honjiot.

indly Heigh-
ts us about

Lesson XXXTV.
USEFUL TTvEES.— PART H.

III.— THE OUTTA-PEIICHA TREE.

1. The gutta-percha is the juice of a tree, liardeiu'd
by exposure to air. This is a magnificent tree and ])elongsto
southern climates. It often attains to a height from sixty to
seventy feet, and its trunk from three to four feet in dia-
meter. It is found on many of the ishmds of the Eastern
Archipelagoes.

2. No -incisions are made into the bark of this tree t,i
obtain the juice. But when the tree has grown to full
size, it is cut down, and the bark is removed. Between
the bark and the wood, the juice is found, which being
collected into a trough made of leaves, soon sets and thiclc^

action of the atmosohere. It is next

he atmosphere. It is
into cakes, and is then ready for the market.

^a(

led

106

INTERMEDIATE READEH.

3. Gutta-percha is one of the most useful of vegetable
substances. It is very tough, bends easily, and is entirely
water-proof. Very slight heat softens it, so that it may
be molded into almost any shape. Soles of shoes, water-
])ipes, speaking-tubes, pictui'e-framos, onps, and a great
variety of ornaments and articles of use are made from
it.

4. One of the valuable uses to which gufta percha is
applied is the covering of telegraph-cables that are laid
under the sea. It is better adapted than any other known
substance, because it serves to keep out the water, and
also to prevent the esca}>e of the electricity.

Ques(io7is. — What is guila-peroha? Where docs this tree grow?
How do you obtain the juice? What is done with it? What do
you mean by being "kneaded into cakes?" What do you say of its
usefulness? What is one of its most valuable uses? Is this sub-
stance plentiful?

N. B. — Let (he pupil remember that the tree is cut doivn when it
has grown to full size. It is not so with the other trees mentioned.
Tliey grow on for years, and, as has been said, even to one hundred
and fifty years. But the gutta-percha tree can not grow after it is
felled, and hence it is that the article is more scarce and dear. Since
it has been known and introduced, one large island of the Eastern
Archipelago has been stripped of its trees.

IV— THE WADDING-TREE.

1. The tree which bears the wadding, or that quality
of fine cotton which is used in cushions, the lining of morn-
ing gowns, and for other purposes, grows abundantly in
Siam, in the open country, and without culture.

USEFUL TREES.

107

2. There arc two kimls of the wadding-tree. The large
wadding-trec reaembles the wahmt-tree.s. But the trindc
s generally straighter and higher, and not unlike that of

the oak. The hark i.s eovered in certain parts with a kind
of thorn, .short and thick at the ha.se, and ranged in
files and set extremely clo,se. The Ijlo.s.som i.s of thcr.shape
and size of an ordinary tulip, hut it ha.s thicker leave.s, and
they are covered with a kind of down.

3. The fruit, or more properly speaking, the ca.se which
contains the wadding, is of an oblong shape, like that of a
lianana fig.

4. The second kind of wadding-tree is much less in size.
Its leaves are covered on l»oth sides with short and very
soft down. The pod, which enclo.ses the wadding, is com-
posed of two tubes, and are from nine to twelve inches in
length, and about as thick as the little finger. If opened
wide whila they are green, a very white and sticky milk
issues forth. The wadding-tree is cultivated in the West
ladies, and there called the cotton of Siam, because the
grain or seed was brought from that country. It is of a
remarkable fineness, even surpassing silk in softness. It
is sometimes made into hose, which, for lustre and beauty
are preferred to silk ones. They are expensive and Anvare
made unless for curiosity.

Questions.— Where does the wadding-troe grow ? What is tho use
of the wadding-tree? IIow many kinds of this tree are there ? Describe^
the larger kind. What about its hark? Its blossoms? Its fruit?
Describe the second kind. Describe the pod containing the wadding
What do you know concerning ihe wadding cultivated in the West
Indies? Why so called? What do vou sav of it? What do you
knowofthehose made of this wadding? Where is Siam? Where
are the Weat Indies? Why so called?

1€6

INTErMEDIATK READER.

Lesson XX, XV.
BERNANDINE DU BORN.

Kinct Hcnrv nat upon his throne,

Aiul full of wmth aiul .sroni,
His eyes a j-ecroaiit knight HiirvoyVl —

Sir Bernardino dii Born.
And he that haughty glance returned,

Like a lion in his lair,
While loftily his unchang'd brow

Gleamed through his crisped hair.

" Thou art a traitor to the realm,

Lord of a lawless hand ;
The hold in speech, the fierce in hroil,

The trouhler of our land.
Thy castles and thy rebel towers

Are forfeit to the crown,
And thou beneath th.c Norman axe

Shalt end thy l>a.se renown.

"Deign'st thou no word to bar thy doom.

Thou with strange madness fired ?
Hath reason quite forsook thy breast?"

Plantagenet inquired.
Sir Bernard turned him toward the king

He blenched not in his pride ;
" My reason failed, my gracious liege,

T' ? year Prince Henry <lied."

Qb .:ik at thai i-a:ne a cloud of rove
Vi..M.d o'er the monarch's brow ;

BERNANDINE LU BORN.

Toufhod was that Mi-odin^ chord of Iwe,
To which tho niiLjIiticst liow.

Again swept hack the tide cf yoarf,
Again liis first-horn moved, —

Iho fair, tlio graceful, tho suhhmc,
Tho eiTing, yet lielovc<l

And ever, cherished hy his pido

Ono choHcn fi'icnd was near,
To share in boyhood's ardent sjiort,

Or youths untam'd career.
With liim the merry chase lie sought,

Beneath the dewy morn ;
With him in kingly tourney rodo

This Bornardine du Born.

109

Then in the mourning father's soul

Each trace of fire grew dim ;
And what his buried idol loved

Seemed cleansed of guilt to him ; —
And faintly through his tears he spake

" God send his grace to thee,
And, for the dear sake of the dead,

Go forth — unscathed and free. "

Lydia II. iSi(joitrnei/.

Questions. — What is the subject of the lesson you hiivo lead ?
What king Henry is here mentioned ? Explain "recreant knight. "
Who was Sir Bernardine du Born? Explain "traitor of the realm. "
"Nornianaxo." "To bar thy ilooiTi." From what is ihu word
Plantagcnet derived ? Who was the first to wear tho insignia ?
Give the meaning of blenched, liege? Explain "cloud of rov8< "

110

INTERMEDIATE READER

' bleeding chord of love ? " " tide of years " " kingly tourney roae? "
Show from the last stanza that vij are blind to the defects of those
wc love ? Repeat the supplication by which the poem concludes,

Jiequire the pupil to uriic tfie Irsson in prose.

i Lesson XXXVL

LIFE OF OUR LORD.— n

1. The angel who warned the magi not to return to
Herod, had another mission to fulfil. God sent him to
St. Joseph in the depths of night, and ordered him to
arise, to go and take the child and His mother, and fly
into Egypt, for Herod sought to kill the child. Joseph,
whom the Holy Spirit pronounced a just man, obeyed
simply, promptly and blindly.

2. Dreary was their march to this unknown country.
But Joseph never complained God provided for their
wants, and many are the legends that describe this journey,
and the wonders that were operated. As they approached
Egypt, we are told that all the idols in the temples fell to
the ground.

3. Here they remained for upward of seven years, and
left only at the command of God. They returned to their
native country, and retired to a city, called Nazareth.

4. In this humble dwelling they lived, until the timo
had come for the public ministry of our Lord. Joseph
worked at his trade. Jesus who had grown up, waxed in
grace and wisdom before God and men.

LIFE OF OUR LOED.

Ill

5. When o.ir Lord was twelve years of age, Mary and

Josei)h took him with tliem to Jerusalem for the celebra-

lon of the solemn feast. Whilst there, Jesus, unknown

us parents, entered the hall where the wise and learned

liad assembled to explain the law and to answer questions.

Jesus, a youth of twelve, proposed them questions
which the wisest failed to answer. They were astonished
at his wisdom and could not comprehend it. He gave
them the correct interpretation to the prophets, and clearly
showed them that the time for the coming of the Messiah
had arrived.

7. Whilst he was engaged in the midst of the Doctors
aiKl bcribes, his parents were seeking him. They went
among their kinsfolks, but Jesus was not to be found.
Then they resolved lo retrace their steps toward the
temple, and lo ! there, in the midst of that memorable
assembly, they beheld their dear, lost child. Having come
near unto Jesus, Mary said : " My son why hast Thou
done so to us ? Behold, thy father and I have sought Thee
■sorrowing. " Looking upon them, He answered : " How
1^ It that you sought Me? Did you not know that I must
ho about my Father's business? "

8. They did not know the meaning of these words, but
they pondered over them, and kept them in mind. Jesus,
without any other word, left that astonished assembly, and
returned with His parents to Nazareth.

'\ Hi-re he dwelt for eighteen years. During all that
tunc, the Scriptures do not relate one single word, except
that.he was submissive to them. We may well allow our
imagination to picturo that holy family. Never was the

ir .'

VHMi

112

INTERMEDIATE HEADER.

IIP

like spectacle over beheld in this vale of tears. Christ,
true God and man, leading a life of oljscurity, practising
all the virtues that should adorn a christian soul, being
the model of holiness, and a guide to all future generations.
He despised no labor. He was continually helping his
parents. He lived in poverty and was content with his
humble dwelling.

10. Josejjh, now having lived the numbers of years as-
signed him by Providence, was assisted in his dying mo-
ments by Jesus and Mary. In their holy company, ho
sighed forth his soul to God, to receive the recompense of
the just. "With the death of Joseph ends also the hidden
life of our Lord.

Questions. — Who warned St. Joseph of the intention of HerccI?
Why did Herod seek to kill the child ? What order was issued by
cruel Herod? What do you know of the flight into Egypt? How
long did thy remain there ? Why did they return ? Where did tliey
live after their return ? When Jesus was twelve years of age, what
happened ? What did Jesus do in the temple ? What can you say
of Mary's and Joseph's search for Jesus? Where did they find him?
What did they say? What was the answer of our Lord? Did they
understand the meaning of the words addressed to them? What did
our Lord then do? What is known of his hidden hfe at Nazareth?
With what event does the hidden life of our Lord end ? What ex-
amples of virtue did ho give? What should we do? What is
meant by a hidden life? Who are those who endeavor to imitate this
hidden life? What saints can you mention who were most faithful
in the imitation of this life of our Lord? Is that life practised to-
dav ? Is it possible to follow it? Where and what must be done ?

Require the piqnl to give an account of the life of our Lord from
His birth to the beginning of His jniblic life.

tTftSi FRIDAY FLOVEBS

113

les^w xxxvrr.

FIRST FRIDAY FLOWERS.

1. Wliere shall we look for flowiT.s to day,

Fair and fresh for the altar-thioiK''.'
Summer hlooms are hidden away
Deep 'neath the snowy circling zone.

2. Faded the hlossoms that sweetly lent

Their beauty to brighten the resting- j dace
Of the ever— Adorable Sacrament —
Departed all their fragrant grace !

3. The mountain's side is swept wi.h hail,

Where the ling'ring lilies drooped and died;
Deep is the snow in the shady vale,

Where the sweet shy })ansies loved to hide.

4. Nandit remains of the roses bright

That clambered about the chapel-door ;
Only the thorn-crown greets our sight —
The roses, alas ! are ours no more.

5. Those f(!stal buds of the Sacred Heart, ;

Ked and morn like Its wondrous love
(Which l)urns Its graces to impart
To those that soul's devotion prove) —

6. Oh ! Where shall we look for their bloom to day ?

The earth's sweet charms are dead and drear;
Turn not, in tears, good friends, away,
There are other blossoms to offer here,

^^^rr^MBUft

Iff

114 INTERMEDIATE KEADEll. \

7. Dear chlhircn ! ])iiiig your lilies pure ,

Of innocc!icc, aiul roses warm
Of heart's fond love that cloth endure
When coldly wails lile's wintiy storm.

8. Ah ! sulT'ring hearts, your garland bring,

The thorns (of lile's sweet roses robb'd)—
Bear is the gift to the thorn-crowned King,
Whose Heart thro' the woful Passion throbb'd.

9. Contrite souls ! ye may offer here ;

Purple pansies of penance true,
Gemm'd with affliction's heart-wrung tear,
Dripjiing with Mercy's ))lenteous dew.

10. Sacred Heart of our God and Ivino«!

We i)lace these buds on Thy winter-shrine;
Dear Lord! accept our offeriuir.

And make ouj- hearts like unto Thine !

Joseph W. S. Norris.

QucHliom~-\V\vA{. is (he subject of this poem? What is the sea-
son of the year? Why no "summer blooms"? How do you ex-
plain the seooml stanza ? How does the author explain the mountain
and vale? What is the meaniug of "thorn-crown" in the fourth
stanza? What are " (hose festal buds " ? Explain the sixth stanza.
What are the (lowers we should bring? Explain their meaning.
What allusion is made in the eighth stanza? What consolation is
left to contrite souls ? How do you explain the last stanza?

liegiurc (he pujul (o writfi a shnrt composilion on J)<')<nfM
Sacred Jlcnrt on (he first Friday of each mon(h.

Lei hu'i II ue (he ideas of (he poem in his own tangicage,

otion to the

■i!' i;

■}f.i<>7i to the.

hQn'drdd§,
stipt;)s^d.

THE ANXIOUS LEAP

Lesson XXXVIII.

THE ANXIOUS LEAP.

hSl'i-day,
mertjily.

116

col'or,
whirli^d,

1. Once upon a time a little leaf was heard to sigh anJ
cry, as leaves often do when a gentle wind is about. And
the twig said : " What is the matter, little leaf?" An.l
the leaf said : "The wind just told me that one day it
would pull me off, and throw me down to die on the
ground ! "

2. The twig told it to the branch on which it grew,
and the branch tohl it to the tree; and, when the tree
heard it, it rustled all over, and sent back word to the
leaf : " Do not be afraid ; hold on tightly, and you shall
not go till you want to."

3. And so the leaf stopped sighing, but went on rustl-
ing and singing. Every time the tree shook itself, and
stirred up all its leaves, the branches shook themselves,
and the little twig shook itself, and the little leaf danced
up and down merrily, as if nothing could ever pull it off-

4. And so it grew all summer long and till October.
And, when the bright days of autumn came, the little leaf
.saw all the leaves around becoming very beautiful. Some
were yellow, and some scarlet, and some striped with both
colors. Then it asked the tree what it meant.

5. And the tree said : " All these leaves are getting
ready to fly away ; and they have put on these beautiful
colors because of joy." Then the little leaf began to want

f* 'i

116

INTERMEDIATE IlEADER.

to go, and grew very beautiful in thinking of it, and^
when it was very gay in color, saw that the branches of
the tree had no color in them ; and so the leaf said : "Oh,
branches ! why are you lead-color, and we golden ? "

6. " We must keep on our work-clothes, for our life is
not done ; but your clothes are for holiday, because yoiir
tasks are over. " Just then a little puff of wind came,
and the leaflet go without thinking of it ; and the wind
took it up and turned it over and over, and whirled it like
a spark of fire in the air ; and then it dropped gently
down under the edge of the fence among hundreds of
leaves, and fell into a dream, and never waked up to tell
what it dreamed about.

H. W. Beecher.

Qnesllons. — What is the subject of the lesson ? Why an anxious
leaf ? Does a leaf talk ? What do you think, is it a fable ? Of
what did the leaf complain ? To whom ? What did the twig do ?
What answer was returned to the leaf by the tree ? What happened
in the month of October ? What does this lesson really convey ? Are
all things transitory? Wliat is life? Are we anxious in life"
About wliat ? Why should we fear ? Uo we sleep and dream ?
Of what does it remind us ? Do we fall like the leaf? What, sleep
shall we sleep? How must we prepare? Does the author now
sleep that sieep ?

There's not a leaf within the bower,
There's not a bird upon tha tree,

There's nut a dew-dro^j on the flower
But bears the impress. Lord, of Thee.

TIME AND ETERNITY.

117

:H«'P

Lesson XXXIX.
TIME AND ETERNITY.

For stretch to life's oxtremest span

The brilliant course of earthly plea»snre,

How looks the space assign'd to man,
Lost in the Viust eternal nieasuro !

Rank, fortune, love, earth's highest hliss,
All life can yield, of sweet or splendid,
Arc but a thing that scarcely is,
When lo ! its mortal date is ended.

So swift is time, so briefly lost
The fleeting joys of life's creation,

What seems the present, is the past.
Before the mind can mark its station.

On earth we hold the spirit blest,
That learns to bear affliction checrly

And what we call, and fancy rest.
Is brief annihilation merely.

-"is vain to say in youthful ears,

Time flees, earth fades, with all its pleasures
The ardent heart attentive hears.

But naught of transient counsel treasures.

'Tis heavenly grace alone, my child.
The fruit of prayer attending duly,

Can firmly stem the tumult wild,
Of earthly passion rising newly.

,^ m MtH

■(*i:

11^ INTERJIEDIATE EEADER.

Tlicn shall wo for so brief a world,
A speck ill nature's vast dominion,

With hope's iiigh banner basely furl'd,
Return to earth with slothful pinion ?

i Forbid it truth, forbid it love,

The faithless thought untold should perish.
Forbid it all we hope above.

And all one earth we know and cherish.

Gerald Griffin.

Qucstinv>^.-~\N\vAi is the subject of the poem ? What does it say.
of Life ? Of Avhat space docs he hero speak ? To what does he com-
pare it? What is the result? What becomes ofall things that men have
at the dread hour of death? What docs he Icll us of time in the
third stanza? What is it that is merely annihilation? Why does ho say
" 'tis vain to say, time flees " ? What alone is able to stem the tide
of passion ? What does he invoke to forbid such recklessness ? For
whoso sake sliould we consider eternity? What is eteniitv? Wliat
is time? Why have more thought of eternity than of time? Can you
mention any thing concerning 8t. Jerome and the thought of eternity?
St. Hilarion ? Ht. Arseuius ? What induced the monks and hermits
to seek the monastery and the desert? What lesson does the poet
teach us?

Jlcquire fhc pupil to tvrite out a list of the adverbs and adjectives,
and to tdl in his own language the idea,convcijcd by the poet.

Trust no future, however pleasant !

Let the dead past bury its deac^ !
Act, — act in the living present !

Heart within, and Go4 g'er hcdd !

GOOD NATUEE. 119

Lesson XL.
GOOD-NATURE.

<;OUn'ie-nance,n.,(hcf(tcc; air; look.

de-torm'i-ty, n., vglincss; nnnntaral shape. '

im-per'ti-nen?^, »i., niflcness; impoliteness; incivility.
ar'ti-Ti'gial, ailj., made bij art ; not 7iatHral, •
mim'ie-ry, n., hmfjhahlc imitation for sport.
€:om'plai-§anc^, n., 2'olitcnc.'is ; courtesy; civility.
&f-T£i-hll'i-iy , n., readiness to converse ; civility. \

hjf-poc'ri-sy, n., dissimulation ; hmncerily.
de-tSst'a-ble, adj., very hateful ; ahominahle.
con'Sti-tCi'tion, n., frame of body, mind, or rjovcrnmcnt.

1. Good-naturo is more agreeable in conversation than
wit, and gives a certain air to tlio countenance which is
more amiable than beauty. It shows virtue in the fairest
light, takes off in some measure from the deformity of
vice, and makes even folly and impertinence sup})ortable.

2. There is no society or conversation to be kept up in
the world without good-nature, or something which must
bear its appearance and sujjply its place. For this reason
mankind have been forced to invent a kind of artificial
humanity, which is what wo express by the word good-
breeding. For if we examine thoroughly the idea of what
we call so, we shall find it to be nothing else but an imita- 1
tion and mimicry of good-nature, or, in other terms,
affability, complaisance, and easiness of temper reduced
to an art.

3. These exterior shows and appearances of humanity
render a man wonderfully popular and beloved, when they
are founded upon a real good-nature ; but without it, we
liken it to hypocrisy in religion, or a bore form of holiness,

120

INTERMEOIATE READER.

jflj:

which wlien discovered, makes a man more detestable than
professed impiety.

4. Good-nature is generally born with us ; health,
prosperity, and kind treatment from the world are great
cherishers of it where they find it ; but nothing is capable
of forcing it up where it does not grow of itself. It is one
of the blessings of a hap|)y constitution, which education
may improve, but not produce.

Joseph Addison.^

Questions. — What does the writer tell us concerning good-naturo?
How does it tend to show virtue? What is vice? What does he
remark about good-nature and society? What is society? What
was mankind forced to do? Where good-hrceding is thoroughly ex-
amined, what shpll we find it to be? Define mimicry, raFability,
complaisance. How do these exterior shows affect man? What
does he justly observe of these exterior shows when devoid of good-
nature? Define holiness, hypocrisy. What is the difference between
them? Since good-nature is born with us, what is it that tends to
cherish it? Can education produce good-nature? Why not? What
is education? What education is here implied? Why should we
strive to cultivate this good-nature? What does religion do to aid
us in our endeavor ?

A pebble in the streamlet scant,

Has turned the course of many a river ;
A dew-drop on the tender plant,

Has warped the giant oak forever.

(1) In the time erf Joseph Addison, the public morals of England were At a very
low ebb. Seeing the many dangers to which youth were exposed to lose their virtue
and innocence, he set himself to work for the restoration of his country. This he
happily affected by bis beautiful essays (lublisbed in the ^'pe'c((((or, _

MOOSE-HUNTING IN CANADA. 12X

Lksson XLI.

MOOSE-HUNTING IN CANADA.

1. Towards August or September, any man who has
once been in the woods of Canada will begin to feel stir-
ring within him a restless craving for the forest. Let us,
then, go into the woods. The Indian carries your blanket,'
your coat, a little tea, and bread, a kettle, and two tin
pans. The hunter has enough to do to carry himself, his
rifle, ammunition, a small axe, a hunting-knife, and a pair
of ficki-glasses.

Thus provided, you plunge into the woods, the sun
your guide in clear weather, your pocket-compass if it is
doudy ; the beasts and birds and fishes your companions,
and wander through the woods at will, sleeping where
the fancy seizes you, "calling" if the nights are calm, or
stiU-hunting on a windy day. Calling is the most fas-
cinating, disappointing, and exciting of all sports.

3. Moose-calling consists in imitating the cry of the
animal with a hollow cone made of birch bark, and endeav-
<)ring, by this means, to call up a moose near enough to
get a shot at him by moonlight or ia the early morning.
He will come btraight up to you, within a few yards-
walk right over you almost— answering as he comes
along, if nothing happen to scare him.

4. The great advantage of moose-calling is that it takes
one out in the woods during the most beautiful period of
the whole year, when nature, tired with the labor of spring
and summer, puts on her holiday garments and rests
luxuriously before falling into the deep sleep of winter,

122

INTERMEDIATE HEADER.

The giv;i( heats aro past, tliou^u;li the days arc still warm
and sunny ; the nights arc calm and jtcaccful, the mornin<^.-
cool, tlic evenings so rich in coloring that they seem to
dye the whole woodland with sunset hues ; for the majde,
oak, hirch, and beech trees glow with a gorgeousne,-^
unknown to siniilar trees in England.

5. Just beyond us is a little clump of pines, and all
around a gray meadow, quite open for about fifty yanls,
then dotted with occasi(3iial firs with long tresses of gray
moss hanji^ing from their stunted limbs. Tlie trees grow
closer and more vigorous till they merge into the gloomy,
unbroken forest beyond. Haunting these solitudes am
birds and beasts, the hooting owl, the beaver, the wolf,
the cariboo — a kind of reindeer — and the huge, ungainly
moose.

G. Scarcely had we selected this place for a still-hunt
before I heard the guide call gently like a moose to attract
my attention. Now, it must be ])orne in mind that, when
hunting, you never call or speak like a human being, for
to do so might scare away game ; but you may grunt like
a moose, hoot like an ovd, or imitate any sound made by
any of the brute creation. I crept up quickly, and in
obedience to the guide's whisper gave him the moose-
caller, and, following the direction of his eyes, saw a small
moose slowly crossing the barren some four cr five hundreil
yards to our left.

7. The moose came on boldly. We planted ourselves
right in his way, just on the edge of the woods, anil,
crou(;hing close to the ground, waited for him. Presently
we heard his voice close to us, and the crackliiig of tho
bushes as he passed through them ; then silence

xgaui,

MOOSK HUNTINU IN. CAxVADA

and wo heard nothi,.^^ l,ut tho tl,mn]MM^ of our hoirts •
anotlicr advance, and lie stop|H.l onee more, witl.inaM,ar'
ently about fifty years of n«

8. After a long, almost insupporbible pause ho came on
agani; we could hear his footsteps, we could hear the
p-ass ru.tin,g, we could hear him hreathing. we could see
the bushes shaking, but wc could not make out even tho
lauitest outline ofhini in the dark. Again he stoppe<l, and
cur hearts seemed to stand still also with expe.Hation •
anot ler step must have ])rought him out almost within
reach of me, when suddenly there wus a tremendous
crash !

0. He had discovered us, and was off with a crackliuo-
ol dead limbs, rattling of horns, and smashing of branches
which made tho woods resound again. Disappointed w^
were, but not unhappy ; for the first duty of the hunter
■ vtodnll himself into that peculiar frame of mind which
oiiables a man to exult when he is successful, and to accept
(lelcat without giving way to despondency.

Earl of Dunraven.

Q'mdons.-mxiit is the subject, of this lesson ? When is the hunt-
ing season in Canada? Describe the Moose. The outfit of the
hunter. What is his guide in clear weather ? In cloudy weather 'f
\Vhere does the hunter sleep? What is .said of Ca//inr;9 In what
doi'H itconsist? Describe the Canadian forest in Autumn ? Mention
the principal birds and beasts found in the forest.s of Canada Why
|.s It said that while hunting " You never call or speak hke a human
l>emy "? Describe; the manner in which the moose answers tho
" (."ulimg". Whal i.s said, to l..e the first diify of a hunter ?

Hefjnire thejm^nlsto urite ivhnt they remember of the lesm.

124 intermediate reader. . „ '

Lesson XLII.

PROSPERITY AND ADVERSITY.

The virtue of prosperity is temperance', the virtue of
adversity is fortitude. Prosperity is the blessing of the
Old Testament; adversity is the blessing of the New
which carrieth the greater benediction and the clear
revelation of God's favor. Yet even in the Old Testament,
if you listen to David's harp, you shall hear as many hearse-
like airs as carols; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath
labored more in describing the afflictions of Job than the
feUcities of Solomon. Prosperity is not without many fears
and distastes, and adversity is not without comforts and
hopes. "We see in needlcvrorka and embroideries, it is
more pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad and solemn
ground, than to have a dark and melancholy work upon a
lightsome ground ; judge therefore of the pleasure of the
hear* by the pleasure of the eye. Certainly, virtue is like
precious odors, most fragrant where they are incensed or
crushed : for prosperity doth best discover vice, but ad-
versity doth best discover virtue.

Francis Bacon.

Q-ucs<tons.— What is Prosperity? Adversity? What have you
to observe of David and his harp? What is a carol ? What is the
Old Testament ? Can you mention the books that comprise it? Who
is the Holy Ghost? What is said of Him ? How was Job afflicted?
Mention some of his trials. Is prosperity without fears? What
does the author say of virtue ? Why does he say prosperity covers
vice? And adversity discover virtue? Who was the writer of this
subject ?

Require the pupil to write and define ten nouns wUh ihcir qualifi/-
ing words. Let Atm write a letter describing the blessings of trials
dfid afflictions, „_. ..^. ^ — - — '

tAKE OF THE THOUSAND ISLANDS.

1^5

\ T

tifeSSON 5tLIIt.

LAKE OP THE THOUSAND ISLANDS.

fo'li-a^^, n., haves of trees.

■erlm'gls^n, n,, a deep red color. -'

flSm'beaux, n., a lighted torch.
ISg'end-a-ry, adj., traditional; fabulous: doubtful.
gr5-t5sq4fe^'. adj., wildly Jarmed; odd; whimsical.
tro'phi^g?, n., a memorial of victory in battle.
prI-mS'val, adj., belonging to the earliest ages.

fim-bus-eSdte^, n., a concealed place in ^vhich troops lie hid to attack
an enemy.

These islands, which have obtained a rmrld-wide celebrity, consist
of fully 1800 islands, They are of all sizes and shapes, from a few
yards long, to several miles in length. ,S'ome rejyresenling little or
nothing, but have masses of rock, whilst others are so thickly wooded
over, that nothing but the most gorgeons green foliage in summer is
lo be seen. In autumn, the leaves -present colors of different hues of
light crimson, yellow, purjue, and other colors scarcely imaginable,
and yet more difficult lo describe.

Mere Nature holds lier carnival of Isles,
Steeix'd ill warm siwiset all the dreary day,

Kach nodding ti-ee and floating greenwood smiles,
And moss-crowned monsters move in grim array;

All night ihe fisher spears liis finny prey,
Tb.e piney flambeaux reddening the deep

By the dii a shore, or up some mimic bay
Like grotesque bandits as they boldly sweep
Upon the startled prey, and stab them while they sleep.

12G

INDERMEDIAtE EEADfitl.

And many a talk of legendary lore.

Is told of these romantic Isles. The feet
Of the Red man, have impressed each wave-zoned shore,

And many an eye of beauty oft did greet
The painted warriors and their birchen fleet,

As they returned with trophies of the. slain.; , .,
That race hath passed away ; their fair retreat,

In its primeval loneness smiles again

Save where some vessel breaks the isleenwoven chain.

Save where the echo of the huntsman's gun
Startles the wild duck from some shallow nook,

Or the swift hounds' deep baying as they run,
Rouses the lounging student from his book :

Or, where assembled by some sedgy brook, •
A pic-nic party, resting in the shade.

Springs forward hastily to catch a look.

At the strong steamer, through the watery glade
Ploughing like a large serpent from its ambuscade.

Charles Scviif/stcr.

Ques(io)is. — How many islands are supposed lobe in the lake?
What do you know of their dimensions? How does he view them?
What docs he say of their foliage in summer? In autumn? How
docs he describe Nature in the fifth stanza? What says he of the
fisherman? Of the flambeaux? Who are the grotesque bandits
here alluded to ? Of whom speaks he in the second stanza? What
other name is generally given them ? How does he speak of them?
What 13 it that rouses the lounging student ? Wliat does he say of
the pic-nic party?

Require the pupil to write these verses in prose.

— ■»».

ftlE DESERT.

127

Lesson XLIV.

THE DESERT.

Long, long ago in the far East-where all wonderful
I Hnsshappen--a certain youth longed very n.uch to see
^.e palace of the Bucharian Monarch, who was called t!ie
i^reat lung The way was very long and was beset with
dangers of all kinds; and as, before setting out, our hero
took counsel of a venerable hermit who lived-all alone
to be sure-in a cave at the foot of a steep mountain. The
good old man received his boyish visitor with a charming
mixture o authority and love. " My son, " said the sage^
some god has indeed guided your steps hither; I pray
that the same beneficent deity may aid you at every «tep
ot your pilgrimage. " ^ ^

^ "Nay, father, "returned the lad, "it is surely not so
nard to arrive at the palace of the Great King; I know
ull Avell that there are perils and pitfixlls on the way, but
1 am young and strong; and, believe me, I will take good
care that no harm comes to me. "

"Thus it is ever with the young, " sighed the hermit,

'aore in communion with himself than with his guest

alas ! how self-reliant are they-and how blind ! " ^ '

He then proceeded to inform Theophorus, for this was

the adventurers name, that he would have to exe>vise but

ordinary prudence on his journey until he came to a lofty

range of frowning mountains, at the other side of which

VU3 the gorgeous palace of the Great King, situated in a

valley so beautiful that no tongue could describe the

charms thereof. "My dear child/' continued the saintly

128

WTERMEblATE EEADEtl.

man, "be careful to heed no advice but mine ; when you
come to the foot of these mountains, be not daunted by
the sight of the rough, steep, narrow path which leads
straight over the crest of the highest hill. There is m
other way by which you may safely reach the goal of your
longings."

Theophorus vowed and protested that nothing should
induce him to disregard the counsel of the venerable man ;
and so he departed full of good resolutions.

When, after many days, he beheld the dark, towering
mountains that alone separated him from the valley of his
hopes, he was footsore and weary, despite all his youthful
strength and bright visions. He shuddered as he saw the
narrow, stony way going up and up until it seemed lost in
the clouds. If only there were an easier way, he thought,
and sighed heavily. Just then, he caught sight of a beau-
tiful winding walk that seemed to go around the base of
the mountain. It was very lovely, embowered with fra-
grant shade and cheered by the melody of birds ; bright I
fountains and little mountain torrents flashed through the
foliage; and the most tempting fruits hung on every
bough. "Why," said Theophorus aloud, "it was just like
the austerity of that old hermit : this is surely the Great
King's own road to the palace. I suppose the recluse, in
his mortification, thought I should be happy too soon, ifl
travelled by this delighful path." And without another
thoaght, the ill-fated youth entered the deceitful Avay,
' AlasT poor Theophorus ! How transported he was wittl
rapture in the early days of his new journeying. He de-l
nied himself nothing. There was no fruit which he aw
not enjoy to the fullest extent, nor any flovv ar which kl

ITHE DESERT.

129

(lid not pluck. At last, lie came to a sort of beautiful
grove in which flowers of every hue and of ail climes grew
so thicldy that he could not walk without crushing them
at every step. Pushing on through the depths °of the
grove, he wondered what was to come next, little imagin-
ing ! For when he came to the edge of the thicket there
lay before him a hideous desert, with strange suggestions
of awful things in the clouds of whirling sand. And lo !
as he turned to flee back by the way whence he had come,
the boundless desert was behind him as before, and he
could but moan and cry —

"Oh! to think the cool, green paths I trod.
But led me here at last, my God, my God ! "—

John Frajieis Waters.

Questions.— What is tlie subject of to day's lesson ? What was
Ihe desire of a certain youth ? What do you know about th(,> way
to that palace? How was the youth received by the good hermit"^
What reply did the youth ni.ake to the enquiries of the sage;? Give
the words of the hermit which were apparently spoken to himself
What do they mean ? What was the youth's name'. What <li.i (he
hermit tell him? What special directions did he l)id h,m lolk.w ?
What did Theophorus promise? How did the youth regar ' (he
narrow, stony way ? Whilst he stopped to consider and to conje('u(re
t!ie best way, what happened to meet his gaze? Describe it. CJive
the words of Theophorus. What was the consequence of his rash
judgment? What followed the beautiful groves through which he
passed? What did he behold? Give his words as he .saw himself
deceived. Why was the youth deceived? What does it teach us'^
Into what errors are we liable to fall by following our own lights and
J udgments ? What is the remedy ? Does the asking of advice imply
weakness of mind ? Why not ? '

Hequire the pupil to define the flowing : perils, sulf-reltan',
i)rudence, gorgeous, longings, resolutions, shuddered, torrents, flashed.

130

INTERMEDIATE READEft.

Mention six udjccliccs tvilh ihir nounn ; aix adverbs ; /our verbs and
their principal parts.

Lei the pupil give the description in his on'ii words. Let him write
a short letter, giving an account of an olhcr adventure such as i'j
related in tlie lesson. Or,lethim%vriteuponthe folloiving : 1. Hcspcc.l
for the advice of the aged ; 2. Obedience to the counsels of px^rents
and teachers ; 3. The happy consequences resulting from true fidelity
and the bad consequences arising from unfaithfulness lo 2)rudent and
wise counsels.

Lesson XLV.
OUR DAILY BREAD.

Give us our daily Bread,

God the bread ol' strength !
For we have learned to know

How weak we are at length.
As children we are weak,

As children must be fed ;
Give us Thy Grace, Lord,

To oe our dailv Bread.

ft/

Give us our daily Bread, —

The bitter bread of grief.
We sought earth's poisoned feasta

For pleasure and relief,
We sought her deadly fruits,

But now, God, instead,
We ask Thy healing grief ,•

To be our daily Bread. I

. OUR DAILY BREAi). I2i

<jive us our daily Bread

To cheer our fainting .soul ,
The feast of Comfort, Lord,

And peace, to make u.s whole :
For we are sick of tears,

The useless tears we shed ;
Now give us comfort. Lord,
To be our daily Bread.

^-'
Give us our daily Bread,

The bread of Angels, Lord,
By us so many times.

Broken, betrayed, adored :
His Body and His Blood ; —

The feast that Jesus spread ;
Give Him— our life, ou)- all—
To be our daily Bread I

Adelaide A. Procter.

QucsHom.-mxai i3 tho noaning oftlio title of (liis „oom ? Of
whom do we ask our daily b.ead ? Why do wo ask it '? Wlnt .1.
IS asked for ? What is grace? How many kinds of g,ace' Define
each. What is asked for in the second stanza? Whv Iho Mf<...'
bread ? Why should we farther ask our daily bread I Whv '-
for comfort ? What is the last kind of daily bread ? What i ■ v'^
bread of angels? What are angels ? How may choirs of an-^hv
\\ hat IS the feast of Jesus ? ^

licquire the pupil to wnte (his poem in 2>rose and in the sinnular
number ; as, Give me this day my daily bread, O Lord the bread of
strength ! Let him explain the oneaning of each stanza.

se
e

■ 'i-

'. :

■ i
$
I

i32

\f\

intermediate header.

Lesson XLVI.
KIND WORDS.

Gn-dy'ing,
re-al'i-ty,
Sn-te-ced'ent»
in-€om-pSt'i-bl^

sweetest,
fri^Snd'ship,
foun-da'tion,
stra"v^l^t.

smit'ing^
dis-trtlst'<
sti€-cess',
gos'sip.

1. Kind words are the music of the world. They have
a power which seems to be beyond natural causes, as if
they were some angel's song, which had lost its way, and
come on earth, and sang on undyingly, smiting the hearts
of men with the sweetest sounds, and putting, for a while,
an angel's nature into us. In truth, there is hardly a
power on earth equal to them. It seems as if they could
do what, in reality, only God can do, — namely, soften the
hard, angry hearts of men.

2. Many a friendship, long, loyal, and self-sacrificing,
rested at first on no thicker loundation than a kind word.
The two men were not likely to be friends. Perhaps each
of them regarded the other's antecedents with somewhat
of distrust. They had possibly been set against each other
by the circulation of a gossip. Or they had been looked
upon as rivals, and the success of one was regarded as in-
compatible with the success of the other. But a kind
word — perhaps the mere report of a kind word — has been
enough to set all things straight, and to be the commence-
ment of an enduring friendship.

F. W. Faber.

Questions, — What are kind words? What power do tliey possess?
Is there any power etjual to theirs? What do they accomplish?

^THE EMPEKOH OF AUSTRIA AND LITTLE MOZART. 133

How did many friciid«Iiips begin ? Describe tlio two friends as related
by the author. Why sliould wo speak kind words ?

1 Require the pupil to write a short composition, shoioing forth the
power of a kind word, exemplifying it brj an instance he may have
heard, or giving his oivn experience.

Let him define the loorda at the head of the lesson.

'■^

Lesson XLVII.

THE EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA AND
LITTLE MOZART.

PART I.-THE 3IEETING NEAR THE FOREST.

It was a fine morning, in the month of April, in the
year, 1762, that two children, one a girl about eight years
old, and the other a boy, perhaps two years younger, de-
scended the vine-covered hill of Kosoheez, at the'foo't of
whi3h rushes wildly the beautiful and rapid waters of the
Moldan, which are finally lost in the ancient forests of
Bohemia.

Their dress indicated poverty ; the color of the girl's
dress was faded, the clothes of the boy were much worn,
and patched at the elbows and knees with different colored
stuffs; but nevertheless, the neatness with which their
fair hair had been combed, and their fresh-washed hands
and faces, seemed to indicate the love and care of a mother.

They held each in one hand a piece of bread, which
they looked at now and then, but did not touch. As soon
reached the foot of the h

they

and were about to

enter the shade of tho forest trees, the little boy broke
silence.

INTERMEDIATE READER.

" Did you notice, sister, " ho saiil, '' the wny in which
mamma gave us ou.r breakfast tliis morning ; and how she
sighed when I said, '" Nothing but bread ! '"

" Yes ; she was crymg ! " said the Uttle girl. " I saw
her tears; and her look, which seemed to say, "There is
nothing but bread in the house, and you must be content
with it. " But what are you crying for, Wolfgang ?"
added Frudcrica, while she shed tears herself.

" I cry, because you cry, " said Wolfgang ; " and also
because I have otdy dry bread for my breakfast ! "

" Poor fellow, " said Frederica, drying the eyes of her
brother with a kiss ; " may you never have a greater
grief. But why do you not eat your bread ? "

" I am not hungry, " answered the boy.

The sister regarded him for an instant, and hen said :
"I would toll you what I was thinking of this morniiig,
only I am afraid that you arc too little to talk to of such
things ! "

" Too little ! and you are so big, you! " said Wolfgano;,
with a tone of affected pity.

" But I am bigger than you ! " said the little girl.

" By an inch or two; so you need not be proud of it! "
answered the boy.

" And I am older than you ! " ,

" By a few months ! "

" By somo years, sir. But hi us rerkon, arid not nnar-

-naturi

born, January 30, 1754.

^> O"

redly.

was

■ti''

THE EMrEPGR OF AITSTRIA AND LITTLE MOZART. 135

"And I was l)orn, January 27, 1756," said Wolfgang. '

" That makes two years ! " said the littlo girl.

" All but three days! " said the boy.

" Yes, all but three days ! " repeated tho girl.

Tiui.i they continued for some time. Then they spoke
oC tho means in their ])ower to assist their parents. Wolf-
gang suggested that they should pray to the great St. John
Nepomucene. They prayed very earnestly and piously
ibr some time, but they did not perceive a man, of some-
what advanced age and of noble and distinguished appear-
ance, who stood at son.j littlo distance from the tree
beneath which they knelt.

" Pure prayer is finished, brother, " said tho little girl.

" And granteil, too, " said Wolfgang rising in his turn, t

"Already!" exclaimed tho sister.

"YeP; I thought of something while you were praying I"
answered Wolfa;antj:.

" Then St. John Nepomucene must have whispered it
in your ear! " replied his sister.

They then related to one another their petitions. Wolf-
gang saw before him a magnificient hall, filled with ladies and
gentlemen, he was seated at a piano made of pure gold, with i
silver }>cdals, and keys of fine pearls, and diamonds every-
where. "Then wo shall play, and the court will be delight-
ed. And they Avill surround us, and caress us, and the
King will ask me what I should like, and I shall say,
"What ever you ])lcaso. King." And then he will give me
a castle, and I shall have papa and mamma to live there>
and— "

f « ..

136

NTERMEDIATE READER

Here a, burst of l;ui[j;litcr interrupted the litte Wolfgang.
With a frightened look, he beheld the stranger, who, hid-
den behind a tree near the two children, had not lost a
word of their conversation. Fearing that he was dis-
covered, ho a])|»roachc<.l them.

TART II.— THE INTERVIEW.

This noljle and distinguished looking gentleman, was
the Emperor of Austria, Francis I. However he did not
make himself known to the frightened children. Ap-
proaching them, he kindly said ; " Do not be afraid, my
children ; I wish only to make you happy. I am sent to
you by the great Saint, John Nepomucene."

At these words the brother and sister exchanged a look,
and then turned their eyes again upon the pretended
messenger of the saint. This survey was doubtless satis-
factory ; for the little boy runninir towards him took hold
of his hand, and with a charming simplicity, exclaimed,
" Ah, so much the better ; are you going to grant me my
wishes ? "

" No, sir • not all at once, " answered the stranger ;
then seating himself on the s^ucading roots of a tree, and
bidding Wolfgang stand before him, while his sister, older
and more timid, kept a little aside, he said, " I shall give
you whatever you wish, on condition that you answer mo
truly all the questions I am going to put to you ; I warn
you beforehand, that if you tell mo a lie I shall know it ! "

must know

you

that

replied Wolfgang a little offended.

life.

I Wolfgang.

•, who, hid-

not last ;i

ic was dis-

Ionian, wa.s
he did not

Iren. Ap-
afraid, my

am sent to

ged a look,
pretended
.^tless satis-
1 took hold
exclaimed,
ant me my

stranger ;
a tree, and
ister, older
[ shall give
answer mo
u ; I warn
know it ! "

n my life,"

THE EMPEROR OF AUSTIVIA AND LITTLE MOZART. 137

" That is what wc shall see," said the stranger. " Wlint
is your fatlier's name ? "

" Leopold Mo'/m-i. "

** And what is his employment? "

" Ho is an organist, ho plays on the violin and on the
jtiano; but host on the violin."

" Is your mother still alivo ? "

"Yes, sir."

" How many children aro there of you ? "

As the little boy remained silent, liis sister answered
this question.

" There were seven of us, sir ; but now we are only two,
my brother and niyself."

"And your father is poor, my '!■ u child," said the
■stranger to the little girl.

"Oh, yes, very poor sir; see!" she said, showing the
pieces of bread which neithtr she nor her brother liad
touched ; " This is all the broad there was in the liouse. "

" Poor children, " said the stranger, greatly moved.
" Where do your parents live "

After several other questions ccHicerning their parents,
lie said : " If what Wolfgang says is true, that you can
both play so well on the piano, it is very likely you may
cam money, and I may be able to help you. "

" !My brother is a good musician, " said the little girl,
"not onlv ho can plav at first sitj-lit any piece that is

}>resonted
besides

to him, but he

composes pretty little pieces?

papa says so.

» I

■^tPi,fir-';%.hyT^'fi^"l^^^.f^~4'^7^r^^^^^fP'^^^^^^^

138

INTERMEDTATJi; READER.

u *

" And what is the age of your brother ? "

"Six years sir; and I am eight."

" And this child composes already ? " exclaimed tlio
stranger.

"Does that surprise you ? " cried Wolfgang, laughiIlL,^
" Come to our house, sir, and you shall see. "

The stranger drew out his watch, reflected for a moment,
and then said in a tone half serious, half jesting, " My dear
children, the great Nepomucene, that revered saint of
Bohemia, orders me to tell you to go home to your parents,
stay at home all day, and before night you shall hear sonic
news. Now go. "

The stranger was retiring, but Wolfgang took hold of
his coat,

"Just one word, sir," he said, " before you go back. '

" What are you going to ask, brother ? " interruj)to(l
Frederica, wishing to hinder him from speaking. Ho
then whispered something in her ear, to which she replied,
" No, no, Wolfgang, it would be rude ; I do not want it. "

"What is it, my dear child? " said the stranger.

" She wants me not to ask you if the great Nepomucciio
will not send mamma some dinner, " answered Wolftran^',
" He can, I am sure, sir. "

" Without doubt, your mother shall have it, " said the
stranger. " But what else do you want ? Speak out, do
not be afraid ! "

"Well, then, a new coat for papa; he has not beenal
to give his lessons some days past, for want of one, "

)10

exclaimed the

took hoM of

THE EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA AND LITTLE MOZART. lo9'

"And then—."

" And then, a new gown for mamma ! it would become
her so well ! "

" Is that all ? "

" Enough, brother, enough ! " said the sister, with the
delicate feeling of a well-bred child."

'* Leave me alone, sister, I am only going to ask some-
thing for you. "

"I do not want any thing; you ask the gentleman too
much ! "

" Though I am pleased with your sister's modesty, "
said the stranger, " I shall permit you to mention what-
ever you wish for. "

" Well, then, what I want is a large house, and servants,
Ko that mamma shall not be fatigued with doino- the work
and then — then, that it all, I think ! "

" But you have asked nothing for yourself."

"Oh, there is no need, sir; give papa all that he wants,
and I shall want for nothing. "

"Charming and admirable child!" said the stranger.
" Farewell ; very soon you shall see me again. "

As he said these words the stranger rose, and disappear-
ed so quickly among the shades of the forest, that the
children remained in surprise.

What ! do you think Wolfgang, that he will send

some dinner?" said Frederic
took the rqad home,

a ; as with her brother she

1^1

■:^-^--4l^;-'^-ffl?;>,--'-^.^-3;^f^'%:-^-i.^^T--^g!^^"r-^^

140

INTERMEDIATE EEADER.

" Why, certainly, I do ! " said Wolfgang, in a confi.lent
tone.

" As for me, I am afraid tlio gentleman has been nuik,
ing game of us, " said the sister.

"Ah, we shall see about that ! " replied the littlo hli-
zart.

Questions. — Who was Francis I ? In what year, did these childn n
descend the hill-side? What river runs near by? Where i.s tluit
river ? Who was St, John Nepomucene? Why was he thrown over
the bridge into the Moldan? By whose order? What happened' '
Can you describe the appep.rance of the children? What was tbt;
subject of their conversation ? How did they think of their parents '
After some time, what did both do? What happened whilst tlicyl
were praying so fervently ? Did they know the stranger was Iik!
behind the tree ? After they had concluded their prayers, what was i
the subject of their conversation? Plow w*s it interrupted? Did
they know the intruder? Who was ho? What did he say to tlicni I
to gain their confidence? How did little Mozart speak? Can von
give the words of the little dialogue ? At what did the King seem
surprised? What remark did Mozart make to convince him? What!
excuse did the stranger offer? How was he recalled ? What did the
sister think ? Describe the conversation that took place. Did Mo- 1
zart ask any thing for himself? Did this surprise the King? What
showed the confidence of Mozart ? From what you have read, what I
impression does the character of the children make ? Could you i
their character now ? What instructive lessons are taught ?

Require the pupil to give this lesson in his ou'n tvords. Let him \
write a letter to his parents, describing the principal jmrts of the con-
versation and the impressions they have made. Let him introduct i
other facts of a similar nature he may have heard. Let him jwi'd
out on the vmp the ancient kingdom of Bohemia, xohat is knoirn au
the Black Forest, and the flow of the Moldan. Let him recount inul
short sketch the cause of the death of St. John Nepomucene and Ik
important lesson that results therefrom.

g, in a confident

lias been nuik^

I the little Ui.

r, (lid these cliildiiii
'? Where in (liat
was he thrown over

What happened''
I? What was the
ik of their parents)
pened whilst they
I stranger was liiil
prayers, what was
interrupted ? Did
3id he say to them

speak? Can you
did the King seem
ivince him ? What
ed? What did the
k place. Did Mo-
the King? What!
u have read, what
? Could you tell
e taught ?

words. Let, hiini
al parts of the con-
Let him i7itroduce\
d. Let him j^oinl
what is known (k
?t him rccoiinlinal
pomucene and ik

LIFU 01* OUR LDilt>.

141

Lesson XLVIII.
LIFE OP OUR LORD.— PART m.

1. The time for the accomplishment of Christ's mission
liad come. In order to prepare Himself, He retired into
the desert, and there prayed and fasted forty days and
forty nights. what wonderful humility ! Christ, the
Doctor of doctors, the source of all knowledge and wisdom,
preparing Himself in solitude and retirement! What a
tVuitful lesson !

2. While our Lord N\,t3 thus engaged, St. John the Bap-
tist, the forerunner of the Lamb of God, preached penance
to all the country bordering on the Jordan. He taught
them charity and other cliristian virtues, and told them
that he was but the voice of One, the latchetof whose shoes
he was unworthy to loose

3. After the fast of forty days, our ,Lord, leaving his
solitude, came unto John to be Baptized. While the
Baptist was pouring the water, there was lieard a voice,
saying : " This is my beloved Son, hear ye Him, " and the
Holy Ghost came down and overshadowed Him. The Father
spoke, the Son was being baptized, and the Holy Ghost
appeared in the form of a dove, clearly pointing out the
Holy Trinity.

4. The meekness of our Lord, and His wonderful words
and His a.«.tounding miracles, attracted all the people of
Judea. They were astonished at His wisdom. The sim-
plicity of His words, His kindness towards sinners. His

- X

If!

142

INTERMEDIATE READER,

oompaBsioii for the sick, soon l.i-ouglit liiin a great folLnv^
ing. All. so eager were they to catch the f^cred words
that fell from His blessed lips, that they were unmindlul
of their wants. But He provided for them on two separ-
ate occasions, multiplying the loaves of bread and some
fishes to feed four thousand and then five thousand.

5 He [tro/ed to them His mission by innumerable
miracles. He cured all kinds of diseases, restored sight
to the blind, speech to the dumb and hearing to the de;.t';

LIFE OF OUR LOtlt).

143

He cast out devils, .stilled the tempests, and raised tlio
uead to life.

0. He taught thein a holy doctrine and instructed them
ill the duties of their respective states. He gathered about
Him twelve Apostles Avho were to continue the work Ha
luul commenced. To them He communicated powers to
forgive and retain sins, to administer to the spiritual
wants of the children ot His Church, and to dispense tlie
sacred mysteries.

7. Fer three years He continued this public Life, in-
fusing a new life, though not without being subject to
many insults, rebuffs, and calumnies ; He was called a
thief, glutton, one possessed with a devil, a friend of sin-
ners, and all such abusive epithets. He was, indeed, the
meek, the pure, the holy, the unspotted, the Lord and God
of the Universe, the Creator of heaven and earth.

8. But His mission was not yet fully accom|>lished.
Now begins the sad and doleful passion. Observe His
goodness and Love. Ere leaving the world which had so
derided and despised and blasphemed Him, He gives it
another great and unmistakable pledge of His undying
lovo. He institutes that wounderful, sacrament of the
adorable Eucharist — the greatest of aH His miracles,
giving His own flesh and blood to be our food and drink.
He empowers His Apostles and their successors to work
that same wonder, telling them : " Do this in commemora-
tion of me. "

9. Then, according to His custom. He, and His Apos-
tles, rise and go to the garden of Olives to pray. Here

that terrible tr;

■o'

)uric(:

1 dec

thought and prayer, the whole human race passes before

I w>

•■' ''M

^'''.■■r;, ^''y'»BW "''Wiry

144

iNTfinMEDIATEl HEADEK.

His mental vision, revealing to Him tlie base and liideoiig
crimes ol' the past, present and future which demand Him
as their victim ! The sufFerinpr is so intense and acjoniziiv
tliat large drops of sweat and blood fall upon the ground,
and in His unspeal.able agony He cries out: "Father if
it be possible remove this cup from Me ! " and then He
adds, as a willing victim, " Not mine, but Thy will Ije
done. "

10. In the mean time, Judas, the traitor, has entered
into a treaty with His enemies, enters that holy spot,
bedued with the life-giving* blood of our Kedeemer, to bind
and lead Him, to the court of the High Priest. Thus isfulfilod
the saying of Isaiah : " He was offered because it was His
own will, and He opened not His mo^ith ; He shall be led
as a sheep to the slaughter, and shall be dumb as a lamb
before his shearer, and He shall not open His mouth. "

Questions. — Whither did our Lord go to prepare Himself for His
mission ? What did He in the desert ? Who was the forerunner of
Christ? What did he do to prepare the way ? What does he say nf
himself? What did our Lord after His forty days' fast ? How was
the Holy Trinity represented? How did our Lord gain the people?
What have you to say of His conduct and words" How did lie
prove His mission ? What have you to say of His doctrines? Can
you mention some of His doctrines, for instance the eight beatitudes';
How long did His Apostolate continue? Whom did He select as His
Apostles? What opprobrious names did He receive from His ene-
mies ? What did He do on the eve of His passion ? What have you to
say of it? What is the Holy Eucharist? To whom did He delegate
His power? How does this fulfil the prophecy of Malachias ? What
is that prophecy? What do you know concerning His agony?
What do you know of Judas? Why is he called, traitor? What ia
a traitor? What are the words of the prophet Isaiah? What are
the lessons taught us ?

THE MAPLE-TREE.

145

Lesson XLIX.
THE MAPLE-TREE.

1. V/ell have Canadians chosen thee

As the emblem of their land,
Thou noble, spreading maple-tree,

Lord of the forest grand ;
Through all the changes Time has made,

Thy woods so deep and hoar
Have given their liomesteads pleasant shade,

And beauty to their shore.

2. Say, what can match in splendor rare

Thy foliage, brightly green,
Thy loaves that wave in summer's air,

Gkwsv as satin sheen,
V/lion sj)ring returns the first art thou,

On mountain or in vale,
AV'ith springing life and budding bough,

To tell the joyous tale.

3. In autumn's hours of cheerless gloom,

How glowing is the dye
Of the crimson robe thou dost assume,

Though it only be to die;
Lihc the red man who, long years ago.

R(;posed beneath thy shade.
And wore a smiling lip and brow

Oii the pyre their foes had made,

146

INTERMEDIATE READER.

4. And e'on in winter fair art thou,

With many a brilHant gem,
That might adorn fair la.ly's brow,

Or (hck a diadom ;
And bettor than tliy beauty rare,

Or shade tliou give«t free.
The ]ilb-streani of thy br nches fair

Thou gon'rouR, brave old tree!

5. Warmly \v(^ pray no deed of Iiarm
May fright thy peaeoful sliado,
May '.St thou ne'er see in war's alarm-
Contending foes arrayed,
But, smiling down on peasants bravo

On honest tranquil toil,
Thy branches, over brightly wave
Above a happy soil.

MmcJ. L. Leprohon.

f ho ;r 1 ; ' t' ^'uV r'-' ^^^""''-"'"S J^^^-? How docs sho addross
tho maplo-troo? What ,s .snid of the foliago? How does tho
jnape-tree tel, the joyous tale of approaching" spring ?\t:,

V.c,,bo the tree HI wmter? What is her request concerning
tl- H. .? Lpon whom does she hope the tree to smile? Whvistho
n.a].le-(roe so well hked by Canadians? Can you tell its ^s
Does it belong to useful trees? * ^i-s usesr

acquire (he jnqnl to torite t.his ^

or ornament.

LHJu>n ^crUc the meaning of each stanza in as few words

7 , -, , ^ l'^^'>^'>''^P>'osc,addit,.n thereto wht(-

rrcr he nun/ heard about its utility, beauty,

jwssible.

A NEW VKARS NIGHT

147

few words as

Lesson L.

A NEW YEARS NIGHT.

It was midnight. . The new year was about to bo-ni,
At the window, stood, a venerable man, now raisin-^^is
cyos toward the brilliant and unchangeable blue vuUt of
lu.ivon and then toward the white, r.urc, and silent earth
l.ut with a countenance expressive of deep sorrow and de«'
l.air, No mortal was deprived of sleep as ho for ho wv
on the threshold of his tomb, covered with the 'silver white
ot advanced years, and robbe.l of the freshness and buov
ancy of youth. Of his vast riches and long life, there re
ma.ncd to him naught else than error, sin, infirmitv a
broken constitution, a tainted soul, a heart iillod witli
poison, and an old ago of repentance.

2. It wa« in such moments of grief that tl.o l,a„pv .Pivs
ot lus youth flitted across his mental vision like pl,!,nton^'
and awakened the sleeping memory to a sense of that
beautiful morning on which his father showed hini the
path he was to pursue Ah I too well do I now remember
tb.at point of the two diverging paths ! Pie pointed out the
way toward the right, a path that was to lead me to har.pi-
uess and virtue ; a path that led to a far distant land, yet
peaceful land, illumined by ever brilliant lights covered
with eteiml verdure and fragrance, and inhabited by
angels. The other, to the left, was to lead to darkness
vice, and destruction, and then be lost in a deep dismal
onvem whose vaults distilled poison. The dj^er, in
us dreary cave were vile, venomous reptiles, which filled
the air with their fearful hisses and vile odors

ft* ■mm

148

INTERMEDIATE READER.

3. I unfortunately regarded not his paternal admoni-
tions. Young and healthy as I was, with riches at my
command, I chose the path toward the left. Years rolled
by, and I, too, went my way of vice and ruin. Durini^'
all these long years, I forgot my father and my youUi.
Now ^ am old, subject to a tormenting remorse.

4. The gnawing worm sinks its fang-^ still deeper aiil
deeper into my bleeding heart. Not a moment of peace,
not an hour of rest, not a night of sleep! In my distorts I
imagination, I behold myself crushed, and a thousand
terrible tlioughts tormenting my soul.

Hark ! ho is aroused by the loud peal of the bells that
announce the New Year. He hears, as if an echo, the
sweet strains of some distant chant.

5. His soul is filled with a calmer emotion. His eyes
eagerly course over the horizon before him. The thought
of the friends of his youth, who, more fortunate, virtuous
than himself, fathers of happy families, men blessed by
God, are now the teachers and governors of earth, and he
cries out : " And I also, I might, like you, piiss this first
night of the now year, without shedding tears and being
t )rii by remorse, if I had wished it. I might, indeed,
liave been happy, my dear parents, had I followed your
counsels and fulfilled your desires. Alas ! "

G. Then his distracted mind saw all kinds of terrible
spectres rise before him, as if they intended to pierce him
with their fiery darts. " Oh ! come back, years of happy
childhood ! Come back and restore to mv troubled soul
that peace and tranquillity which once were mine !
God ! in Thee do I still hope ! "

THE MASTER-PIECE OF AN ANONYMOUS

149

7. Yes, the years of youtli did return. Fully repcntaut,
ho presented himself at the sacred tribunal, and thorJ
cleansed in the saving blood of his Redeemer, he found
that peace of soul which he so ardently desired. He did,
indeed, take the road toward the right, and d(3spite tin*
many temptations and sneens of hi.s i'riends in misery, lie
resolutely adhered to his principles, until he reached that
land where perpetual light shines, where tears an<l worrows
are unknown.

Questions.— What is the .sul.jciot ol" UiIh lo.ssf.n? r)('scril)o tho
venerable man spoken of in the Urat paragraph. What thoughts
seemed to increase hia pain? What has he to say of tho two paths?
Which did he choose ? What was tlie rosult ? Wliat is the gnawing
worm? Describe its doings. How is lie arousr-d from his fearful,
listkss state? What is the happy con.sfMiucnco? How does he be-
wail his past? Describe the comlition of his distracted mind. Did
he find peace ? What was the future conduct of this unfortunate,
fortunate man ? What are the four principal lessons taught us?

Require the pujril to tell the histori/ in his own words.

Let him write a short composition on the return of the }>rodi(jal
son.

:■: -i^

Lesson LI.
THE MASTER-PIECE OP AN ANONYMOUS.

One day as Rubens was wandering aliout the suburbs
of Madrid, he chanced to enter a montistery noted for its
austere rules, and noticed, in the heart of this poor and
humble enclosure, a remarkable painting thai unques-
tionably indicated talent of the highest order. He was
apparently riveted to the spot. The painting represented

it£|jg^

150

INTERMEDIATE HEADER.

the doatli-bcd scene of a monk. Rubens, calling his pii|iiK
«1 mt him, showed them the painting which seemed t"
elicit iiom them its merited 'aise.

''And who might be the author of this work!" askcl
Yan Dyck, the favorite jnipil of Rubens.

* A- name was written at the bottom of the painting,
but it }ias been carel'ully effaced, " replied Van Tludden.

Rubens requested the Aboot to favor them with Lis pres-
ence, and then asked the aged monk the name of the
author to whom he wished to express his admiration oftho
painting. ;

" The artist is no longer of tlie world, " answered the
monk.

" Dead ! " OMclaimed Rubens, "Dead!.... And docs
no one know his name? His name is above criticism; ;i
name that sliould be immortalized ; a name that should
perhaps ecli}iso my own! And, nevertheless," addt-d
the artist with a noble priile, " I am Pierre-Paul Rubens."

At the mention of this name, the })ale countenance ef
the monk was tinged. His eyes sparkled, and heregardcil
Puubens with a look that implied more than curiosity; luil
this exultation Lasted but an in.stant. Tlie moidc lowered his
eyes, and folded his arms which in tlie moment of enthu-
siam were' raised to heaven, as he repeated :

" Tlio artist is no loimer of this world "

" His name, reverend Father, his name ? that I may
a it ti) the universe and give him that glory to
le is so justly entitled ! " And Rubens, Van Dyck,

B ..ii.

TIIF: MASTER-riECK OF AN ANONYMOltS

151

:ork!" asb']

tiswered the

mtonance of

.Taeques Jordains, Van Tliuldoii, his j.ii|,ils, approadiint,
the Fatlier earnestly ontrcatod him to ivvoal tlio namo
oftlie unknown artist.

The monk tromhled; tlio coM swoat fi-om his hmw lan
down liis emaciated countonanco ; liis Hps wi-ro convul-
sively contracted, its if ahout ready to r<" .al +he secret of
which he alone was })ossessed.

" His name, his name ! " said Ruhen^

The monk raised his hand, and with a grave gesture,
md : " Listen to mo ! You did not well understalid me.'
J have told you that the author of this painting was no
longer of this world, but I did not wish to convey to your
minds that he Wiis dead. "

" He lives, then ; he lives! Oh! do reveal his name!"

" He has renounced the world and its vanities; he is in
a monastery ; he is a moidc. "

" A monk I my dear Father ! a monk ! Oh, jn-ay, do tell
mo in what convent I am to find him, for he must leave it.
When God has thu.s signally stamjied a man with the seal
of genius, it is not required that he bury liimself in soli-
tude. God has given him a sublime mission, and ho
must accomplish it. Name the monastery wherein this
ir-nius is hidden, and I .shall bring him with me and show
liiin the glory that awaits him. Should he refuse me,
tlion I shall request the Pope to oblige him to return to
the world and take up again his brush an.] palldtc. My
dear Father, the Pope esteems me, and I feel confident
that he will grant me my request. " ,

■■■;.T'i*V.c:*.S<A)?^;M

152

INTERMEDIATE READER.

%:i

" I shall neither tell you his name, nor the name of tln^
monastery where he is recluded," answered the monk in
a resolute tone.

" But the Pope shall order you to do so, " replied the
exasperated Rubens.

"Listen to me, " said the monk; " listen in the name of
Heaven ! Do you believe that this artist, before quittin^i,'
the world, renouncing fortun* and glory, had not to
combat strongly against the like resolution? Do you think
that he had not to encounter bitter deceptions and deep
sorrow, in order that he might come to the conclusion that
all here below is but vanity ? Leave him therefore in that
safe asylum which protects him against the world and its
disappointments. Moreover, your efforts would prove vain ;
it is a mere temptation over which ho will be victorious,"
added he, in making the sign of the Cross, "for God shall
not fail to aid him; since God, in His mercy, has with-
drawn him from a false world, He will notorderhim from
His presence. "

"But, my reverend Father, he renounces an immortil
name ! "

"Aye, but what is an immortal name m presence of
eternity ? "

The monk adroitly changed the subject of conversation
so that Rubens could no longer dare insist upon knowing
the name.

The celebrated Flemish artist, with his brilliant pupils,
left the monasttry and returned to Afadiid, silent and
pensive.

THE MASTER-PIECE OP AN ANONYMOUS. l55

The monk returned to liis Immble cell and falling upon
las knees belbre his crucifix, poured forth fervent
prayers of thanksgiving to His Redeemer.

After his prayer, the prior, for he was the unknown
artist, gathered his brushes and pallette and deliberately
threw them out of the window into the river at the base
of his monastery. He watched for several instants these
once loved instruments in a sad mood, until they vanished
from his sight. Then he again knelt before his crucifix
ill prayer and meditation.

Qursfions.~0( what .lo(3s this lesson treat ? What do you under-

Rfand by a master-jiiece ? Who was the author of it ? What is the

moaning of anonymous? Wlio are the principal characters of this

loHson ? Who was Taibens ? Who are the others mentioned ? What

was (he subject of the painting that so attracted the attention of the

c: ebrated arlist ? Was Ihere no name to it ? For whom did Rubens

call ? Do you now think that tbe prior or abbot of the monastery

was the author ? How did he answer to Rubens' inquiry? What

dulhe mean by the expression: -'He is no longer of this world"?

How was it unde.<^too<l? What di.l Rubens say when the abbot

ivlusod to reveal his name ? What reason did he give? What did

tl.0 abbot answer to the exasperated Rubens, when he exclaimed-

Ihe Pope shall order you to do so"? Is the Pope the superior of

nory religious house ? Why ? Why was the abbot so persistent in

miouncmg an immortal name? On returningto his cell, what did

(10 monk do? What did he with his brushes and pallette? Why

•lidhe refuse to leave his monastery? Why should we follow the

voice of Oo(' in point of vocation ? What is a vocation ? Has every

man his special vocation ? How is he to know it ?

J?rrj,urc /hrjmjnl iorccUe this incidence in his own words.

let him write a short letter, explaining his ideas of a vocation, of
(he hk'ssnuj recrivM hy a faithful corrrsponcknre to God's voice, and
'if the anful consequences of the neglect of not folloiciyig the calling
God has assigned us.

154

INTfiRMEDtATS HEADER.

JVo<e .-Pierre Paul Rubens, the most celebrated cf tlie Flemish painters, was t.oril
at Slogan, 1577 ; he died at Antwerp in May, 1640. He painted historic portraits
landscapes and animals with equal success. He was a magnificent colorist, was
unsurpassed in technical skill and facility of execution, but was deficient in a taste
for form. Among his famous productions are " The Last Judgment," at Munich
"The Battle of the Amazons," " The Judgment of Paris," in London, and "The
Descent from the Cross," considered by many as his master-piece.

Anthony Van Dyke, a pupil of Rubena, born at Antwerp, Alarch 22, 1599 ; and
died in liondon, December, 1641. He is generally considered the greatest portrait-
painter of modem times, except Titian ; and some critics prefer him even to
that artist .

Lesson XLII.
THE SULTANA OP THE DESERT.— I.

■Car'bTne, n., a shod gun home hj light horsemen.
en-cSmpJ^d', i^p., settled in tents or huts for lodging.
9Tm'e-ter, n., a sJiort swordwith a recurvatcd point.
o'ri-^nt'al, adj., eastern.

pros'pect, 71., a view; ohjcct of view ; reason to hojK.
izSph'yr, n., a gentle west wind.
Sm'i-nenc^, n., a rising ground; loftiness.
f6r-ti-fi-ca'tion§, n., a fortified place; a wm-kfor defense.
spot'ted, adj. or pp., marked with spots or plaees of a different color.
re-lTn'quish, v. t., to withdraw from ; to abandon; to quit.
Un--^rot^lgl^t', adj., not labored; not reduced to form.

1. Near tlie close of the last ceiitmy, Avliile the French
army under Napoleon Bonaparte occupied Egypt, a soldier
belonging to the division of Desaix was captured l)y the
Arabs and carried away. In order to put a safe distance

THE SULTANA OF THE DESERT

155

Lotwecn tlicmsclvcs and the French, the Arabs inacie a.
Ibrced march through the desert, and at night encamped
by a fountain surrounded by palm-trees.

2. Here they bound the hands of their prisoner, fed
their horses, ma<le a supper of dates, and all went to sleep.
As soon as the Frenchman saw that he was not watched,
he unloosed the knot which bound him with his teeth and
regained his liberty. He seized a carbine, some dried
dates, and a little bag of grain, and armed with a cimeter
lie mounted a horse and started off in the direction of the
French army.

3. He rode all night and far into the next day, when
his weary horse fell down dead and left him alone in the
desert. For a long time he walked on ; but at length his
strength gave out, and he was obliged to stop. The day
was finished ; the Oriental night wa's full of freshness and
beauty. At a little distance he discovered a cluster of
palms. To these he dragged his weary limbs, and lay
down and slept.

4. He was awakened by the pitiless rays of the sun.
The prospect around him filled him with des[)air. In
every direction nothing met his eye but a wide ocean of
sand sparkling and glancing in the sunshine. The pure
brilliancy of the sky left nothing for the imagination to
conceive. Not a cloud obscured its splendor ! not a zeph-
yr moved the hce of the desert. There was a wild and
awful majesty in the universal stillness. God in all his
infinite majesty seemed present to the soul.

5. Sadandgloomy the desolate wanderer walked ni-ound
the little eminence on which the palm-trees grew. To his
great joy lie discovered on the opposite side a sort of nat-

156

INTERMEDIATE READER.

ural grotto, formed in a ledge of granite. Hope was
awakened in his breast. Here he might rest in safety.
The palms would furnish him with dates for food, and
liuman beings might eomc that way before they were ex-
hauste<l.

G. He occupied himself during the day with arranging
defenses for the mouth of the grotto, so that he would no't
be molested by wild beasts, which would" ])robably come
in the night-time to drink at the little spring bubbling up
at the foot of the palms. Before liis fortifications were
finished, night come on, and, wearied by his exertions and
the extreme heat of the day, he crawled into the grotto
and soon fell hito a ])rofound sleep.

7. In the night he was awakened by a sudden noise.
He started up an<l listened, and in the deep silence he
could licar the loud breathings of some animal. The hair
rose upon his head, and he strained his eyes to the utmost
to perceive the object of his terror. By the raj^s of the
moon that entered the chinks of the cave, he discovered
an enormous animal lying jjut a few feet away. There
was not sufficient light to distinguish what animal it was.
It might be a lion, a tiger, a crocodile ; but there was no
doubt of the presence of some large and terrible creature.

8. When the moon rose so as to shine directly into the
grotto, its Ijeams lighted up the beautiful spotted hide of
a huge panther. This lion of Egypt slept with her head
upon her jiaws with the comfortal)lo dignity of a grer'
house-dog. The soldier dared not make the slightest no) o
lest he should awaken her. Notliing broke the deep si-
lence but the ])reathofthe panther and the strong beat-
ings of his own heart.

.-' 'if ."

THE SULTANA OF THE DESERT

157

9. To attempt her destruction and fail, would bo certain
.leath. She was too near to use his carbine. Twice he
put his hand upon his cimeter ; but the thought of her
hard lough skiif made him relinquish his project. Day
came at last, and showed the jaws of the sleeping panther
covered with blood. "She has eaten lately, ° said the
Frenchman to himself; "she will not awake in hun<^er. "

i;rf

10 She was in truth a beautiful monster. The fur on
her throat and legs was a delicate buff; a circle of dark
spots like velvet formed bracelets around her paws; her
large, muscular tail was buff with rings of black ; and the
soft, smooth fur of her body was of a glowing yellow, like

158

INTERMEDIATE READER

uiiwrought gold, richly shaded with dark-brown and bla. ]^
spots. She reposed in the graceful attitude of a puss sleep-
ing on a footstool. Her head i-ested on her out-stretche.!
]>aws, and her smellers spread out like silr i r threads.

James Johnnnot.

Qui^iions. — What is the subject of our lesson to-ilay? Wha* s ihc
pultana? When 'li'l this incident lake place? Wl;o was Nan. Icon
Bonaparte? To iiif division of the army did the French soldier
lielong? How caiu'o he. •(< he takin by the Arabs? Who arc Hk^
Arabs? How did Ihi-s rrciuc their prisoner? How did he regain his
freedom? Describe Ihb (vcape. Where did he sleep? What <i id he
do Oil the followint,- day. Whjat reminded him of the presence off Jod ?
Describe his course during the day ? Where did he sleep and how was
heawt'kcred? How did he discover that it was a panther? W'iiai
were the feelings of the poor soldier? What was his intention '.in
seeing the panther? Give the words he said to himself. DescriiM'
the panther. Does the panther, Uke the hon and tiger, also belong
to the cat family?

Jicquire the jnqnls (o wrilc this lesson in his own siinple words.

THE SULTANA OF THE DESERT.— II.

frTgl:jt'ful,
pur r^d,
fi.erc^'ness,

fTx'ed-ness,

"i^e-^ound'ed,

In'ter-val,

me-tal'Hc,

sul-ta'na,

re-prol^ch'ful.

1. When the sun arose, the panther suddenly opened
her eyes, stretched out her paws, and gaped, showing a
frightful row of teeth and a great tongue as hard -
rough as a file. She then began to wash her paws, ivi.- ;-
ing them over her ears ''.^in time to time as preiiilv a.' a
kitten. "Very well done," thought the soldi •. : "she

THE SULTANA OF THE DESERT 159

d<« !-.er toilet very handsomely. " He seize,! a little
■1 ,..- wlueh ho had take,, from the Arabs, „„d pvenad
""1 '"■ gooa-no„>i„g. At this mome„t th/,J„ther
turned her head and saw him. '

-U{(

11, efi.xedness of her bright n,etallie eyes made the
l.e.- t,'e„,l,le; She a,-ose and n.oved towa.l hi,,, W tu
.-,,t,,„.o,se„eo 01 n,i„d he looked her directly in the ey
W .en she ea,no „p to him he gently seratehed her h.^d
;. a smoo hed her fur Ifcr eyes gradually softened, ad
hst she purred hke apettedeat; but ,so deep and
hong ,ve,.o her notes of joy that they re.sounded through
the cave hke the rolling of a ehureh organ. *'

13. The Frcnclnnan redoublc.1 his earesses, .and turned
a,, won out of the ^-otto The panther eame bo«: li^
.. lu h„„ hft,„g „p her bade and rubbing against him
).ke an affeet.onate kitten. He felt her eafs fnd throa"
a,>d perceiving that she was pleased with it, ho be"an to
,eklo the back of her head with the point o h s d^ggot
op.ng to find an opportunity tostabhe. ; but her sf^'fth
ami s,ze made h,m tremble lest ho cotdd not succeed.

14 The beautiful sultana of the desert tried the cour-
age of her companion by stretching out her nock and rub-

iw.T.ra ;r; ""' ™f "^ -^^'^ «'- "-'"t^'

Wow but at that moment she crouched gently at his foot
■" Wkec up in his face with a strange mi^.ture faf'

ehckedh,s shoos and purred. During the whole day .

e panther at tended him as a dog does his master, and
never suffered him to be out of sight.

15. Taking courage from tlie past, he began to hope
1.C- could get along very comfortably with his now com-

160

INTERMEDIATE READER.

panion. He seated himself by her and patted her neck
until she begin again to purr. He took hold of her paws,
felt her ears, and rolled her over. She sulT( red him to do
Jill this ; and when he played with her paws she carefully
drew in her claws lest she should hurt him. Ho soon be-
gan to have an unwillingness to kill her. In the lonely
desert she seemed like a friend. He gave her a name,
and before the end of the day she would look up in his
iiicc when he called " Mignonne ! "

6. When the sun went down she uttered a deep, mel-
ancholy cry. " She is well educated," said the soldier ;
" she has learned to say her prayers ! " He was rejoiced
to see her grow drowsy. "That is right," said he, " you
would better go to sleep first ! " When she was sound a-
sleep, he arose silently and set off vigorously toward the
Nile ; but he had not gone a quarter of a league over the
sand when he heard the panther bounding after him,
uttering at intervals a loud, sharp cry.

7. Before she came up, the Frenchman fell into a
dangerous trap of loose sand, from which he could not
extricate himself. The panther seized him by the collar,
drew him out of the sand, and brought him safe to the
other side of the treacherous ditch at a single bound.
"My dear Mignonne," exclaimed the soldier as he caressed
her, " our friendship is for life and for death." He re-
traced his steps. Having hung out his shirt as a signal
to any human being who might come near, he lay down
And slept.

' 8. When he awoke, Mignonne was gone. He went out,
and soon saw her at a distance clearing the desert with
her long and high bounds. She arrived with bloody jaws.

THE SULTANA OF THE DESERT.— 11.

161

When receiving caresses, she purred and fixed her eyes
upon him with more fondness than usual. The soldier
patted her neck and talked to her as he would to a com-
pauion. " Ah, you have been eating some of the Arabs
Aren t you ashamed ? Never mind, they are worse animals
than you are ; but pleased don't take a fancy to giind up
a poor Frenchman. If you do, you won't have me to love
you any more."

a This animal was so fond of caresses ' and play, that
il hor companion sat many minutes without noticing her
she would put her paws upon his lap to attract attention,
la this way several days passed. The panther became
used to the inflections of the soldier's voice and under-
stood the expressions of his face. While her beauty
P eased, she delighted him most when she was on a frolic
She showed the perfection of grace and agility as she
gilded swiftly along, jumping, bounding, and rolling over
and over. When she was darting away at full speed, she

would stop. suddenly when the Frenchman called " Uis-
.loiine ! " > b

10. This account ^-as given me by the soldier himself
as wo met near the panther's cage in the menagerie at
^aris. "I do not know," continued he, '^vhat I had
done to displease Mignonnc, or whether the creature was '
merely m sport; but she turned around, snapped her
teoth at me, and seized hold of my leg. Thinking she
was about to destroy me, I plunged the dagger into her
"oclc. Iliat poor creature ntc-ered a cry that froze my
very' heart. She made no .uempt to avenge my blow, ■
but looked wildly upon me in her dying agonies. I would
♦lave given all this world to have recalled her to life It

fill,

lii.

162

INTlJuM LDIATL EEADER.

was as if I had nimdered a friend. Some Frpncli soldiers
who 8avv my signal found wo some hours afterward weep-
ing l)esid6 her dead body.

J'l ^ohonnot.

Qxfsrto/is.— Describe the first acquaintance of the panther with
the Frenchman. How did the soldier act? How did he meet Wv
sfare ? What did he do Avhen she came up to him ? Describe the
scene outside the t^rotto? Had the soldier still an intention of kill-
mg hor? How did she try the courage of her companion? Wluit
was Ci.: action of the soldier? How did she seem to appreciate his
kmdness '' Can you describe how the day passed ? What happened at
nightfall ? What was the consequence of his rash resolution ? Who
saved his life ? How waa the remainder of the night spent ? Whore
was Mignonne at his awakening? What did he say to her when she
came near him ? How did she receive his caresses ? Did the pan-
ther become used to the soldier's voice and inflections? While she
was sporting, cou.ld he control her? Who related this incident?
Can you describe how the companionship ended ? What lessons are
taught us ?

Require (he jmpil to write the entire lesson in his oivn language,
and add thereto oth r details he may have read or heard.
Let him define the words at the head of 'art II.

V '

ppi:

, LeSoON L III.

CANADA.

gn'ter-prT§e, n., an undertaking ; r ■ ■)ld attempt.
€ar'g6fe^§, n , a ship's freight or lad'
eorn'meroet n,, trade; trnffi.c; p,' >al rcoiirsc.
€On-v€ll'ience, «.., accommodation, fitness; commodiousneas.
SteJ^m'bol^t, n., a vessel propelled through the water by steam.
in'dtistry, n., constant diligence ; assiduity.
gfin'tle-man-ly, adv., polite; refined; becoming a gentleman.
stridis(§, »., a long step.

CANADA.

163

• Ctnada \m hcl.l, and always w^ retain, afo,vmo.t nlaoo
,n my romembraneo. P,.. Engli,,l™o„ arc prepare I to
md ,t what .t « Advancing quietly; oi.l .liVerence.
«ottl,ng<iown, an-lLcng fa.st forgotten ; „ul,li. fe,|i„g and
private enterpmo alike in soun.l and wholesome °tate •
nothn,g o flush or fever in it., .system, l.ut health ,u,d'
vigor throwing m ,t« st,.ady pulse : it is full of hope and
,.rom.se. To mc-who had boon aecu omed to tl ink of
It as somethn>g left l.chin,l in the strides of advancin..
society, as something negleetcd and forgotten, slun.borin"
and wastmg n, ite slecp-tho demand for labor and the
rates of wages; the busy quay,, of Montreal; the ves.,c s
akmg ,„ theu-oargocs, and discharging them ; the amount
of shippn g m he different ports ; the commerce, roads
and puWk .^orks, a 1 made to k.t ; the rcpectabih'ty and
. lara^ter of tl.^ pubho journals ; and theamount of rltiou-
al comfort ,.d happiness which honest industry m.av
earn : were very g, t surprises. The steamboat., on the
lakes, in their conven.ence,, cleanliness, and safety ; in the
gentlemanly character and bearing of their captains : and
m the politeness and perfect comfort of their .social re-n-
la ions: are unsurpassed even by the famous Scotch v°e.,-
sels, deservedly so much esteemed at home. The iun, are

usually bad ; because the custom of boarding at hotels is not
.general here as in the States, and the Bnti.,h officer.,
«|ho form a large portion of the society of every town, live'
chiefly at the regimental messes : but in every other re,
l.ect the traveler in Canada will find as good prhvisio ,
for his comfort as in any place I know.

-..•.. Churles Dickem.

Ik\

IQi

INTERMEDIATi; READER.

Q.'eslmm \.-Whevo is Canada' How did Charles Dirkms find
Canada? Wliat docs ho say of it? What hopes did he entertain of
h<T future greatness? How did Iho business-like way of Montreal
strike hitn? Wliat does he say of its navigation? What is said
concerning uwu ? Wliat is his conclusion ?

li^r/uire the pupil to loritc a leltcr, explaming the progress of
Canada and its commercial enterprise.

Lesson LIV.
CANADIAN BOAT-SONG.

1. Faintly a.s tolls the evening chime,

Our voices keep tunc and our oars keep time ;
Soon as the woods on tlic shore look dim
We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn.
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The ra[)id3 arc near and the daylight's past !

2. Wiiy should wo yet our sail unfurl ?
There is not a breath the blue wave to curl !
But when the wind blows off the shore

(^h ! sweetly we'll rest on our weary oar.
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near and the daylight's past !

3. Ottawa's tide ! this trembling moon
Shall see us float over the surges soon.

(1) For literary analysis and other suggestions, see Teaoha*'* £.i.tw»f. i^t^^
«4iate course of" Lessons in English, " p 319, »* t»«a>Iat«m.

Dirkpna find

e entertain of

of Montreal

What is said

? progress of

VOLCANOES. igr

Saint of this grocn i.sle ! hear our prayer.. '
Oh I grant us cool lieave.is an<l favoring airs
Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast
Ihe rapids are near and the daylight's past I

Thomas Moore.

»g of "Ottawa. tL ■.V'v-,;.,^ : ::,; :ri ^"'»';' «- "-■

What docs 1,0 ask of l„.r 9 m "''"'""; ^^1'"'" <l"llic invoke ?

Jo you i<„ow coll;:: L„, ? " ""■ """'"■■ "■■ ""^ i-™ -<• -i""

wMi'::rr "''''''■"'''"■''■'■ '•■'''"•'^"'"-.'"'.^

W'/»V/t ///f'y relate.

the words to

Lesson LV.
VOLCANOES.

HaT'?an"^;J!'' "" T'^'' «"'^«^^« -^^<^-^ « screen from, ihe sun.
tai lan, af(;., pertaining to Italy.

crater, n..<;t«,„o„^;ioy.„^^^^^^^_ ^

't>^riBt«nu<

EnglisV-p^'lTs""'"*''''' 'r«»<=''«'''' Edition, Elementary Course of •• Lesson, In

166

INTERMEDIATE READER.

1. More than eighteen hundred years ago, Mom t
Vesuvius had, for ages and ages, been lying quiet hke an\-
otlier liilL Beautiful cities were luiilt at its foot. Tho.v
cities were filled with people who were as handsome an 1
as comfortable, and, I fear, as wicked as any people ever
were on earth.

2. Fair gardens, vineyards, olive-yards, covered the
mountain-slopes. It was held to be one of the paradises of
the world. As for the mountain's being a burning moun-
tain, who ever thouu-ht of that ?

3. To bo sure, the top of it was a great round crater, a
mile or more across, am] a few hundred yards deep. But
that was all overgrown with l}ushes and wild vines, and
was full of boars and wild decrs. What sign of fire was
there in thai" ':

4. To be sure, there was also an ugly field jjelow by
the sea-shore, where smoke and l)rimstone came out of the
ground, and a lake called |Avernus, over whicli poisonous
gases hung. But what of that ? It had never harmed
any one, and how could it harm them ?

5. So they all lived on happily and merrily enough till
the year of our Lord 79. At that time there was station-
ed in the Bay of Naples a Eoman admiral called Pliny,
who was a very studious and learned man, and author ol'
a famous old book on natural history.

G. He was staying on shore with his sister, and, one
day, as he sat in his study, she called him out to see a
strange cloud which had been hanging for some time over
the toj) of Moui.":. Vesuvius. It was in shape just like an
Italian stone-pine tree, with a long, straight stem and a

VOLCANOteS.

167

flat, parasol-shaped top. Sometimes the cloiul was black-
ish, sometimes spotted.

7. Tlic good admiral, who was always curious about
natural science, ordered his cutter, a.id went off across the
bay to see what it could be.

8. Earthquake-shocks had been very common for the
last few days ; but I do not suppose that Pliny had any
notion that the earthquakes and the cloud had anything
to do with each other However, he soon found out that
they had, and to his cost.

9. When he got near the opposite shore, some sadors
met him, and begged him to turn ba<)k. Cinders and
pumice-stones were falling down from the sky, and flames
brealnng out from the mountain above ; but PHny would
go on : he said that it the people were in danger it was
his duty to help them ; and that he must see this strano-e
cloud and note dowH the different shapes into which^it
changed

10 But the hot ashes fell faster and ftister ; the sea
ebbed out suddenly and almost left them on dry land, and
Pliny turned away to a place called Stabile, to the house
ot a nend, who was just going to escape in a boat. Pliny
told him not to be afraid, ordered his bath like a true
Koman gentleman, and went into dinner with a cheerful
lace.

11. Flames came down from the mountain nearer and
nearer as the night drew on, but Phny persuaded his
mend that they were fires in "some villages from which
tne peasants had fled, and then went to" bed and slent
soundly. ^

1^1..

J I.

Wr ^

Wt ^

^B!

ifi

■BrH

■--"■■''-" —^"nfm

168

INTERMEDIATE EEADER.

'Ill

12. However, in the iniadle of the night they found tlir-
court-yard being fast filled with cinders, and if they had
not waked, up the achniral in time he would never have
been able to get out of the house. The earthquake-shocks
grew stronger and fiercer, till the house was ready to fall ;
and Pliny and his friend and the sailors and slaves all
fled into the open fields, tying pillows over their heads to
prevent themselves from being beaten down by the o'roat
showers of stones and cinders which were falling.

13. Day had come by this time, l)ut not the dawn ; foi'
the great cloud shut out the light of the si;'i and rt wa.-^
still pitch-dark. They went down to their boats v.r.on the
shore, but the sea raged so fiercely that thore was no get-
ting on board of them. Then Pliny grew tired, and math
his men spread a sail that he might lie upon it for a littk'
while to rest. But suddenly there came down upon thorn
a rush of fiaraes and a horrible smell of sulphur, and all
mn for their lives.

14. SoT:ie of the slaves tried to help the admiral upon
his feet, but he sank down again, overpowered with tlio
brimstone-fumes, and so was left behind.

15. When they came back again there he lay dead,
but with his clothes in order, and liis hce as quiet as if ho
were only sleeping. And this was the end of a brave and
learned man, a martyr to duty and to the love of science.

16. But what was going on in the mean time ? Under
clouds of ashes, cinders, mud, lava, three of those happy
cities were buried at once— Herculaneum, Pompeii, Stabire.
They were buried just as the j)eople had fied from them,
leaving the furniture and earthenware and in many r- js

Volcanoes,

1C.9

oven jewels and gold behind, and here and there amon^-
them wa.s a human being who had not had time to escape
from the dreadful deluge of dust.

17. And what had happened to Vesuvius, the treach-
erous mountain ? Half or more than half of the side of the
old crater hiul been blown away, and what was left stands
in a half circle around the new cone, and the new crater
which is burning at this very day.

Charles Kiiigsley.

Questio}is.-\Yhtit can you say of Mount Vesuvius over eighteen
liundrod yeai-s ago ? Wliafc do you know of its Mountain slopes?
Describe the top of the Mount. What do you say of its base ? Until
what year did they live liappily ? What celebrate.1 admiral was
stationed at that time in the Bay ? Whilst he was studyin- who
mterrupted linn and why ? Did the admiral busy himself about 'what
he had heard? What do you know of the earthquake-shocks that
. ccurred ? When he reached the other side, by whom wa.« he met ?
U hy ? Did Plmy heed them ? Where did Pliny go as he lound the
ashes falling faster and faster ? When he readied Stabia^ what did lie
do ? Did he seem to have any fears ? What occurred durin- the
night ? Give all the particulars. W^hy is it that they could not' .see
tliough it was day ? W^hat is said of the admiral ? tlmv did the
sailors find him on their return ? But wliat was going on in the mean-
time ? And what happened to Vesuvius the treai^herous mountain ?
Who was the E/iman Emperor ? Can you locate the buried cities ?
Why is it that no birtls coukl live about Lake Avernus ? Have any
discoveries (>een i-ecentlymadv and wha*, do tJiey tell us ? Who was
the writei of this lesson and what do you know of him ?

licifurc thcpvpli (0 vrriic <l description to a ilialmilfrinid, (eUimj
him aboiU Monnl Vesuvius.

NoTE-.lV««»t«, ix c/ow to the n.,y o/Navh, ; Lake Avernus U ten mih,
•ocut^j i^niAesi U^ name sumifies ^'without a Oinlr because the misonau,
vnxen prevented bud^^from living near it>, Imnkn : ,i„ce Vesuviue hoa become an
acHm volmm, the lake is healthier, and it, banks are occupied with vineyard.

#iNi

.^ ^ I T'"''-.?^

1^0

tl^TERMEbfATll REACES.

loJZv ■ ^''■^''^""««'" •* '^"*« of Naples, or the hay md at the foot ofth.
slope of Vesuvius ; Pompeii i. eight mih. Houth-ea.t of Ifercuhn,eu»„ aJZ,;,
five rnles of the erater of Vesuvius ; Stali,e U south-,ee»t of I^.u,pei. Wit ,

few year.., any of the streets and hon.e. of , he buried cities hL mZ
and from thea,t l „^^,,^,„,„,^ .„^_ ^^^^^ ^^^.^^^^^^^^^^^ discovered, we /.< W i'
the ways of davly life of the people who lived there in those days.

JrX--.

Lesson LVI.
DON'T.

1. Dojit be late at tlie domestic table, as this is a
wrong to your family, and is not calculated to promote
harmony and good feeling.

2. Don't seat yourself until your host or hostess gives
the signal. Don't introduce, if you introduce at all, after
the company is seated.

3. Don't sit a foot off from the table, or sit jammed up
airainst it.

4. Do7i't tuck your napkin under your chin, or spread
It upon your breast. Bibsand tuckers are for the nursery.
Don't spread your napkin over your lap ; let it fiJI nvln
your knee.

5. Don't eat soup from the end of the spoon, but from
the side. Don't gurgle, or draw in your breath, or make
other noises, when eating soup, or drinking.

6. Don't bend over your plate, or droj) your head i .
get each mouthful. Keep an upright attitude as nearly
as you can without being stiff.

7. Don't bite your bread. Break it off. Don't break
your bread into your soup.

don'i', 271

8. Don't eafwith your knife. Never put your knife
into your mouth. Bont load up the fork with food witli
your knife, and then cast it, as it were, to your mouth
Take upon the fork what it can easily carry, and no more.
"^i. Bont handle fork or knife awkwardly. Let the
handles of both knife and fork rest in the palm of the
hand. How to handleknife and fork well can be acquired
'V observation and practice. Always carry food to the
woiith with an inward curve of the f.^rk or spoon.

10. BcmJt eat fast, or gorge. Take always plenty of
time. Haste is vulgar.

11. Bon'tm your mouth with too much food. Eat
gently and quietly and easily.

12. Borit put your knife into the butter, into the salt-
cellar, or into any dish.

13. Bon^t spread out your elbows when you are cutting
ynir meat. Keep your elbows close to your side.

14 Bo-^t eat vegetables with a spoon. Eat them with
a fork. The rule is not to eat anything with a spoon
ttiat can be eaten with a fork.

15. Bon't devour the last mouthful of soup, the last
Iraginent of bread, the L^st morsel of food. It is not ex-
pected that your plate should be sent away cleansed by
V'jur exertions.

16. Z^rt'n-nject bits of bono, or either substances, by
P-tting them back into your ,. ate. Quietly eject tliem

upon your fork, liolding it to yo.r lips, and tlien place on

pia.e l^ruit-stones should be removed by ]>assinrr

^hem_unobtrusively from the lips to the spoon. \ . .^

.t=i

172

iNTERMEtlAfE READER.

17. Don't stretch across another's plate in order fn
reach any thing.

18. DonH finger articles ; DonH^Uy with your napki,,
or your goblet, or your fork, or with anything.

19. Don't talk when your mouth is full; never in fact
have your mouth full. It is more healthful and 'a beitc'
taste to eat by small morsels.

20. DonH be embarrassed. Endeavor to be self
possessed and at ease ; to accomplish which, try not to Ih-
self-conscious. Remember that self-respect is as much a
virtue as respect for others.

21 Don't throw yourself loungingly back in your chair
Dmt rest your elbows on the table ; Don't lean on the

_ 22. ^on'^ smear a slice of bread with butter: break it
into small pieces, and then butter.

23. Dont rise frdm the table until the meal is finished.

J is desirable to let /um wnte t/us le..on in his own words aMuu,
other p<nr,,s, or some inndents he ,nay have heard or read '

Lesson LVII. . ' ■■ . ;

LEAVES— n.

Teacher. In a former lesson on leaves, we defin. .1

hem and mentioned their kinds, and learnei that leaves

are either simple or compound. We said, tliey ar. .impl.

wh^n the blade is ^11 of one piece, and compound, X

LEAVES. -

173

^er ; break it

al is finished.

inc blade consists of two or more separate pieces borne
upon a common leaf-stalk. To-day we shall consider the
form of leaves as to particular outline or decree of
division. In this respect, then, leaves are said to bc"cnti-e
.serrate or saw-toothed, dentate or toothed, crenatc or
scalloped ; repand, undulate, or wavy ; sinuate ; incised
cut or jagged. '

Well Charles, will you please define what is
meant by entire leaves ?

Charles. Leaves are entire, when
their general outline is completely filled
out, so that the margin is an even line,
without any teeth or notches, as in the
accompanying figure. (1)

T. Charles, your answer is correct,
aiid your drawing fairly executed.
William, perhaps you can tell me what
we mean by serrate leaves ?

William. I understand by serrate,
or saio-toothcd leaves those which have
the margin only cut into sharp teeth
like those of a saw, and pointing for-
wards ; as in figure 2.
T. Williani, I am pleased with your answer. I think
owever your figure could have been drawn better. I sha
draw dotted lines to indicate the correction. Henry wi
you please define dentate and crenatc leaves

0) b.j Made ; p., petiole j Bt., gtipgolei.

♦

174

INTERMEDIATE READER

Henry Dentate, or toothed, when such point outward

nsead of forward; and crenate or scall^cd, when tb

t^l^axe broad and rounded; as indicated in fi"

T. Homy, both your answers and figures are satis-
factory. Now Matthias, will you toll the class about
Tcpand, sinuate, and incised leaves ?

Matthias Bepand, undulate, or wawj, when the mari^in
ot he leaf forms a wavy line, bending slightly inward and
outward in succession ; sinuate, when the margin is moro
Btrongly smuous, or turned inward and outward ; incised
cut or jagged, when the margin is cut into sharp, deep'
and irregular teeth or incisions, -as in figures 5, 6 and 7.

T. Matthias, I must say that you agreeably sur^
pnse me. I shall now continue the lesson, since you

request your earnest attention.

LEAVES.

175

point outward,
^pcd, when the
d in figures 3

Now, when leaves are^
more deeply cut and with a
definite number of incisions,
they are said, as a general
term, to be lohed ; the parts
being called lohes. Their
number is expressed by the
phrase two-lohed, three-lobed,
five-lohed, many-lobed, as the

Iff case may be. When the depth

6 7 and character of the lobing

needs to be more particularly specified, the following
terms are employed :

:'e3 are sati.s-
s class about

m the margin
y inward and
argin is moro
ird ; incised,
sharp, deep.
3 5, 6 and 7.

reeably sur-
, since you
t needless to

Zobed, when the incisions do not extend deeper
than about half-way between th^ margin and ihe -renter

'I'l-

fff

17ff

INTERMEDIATE HEADER.

of tho blade, if so far, and aro moro or Icd.-s roundc<l ; audi
are the leaves of the oak.

Cleft, when tho incisions extend half-way down or
more and especially when they aro sharp, as in ficrures 8
and 9. °

Farted, when the incisions arr; still deeper, but do
not quite reach to the midrib or the base of tho blade • as
figures 10 and 11.

Quesiions.-^What other divisions of loav. , aro mentioned'? Why thi=
division ? What are they called? How is this number expressed^
What still urther divisions aro named? When aro leave. lubed>
Cleft? Parted?

-Require the pupil '.commit to manor,/ the names of the leave,
thus far learned.

fl'

Lesson LVIII.
LITTLE MOZART'S FEAST.

di§-dain', n., a feeling of contempt, and aversion or ab/wrrcncr.
prgp'a-ra-tlon, n., the act of preparimj or fittiivj for a particular
purpose.

ae-cgs'SO-ry, «., th^t whieh dclon.jsto soviethiwjchc as its principal
llS§'l-ta-tlon, the act of hesitating, doubt vacillation.
im'pro-vI§e', v.t., to speak extempcrancous especially in verse.
SO-na'ta, n.,an extended composition for one or tvo instrumnits.
ex-tr^dr'd.i-na-ry, «rf;-.,7»icoHmou; unusual; remarkable,
mod'u-la-tion, «., melody; act of modulating.
in'fant-Ine, adj., pertaining to infants.

en-thu'§i-fi§m, «., ardent zeal in respect to some object; heat of
%magination. ''

So soon as Frederica and Mozart had re-entered their
home, a woman, still young and neatly attired, said sorrow-

tiTTLE MOZART*S FEAST.

1^71

jcd ; heat of

My^to them. " What, have neither of you touched your

" We were not Imngry, mamma," said Frederica.
" What, then, has made you lose your appetite ? "
, '' Why, think, mamma ! " .said Wolfgan*^ " I and mv
-ter have seen a messenger from the grVkpon e e
whose history papa has so often told us ! " '^^^'"""^»«'

" Indeed ! tell us how that happened, Master WolA.an. 9-'
.aid a good-natured looking man, who just then eiU red
a.l.v^.ie two children salute

" Only ftmcy, good little papa," .said Wolfgan.^ ; " a till
W^ma^withaheautind.ce,whoU^

"And how did you know that he was a messenger from
the great Nepomucene?" inquired the organist.
"Oh, ho told me so!"

" -^"^1 what proofs did ho give you of it ? "

" What proofs I that is vi,at we are going to see » He
will sei.l you a coat, and a gown for mamma, and some-
thing for my sister, and a good dinner for all of us ! "

phdty ^'^^''' '"''^'^ "'^ ^''^^ ^'"°^""° '"^ ^"^ ''^^" '^ •^"^-
^^_'^ And do you really believe all this, my dear child V he

" The friend of St. John Nepomucene told me so, papa. ^
'Ah, he was making game of you I "

."^>i4

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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1.0

1.25

|«i||SO

U 111.6

Photographic

Sdences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. M580

(716) 873-4503

■^

^.\

'^A

p^^

■'%

178

INTERMEDIATE READElt.

" If you had seen him you would not say tliat ; his face
is so good-natured. I can tell you, too, that instead of
this poor little cottage, we are to have a palace."

As he uttered the last words, little Mozart cast a
look ofdisdain about him. In fact, the chamber served
at once as kitchen and parlor. On one side was a capacious
fire-place, with stew-pans suspended upon hooks within the
wide chimney ; and in the other, a piano, above which a
violin was hung against the wall ; in the middle was a
table, of some dark wood, and about it a few rush chairs.

" Ah, so we shall have a palace, shall we ? " inquired
the father, good-humoredly.

" Yes, papa, a palace, and many servants to wait on us.
But what are you doing mamma? " asked the child.

"Why, you sec, while we arc waiting for the servants,
I am getting the dinner ready! "

" The dinner, the dinner ! Did I not tell you they vnll
send us one ready cooked ! "

While the father and mother were laughing at the
simplicity of little Mozart, a knock was heard at the door.

Before their door, there stood a covered cart, out of
which came a cook, his assistant, and all the accessories of
a first-rate dinner.

" We come from the person whom Master Wolfgan^
Mozart met at the entrance of the forest," said the cook"
as he entered. Then he placed upon the table, as his
assistant brought them out of the cart, various dishes
ready dressed, some bottles of wine, and all the materials
of an excellent dinner.

LITTLE Mozart's feast. 179

" ^ ""■" "'"■ '^''^'''y y""' '< saiJ the cook mpootfully.
Tho father insisted.

wo^rtt";"'' ^™'- -"'"-- -''0 -.13 .no,"a„s-

too"''it'wartr' ^^°"«"'°' "-"'^''-'-ica knowahim,
rauo'eno/' ""■'""''°"'' ""'^ '■""''^ °''S'- ^u. Nepo-

^^ J PoH,eave„-„ .,ake, ox„,ai„ th,., .ny^tery ! " entreated

"Sir," replied the cook " T pon fnli .- ,. n •
ti, ,i. 11 T . ' ■'■ '^^^^ tell you nothiiio- oxrenf

-^ the dinner . paid for; you can eal it without S-

"at the'" " '^ '""" """^^' ^^^^ ^-r -" PJ-o him-

^.m appeal. Do not ask me anv u.uve <,ue,stions for T
"lust not answer them. ' J>'c.tion,s ioi i

The dinner being served, tlie cook rc>(lred with lu.
.assistant, entered his cart, and drove away.

''Little Wolfgang was the first to break silence after
the departure of the cook.

" Well," ho said, 'Mid I not tell you ? "

"Ah, brother," said Frcderica, "I thou.dit that fh,.

My dear childi

to table. The

•en," said the father, <' let us sit down

din

ner is, doubtless

generous man who has sent us this

a good friend who has been sent to !

t ;,,

f ^

•'"'"**'"-imi-N i r i r ii iin i "' tiii H i

180

INTERMEDIATE READER.

US, even tlioii-rti he may not l.e a messenger of St. Juliij
Nepomucene. His name is unknown to us, but the re-
membrance of him will always remain in our liearts."

After having said their prayer, they seated themselves
and made merry over the ropa.-t. They were still in the
midst of tlieir joy, wlieii the clock of a neighboring con-
vent struct two. Wolfgang l)Ounded from his chair.^

" Where are you going ? " inquired his mother.

" To compose a sonata, t(j make the gentleman who gave
us the dinner, appear."

Then he placed the little stool upon whicli he stood before
the piano, lor he was so little that his elbows did not reach
the keys.

At first lie ran up the scales, with an energy and pre-
cision extraordinary in a child so young andfeeV 'len
lie passed to the modulation of chords, and finally .. .oro-
visedatheme so sweet, so soft, that father and mothe'r
remained dumb with surprise. Then as ho abandoned
himself to the exuberance of his infontine imagination
his fingers flew over the keys; touched with the Land of a
master, they would now utter their fall so and ; then gently
pressed, caressed as it were, they would give forth tones
so cxpi-essive, that tears stood in the eyes of his parents.

Softened, moved beyond expression Ijy the meltin<'
sounds wliich Wolfgang drew from his instrument, they
all forgot not only the dinner, but the promised visit ol
the strano;er.

*'' Come hither that I oral
the joyful lather and artist

jrace you,

Wolfs

gano';' cried

with the help of God,

our

! stood before
lid not reach

THE MOLE,

(1,1V l>e

.no tr

a iiiv

But who will ad
child

ret St. Joliii Nepomiiccne, you .sliall
it porforrnor, comporfcr, and

181

one

I great man.

vane

'0 you in tiie world, poor unknow
who will rescue you from the oh.scurity in'wl

your are plunged l.y my povi>rty ? wl

!ll'-ll

VuU

" I shall,
'i'tho stran:

lo will prute 1

xclaiinci a voice from without. Tt was th i(

10 V.

Woll

ang, on beholding jjini, ran up (■

lira and took hold ol Im hand

'0 ! " he exclaimed, " there is the friend of the great

Nej'omucene.
Hardly, however, had the father set his

stranger, than rising with an .
ho bowed })rofoundly, as ho
Emperor of Austria."
Ecquirc (he pupil to recite this h

eyes upon the
■speet of profound respect,
said, " Plis Majesty tl '

unite a short composition
the intercession of Saints.

rsson in his own ivords. Let h

on the effects of praxjcr and confide

cnce in

n^ur'ish-ment,
ac'cT-dents,
par-tT'tion,
stlb-ter-ra'ne-t^ias.

The molo, without

Lesson LIX.
THE MOLE.

■cttl'ti--'a-ted,
fe-edn'di-ty,
apart'ment,
hab-it-a'tion,

5s'€u-lent,
de-S€rip'Lion,
ex-€ur'sion,
bdr'row.

, ,, ''^"'S I'l'"^^, lias such small eyes

and they are so concealed, that it can make little use of the
sense of sight. In recompense, however, it enjoys the
■senses of hearing and feeling in an eminent degree It,

K' ;■' 'J

INTEP.MEDIATE HEADER.

j. n ,s «„lt ,us .„lk ; :„„1 it. mtl, ,«,,,, „,,;,,, ,„.„ f^^.^j^,^^^,
«.tl. fine .•law., aic vc.y .liir„,v„t f,„m II„:«o of other
nn.mub, an.l rosomblo tho l.an.U of a l,„m,,n bei,,.,
Pro|K,rt,„„c.l to tho sizo of it, f,o.ly, i,« .trench i, g.-e,,;':
It IS loriil of rciMso and soh'tude.

T!.o „H,'o „hut.s uf, the entry to it. ,,fvat, whieh it
-1.I-. de...vt., „nle.« foree,! to it ,,y ,,„,,; ,,„;

:""; '; ': '^ "-" "f •■""i™""l fc-nn,ls, and ,.s neve,.

to 1« lonnd n, those whi.-h arc either mnd.ly hard
compaet, or stony, ft re,,nires a sol't .soil, well supplied'
with esculent roots, and with insects and worms, of which
nidecd, Its prnicipal nourisliment consists.

, '^^l'^'*'-' ■!» very scldo.n <.omo .ahovo ^-onnd, thev

hae hut few e„en„es; and very readily evade the pursuit
ol stron;,er and swill.r anin.al.s. The chief cal,t„,ity which

.cfalfs ,h,.nn.s a Hood; and when Ihis happen.., tL ar
«cen ,n n.unhers attempting to .save them.selves by s.vini '
mins. and using every effort to reach the higher .founds
Tho greatest part, however, perish, .as well .aMhei? " V
wh.ch re,„an, „, the burrow.,. Were it „at for su,:h
«e.dent», from thcir fecundity, they would become

xtremely troublesome. They generali; have four or L

i lis Z '■ "' , ■\" T'^ '" '•'■■^''"St.idi among other mole-
Wls that rn winch the fem,alehas brought forth heryoun.
These arc made which much greater art, and .,re u'sua ly
arger ami more elevated than tho rest. It is probable
% produce oftoner than once a year, as newborn ^

A^g.[°t '"'" '™""' "' ^^I'"' ^ "'» """'"' of

The hole iu whicli lhcv;,roduce their yount' is formed
wtth smguJa.- ,Ml ana deserves a particular aoscnptton.

THE MOLE.

183

li iir(3 furnished

tlio.se of other

human boin;'-.

-n-th is great ;

roat, wliieh it
oavy I'ain.s in

iind i.s never
nniddy, hard,

well supplied
i-ms, of which,

ground, they
de the pursuit
;ilaniity which
OILS, thoy are
ves by swini-
dior grounds.
3 their young,
tio.t for such
:)uld bccouKj
four or five
5 other mole-
h her young.
! are usually

is ])robable
^-born moles
month of

cr is formed
acscripiiou.

Tl.o female begins by raising tl,o oarti, into a tolerably
yaowm apartment, which is su,>ported within by parti-
tjons, which prevent the roof from failing, AH around this
.she works and beats the earth very firn^ so as to make

apab e ol koopmg out the rain, however violent. As he
I'lllock, n, which the apartment is thus formed, is raised
•1 »vo ground, the apartment itself is above tlic level of

I." r-! un, and therefore less subject to accidental sli<,ht
■""-1 'li".- The place being thus fitted, she procuri

. '" ' ' ii'i''i'MiTO"riii|iiii|iiW)I|ll!li|r"

tins lull of her own raising are holes running into the
earth, winch go oft' from the middle apartment: like rays
horn a center, and extend about fifteen feet in every

animal makes her subterraneous excursions, and supplies
lior young with such roots or insects as she can provide-

184

il: !

INTBMEDIATE READER.

but hey oontnbuto still more to the general safety, for
as the mole ,.s very quick of hearing, the iiistant sho
perce.ve3 her little habitation attaoked^'she takis to h':
burrow and unless the earth be dug away by several

retreat "'"' '"^ ^'"^ ^""^^ '^'''^' "^'^^^^ ' 6-^

The mole lia,s been supposed to sleep the whole winter •
but as a proof that this animal never quits its hole in
wmter as well as in summer, wo have only to view the
traces it leaves upon the snow. They are fond of warm
places; and gardeners often catch them round their beds
in the months of December, January, and February.

t Count Gcoryes Zouis Buffon.

skin'^sf "V^wu* '^T" ^"°^' "^ '^'^ "^"'^^ What is said of if.
k,n Strength ? Where does the mole usually stay ? What soH doo.

alan tt'^Do ,r n ' '' TT^' ^'^^ ^^^^ ^« ^^eir chief
calam,t>? Do they all escape? Can you describe the work of tho

ncnt. Does the mole sleep all winter? What proofs have you that
the mole leaves her burrow? Where do they delight to remain? Did
you ever see a mole ? What do you know of it ? What do you know
Of jjuiion. "^

acquire the prrpil to define the rvords at the head of the lesson
ctndtou-nte this lesson in his own words, adding thereto some
vmdents he may have heard concerning the mole

Virtue! virtue! as thy joys excel,
So are thy woes transcendent; the gross world
Knows not the bliss or misery of either.— T^owspn.
let ike pupil commit (his verse to memovj/

GIVE ME THY HEART.

Lesson LX.
GIVE ME THY HEART.

1. With echoing steps the worshippers

Departed one by one ;
Thc'organ's pcaHng voice was stilled,

The vesper liymn was done ;
Tiie shadows fell from roof and arch,

Dim was the incensed air, i .

One lamp alone with trembling ray, '

Told of the presence there ! i

2. In the dark church she knelt above ;

Her tears were falling fast ;
'• Help, Lord," she cried, " the shades of death

Upon my soul are cast!
Have I not shunned the path of sin,

And chosen the better part? "'
What voice came through the sacred air?—

" My child, give me thy heart ? "

3. " Have I not laid before Thy shrine

My wealth, oh Lord ?" she cried ;
" Have I kept aught of gems or gold, '

To minister to pride ?
Have I not bade youth's joys retire,

And vain delights depart ? "~J >
But sad and tender was the voice

" My child, give me thy Heart ! "

185

4. " Have I not, Lord, gone day by d;.
Where Thy poor children dwell

186

INTEnMEDIATE READER.

And carried liclp, and gold, an<l food !

Oh Lord, Thou knowest it well !
From many a houso, from many a soul,
. My hand bids care depart; " —

llovo sad, more tender, was the voice

'• J/y child, give me thy Heart ! "

5. " For I have loved thee with a love

No mortal heart can show ;
A love so deep, my Saints in heaven

Its depths can never know :
When pierced and wounded on the Cros?,

Man's sin and doom were Mine,
I loved thee with undying love,

Immortal and divine !

6. I loved thee ere the skies were spread ;
My soul bears all thy pains ;
To gain thy love My Sacred Heart

In earthly shrines remains ;
Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs,

Without one gift divine.
Give it, my child, thy heart to Me,
And it shall rest in Mine ! "

7. In awe she listened, and the shade
Passed from her soul away ;

In low and trembling voice she cried -

" Lord, keep me to obey !
Break Thou the chains of earth, oh Lord,

That bind and hold my heart ;
Let it be Thine, and Thine alone,
Let Hone with Thee have part,

jhs,

Giv- ME TUY HEART.

8. " Soiul down, oh Lor.], Thy sacred fire !
Consume and cleanse the sin
Tliat Hngers still within its depths:

Let heavenly love bcWn,
That sacred flame Thy saints' have known,

Kindle, oh Lord, in me.
Thou above all the rest for ever
And all the rest in Thee."

0. The blessing fell upon her soul;
Her angel by her side
Knew that the hour of peace was come ;

Her soul was purified :
The shadows fell from roof and arch,

Dim was the incensed air— ' >

But peace went with her as she left ^

The sacred Presence there I

Adelaide Ann Procter.
Questions.— \\ho,i time of day does tho fir^f cjf. 7 ■,
Co„M you give „e that dccriptii ? ^^X^t^^ / :; ^J
r.i)? Of what presence does she mcak? What ,v« tl,. ,"""«
-<l"i.Fr.loing in the dark church .^anyere'.e" rf",T
Kaye.-? To what helter part does she refer? ,,„a !S^:t^^
Whatdulslio renounce? What more did (he voice chimTw? i
-As of ,„orcy did she perform? Did that voice , dc ,"e „!'\
« liiit were her works of penance' What favor ,1^ i .

<>;;t-a^ And yo, .hat^did the '^^^''^^:^';^
l^-^nn l.at heart ? What wa^ the greatness of that lo ve 9 Whaf. ;
;- He g,vo of that h,vc? And in return for thi gr t t ;. lo^f
i.atdoeslle ask? How do these words agree tvilh t e n S '

AMgustnie; "Our heart shall not rest in peace uiir
u( ?" VVl,.>* ,.,..(1 I- ■.■ i't.ico, until It rests in

'■'HI . What was Ihc .hs])osition of the soul on he'irirm n, c i •

187

prayer heard? Give the words that

cou-

•< ;

188

INTERMEDIATE READER.

finnit. In what other Hla„za.io(l„s,MVMnIs nrruv? Thn d i

^herocon,ponsoVWh.Uh..,nl....,h..l,. n?,:, t- '

a^othopnno,pall...onH^H,.M^.nv..,|ln.n,llw.l,,..„,,,„ .. '

«1" y.m know of the author? nninn j,,,, „, \\

'■\V«

.1 ■
h (

7?,

an(.

Lesson LXI.
THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE.

€6n-96i^v^cl'.

suf-fjc^cl,

o-bey',

1. " You have como to your iveullccii,,,,. to,, l,|o „„
envHo „U „,»„!- crici Mi.Uleto,,. " The 1 ,i 4 :
w.tlm, a quarto,- of a milo of u«, an,l ,,,,„ w ,, IZiZ
them dowu u, tl,i.s .lircctiou with ,hoa,lful mpiaity' ° '^

know Low to creumvcut tho cuuning ofthoToutonr
I know how to cheat the fire of it, proy, tl.oro ou h' i

vo you call this a fire? If you had seen whtt I hn,! .vif

rtrrr ""':; ^''^"'^''^ -ntii ™;:i;;:

™°tofe th fl" ■^°'; "°"''' '""■" '^"0^">whati,
ZZr "" ''■'"^"' -"°'« "-'kful that you arc

*HE PRAIRIE ON FIRE.

180

... Como l.uls come ! ,t in time to l,e doing „ovv, ...n.l
to misc talking, for yonder curling flame is truly coniin..
0,. ike a trotting moose. Put hands upon this short and
withered grass whore we stand, and lay bare the earth "
. , . ^).??.^' >^*^^ ^^""'^ t« ^^^'Prive the fiKe o; its victims
111 this (-hildish manner ? " exclaimed Middlelon A faint
la.t solemn smile passed over the features of the old man
as he answered: " Your grandfather would have said that
when the enemy was nigh, a sohlier could do no better
than to obey."

5 The captain felt the reproof, and instantly began to
nmtate the industry of Paul, who was tearing the decayed
herbage from the ground in a sort of desperate compli-
ance with the trapper's direction. Even Ellen lent her
liands to the labor ; nor was it long before Inez was seen
Rinnlarl^ employed, though none among them knew wliy
or wherefore, -^

Ck When life is thought to be the reward of labor, men
arc wont to be industrious. A very few moments sufficed
to lay bare a spot of some twenty feet in diameter. Into
one edge of this little area the trapper brought the females,
chrocting Middleton and Paul to cover their light and
inflammable dresses with the blankets of the party!

7. So soon as this precaution was observed, the old man
api.roached the opposite margin of the grass, which still
.■nvironed them in a tall and dangerous circle, and, select^
iiig a handful of the driest of the herbage, he placed it over
the pan of his rifle. The light combustible kindled.at the
llasli. Then he placed the little flame into a bed of the
standing grass, and, withdrawing from the spot to the
center^fjhe ring, patiently awaited the result.

f'i

mSieaiaiiaasstii

190

iJ^TERMEDIATE RADJlER.

mil

8. Tlic subtle element seized with avidity upon its \io::
fuel, and in a moment forked flames were gliding amon.;-
the grass, as the'tongues of ruminating animals are seen
rolling among their food, apparently in quest of its sweet-
est portions. " Now," said the old man, holdini^ up a
finger, and laughing in his peculiarly silent manner, *' you
shall see fire fight fire ! Ah me ! many a time I have
burned a smooth path from wantori laziness to |.ick my
way across a tangled plairi."

9. '• But is this not fatal ? " cried the amazed Middleton ;
"are you not bringing the enemy nigher to us, instead of
avoiding it ? " — " Do you scorch so easily ? Your grand-
father had a tougher skin. But we shall live to see; we
shall all live to see." The experience of the trapper was
in the right.

10. " As the fire gained strength and heat, it began to
spread on three sides, dying of itself on the fourth foi'
want of aliment. As it increased, and the sullen roaring
amiounced its power, it cleared everything before it, leaving
the blac^k and smoking soil far more naked than if tlie
scyther had swejit the place.

11. The situation of the fugitives wouhl have still been
ha.'^ardous had the area enlarged as the flame encircled
them. But by advancing to the spot where the trai)per
had kindled the grass, they avoided the heat, and in a
very few moments the flames began to recede in every
quarter, leaving them enveloped in a cloud of smoke, but
perfectly safe from the torrent of fire that was still
furiously rolling onward.

12. The spectators regarded the simple expedient of
the trapper with that species of wonder with which the

tnu riiAiRiE on fire.

191

*;. ; :

courtiers of Ferdinand are said to liavc viewed the manner
in which Columbus made his egg stand on its end;
though with feelings that were filled with gratitude
instead of envy.

13. " Most wonderful ! " said Middleton, when he saw
the complete success of the means by which they had been
rescued from a danger that he had conceived to be
unavoidable. " The thought was a gif^ from Heaven,
and the hand that executed it should be niimortal."

14. " Old trapper," cried Paul, thrusting his fingers
through his shaggy locks, " I have lined many a loaded
bee into its hole, and know something of the nature of the
woods ; but this is robbing a hornet of his sting without
touching the insect ! "

15. " It will do— it will do ! " returned the old man,
who after the first moment of his success seemed to think
no more of the exploit. " Let the flames do their work
for a short half-hour, and then we will mount. That time
is needed to cool the meadow, for these unshod beasts are
■Ts tender on the hoof as a barefooted girl."

IG. The veteran, on whose experience they all so
implicitly relied for protection, employed himself in
reconnoitering objects in the distance, through the open-
ings which the air occasionally made in the immense
bodies of smoke, that by this time lay in enormous piles
on every part of the plain.

James Fenimore Cooper.

OwfS(!tons.— What is our lesson to-day? Define a prairie. What
floog Middleton say to the old men? What is the indifTorcnt reply?

:i-^ !

192

iNTERMEDiATE READiJRi

Why was he so indifferent ? What was the other remark of Middleton
w^u'n the old raan requested his aid? How did he repoof him^
What effect had ,t on the captain ? When are we apt to labo^ b-^.t^
Desonbe the action of the old trapper when all the precautions Whp
taken. What was the result? What wordsdidtheoldmansay ? What
have you to observe of the progress of the fire ? Describe the situa-
tion of the fugitives. What did the spectators do, While the fire was
m progress? What were their words of gratitude? Who was Ferdi-
nand ? Columbus ? - .

Require the pupil to write a Utile composition about the I^rairi.
addmcj thereto some lUUe adventures he may have read or heard
Let him recUe to-day's lesson in his own language

Lesson LXII.

THE MAN WITH AN Ai: TO GRIND.

When I was a little boy, I remember, one cold winter's
morning, I was accosted by a smiling man with an ax on
his shoulder. - My pretty boy," said he, " has your
lather a grindstone ? "

" Yes, sir," said I.

" You are a fine little fellow I " said he. " Will you
let me grind my ax on it ? "

^^ PJeased with the compliment of " fine little fellow,"
Oh, y,.3, sir," I answered. " It is down in the shop.'"

"And will you, my man," said ^e, paMlng me on tlie
iiead, " get me a little hot water ? "

How could I refuse? I ran, and soon brought a
Kettletul.

" How old are you?—and what's your name?" con^
tinuedjie, without waiting for a reply. " I'm sure you

*fHE MAN WITH AN AX TO GRIND.

193

are one of the finest lads that I have ever seen. Will you
just turn a few minutes for me ? "

Tickled with the flattery, like a little fool, I went to
work, and bitterly did I rue the day. It was a new ax,
and I toiled and tugged till I was almost tired to death.
Tlie school-bell rang, and I could not get away. My hands
were blistered, and the ax was not half ground.

At length, however, it was sharpened, and the man
turned to me with, " Now, you little rascal, you've played
truant ! Scud to the school, or you'll rue it ! "

" Alas ! " thought I, " it was hard enough to turn a
grmdstone this cold day, but now to be called a little
rascal is too much."

It sank deep into my mind, and often have I thought
of it since. When I see a merchant over-polite to his
customers, begging them to take a little brandy, and
throwing his goods on the counter, think I, " That man
has an ax to grind."

When I see a man flattering the people, making gre:.t
professions of attachment to liberty, who is in private 'Hie
a tyrant, methinks, "Look out, good people! That
fellow would set you turning grindstones ! "

When I see a man hoisted into office by party spirit,
without a single qualification to render him either re-
spectable or useful, " Alas " methinks, " deluded people,
you are doomed for a season to turn the grindstone for a
booby."

Benjamin Franklin.

Questtom.—VJhHi does the author remember one fine school-day ?
What is a grindstone? Did he grant the request? Why did he turn

.... u

imhm

;:■ i

L'siitHif.

iMW

i-'«aM,Ji,M»>»^^.

i94

INTERMnDIATU RIlADfiti.

tho stone ? What is a compliment ? Are compliments to be fully
accepted? Why did ho pat him on the head? What the man answer
when told it was school-time ? After having finished the grinding of thr>
ax, what did he tell him? How was that compliment received. Did
lie'remember it? When he saw merchants being liberal, what did ho
conclude? When he heard others flattered, what did bethink? What
is the real lesson to be derived? Has the school-boy an ax to
grind ?

Reqidre the 2)tip^^ ^« '^^''''^^ " ^^'■^''^ composition on the meaning oj
the phrase " An ax to grind," according to Benjamin Franklin's
interpretation. Ask him to recite the lesson in his own words.

Lesson LXIII.
DONT— n.

Do7it neglect personal cleanliness, wliicli is more
neo'lcctetl than careless observers suppose.

Don't -voar soiled linen. Be very particular on tins
point

Don't be untidy in any tbing. Neatness is one of the
niostj important of the^ minor morals.

Don't neglect the details;of the toilet. Many persons,
neat in other particulars, carry blackened finger-nails.
This is disgusting.

Don't cleanse your ears, or your nose, or trim and clean
your finger-nails, in public. Cleanliness and neatness in
all things pertaining to the person are indispensable, but
the proper place is always one's own apartment only.

.Don't go with your boots or shoes unpolished.

DONT.

195

Unf wear trinkets, shirt-pins, finger rings, or any
thing that ]s solely ornamontal. ^

fi -^r'' Y'^^'"^ ' '^'"^"'^^"^ ^''^'- W'^"^ ^^^-^-^^tlv an<l
tiimly, r.ct stiffly; walk with ease, but still with <lignity.

Dont bend oat the knees, nor ^va!k intoed, nor^chvu^
your lee^t along; walk in a large, easy, simple n.annoi-
without afloctation but not neglige.itly. I

l)ont carry yqur han^ls in your jioekets.

Boji't thrust your thumbs into the arm-holes of your
waist coat. -^

Don't chow or use your toothpick in public, or else-
wiiero. Lont use a toothpick, except for a moment, to
remove some obstacle.

Don't expectorate. Men in good health do not need to
expectorate ; with them continual expectoration is simply
the result of habit. Spitting upon the floor anywhere is
inexcusable. One should' not even .pit upon the side-
walk, but go tc the gutter for the purpose. One most
not spit into the fire-place nor upon the carpet, and hence
the rule is for him to spit into his handkerchief, holdin-
It close to his mouth and performing the act as little
oltensively as possible. •

Don't whistle in the street, in public vehicles, at public
assemblies, it way annoy. Don't ichistk at all

Don't laugh boisterously. Laugh heartily when the
occasion calls for it, but lond bursts are not necessary to
heartiness.

DonH have the habit of smiling or " grinning " at
nothing. Smile or laugh when there is occasion to do

■p|i

iff:

INTERMEDIATE READER.

either, but at other times keep your mouth shut and j6ur
manner composed.

Don't gape, or hiccough, or sneeze in company. WJleii
tliere is an inclination to hiccough or sneeze, hold your
breath for a moment and resist the desire, and you m\\
find that it will pass off.

Do7it keep carrying your hands to your face, adjusting
your hair, or otherwise fingering yourself. Keep your
hands quiet and under control.

I)o7it bolt, without notice, into any one's room.

Lorit wear your hat in a strictly private oflace. Tlii,-;
is no more justifiable than wearing a hat in a parlor.

Dont pick up letters, accounts, or any thing of a private
character that is lying on another's desk. Don't loolv
over a person's shoulder when he is reading or writing.

Dont drum with your fingers on a chair, table, or
window-pane. Do7it hum a tune.

Don't be servile toward superiors, or overbearing
toward inferiors. Maintain your dignity and respect in
one case, and exhibit a regard for the feelings of people,
whatever their station may be, in the other.

Require the pupil to write a short letter, containing the pi-incipcd
2mnts of the lesson. Let him write a set oj quections and a7is?t>e)v.

Virtue, dear friend, needs no defense •

The surest guard is innocence :

Quivers and bows and poison 'd darts

Are only used by guiltv hearts. — JRoscommon.

>-- ^ -" THE STAG. 197

Lesson LXIV
THE STAG.

flSx'i-blJs^, adj., pliable ; attractable ; capable of being bent.
nerv'fc^ti^, adj., relating to the nerves; having weak or diseased

nerves ; strong.
€op'pIce, 71.. a wood of small groivth,
9€Urf, «., a dry scab or mealg crust.
rvi'mi-nat^, v. i., to chew the cud; to muse.
ai\t' ler, n.,a branch of a stag's horn.

1. The stag is one of those gentle peaceful animals
which seem as if they were created solely to adorn and
animate the solitude of the forests, and to occupy, remote
from man, the peaceful retreats of nature. His light
and elegant form; his flexible, yet nervous limbs; his
head rather adorned than armed with a living substance,
which is every year removed ; his size, his swiftness, his
strong' !x, distinguish him from the rest of the inhabitants
of the forest.

2. The old stags shed their horns about the end of
February or the beginning of March. Stags in their
seventh year do not undergo this change till the middle
or the end of March ; nor do those in their sixth year
till the month of April.

3. After they have shed their horns, they separate
from each other, the very young ones alone associating
together. They remain in covert, 1 ut seek the groves and
the open coppices, where they remain all summer, till
they recover the antlers which were wont to adorn their
brows; and during this season they carry their heads
low, for fear of striking them against the branches, aa
they are exceedingly tender till they arrive at perfection,

1 i-

•' , Ji :h

*l^

108

INTERMEDIATE READER.

Tlu' bi'ow.sof tlu) oldest ,sta^:,^s arc scarcely half repaired ],y
the month of Uny ; iior do thoy attain their full length
and hardness till ahout the end of July. The brows°of
the young stag are shed very late, and recovered very
late ; but when these are completely grown, and aro
become quite hard, they rul) th.-m against the trees, in
order to clear them from the scurf with which thoy arc
covered.

4. The female is called a hind. The young is called n
fawn till it is six months old ; then the knobs begin to
appear, and it takes the name, knobbler, which it "bears
till these knobs aro lengthened to so many points, whence
they are termed brackets. Though it grows fast, it
follows its mother all summer. In winter, the hinds and
the young stags resort to the herd, forming troops, which
arc more numerous as the season is more severe.

5. The beauty of the brows, as indeed of every part,
depends much upon the food ; for a stag which lives in a
plentiful country, whero he feeds at his ease, and is not
disturbed, and after having eaten without interruption,
may lie down and ruminate in quiet, has always a beautiful
head, high, open, palmated, and well adorned at top,
broad and curled at bottom, with a great number of long
and strong antlers. Whereas in a country where he has
neither sufficiant food nor repose, his head will be, in
these re;pects, the reverse, in so much that it is no
difficult matter to distinguish by the horns of a stag
whether he inhabits a plentiful an.d quiet country, and
whether he has been well nourished.

6. The stag passes his whole life in plenitude and want,
liealth and sickness, without having his constitution m^ch

'•*«>}

THE STAa.

190

alfropiiired l»y
iir full loni'tli
The brows of
ccovcred very
own, and aro
' tho trees, in
bich tlioy arc

ng is called ;i
lobs begin to
liicli it bears
oints, whence
jrows fast, it
lie hinds and
troops, whieli
^ere.

every part,
ch lives in a
), and is not
interruption,
7s a beautiful
rned at top,
nber of long
vhere lie has

will be, in
bat it is no
IS of a stag
ountry, and

le and want,
bution mi^ch

afTectcd by the violence of the change; nor is the duration
of his life inferior to that of other animals, which are not
sui)ject to such changes. He livos thirty-five or forty
years. "^

6. Tho horns of the stag continue to increase in bulk
and height from the second year to the eighth; they
remain beautiful, and much the same, during the vigor of
life; but as their body declines with age, so do their horns
also.

7. The most common color of the stag is yellow, thou<di
there are many of a brown and many of a red color.
White stags are much more uncommon, and seem to be
domesticated. The color of the horns, like that of the
hair, seems in particular to depend on the nature and
age of the animal. The horns of the young stacks are"
whiter than those of ola ones. Of those stags also whose
hair IS of a light yellow, the liorns are often of a sallow
hue.

8. This animal has good eyes, and exquisite senses
of smelling and hearing. When listening, he raises his
head, points his ears, and then he hears from a great
distance. In general, he fears men much less than he
does dogs. He eats slowly, chooses his food, and seeks
afterwards to repose and ruminate at leisure, though the
act of rumination he does not seem to perform with the
same ea.se as the ox. He seldom drinks in winter, and
still less seldom in spring.

Count George Louis Buffon.

Quesiiom.-mx^ii, the subject of our lesson? What is the stag?
Can yoiulescribQ the stag? When are the horns shed? After they

^^^

1 1

200

INTERMEDIATE READER.

elslr^n. i"'"^ "^'* '^' *^^ '^"^e-^ '^« ' <'- >-" ♦^n •"« any thin,

e^e concernmg thcr horns? What ks the fonuUo called? The yo "'>

What do you know . the fawn? Upon what docs the lean y'f

horns depend? Can you give me some particulars? What do yo

know concermng the life of the stag ? What have you to say abo

the color of the stag/ What .3 said of the senses'of this nim >

What are the habits of the animal ?

Jieqmre the pupil to m-Ue a letter to a/riend, telling hint what h.
kr^^aBouCthe sta,, adding thereto so>ne little incLnts letal
have hear^or read. Let hiM recite the lesson in /us own languarj,

= l'i

Lesson LXV.
OUR LADY OF THE SAORBD HEART.

1 Lilly, budding from the root of Kings !
Close well thy silver wings
Upon their loyal stem,
And keep with lealous care thy ruby Gem.

2. Choicest of Vines ' thy J'ruit of purple hue

From thee Its life-blood drew ;
Thy branches nearer give,
That we that ruddy Wine may taste and live!

3. Lady and Mother of the Sacred Heart !

Wilt thou Its love inpart,
As on the thornless Kose
In Sharon's vale the blushing hand inclose ?

4- Kings once from Saba came thy Son to greet,
And kneeling at thy feet
Adoring homage paid
To Jesus on His Mother's bosom laid,

OUR LADY OF THE SACRED HEART.

201

6. Then to thy Heart His Heart all trembling hold ;
He will to thee unfold
His love's deep mystery,
And we will come and "learn it all from thee !

6. Saered Heart! Cleft Koek whence waters flow
io the parched world below,
Shelter when sin alarms '

We seek Thee ever in Thy Mother's arms !

7. When on the Cross the cruel spear pierced deep

-tier station she would keep, '

And in those arms displayed
To a cold world the Wound that love hath made I

8. Oh, ever be it thus ! On Mary's breast
Enthorned we see Thee best!
Still be they stretched to save
Taose blessed hands that first our Tr.a.uro gave!

Au<^us(a T. Drayie.

Who .re the K^rreferS „ in th' f irV''" ""'■<'='«-?
ihov «ffi.r9 Airi . '^^'^^e^ to m the fourth stanza? Whaf fli.l

Jie^mre tJic pupU to express ihe^rhicipal ideas in^jrose,

^ili^

2<^2 lNTnMEI>TATE RKADEK.

Lesson LXVI.
LITTLE MOZART AT THE COURT ( )P AUSTRIA.

Some days after the feast, little Mozart \s mother wa^
shedding tears, wliile she prepared for the departure ' >l
her husband and son.

" We are going to the Court of pjinpress Maria
Theresa , that queen so great, so wise, and virtuous ; we
are going there at the invitation of her august Imshauil,
Francis I. .^i/,hiiSi^:^j^'iij i , ;

" At six years of age to begin a hfo of labor," said tliu
mother, stifling her sighs, ^^^^<-^..v:.. _■

• " But I shall work for you, dearest mamma, and that will
be a life of pleasure," replied Wolfgang, throwing himself
on his mother's neck. ?-• vf- .

An hour later, the father and son were on their way to
Vienna. On their arrival, they were informed that i\w
Emperor would receive them the following day. In tho
Mean time, orders were given for the arrangement of a
concert, to which all the lords and ladies of the court
were invited, to hear the wonderful child.

The next day the elder Mozart went out ' ' . ' ''. <. ■,
friends, and on his return he found his son capering about
the chamber.

■ ^ liave said my prayers and practised," exclaimed
the b ., ' • nd -jow I am resting myself."

" ir\ i ' tiv sort of 1-^ st," replied the father laughing.

" Every one papa," answered the boy, '' foUo^ys \\\a
p>vii fashion," , „ . - . •

)F AUSTRIA.

ibor," said tin

a, and that will

ed," oxclaimcd

LITTLE .Mr>;^AnT AT THE COURT OF Al-STRIA. 203

Wlu>n tlu.. evening camo, Wolfgang wa.s conducted hy
ins latlic.' tr> the imperial palaco. Tlio organist wa.s
dressed in hlark. Hi.s son wore a court costume; a littlo
coat ol hluc clotli, with a waist-coat of the samo color
rose-color breeches, white stockings, an<l shoes with
huelilcs.

A master of ceremonies introduced them to the concert
room, where no one ha.l yet appeared. The first thing "
Wolfgang observed was a beautiful piano, l^eforo which
hi' quickly seated himself. Plis flither.went out into a
I'ulcony which overlooked the magnificent gardens of the
palace. Wolfgang, alone in the vast saloon, lighted as
I'Tui-oyal feast, was seated before the piano, his little
linger plying with wonderful rapidity over the keys, when
ho heard the voice of a little child near him say,— '

"Oh, how well you play! Are you the little Mozart
that they have all been talking about?"

Wolfgang turned his head, and saw beside him a littlo
girl of about seven years old, very richly dressed.

" How beautiful you are ! " was the reply of the Bohe-
'nian boy.

" Oh, never mind that!" said the little girl. " But
tell me, are you Wolfgang Mozart? "

" I am Wolfgang Mozart."

" And who taught you to play so well on the piano?"

" My father."

" And is it not tiresoniu to learn Y .ire you not obUged
to practise a great deal ? "

t^i^sia^isamsmatitim

204

INTERMEDIATE READER.

'' Yes, sometimes that fatigues me, then I say a prayer,
and ask for the help of the great St. John Nepomucene,
that I may have tho courago and good-will, and he
always obtains it for me."

" And who is the great St, John Nepomucene?

" The saint of Bohemia."

*' Why is he called saint of Bohemia ?

*' Because there is a statue of him on the bridge over
the Moldam at Prague ? "

*' That is no reason ! " said the little girl rather
impatiently.

" I know his history, and can tell you all about him,"
said Wolgang,

" Oh, tell me ! " said the little girl, " I shall like to
hear it ! "

" Listen, then ; " — and the little Mozart proceeded to
relate what he knew of the life and martyrdom of the
Bohemian saint.

As Wolgang was finishing his story, he heard a great
rustling of silken robes, the sound of satin slippers, and
the waving of feathers and flowers ; and looking around
him, he saw with astonishment that the saloon, which wa.s
empty a few minutes before, was now filled with ladies
and gentleman.

He rose, blushing, and confused,

*' Do you not remember mo ? " said a gentleman
approaching him.

'^ You are the king ! " ansvvered Wolfgang, as he
looked at him, ■-,

ttTTLE MOZART AT THE COURT OF AUSTRIA. 205

" And this is the queen, Maria Theresa," said Francis,
leading little Mozart toward a lady, about forty-five
years of age, and in all the lustre of her beauty ; who
received the child with the most unbounded kindness.

Little Mozart was seated at the piano, and, then,
smiling at those who surrounded him, and particularly at
the little girl, who still kept near him, he began to play.
His execution was so perfect, his little fingers passed with
such facility from a quick and difficult movement to a
measure slow and melodiously accentuated, that the
illustrious audience uttered a cry of admiration at the
wonderful and precocious talent which he displayed.

" Wolfgang is so well practised on his piano, that he
can play with his eyes shut ! " said the father.

" Cover the piano, and you shall see ! " answcretl
Wolfgang as he then played with great accuracy
under a cloth which concealed the keys. When he stopped,
worn out and fatigued, his poor little forehead covered
with perspiration, the Empress made him a sign to
approach her.

Wolfgang got down from his chair to go to the Empres;-, ;
but either from the confusion he felt amidst that brilliant
assemblage, or through not being accustomed to walk
upon a waxed floor, his foot slipped, and he fell.

He was picked up and assisted by the little friend who
was so great an admirer of his wonderful talent. This
little friend, this little girl, was the Archduchess of
Austria, the good and beautiful, though unfortunate
Marie Antoinette Queen of France.

Charmed by his precocious genius, the Empress

206

INTERAiEDIATE HEADfiii.

Maria Theresa condescended to let him associate a^i a
play-fellow with the Archduchess of Austria, who was i
year older than the little Mozart.

Wolfgang was not quite eight years of age when he
appeared in 1767, at the Court of Versailles. He played
the organ in the King's chapel, and was considered to
equal the greatest masters. At this epoch he composed
two sonatas, one of which he dedicate.! to Madame
^ictoire, the King's daughter, and the other to the
Countess de Tase.

Qu^sdons.~Who was tlie little girl spoken of in the lesson >
What do you know concerning her ? Why add the words, " thoiwh
unfortunate Mario Antoinette? » Of what country was she queen '^
Who put her to death ? At what age did Mozart go to the Court of
J^ ranee? Where Avas that court ? Where is Versailles? What does
history say of it? Where is Bohemia? What was the capital of
Eohemia? Who was its Patron saint? Why was there a statu-
erected to him on the bridge over the Moldam? What did you
notice m the conduct of Mozart? In the Archduchess of AustnV'
1.1 the Empress of Austria? In that of the Emperor, Francis 1 '
IM Mozart show any signs of pride at his wonderful gift? Wint
does this teach us? Why should we be humble when blessed in su
marked a manner?

Jiequrrc the pujyU lo combine in a compodtion the foxi,r imrtl of L
history of Mozart, carefully noting his distincjuishina character and
virtues.

Lesson LXVII.

COMPOUND LEAVES.

_ Teacher. In the second botany lesson, we spoke c.f
simple leaves, and their divisions. To-day our lesson
«hall be compound leaves. These, as already stated do

COMPOUND LEAVES.

1 associate af. a
itria, who was a

)f age when ho
les. He played
Ls considered to
h he composoil
!<! to Madame
! other to the

f in the lesson?
e words, " though
' was she queen ?
go to the Court of
lies? What does
as the capital of
IS there a statu*;
What did yoii
hess of Austria?
pei'or, Francis 1 '
fful gift ? What
hen blessed in so

»
' four imrts of the
■g character and

wo spolvo of
y our lesson
dy stated, do

"ot .^iffer m a«y absolute way from the divided form of
.mplo leaves. A compcud loaf i. one which h e i

wUh\":t 11 ?■ rr ^""-'^ -?--*« P-t^. each usualt
with a stalklet of it., own ; and the stalklet is often joined

tern '''?^r"\v '^"\*' ^■•'■^' "^ ">'•' '■' J°'""-'l -i 1 t e
tem. When th,., ,., the case, there is no doubt that the

ea IS compound. But when the pieces have no stalkle

..(1 are not jointed with the main leaf-stalk. the leaf „.,;

^consider^d either as simple and divided/or eompo,:

.iccordnig to circumstances.

are^«i;!Tl'"tr'"''n ""''"•■"''^^ °f a compound leaf
a. al ed leaflet. - Compound leaves are of two prin-
cipal kinds, nnrnplv t.]i« w„-.^/.. .^-i y , ^

the two modes of veining in reticulated leaves, ITio
tlie two sorts of lobed or divided leaves.

4,^

I'\

^08

INTERMEDIATE READEii.

T. • Now, John, will you please tell the class what you
mean by pinnaie leaves ?^

John. Pinnate leaves are those in which
the leaflets are arranged on the sides of a main leaf-stalk,
as in figure 1. This kind of pinnate leavoa may be seen
in the common Locust and the Ash.

T. You have answered correctly John. "Well, Heiirv
will you kindly inform the class about the palmate
leaves ?

Henry. Palmate leaves are those in which tlie
leaflets are all borne on the very tip of the leaf-stalk, as
in the clover, the Virginia Creeper, and Horse-chestnut ;
as in figure 2, 3 and 4.

T. Henry, you did well. The clover-leaf of three
leaflets is the same as a palmately three-ribbed leaf cut
into three separate leaflets. And such a simple five-
lobed leaf as that of the sugar-maple, if more cut, so as
to separate the parts, would produce a palmate leaf of
five leaflets, like of that of the Horse-chestnut.

Either sort of compound leaf may have any number of
leaflets ; though palmate leaves can not well have a great
many, since they are all crowded together on the end of
the main leaf-stalk. Some have nine or eleven, as Lupines
(a kind of pulse); the Horse-chestnut has seven, tlio
clover three. A pinnate leaf often has only seven or five
leaflets, as in the wild beans; the common bean has only
three ; in some rarer cases only two ; in the Orange and
Lemon only one. The joint at the place where the leaflet
is united with the petiole alone distinguishes this last case
from a simple.

le class what you

AIE.

209

Hequire the pupil to brina vou iffh^ o.^.

-^ ..-f

lies this last case

Lesson LXVIII.
- AIR.

^^'';^^_^'P^^v%n.,the air that surror^nds the earth

ox y-gen, n., a kind of gas tckieh produecs combustion ar,^

-^PPon life. With hydrogen, itf^.ns neater "' """ '".

irogen, n., a gas, having nd taste or ^nell
cnem'ist, n.,onc versed in c/iemistry.

az ote, 71., 7ntrogen gas.

t^^'^^-'!'"'''' ''■' « ^«^'"'"^'- co^tfagration. '.

''l^-P}:^^'tion,n., act of breathing.

^^^^^■QriB,n., green rust of copper. ' ' ;

1. Living as we do in the depths of in imrv,
' air, in which however we seem tenioy TT ''''''
ti-t we carefully and attentively exam L iif Sf
-Kl niovable prison in which we find oSve! ^''

2. Tiie atmospheric air is not a simple ^om- if •
"fixture of two different £^'^SP^ ' Tl... . ^ ^ ' ^ '' ^

oxvc^en and nif m! ^ ^'"^ ' '"^"^ ^'^"^'^ ^^^ called

.^o^'i ana nitrogen or azote.

<^- Li a short time* a rhemi^f pnnl i -i n,
'mottles, the one xvifl. ^^asily.fili two;

^•m-e ,^t ocj Do !*T ''^^'" ''^"^ ^^^^ ^^^^^r with
"itro^^en. Do not, however, think that you would

210

INTEEMEDIATE READER.

Bli! I

. i

see any thing extraordinary; for the two gases, like air,
have neither color, nor smell, nor taste. Hence, there is
apparently nothing by which we can distinguish them.
The chemist, however, can readily show us' the difference
that exists between the two gases. And I shall try to
tell you how he would go about it. The method is called
, testing. Ho would in the first place take one of tlio
bottles or receivers, say that of oxygen; he would put
into it a taper or candle that had been just extinguished,
and it would instantly be re-lighted. Or, he could placo
a lump of coal that had but one spark of fire under tho
receiver, and it would immediately become red, as though
a bellows had been used.

4. Now the very contrary would happen in tlie
nitrogen. Let him take a lighted taper or a burning
coal, and instantly it would be extinguished, as if by
magic. Nor could any thing live in it. Were we to put
a rat under a receiver filled with nitrogen, it would first
run about, in order to- find a means of escape, then
gradually its motion would be less active, until it is so
weakened that it finally dies. But should you take away
the bell of nitrogen before the animal is dead, and introduce
thtt rat under a bell of oxygen, life would by degree?] be
restored. It would regain its full life and energy. Such
are, then the two principal gases that compose the
atmosphere we breathe.

5. Now, let U3 suppose that the air be composed of
pure oxygen only, the consequence would be that our
blood would boil and thus rend to shorten life. But God
has wisely regulated this important element of life. The
air has four times more nitrogen than oxygen, and this

AIR.

211

sma I q„.nt,ty of oxygen i. quite ,,„ffic,e„t to .up„ort
comteto,» and ™.^«™,,<,„; that fa to say, to oa c iT.
substanses to burn and to l.elp animals toteatl.e ^

7 But what relation can there be l,etween a man who
breathes and a log of wood that burns is a questio ,al
naturally present itself? ' '

The relation between them is greater than we at first

im g„,e. Wo must, in the first plaee, tho™ „ ll

ndersUnd what to burn is. Then we shall have li le

Afficulty to understand the relation between re.^ ira „

and combustion. 'i-'Iiiiation

^ow, two bod,es a.-e said to combine when they n.akeC
one; hence we may say that they are inseparlir
feygen combn,es with more substances than any ot e"
gas. No sooner does a body come within its dom ,
han rt .mmediately acts upon it, and. as it were e .'
trates into every part of it so completely, that a ne; bo I
or substance, entirely different in its properties, is formei
9 But oxygen burns bodies in two distinct wavs-
*wly or n>st.antaneo„sly. An instance of slowcon.l.ustfon
.aybeseenwhenapieceofironoreopperisleftexpo

.a hind ^/' ' r' "' *'" ''"' "P™ ""^ ^•"*-« °f ""'
uon a kmd of rust, or upon copper a sort of ver,li,.ri,

N w, this rust and this verdigris are entircW C
ubstences, ami are called oxides, because they ,are t I
combma lon of oxygen with those metals. As an ins a e
instantaneous combustion, let us take eoal in the .to
The nioment the fim iq IM - i i , •
of air T w ^^S^i^^ed aiul subject to a curr.

ot air, the blaze is astonishing. This is due to i

/o.

212

INTERMEDIATE READER.

, i|„ I

oxygen in the air ; and the more oxygen poured into tho
stove the more rapid is the consumption of the coal.

Such is the air we breathe. How wonderful are tho
creations of God! Simple as it may appear, yet it is only
an all-wise Creator who could have given us th-i most
important clement of animal and vegetative life. From
Him have we all; to Him do we owe all; and without
Hmi we could not live. Life is a mystery, because it is
beyond our weak understanding ; but in God all these
mysteries shall be revealed to us. For in Him we live,
move, and have our being.

Quesfions.-What is the subject of this lesson? What is air?
VVhat are the two gases? What is oxygen? Nitrogen-^ Hav^
these gases any color, taste, or smell ? How could you tell the „res-
ence of oxygen? Nitrogen? Which supports life ? How can you
Illustrate it? What have you to observe concerning nitrogen? In
what proportion do the two gases combine to form air ? What have
you to say of this small quantity of oxygen? Explain the relation
existmg between the breathing of a man and the burning of a lo^^
Mention the two kinds of combustion and give examples of eacll
What IS, t to burn? What is an oxide? Who alone could havo
jnade the air? What have you to say of life? Where shall
that mystery be unveiled ?

c/<!Z.7^,S';f !*" '^'^■''V'^"-,^"'--" "- "-^^'ancs rcnen they unite without

Zll 5 '. "■' "' "^ ""^ """ «"i*f«"cc« thus combined ; aa, rust, th.

action o/o^Vacn on .ron; verdiori,, the action of o^y„ea on eoppcr plul r
thecomLn^atton of sufphunc acid ivictriol) roith lime and water! '

J> cetv l/tc combinntion ofnttrogcn with oxygen.

TevZlinZ 'i'^xMon, whieh the other, could not maintain.

tsevetai tnntanccs arc given in the lemon.

vIct!ibk"JLTfil'' '"V'-'^ '"":'/"' '""•^^"'"^' "»d ^^hule carbonic acid gas.
VegctabUa take xn carbomc aad gas, and give out the oxygen . Here, again, is

THE ELK AND THE EEIN-DEEP. 213

fa-cTl'i-tv,

nfe^tir'ish-ing,
c/ad'fly,

Lesson LIX.
THE ELK AND THE REIN-DEER.

fu'ri-is^ds-ly,

SlSdg^,

nfir'r6>iv-ly,

do-mgs'tic,
€oii'sti-tut^.

abont them beiusef t ^I't proper to write

*>.oonewitho„n:eot,l; """'^ ''"^'""^ '° -'» "^

;..ich\ererirrr:,r::s:;^

^eer.3„owtobefou„ao„,,,.t,,e..oXS';o„'tir""

'■^in-deer can t^r t:';f ° '" ^''"^ '^"^ "> ^sia. The
found in Spitzbe'ten , ""°-" ^"'^■'^'™ ^°W- He is

-J Tartar,, .Uh the n;rtof C /Tr:;^^^^^^^^^^^
by the name of orjWT,^; o i xi ^'^ e aiso hnd lnm

America. ""^^ *^'^ northern parts of

4. Co

and

'inpare(
stands more

.arer,

arer.

1 i

If:,

UtTERMEDIATE llEADfifi.

and his antlers wider and heavier; the rein-deer ia
shorter, his legs thicker, and his feet wider ; the hair very
thickly furnished, and his antlers much longer,and divided
into a greater number of branches; both have long
hair under the neck, short tails, and ears much smaller than
the stags. They do not leap or bound, but their pace U
a kind of trot, easy and quick; they can trot in thi;
manner for a day or two. The rein-deer lives upon (lie
mountains; both go in herds, like the stags, and l)ot]i can
be easily tamed, but the roin-docr is become domesti(\
The Laplanders have no other beast. In this icy climate,
wliich only receives the oblique rays of the sun, there i.s
a season of night as well as day, where the r'now cover,-^
the earth from the beginning of autumn to the end o!
spring.

5. The animal is used to draw sledsj-es and otiiri'
carriages ; he travels with great speed, easily going thirty
miles a day, and runs securely upon frozen snow. Tlu'
female affords milk more substantial and more nourishill^'
than that of the cow. The flesh is good food, the coat
makes excellent fur, and the dressed hide becomes a very
supple and durable leather. Thus the rein-deer alone
affords all that we derive from the horse, the ox, and the
sheep.

C. The antlers of the rein-deer are larger, more
extended, and divided into a greater number of branches
than those of the stag. His food in winter season is a
white moss, which he finds under the snow, and which lie
digs up with his feet or horns.

7. In summer he lives upon buds and leaves of trees,
rather than herbs, which his forward-spreading antlers

er of branches

'THE ELK AND THE RIN-DEER. 01 5

I«>pla.Hlcr., have her off *"': ^'''^''- The riol.eat
liberty; they m"^t be 1 '^"'i "'"''' "'^'^ "="'•'■-'

-ybek„oL.£ !• J X:h'" "•^*^''' "-^' '%

in the woods or m v' \ ^PP'"' *-'^' theystray

-in-deer, which constitute' ZK^aUh "" °' "'^"^•.

quickentheir .;!;,,"''/" '^"^ ^""'"afe run, or

jointing. It is Thi 1 ^ ^°' ' f "'"'■'■ '^8^ "^^^ *''-
inform^the wl-3ofr'°''P«'-''r '^" --'' 'hat
meet and .eize he™ and if trT""' ^'""'' ™" °"' '»
*o deer often conquer Th' °i™' "''' ""' ■'"'"^'•™^.
''im-lf against a s „1 fe wol^ n "a^" T '^"^ '° ''''"'
'■i3 Lorns, but with his Weet X7 ""'«'"''''■ ^'*
and with which he strikes :;:f'.,!'i";^.. '''"'' ^"-^ ^'---S
wolf, or flrive hin
speed as to be no

strikes with such force, as to stun th,
away ; after which he flies with such
long( '

er in

any danger of being

over-

216

INTERMEDIATE READER.

taken. However he finds a more dangerous, though a
ess frequent aiid less numerous enemy than the wolf in
the glutton. '

11. A tame rein-deer lives only to the age of fifteen or
sixteen years; but it is to be presumed, that the hfe of
the w, Id rein-deer is of much longer duration. This
ammal hves twenty-eight or thirty years in his natural
state. The Laplanders hunt tiie wild rein-deer by dif-
ferent methods, according to the difference of seasons.
Ihey kill them by the musket, or with the bow and
arrow, and draw the bow with such strength, that, not-
withstanding the thickness of the hair and the firmness of
the hide, they very often kill one of these beasts with a
single bow.

lobe found now? Where is the elk to be found? Do we find i

tTth r ". T''^' T'^' '^ ^^" ^"^^^ «f '"^^ ^'k when colpa
the s ag? Can you describe h.m ? What have you to say of the

Lap ander and the rem-deor ? For what purposes does the rein-dee
srvet].e Laplander? In what way does the rein-deer supply the 1
of the horse the ox, or the sheep ? Describe the antlers and food of tl

Zt7' r .f' '''";'''^' ^'' ^ ^ ^°^^ ^"^"y '^--e the rich ? What
^epestofthereni-deer? How do the Laplanders care for them,
ma else is common between the elk and the rein-deer ? How
does the rem-deer defend himself? To what age do they live and
how are the wild rein-deer hunted ?

• I

Lesson LXX.
' DON'T.--in.

nonH be in a precipitation or hurry to get into a chair.
It IS just as graceful, as easy, and as proper, to stand-
aaa It IS easier to converse when in that attitude.

Don't.

217

- busy in th,„ki Sh^f ? -"^'•. ■' - always

of itself. *" ^'^^ ""at It has no time to think

-Oo«V whisper m company. Oo>i'( (ill- ,i .
<»■ your affairs. Doni J\k T '"'" >'™'^«"'

»l'OUt your afflictions of any ki„a ^'""' "''''•■""<^'' o''

•^""'J«^t- Don't, in short, bo ^wf "°" ' ^''"8 t" one

^<'«'< neglect in walkins to keen *„*!•,
'-path otwwise there L;h'erh^,:fr^''"«

-yiw'.:ist.'':;!S'''^<''^-''-p'-''.-uy

Boco„side!:ate.;nc.S:e:r::;r'^"^«""^ "■ »yway

■»o«'< point to persons or objects n„„.. .
■■Xter people that have passed n ^r ™ '""^ '"o^^
gentleman, ^^'"^- ^ont fSrget to bo

■Don'< speak untrramm-iticall,- q -
-'I the writings of the besrl'thor! '' '™' ''"™'"'^

f i 'I

ii^T^fiUMEBtATEi felilADfiR.

T>ont pronounce incorrectly. Listen carefully to tlie
conversation of cultivated people, and, if in doubt,
consult the dictionaries.

Dont mangle your words, or smother them, or swallow
them. Don't speak in a high, shrill voice, and avoid nasal
tones.

Dorit keep your lips or teeth closed when speaking,
and so make it difficult for the person you are addressing
to hear distinctly what you say.

Dont use slang. There is no slang that, according t.»
Thackery, is gentlemanly slang, and other s'tang that is
vulgar. If one does not know the difference, let him
avoid slang altogether, and then he will be safe.

Don't use profane language, or exclamations of
Burprise in which the sacred Name is employed. Don t
multiply epithets and adjectives; Don't be fond of
superlatives.

Don't clip your final consonants. Dont say comin,
goin, singin, for coming, going, singhig.

Don't say ketch for catch, or ken for can. Don't say
feller for fellow, or winder- for window, or ineller for
melloiv. Dont imagine that ignorant people only make
these mistakes. They are often, througt; carelessness,
made by people of some education.

Dont say gents for gentleman. That is an inexcusable
vulgarism.

Dont say " I done it," " he done it," " they done it."
This is a very gross error, yet it is often made by people
who ought to know better. " I did it," he did it,"

V. T

fai) t-RA^EH.

't say corniii,

an inexcusable

" tliey did it," are, it ought not be unnecessary to say, the
correct forms.

Dont say " I seen," say " I smo,'* or " If he had wejti"
insteaJof " If hehad^one." .Don't say "It is Am," say
" It is he." So also " It is //' not " It is 7ne;" " It is
thei/," not " It is them." Don't say " lie is older than
me," say " He is older than /." Don't say " Me and
Charles are going to Church." The proper form is,
" Charles and /are going to Church." Don't say " bet-
ween you and /," but " between you and me."

Dont say lay for lie. Lay expresses transitive action ;
lie expresses rest, " I will lie down ; " "I will lay it
down. " I was lyi7ig down/' not " laying down." Don't
waepleiity as an adjective, but say plentiful.

Require the piqyil lo write a set of questions and answers

Let him write a short composition, bringing in the most important
points of the lesson.

Lesson LXXI.
THE PRAYER.

1. Crive me, Lord, a heart of grace,
A voice- of joy, a shining face,
That I may show where'er I turn
Thy love within my soul doth burn I

2. Though life be sweet and joy be dea,r,
Be in my m.ind a quiet fear ;

A patient love of pain and care,
An enemity to dark despair ;

'tl

r i-j

k ■

^1!

^^ lUTERMEDIATID READER.

3. A tenderness for all that stray,

With strength to help them on the way* )
A cheerfulness, .a heavenly mirth,
Britrhtening my steps along the earth j

4. A calm expectancy of death,

Who bloweth out our human breath ;
Who one day cometh in Thy name
And putteth out ^ur mortal flame !

5. Pi ess Thou Thy thorns upon my head,')

Fori would bleed as Thou hast bled; /
'Tis meet that I should wounded be '
By that which sorely wounded Thee !

6. I ask, and shrink, yet shrink, and ask :
I know Thou wilt not set a task

Too hard for hands that there hast made,
Too hard for hands that Thou canst aid. '

7. So let me dwell all peacefully,
Content to live, content to die,
Rejoicing now, rejoicing then.
Rejoicing evermore. Amen.

■ I

Mosa Midholland.

Questions -Wh^i is the subject of this poem ? What is prayer ^
Wha two favors are asked in the first stanza and for what nurpose?
What IS asked to oppose fear, pain, care, and dark desi)aii-? Why
ask for tenderness? For cheerfulness? A calm ? Who puts out
our morta. flame ? What is asked in the fifth stanza ? What reason
lb given thcrelor ? What does this line express : " I ask, and shrink
yec shnnk auu ask" ? How does she express her confidence that God
wu, not ask any thmg above her strength ? Whefe does she ask to

w y

SALT.

10 way;)
arth ;

itli;

221

dwell? And why? Does this remind you of any other poem you
haveiwlm this book? What is the prevailing sentiment of the
poem ?

Eeciuh-e the pupil to write a short composition, making use of the
Ideas expressed in the poem. Let Urn confirm his assertions h
milablc and appropriate instances he may have heard or read

head, /
led;
be
lee!

, ask :

t made,
st aid.

\ficlhoUand.

^Vhat is prayer ?
1' what purpose ?

despair ? Why

Who puts out
? What I'easoii

ask, and shrink,
fidence that God

does she ask to

Lesson LXXII.
SALT.

Stlm'u-late, v. t , to excite ; to rouse ; to animate. '•

sa-li'va, n., spittle ; the fluid secreted in the moicth.

ga.^'ivi<i,n., belonging to the stomach.

Ir'ri.tate, v. t., to anger; to excite heat and redness in.

stSr'ile, adj., tcnfruilful ,- barren.

1. We have all used salt. This we can not deny
Sometimes when the soup was too much salted, we
immediately put it aside and say that it is not tJ our
taste. And again, it may also happen that the soup was
not salted enough, and so we found fault, but it was in
our power to satisfy our taste, for there was salt on the
table.

2. Did you ever ask yourself why it was that salt was
put mto the soup, or on meat and vegetables? The
answer to this question is the object of our lesson, and
hence it shall tell you why it is done.

3. Now, in the first place, salt possesses the property
of giving to the food an agreeable savor, pleases the
palate and makes saliva flow more abundantly. The
saliva tends to moisten the food, thus aiding us to masti-
cate it properly, and prepare it for digestion.

222

INTERMEDIATE READER.

:i i

4. Salt, moreover, excites and stimulates the stomach.
It brings about a greater abundance of a certain juice,
known as the gastric juice. The special Amotion of the
gastric juice is to dissolve the food that enters the stomach,
and thus help greatly in its digestion.

5. Again, were we to omit the salt in the preparation
of certain vegetables, they would prove really dangerous
to our system. In short, it has been noticed that all
vegetables cooked or prepared in boiling water without
salt, turn yellow and are covered with a kind of coating
which is unhealthy for the stomach. However, this is
no reason why we should throw handfuls into the kettles
or boilers while the vegetables are being prepared.
Remember that a too great quantity of salt, instead of
stimulating the stomach, simply tends to irritate it. For
the salt adheres to the lining of our stomach, which is
very 'delicate, pricks and burns it, passes into our blood
and overheats, which is certainly, in many cases, hurtful
to health.

6. Salt is merely used as a seasoning, and as such only
is it useful. It has, however, other properties by which
it becomes of utility to us. For instance, the meat and
fat that has been strongly impregnated with salt, dries with-
out corrupting and may be preserved for some time. Thus,
large quantities of beef are salted and serve mariners and
other who undertake long and extended voyages on sea
or land.

7. The hams which you see hanging up in stores are
not spoiled, because they have been salted. In like manner,
our codfish, herrings, sardines, trout, salmon, mackerel,
which are caught in large quantities, are well preserved,

te'"3 the fetomacli.
a certain juice,
mnction of the

ers the stomacli,

the preparation
3ally dangerous
noticed that all

water without
kind of coating
lowever, this is
into the kettles
)eing prepared,
salt, instead of
rritate it. For
mach, which is

into our blood
Y cases, hurtful

d as such only
rties by which
, the meat and
salt, dries with-
nae time. Thus,
e mariners and
sroyages on sea

' in stores are
In like manner,
non, mackerel,
veil preserved,

UFE OF OUE LOUD.

223

because they are placed between layers of salt. Even
pou try may be and is preserved by salt. Did you find
any hmg so pleasing to the palate as a slice of bread
nicely spread with well seasoned butter ?

8. Beasts, as well as man, have need of a little salt m
^ieir food; and should we neglect giving it to them the^
would soon grow sickly and then perish Finally at I
|Uso sometimes used to improve sterile soil. Th ..' ^e lee
U.a salt IS useful for man and beast, and even for th
and God has provided it for us, since it wa. necessary
for the preservation of health. How true it is, thatXrl
IS no waste in God's Creation,

• %''''Z''--'^^y >«it necessary to salt our food? What ,s it«

ZL ^^^V".'"''" J"^"'- ^'^^^ '^ ^*« «P^--l function? Wh,1
benef t is salt to oiir stomach? Why is an nv^r aJ^V ,.

6»d? WhaM, the „,„U or p„pafi^ ^^I ,1™:,^:;' I
Docs ™U merely give a flavor to our food ? Do« it serve anvnTl,
purp^er^Canyou mention theae purpose,. T^Z12:X

*sr;™:Sor " "'"^°*'' -^ ** ""^^ --• -'■•'•^

Let him add something abmt salt-mines if he ha^ rpnr7 nf n
and let Mm tell hov. salt may otherwise be obLned ^ '

Lesson LXXIII.
"^ LIFE OP OUR LORD — IV.

1. When the Apostles saw what wa^ taking place, they
all fled, even St. Peter who spoke so firmly'and ^oura
geousiy that he would rather die than deny His Lord But
be relied upon his own strength. Though he di-ew the

'J-.

> ..■.!.

lint

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INTERMEDIATE READER.

sword and cut off the right ear of Malchiis, he was over
come by fear, and sought courage in flight. Thus was
fulfilled the saying of Isaiah : " They shal strike tlic
shepherd, and the sheep of the flock shall be dispersed."
2. Though abandoned by His disciples, our Lord
cheerfully accepted the chalice of suffering. Surrounded
^ He was by His sworn enemies and iniquitous judges'
He was calm and patient. He listened to the unjust
accusations of the false witnesses and opposed thereto a
sublime silence. The chief priests and scribes who had
assembled, pronounced Him guilty of death. He did not
contradict their malicious statements, He did not defend
His innocence.

3. Whilst this unjust court held its session, St Pet'^r
gained entrance into the palace of the high priest, throu-h
bt. John who was known to its inmates. Patiently did
the Prince of the Apostles await the result of the trial
But he was not unobserved. Some of the servants
recognized him and said that he was a Galilean. Thus
did he deny his loved Master. He forgot the promise
that he would rather die than be guilty of such an
outrage, though he was forewarned. However, our Lord
did not a^mndon him, and casting upon h:m a look of
pity, St. Peter suddenly brought to his senses, was so
overcome that he left the palace, and wept bitterly.

4. The horrors to which our Lord was subject durino.
this memorable night, are not in the power of lancua^e to
express. Left has He was to the fury of a vile a°id mer-
cenary band of ruffians, they considered no insult or
outrage too low or degrading. They bend their knco in
; mockery, they spat upon Him, they outraged Him and

Mfe of our lord.

225

ilii!

ev loci H,m, until their fury wa.,, for the momont ..ti,
fied Then they confine-l Him to a narrow prij ',i o ;
acolunm mwlnch He could neither «tan.l ,or I'ke I ?
roixjses which nature demanderl.

5. Despite the Ijuigue of the previous ni..ht H,„ «, i r
rose early and began the pre,,,, rition ib^ ifs '^t^, t ^'Jr

coui t 01 Filate Upon examniation, Pilate found no c u, ,.
fcervng o death, and having heard that He wa .

wlencel His blessed lips were sealed. Not a wo,-d ,M
utter to defend Himself against the ».„;,;:,:
ations made against Him. Hero<l, who iLl i , • , ,
..s courtier., to be present, was singularly surpri." J

clothed our Lord in white tlirou.di mire deri iL i ,.

sent him back to Pilate. '^ °"' '""' ^'"'^ -

6. Pilate seeing Jesus return, was not plea..ed for he

ad hoped to be relieved from .so unpleasan a task Pi . '

thereupon examined Him again. Our Lord me Iv

answeredsuchquestionsas directly referre.Uo Hi dS
a.id he honor of His Father. This e.xaminatio i ,3
to Pilate the innocence of Chri.st who ha,l been d. ivemi
;i. mer.y ^through hatred, and thenceforth he .sou'girto

7. But the Jews perceiving that Pilate was unwillinc

tan no friend of Cassar. This had its desired effect
urLord wa., immediately given over to thenr to b"„

_inus so hat acconimgto the prophet, from the

iiii hair t9 the .sole of His fpot there

parting of
was .not a sound spot

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ill

226

INTERMEDIATE IlEADEB.

in Him. Thus did He attono for our ma.iy and grievous
sins ! Angels witnessed this cruel scourging, and hid their

fitces with their wings, and wept at the hardheartedne^
of sinful man.

8. After having been thus ill-treated, they again led 11 im
before Pilate. what a change I That comely face wountlcil
and stained. His lovely and meek eyes red and almost bliml
with the effusion of blood, His noble brow torn by cruel
thorns, His beautiful hair clodded and entangled, and Hi-;
graceful, erect, and divine form, one continued woun<l!
Ah ! well might Pilate exclaim, "Behold the Man !" And,
seeing how cruelly He had already suffered, he condemns
Him to the fury of the mob and delivers Him up to them
to be crucified.

9. Now, begins the last, solemn journey. Laden with
His Cross, He journeys toward Calvary's heights, there to
be immolated for tiie sins of men, and to make atonement
to His heaverdy Eather, aye to drink the cup to its bitter
dregs. Mother of sorrows, you behold your Son thus
condemned and dragged to execution ! Jesus casting a
meek and loving eye upon her, as she rushed toward Him,
as if to say, "Be'hold me ! Do you still recognize me ! See
what sin has done. But suffer with me ; and through
thy heart a sword of sorrow shall pierce."

" Holy Mother pierce me through,
In my heart each wound renew,
Of my Saviour, crucified."

10. Our Lord, having reached the height of Calvary, was
nailed to the Cross, which He had so patiently, lovingly,
and heroically carried. He is now suspended between
Heaven and earth. No tongue can describe the pain and

LIFE OF OITR LOlUi.

227

i; and through

aii,L!;iii.«li of that Iloart ! Yot, duriiii^ all this doloroiLs
j)assion Ho uttcrcil no words of coniplaiiit. " He was led
to the slaughter and Ho opoued not His mouth." Even
whilst suffering this intense pain and agony He was not

III

imindful of man. He u'ave us under those afflicti

n<s:

cireumstanccs, Mary as our mother, that she might
guard and proteet us. He promised heaven to Dimes,
the repentant thief,and He prayed for His enemies. Having
accomplished all the })rophecies concerning Him, He,
ill a loud voice said : " Father into Thy hands I
commend my spirit," and bowing His adorable Head, He
(licxl. Thus was accomplished the mystery of our' .Re-
demption.

11. But there was another prophecy awaiting its
fulfilment. He Himself said : " Destroy this temple and
ill three days I shall raise it up again." Hence, on the
morning of the third day, our Lord rose glorious and
triumphant. The guard that had been placed to watch
the tomb lest the Apostles should como to carry oft' the
hody of their Lord, fell insensible to the ground, at the
appearance of the risen Christ. He rose by his own power.
This is called the mystery of the Eesurection, the I'ock
and foundation of the Christian Faith.

12. During the forty days which our Saviour spent
upon earth, He instructed His apostles in wliatovcr was
still wanting to the government of His Church. He com-
municated to them His own power and commanded them
to go and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of
the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Then
having accomplished His

and

mission
es to send them the Paraclete, He, in their

His

omissii

presence,

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INTEKMEDIATE READER.

asccudod into heaven, where Ho is seated at the riL,'lu
liand of the power of God, and whence He shall come to
judge the living and dead.

Qnrs/ioHs. — Did the Apostles remain faithful to our Ijord wlion (hiv
saw hiiubouml? What is said of Si. Peter? Did 8(. John abandon
('lu'ist? What have yon to say of the con(hict of our Lord in {)n>-
encc of His enemies ? Wliat lesson docs this loach us ? Where was
St. i'oter during the trial of our Lord? What do you know aljoiit
the denial of St. Peter? What do you know concerning his repent-
ance? Describe the outrages ^nd insults endured on that memorab'e
night. What do you know of the conduct of our Lord before Pilate
and Herod? Was Pilato anxious to release on. Lord? Why?
With what did the Jews reproach him ? What do you know ab'nit
the robber and murderer who was preferred to our Lord? What is
said of his scourging? Describe the appearance of our Lord bcforo
Pilate after the scourging and crowning with thorns. What do you
know of His journey to Calvary? What do vou i^now of His Cru-
cifixion? What do you know concerning His Resurrection? What
did our Lord do during the forty days He still remamed oft earth?
When did He promise to His disciples ? What aro the lessons tau'-^ht ?

acquire the pupil to recite this lesson in their own words. Lrl
him write a short compmsition of the " Love of our Lord for man."

Lesson LXXIV.
GIANTS WITH TUSKS AND TRUNKS.

Sa-gae'i-ty, «., quick discermmnt ; penetration.
dex-tSr'i-ty, n , activity and cxpcrtncss ; skill ; cleverness.
SUS-cSp'ti-bl^, adj., capable of receiving impressions.
SUb-mSpge', v. t , to j)xd under water.
pre-hSn'sTl^, ndj., grasjnng ; adapted to (jrarp or seize.

1. The elephant is the largest and strongest of all land
animals, very sensible and obedient to man, but perhap

Led at the right
[e sliall eome to

iis^e«t of all land

oiANTS With tusks and tpunks. 229

Uylextority i„ the ase of his trunk has causo.1 hi. „a-adtv
o be overrate. : for ho can »«,roely be eon,i,U.r,,re,,„al
to the dog ,„ Ins re,peet. Ho has the doxtcrity of the

rS '',7'";'''^°'""^'°="' '- is .suseoptible of

wll h ' 7 ' "^ ''"""« ""^^d.ment to man and to
whom he submits, uot so much by force a« by good treat-
ment, and serves him with intelligeuee an,) fidelitv. His
tusks are h,s defence, with which he can pierce Jhrou.d,
a a conquer the lion, and with which he roots t,p trei,.
Ihey somettmes weigh one htmdred and fifty ponnls, and
consist 01 the vahable substance called ivory T
*phan smells by means of his trunk. When he wants to
•l""Me fills It with water, which he then pours it into hi,

.out : and ,u crossing deep rivers, he raises the , 1 ^
.ttojhe^,.^^^^^^^

l.rlh^"'.rT" ^°"' '■' '■"'■'- ^'''^'' I'^aves, and young

rnehes, hey also eat fruit and corn, btit not fleth or

^^1 . A. they want a great quantity of fodder, they often

h^'m 're"''"T' ""' "'"^" *«>' «"■' "''tivatcl'la
they make prodigious waste; their bodies beino- of'

t , they consume for their food, which may be reckoned

As he're °, " '"""•'"' ""' '''y I'^'xl^ weight daily
As they i?ed in great numbers, farmers take <.reat minJ
to prevent their visits, and to drive them aw^Wmal"

:: tin.:' ''°''""^' "^^^ ■ '°'- "-"^s -' ^'^r i-

except tire tlirown amongst them.
3. The elephant once tamed hppnmo-, fi. . i , , ,

Ills leaaer, caresses him, and in a ehort time under.

.['^■;

■^^H

I A I

23i)

INTERMEDIATE READER.

stiuuls tlic toiio of commanfl, finger, or good nature, ati.l
act.', accordingly. His motions are always deliberate, jiikI
]m character seems to i)artici})ato of the gravity of lii.s
liody. He is easily taught to bend the»kncc to assist those
who wish to mount him. lie caresses his friends with
hi.-; trunk, aiul with it salutes the persona whom Ik; is
ilirccted to notice; he makes use of it to lift burdens, and
helps to load himself. He seems to delight in harness nr
magnificent trappings; he is easily put into the trace,-!,
and draws evenly, without stopping or giving any signs of
dislike, provided he is not unreasonably corrected. His
1 vuler is mounted on his neck, and makes use of an irtui
rod, crooked at the end, with which he strikes him gciilly
on the head, to make him turn or increase his pace ; but
often a word is suflicient, especially if heis wellacquaintr,!
v>rith his leader, and lias confidence in him. His attach-
ment to his leader is sometimes .so strong and lastin^T. lli.it
he refuses to serve any other |)er.son, and it has even been
known that an elephant died of grief for having in anij r
killed his driver.

i.-m

4. The elephant has very small eyes in compar
W'ith hip enormous bulk,! 'it they are sensible and brilliant,
arid distinguished from ail other animals by their patliotic
sentiuKMital expression.

5. He lias (juick hearing, and his ears are very large,
even in proportion to his pody ; they are flat, and close to
the head, like those of a man ; they commonly hang
down, but he can easily raise and move thein ; he makes
use of them to wipe his eye.s, and to guard them frum
dust 'uiil I'ii's. He delights in tb.'.' sound of musii'il
instruni. s* soon learns to beat time, and to move

(;

OUtfTS WFTn TOSKS AND TRUNKS. 231

accor.lingI.v ; ho soon,., anin.atcl l,y the beat of the ,ln„n
|wul the ..n,„,Iortrumt.ot,. lie is ,««.,ionately f„,„l of ,,or'
l-« o. nil .sort., an,I of fragrant do J„, whi..h ho
™.el s with eagorno.,,, an,l ho ea.-rio.s then, to hi.s n,on,h,
■1^ It lie inton.lo.1 to ta.Hte them.

0. His sense of feeling centres in his trnni;, whiol, is as
■MH,ac an,l as prehensile as the Inxn.l of n,an. The
•"">nu can not only move an,I Lend it, hnt he can sh„,-ton
l'|;'Kl.ll.en, an.l turn it in every .lirootion. The ex-tron,ily'
".^ funk terminates l,y a projection like a finger ;
'. tins the elephant does whatever wo ,lo witi, o^rs
l«U up from the groun.l the sm.allest pieces of money
ga hers flowers, and nnties knots, opens and shuts doors,'
tunis keys and bolts. '

. 1 moie mtelhgenee than any other animal, he luis the
d ri^." J ''"\T "'■ ""-""''''^ ''"'y '« ™^y thick

aW'wtuttr.'"'' '""'■ ^^"'™'' -'"•''^''' -^

8. The grinding-teeth are enormously large and formed

ofbone, enclosing a ri.lge of enamel imbedded in a substance

. ed eort.m;, so that a ridge always remains elevated,

ttt ng ,t for g,.„„,,„„ Those of the female are not .so

lully developed.

b ' u qualities. VV hat have you to say of his size ? What
Whatd„y„„k„ow„fto,,«, ofln,, h.anng? What havT you

^32

INTERMEDIAtll EEAbEIt.

to remark of his fondness for music? Where is his sense of feeling?
What is he capable of doing with his trunk? What comparison is
instituted between the elephant and other animals? What aliouf.
his grinding teeth.

Require the pupil to ivrite a letter to a friend, telling him. all
kmivs about the elephaiU. Let him make it interesting by adding
some instances he heard or read concerning the retentive memoru of
the elephant, his affection for his leader and his friends, his revenge
if deceived, and his gentle disposition.

Lesson LXXV.
WATER.

1. Water is the most common and ordinary drink, and
it is, at the same time, the best to quench our thirst.
For a person who does not work hard and for those who
live in the temperate clime, water is unquestionably the
healthiest drink. There is no drink which facilitates
digestion better or procures a more peaceful, calm sleep
than water.

2. Nature has provided us with three kinds of water,
namely, spring-water, well-water, and the water of the
running stream. These have however a common origin, and
that is rain. Our preference for any special kind of water
should not be given, because it is more pleasing to the taste
on account of the presence of something that is agreaWe, but
because it is light, limpid, and has neither color, smell
nor taste.

3. These qualities are usually to be found rather in
rain and river-water, which are more exposed to the air,
than that which comes from springs and contain less salt
than cistern water.

i ^1

waMr.

4. It IS rare that a well .supplies healthy and drink-
able water. Wells are often dng in parts not at all clean
and are not unfi-equently, the reservoir of the water
collected in the field. On some farms, wells are often dwr
close to a dunghill, and yet farmers fail to see why that
water should be unhealthy Some even imagine thit
loul or muddy water is the best to fatten animals ; this is
a fatal mistake, for it makes ravages among their cattle
However, this error is happily being reme.lied.

5. The running water is clear, fresh, and limpid, and is
more conducive to health than well-water. We must
admit that rivers which course through the country
pass through cities, bring with them great quantities of
hlh and dirt and other matter. But these injurious
.sul)stances not remaining on its surface, leave no trace
after them, and consequently do not affect the clearness
and healthfulness of the water. Thus the impurities
which are daily poured into the St. Lawrence, the
Hudson, the Missisippi and other large rivers, in their
onward course toward th(? Ocean, form but a small
proportion to their immense volume of Avater. Still
each day adds its quota of filth, however small, and it often
exposes the health of the inhabitants who live on their
banks, and it is therefore prudent to filter the runniiu'
water as well as the well-water. We can render people
HO greater service and confer upon them no greater favor
than by giving them healthful water, for water is one of
the most indispensable elements of life.

6. To free water from impurities, it is filtered. A filter is
a sort of sieve which prevents all impure matter contained
m the h(^uid, from passing through. Filters are com-

■1

■ 1

i!l

i'^ftnUEDiA'tP. ftiAft^ft.

M I

posed of porous substancos. Charcoal filters are well
adapted for this purpose, as they readily purify the water
in its course of filtration. As water can not well l)o
filtered in large quantities at a time, it is advisable for
each household to have a filter either of charcoal or
sandstone.

7. Nothing is more dangerous for domestic purposes tliuii
stagnant waters which are generally the home of innu-
merable insects and reptiles. It would be comparatively
easy, however, to supply a. city, and consequently eadi
family, with pure water that would contribute to tli."
health and wealth of the inhabitants. This could be done by
a very simple process, namely, by collecting the rain-wat.n-,
the purest and best of all kinds of water, in a cistern isolated
and well cemented, and by carefully keeping the pipes aivl
canals used for the purpose of bringing the water to tli(3
house.

8. Usually all large cities select a running stream or lake
to supply them with water which is brought through
aqueducts to a reservoir, specially prepared and exposed
to the influence of the sun and air. It is then distributed
through pipes to each house.

Questions.—What have you to remark of water? How .IlI
nature supply tliis beverage ? Why should we prefer water ? In
what two kinds of water are these qualities found? What is to be
remarked of cistern water? What do you say of running water''
Wliy do the mipurities which daily run into the river, produce no
effect on its water ? How may we guard against them ? Wh? t is a
filter? Which is the best kind of filter? What have you to say of
stagnant water? How are large cities supplied with fresh, healthful
water? What do you know about rain-water ?

"WHEN MY HEAUt IS VEXED^ I WILL COMPLAIN." 2^6
'' ""'^ '" '^'^'"'^ ^/'^i>n«cy,«^ cvV/e. tknt are on tlunr bauks.

Let lum*)-e('ite the Ic

SS071 in his own tajKjiUtije^

Lesson LXXVI.

" WHEN MY HEART IS VEXED, I WILL
COMPLAIN."

1. *' LorcU-.w canst Thou say Thou lovest ,nc?
We who- ;)U settest in a barren land
i-iungry and thirsty on the burning sand,

Hungry and thirsty where no waters be°
Nor shadows of date-bearing tree-

Lord, ]iow canst Thou say Thou lovest me? "

2. '' I canK> from Edom by as p.rclied a track,
As rougli a track beneath my blee.ling feet
1 came from Edom seeking thee, and sweet

1 counted bitterness ; I turned not back
But counted hfe as death, and trod

Ihe wme-press all alone : and I am Go.l."

^" I ^tl ^'"^' ^^°'' '"^'^ T'^^^^ '-^y Tlio'^ ^-vest me?
1 or iliou art strong to comfort : and could I

But comfort one I love, who, like to die

Lifts feeble Jiands and eyes that fail to see

In one last prayer for comfort— say,

I could not stand aside or turn away."

4. " Alas ! thou knowest that for thee I died
For thoo I thirsted with the dying thirst; '
I, Blessed, for thy sake was count'^d cursed

i ']

t III

J I

';■■

it^^l

■' ;'

'.''^^1

1^;

1*
1,.

J^^^H

I '

' i

i 1

2S6

IlJI^iiRMEftlATli! fel5At)ER.

In sight of men and angels crucified :

All this and more I bore to prove

My love, and wilt thou yet mistrust My love ? "

5. " Lord, I am ftiin to think Thou lovest me.
For Thou art ail in all and I am thine,
And lo ! Thy love is better than new wine,

And I am sink of love in loving Thee.
But dost Thou love me ? speak and save,
For jealousy is cruel as the grave."

6. " Nay, if thy love is not an empty breath
My love is as thine own, deep answers deep,
Peace, peace ; I give to my beloved sleep,

Not death but sleep, for love is strong as death ;
Take patience ; sweet thy sleep shall be.
You, thou shalt wake in Paradise with Me/'

Christina Mossetti.

Questions.— Whdii is the subject of this poem ? Why a complaint ?
^oes the first stanza remind you of the Egyptian desert? In what
1 spect ? Of what does this soul complain ? Why is the firat line
repeated at i\w. end of the stanza ? Do you now see the reason of the
complaint ? Might this desert be the world ? Could it refer to her
own sorrowing heart? What are the loving words of ou-. Lord in
answer to this question : " Lord, how canst Thou say Thou lovest
me ' ? Explain the words : " I turned not back but counted life as
death, and trod the wine-press all alone." What is here signified by
the wine-press ? Is the soul satisfied with the proofs of love ? Fo'r
whom does her heart sufll'er intense pain ? Might these lines "could I
but comfort one Hove, who, like to die," and the following, refer to
her dying brother ? What is the prevailing thought conveyed in th.^
third stanza? What are the sweet and contorting words of th^
Saviour ? Whither does»He bring that sorrowful heart ? And what
does He impress upon her mind? What is the full force of "wilt

MALACHI'S ACCOUNT OF THE BEAVER. 237

thou yet mistrust My love"? Wfiafi«*J,nr,ov„* i ,• .
Wh^ricW 1 1. ^ ^^ • "'"*^>^ the efToct produced in the heart?
^hy IS His love here compared to "new wine?" Whn« i« H "^^'^ '
of " I am sick of love in lo vin. Thee " ? Do h. 1 ^1 ' '"T'"°
fifth stanzaconvey breathless-expectancy^nd' J ' WhvT T
say "jealousy is cruel as thograve"? Ix.l in 7i l^ r "
console her? Exolain "f1o.-A„ ' , ■^^'''""- How dues our Lord
i- does Ho ™ her' WW'T IV' ^^''^^ -»-li»o' P-m-
betweentheso^^^dtcrealr^L^::;^'^ ^^"^^"^^ '' '''^''[

ira^ and affiiclwm, or take, to Himelf those we love tiM He does «
Let (he jmjnl memorize this exquisite poem.

i''fm

Lesson LXXVII.
MALAOms ACCOUNT OP THE BEAVER. >-I.

" Well, ma'am," said Malachi, « it's a most reasonable
animal certainly and I will say, I never was tired with
them, I ve even forgot, inthe summer-time what I came
out for, from having fallen in with them at work."

"And so have I," said Martin. "I once was lyin<.
down under a bush by the side .of a stream, and I saw a
whole council of them meet together, and they talked after
their own fashion so earnestly, that I really think they

.,tiiit .tr.. .,i,!)ip„ ,-j,iif),jj. (j^jjf„,.. JLf.,..^ , rpi,„ ,

i !

i r

; i

i' ■ ,

( ,

1 ■ ■ ;

1 ■

238

INTERMEDIATE HEADER.

liavc a laiigufige a.-^ good as our own. It's always the old
oiie.5 wlio talk, aii<l the young ones who listen."

" That i.; tnic," replied Malachi. " I once myself saw
tiK^iii hold a ('.v.in;'il, and then they all separated to go to
work, fur they were about to d.iia u^. a , Meaia and huild
their lodges."

" And what did they do ? enquired Mrs. Campbell.

" Why, ma'am, they did all the same as Christians
would have done. The Indians say that beavers have
souls as well as themselves, and certainly, if sense gave
poul.-^, the Indians would be in the right. T'he first thing
that they did was to appoint their sentinels to give notice
of danger; for the moment any one comes near them,
these sentinels give the signal and away they all dive, and
disappear till the danger is over."

" Well, ma'am, the beavers choose a place fit for this
work. What they require is a stream running through
a flat or bottom, which stream of water they may dam up
so as to form a large pond of a sufficient depth by the
water flowing over and covering the flat or bottom several
feet ; and when they have found the spot they require,
thoy begin their work."

MALACHI'S ACCOUNT OE THE BEAVER. 239

" Perhiips," observed Mr. Camnboll, "(hi, rf,„:
requirca more .sagacity tl,a„ tl.o vj of tl„.ir ■ V T
tlie beaver., must Lave some e„gi„oori„«H en „T' '^
-lection; they ,„,.st be able totdc:,;;S« ^t' nhS
took Jieir levels, to secure the size and ,kn,tl, ^

the pond whicli is necess-irv Tf I ] ^ ''^'^'' ^'^

Mt is, sir ; and I've often thought so/' renhed M-d.
^'lH;"and then to see how fhp,r .. . '^'

the irnn-.. +1 .1 "" ^ ^^ '^s axes to cut down

tlic tiees; then their tails serve as trowels for fhT
mason's work: their forp fp^f +i ''^owus loi their

" I have known these little creatures as they are r.is.
hanks four or five hundred paces in ]oncri\. a '

" ^"'''^1" * '"•"xl'-'^-J ; not more I should s.ay "
iniSmma'"" '" ''''' ™^^ "'^ ''^"^^' ^al^chi ? "

" '^''7L f '^ '""'^ ^''^ *'"" ""^"^^ they have IVe
watched them wlinn >!,.,,. i..._. i. . ■' '' ^^

sawina; tlirouah

often

.1 1 , .."w4. nivy liavti ueeii sawin

fee, that ,a certa,,,. ,f the whole of them were to J

-. I >

I i:^

*-.M

jM||

240

INTERMEDIATE READER.

to work, SO thoy always pick out the troes by the l,ank«
of the stream, and they examine how the trees incHne
to see if they will fall into the stream ; if not, they will
not cut them down; and when they are cutting them down
and they are nearly ready for foiling, if the wind should'
change and be against the fall, they will leave that tree
till the wind will assist them. As soon as the 'rees arc
down, they saw off the branches and arms, and float the
log down to where the dam is to be made ; they lay them
across, and as they lay them one upon the other, of course
the water rises and enables them to float down and place
the upper ones. But before that, j s soon as the lower
logs are in their places, the animals go and fetch loiir
grass and clay, which they load upon their flat tails and
drag to the dam, filling up the holes between the timber
till It IS as strong as a wall, and the water is completelv
stopped." '■ -^

" But the raising of the dam is only preparatory, is it
not to the building of their own houses ? " observed Mrs
Campbell.

" Nothing more, ma'am ; I think the rest of the work
IS quite as wonderful"

^^ "But it is time to go to bed," remarked Mr. Campbell
and we must, therefore, leave the remainder of Malachi's
story till another evenino-."

Require the pupil to write and a set of questions and answers.
Let him write the narrative in his oivn language.

Virtue is bold, and goodness never k^vhil-^Shake-spean',

t of the work

t and aiiswcrs.

AiALAC^Hl's AdcoUNt OF THE BEAVER. 241

Lesson LXXVUr.

MALACHIS ACCOUNT OP THE BEAVEB._b.

At tho evening of tlio day, Malachi was m„..,t.l ,'
resumo \»n observations upon the beave" ^

" Well, ma'am, as I saij tbo othor nl.rl.f
they have .hmmed up the river T, m ' e (, T T", "'
then build their houi; and how i^tan te t' T

-. the!; ^.yZiz^'Z^j^:^ ''■""'•

They have three., eta of rooms one above the other o
that f the water nses from a freshet or su,ldon thaw H,
may be able to move hi-dier and W„ t ' I ^

Each beaver h,as his own littTe ro 1 aL 171'" ''■'•
made under the water, so that therdivT ot Z^Tl^
notJnng can harm them." ' ^

JHow_very curious, and what do they live upon,

a liiJw "i!^ "'^l!"' ^' *=''" ^P-«~l. ""^'am, whieh is
autumn ' "''^ ''^ "? 8^'^'^' l'"'""'''^^ °f i* i" 1 o

"rirmCtW™ "'• ^^'"'--''- «'«>-- '^^^^^^^
" Well, how do you take them, Malachi ? "

themal « V J '^' "« 'he water, and then they kill
them all except a^dozen of the females and half a doL of

dam again, that the

niales ; after which they stop up the

242

INTERMEDIATE TlEADEft.

animals may l.rc(3(l and incroano. Sometimes, wlien the
.oaver lake i.s frozen luuvl, they break into the hoavor
house from the top; when thoy do that, the beavers all
.bve and escape, bnt as they must come up to breathe at
the holes in the ice, they place nets and take them in that
\vay, but they alwaysjeavea sufficient number to keep ni.
the stock. They also take them in traps baited with thl-
asp-wood, but that is more difficult."

" But there is another sort of l)eaver, ma'am, called tlu^
land-bea^^r which is more easily taken," obs-ervod
Martni ; they make holes in the earth like rabbits Th<<
Indians say that these beavers are those which are lazy and
Idle and have been driven out by the others for n.t
working.

"Now, ^.ell us what you do when you go out to hui.t
tlie beaver in winter, Malachi ? "

" We never hunt the beaver only, ma'am ; we go out
to hunt every thing; we go to the beaver lakes, and we
.set our traps for beaver, otter, martin, mynx, cats, foxes,
and every other animal, .ome traps large and some sm^ll.
We build our hut, and set our traps all about us, and
examine them every day ; wecut what flesh is o-ood and
we employ ourselves in skinning the animals which wc
take.

" Is the beaver flesh good?"

« '7r\'^f^"''.''''^^^^'''^^'^'"''^^"S^-P^^Ws the best
we find at that time."

" But what a miserable life that must be," said Mrs

Ca;;-![i!)ell,

mcs, wlion the
nto the boavor
tlie heavers all
p to hreatho at
ke them in that
iber to keep up
waited witli the

I'am, called tho
en," observed
! rabbits. Tlu<
icli are lazy and
others for not

50 out to hunt

n ; we go out
lakes, and wo
IX, cats, foxes,
id some smptll.
about us, and
h is good, and
lals which wc

baps the ]}qA

je," said Mrs

A LfiTTKR FROM MARTIU. ^43

otlil^S'' ^^^^^^^^ '^'''''^^ - '-^tors think

-you.ayi,^.;:::;^i;;^;f-

OaptaU Frederic MarryaL

^« has ample matter to ; ■ "^i<o)hs.

^^^'ons that supply tke, Us JjZ'n """'"''"'''' ■''- ^^ ^'"^' ^^"m.^

Lesson LXXIX.
A LETTER PRqM MARTHA.

^C«i ^

'yt-e-tn.

t:^

ettd-tti€.

244

iNTKHMEmATE REAnEll.

nl, A-ccntae we- cn/y AcA a/ /At'^tyi fj. Sc Ati rn.
Ury cf.nrcln la. ^^cf/, Actf-rvei, arA f./Afi,,nr.
O^ d.eei cm ycctf^ Acie, An/ ^i^ uAsa deeS r -/
ycccA Aelcnj^Al. Q^ctu C^ s/ta/A ^, iny A ^/
A yia^a/ ycfi. trAcrArel '^/^. icci Ats/ Ai yr.
<^(^ciit (^ tA rrny -^iicie, ^n,/ tAni (^/(^a/Z/Afa'^

(AjCA/ifrA 'nerr:i ^Ic^u. Ar.vic <A. ycK. er/tcrf /
deal 9 (^',n u.AAA Ae /JerrSeJ A Acaln //.//
(j/(jrJAei /i tif-AA fi-ju/ AlfTi/i. Afi. ycft., ^^Af n
rvei /Ae drronc yccc/, A^AhJ (2/?^rjAcl, ^Ar.,i>ri

r.ff.

0> (I

nil^f.cta /r drlar tr^i f^iu/ irrrf/ ■f,yr.'>i tti-
yeai^ (2/ Ani/ rUc ■jnemy^ Ai. C^ A^ic(f.i /Art/, i-e
-/M wctt/f/^ecAAci Acild, z-cl.jy ^i/t(cA. (0Ae A///r

<i'}i-fS rf-'ie yttt/t/i-i/.

>^^j/t:. t/ru/ ire J) IS s/.(.;/ /a //u ,

/ill tl Auti fi-it c^tfC it^ /Ai-etl /t.Afi-Sif.lc, O^^/'
•cnA' A^/t^A iA Meiy r.nA/- Anctf^ /Am

titltCrC:

Afyy'''''>^<^^h ^^j/ ff.-c-tt/(A -itci'el t/e<i.<.le /r^ yletr c/c/ei /
(J^c. ifd-cnt/ei. /Au/ ctti r/eei-i. '^^cir/ Sate/ Aa 'O/^
C^i'dd-ZAei .■ ^''^(YAel Ac///e cAcAAi^eov /c ccnie /c

V- (lUa JeeJ r

IHC

A i.KTTi:r. rnoM jiartiia. , .^ o^g

^/«.«,;^, ^ii,,„„ y^ ^-_^^^ „«,/,/^;,, „./^

CJ-C

-.^.«/. .,./-. ^,„,, /^; ,^^^,^^ ^,.^^^^ ^^j^^^^^

-«^ «./ /.^ //; ,,„,,,,,^ „^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^_^^_^^^

' '"-'^^ ^^^^ /^" ^>tc/ y.uuu/ ,yc,c

* w.

^«>>^. ^ ^..., ,,,y. ,/,,,, /^^/^^^^

ihrd

fn iSso. Ten

•^'^ 7V/ow«j <fe Fe/tf a;r still

'as a Rreat p„e, ,- ,,e ,aas ou. of Fnglaud's pocHa,,,
"^so>! ,s the present poet-la poc. lau,

living, and are

ureate of England . Ih
considered poets of no mean order.

ra.'es, and
opening and

'.I'' ' nr ,

l.,„

2^^ INTERMEDIATE READER. _^

Lesson LXXX.
RESPIRATION.

1. You aro aware that, in our body, there arc many
canals or channels through which the blood courses. The
heart is that wonderfully delicate and powerful machine
which, not unlike a pump, forcos regularly, at every
instant, the blood through the diverse canals or blooil
vessels. The pipes through which the blood flows from
the heart to every part of our body, are called artcric,
and those by which ifc returns, veins.

2. But what is the object of this continual coursino- of
the blood throughout our boJy ? It is to maintain Tife.
Blood IS the nourishing liquid, the stream of life; it
possesses and transports, as it wore, all the elements
requisite that are to constitute our flesh, muscles, bones
marrow, and organs. In this vermilion stream there is
a diversity of matter of which you have no idea;
azotic matter, which is composed of azote, a little iron',
phosphorous, lime, various kinds of salts, and fats, even
carbon is there not however as you usually see it but
mixed with other substances. Blood is the agent, so to
speak, which gathers whatever may be good iii the
victuals we eat, makes it pass through numberless little
tubes hardly the thickness of a hair, and causes it to
circulate from one extremity of the body to the other,
giving to each part what seems good for it.

3 You are perfectly correct in supposing that the
blood after having coursed from one extremity of the
body to the other, i,- no longer the same as wlien it loft
the heart rhrough the nrterios. It is no lono-er that

I^ESPIRATION.

2ii

beautiful vermilion red- if ;. „^ i

giving qualities to our body and it, TSITa '"

injurious to life ^ ^ *''^^ ^^ ^^*ter

wt";^,::itr^^i;;-:tt;Lt;;vr^

It out again such as it now is 9 n ^ ,'f T ""^^

l.c»u.e Of an the ™puri;l:^J:Aarf tl^^^^^^^^^^^^

: tit :ir^ ^: rr: — ™ X^u

be punfied and refreshed. Tl.c rctorativ or!a„
"1.0.SO office if,»to purify and restore the blo^ 'f"
pon,y .,ub,, ance called the lu.ys. Thi,, appa "te '^it

cation with the outer air quite, a, readily a? if it were not

h up in our body. This means of cLniuni ca« n i I

> Kl p,pc which begins at the month and terminate at

nchT'T,:' .'"-.-•'"'"Jod into nuXrieJ
uancli s The p,pe ,s ordinarily known as the »,„^
m>e or tie tra.k.a and which may be felt by heZd'
lo sinallcr branches are called bror^hia J bro^^

S. J>fow, le us e::ani,„e what occurs each time we

Mafe or ...A„&air. When we inhale the air it enters
by our month and tl,r„„„i, .1 ..■, . '"' ii^ enters

res

3utlj ana through the nostr

W^ Avo reject all the bad air and other

ils; but wl

ion wo

chest, or ratlier frona the 1

ungs,

gases from the

248

INTERMEDIATE EEADEK.

6. The instant that we inhale a breath of fresh, pure air
it is carried by the wind-pipe to the bronchial tubes and
then to the thousands of capillary veins into every littl,>
cell of the lungs, which are filled with the venous and
impure blood. The oxygen which is in the air, in.-iantly
comes in contact with each little drop of blood. In ,•)
former lesson you were told that oxygen consumes cverv
thing it touches. It has a special affinity for all carhoyiic
matter, which it transforms into gas or carbonic add.
It relieves the blood of all its impurities, and takes
their place, so that each drop of blood is not only freed
from all poisonous matter, but receives also an impercept
ible quantity of oxygen which suffices to renew, rcvivo,
and restore it to its beautiful color and fluid state.

7. It takes actually less time to go through this
operation than it does to relate it. The regenerated blood
returns through capillary vessels to larger ones, until they
empty into the canal that brings it back to the heart in
its purified state. The heart, then, sends it out again
through the arteries, and thus the circulation continues
momentarily, hourly, daily, day and night, throughout
our entire life.

p*.5^/ons.-What do you understand by sanguinary canals ?
What 13 the difference between arteries and veins? What is tli^
special function of that essential vital organ, the heart? What i.
the object of the lungs? What means of communication have th.
lungs with the outer air? What is the principal function of th.
heart ? Define respiration. What is the difference between inhalinu
and exhaling? What should happen were we to stop respiration?
What would be the consequence if the blood did not pass throu-h
the lungs ? Explain the circulation of the blood. °

ST. PATRICK AND ST. BRIDGET. 249

Lesson LXXXI.
ST. PATRICK AND ST. BRIDGET.

Ireland, that virgin inland on wliicli proconsul never
sot foot, •xvlneli never know either the or.n'es or the
exactions of Rome, was also the only place in the world
ol wJiicli the Gospel took ])ossossion without bloodshed
It IS thus spoken of l>y 0.anam ; and certainly no one has
described it better, though allowance must be made for
the excessixe a.lmiration which disposes him to exalt
above me^xsure the part played by the Irish from the
sixth to the twelfth centuries, attributing to them exclu
s.vely that impulse of diffusion and expansion, and that
thirst for instructing and converting, which characterizad
the entire church and monc^stic order during that lone
and glorious period. The preponderance of the Irish
race m the work of preaching and in the conversion of
pagan or semi-Christian nations was only temporary, and
chd not last longer than the seventh century; but their
exertions at this time were so undeniable as to leave
1^ ranee, Switzerland, and Belgium under a debt of
everlasting gratitude. This branch of the great family of
Celtic nations known under the name of Hibernian,
bcots, or Gaels, and whose descendants and Ian-ua<^o
have survived to our own days in Ireland, in the High-
lands of Scotland, in Wales, and in Lower Britany, Ll
adopted the faith of Christ with enthusiasm; and II the
moment when Celtic vitality seemed about to i>erish in
Gaul and Great Britain, under the double pressure of

in races as the one most devoted to the

/^ ,1 ,. „ . , — ""^ '^"^ iiiuso uevoiea

Catholic faith, and the most zealous for the spread

f '^1

spread of t-h^

250

INTERMEDIATE READER.

i li fi

Gospel. From the moment that this Green Erin, situate.)
at the extremity of the known world, had seen the sun of
faith rise upon her, she had vowed herself to it with -ux
ardent and tendar devotion which became her very life
ihe course of ages has not interrupted this ; the mcst
bloody and implacable of persecutions has not shaken it
The defection of all northern Europe has not led her
a^; ray; and she maintains still, amid the splendors aiul
miseries of modern civilization aAd Anglo-Saxon suprem-
acy, an inextinguishable centre of laith, where survive,
along wuh the completest orthodoxy, that admiral^Io
purity of manners which no conqueror and no adversary
have ever been able to dispute, to equal, or to diminisl.
Two slaves brought the faith to Ireland, .nd at the san.c
time founded monastic life there. Such is at least the
TOukr behef, confirmed by the most credible narrative.
The Galo-Eoman Patrick, son of a relative of the <nx..t
Saint Martin of Tours, had been seized at sixte^. ly
pirates and sold as a slave into Ireland, where he kept the
flocks of his master, and where hunger, cold, nakedness,
and the pitiless severity of this master, initiated him into
all the horrors of slavery. Restored to liberty after si.
years of servitude, and returned to Gaul, he saw always
in his dreams the children of the poor Irish pagans whoso
yoke he had known holding out to him their little arms
H.s sleep and his studies were equally disturbed by fV ..
visions. It seemed to him that he heard the vc-e o'
those innocents asking baptism of him and c-vin.
Dear Christian child, return among us, return to'sav^

an-;, ^f M ^^'^^^^S/'^*"^^^^ i^ tl^^ great monastic sanctu-
aries of Marmautier and Lerins. after having nn^p.
panied St. (iermain of Aiaerre jn the mission undertaken

ST. TATRICK AND ST. BRIDGET.

251

by that great champion of orthodoxy to root out ih.

Pelagian heresy so deir tn Hia n.i.- 7 *"^

Pv^jf I, '-^ '^" ^^'^^^0 tne Celtic races: from Grp^f

moreover, filled with achoob an,) eommunities de^tted to
become a „ur,,e of missionaries for the West. Th „! '

J^r dget, the daughter, according to the lec^end of i hS

Lerfether have takL her back !rd\eJeT hrL
marnage w,.en her beauty and wisdom beeamTapptent

m an oak-wood formerly consecrated to the false sods
The miraculous cures she wrought attracted the c owd
and she soon founded the fii^t female monast y WS

oj me UaL She died there, at seventy, after an entire
;r T, 'T' ''*°^- ^l"" '>-■ '°">^ arose the^^;

iicr nuns kept always burmng, which the faith and love
of an unfortunate pco.lc watched over for a thousa'

^thesi^nal-li^htofthGcwntr^ until the

. years
triumph of a

252

IHTERMEDMTE EEADEE.

sacrilegious reform, and whi.h [n our own davs has b,.en
relighted by the muse of a patriot poet.

Innumerable convents of women tra, ,■ their ori<-i„ to
tbe Abbess of Kildare; wherever the Irish monks Inve
rnetrated from Cologne to SevilV, ohure.os i^a" C
ra,sed m her honor; ,nd wherever i„ our ow,, tim"

a.dpover^ofth,,.,,,...'2j:r!i^^^^^^^
hey testnj. theu- .„.. .aken devotion to that dear n.-mor;
hy giving^ uor ..,a..ae to their daughters-a nohi,, and
touehmg homago made by a raee always unfortunat, and
always faithful, to a saint who was hke itself ensla-ed
andhke Usel Catholie. There arc glories more noj
andsplendKl, but are there many which do more honor
to human nature ?

3£ontalemhert

Lesson LXXXH.
THE THREE ENEMIES.

THE FLESH.

" Sweet, thou art pale."

" ^^oi'e pale to Pee,
Ohrist hung upon the cruel tree
And bore his Father's wrath for me."

"Sweet, thou . tsad"

' Beneath a rod
More heavy, Christ for me trod

The

wine-press of the wrath of God

Tit^ THREE ENEMIES.

" Sweet, thou art weary."

^„, ''Not .so Christ:

Whose mighty love of mo sufficed
For Stj-ongth, Salvation, Eucharist."
" Sweet, thou art footsore."

^ " If I bleed

His feet have bled ; yea, in my need.

His Heart once bled for mine indeed,"

THK WORLD.
*• Sweet, tliou art young."

, " So He was voung

Who for my sake in silence hung
Upon the cross with jxassion wrimg."
" Look, thou art fair."

_, " He was iiiore fair

Ihan men, who deigned for me to wear
A visage marred l)eyond compare.'
" And thou hast rishes."

" L>aily bread :
All else is His: who, living, dead,
i^orme lacked where to lay His Head."
" And life is sweet."

" It was not so
To Him, who^e cup did overflow
With mine unutterable woe."

THE DEVIL.
" Thou drinkest deep,"

^5^

When Christ would

He drained the dregs from out
So how should I belil'ied up? '

sup

my cup

*^ INTERMEDIATE IlEAb^S,

" Thou slialt win glory,"

" 111 the skies :
Lord Jesus, coVer up mine eyes
Lest tliey should look on vanities."

" Thou shalt liave knowled.-f "

O *

" Plelple.ss dust 1
In Thee, Lord, I put my trust ;
Answer Thou for mo, ]\[ine and Just.'*

" And nit'ht,"—

"Get Tlioo hchind me. Lord,
Who hast redeemed and not abhorred
My soul, oh, keep it by Thy Word."

Christina Geoiyina liosetti.

Quesiiom — What is the subject of tliis instructive poem ? "WI o
is an enemy ? In what sense is 'pale' taken ? What is nunmt t.; be
conveyed? How does the soul meet this temptation ? What two
strong reasons are given ? What is the opposite to sadness ? Why
does the flesh desire us to be glad and merry? How does the
soul answer ? Can you explain "wine press" in this sentence ? When
IS a soul weary ? What is it to be weary ? Explain the meanincr of
"Strength," "Salvation," "Eucharist." When do we become foot-
sore ? What.purnoy is implied ? Why is the soul content to bleed ?
What IS meant by the flesh ? The world ? Why should the world
flatter us with youth? How does the soul refute? Why does the
world tempt us about beauty ? Who was more fair than men ?
What did He not despise to wear ? What is the next cause of flat-
tery ? What have we? Did Christ possess riches ? Do we natu
rally clmg to life ? Can you account for the reason why the world
should turn life into a temptation ? In what words does the soul
meet that temptation? Explain them ? Who is the devil ? Whv
does he tempt us ? What is the first temptation ? h the soul
content to listen to his suggestion ? What examples doe. she bring

cfoMMKr.cJi.

255

fonvanl ? Why sliouM glory bo a tcmptfition ? Do you l-pineml.er
1k)\v F^ataii ((Miiptod oui- Lord and tlic answer He gave ? Wluifc
iT'qucst <loo3 iha sold make ? How is Satan refuted concerning
knowledge ? Who alone is All-wise ? . Whence comes all knowledge ?
What is the meaning of 'might' in this case ? What is the firm answer
of the soul? Do not these enemies mean the concupiscence of the
flesh, the concupiscence of the eyes, and the pride of life which St. John
mentions ? What important lessons docs this poem inculcate?

Require the jnipil to write this jwevi in2n-ose and let him instance
to illustrate the varion.'i points, ayul let him make use of the stanzas to
embellish his comjwsitioyi.

Lesson LXXXIII.
COMMERCE.

1. I must confess that I am puzzled. I am hungry
and stiil I am aware that there are beautiful fields of
golden grains which grow in verdant meadows, a
profusion of salt in the blue waters of the ocean, and
wood in the dense and vast forests. But I should die of
hunger before I should have succeeded iu obtainino- fuel,
meat, salt, and bread by myself.

2. Should I take a fancy to drink coffee, I would have
to go Arabia in search of it. Bo I desire tea, then I
shall have to go to China. And I fear I would not have
the patience necessary to shear the sheep to get wool, to
wind up the cocoons to get silk, or to go South to pick
cotton.

3. How many ypp -: should I not be obliged to work
to dig out the iron ore which is buried in the bowels of
the earth, so as to be enabled to make even the blade of a
knife ! What endless trouble
the manufacture oi a single pin 1

should I not experience in

.1 !

.,V;(^^.£

256

INTEPMEDIATE READER.

Ill'

4. But forfunately wliai I am uiial)le to do my?r-]t,
there are other men to do it for nio v.- division of labor.
Each one has his allotted task, and hence it is tliat om
helps tlie other. Some cultivate tea, others cofr{.'e oi-
cotton, and again there are many who grow wheat or
corn. Some make flour, others provide meat, oth<M-s
work the mines, and so on with evtry article of life and
comfort and pleasure.

5. You are acquainted with tanners and shoemakers ;
with stone-cutters and carvers and carpenters. This on.'
is a tailor. Each one becomes apt and proiicient in Ins
trade or art, and accomplishes more and bettor work,ii.;ui
if we did all ourselves. In truth, we could not do it.

6. You make bread, I consume it. I, in my turn,
import tea and coffee and you consume it. By agreement,
we exchange. I make bootw and shoes, and you give me
instead, a hat or cap ; we rend^^r each other a mutual
service. Peter :nakes i taW Paul a chair, James
plates, Henry a knife, John a fork, William prepares
lodgings, Rjbert provides food, ai.d Charles turnishcs
clothing. Some pave the street-;, others airnish light,
provide vehicles, construct bridges and rail-roads, and
others build boats, in order to i.icilitato travel; and,
again, some there are who c iva^ my taste and refine-
ment by their exquisite proi ;tic of art. But each one
receives an exchange for his labor whether of ' rade uc
art.

7. As it is not always convenient for me to go from
city to city, or from country to country, to buy this or
that article, I have others who offer their services to
accommodate me. These men see that they are prop-

COMMERCE.

257

criy packed and shipped, and then carefully stored away:
those men are called wholesale merchants.

8. These wholesale merchants supply others who, in
their turn, supply the want of persons in their vicinity or
to people living in the country. These men are called
retail merchants. This mode of carrying on exchan-o
saves both time and expense. °

9. This is Com7nerce, and to it do we owe all these
facilities. Merchants busy themselves, lay out money,
incur risks, and attend to the disposing of their merch-
andise. Though their ships may be wrecked, their houses
distr jved by fire, their merchandise damaged, they are
not wl. oHy without some compensation.

10. '^ ^ compensation is their gain, and is obtained by
selling the . merchandise at higher prices than the original
cost. Tl .i is perfectly legitimate, provided they do not
exceed justice.

11. Should a merchant set too high a price upon his
goods for the purpose of gain, the difference between the
buying and selling price would be in excess, and hence
other merchants compete with him, and thus draw away
his customers. This gives rise to what is known as
competition.

12. Moreover, the price of an article depends entirely
upon the value we place upon it, and in accordance with
our need of the article in question. Should the merch-
ant, however, have on hand a greater supply ^han his
custom calls for, he will be obliged to sell at reduced
prices in order to get rid of his si .ck. But should the
custon^ Ts demands exceed his supply, then the articles
.cli at Higher prices. This occurs almost daily in one kind
of business or an other,

1; '

258

INTf.RMEDIATE READER.

■i'lr

13. The rules regulating commerce are in acoordanoe
to the wants of the country. There is no country which
does not import or export. For imports we pay wliat is
called dul//, and .serves as a kind of protection for home
products. Canada is destined by nature, and through tlie
enterprising spirit of her people to become a great center
of commerce.

Quesdnns.— How was business lurnu-rly carriod on? What do
you understand by (ho Division of labor 1 What is cvchnnijef
Exphiin how by exchange we may obtain all th(; articles which wn
do not manufacture ourselves? Who are wholesale merchants?
Who is a merchant? What do you mean by retad merchants?
What is a ,(/rtm? What do you understand by competition? How
are the prices regulated ? What is said of the rules of regulating
commerce? What is duty? What is said of Canada in relation to
Commerce?

Require the pupil to mention the various articles of commerce.
Let him wrUe a short letter to a distant friend explaiyiing to him the
progress of Canada in point of commerce.

Lesson LXXXIV.
AN ANSWER TO MARTHA'S LETTER.

vtyrn- cyt' y<}-tti

"- r

c-i- w-eii

tz-u.

crt-

AN ANSWER TO MARTHA's LETTER.

259

i l/ifi^ n- i:^v=t^cc.tr/c^/t.x:.c^ ,'^ t

If' C( /it. r/ / rf r/ f (

iv-

C-C-ZH. Tf

■Co-u^c-li,

nc-

^o-o-A^cC f^^ll o-c/i^.l /^

CL ^nf-v-t

.y tf- ice- //tc

£-/«- cv^e-

•>^n-cC //ic-tv 1^/oz.

.^-^,

<?-/&&-

c- nLx^-ifvcnr^- t/c^w- t;^ i/i

^»i»-Cj,

L-^e-c-i^c-,

"v-

rfAl i:^-^v ^-alM^ /'/j f e >« r^/,^,-. ,,, -

tf-ti^/i:/ llv-ci.C Mi^vai. i-c^. ;^.;:^.

r i,-

260

INTERMEDIATE READER.

n- 'niyo /

^AJe- tt-f^'C'

f^rri)

^rvz-y^ ■l^o-<^^^ io

■o- tn^o

y'A-c

O-Oll- i'^i'C-,

i^rC-e^t/- ^vo-orrVj ^^ri^y- ctt-t> ',

tti-tcf,' to-c CC cc-ync- €€rjctm- iv-r- k-n-o-tv-.

£yv

■tr> ijji'i t'n-u^ vt^<^i^ ^<^'

dp-? t'n-u^

7'
/ / • //

c-ff> ti' ■uc-ioi' ■Ctii'tc-' O-G-tt-rzu^

■J.

«-i.

coU'ti' ii>t> €vlr> tar

ct^u-

77^

o-=fn'0--ttiy-n)- ityt> -Ccn-tz-^t

■Cot

ci.rv\

Ci' 5?-

ct, ^A^e^n-, rovcc-i-, -tt),

■/^■tu-t-t^jCti-t- 'Cf>.

«> ti tt^iT- in-C-lty.

oi'

f>iifJ~/V.

^>XL» /CcJ^l- to-o-n^t^^lCtt't'

'U>^fZ'Wi' ^ '/^i^rvtj' u^i^ Cc- -tri-ty ■K^n^'O-vyCe't^^t^ f>-fi^ ^n^-c^

■C'tti'vri.

rta^-e> iy-jf ^rv-c*

ttno

(/€^vo(jyA.C-e-co -Co- i^^i^tvci uo-U' it?- ^-i<?-=

TV-o^uAA- U'O-tt' rit^

i-c-i-C' 'fv-o^uAA- y^o-tt' tva^v-'C'

/■

t/e^V'fj-tfi'c/' Iv ^^fi-acna. Z^tvco ^■o- ■e.-i^rhr^'yv-c^

%T^

-fri'e^rv

tti^v /ix>

t-iyt' tJL^fVU.

IX^i^t-Z/O-tt:

it/v-^A' jn.i^^i

ioin^n

rt'O-ixM^

',t/t-\

ti^U't-oc tri/ctU' fv-a,v-^ o€>i

cvu,

>t/CeA/t/cC

ANSWER TO Martha's letter.

261

en. Y■^^ll /t-e^ct^i

/Cc-i

^t^cl ■i/zU-CC y^.ff^f, 4c-

iiii^

/w.e«/ ,./„. ^x^/./ii„„ //„

-i<^«*^e-iX ts^/i^e/

i-e^ i«.«^ c- c <?■, /^r^

«/ fi-ctl.

'e-e- -e-/:/.g

c- «.«.

■^i^t.. ot^m/^ii uJic/ ^^^. ^./ii

■y

/ ^

^e^t^ex

v/.

«• ^xy-cn^eA. to^ ^i,^.

/»

i^ ^lu-lC^cn.c; fl

<^./y./%

'e-e 'ft.&//ei. tl-tt^t

^ <>-/z.t^f /T.cr

•/.

«/

\y^'U-'l Ae^U <:-n.-cv

!0-C, in/^t- f/

■uia-CCi/-

-^ ^V clftveAc/, t^-nr/ .,i.ti/^

./o.

C'C'irci-e.i't. c?.l

i-e^r-rrt €i,Cnvc-i

r/u

t'e s^j..

'^-<

r. ^,^^-^.e. ^,^i, i^^/£i^ „,,,,^/

■ct

tf (Xtf

'U^- ^■^c.c/t'.y.rMj/ic^u^Jt.

^t'G- r^.e- c-M-i

^ i'cvexe.

ti^y

fn-lc^ i««?Y>/».i t<A^

/? /)

eic Wf^ c-fl^« ^w^ /Jcc.

^c- ^ «/er«.i rf.t;4^

tV'lcA^zt^,

t/t.cC

'¥m

262

INTERMEDIATE READER.

f,.; ii

it-i-c^.

Tn-ux

i t-i -m-e^'le^

/ ///

O'-a-, fi-cfvr- ■'^■t

7e'^•■<^^/e-c/ ic-'nvt, n--o-ui'i /p

./.

iyr-acte yi /■/ rt /? ct

/ i,/ii.c/i

7- ^/

'.^y-& ^■c-'nvE^ ■cC'ni'i,

A^o.

' cf'tf> '/)it ■ ^tri' c n f J /cj- 4 c-^'-c-^-e-C'-c

c^?-<- ■k:yvv^^^^

y/ca/;/

/J ve^-ttf ^i-C'Ce iici.'ly- %-<J-i' y-Xf-tt-na^ Tri-e tt^

■{■c-=(/ai,'- fct- c-
y ft^^/ air //;c-

-lo r

b v-i

■/

iU-

■e^rv -Cfi-c^ ic-f £'fic^e 1.

t> (fi^-c- rTAt^e-ii-ia-iiX- c^-vC €n^ rf a■^i

r/c

(■' Z

iff? t^-.

//AW

■J

■c^tiriy ^vo-'i' ■C'C-r>tmit/i t

vo-rva rl- to-f l/i y-c-ti-.. '^:^ irvtz-vC p.'lti.it tcf- ^oa

o-l ij o tc.

/Z/^.... M.

b /

4i t/c-t{ t^tnrC fale-

ir. /z/^r^ 1/v-u- /-o-i, 37tn)zt/ ti-eciii to- x:o-'>'>m

7/'

n^ //^e-i-c- i^n

ze ?/i c nfx,

t c ni a ( n ,

t/f.

ffe^t^Ay itiici-

l9f.

//',

«r / i/iti'

u i lo-t' t^vg c-ntt

"/ uenv-€e-ft- -^i

to-i-. .. oA-,

U'iint-ti:^-

- jccf'/^? r-p J.

xi^c-m-mti/i t

ic mcf e n.

a picture of dawn.

Lesson LXXXV.

A PICTURE OP DAWN.

1. I had occasion, a few weeks since, to take the early
tram from Providence to Boston; and for this purpose
rose at two o clock in the morning. Every thing^around
was wrapped in darkness and hushed in "silence: brok

"f 'V ;^l"r"'"'' '"^ ^^°"'^^^^^ unearthly cla:k
anri rush of the train.

2. It was a mild, serene, midsummer's night; the skv
was Without a cloud, the winds where whist. The moon
then in the last quarter, had just risen, and the stars
shone with a spectral lustre, but little affected ])v her
presence. -^

3. Jupiter, two hours high, was the herald of the day •
the rieiadas, just above the horizon, slied their sweet
influence in the east, Lyra sparked near the Zenith -^
Andix)meda veiled her newly-discovered glories from the
naked eye in the south; the steady pointers, far beneath
the pole, looked meekly up from the depths of the nortli
to their sovereia-n.

4. Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the
train. As we proceeded the timid approach of twilight
became more perceptible; the intense blue of the sky
began to soften ; the smaller stars, like little children
went first to rest ; the sister beams of the Pleiades soon
melted together; but the bright constellations of tiie
west and north remained unchanged.

5. Steadily the wondrous tranofio-Mnf---- - ■
H.nrts o, angels, h,cWe„ from mortal eyes, shifted the
scenery ol the heavens ; the glories of night dissolved into

264

INTERMEDIATE RpAMtt.

the glories of tho dawn. The blue sky now turned more
softly gray; the great watch-stars shut up their holy
eyes ; the east began to kindle.

6. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky;
the celestial concave was filled with the inflowing tides of
the morning light, which came pouring down from abov*;
in one great ocean of radiance, till at length, as we
reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out
from above the horizon, and turned the dewy tear-drops
of the flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds.

7. I do not wonder at the superstition of t)«» ancient
Magians, who, in tho morning of the world, went up to
the hill-tops of Central Asias, and, ignorant of the trui^
God, adored the most glorious work ^/ this hanfl But J
am filled with amazement when I am tohl tik»t in this
enlightened age, and in the heart of tlv- Chrij?tiaj8 world,
there are persons who can witness this daily manifesta-
tion of the power and wisdom of the Creat/>r, and yet Bay
in their hearts, " There is no God."

Edward Everett,

Questions.— What is tlie meaning of the title of the subject-
matter? How was the solemn silence of the nighfc disturbecl?
Give a description of the night. Can you describe the stars ? What
do you know concerning the Pleiades? Jupiter? Lyra? Androm-
eda? How is the approach of twilight described? Can you give
tlie description of the progress of this transfiguration ? How is tho
morning described ? What are the conclusions arrived at ? Who an-
atheists? Is there, strictly speaking, an atheist? Why not?
V\ liat do you know about the author?

Require the pupil to write a composition on the" Fkrly Daionr
andlet hivi introduce sentences from the lesson to embellish h,s
writing.

turned more
p their holy

long the sky;
)wing tides of
n from abovt;
3ngth, as wo
8 blazed out
^Y tear-drops
ids.

f tli«3 ancient
1, went up to
t of the true
laBf). But 3"
iiMt in this
i>?tia» worW,
ly manifestii-
, and yet 8aj

'd EveretA.

)f the subject-
;ht disturbod?
) stars? What
ra? Androm-
Can you give
? How is tho
lat? Who arc
? Why not?

Early Dawn,"
< emhellish hiu

f a?aE INFLUENCE OP MUStd 265-

' Lesson LXXXVI.

THE INPLUENOE OP MUSTO.

HVflu-enc^, n.,poiver flowing fnmi any muse.

dSx'ter-is^tls, adj., skilful.

emo'tions, n , mentccl/cdiu,j, or vorkiny.s of the mind

sol'ae^, n., comfort, recreation.

mSl'ody, n., sHcccstion of sweet sounds.

tSm'pl^, n., aplace consecrated to religious worship.

in'do-lenc^, «., laziness.

Soh'o, n , tJic sound returned.

ser'aphim, „.,„„ „/fc ,,.»,™ ./(/,„ &„„„;„,,^,.,,<.^

to J;,7''" ""'I'f'"'."' ^ "«>'•« e-'Pecial manner, U indebted
totIo.sen.,oofhean„g for the influence which he can
.xert over our natnrc. That dextcron., arrangement and
correspondence of sounds, which are capahk, witl.o"^
bcng n, any way addressed to our underst^mdin" rf
excttn,g so many lively emotions within onr minds'" are
ent,re ly he offspring of this sense. If it served no othi

mnkh!l ?,'"■ ^"P°'' *"" "''^ "'"'"'-"f f"'"i-*i"g
oThwoTl'T,""''n '"'''''"''' '''^""'^ ^'^'l t™£

cnUvened-how nriay . ruggcl nature has been softened
-how many a cruel puvpo-e ha<, been diverted and
.Wmed,bythe mediati.a of this enchanting art!

a Imetf f ";;"■' " "■' '■^" *'"'"'" "■°""'' -■« °^-°--' with
a hne of death and run,, and when even reason, duty,

and the lov-e of country itself, are insuiBcient to weven

.esp,r,ts from sinking at the sight of the terrible pomp

01 cestruction that stalks around, the sound of the fife

(iii;.

S66

ini-srMediate reader.

and drum is able to confirm the staggering soul td
arouse tlio drooping energies of the heart, and hurry
them on to an intoxication of bravery and defiance which
all the persuasions of reason could iiever have produced.
2. In the bosom of domestic life, how effectml is the
moderate intervention of this science, in strengthening
the bond of social love, and in cheering the exertions of
nidustry ! The poor artisan, who is fed by the labor of
his hands, forgets his toil, while he unburdens his heart
in song: and the fond father and brother feel their
affection sensibly increased, when the object of their care
IS charming the hours away with a melodv of other
times. In the temples of the living God, when the mind
IS distracted by the memory of earthly cares, or the
assaults of indolence and tepidity, the' choir and the
organ are used to direct Its attention and to elevate its
aspirations. Here, too, they are made to the Supreme
Being a faint echo of that homage which he receives, in
its perfection, from the seraphim in heaven. How pre-
cious, therefore, is this art, which is capabl(3 of soothing
the unhappy, of refreshing the weary, of softening the
hard of heart, of re-animating a drooping courage, of
strengthening a social affection, of inspiring even labor
itself with a multitude of pleasing and cheerful associa-
tions !

Gerald Gi'iffin.

Qutstiom. To what is the musician indebted? What is said of
the influence of the happy arrangement of sounds? What alone
would be sufficient to obtain for them the lasthig gratitude of man?
What is the soothinff efffinf. nf mn«if> in fVi^ lir>.v.r, o'^r-Ac^ *> tr^,.. ,i_„,.

music cheer up the artisan ? What is the grand effect of the divine

THE BELLf? OE SHANDOIt.

267

Worship? Who is the seraphim? How does the author'sum up
the benefits of music ? Is it a desirable accomplishment ?

"Require the pupil to write a short composition. Lrf hir.i introduce
fustoncal mstances ; o.s, for instance, Daind with his harp .- suow
Jrom naturalhistory, the charmincj of beasts and rrpHies

of the divine

Lesson LXXXVII.
THE BELLS OP SHANBON.

With deep affection and recollection,

I often think of those Shandon hells,

Whose sounds so wild would, in days of childhood,
Fling round my cradle their magic spells.

On this I ponder where'er I wander,

And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of theo^
With thy bells of Shandon, that sound so grand on

The pleasant waters of the Eiver Lee.

I've heard hells chiming full many a clime iii^^
Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine,

While at glib rate brass tongues would vibrate ;'
But all their music spoke naught like thine ;^

For memory, dwelling on each proud swelling
Of thy l)elfry, knelling its bold notes fre'e.

Makes the bells of Shandon sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters of the Uv. or Lee.

I've heard bells tolling old Adrian's Mole in^
Their thunder rolling from the Vatican ;

And cymbals glorious swinging uproarious /
In the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame.

'if

i
s

268 llWfiKMEDlATE REAfcEfi.

But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of Peter
Flings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly.

0, the bells of Shandon sound far more grand on
The pleasant waters of the River Lee.

There's a bell in Moscow, while on tower and kiosk, 0!

In St. Sophia the Turkman gets,
And loud in air calls me to prayer,

From the tapering summits of tall minarets.

' Such empty phantom I freely grant them.

But there's an anthem more dear to me :
\^ 'Tis the bells of Shandon, that sound to grand on
^ The pleiisant waters of the River Lee.

The Eev. Francis Mahony.

Questions.— Why does the poet think with deep affection of tlie
Sliandon bells? What bells are referred to? Where is that Church ?
When does he think of these bells? Where else did he hear the
chime of bells? What does he say oftheirmusic? In what climes
did he hear bells? Where is the Vatican ? Of what Notre-Dame
dees he speak ? To what does he compare the sound of the Shandon
bells? Where are the bells as specified? How does he regard all
these bells? What is a bell? What do you know of the bells of
Notre-Dame, Montreal? Who is the author of this poem ?

Itequire the pupil to write this poein in prose.

7r«W * ,* " ■^.'*'' f"7* "^ ^'- ^""' *■« '"*"•'' ''"^^ 'A* MU cele-
brated ^n the poem, ,, one hundred feet high, and, heino built upon a considera-
ble eminence, appear, a remrarkable object in every point of view of the city of

a^nJeZ:^:::^/'""" ''*"' ^''""'" ''"'"•'^ '"''''"'"' " '■'* -"^ "-^

PCT3R. <»■»

in Englith,"

. . — > eeptiles. 269

Lesson LXXYVIII.
REPTILES.

rSp'til)^, n., creeping, crawling animals with four legs, as tortoises
frogs, and lizards.

1 tings, n.,tJK organs of respiration or breathing, by means of which the
breath is inhaled or exhaled,

ir-ri-ta-bil'ity, n,. Mte or quality of being irritable, that is, capable
of being agitated, pained, or fretted by any accustomed contact.

mtts'eular, adj., relating to the action w power oftlie muscles.

Ob-tus^, adj., not acute ; faint,dull, bhmt.

ISth'-argy, n., state of sleepiness; sluggish forgctfulncss or insensibility.

nev'-w^^S, adj., -relative toth^ nerves, which are the organs of sen-
sation, passing from the brain to all parts of the body.

?gr-e-b«l'lum, n., the hinder part of the head ; of tlie brain.

ptil'mon-ary, adj.,of or partaining to the lungs.

l^r'ynx, n., the wind-pipe or trochea.

1. Reptiles have the heart disposed in such a manner,
so that, on each contraction, it sends into the lungs only
a portion of the blood which it has received from the
various parts of the body and the restof that<fluid returns
to the several parts, without having passed through the
lungs, and undergone the action of respiration.

2. Prom this it results, thf.t the oxygen acts less on the
blood than in the mammifera. If the quantity of respira-
tion in the latter animals, in which the whole of the
blood parses through the lungs, before returnirg to the
parts, be expressed by unity, the quantity of respiration
in the resptiles must be expressed by a fraction of unity
HO much the smaller, ai5 the portion of the blood sent to
the lung3 on each contraction of the heart is less.

3. As respiration communicates to the blood t*B heat,
._^. ,,_. .^.i„j u.Kss.x:a tnuxr nur-.uuB imtaoiiiU, v we find
that reptUes have cold blood, and that the.; muscula

!i;!l

270

INTERMEDIATE READER.

'11'

1 I
i . 1 '

I I

power is less upon the whole, than that of quadrupeds,
and consequently, than that of birds. Accordingly, tlu^
do not often perform any movements l)ut those of creep-
ing and of swimming; and though many of them leap,
and run ftist enough,- on some occasions, their general
habits are lazy, their digestion exceedingly slow, their
sensations obtuse, and in cold and temperate climates,
they pass almost the entire winter in a state of lethargy.
Their brain, proportionally smaller, is not so necessary to
the first two classes of the animal kingdom. Tiiey
continue to live and exhibit voluntary motions after
having lost the brain, and even the head, by decapita-
tion, and tliat for a very considerable time. The con-
nection with the nervous system is also much less neces-
sary to the contraction of their fibres ; and their flesh,
after having been separated from the rest of the body,
preserves its irritability much longer than in the classes
already named. Their heart will beat for several hours
after it has been plucked out, and its loss does not hinder
the body from moving for a long time. In many of
them it has been observed that the cerebellum is
remarkably small, which perfectly accords with their
little propensity to motion. The smallness of the pul-
monary vessels permits reptiles to suspend their respiration
without arresting the course of the blood; accordingly,
they dive more easily, and for a longer time, than
mammifera or birds ; the cellules of their lungs are also
much wider. Reptiles are provided with a trachea or
larynx, though the faculty of an audible voice is not
accorded to them all. Not possessing warm blood, they
have no occasion for teguments capable of retainino- the

RAIN.

quadrupeds,
dingly, thoy
)se of creop-

them leap,
leir goncral

slow, their
tte climates,
of lethargy,
neeessarv fo
rlom. They
lotions after
>y deca])ita-
The cou-
i less neces-
their flesh,
f the body,
I the classes
3veral hours
3 not hinder
[n many of
•ebellum is

with their
of the pul-

respiration
iccordingly,

time, than
»s are also

trachea or
raice is not
blood, they
itaining the

heat, and they are covered with scales,
naked skin.

271

or simply with a

Baron George C.

1'.

QnesUons.-Whrxi do you know of the disposition of (ho h.a'rt of
rept.les ? What is the result of the action ? What do you mean l.v
mamm.fera? How does the quantity of respiration of the n.anunif-

ZTrV'V'""^"''^' "^"•"- "^" '^''' '^^ respiration
operate? Describe the action of reptiles. How does their brain

rfuToff; T "'"['^T'"P"'^ • "^^'^^ '^•^Pi'""^ ^^hen their heads
nrecutotr? Describe the after results. What benefit do reptiles
derive from the smallness of their pulmonary vessels? What do

whynrtr^'^"''"'^"- ^^"""'^'' ""^^^^ '^"^ *''«^"-'"^ -'^

Require the pupiUo ivrite a composition on Repiiks in qeneral
miroduciruj such instances they may have heard or read.

Lesson LXXXIX.

RAIN.

1. The heat is oppressive. Large dark clouds outlined
w.*h a yellowish white, are slowly gathering in the sky
Nature seems hried : not a breath of air seems to freshen
the helds or invigorate prostrate man. In short, it is
difficult fo breathe.

2 The. storm is about to break. From time to time
indistinct peals, of thunder are heard and the sky is
Illumined by flashes of lightning. Thee -uds are darkening,
and are moving to and fro with astonishing rapidity"
iiut, see, a cloud breaks large drops of rain begin to fall.

3, Ah, this is an unfavorable day for harvesters I
Joyously they entered the fields, with a cheering song,

IMAGE EVALUATION
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^> ^xi

^i-

272

INTERMEDIATE READER.

carrying tlieir implements, and with ready hearts they
set to work. Eain, however, interrupts them in their
happy pleasant task, and unceremoniously sprinkles their
newly cut golden grain.

4. Happily it has ceased to rain. The dark threat-
enmg clouds are, by an invisible power, driven away,
and a clear sky is beginning to appear. Thank God, the
storm is averted. Would that this same blessing were
granted to other places where the harvest is ripe and
ready for the scythe !

5. Now that we are delivered from the dread storm,
let us inquire into the explanation of the phenomenon
which seemed to disturb our calm.

6. Well, let us ask ourselves how rain ir formed. It
is not necessary to enter into minute details, a few words
will suffice. Have you not frequently noticed a sort of
vapor arising from a kettle on the stove? And certainly
you remarked that when the water was boiling, the
vapor became more dense.

7. Now, are you aware what becomes of this vapor ?
It went up to the ceiling, against the walls and
windows, and thus was cooled. If you had then closely
exammed the window-panes, you should have j-emarked
that they had been tarnished by the vapor. The panes
being moistened, little drops of water were formed and
as they united rolled down in streaks on the panes. Now
if you could have collected all these drops of water, they
should have been equal to the quantity of steam that
came from the kettle on the stove.

8. Hence, sir, if I understand you correctly, the heat
changed the water into vapor, and the cold air, in turn,
cyuverted the vapor into water,"

9, That 18 precisely wliat I mean. Remember, what
has liappened to the water in the kettle placed over tlK«
hre, .8 m miniature what takes place in nature, but on a
grander scale. The water in the kettle represents the
ocean ; the fire in the stove, the sun ; the vapor which
c^omes from the kettles, the clouds; and, as to the water
winch trickles down the window-panes, it is replaced in
nature by brooks, streams, and rivers. Let me explain.
10. The sun by its intense heat causes a considerable
caiantity of water of the ocean to ascend in the form of
vapor, which although invisible at first, is in its contact
^vIth the cold air, condensed and thus become clouds
.^ow should the action of the wind drive these vapors
into a colder atmosphere, and then into colder still, the
water can no longer remain in the state of vapor The
vapor IS condensed into little globules, which becomin.^
heavier than the air, fall upon the earth in drops or
rather, we say, it rains. '

11. Thus is the rain forraea. But what becomes of
the ram you ask? Well, the rain which falls upon the earth
IS distributed among men, beasts, vegetables, and rivers.
Tha which falls upon the ground sinks into the earth
until It meets a hard surftice which it can not penetrate.
There It forms a sort of underground lake which when
filled, bubbles forth, and forms springs. These again tend
to form brooks and rivers, which finally retur^ to tlu,
ocean, to supply the loss occasioned bv evaporation
J^ow having returne<l to the bosom of "the ocean as
Its natural reservoir, the same thing occurs, thai is, it is

converted into vapor by the- action of tl

falls ao'

ation never ceases

le sun, and then

iin in the form of rain. This wonderful transforra-

i : !

!:f!

I PI

274

INTKRMEDiATE READE'R.

12. Rain causes the grass to grow, the seeds to takd
root, and the fields to maintain their lieautiful green.
The water which filters into the soil dissolves mineral
matter that tends to nourish plants that have taken root.
It lays the dust and rids us of many hurtful vapors which
Jiaturally arise on account of the sultry warmth.
Without rain, we could not live, for, then, the eartii
W-ould refuse to bring forth what is essent-ally necessary
to maintain animal and vegetable life. Herein we see
another striking proof of God's loving Providence.

Qnesdons.— What is rain ? Whence comes the water tliiit folis in
the form of rain? Which are its sources? To what may wo
compare the evaporation of the ocean ? When-3 comes the lioat
which causes this evaporation? What becomes of tlie rpin?
mat the happy result of rain? Could we live witliout it?

Bequire tie pupil to write a short composition ok Eain. Let him
exptain the benefit of rain to man, beast, and to ptar' ' ; uenera/.

Lesson XO.
FRIENDSHIP.

1. The greatest blessing one can have,

Or heaven high can send
To man in this drear world, is
A good and fiithful friend.

2. An enemy is poison black,

Fomenting sin and strife;
A friend is, on the other hand,
The " medicine oi life."

3. But mr.ny men I blush to tell,

A friendship oft profess

When o,.o i.s riel,, but Ml aw,.y

4-l'W„ome,I,b,«.i„,,,.3„j^j,j
home mean an,l ..lid, end

W- don tfeo„.o.nd«ho„W .lot ...lain.

- I" oWsing fr,e„ ,, , „,„ ,,,„,„,,

■">« holy ami the wise
A.stheywil,noti„timeofn:;,,
Ahandon or .lespise

('■He'll neve,, bo a feithft.1 friend,
-ihongh gracious be his nod

^-'^weet his s„,e, who still remains
Ihe enemy of Go<I.

-'Tis charity, sweet charity,

TI.efr,endsh,pofthehnma„b;art
Jixalts and purifies.

8. This life without a faithful friend
Were but a cheerless void,
A gloomy desert dark and dre, r,
A.icl lit to be destroyed.

9- Ah I give me but one faithful friend
Whose fnendship knows no guife

constant, true, unchan-.^eable,
And all things seem to ^mile.

275

10. I

days of gl,
In dan

loom he is

Igor a defiance

light

A bulwark by his good advi
is Wisdom and Jiis

sense.

11:1

276 'iNTERMEWATE ilEADfilt.

11. A friend veers not with every wind

Who has love's anchor cast ;
The heavens may fall and others fail,
He's faithful to the last.

12. Thank heaven friendship's not a vain,

A hollow, empty sound ;
Men daily find true friendship still,
And I myself have found.

The Rev. James Casey.

Questions.— \V\vn.i is the subject of the poem? What is friend^
ship ? How does he contrast enemy and friend ? Are all moii
equally true in their friendship? Do all seek friendship with the
same end? What friends should we choose? Can we have tru.'
friendship and still bo the enemy of God ? Why not ? What virtue
exalts and purifies friendship? What is life without a friend'
What is the power of a faithful friend? Does the true friend
readily change? Do true friends exist? WHiat instances can ynii
cite of true a°nd false friendship ? Why are friends necessary ?

Require the pupil tn vrile the poem in prose. Let him commit
the poem to memory.

Lesson XCI.

THE MARTYRS OP SANDOMIR.

Six hundred years ago, one night.

The monks of Sandomir
Had chanted matins in the choir,

And thou sat down to hear
The lesson from the martyrs' lives

For the ensuing day :
For thus the Blessed Dominic

Had taught his sons the wa^

viml

'■> j
3 fail,

a vain,

till,

James Casey.

? What is frieiul-
end? Are all mon
friendship with tl.e

Can we have tnw
not? What viriuo

without a friend'
3es the true friend

instances can ymi
ds necessary ?

, Let him comntit

>OMIR.

THE MARTYRS OF SANDOMIR.

To sanctify the liours that men

In pleasure or in .sleep
Are wont to spend, and they took Ciiro

Ills holy rule to keep.

The book lay open on the desk

At the appointed page;
The youngest novice, who was scarce

More than a boy in ao-o.
Stood up to sing, and on the book

Looked down with earnest eyes.
At once across his features stole

A movement of surprise ;
And then, with clear and steady voice

He sang " The Forty-nine
MartyrsofSandomir"— and laid

His finger on the line.
Sadoc, the Prior, almost knew

By heart that holy book.
And, rising in his stall, he called

With a reproving look
The novice to his side, and said,

" My son, what has thou sung ?
From jests within these sacred walls

'Twere meet to keep thy tongue."

" Father," the novice answered meek,
" The words are written all

Upon this page," and it straight
To Sadoc in his stall.

Th' illuminated parcliment shone
With gold and colors bright,

277

i: ' ! .ffl

«li: i

278

INTERMEDIATE READER.

But brighter far than all the rest,

With an unearthly light,
Bcam'd forth tlie words the youth had sung.

The prior saw the sign,
And said, my brethren, 'tis from God ;

Are we not forty-nine ?
It is a message from our Lord —

Rejoice ! for by His grace.
To-morrow we shall be in Heaven,

To-morrow see His face.
What matter if the way be hard

And steep that leads us there ?
The time is short. Let us make haste,

And for our death prepare."
Then one by one at Sadoc's feet

The monks their sins confessed
With true contrition, and rose up

In peace, absolved and blessed.
And when the eastern sunbeams came

In through the window tall,
Sadoc, the Prior, said mass, and gave
The bread of life to all.
* * #

Like other days than wondrous days

The holy brethren spent ;
As their rule bade them, to their meals.

To work, to prayer they went ;
Only from time to time they said,

" Why are the hours so long ?
We thought we should have been ere no^

Joining the angels' song."

i^ r

THE MARTYRS OF SANDOMIR.

The evening came, the compli,! bell
^^ ^ Had called them to the choir—
^od grant us all a perfect end,"
In blessing said the Prior
And when the complin psalms were sun.^
iliey chanted at the end— '^'

" Into Thy hands, my Lord and God,

My spirit I commend."
Again, and yet again rose up

Those words so calm and sweet
And when an echo from a rock
/ Doth some clear note repeat.

Fierce war cries now were hear.l without,
J310WS shook the convent .A.^te •

The heathen Tartar hordes had come
With fury filled ami hate.

The brethren heeded not, nor heard
The clamor of their foes ;

For from their lips the holv I

Salve Rei

ymn,

:ina, rose.

And two and two in orde
They passed down tl

r raiig'd
Ji'ough th

And when they turned and h

The holy water

neeled, t

nave.

le r

;or

:ave.

But as they sang, " 6 Motl

JSI

Wlien this life

ler d

ear,

'S e.xil

e s o ei-,

low us the face of Christ, thy Son,
The Tartars burst the door

279

\ I

Wit!

i savage yells and .^houts tl
Wtlj deadly weapons bare

"'y came.

280

!rl

11*1
111

INTERMEDIATE READER.

On murder and on plunder iH'ni ;—

The sight that met them there,
Of that whitc-roh'd, un<htuntivl band,

Kneeling. so calm and still,
A moment checked them in tliere eourse-

Tho next, the i)ow'rs of ill
Had urged them on, and they began

Their work of l)lood and death.
Nor stayed their hands till all tin; monks

Had yielded up their breath.
So Sadoc and his brethren all

At Sandoniir were slain :
Six l^undred years in Heaven ha\e paid

That hour ot bitter ])ain.

. . Le.sson xcrr.

DAMON AND PYTHIAS.

When Damon was .sentenced by Diony.sius of Syracu.se
to die on a certain day, lie begged pcrmi.ssion, in 'the in-
terim, to retire to his own country, to set the affairs of liis
di.scon.solate family in order. This the king intended
peremptorily to refuse, by granting it, as he conceived, on
the impo.ssible condition of his procuring some one to re-
main as hostage for his return, under cnpial forfeiture of
life. Pythias heard -the conditions, and did not wait for
an a])plication upon the part of Damon. He instantly
offered himself as security for his friend, which being ac-
cepted, Damon was immediately .set at liberty. The king
and all the courtiers were astonished at this action; and"^
therefore, when the day of execution drew near, his ma.

■I:

DAMON AND I'YTillA.S.

281

jesty had tlio curiosity to visit Pythia.s in his confinonient
Attor somo conversation on tlio sni.ject of frion.lshin in
which thokingflcHvcn-ditas liis opinion that self-intorost
was the solo mover of human actions ; as for virtue, friend-
ship, benevolence, love of one's country, and the lik,> ho
looked upon them as terms invented l.y the wise to keep
in awe and im].ose upon the weak— " My, lord, " said
Pythias, with a firm voice and nohk, aspec^t '" I would it
were possible that I might suft'or a, thousand deaths, rather
than my friend should fail in any article of liis lionor He
cannot fail therein, my lord I am as confident of his
virtue as I am of my own existence. But I pray I be-
seech the gods to ])reserve the life and integrity of my
iJamon together. Oppose him, yo winds ! prevent the
eagerness and impatieiu-e of his honorable en.leavors and
suffer him not to arrive till, by my death, I shall have
re<leemed a life a thousand times of more consequence, of
more value, than my own ; more estimable to his lovely
wife, to his precious little ir-iocents, to his friends, to liis
(country. Oh, leave me not .o die the worst of deaths in
my Damon ! " Dionysius was awed and confounded by the
dignity of these sentiments, and l)y the manner in which
they were uttered. He felt his heart struck by a slic^ht
sense of invading truth; but it served rather to peri^ex
than undeceive liim.

The fatal day arrived. Pythias was broughtforth, and
walked amidst the guards, with a serious but satisfied air
to tlio place of execution. Dionysius Avas already there •
ho was exalted on a moving throne, that was drawn by
six white horses, and sat pensive, and attentive to the
prisoner. Pythias came ; he vaulted lightly on the scaffold,
md^ beholding for some time the apparatus of death he

282

INTERMEDIATE READER.

turned, with a placid countenance, and a.Idrcssed tho
spectators: "My prayers are heard," he cried; " tiio
gods are propitious! You know, my friends, that the winds
have been contrary till yesterday. Damon could not
come; he could not conquer impossibilities; he will bo
hero to-morrow, and the blood which is shed to-day shall
have ransomed the life of my f.-iend. Oh, could I erase
from your bosom every doubt, every mean suspicion, of
the lienor of the man for whom I am about to suffer, I
should go to my death even as I would to my bridal. Bo
it sufficiant, in the meantime, that my friend will be found
noble; that his truth is unimpeachable; that he will
speedily prove it; that he is now on his way, hurryingon,
accusing himself, the adverse elements, and the gods ;°but
I hasten to prevent his speed. Executioner, do 'your
office. " As he pronounced the last words, a buzz began
to rise among the remotest of the people— a distant voice
was heard— the crowd caught tlie words, and "Stop, tho
execution ! " was repeated by the whole assembly. ' A
man came at full speed ; the throng gave way to his ap-
proach; he was mounted on a steed^'of foam; in an instant
he was off his horse, on the scaffold, and held Pythia.s
straitly embraced. " You are safe ! " ho cried, "you are
safe! My friend, my beloved friend, the gods be praised,
you are safe! I now have nothing but death to suffer, and
am delivered from the anguish of those reproaches which
I gave myself for having endangered a life so much dearer
than my own. " Pale, cold, and half-speechless, in the
arms of his Damon, Pythias replied, in broken accents :
"Fatal haste! Cruel impatience! What envious powers
have wrought impossibilities in your favor ? ]"5ui I will
jiot be wholly disj^ppqii^ted, Since I cannot die to save

l(lrcsse<l tlio
cried ; " tlio
liat the winds
1 could not
; he will bo

to-day shall
ould I erase
suspicion, of
b to suffer, I

bridal. Bo
ivill be found
hat he Avill
hurrying on,
e gods ; but
!r, do your
buzz began
istant voice

"Stop, tlio
iembly. A
y to his ap-
n an instant
eld Pythias
I, "you are
be praised,

suffer, and
?hes which
inch dearer
less, in the
m accents :
MIS powers
pMii I will
lie to save

PEFLfXTIONS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEV. 283

I Will not survive you. " Dionysius heard, beheld, and
considered a 1 with astonishment. His heart Us touched
he wept; and, leaving his throne, he ascended thescaffold'
. Live, live, yo incomparable pair ! " he cried ; " ye have
borne unquestionable testimony to the existence of virtue,

relnnt r T'^'^f-^^^ the existence of a God to

reward it. Live happy, live renowned; and oh, form me

>y your precepts, as ye have invited me by your example,

to be worthy the participation of so sacred a friendship. '

Anomjmous.

Lesson XCIIL
Rm^OTIONS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

mvlfr \r/". "" '''^'"' ^^•^"^^^^I very-uften walk by
myself in Westminster Abbey, where the gloominess of the
place, and the use to which it is applied, with the solem-'
mty of the building, and the condition of the people who
^" [t' ^11 ^V\ to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy
or rather thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable. I yes-
terday passed the whole afternoon in the churchyard, the
cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the tomb-
stones and inscriptions that I met with in those several
regions of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing else
of he buried person but that he was born upon one day,
and died upon another; the whole history of his lifebein^
conprehended in those two circumstances, that are common
to all mankind. I could not but look upon these registers
of existence-^whether brass or marble-as a kind of satire
upon the departed persons, who had left no other memorial
PI them but thdt the^ were born and that they died,

.i. (

i^ m\ \^

284

INTERMEDIATE READEFw.

U})oii my going into the church, I entertained myself
with the digging of a grave, and saw in every shovelful of
it that was thrown up the fragment of .1 bone cr skull, in-
termixed with a kind of fresli, mouldering earth that some
time or other liad a place in the composition of a human
body. Upon this, I began to consider with myself what
innumerable multitudes ofjieople lay confused too-ethcr
under the pavement of that ancient cathedral; how men
and women, friends and enemies, priests and soldiers,
monks and prebendaries, were crumbled amongst one
another, and blended togetlier in the same common mass :
how beauty, deformity, lay undistinguished in the same
promiscuous lieap of matter !

I know that entertainments of this nature are apt to
raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and
gloomxy imaginations ; but, for my own part, though I am
always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy,
and can therefore take a view of Nature in her deep and
solemn scenes with the same pleasure as in her most gay
and delightful ones. By this means I can improve myself
with objects which others consider with terror. When I
look upon the tombs of the great, e-^-ery emotion of envy
dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful,
every inordinate desire goes out ; when 1 meet with the
grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with
compassion ; when I see the tomb of the parents them-
selves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom
we must (quickly follow ; when I see kings lying by those
who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side
by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their
contests and disputes, I reflect, with sorrow and astonish-
ment, pn t\\e little competitions, factions, and debates of

RING OUT, WILD BELLS.

285'

led myself
shovelful of
r skull, iu-
i that some
r a human
ysolf what
I together

how men
:1 soldiers,
ongst one
non mass ;

the same

ire apt to
ninds and
:)ugli I am
lelancholy,
deep and
most gay
ove myself
When I
•n of envy
beautiful,
: with the
(lelts with
:nts them-
ose whom
; by those
)laced side
with their
I astonish-
lebates of

iiiankind ; when I read the several dates of the tombs —
of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years
ago — I consider that great day when we shall all of us bo
contemporaries, and make our appearance together.

Joseph Addison.

Lesson 'TOIV.
RING OUT, WILD BELLS.

King out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
Tl>e flying cloud, the frosty light ;
The year is dying in the night:

Eing out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow ;
The year is going — let him go :

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that says the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause.

And ancient forms of party strife ;
Ring in the nobler modes of life.

With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times ;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,

But ring the fuller minstrel in.

286

i *■ .1 a

ilTTERMiJDIATE READJjR

Bing out iiiise pridcln pli^linTbiooci;>
The civic slander and the spite ;
I^ing in the love of truth and right,'

Hing in the common love of good. /

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,

Bing out the narrowing lust of gold J^
Ring out the thousand wars of old,

Ring in tlie thousand )-ears of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free, '

The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Alfred Tennyson.

Lesson XCV.

THE MONK.

A poor monk of the order of St. Francis came into the
room to beg something for his convent. The moment I
cast my eyes upon him I was determined not to give him
a single sou, and accordingly I put my purse into my
pocket, buttoned it up, set myself a little more upon my
centre, ana advanced up gravely to him. There was some-
thmg, I fear, forbidding in my look; T have his figure this
moment before my eyes, and think there was that in it
which deserved better. The monk, a.s I judged from the
|)reak in his tonsure —a few scattered white hairs upon
his temples being all that remained ol it-might be about
seventy, but from his eyes and that sort of fire which wa8
m tliem, which seemed more than sixty. Truth might lie

ti'if:

TEt Moirk

267

J-ctwoen. Ho was certainly sixty-five, and the general air
of his oouutenaneo, notwithsta„<ling something Lmed Z

It was one of those heads whidiGuidohas often painted
mdd pale, penetrating, free from all commonplai i<leas

e rth ittoti r"T/ ^''^"^S downward upon the
earth It looked forward, but looked as if it looked at
somethmg beyond this world. The rest of his outline may
be given ma few strokes ; one might put it into the hands
ot any one to design, for it was neither elegant nor other-
wise but as character and expression made it so. It was
a thin spare form, something above the common size, if it
ost not the distinction by a bend forward in the fiiire'
but It was the attitude of entreaty, and, as it now sLds
present in my imagination, it gained more than it lost

When he had entered the room three paces, he stood

till^^-:^ ^'f^^\ ^""^^ "P^'^ ^"'^ ^^^-^«*-- blender
white staff with which he journeyed being in his right-
when I had got close up to him, he introduced himself
with the little story of the wants of his convent and the
poverty of his order, and did it with so simplea grace, and
uch an air of deprecation was there in the whole c^st of
his look and figure, I was bewitched not to have been
stnick with It. A better reason was, Ihad predetermined
not to give him a single sou.

'j'Tis very trive, " said I, replying to, a cast upward
wi h his eyes, with which he had concluded his address-

tis very true; and heaven be their resource who have
no other than the charity of the world, the stock of which

288

INTERMEDIATE READER.

hi
It *

I fear, is no way sufficient for the many great claims wliicli
are hourly made upon it. " As I pronounced the words
great claims, he gave a slight glance with his eyes down-
ward upon the sleeve of his tunic. 1 felt the force of llu;
appeal.

" I acknowledge it, " said I — " a coarse habit, and that
hut once in three years, with meagre diet, are no great
matters ; but the true point of pity is, as they can bo
earned in the world with so little industry, that your order
should wish to procure them by pressing upon a fund
which is the property of the lame, the blind, the aged, and
the infirm. The captive who lies down, counting over and
over again the days of his affliction, languishes also for
his share of it ; and had you been of the order of mercy,
instead of the order of St. Francis, poor as I am, " con-
tinued I, pointing at my portmanteau, " full cheerfully
sliould it have been opened to you for the ransom of tlu;
unfortunate. "

The monk made me a bow. " But, " resumed I, " the
unfortunate of our own country surely have the first right,
and I have left thousands in distress upon the English
shore. " The monk gave a cordial wave with his head,
as much as to say, "]No doubt there ia misery enough in
every corner of WiQ ^rorld as well as within our convent. "
"But we distinguish," said I, laying my hand upon tlu^
sleeve of his tunic In return for his appeal — " we distin-
guish, my good father, betwixt those who wish only to o;it
the bread of their own labor, and those who eat the bread
of other people's, and have no other plan in life but to gel
through in sloth and ignorance /or the love of heaven. "

The poor Franciscan made no reply. A hectic of a

WILLIAM TELL.

280

■momeM passed across his cheek, but coiild not tai-i-y Na-
ture seemed to have done with her resentments in him •
he showed none, but letting his staff faU within his arm/
he pressed both his hands with resignation upon his breast]'
and retired. *

My heart smote me the moment he shut the door • everv'
ungracious syllable I liad uttered crowded back into my
imagination I reflected I had no right over the r>oor
Franciscan but to deny him, and that the punishment of
that was enough to the disappointed, without tlie addition
of unkiiKUanguage. I considered his gray liairs. His
courteous figure seemed to re-enter and gently ask me
what injury he had done me, and why I could use him
thus 1 would have given twenty pounds for an advocate.
1 have behaved very ill, " said I within myself; " but I
have only just set out on my travels, and shalllearn better
manners as I get along. "

Laurence iSterne,

hectic of a

Lesson LCXVI.
'^^^^ILLIAM TELL.

The narrative of Willirm Tell brings us back to the
beginning the fourteenth century. The Swiss, poor
and pcac-eful. montaineers, had then submitted to the
U>rman Emperor But the Governor whom the Emperor
had placed o.;er them, was a stern, hard man, and who/
moreover had abused his power. His name was Gesslor.
One day he took the notion of placing in the public
.«qnnre of Altorf a pole upon which he placed his hat

\i I

.290

1NTI3UMKD[ATR READER

which wa.^ to be respected as thou^irh he were there
himself. Unretusonable ra it was, he neverthekss iiisiHted
upon it. Hence he phiced two guards whose office it was
to arrcHt all those who refused to bend their knee as
thoy passed by. This was an insult to the dignity of
those sturdy and honorable mountaineers.

It so happened that a worthy ami honest citiwn
chanced to [)ass the public square shortly after the
erection of that unworthy ensign, and no less a i)erson
than the celebrated archer, William Tell, and his son.
Being engaged in a conversation with liis' son, lie heeded
neither the hat nor the guards.

" But, see," said little Walter ; '•' look at the hat on
tiie pole."

. William Tell. " Well," my chiM, " what does that
signify to us? It concerns us . not, let us .not., delay."
But as he wished to continue liis journey, one of tho
guards advanced toward him, and presented arms,
eaying: " Stop! I arrest you in the name of the Emperor!"

William Tell. " And, pray, why ? What do you
wish ? "

Guard. " You liave violated the command.^ of the
governor ; you have failed to bow before the liat. Conic
with me."

William 'Tell. " My friend, let me pim."

Guard. " No, sir ; you must go to pris<^n."

Little Walter seeing his father thus insulted, ciifl
out: " They want to put my father into prison. .IIc^lp!
help ! ! Brave men !" The people hearing tho piercing cry

le wore there
'theleas insisted
we office it was
their knee as
the dignity of

honest vlivAvn
rtly after the
less a |)erson
, and his .sdh,
;o!i, he heeded

it the liat on

diat does that
IS .not. .delay."
'v, one of tho
?sented arms,
the Emperor!''

What do you

nmand.s of the
he liat. Conic

WILLIAM TELL.

291

on.

in.sulted, criel
'rison. .Uclj)!
\c- [iierc.ing cry

Of the child ran to the place, and anlon^^ thein tlie c^ood
pastor who was ready to give his aid. °

. ^"*^«''- " Why lay hands on this man ? "

traftr'-^" ' ^"^ '' '"' ''''''"'^' ""^ ^^'' Kmperor; he is a

•Pastor. '' My friend, you are mistaken. . William
■ leu IS an honorahle man, and a brave citizen."

In the mean time others arrived, a.iid courag.^ouslvr
espouse.! the cause of Tell, but the guards were deS" to aU
•entreaties i he peasants, provoked at this injustice
threatened and nieiiaced, and were about to rescue Tell
when the cry, '' Here is the Governor! " was.heard'.

In truth Gessler was coming toward them, bei.i
accompanied by several lords, servants and soldiers.

Make way, for the Governor ! . •■ - :

Gcsder m,i i, the matter ? What :neans this
gathermg .'' Why this uproar ?

Guard. Most powerful lonl, I was o.t guard beside
the hat, and I seized this man who, in direct violatio.i'of
your commands, refused to respect your hat, and I have
arrested him.

Gesder Qmitatirig). Tell, I am told that your are ■«.
expert archer, anci that you never mm your aim.

.ChUd It i.s true, nxy lord; my faUier can pierce an
apple at a di.stance of one hundred paces.

Gesler. Is this child your son ?
, Tell. Yes, mv lonl.

(.kder. . How-m;

Tdl. Two, niy lord.

my sons have you?

292

INTERMEDIATE READEK.

Gessler. Who is your favorite?

Tell. My lord, they are >>otl\ equally dear to me.

Ge/ider. Very well. Now, Tell, since you can j»ieree
an apple at a distance of one hundred paces, I wish you
■ to give me a proof of your skill. Take your how; place
an apple on your son's head, and lot us see whether you
can pierce it. But, remember, see that it he done at the
first aim, for if you fail, you shall })ay with your life.

11.

Tdl. My lord, what means this cruel command?
Shall T then ain at my rhild's headn ?.... No, no, my good
lord. Surely su<^h a thought comes not ir6m the heart
which God has given you ! Yon c;m not require such a
command from a fatliei-.

Gesder. T rcj>eat it, sir; it is my wish and command
that you aim at the apple on the child's hctd.

Tdl. "What ! shall I witii my own harul send an
arrow tlirough the head i>f my <;herished child ? No, never,
lot me 'father die !

Gender. Either you aim or die, and your son with
you.

Tell." Shall I then Ix^the murderer of my own child ?
My lord, you have no child, and hence you know not the
pang of a fftth^r's heart..

Here several of th<3 by-standers, )novod and frightonod
at what they heard, intercodod in l>ehalf of Tell, and
requested the tyrant to canc^el liis cruel, heartless order...
He is inhuman to sport thus with the agony of a father.
" No, no," he answers; and going himself to select an
apple, he says : " Hero is the appK>; stand aside ai^id make

WILLIAM TELL.

293

' to me.

a can pierce
I wish you
• bow ; place
whether ycui
t done at the
>ur life.

commanfl ?
no, my gocxl
rn the heart
11 ire such a

rifl command

n<l send an
? No, never,

II r son with

own child ?
:nQW not the

1 frighton<^d
'A Tell, and
tlcss order...
of a fathor.
.0 select an
h^ atjid make

my ! I shall give you eighty paces, neither more nor

At this iiLstant, the grandfather of the child appears on
the scene. This venerable old man who is respected by
all, throws himself upon his knees before the -overnor to
jmplore mercy. He is, however, rudely rei^ulsed; but
little Walter goes to him to help him rise, and in a loud
clear voice says : '' Grandfather, 'g^ not upon your knees
before his w.cked man; tell me where I am to place
my.elt, for I entertain no fear. My father who can hit a
bird on wing, wdl not [uerce the heart of hi.s son."

These words so full of simplicity and confidence
C^.use.l a murmur of sympathy and compassion to run
through the assembled crowd.

Yet another venerable old man with snow white locks
advanced toward the tyrant, not however to cast himself
upon his knees, but standing with a grave dignity, and
h^ finger pointing heavenward, thus addresses him •
K.T>ember, that there is a God above who shall hold you
accountable for all your actions."

But the wretch had lost all self-respect and all sentiment
ot religion ; and without deigning to answer the Pastor
he commanded his soldiers to take the child and tie hinl
to the linden- tree.

Walter. What ! bind me ! Never ! I shall not be
bourn; I shall remain as quiet as a lamb; aye, I shall
even hold my breath; but if you bind me, I shall resist.
Guard. We will simply bandage your eyes.

Walter But why ? Think you that I fear the arro^«r
from the hand of my father? I will not stir, or even wink
Coine, father, and show him t you ca« ,[m

fii

111

294.

TNTERMEDIATR READER.

OK, .111(1, ill spite, of tliat wicko<l man, pior(?o the apple

and tliere romai
words, he took 1

uat wu-Ked man, pier(?e the app
Then, suiting his action to his

ii« position nnder the linden-treo, and

■ossing liis arms, lie cried to his father that 1

ready

le -waa

Gesskr. T(;II, to the t..'st, an<l del

Tell took his 1

;iy lis not.

)0\v and placed his arrow on the st

l)iitashewas ahonfto draw 1

ruiir

No," said he, and left both 1

ground

lis courage failed hi
)ow and arrow iall to the

it is not possible; my eyes see everytl

whirl

my heart ; order one of your soldiers to

ing. My lord, spare mo this pain ; here, h

limiT

ere is

Gessl

pierce it.

■er

to send the arrow

No, no; T seek not your life; I command

you

Tell, pale and trembling, could liardly contain himself.
After he had raised his supplicat

lie cast a ster

11 significant look at the o-ovei

ng eyes towar<i heaven.

nor,

len.

adroitly secreting a secon.l arrow, he prepared to take
t I his aim.

i , * ' ■ t *

III.

The women shrieked, the peasants communicated to.
one another by means of signs. " Shall we allow' this
crime in our presence?" asked one of the youngest and
most indignaiit ; but those who were more experienced
soon convinced him of his rasheness in the presence of the
governor's armed force.

At this instant there was a great commotion ab.^ut the

governor. His nephew approache.l him ;.nd upbraid..!

him for Ins cruelty. GessJer is irritate.! and menaces to

m for his insolence. The multitude liecome

jpunish

•WILLIAM r*:Lr,..

295

inUrorto,! a,„l. are. anxious to >,ok. Low tl,o miarivl ,V ,„

Th asion.hcl ae.*r advano., f„no,« at Laving 1,1.
dc m . ofsae,„g..wl.atl,o .oankmly ,1..,,,., .^ ,ee.
vviut ! (IkI he een<l the nrrow ? "

And so it wa.. Whil.t the ]>eop]e woro oh.orvin<Mh^
.^ont the arrow, trusting in God tliat his <.hil,n.e spared.

The Pastor uttered the cry : " Tlie .-hiM liws ! " and
lie raised his hands on hi.Ji in thanks.ivin<^ WaltJ
n.nni^uptohisfatl.erwiththepieree.fappi:,..^
cd. He 0, dear father, is the apph. I knew weil that
you would not iKu-m your child .'■' But the poor father L
overcome with emotions, that he is well ni,h faintin "

b ttfl ."'>^ preserved him. Then as he wa3

about to leave, Gessler called him :

Tell What is your wish, my lord '?

JiT'm T?. '^"^ '''' ^"^^ "^ ''''''' ^^--- -^'-^-- your
coat.^ \Vhat did you intend with it?

Tdl. It is simply a custom among archers ?

Gessler. That is not precisely your reason • tell me
the whole truth. Fear not, no'mltter, what ^' tte 1
reason. I promise your life. ^ai eei tiie j

Tell Well my lord, since, you must know it and

vhoie truth. Then drawing forth the arrow and show-
ng It to him, he said : "Should I have had tl

to touch my child, tl

for

you.

le misfortune
"s second arrow should Uye beeu

•A

It f',

u f i

ir ■<

KM*

INTERMBDIA "*! READER.

Crcssler. {ooldbj) Well, Tell, I promiaed you your
life, iuvi I hIk^II keep my word ; but now that I know your
design, I .sliiiU place you in safe quart.<»ra where I shall
have nothing to fear from your arrow. Seize him. })ind

1 . *

nmi, and cast liini into the dunureon.

One of the oM men of the village approached the gov-
ernor and sai<i : " How dare you treat thi.s man thus,
seeing tliat heaven has visibly protected him.

Gemkr. We .'^hall all see whether God shall deliver
hi in a second time.

Tell {led by the soldiers). Farewell, my friends !
Walter {rlinrfirig to him in dcfipair). My dearest
Father !...

Tell {j)ointinr/ heavenword). Your father is above;
trust in Him and supplicate Him.

A Peasant. What shall wo tell your wife ?

2'eU. Tell her the child is ."^afe and soun.i. God will
protect mo.

And, in truth, God did protect him. The prison into
which he was to be immured, was situated on the other
pido of Lake Luzerne. Ge.s.slei- ordered him to be chained
in tho boat which he himself entered to condua hiai lo
pri.son.

As they were ploughing the deep blue waters of Lake Lu-
z<n'i -^ heavy storm surprised them. The Lake was wild
. . ai)(!. n.j. • •/ , tl'? helmsman lost all control over the boat,
and gn::- d.soh stored them in the face. The helmsman
appristu > ' %8ler of ineir danger and told him that one
man only was able to save them from a watery grave,
and that man is Tell who Is a-s skilful at the helm a* he is

WILLIAM TELL.

297

wi 1 iho bow. (}o,,hv ordemi Irin eluhus to bo loosed.
Tell Hcizod the liehu and witit ,t ,stro.i<j ..ul steady hand
gUKlod Lii.' Wt. For at hi3 magio tuuoli tho an«rv deen
«e.rned to calm and re.spoct the inteati.nis of the lu^hnsn.an
He was no stranj^nn- to the hike. II. adroitly brought
hem back t.. tli. .horo, and wh.Mi acu- onou-d, he
leaped uit.; tlie water, a.nd then .W,n^ ,],« boat 'one
strong, [.oworful pu,.h outward, and wading to the .sliore
lie fled to th(^ wood.*. '

^ The following .uorning the indig.iant p.,usants rose up
in revolt against the governor, with T^ll a.t their head
The heroic lU.tlo l)and sworr to l>:ittle until they had
obtained the freedom of their country. They had not
long to wait 1^3r this great boon. F.rTell in an en..i.ro-
ment with the gov-n-.ior's troop.., sent an arrow t^) Uie
heart of Gessler, thus freeing them from th...'r tyrant and
securing for them.selves their Iil)ertv.

d.d G.«sler wi,sh to br:ng T.ll :> What hupi>on.i a.s (hoy wc^ upon
OossW.^ ^Vh;.^^v^„ih.MV.u:t^^ Who urMh. Swi.sH ?
(^)~ThiH h»»on M l.>rsr'f ,,.„„„ A^f ///.,„/ William Toll i ,y ,

P^rnnA<,r.^.f «^,,,.„,. ,,„.„^ „^ /.ol^^,! I.^^C-r ^^^^^^^^^^^

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.

ADniSOX, JONEPH,

An Kiiglisli author iin^-cniiiicnt as an
essayint, humorist, and inoraliRt, was
horn in Milston, Wilt«hirt>, May 1, 1(172;
and died Junfi 17, 1719. "Whopvor,"
says Joliiison, "wishes to attain an Kni;-
lish styhi familiar but not coari-p, an<l
elegant but not ostentatious, must give
llis days an<l nights to tlie stmly i>f Ad-
dison." "He is entitled,-' siiys Mac-
aulay, " to Ixi considered not only the
greatest of Englisii Kssayists, but as
tliu forerunner of the great Knglish
Novelists. His best essays rpproaeh
even to absolute perfeetion ; nor is their
excellcnec moro wonderful than their
variety."

BACON, FRAXC'IH,

One of tlio most illustrious writers and
thinkers of modern times, was born in
London, January 22, l.jtil ; an<l died
April 19, lG2ti. ,.

Tho experimental method attributed
to him, Wiis in praetiee long before, and
tried with far greater success liy his
name-sake.

RA4<0.\-. ROOER,

.\ eelebrated lOnnli^h ]lllilo^o|lller ami
monk, ealled Th<' A-/iiiirt,b/,j D.,rl„r,
was born near llehesler, in Sumniersot-
shin», lJI4;anU he dieil probably at Ox-
ford, 1292. it.v wits |)rofoundIy vers(^d
in Latin, (liWk, ■ilelire\v,"nietaphysies,
theology, phifos'ophy, and several scien-
ces. His learning and skill in mechanics
■were .so great that he was s(ispeclf<i of
dealing in nijigic. " Tho miiul of Roger
Bacon," says Hallam, "was strongly

compounded of almost prophetic gleams
of the future course of science and the
best princijiies of the inductive philoso-
phy, with aiuorc than usual credulity in
the suiH^rstiiions of his own time." He
may be called (ho father of experimental
philosophy, th<iu;,'h attributed to Fran-
cis Racoii. His primi|(al work is entitled
"Opus Majus,'' which was composed
about 1,2(')."), and first printed in ITSit.

BVFFON, <,>EORGE L.,

An illustrious Frencli natur-iliet and
philosopher, born at Montbard, in Bur-
gundy, September 7, 17o7 ; and died in
Paris, April l.'i, 178H. Commenting on
llis work, ('ondorcet remarks: "Buffonis
poi'tical in his description, but like all
great i)oets he knows how to render
interesting the deline.-itions of naturnl
objects by blending with them moral
ideas which affect the soul at the s.ime
time that tlie im.agination is .imused or
.astonished." Among Jiis greater works
is his '• Kpoilisof Nature."

BEECH ER, HENRY W.,

A distinguished American miniBter
and writer, was barn in Litchfield, Con-
necticut, Janttaiy 24, ItilS; and died
March it, 1887. llis style is clear and
jileasing. He was unquestionably an
or.ator. It cannot be said that he held
to any .tenets; he had, in truth, no sys-
tem.

BURKE, MARY G.,

Bon-, in .St. Louis, Jantiary 1, 1867. She
was graduated from Hi. .Josepli's Con-
vent, CarondeUt, South St. Louis, 1885,
with high honors. She is gifted from

II ■ *■

KIOCJIiAJ'HK'AL SKKTCIIES.

»bovo witl> groat UJeutt,, a.i.l l.or mai.lou
o«foring« at tlio sliriucof tJic MugoE iudj.
cato auotlicr star in tl.o Catholic Litera-
ture of America.

COOPER, JAMCEH F.,

A popular American nov«-li8t, born In

Bui-lingtoii, N. J., Septpmbpr 178!); and

died at Cooporstown, Septcinbur 1857

' HiB writings," says William H. Prrs-

cott, "arc instinct with the spirit of

nationality." I„ i,i« productions every

American must take an honest pri.lc

For, surely, no one has succeid.d like

Cooper in the portraiture, of American

character or lias given such a glowing or

eminently truthful picture of American

8cc:ierv/' Among his principal works

are "The Last of the Mohicans," " The

Prairie," "The Spy,".' Pilot,'. a„,i"R,,i

299

her ■' Songs in the Night," a,c a credit
to her and to Catholie Literature.
EVfiKEIPT, «DWABD.

A diBlinguislted orator, scholar and
statesman, bom in Massachusetts, April
1 1, ni)4 ; and died January 1 ",, mr,. He
was elected foCongress in 1824, and filled
various important offices under the ffov-
oniment. Huring the Civil War, he sup-
ported the Fed ral rrovernment.

FABER, THE REV. PRE». W.

Eiver."

DICKENS, C HARLES,

One of the most popular of Knglisl,
novelists, born at Portsmouth, February
1812; and died i„ 1870. The following
are h s principal works • ■' Pickwick Pa-
pors," •• Oliver Twist," " Nicholas Xickh-
by," " Dombeyand Son," " Our Mutual
Tnenda," and " David Copperficld."

niNRAEEI, ISAAC,

An Knglish fltf^rateicr, horn at J.;n-
ficld, near Lou.ion, in 170(i; and die.l i„
1848. Lor.l Hyron .Icnon.i nates h.m
that most .ntertaining an<i searching
writer whose works in general I have
read oftener than peri.aps those of any
other Knglish writer whatever. Ho was
fath<!r of the eminent statesman Benja-
min Disraeli, llonl Beaconsfield.

BRAHE, AroVSTA T.

This learae,! a^.'rgifted authoress is a'
native of Ireland, She is tlie superioress'
of a convent of the Sisters of fit Porainir
in Stone, in, .Staffordshire.' Hor styl',., is'
pleasing and., simple, .•.Her. wqrks. on
Christian Schools and Scholars,"' ami

Born in Yorkshire, Kugland, 1814; and
''"■'J 1863. He entered the niinistiy of
thethurch of Kngland, but became a

cotivert to the Roman Catholic Faith ia
iM,,. Two years later he rec^eived Holy
«>ders aa.i joined the Congregation of
the Oratory of St. Philip Ncri. His prin-
<'Val works are "Creator and Cre.a-
t-'re,-' "All for Jesus," " C.rowth in
Holiness, " " Spiritual Conferences "
'Bethlehem,'- - The Blessed Sacrament' ••
Poems," "Hymns" " Leiters," " Notes!-
FORBES, CHARLES C.
(See Montalanibert.)
FRAXKLISr, BESrjAIGIJT.

An eminent American philosopher
and statesman, born at Bo.ston, Massa-
«'hM..etts January 17, 1 To;; ; and die,) iu
"la«lHph.a, Pa., April 17, 1790. Lord
* latham characterize,! Franklin as' one'
"•""''••""•''"•ope held in high es.itaa-
.on '<- his knowledgeand wisdom,at»d
ranked w^th <mr Boyl.-s and Ncwtous ■•
wl.o was an honor not .0 ,he ICnglMi'
::■■!'.'!" «'">'- l"'t to human nature' ..

Hi« .tyle," says U.rd Jeffrey, " has all •
t'le vigor and even coneisene..*s <,f ,«;wift
.without any of his harshness, itisi.l "
>'<:• <|egree more flowery, yet both elegant "'

•■"".• ^:'"'^y The peculiar charm of his '

writings, and his great merit also in ac- '.
tu.n, <oysiste.d,,in.,the clearness ivitU
yiliieh he saw hi.s object, and the bohl.. .
and stead.v ,.;i.r.-ui! of it bj, .11... shortest
road,"

^00

INTEHMKDIA'ie READER.

•t t

«ftBEBrW001>, OKACK. (Sarah

J. Lippiacott.)

A popular American writi-r, l>oiu at
Pompey, New York, lS2a. Stories and
Legends of Hifrtoryand Travel," "Sto-
Tiesfrom Famous Ballads," Stories aud
Sights of France and Italy," " New Life
and New Lands," and " Life of Queen
Vifiorlai" are among her favorite works.

A distinguished writer and poet, was
fcorn iu Limerick, 180;j; iind died 1840.
^'wo years before his death he became a
Christian Brother. Had he not l>een
carried off at an early- age, we might have
«xi}ected from his i^n works of the
highest order. Among his works are
"The Collegians," "The Invasiou,"
^'The Duke of Monmouth," " Tales of
Munst«r I'estivals," " The Kivals " and
*' Poems."

SfiHAjrS, FKI.ICIV DORO-
THEA,

An amiable and ex-juisite Kngli.sh
jwetess, born iu Liveriwol, .^^eptember
25, 1794 ; and died l*i"). Sho wrote sev-
eral volumes of poetry \vlii<h enjoyed
great popularity in the early part of the
oentury. "In her iwetry,'' ,wys Moir,
■•♦religious truth, moral purity and intel-
lectual beauty ever meet together,"

HOOD, THOMAS,

A famous English humorist and iwim-
lar author, born in London, 1798; and
dited 1846. Among his iwpular jwems
are the " Song of the 8hirt," " Bridge of
Sigh;i," " Oream of Eugene Aram." As
• punster he is unrivable,— someof his
sedous i>oem8 are exqui.site, lender and
IMthette."

KAVB, KUSHA.

A distingtUshod American e-xploror,
— r» in I .Htmielphiu, Fcbrtwry 20
IteO; and diod at Havana, February,
Jl57, r* 1850, ho sAiled as surgeon to

the expedition wbick De Haven con-
ducted in search of Sir John Franklin.
He commanded a second expedition sent
out for the eame puqwse. His adven-
turous spirit led him in many i>erilous
enterj)rises.

KIXO«I.KT, CHARIiES,

A iwpular En^ish writer, born in De-
vonshire, January, 181'J; and died, May
24, 1876. His romans " Hypatia "is ri'>-
garded as one of his most powerful
works and among his others, the best
known, are: "Alexandria and her
Schools," " Westward Ho !" " Glaucus,'
"Plays," and Puritans,"

I.KPR:>H01ir, MRS. J. I..,

A member of one of the most distin-
guished families, was born in Montreal,
1832; and died 1870. She was educated'
at the Convent of the Congregation of
Notre Dame. Her writings inprose and
verse hold an honorable place in Cana-
dian Literature.

UTiarosTour* datid,

A .Scotch missionary, born in Ulan-
tyre, near Glasgow, March 19 1813; and
dieti on the shore of Lake Bangweolo,
May I, 1S7;J. He laboretl and travelled
in the interest of Africa for 10 years
and made many important discoveries!
He published some works on his tra-
vels.

•

liOXOFKLLOW, HENRT W.,

An eminent American jmet and schol-
ar, born at Portland, Maine, February
27, 1807 ; and died at Cambridge, Massa-
chusetts, March 24, 1882. As a poet, lie
is characterize*! by tenderness and depth
of feeling, to the expression of whichthe
idctiiresque and graceful simplicity of
liiii language often imparts an iude»cril>-
able charm. He.seldom or never attempts
to excite admiration by far-sought con-
ceits, by wild or lufiy <tight» of iina«i-
ualion, or by (he exhibit ion ofdarfc aixl

1?rOORArniCAL SKETCHES.

301

terrible passwiiip. .\ iiiong )iiH beat works
»ie " Evungtlint, " "Hiawatha,'' "Hy-
lierion," a»tbolarly franMlatJon of Dan-
te's" Divina CdDeUiii," »t»<l " TaJes of a
Wayside Inn."

MAHONCT, Ibe REV. FRAIT-

An Irish writer and wit, born about
l><(r, ; and died, 1866. He under (he as-
wiined name of " Father Prout," was
H contributor to i he Fraser'w Magazine,
and these articles were published in
hook-form as "The Reliques of Father
Frout." In one of these articles, the
writer gives the "Groves of Blarney,"
in five different versions, in parallel col-
nmnx, Kn'glish, Fren:h, Italian, Latin,;
and GrjH'K- jill niuin'airiing the metre of
the origin;,! •• Cott'apan," :ind all rhym-
ing.

MARRTAT, FREDERIC,

All English novelist and navel officer,
born in Ix)ndon, i:92; and died 1848. JIo
i>i!iuthorof "Peter Bimple,-' " JUastc!-
m!.n Heady," "Valeria," and several
olhers.

West," •* VandaUan and Catholicimn la
Art," " The Free Church in the Free
State.*'

MOORB, THOaUkS,

A celebrated Irish poet, born in Dub.
lin, 1770 ; and died 1852. Of his poemn
his '• Lalla Rook " and " Irish Melodies '*
enjoy the highest reputation. His "Lite
of Byron "is his most important prose
work which, although written entirely
from a standpoint of friondship, has
been highly commended by the oritice.

MOZART, WOI.FOA NO,

Was but thirty-six years of age when
he died. It was while engaged in the
composition of his .ffeguiew, which had
Iveen ordered by some.unknown person,
that he felt hisend approaching. " I am
working for my own funeral," he said.
In fact, the excitement of composing in-
creased his fever to such a degree, that
his wife, by the orders of the physician?,
^rasoMI^-edto withdraw hin. from his

MAMtlLLON, Mgr. JEAN.R.,

A French pulpit orator of great cclch-
rity, born at llieres, in Provence,.! (JO," :
iind died in iTJS. Louis XIV.,.s;rul lo
binj, " I have heard many great orators
and been jilcawd with them; but aiUr
bearing you, I am displea.sed wilh my-
self. His published works consist of
S'rmons, ICcclosiasiical Conrcrcnoes, Pa-
raphra.ses of certain Psalms, Inciters, etc.

MONTAI.EMBERT, (^oant^

(CTbarloM ForbeM),

A distinguished statesman, orator and
polilical writer of I'rcncb extraction,
born in London, ISin; and dietl in March,
1S70. n<. stri.iied ill i>;i,is ;,,„i always'
twk an active part in the i>olitics of
France. He is an author of some eminen t
work.s, amohj; ot bcis "The >!i.til;s , f 1 l.i'

t;;!-k. His health thus somewhat im-
proved, and he resumed his work in the
hope of completing the design. Death,
however, put an end to his labors; The
AffHut Dei, which terminates that won-
derful composition, was the song of the
■^wr,n of the great artist ; it breathes all
r.u! jirofound melancholy, the religfous
I'.^rvor, that filled hissoul. A few hours
before bis death, he desired his attend-
ants to bring him his Jiciticm Mmg.
" Well ! " said he, " was I not right when
I said that I was composing for myself
the -song of death." He die<J December
V, 1791.

MIJI.HOLLAND, RONA,

A Oatbolic writer of some merit. She
has written several excellent novels,
among which may be mentioned the
" Kair Kmigranl." She is also a ..ontrib-
utor to some Catholic Monthlies, and
her articles are noted for their simpH-
> i'y i'.nd i.1earr.e':s t f stv'e.

'if

t !

302

ivtepmediatf: reader.

PROCTER, AOELAIJtE A.,

'An TfenX'li.sIt i,;;tv}-6s«;; born iii Loudon,
IS-'". ; and died, mry. In l.iii'l, sheljwaiue'
aconrert to the Cut boIlcFaithi'aud ever-
ufttT " made her verst's echo the senti-
ments of her life," Her priueii)al woric.i
are " U-jjends and Lyrics," aod " Chaj)-
let of verses."'

ROSSETTI, l-HRliSTIIVA «.,

An Knglish conteniporarv- poetest, sis-
• lerof Dante (iabriel Kossetti, was born
la im). A'uong her prrncipal worlcs are
"(ioblin Market," "The I'rineei Pro-
gress," " Si)eaking Likenesses."

•Ion, 1768. He is considered one of llw

most humorv)iis, and ongiuai writers in

«_be lansuaj,^.. • " «« wit.". says Hazlitt,

»s I-otgnaut, though artificial ; and lila

vliaractsrs, though the groundwork ol

somy of them had been laid l)erore, have

yet invaluable original references ; and

■ the spirit of tlie execution, the ma,sler-

strokes constantly thrown into them.

are not to be surpas.Hed."

TAYIOR, BATARD,

SANOSTER, ( HARLES,

One of Ontario's best lyric poets' was
, born in Kingston, 1822. Among his
ehief works are those which have been
inspired by the grand and bewitching
scenery of the noble Bt. Lawrence. He
is. considered the fwet laureate of the
Province of Ontario,

»'«j;«'«WKY, LTDIA HITNT.

An American poetess and miscellaneous
writer, born at Norwich, Connecticut,
in 1T91 ; anddiedin ISts.i. Sheistheau-
tliorcjs of "Pleasant Memories of Pleas-
ant Lands." " The Aborigines of Amer-
ifa," " Pocahontas." She was married
in 1319 to Charles Sigourney, a mer-
chant of Hart for>l.

8TERME, I.AVRENCE,

A celebrated humorist, born at Clou-
Mel, Irelnnd, iu 17ia ; and died in Lou^

A distingulslied American traveler,
writer and [met, born in Chester County'
Pennsylvania, I82.T; and died at Herli.'i '
December l;), ISTS. He «;,ent thrcvyears
years in writing various parts of ICurope,
Asia, Syria, China, and Japan. His
works conipri»(j travels, novels, and
I)oenis,^

TENNYSON, ALFRED,

The poet-laureate ot Kngland, was
born inSomerly, itiOD. "It seemstome,"
says Clarence Stednian, "that the only
just estimate of Tennyson's position is
that which declare.! him to be, by eini-
neneo, thVrepr;'sentative poet'ot tlio re-
cent era, not lilte one of another ot his
compeers, reprcnentafive ot the melody,
wisdom, passion, or other partial phriwcs
of the era, but of the time itsell, with its
divers elements in harmonious conjunc-
tion." His principal poeticai works are
" The Princess," " Locksley Hnll," <• In

Mem'oria," "Idylls ot the Ktng,""Morto
d'Arthor," and -'Maud and othef
Poems," His recent poems are certainir
inferior.

If r f!

lierod ono of tho
igiuui wrttei'8 in
t/.'saysHiizlitt,
tiflcial ; audliis
ground work of
laid l)efore, have
references ; and
Ion, the niastcr-
>wn into tlieiu,

rii'au traveler,
■•hi'sterC'oiiiitj',
died Ht Berlin,
lent thriH'j-citrs
lart.iof ICiiroi>e,
1 Jai)an. His
novels, and

EO,

Eugland, was
: seeiua to me,"
that the only
I'tt posilion is

be, by eiui-
>oet 'of the re-
tnottierot his

1 the melody,
)arti»l phrases
itsell, with its
ious ooiijuuc-
eai worlis are
■y Hnll,""In
:ing,""Morto

and other
aro certttinlr

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