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THE METROPOLITAN OURTH READER: COMPILBD FOR THE USB OF COLLEGES, ACADEMIES, akd the IIGHER CLASSES OF SELECT AND PARISH SCHOOLS. « ABRAN6ED EXPRESSLY FOR THE CATHOLIC SCHOOLS IN CANADA. By a Member of the Order of the Holy Cross. MONTREAL: D. & J. SADLIER & CO., COBNEB NOTBE DAME AND ST. FRANCIS XAYIEB STREETS. 1866. Entered according to Act of the Provlneial Legislstnre, in tbe Year of our Lord one tliouBand eight hundred and sixty-five, Bt D. & J. 8ADLIER & CO., In the office of the Begistrar of the Province of Canada. INTRODUCTION. ar of our Lord | Thb subject of edacation is certainly the great question of the day. Its practical importance can scarcely be exaggerated. Upon its solution depends the future of society, whether for weal or for woe. The leading spirits of our age and country have so appre- hended it; and hence school-book succeeds school-book, and method follows method, with a view to the more efficacious im- parting of knowledge to youth. The activity in this department, especially among those outside the Ohurch, has been prodigious, and it seems to be on the increase. The characteristic trait of our age seems to be the desire to seize on the child, and to mould its tender mind and heart to a particular form. Our wide-spread system of common schools is but an expression of this feeling, which is based upon a knowledge of human nature and of philos- ophy. The child is " the father of the man," and the character of the latter will be but a development of the impressions made upon the mind and heart of the former, while these were suscep- tible and plastic. If the flower be blighted, or the twig be bent, in the nursery, it will be difficult to render the matured plant either healthy or straight. The great fault of our common-school system is found in its either wholly ignoring or greatly undervaluing the religious ele- ment in education. Without religion, education is, at best, but a doubtful boon, and it may be even a positive evil. Considering the innate tendency of our nature to evil, and the difficulty of training it up to good, the religious element is essential in the educational process. No other principle can supply an efficient curb to the headlong passions of youth ; no other can effectually train up children to the practice of a sound morality, thereby iv INTRODUCTION. making them good citizens by making them first good Christians. Witliout religion we may possibly succeed in amking them de- corous, if not decent, pagans ; we cannot certainly hope to make them good, much less exemplary, Christians. The teachings of revelation, the facts of history, the lessons conveyed by our own daily observation and experience, and the frightful increase of J vice whenever and wherever a contrary system has been adopted, all combine to confirm this conclusion. We would not exclude secular education — very far from it ; but we would constantly blend with it the holy influences of religion. Christian and secular instruction should go hand in hand ; they cannot be consistently or safely divorced, at least among Christians. Not that we would thrust Christian teaching on the youthful mind too frequently, or on unseasonable occasions, so as to produce a feeling of weariness or disgust. This is but too common a fault among our over-zealous, but — in this respect at least — not over- wise Bible and Sabbath Christians of the day, who, but too often, m the name of religion, repress the buoyant smile of childhood, cast a gloomy shadow over the spring- tide of life, thereby infusing into the child an early, and, therefore, very deeply seated disgust for religion, and, in the end, producing an abundant harvest of in- diflferentists and infidels. We every day see the sad effects of this overwrought zeal and mistaken system of instruction. We would, on the contrary, seek to make religion amiable in the eyes and dear to the hearts of the little children whom Christ go dearly loved. It should gild with its light and warm with its rays every pursuit of the school-room, even as the sun enlightens and cheers the objects of nature. We would not intrude the re- ligious influence on the mind and heart of childhood, but we would seek to distil it gently, even as God distils the dews of heaven on the tender plants of the morning. We would carefully exclude from the reading-lessons all the poison of noxious princi- ples, and even all worldly and frivolous matter ; and we would do this all the more rigidly whenever the poison would become the more dangerous, because latent, or gilded with the fascina- tions of style, or the gorgeous imagery of poetry. We would rigidly exclude Byron, in spite of his Syren Song. Thus im« I i proved, se a greatly i strength around its childliood partments, earthly cor This idef least, in th( Messrs. Sac to which 01 ter of the U religious, p( always leav moral. Th of the Hob judgment o literary tast who has m( such ciroum! tion possess! nently popul good. The Fourt ing the princ selected and Two things i readings for i jects and to . second, the c Catholic wri There is scar we have not the book the of some of known or eas It is well tha INTRODUCTION. Christians. : them de- pe to make ?aching3 of jy our own increase of en adopted, \ rom it ; but of religion, hand; they Christians, athful mind > produce a mon a fault — not over- it too often, childhood, Bby infusing ated disgust arvest of in- fects of this amiable in horn Christ rm with its I enlightens ■ude the re- ad, but we e dews of ,d carefully oua princi- we would Id become le fascina We would Thus im proved, secular instruction would put on new beaoty and obtain a greatly increased influence for good; it would be "clothed with strength from on high," and the light of heaven would piny around its pathway. It would then become doubly attractive to childhood ; for the aroma of religion, diffused through all its de- partments, would lend it a charm and give it a zest which no earthly condiment could impart. This idea, we believe, has been carried out to a great extent at least, in the new Series of Metropolitan Readers just issued by the Messrs. Sadlier of New York, particularly in the Fourth Reader, to which our attention has been more specially called. The mat- ter of the lessons is varied, and though far from being exclusively religious, possesses, in general, a religious or moral tendency, and always leaves a good impression. There is no lesson without its moral. The selection was made by a religious lady of the Order of the Holy Cross, who took care to submit her work to the judgment of gentlemen well known for their critical acumen and literary taste, and had it edited by another lady of New York, who has merited well of American Catholic literature. Under Buch circumstances it does not surprise us to find tliat the collec- tion possesses great merit, and that it is likely to become emi- nently popular in our schools, and thereby to accomplish much good. * The Fourth Reader is divided into two parts : the first contain- ing the principles and practice of elocution, and the second, well- selected and appropriate readings, both in poetry and in prose. Two things in particular strike us as distinctive of this collection of readings for children : first, the preference given to A.merican sub- jects and to American authors over those which are foreign ; and, second, the copious selections from the writings of the principal Catholic writers of the day, both in Europe and in America. There is scarcely a prominent writer of this class from whose pen we have not at least one specimen. What renders this feature of the book the more valuable, is the circumstance that the writings of some of these distinguished authors are not very generally known or easily accessible to the mass of readers in this country. It is well that our children should learn that there are good and ▼1 INTBODnonON. elegant works of literature in the Ohurch as well as outside of it, and it is liighly important that they should be imbued, from an early age, with a taste for this kind of reading. Among the for- eign Catholic writers from whom selections are furnished, we no- tice the names of Cardinal Wiseman, Dr. Newman, Balmez, Oha« teaubiiand, and Digby. Among our own writers, we perceive with pleasure the names of several of our archbishops, bishops, and clergymen, besides those of such distinguished laymen as Dr. Brownson, Dr. Huntington, McLeod, Shea, Miles, and others. The writings of these are interspersed with judicious selections from our standard American authors, Irving, Prescott, Bancroft, and '?aulding. We take pleasure in recommending this valuable series of Readers to the patronage of our Oatholio colleges, schools, and academies. . V ide of it, , from an g the for- il, we no- nez, Oha- ) perceive I, bishops, aymen as ad others, selections Bancroft, CONTENTS. InTEODUonoM, by Bishop Spalding , • ill PART I. PRINCIPLES OP ELOCUTION. Ilntroduction 9 JFroper position 11 [Holding the Book 12 espiration 12 Sxercise 12 Lrticulation 12 Sxercises in Articulation 15 Pronunciation 19 Sxercises in Emphasis 22 [nflsotiom 23 camples in Inflection 24 " " " for two voices 26 " •♦ *' for three voices 27 CKROisBS IN Elooxttion. Examples ^. 81 fpirited Declamation 31 }ay, Brisk, and Humorous Description .' 81 Jnimpassioned Narrative 82 )ignified Sentiment 83 Qlemn and Impressive Thoughts 83 Lwe and Solemnity 83 ^eep Solemnity, Awe, Consternation !i4 lonotone 86 luANTITT 88 [xamples in Quantity 88 Utb or Movement of thk Yoicb 40 low Movement 41 sverence 41 [elancholy 41 rofound Solemnity ■ 42 I ili; A CX)NTEN1«. riSE Grandeur, Vastnesg 42 Moderaio Movement 42 Lively Movement 42 Brisk Movement 48 Rdpid Movement 44 Srmitonb, or PLAiNTivBMnM or Spbkoh 45 Examples of Plaintive Utterance Motherwell. 46 •« " " '♦ Bryant. 47 •« " " ♦• Hood. 48 «« The Past WiUon. 49 ** Where are the Dead 49 ♦* The Charge of the Six Hundred Tennyson. 60 ♦' Give me Three Grains of Com 51 •' The Leaves A. S. Stephens. 61 " The First Crusaders before Jerusalem 52 " Lament for the Death of Owen Roe O'Niel Davis, 63 " The Wexford Massacre "M. J. Barry. 54 " Abou Ben Adham Leigh Hunt. 65 " The Reaper Longfdhw. 65 " Mental Beauty Akenside, 66 ♦' The Soliloquy of King Bichard Shakspeare. bl •* Spring Flowers HowiU. 67 *• The Modem Blue-Stoeking 58 " Invocation Maekay. 59 " Time G. D. Frentice. 59 " Poetasters Pope. 59 '* Richard's Resignation Shakspeare. 60 *' Eve's Regret on quitting Paradise Milton. 6t '* Love due to the Creator O. Griffin. 61 *• A Child's First Impression of a Star WiUis. 621 •• The Carrier-Pigeon Moore. 62 '• To the Passion-Flower 64 " Advice to an Affected Speaker Le Bruylre, 65 Eemarks to Teachers 66| 4»» PART II. POETRY. The Landing of Columbus Samuel Rogers. Mary, Queen of Mercy James Clarence Mangan. Language O.W. Holmes. Indian Names , Mrs, Sigounuy. 03 73 8a lie Wild Lily lie Cheiwell 'tCKiir's Offer ( lord Jumes of t. Agnes riie Dying Gir he Sister of C lie iMinJHtry o il el rose Abbey ionitiu8 , 'lie Crusaders, •livry Magdrtler tftirtyrdom of 5 iirneut of Mar, n Hour at the tella Matutina I' My Father's ( the Robin . . hristnias I'he High-born arco Bozzaris . 'ardinal Wolsej 'athoHc Ruins, 'he Dying Chile he Art of Booh ho is my Neig ere were Men lOve of Country lie Holy Wells hrahaoi and th "he Celtic Cross ioyhood's Years 'he Indian Boat 1 CONTENTS. 6 r*aa rirnort pfocs by Tunis Robert SoiUhivell. 95 (iliuy Stuart's Ltint Piuyt-r J. (1 . Smi/tln'. 102 In- VirKin Maiys Kiiight Thus. I). M((,'ee. 107 My liife'iH like the Siunmur Uoso li. II. )\\lde.. 11*2 liiiil li; Ki ver ./rum the Spinmh. V-V.) 11' tlioii couldrtt be a IJiril Rev. F. W. Fnher. \\'.\ 111- ("roHs in the Wilderness Mrs. Ikmnna. l-l'J lit! I'm rot I'hcmuis Varnjildl. 150 he Conrttaiicy of Nature R, II. JJana. ICl I'Ijo Virgin Martyr Massinger. 107 I'ht' ShephenlH* Song Tusso. 177 1(1 vice to a Young Critic Alexander Fjpe. 186 Id 'I'imeH Gerald (jrh'^n. 194 I'lif Wild Lily and the Passion-Flower Rev. A. Roquette. 205 I'iic Cherwell Water-Lily Fat/ur Faher. 217 t'uDsivr'B Offer of Amnesty to Cato Addinon. 221 [iord James of Douglass Aytoitn. 225 5t. Agnes Alfred Tennyson. 233 I'he Dying Girl R. JJ. Willianui. 239 he Sister of Charity Gendd Oriffin. 240 I he Ministry of Angels Edmund Sj}enser. 253 |Iiilrose Abbey Sir Walter Scott. 261 poriitius T. B. Macaiday. 271 he Crusaders Wm. Wordsworth. 280 [liiry Magdalen Gallanan. 290 ^Itirtyrdom of St. Agnes Aubrey De Vere. 294 (iirnent of Mary, Queen of Scots Robert Burns. 300 Ln Hour at the Old Play-Ground Atim. 315 jtella Matutina, ora pro nobis Dr. Huntington. 821 f My Father's Growing Old' ' Elizabeth G. Barber. 323 \o the Robin Eliza Cook. 333 Christmas Loid John Manners. 338 (he High-born Ladye Thos. Moore. 341 larco Bozzaris Fitz- Greene Halleck. 349 Cardinal Wolsey and Cromwell Shakspeare. 353 Catholic Ruins Farther Caswell. 3G5 me Dying Child on New Year's Eve Tennyson. 369 [he Art of Book-keeping Thos. JJood. 377 /^ho is my Neighbor Anon. 383 lere were Merry Days in England 387 Love of Country Sir Walter ScoU. 393 [he Holy Wells of Ireland .John Eraser. 398 Ibraham and the Fire- worshipper Household Words, 41 1 [i»e Celtic Cross T. D. McGee. 418 loyhood's Years Rev. C. Mehan. 425 file Indian Boat Moore. 431 d 00NTENT8. The Immortal Soul of Man Byron. Bingen on the Rhine Hon. Mrs. Norton. 'J'he Ancient Tombs Frances Brown. On Pride Pope. 437J 443^ 448^ 4651 1: i ili: * \'\ . PROSE. Character of Columbus Washington Irving. Phihmthropy and Charity O. A. Brownson, Love for the Church , 0. A. Brownson. Religious Memorials Sir Humphrey Davy. The Battle of Carillon F. JT. Gameau. The Loi-guage of a Man of Education S. T. Coleridge. The Indians Judge Story. St. Vincent, Deacon and Martyr Mrs. Anna Jameson. The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus Mrs. Anna Jameson. Catholic Missions in the Northwest George Bancroft. Catholic Missions — continued The Discovery of America Thos. D. McGee. 'J'he Discovery of America — continued ^ The Young Catholic Abbi Martinez. The Children of the Poor Charles Lamb. The Blessed Sacrament F. W. Faber. The Blind Martyr Cardinal Wiseman. The Blind Martyr — continued Peace Tribunals Archbishop Kenrick. First Battle on the Plains of Abraham F. X. Garneau. First Battle on the Plains of Abraham — continued The Spirit of the Age Rev. J. W. Gummings. Death of Alonzo de Aguilar Wm. H. Prescott. Death of Alonzo de Aguilar — continued St. Peter's Entry into Rome Archbishop Hughes. Novel Reading Anonymous. Death of Father Marquette /. G. Shea. Early Days at Emmettsburg Mrs. E. A. Seton. Portrait of a Virtuous and Accomplished Woman Finelon. Execution of Mary, Queen of Scots Agnes Strickland. The Humming- Bird John J. Audubon. Description of Nature in the Christian Fathers Humboldt. Queen Elizabeth of Hungary Montalenbert. Ages of Faith Kenelm H. Digby. Ages of Faith — continued War of 1812, and death of Gen. Brock The Battle of Queenston Heights T '^''S and Gain Re». J, H. Newman. God's Share Donald McLeod. 17 17 17 18 18 19 CONTENTS. be Last Hours of Louis XVI Alison. 191 ;iuirattt'r of the Irish Peasantry Jonah Barrington. 196 St. Frances of Rome Ladtj FuUerton. 199 ipring H. W. Longfellow. 201 iirtyrdom of Fathers de Brebeuf and Lalcmant. . .Rev. J. B. A. Ferland 203 Ihiminution at St. Peter's Bishop England. 200 llUuiuination at St. Peter's— continued 209 Ihe Son's Return Gerald Grijin. 212 [The Son's Return — continued 216 Edward the Confessor Lingard. 219 'J'he Discontented Miller Goldsmith. 223 The Jesuits Mrs. J. Sadlier. 227 Education Kenelm H. Dighy. 229 Education — continued 232 Infidel Philosophy and Literature Robertson. 234 Infidel Philosophy and Literature — continued 237 Marie Antoinette Edmund BurKC. 241 The Old Emigrd Mary R. Mitford. 244 Sir 'i'homas More to his Daughter 248 Influence of Catholicity on Civil Liberty ..Bishop Spalding. 260 'I'he Choice '. . . George 11. Miles. 264 The Choice— continued 267 Landing of the Ursulines and Hospital Nuns at Quebec 260 The First Solitary of the Thebais Chateaubriand. 264 The First Solitary of the Thebais— continued 267 'i he Exile's Return •■ Mrs. J. Sadlier. 274 Mount Orient Gerald Griffin. 275 De Froiitenac Bibaud. 281 The Catacombs Dr. Manahan. 283 The Religious Military Orders Archbishop Purcell. 287 Dialogue with the Gout Dr. Franklin. 291 Magnanimity of a Christian Emperor Schlegel. 293 European Civilization Balmez. 297 St. Francis de Sales' Last Will and Testament. .St. Francis de Sales. 299 Arch-Confraternity of San Giovanni Decollato Maguire. 302 The Confraternity ♦' Delia Morte" Maguire. 304 The Plague of Locusts Dr. Neuman. 808 The Plague of Locusts— continued 310 Christian and Pagan Rome Dr. Ndigan. 816 Rosemary in the Sculptor's Studio Dr. Huntington. 319 Religious Orders Leibnitz. 821 Resignation of Charles V., Emperor of Germany Robertson. 326 Resignation of Charles V.— continued 328 Letter from Pliny to Marcellinus Melmoth. 831 The Religion of Catholica Dr. Doyle. 885 f 8 CONTENTS. WAon ■M' I >l t Ml The Wife Washington Irving. 837 JTie Truce of God Fredet. 340 1 Advice to a Young Lady on her Marriage Dean Swift. 343 j A Catholic Maiden of the Old Times Rev. J. Boyce. 845 De Laval, first Bishop of Quebec H. J. Morgan. 862 1 Rome Saved by Female Virtue Nathaniel Hooke. 367 Home Saved by Female Virtue — continued 860 The Friars and the Knight Digby. 863 Gil Bias and the Parasite Le Sage. 866 Anecdote of King Charles II. of Spain 871 Spiritual Advantages of Catholic Cities IHgby. 872 On Letter Writing Blackwood's Magazine. 873 ITieAlhambra by Moonlight W.Irving. 380l Best Kind of Revenge Chambers. 881 Edwin, King of Northumbria Lingard. 384 Cleanliness Addison. 886 j Memory and Hope Jos. K. Pavldiny. 889 The Charnled Serpent Chateaubriand. 894 Two Views of Nature " 895 Wants Jas. K. Paulding. 400 Wants— continued 402 Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples Bev. G. F. Haskins. 405 Ireland " '* 407 Patriotism and Christianity Chateaubriand. 414 Peter the Hermit Michaud. 416 Can the Soldier be an Atheist Chateaubriand. 419 Japanese Martyrs #. Miss Caddell. 421 Japanese* Martyrs— continued 423 On the Look of a Gentleman HazlUt. 427 Social Characters CheUeaubriand. 429 Death of Charles II. of England Robertson. 482 Religion an Essential Element in Education Stapf. 484 Books as Sources of Self-cultivation ♦* 438 Man's Destiny •' 441 On Good Breeding. Anon. 446 Execution of Sir Thomas More 450 The Influence of Devotion on the Happiness of Life Blair. 463 Adherence to Principle commands Respect Miss Brownson. 467 Mount Lebanon and its Cedars Patterson. 469 ITie Siege of Quebec by Montgomery 461 Champlain B. J. Morgan. 465 Jacques Cartier at Stadacona Oarneau. 469 Jacques Cartier at Hochelaga Ahbi Ferland. 472 The City of Montreal P.J.O. Chanveau. 476 It ! rAMJ rving. 837 'i'redet. 340 1 Sivift. 343 Soyce. 845 organ. 852 Hooke. 857 360 Dighy. 863 I Sfltjre. 366 1 871 Digby. 872 gazine. 873] Irving. 380 wibers. 381 Ingard. 384 (Utson. 386 uldiny. 889 &mni. 894 " 395 \ulding. 400 1 4021 laakins. 405 407 hriand. 414 1 ItcAau^. 4161 t&rtani. 419 1 ;a<2(2e22. 421 423 'iwZtlf. 427 •iond. 429 )er^3on. 482| Stoi>/. 434 438 441 Anon. 446 1 450 'lair. 453 ion. 4571 •«on. 469 1 461 'gan. 465 1 teau. 4691 land. 472 ivcau. 475 it THE FOURTH READER. •^>#- Part I. PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. Inteoduction. HE art of reading well is one of those rare ac- complishments which all wish to possess, a few think they have, and others, who see and believe that it is not the unacquired gift of genius, la- bor to obtain. But it will be found that excel- lence in this, as in every thing else of value, is the result of well-directed effort, and the reward of unremitting industry. To read and speak, so as at once* to convey intelligence to the mind and pleasure to the ear ; to give utterance to thoughts and sentiments with such force and effect as to quicken the pulse, to flush the cheek, to warm the heart, to expand the soul, and to make the hearer feel as though he were holding converse with the mighty spirit that coaceived the thought and composed the sentence, is, it is true, no or- dinary attainment ; but it is far from being either above the power or beyond the reach of art. To breathe life through language, to give coloring and force to the thoughts, is not merely an accomplishment ] it is an acquisition of priceless value — a power of omnipotent agency, when wisely and skilfully used. But this degree of excellence is to be attained only through the influence of sure and multiplied principles ; — principles that are universal ; principles that are founded in nature. I* 10 THE FOURTH RKADKK. rilr [jii.; iilil Modes of delivery must inevitably vary with the suscepti- bility of the reader to imaginative impulses, and with the nature of his appreciation of what he reads. To prescribe rules for what, in the nature of things, must be governed by the answering emotion of the moment, and by a sympathizing intelligence, may continue to be attempted, but no positive system is likely to be the result. Language cannot be so labelled and marked that its delivery can be taught by any scheme of notation. Emotional expression cannot be ganged and regulated by any elocutionary law ; and, though there has been no lack of lawgivers, their jurisdiction has never extended far enough to make them an acknowledged tribunal in the republic of letters and art. Mr. Eean does not bow to the law laid down by Mr. Kem- ble or Mr. Macready ; Mr. Sheridan differs from Mr. Walker, and Mr. Knowles dissents from them both. The important step, I believe, in regard to practice in ex- pressive reading, is to set before the pupil such exercises as may sufficiently enlarge his interest and be "penetrable to his understanding. An indiflFerent, unsympathizing habit of de- livery is often fixed upon him, solely by accustoming iiim to read what is either repulsive to his taste, or above his com- prehension.^ As well might we put him to the task of read- ing backwards, as of reading what is too dull or difficult to kindle his attention or awaken his enthusiasm. Reading back- wards is not an unprofitable exercise, when the object is to limit his attention to the proper enunciation of words, iso- lated from their sense ; but when we would have him unite an expressive delivery to a good articulation, we must give him for vocal interpretation, such matter as he can easily un- derstand. That the study and practice of Elocution should form a branch in our systems of Education, is now generally con- ceded. The true method of conveying a knowledge of this art is, however, still open to much discussion. Experience has confirmed me in the opinion that elaborated artificial rules are almost " worse than useless," for they fetter all the natural Impulses isms and delivery. as necessj which go To simpli absolutely reader, ha A knovi and practi ease ; the stress, anc emotional^ ical auxilid dent. These ei briefest am classes, acc( daily Head', will, I trust natural and I claim E Elocutionar rules from i which exper essential. Whether i the head up will thus be organs left t is the best — body on the and turn the is termed th right, by thr< PRINCIPLKS OP ELOCUTION. 11 impulses of the Pupil, and too frequently substitute manner- isms and affectations for a direct, earnest, natural method of delivery. And yet Elocution has its rules, as essential and as necessary to be understood and studied as are the rules which govern a thorough knowledge of the exact sciences. To simplify these rules, and to present only those which are absolutely requisite to form a strictly natural and finished reader, has been my aim in the following pages. A knowledge of the positive rules which govern Inflections, and practice on the same to enable the pupil to inflect with ease ; the general knowledge of rules governing Emphatic stress, and a practice on Modulation, in its varieties of level, emotional, and imitative tones, are all the necessary mechan- ical auxiliaries which Elocution, as an art, affords to the stu- dent. These essential rules I now present, condensed into the briefest and most practical form, the due practice of which in classes, accompanied by the application of the principles to the daily Reading from Examples I have furnished in this work, will, I trust, materially assist in the formation of an eminently natural and correct style of Reading. I claim no originality in the creation of any new system of Elocutionary Instruction. I have only compiled and adapted rules from acknowledged masters of the art, rejecting those which experience has satisfied me are but extraneous and non- essential. Proper Posftions. Whether sitting or standing, the body should be kept erect, the head up, and the shoulders back and down. The chest will thus be expanded, breathing be free and full, and the vocal organs left to an unembarrassed action. A standing position is the best — it gives more power. Support the weight of the body on the left foot ; advance the right about three inches, and turn the toes of both feet moderately out. This position is termed the second right / it will be changed to the first right, by throwing the weight of the body on the right foot, 12 THE j«'OUBTH BEADEB. 11! : I'^i which may Bometunes be convenient for relief, where the read- ing is long continned. Holding the Book. The book should be kept in the left hand, in a nearly hori- zontal position from the lower point of the breast, at a dis- tance of six or eight inches from it. The voice will thus be unobstructed, and the face, which is the index of the soul, in complete view of the audience. The right hand may be em- ployed in turning the pages, and, in proper cases, in light, sig* nificant gesture. " Respiration. To read with elegance and power, the function of breathing must be under entire control. The compass and quality of the voice depend upon it. To secure this control, it will Jbe found highly useful to train the lungs to their most pliant and euei- getic action, on some respiratory exercise, as below : " The chest so exercised, improves its strength ; And quick vibrations through the system drive The restless blood." Exercise. 1. Draw in the breath very slowly, until the lungs are en- tbely filled. 2. Emit the breath in the same manner, continuing to breathe as long as possible. 3. Take in a full, quick breath, and expire it in an audible, prolonged sound of the letter h. 4. Inspire with a sudden, impulsive effort ; then exhale ij the style of a strong, whispered cough. 5. Take in and give back the breath through the nostrils, fully, but slowly, the mouth being entirely closed. 6. Exercise the lungs in the manner of violent panting. Articulation. A perfect articulation is the great excellence of good read- ing and speaking. There are other vocal qualities which rank proper soun syllables am the followinj gant, honor nance, Ac, i debased intc Syllables i lated by mai compromise, vate, feller \ history for hi philoserpher abrogate, &( ton, &c., ma The nnacc to sound like Bingttlar, ed« mute should PBIK0IPLE8 OP ELOCUTION. 13 ireathing ty of the be found md eaei- are en- auing to audible, xhale ij nostrils, ing. od read- ich rank high in the elocutionary scale, as inflection, emphasis, and expression — but they are all inferior to this, and dependent upon it. They have no power to make clear to the mind those words or phrases which, by reason of imperfect enuncia- tion, are not received by the ear. The student should be led, therefore, to early and persevering practice on the Elementary Sounds of the language, on difficult Consonant Combiaations, and on unaccented Syllables. The effect would be almost magical. It would be marked by all the purity and complete- ness which Austin's Ghironomia contemplates, when it says : " In just articulation, the f7orrac^mas disdain disj^ersed ^despotically, ^arn earth's dear tears, whose dearth the heart's hearth ioMrns. i r, I:- ih^ii PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 17 4. ^igland her men metes there a generous meosnro. Cct-sur Receives the people from liis seat. The key to tliat maolinie in the field. Friends, heads and heifers, leopards, bwry iny. JS7j7aralne, estimate the eggs earactly. 5. FauZ/s f He had fauZ^s ; I said he was not faZse. Fa- [undious PAilip's /Zippant ;7aency. OhQ.ai\y the gribbous au- )fiT gorges grnomes. Go 1 though rough cougha and hiecougr/is [iiongh thee througr^ I Orudg^dst thou, and grib'dst thou, hrgon, with thy gryves ? 6. He Aumbly ^eld the Tiostler's ^orse an Aour. 51s honest [/letoric exhilarates. JTear'st thou this /lermit's /lefcous Mere- ly? He twists the texts to suit the several Beets. Hope, ])6ats, roads, coats, and loads of cloaks and soap. Why har- \,ss^dst thou him thus inhumanly ? 7. In either place he dwells, in neither fails. Is he in life (hrough one great terror led ? In one grca^ error rather is he lot ? Is there a name — is there an aim more lofty ? I say [he judges ought to arrest the culprit. I say the judges jought to arrest the culprit. 8. t/anglinglyyealousjeeredthe e/acobin. June's azure day |ees the ^'ay gayly Jump. JTnavish the ^nack could compass Inch a ^not. Keep cool, and learn that cavils camiot kill. Tentuc^y ^nows the dar^ and bloody ground. 9. Loug, Zank, and Zean, he iZZy Zecturod me. Lo 1 there )ehold the scenes of those darJfc ages. The scenes of those lar^ cages, did you say ? JIfete'orous and meteor 'ic vapors. H/iilctecZs^ thou him ? In misery he mopes. 10. Jfyrrh by the murderous myrmidons was brought, fan is a microcosm, a mimic world. JIfute mopiw^r, maim- ed, in misery's murmurs whelm'cZ. Jfammon's main monu- lent a miscreant makes. Jfoments their solemn realm to femnon give. 11. Neigh me no nays; know me wow, neighbor Dobbin. Apt wow the flower is riv'n, forever fall'w. Nymp/is rawge the lOTQsts stul till rosy dawn. Nay ! did I say / scream ? I said ue cream. Never thou clasp' dst more Meeting triumphs here. 12. O'er wastes and deserts, was^e sand deserts sZraying. )n the har^Z wharf the tmAd dwarf was standing. Oh, note 18 THB FOURTH READER. i ^ t tho occasion, yeoraan, ha?4tboy, heauf Or'tho(ipy precedesj orthog'raphy. Ob'ligatory objects tlieii he offered. 13. Pro'cedenta ruled prece'dent Pres'iden/a. Poor jjaint-l ed pomp of pleasure's proud parade. P/iarmacy far moid /armers cures than kills. Psyche (si-k6) puts out the sp/iinx'a pscudo pipe. Politics happ'n to bo uppermost. The roonW perfumed' with per'fumes popular. 14. QuWp quoted Qt/arles's ^t^iddities and quirks. Qt/ecD| and co^t^ets ^mckly their con^t^ests quit. Quacks in a qum dary were quaking there, ^ench'd's^ thou the g^warrel cj the quidnuncs then? Qmescent Qulxotifun and quihbUnj^ quizzing. 15. ^ave, loretched rover, erring, rash, and perjuredj ^ude rugged rocks reSchoed with his roar. P^inoceroseJ armed, and iJussian bears. JKound rang her shriW sham frenzied shriek for mercy. Puin and rapine, ruthless lyretchj attend thee I 16. /Six s^im, sZeek saplings s/othfully he sawed. 5i?riduloi sZrays the stream through forests strange. > SnarVsts thou al me ? Vainly thou splashWs^ and stroy'dst. Sh&W s^uflBin| s/iift thy s^rinkingr, shrieking s^ame ? /Schisms, chasms anj prisms, phantasms, and frenzies dire. iSmith, smooth, smug smart, smirked, smattered, smoked, and smiled. Sudden sad&n^d ; wherefore did he sadd'w? It. The heir his ^air uncovered to the air. That l&st s/il night, that las^s ^ill night's forgot I The s^rideni triden^'l strife strides strenuous. The dwpes shall see the dt/pe survej the scene. The martial corps regarded not the corpse. 18. The ringm^', clingingr, blightiwgr, smitin^r cwrse. Tb storms s^ill strove, but the masts stood the struggle. The sd professol len this wo| A fuU-af I Walker 3se syllabi) [the greati imon in tl but amo! lalls of Icj case. word sii fjing to measure off properly , to regulate; and it maybe ipplied to singing and dancing as well as speaking. It is not ?aoiigh that syllables and words are enunciated properly, and that the marks of punctuation are duly observed. Unless the roice sympathetically adapts itself to the emotion or senti- lent, and regulates its pauses accordingly, it will but imper- fectly interpret what it utters. The study of pronunciation, in the ancient and most com- )rehensive sense of that word, comprised not only the con- sideration of what syllables of a word ought to be accented, )ut of what words of a sentence ought to be emphasized, i'he term Emphasis, from a Greek word signifying to point tut or show, is now commonly used to signify tli»? stress to be [aid upon certain words in a sentence. It is divided by some rriters into emphasis of force, which we lay on almost every [iguificant word, and' emphasis of sense, which we lay on )articular words, to distinguish them from the rest of thg lentence. The importance of emphasis to the right delivery of thoughts speech must be obvious on the shghtest reflection. " Go Lad ask how old Mrs. Brown is," said a father to his dutiful Ion. The latter hurried away, and soon returned with the re- ort that Mrs. Brown had replied that " it was none of his iasiness how old she was." The poor man had intended lerely to inquire into the state of her health ; but he acci- [entally put a wrong emphasis on the word old. Another instance of misapprehension will illustrate the im- [ortance of emphasis. A stranger from the country, observ- ig an ordinary roller-rule on a table, took it up, and on ask- ig what it was used for, was answered, "It is a rule for )unting-AoMses." After turning it over and over, up and [own, and puzzling his bram for some time, he at last, in a iroxysm of baffled curiosity, exclaimed : " How in the name wonder do you count houses with this ?" If his informer id rightly bestowed his emphasis, the misconception of hia leaning would not have taken place. Emphasis and intonation must be left to the good sence id feehng of the reader. If you thoroughly understand 22 THE FOHETH READER. 1,1: 1:1 ■ H'i i i.i ;•■; ■" i!'':',i, ' I ,1 :■ I, ill;! m ■ ■.h 1: : and feel what you have to utter, and have your attentioiil concentrated upon it, you will emphasize better than hyl attempting to conform your emphasis to any rules or marksf dictated by one writer, and perhaps contradicted by unl other. A boy at his sports is never at a loss how to make his emJ phasis expressive. If he have to say to a companion, " I wan| your bat, not your ball" or " I'm going to skate, not to swim," he will not fail to emphasize and inflect the italicized wordsl aright. And why ? Simply because he knows what he means) and attends to it. Let the reader study to know what hi| reading-lesson means, and he will spend his time more profitaj bly than in pondering over marks and rules of disputed applif cation. It is for the teacher, by his oral example, to instil realization of this fact into the minds of the young. Dr. Whately, in his Treatise on Rhetoric, pomtedly coi demns the artificial system of teaching elocution by markJ and rules, as worse than useless. His objections have beej disputed, but never answered. They are : first, that the pro posed system must necessarily be imperfect ; secondly, that i| it were perfect, it would be a circuitous path to the object view ; and, thirdly, that even if both these objections werj removed, the object would not be eflfectually obtained. He who not only understands fully what he is reading! but is earnestly occupying his mind with the matter of itj wUl be likely to read as if he understood it, and thus to maki others understand it ; and, in like manner, he who not onlj feels it, but is exclusively absorbed with that feeling, will likely to read as if he felt it, and communicate his impre8| sion to his hearers. Exercises in Emphasis. In theu" prosperity, my friends shall never hear of me ; ij their adversity, always. There is no possibility of speaking properly the language any passion without feeling it. A book that is to be read requires one sort of style ; a ma that is to speak, must use another. PBINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 23 A sentiment which, expressed diffusely, will barely be ad- litted to be just, expressed coucisely will be admired as )irited. Whatever may have been the origin of pastoral poetry, it is [ndoubtedly a natural and very agreeable form of poetical )mposition. A stream that runs within its banks is a beautiful object ; jut when it rushes down with the impetuosity and noise of a jorrent, it presently becomes a sublime one. Those who complain of the shortness of life, let it slide by lem without wishing to seize and make the most of its golden mtes. The more we do, the more we can do ; the more ^usy we are, the more leisure we have. This without^ those, obtains a vain employ ; Those without this, but urge us to destroy. The generous buoyant spirit is a power Which in the virtuous mind doth all things conquer. It bears the hero on to arduous deeds ; It lifts the saint to heaven. To err is human ; to forgive, divine. INFLECTION. "With regard to the Inflections of the voice, upon which so luch has been said and written — there are, in reality, but [wo — ^the rising and the falling. The compound, or circum- Jex inflection, is merely that in which the voice both rises and [alls on the same word — as in the utterance of the word ('What 1" when it is intended to convey an expression of dis- dain, reproach, or extreme surprise. The inflections are not termed rising or falling from the Jiigh or low tone in which they are pronounced, but from |he upward or downward slide in which they terminate, whether pronounced in a high or low key. The rising inflec- tion was marked by Mr. Walker with the acute accent ( ' ) j I N f'^ 2i THE FOURTH READER. P -ir Ir the falling, with the grave accent (^). The inflection marlj of the acute accent must not be confounded with its use ij accentuation. In the utterance of the interrogative sentence, " DoeJ CsBsar deserve fame' or blame^ ?" the word fame will have tlij rismg or upward slide of the voice, and blame the falling oj downward slide of the voice. Every pause, of whatever kindj must necessarily adopt one of these two inflections, or con tinue in a monotone. Thus it will be seen that the rising inflection is that up ward turn of the voice which we use in asking a question answerable by a sunple yes or no; and the falling inflection ij that downward sliding of the voice which is commonly use in the end of a sentence. Lest an inaccurate ear should be led to suppose that tlij diflferent signification of the opposing words is the reason oj their sounding diflferently, we give below, among other exai pies, some phrases composed of the same words, which an nevertheless pronounced with exactly the same difiference o| inflection as the others. Examples. The Rising followed ly the Falling, Does he talk rationally', or urationally^ ? ^ Does lie pronounce correctly', or incorrectly^? Does he mean honestly', or dishonestly^ ? Does she dance gracefully', or ungracefully^? The Falling followed hy the Biting, He talks rationally,^ not irrationally'. He pronounces correctly\ not incorrectly'. He means honestly\ not dishonestly'. She dances gracefully^ not ungracefully'. The rising progression in a sentence connects what has said with what is to be uttered, or what the speaker wishe to be implied, or supplied by the hearer ; and this with mor PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 25 Lr less closeness, querulousness, and passion, in proportion to Ihe extent and force of the rise. The falling progression disconnects what has been said Irom whatever may follow ; and this with more or less com- pleteness, exclusiveness, and passion, in proportion to the force ind extent of the fall. The rising inflection is thus, invariably associated with what incomplete in sense ; or if apparently complete, dependent on |r modified by what follows ; with whatever is relative to some- (hing expressed, or to be implied ; and with what is doubtful, itcrrogative, or supplicatory. The falling inflection, on the contrary, is invariably asso- (iated with what is complete and independent in sense, or in- snded to be received as such ; with whatever is positive and Ixclusive ; and with what is confidently assertive, dogmatical, [r mandatory. The rising inflection is thus, also, the natural intonation of |ll attractive sentiments ; of love, admiration, pity, &c., as in le exclamations, " Beautiful' I Alas' ! Poor thing' I" The \aUi7ig inflection is the tone of repulsion, anger, hatred, and sproach, as in the exclamations, " Go^ I Fool^ I Maledic- A great number of rules are given for the inflecting of sen- jnces, or parts of sentences. To these rules there are many tccptions not enumerated by their framers. The rules, if sed at all, must therefore be used with extreme caution, or [ley will mislead ; and the reader who undertakes to regulate |s elocution by them will in many instances fall into error. ''e give below the rules that are least liable to exception ; it even these must be received rather as hints to guide the mler where he is in doubt, than rides to hold where his liderstanding dictates the intonation most in accordance with ^c sense and spirit of what he is reading. Where the sense is complete, whether at the termination of [sentence, or part of a sentence, use the falling inflection. When sentences are divisable into two parts, the commen- ag part is generally distinguished by the rising inflection. Questions commencing with an adverb or pronoun, and 2 26 THE FOURTH READER. 'I'l^h Wirl'l ::'i:i4 lii' i which cannot be answered by a simple " yes^' or " no/* gcij erally terminate with the falling inflection. Questions commencing with a verb, and which cannot answered by a simple " yes" or " no," generally terminate wit| the rising inflection. When two or more questions in succession are separated the disjunctive particle or, the last question requires the/clj ing and the preceding ones the rising inflection. The general rule for the parenthesis is, that it must be prJ nounced in a lower tone, and more rapidly than the rest of tlf sentence, and concluded with the inflection that immediate! precedes it. A simile being a species of parenthesis, follow the same rule. The title echo is adopted to express a repetition of a woil or phrase. The echoing word is pronounced generally vm the rising inflection, followed by something of a pause. Exercises in Inflection. In the following pieces, — the first by Sir Walter Scott, aJ the second and third from Ossian, — exercises in modulatij for two or three voices, or sets of voices, are given. By sep rating an entire class, and allotting to each group its part simultaneous utterance, a good effect, with a little drillin may be produced. Pupils will readily perceive that where t!| sense is incomplete, and the voice is suspended, the rising | flection is naturally used : For two voices, or sets of voices. (1st) Pibroch* of Donuil Dhu', (2d) pibroch of Donuil', (1st) Wake thy wild voice anew, (2d) summon Clan-Conuilj (1st) Come away\ come away' 1 (2d) hark to the summons] (1st) Come in your wiir-array', (2d) gentles and commons\ * A pibroch (pronounced pibroh) is, amon{^ the Highlanders, a mar air played with the bagpipe. The measure of the verse in this stani... quires that in the third line the exclamation " Come away" shouldl sounded as if it were a single word, having the accent on the first sylbl — thus, come' away. So in the words hill-plaid^ and steel blade, in the si enth and eighth lines. The license of rhyme require^ that the at in pi( should be pronounced long, as in motd. PRINCIPLK8 OF KLOOUTION. 27 It) Come from deep glen', (2d) and from mountains so rorky\ It) The war pipe and pennon (2d) are at Inverlochy^ ; It) Come every hill-plaid', (2d) and true heart that weara one\ It) Come every steel blade', (2d) and strong baud that bears one\ t) Leave untended the herd, (2d) the flock without shelter^ ; t) Leave the corpse uninterred, (2d) the bride at the \. altar ^ t) Leave the deer, (2d) leave the steer, (1st) leave nets and barges^ ; ll) Come with your fighting gear\ broadswords and targcs\ t) Come as the winds come, (2d) when forests are rended^ ; i) Come as the waves come, (2d) when navies are stranded^ ; t) Faster come, faster come, (2d) faster' and faster\ I) Chief, (2d) vassal\ (1st) page' and groom\ (2d) tenant' and master. [) Fast they come\ fast they come ; (2d) see how they gather^ I Wide waves the eagle plume (2d) blended with heather\ I) Cast your plaids, (2d) draw your blades\ (All) forward each man set^ 1 I) Pibroch of Donuil Dhu', knell for the onset' I the last line but one, the two words man set (meaning man set in hat- Vray) should be sounded as a single word of two syllables, having the k on the first. For three voices, or sets of voices. voice) As Autumn's dark storm' — (2d voice) pours from the cclioing hills' — (3d voice) echoing hills', — Toice) so toward each other' — (2d voice) toward each other approached' — (3d voice) approached the he- roes\ voice) As two dark streams' — (2d voice) dark streams n THE FOURTn KKADER. !:i from liifrli rocks' — (3cl voice) meet and mix, d ronr on tlio i)liiii/, — (1st voice) lond, ron^-li, and dnrk' — (2d voice) dark in tie'' — (3d voice) in battle met Locblin and lu'ij fall\ (1st voice) Chief mixed his blows with cliief — (2d voice) J man with man^ — (3d voice) steel clangin,^;, souuj on steel\ (1st voice) Helmets are cleft' — (2d voice) cleft on hid| (3d voice) Helmets are cleft on high' ; blood Ijiii and smokes around'. (1st voice) As the troubled noise of the ocean' — (2d vi the ocean when*i'oll the waves on high' ; as tho | peal of the thunder of heaven' — (3d voice) thunder of heaven'' ; such is the noise of battle. (1st voice) The groan' — (2d voice) the groan of the peo})!'?! (3d voice) the groan of the people spreads ovei| hills\ (1st voice) It was like — (2d voice) like the thunder'- voice) like the thunder of night' — (All) It wa<;j tiio thunder of night, when the cloud bursts! Cona', and a thousand ghosts' shriek at once' ouj hollow wind'. (1st voice) The morning' — (2d voice) morning w^as gaj (3d voice) the morning was gay on Cromla',- (1st voice) when the sons — (2d voice) sous of the sei (3d voice) when the sons of the sea ascended\ (1st voice) Calraar stood forth' — (2d voice) stood fortll meet them', — (3d voice) Calmar stood fortlj meet them in the pride of his kindling soul\ (1st voice) But pale' — (2d voice) pale was the facc'- voice) but pale was the face of the chief, leaned on his father's spear\ (1st voice) The lightning — (2d voice) lightning flies'- voiee) tlie lightning flies on wings of fire. (1st voice) But slowly' — (2d voice) slowly now the heroi — (3d voice) but slowly now the hero falls', lere the acuto a< PKINCIPLKS OF KU>CX*1I()N. i^U the tree of huiulrod roots before tlie driving storm. \t voice) Now from the j^rtiy mists of the ocean' tiic wliite sailed ships of Finnal'* appear\ — (2d voice) lligli' — (Ikl voice) hig'li is the gTove of tlieir musts' us they nod by turns on the rolling waves\ [t voice) As ebbs the resounding sea through the hundred isles of Inistore' — (2d voice) so loud' — (3d voice; so vast', — (1st voice) so immense', — (All) re- turned the sons of Locldin to meet the ai)proachiug foe\ [t voice) But bending', — (2d voice) weeping', — (3d voice) sad, and slow' — (All) sank Calmar, the mighty chief, in Cromla's lonely wo6d\ |t voice) The battle' — (2d voice) battle is past\ — (3d voice) " The battle is past," said the chief. |t voice) Sad is the field' — (2d voice) sad is the field of Lena^ 1 — (3d voice) Mournful are the oaks of Cromla^ 1 |I1) The hunters have fallen in their strength I The sons of the brave are no more^ 1 |t voice) As a hundred winds on Morven' ; — (2d voice) as the stream of a hundred hills' ; — (3d voice) as clouds successive fly over the Aice of heaven'; |t voice) so vast', — (2d voice) so terrible', — (3d voice) so roaring' — 111) the armies mixed on Lena's echoing plain\ |t voice) The clouds of — (2d voice) night came rolling down' ; — (3d voice) the stars of the north arise' over the rolling waves^ : they show their heads of fire through the flying mists of hcaven\ voice) "Spread the sail\" said the king' — (2d voice) Seize the winds as they pour from Lena' !" — (3d voice) We rose on the waves with songs I |ll) — We rushed with joy through the foam of the deep. Che humorous ode by Thomas Hood, addressed to his sou, lere the acute accent is intended aa a mark of accent, not of inflection 30 THE FOUinH READEli. r ^m r aged til roc years and five months, contains numerous exarapj of the parcutlicsis. Thou happy, happy elf I (But sto}) ! — first let me kiss away that teai)— Tliou tiny image of myself 1 (My love, he's poking peas into his ear) — Thou mCrry laughing sprite 1 with spirits feather ligj IJntouch'd by sorrow, and unsoiPd by sin — (Good heavens 1 the child is swallowing a pin I) Thou little tricksy Puck "With antic toys so funnily bestuck. Light as the singing-bird that wings the air, (The door I the door 1 he'll tumble down the stair 1} Thou darUng of thy sire 1 (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire I) Thou imp of mirth and joy I In love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents — (Drat the boy I There goes my ink I) Thou cherub — but of earth I Fit playfellow for fays by moonlight pale, In hamiless sport and mirth, (The dog will bite him if he pulls its tail 1) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows, Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny, (Another tumble — that's his precious nose 1) Thy father's pride and hope I (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope I) "With pure heart newly stamp'd from nature's mint| ("Where did he learn that squint I) Toss the light ball — bestride the stick, (I knew so many cakes would make him sick I) "With fancies buoyant as the thistle down, Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, PiaNOIPLKS OF ELOCUTION. $i With mauy a lamb-liko frisk, (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown I) Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star, (I wish that window had an iron bar I) _ - Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove— (I'll tell you what, my love, I cannot write unless he's sent above I) Exercises in Elocution. Spirited Declamation. \ He woke to hear his sentry's shriek — 'To arms 1 They come I The Greek I the Greek.'" ^Strike — till the last arm'd foe expires ; Strike — for your altars and your fires ; Strike — for the green graves of your su-es, God, and your native land.'* "Shout, Tyranny, shout, Through your dungeons and palaces, ' Freedom is o'er.' " " On, ye brave, Who rush to glory, or the grave I Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave ! And charge with all thy chivalry 1" 'Now for the fight — now for the cannon peal I Forward — through blood, and toil, and cloud, and fire I On, then, hussars ! Now give them rein and heel I Think of the orphan child, the murdered sire. Earth cries for blood. In thunder on them wheel, This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph seal. Oay^ Brish^ and Humorous Description, "Last came Jyo's estatic trial. He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addressed ; But soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol, Whose sweet, entrancing sound he loved the best." 32 TlIK FOUJITH JiKAULlJ. "I corae, I come I — Ye have call'd me long, I corno o'er the im)untaiiis witli lij»lit and song. Ye may trace my step o'er tlie wakenhip^ earth, By the winds whieh tell of the violet's birth." " Then I see Queen Mab hath been with you. — — She comes, In shape no bifi^j^er than an agate stone On the forefinger of an aldennan, Drawn by a team of little atomics Athwart m^^n's noses, as they lie asleep ; Her wagon-spokes made of long spinners' legs ; The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; The collars, of the moonshine's watery beams, Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ; Her wagoner, a small, gray-coated gnat, Her cliariot is an empty hazel-nnt. Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out of mind the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops, night by night. Sometimes she gallops o'er a courtier's nose. And then dreams he of smelling out a suit ; And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, Tickling a parson's nose as he lies asleep ; Then dreams he of another benefice. Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck ; And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats. Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon Drums in his ear ; at which he starts and wakes, And, being thus frighten'd, mutters a prayer or two, And sleeps again." Unimpassioned Narrative, " There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was JobJ and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feare^j God and eschewed evil." rUIN'ClI'LIS (>]'• I LOCUTION. 88 l)uiiilj;i'd Soit'niu it(», I" Sir, in the most t'.\i)ivss ti-rmn. I Ucn;, the C(»ini>otiMK'y which may properly enough be termed the signa- ture of exioression, would be uncalled for. But the case is I widely different. The impassioned speaker, bvei*powered Ijj his subject, and at a loss to find words to express the strengt!: of his feelings, naturally holds on to and prolongs the tones o{| utterance, and thereby supplies any deficiency in the word^ themselves. Examples in Quantity. " With woful measures, wan Despair — Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled j It is appare the whole of t lime, and dig quantity diffuse will bring out Quantity is ( lignity and emc tiiose of affecte( that the clear 1 ing of the succ morbid sensitive " That lull *'Anddoi And do J And do 3 That com " The langi Who was PllINCII'LKS OF ELOCUTION. 39 A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 'Twas sad by tits ; by starts 'twas mild." "Thou art, God 1 the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Arc but reflections caught from thee. Where'er we turn, thy glories shine. And all things bright and fair are thine." " Spirit of Freedom 1 when on Phyle's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour that now Dims the green beauty of thine At tie plain ?" " The stars shall fade *> way, the sun himself Grow dun with age, and nature sink in years. But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth Unhurt, amidst the war of elements. The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds." It is apparent that one predominating sentiment pervades the whole of the above extracts. They are of a solemn, sub- lime, and dignified description ; and a gracefully extended quantity difi'used over the whole with evenness and continuity, will bring out the sentiment in tlie most impressive manner. Quantity is employed in giving utterance to feelings of ma- lignity and emotions of hatred ; also in cases of irony, and in those of affected mawkish sentimentality, and when so managed that the clear lessening vanish shall blend with the full open- ing of the succeeding word, it will give a fine effect to that morbid sensitiveness which exaggerates every feeling. " That luU'd them as the north wind does the sea." *' And do you now put on your best attire ? And do you now cull out a holiday ? And do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood V " The languid lady next appears in state, Who was not born to carry her own weight ; iO THE FOUUTII KEADEK. She lolls, reels, staggers, till some foreign aid To her own stature lifts the feeble maid. Then, if ordaiu'd to so severe a doom. She, by just stages, journeys round the room ; But, knowing her own weakness, she despairs To seale the Alps — that is, ascend the stairs. *My fan I' let others say, who laugh at toil ; ' Fan I' ' Hood 1' ' Glove I' ' Scarf I' is her laconic style, And that is spoke with such a dying fall, That Betty rather sees than hears the call ; The motion of her lips, and meaning eye, Piece out the idea her faint words deny. Oh, listen with attention most profound 1 Her voice is but the shadow of a sound. And help I oh, help 1 her spirits are so dead " One hand scarce lifts the other to her head. If, there, a stubborn pin it triumph's o'er, She pants 1 she sinks away 1 she is no more I Let the robust, and the gigantic carve ; Life is not worth so much ; she'd rather starve, But chew, she must herself. Ah 1 cruel fate That Rosalinda can't by proxy eat." Popb. RATE OR MOVEMENT OF THE VOICE. The term rate or movement of the voice has reference to the rapidity or slowness of utterance. In good reading, the voice must be adapted to the varying indication of the sentiments iD the individual words, and the rate must accommodate itself to the prevailing sentiment wiiich runs through the whole paragraph, Every one must perceive that the rate of the voice, in the utterance of humorous sentiments and in facetious description, is vastly different from that which is appropriate on occasions of solemn invocation. The rates of movement which are clearly distmguishablc Id varied sentiment, may be denoted by the terms slotv, moderate, lively y brisk, and rapid. PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. Slow Movement. 41 Slow movement is exemplified in the expression of the deep' st emotions ; such as awe, profound reverence, melancholy, raiideur, vastness, and all similar sentmients. In exercising the voice on the rates of movement, the exani- Ics illustrating the extremes should be read consecutively, for casons which must be obvious to the teacher. As several constituents of expression are frequently blended, specially in the utterance of dignified and impressive senti- euts, it may not be amiss to take the same example, to illus- rate the separate functions of the voice. Thus the passage om the book of Job, which we have already used to exem- f the principles in pitch and monotone, may serve to illus- rate the lowest and deepest notes, long quantity and slow ovement, because all these are blended in giving force and rue expression to the sentiment. Heverence. " Tliy awe-imposing voice is heard — we hear it I The Almighty's fearful voice I Attend I It breaks the silence and in solemn warning speaks." Melancholy. "With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired. And from her wild sequestered seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow hour her pensive soul" " The hills, Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun, — the vales, Stretching in pensive quietness between, — The venerable woods, — rivers that move In majesty, — and the complaining brooks. That make the meadows green, — and, pour'd round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, — Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man.' t 42 THE FOURTH READKB. Profound Solemnity. " Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Death 1 Grandeur — Vastnesa. " Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll 1 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. . . . " Thou glorious mirror,- where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, — Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving, — boundless, endless, as sublime, — The image of Eternity, the throne Of the Invisible, — even from out thy shme The monsters of the deep are made. Each zone Obeys thee. Thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone,'] Moderate Movement. Moderate movement is the usual rate of utterance in ordil nary, unimpassioned narration, as in the following extract— | " Stranger, if thou hast learn'd a truth which needs Experience more than reason, — that the world Is full of guilt and misery, — and hast known Enough of all its crimes and cares To tire thee of it, — enter this wild wood, And view the haunts of Nature." Lively Movement. This rate of the voice is exemplified in giving utterance! a moderate degree of joyful and vivid emotions, as in the ft| lowing extracts : *' Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of pamted pomp ? Are not these woods PKINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 48 More free from peril than the envious court ? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,— The seasons' difference, as, the iey fang And churlish chiding of the wintry wind, Wliich, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, ' This is no ilattery.' These are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; And this our life, exempt from public haunt. Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing : T would not change it. Brisk Movement. This rate of the voice is employed in giving utterance to Igay, sprightly, humorous, and exhilarating emotions ; as in jtlie following examples : " But, oh ! how altered was its sprightlier tone. When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung. Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known I" "Last came Joy's estatic trial. He, with viny crown advancing First to the lively pipe his hand addressed ; But soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol, Whose sweet, entrancing voice he loved the best." " I come, I come 1 — ye have call'd me long ; — I come o'er the mountain with ligiit and song, Ye may trace ray step o'er the wakening earth By the winds which tell of the violet's burth, By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves opening as I pass." i ; [ _^a^ 44 TIIK FOURTH KP:ADER. "J*^y»JoyI forever, my task is done, The gates are pass'd and heaveu is won." Rapid Movement. This movement of the voice is the symbol of violent angor, conl'iision, alarm, fear, hurry, and is generally employed in giving utterance to those incoherent expressions which arc tlirown out when the mind is in a state of perturbation ; as may be exemplified in parts of the following extracts : " Next Anger rush'd. His eyes, on fire, In lightning owned his secret stings ; In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hands the strings." *'Wlien, doffed his casque, he felt free air Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare : 'Where's Harry Blount? Titz-Eustace, where? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare 1 Redeem my pennon — charge again I Cry, "Marmion, to the rescue I" — VamI Last of my race, on battle-plain That shout shall ne'er be heard again 1 Yet my last thought is England's. Fly, Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie. Tunstall lies dead upon the field ; His life-blood stains the spotless shield ; Edmund is down — my life is reft — The admii-al alone is left. Let Stanley charge, with spur of fire. With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or victory and England's lost. Must I bid twice ? Hence, varlets 1 fly. Leave Marmion here alone — to die.' '' "He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek — * To arms I They come ! The Greek 1 the Greek !' He woke — to die 'midst flame and smoko, rUINGirLLS OF ELOCUTION. 45 And sliout, ami fjrrojin, and sabre stroke, And doatli-sliots t'ailinfjf tlii(;k and fast, As liy wnlks and shades, Fit haunt of gods 1 where I had hoped to spend, Quiet, th()u There's not a beam that hghts the mouittin. There's not a shrub that scents the galo, There's not a wind that stirt the fountain. There's not a hue 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 1 a. GBorFin. ii i i. i'i- i' V. 1 \ . i 62 TIIK FOURTH RF,ADEK. A Child's first Impression of a Star. She liad been told that God made all the stars That twinkled up iu heaven, and now she stood Watching the coming of the twilight on, As if it were a new and perfect world, And this were its first eve. How beautiful ' Must be the work of nature to a child In its first fresh impression 1 Laura stood By the low window, with the silken lash Of her soft eye upraised, and her sweet mouth Half parted with the new and strange delight Of beauty that she could not comprehend, And had not seen before. The purj)lc folds Of the low sunset clouds, and the blue sky That look'd so still and delicate above, Fill'd her young heart with gladness, and the eve Stole on with its deep shadows, and she still Stood looking at the west with that half smile. As if a pleasant thought were at her heart. Presently, in the edge of the last tint Of suiLsct, where the blue was melted in To the first golden mellowness, a star Stood suddenly. A laugh of wild delight Burst from her lips, and, putting up her hands, Her simple thought broke forth expressively, — " Father, dear father, God has made a star." . Willis, The Carrier-Pigeon. The bird, let loose in Eastern skies, when hastening foiiilv home, Ke'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies where idle wjultl roam ; But high she shoots through air and light, above all low dcla} Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, nor shadow 6\m ber way •, So grant Aioft, th ^0 sill i sp Tliy suusi ili'Mi at Smyi 01' till) Christ "Go, lictoi For lie mui Till' j)riutor And totter' His silver h Moved into i TIio lieatlicn "H. ])o all t\ fro "Hut if thy fi'iy ivj;ii shii die "Think not, ( I'" ill Jlis rigl "Blind wretc ap]) ^0 fiineriil Then expinte ^^'^ lictor, dra 'Hie lictor dra* ^u bound him hand "Abjure thy G free.'' "^0," cried th Ti "X rRINClTLES OF ELOCUTION. 63 • , So grant me, God, from every care ami stain of j)assi()n free, Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, to hold my course t«) thee ; Xo siu to cloud, no lure to stay my soul, as iionie she springs ; — Thy sunshine on her joyful way, thy freedom in her wings 1 Moo UK. roLYOARP, ono of tlio futliei's of the Christiivn Cluircli, sutlircd niiirtyr- iloiii at Sinyrna, in tho year of our Lord 1(57, during u guiiorul pcrscciiLion ol'lhc Oliristians. "Go, lictor, lead the prisoner forth, let all the assembly stay, For he must openly abjure his Christian ■tkiith to-day." The j)rietor spake ; the lictor went, and rolyoar)) appear'd. And totter'd, leaning on his statf, to where the pile was rear'd. His silver hair, his look benign, which spake his ht'aveiily lot, Moved into tears both youth and age, but moved the pi ;etor not. i'i ve The heathen spake : " Renounce aloud thy Christian heresy !" — "111 pe all tilings else," the old man cried, "yet hope not this from rae." — "But if thy stubborn heart refuse thy Saviour to deny, Tliv age shall not avert my wrath ; thy doom shall be— rto die !"— "Think not, judge ! with menaces, to shake my faitli in God ; It' hi His righteous cause I die, I gladly kiss the rod." — ^ILUS. foiv.lly rarbV'- |w di'^'iy )W dini^ "Blind wretch I doth not the funeral pile thy vaunting faith appall?" — "No funeral pile my heart alarms, if God and duty call." — "Then expinte thy insolence ; ay, perish in the lire I Go, lictor, drag him instantly forth to the funeral pyre 1" The lictor dragg'd him ius'tantly forth to the pyre ; with bands lie bound him to the martyr's stake, he smote him with his hands. "Abjure thy God," the prajtor said, "and thou shalt. yet be free." — "No," cried tho hero, "rather let death be my destmy I*' . ! ( i 64 THE FOURTH READER. The praetor bow'd ; the lictor laid with haste the torches nigh : Forth from the fagots burst the flames, and glanced athwart the sky ; The patient champion at the stake with flames engirdled stood, Look'd up with rapture-kindling eye, and seal'd his faith in blood. To THE Passion Flower. What though not thine the rose's brilliant glow, Or odor of the gifted violet. Or dew with^'Which the lily's cheek is wet ; Though thine would seem the pallid streaks of woe, The drops that from the fount of sorrow flow. Thy purple tints of shame ; though strange appear The types of torture thou art doom'd to wear ; Yet blooms for me no hue like thine below. For from thee breathes the odor of a name. Whose sweetness melts my soul and dims my eyes ; And in thy mystic leaves of woe and shame I read a tale to which my heart replies In voiceless throbbing and devoted sighs ; Death's darkest agony and mercy's claim, And love's last words of grief are written in thy dyes. I i To spend too much time in studies is sloth ; to use them too much for ornament is affectation ; to make judgment wholly by their rules is the humor of a scholar. They per- fect nature, and are perfected by experience ; for natural abilities require study, as natural plants need pruning; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Craftv men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for studies teach not their own use — this \\k men learn by observation. Read not to contradict and n- fute, not to believe and take for granted, but to weigh ani consider. Bacon. PEINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 65 igh: wart :oo(l, th in ear 5 I dyes. 36 them idgment ley per- natural inc • and well at Crafty rise wen lliis Avi>« and ri- ngli aivl IBaoon. Advice to an Affected Speaker. What do you say ? — What ? I really do not understand you. Be so good as to explain yourself again. — Upon my word, I do not. — Oh, now I know : you mean to te^l me it is a cold day. Why did you not say at once, " It is col 1 to-day ?" If you wish to inform me it rains or snows, pray oay, " It rains," " It snows ;" or, if you think I look well, and you choose to compliment me, say, "I think you look well." "But," you answer, "that is so common, and so plain, and what everybody can say." Well, and what if they can ? Is it so great a misfortune to be understood when one speaks, and to speak like the rest of the world ? I will tell you what, my friend ; you and your fine-spoken brethren want one thing — you do not suspect it, and I shall astonish you — you want common sense. Nay, this is not all : you have something too much ; you possess an opinion that you have more sense than others. That is the source of all your pompous nothings, your cloudy sentences, and your big words without a meaning. Before you accost a person, of enter a room, let me pull you by your sleeve and whisper in your ear, "Do not try to show off your sense ; have none at all — that is your part. Use plain lan- guage, if you can ; just such as you find others use, who, in your idea, have no understanding ; and then, perhaps, you will get credit for having some." La BauYEaE. REMARKS TO TEACHERS. Tt is of the utmost importance, in order to acquire a cor- rect and elegant style of reading, frequently to refer the pupil to the Principles of Elocution, given in the First Fart. These should be frequently reviewed, and the direc- tions applied to Ihe selections in Part Second, THE FOURTH READER. ■♦•♦■ Fart II. SELECT LITERARY EXERCISES IN READING. 1. Character op Columbus. IRVINQ. ■Washington Trvtno was born in New York, April 3, 1783 — died, 1860. As an historian and essayist, Irvinjj had no superior and tow equals among tlie mon of his time, flis "History of New York," written under the assumed name of Deidrich Knickerbocker; his "History of Columbus," and tlie "Sketch-Book," were amonjj tlie earlier triumpiis of his j^cnius; but his last and greatest work is the " Life of Washington/' concluded just l)elbre his death. and inventive {^ pMOLUMBUS was a man of great genius. The operations of his mind were energetic, but irregular ; bursting forth at times with that irresistible force which characterizes intellect of such an order. His mind had grasped all kinds of knowledge connected with his pursuits ; and though his information may appear limited at the present day, and some of his errors palpable, it is because knowledge, in his peculiar department of science, was but scantily devel- oped in his time. His own discoveries enlightened the igno- rance of that age ; guided conjecture to certainty ; and dis- pelled numerous errors with which he himself had been obliged to struggle. 2. His ambition was lofty and noble. He was full of high thoughts, and anxious to distinguish himself by great achieve- ments. It has been said that a mercenary feeling mingled with his views, and that his stipulations with the Spanish court were selfish and avaricious. The charge is inconsiderate and I unjust. He aimed at dignity and wealth in the same lofty [spirit in which he sought renown ; but they were to arise from !' i i 't ' I \ 68 THE FOURTH REAPER. the territories he should discover, and be commensurate in im- portance. 3. lie asked nothing of the sovereigns but a command of the countries he hoped to give them, and a share of the prolits to support the dignity of liis command. The gains that i)roin- ised to arise from his discoveries, he intended to ai)propriak' in the same princely and pious spirit in which they wore di- mauded. He contemplated works and achievements of beiicv- olence and religion, vast contributions for the relief of the poor of his native city ; the foundation of churches, where masses should be said for the souls of the departed ; and armies for the recovery of the holy sepulchre in Palestine. 4. Columbus was a man of quick sensibility, liable to great excitement, to sudden and strong impressions, and poweilul impulses. He was naturally irritable and impetuous, iuid keenly sensible to injury and injustice ; yet the quickness of his temper was counteracted by the benevolence and generosity of his heart. The magnanimity of his nature shone forth throujili all the troubles of his stormy career. Though continually outraged in his dignity, and braved in the exercise of his com- mand ; though foiled in his plans and endangered in his person by the seditions of turbulent and worthless men, and that, too, at times when suffering under anxiety of mind and anguish of body sufficient to exasperate the most patient, he restrained his valiant and indignant spirit ; and, by the strong powers of his mind, brought himself to forbear, and reason, and even to supplicate : nor should we fail to notice how free he was from all feeling of revenge, how ready to forgive and forget, on tlie least signs of repentance and atonement. He has been extolled for his skill in controlling others ; but far greater praise is due to him for the firmness he displayed in governing himself. 5. His magnanimous benignity made him accessible to all kinds of pleasurable sensations from external objects. In \m letters and journals, instead of detailing circumstances witli tiie technical precision of a mere navigator, he notices the beoutics of nature with the enthusiasm of a poet or a painter. 6. He was devoutly pious ; religion mingled with the ^vhole course of his thoughts and actions, and shines forth in all his ClIARACTKK OF COLUMBUS. CO L im- id of .•olits )roin- •e ik- )encY- i poor Dasse3 es for ) great niost private and unstudied writings. Whenever lie made any ui-eat (lisouvery, bo celebrated It by solemn thanks to God. The voico of prayer and melody of }>raise rose from his sliij)s when they first beheld the New World, and \\ih first action on liiiidhi;;' was to prostrate himself upon the earth and return tluuiks. 1. With all the visionary fervor of his imagination, its fond- est dreams fell short of reality. He died in ignorance of the real grandeur of his discovery. Until his last breath he enter- tained the idea that he had merely opened a new way to the old resorts of opulent commerce, and had discovered some of the wild regions of the East. lie supposed llispanlola to be the ancient Ophir which had been visited l)y the ships of Sol- omon, and that Cuba and Terra Firma were but remote parts of Asia. 8. What visions of glory would have broken upon his mind could he have known that he had indeed discovered a new continent, equal to the whole of the Old World in magnitude, and separated by two vast oceans from all the earth hitherto known by civilized man ! And how would his magnanimous spirit have been consoled, amidst the aflflictions of age and the cares of penury, the neglect of a fickle public, and the injustice of an ungrateful king, could he have anticipated the splendid empires which were to spread over the beautiful world he had discovered ; and the nations, and the tongues, and languages which were to fill its lands with his renown, and to revere and bless his name to the latest posterity 1 Ihe whole linalUis 2. The Landing of Columbus. ROGERS. Samuel Rookiw was born in England, in 1765, and died in 1855. Hie Ipci'ti'v hiis no ]L?reat olaim to oritiiiiality ; but it possesses, in an eminent I (kgit'L', the merits of good taste, rotinement, and carcful composition. 1. The sails were furl'd ; with many a melting close, Solemn and slow the evening anthem rose, — Rose to the Yirgln. 'Twas the hour of day When setting suns o'er summer seas display V ■ 70 THE FOURTH READER. 2. A path of glory, opening in the west To golden ellraes and islands of the blest ; And human voices on the silent air Went o'er the waves in songs of gladness there I Chosen of men 1 'Twas thine at noon of night First from the prow to hail the glimmering light : (Emblem of Truth divine, whose secret ray Enters the soul and makes the darkness day !) " Pedro I Rodrigo ! there methouglit it shone I There — in the west I and now, alas, 'tis gone 1 — 'Twas all a dream I we gaze and gaze in vain I But mark and speak not, there it comes again 1 It moves 1 — what form unseen, what being there With torch-like lustre fires the murky air ? His instincts, passions, say, ho^i^ like our own I Oh, when will day reveal a world unknown?" 3. Long on the deep the mists of morning lay ; Then rose, revealing as they rolled away Half-circling hills, whose everlasting woods Sweep with their sable skirts the shadowy floods : And say, when all, to holy transport given, Embraced and wept as at the gates of heaven,r— When one and all of us, repentant, ran, And, on our faces, bless'd the wondrous man, — Say, was I then deceived, or from the skies Burst on my ear seraphic harmonies ? 4. " Glory to God I" unnumber'd voices sung, — " Glory to God !" the vales anfl mountains rung, Voices that hail'd creation's primal morn, And to the shepherds sung a Saviour born. Slowly, bareheaded, through the surf we bore The sacred cross, end kneeling kiss'd the shore. 3. Philanthropy and Charity. DR. BKOWN80N. Dp. 0. A. Brownson was borji at Stookbridge, Vermont, Sept. 16, 1S08. He oomes of an old New-England stock, and was brought up in the mji of hia Puriti Vain pursuit until, at Jeiii portals of tj ^rt'iit tuleiits t'nin lie to 11], olio ruvic'vvor ('iiristi.-in phi the Joaruecl oi >ty of tho higl 1. The n human Jove, doue is simp] eloquent spee be performed, but it fails in starts with ge so long as the offices in his w I friends to stimi Ipride, and soot: pe may keep or J 2. But let hi l^'ttie public of Jbe tliwarted or pecret, unseen b Wn nothing but N will soon begi m for the un^ pes only a crea r'th tiian himsc fe him more t Pe highest streti r ^o^e ourselves r^ them more tl J l %, philant r"»ent, not a p H ^^t its owr m the good of r of its own ^¥e as any otl ^HILANTHROPT AND CHARITT. 71 of his Puritan ancestor tt- * ^ ic rev,„,vtT, 1,0 l,„l, ,s d ,'" "' "I'li'ilit to tl on, ,:"™ <',<"i° I'loro 7 m '"'' "^ "'est Of tJie ^\ ^]. f : '"** autlior- be performed, no violent n„t, 1 ? ° J'sagreeable duties to b;t;t fails in the ho ?/ : /^P"^'"-^^^ to be ovet^ «s with generous impulses^ hr^' "" P''"™'''~Pfe so long as there are no irZl't^- ^ ™"« "nthusiasm • and I «ffi- in his way, and he C v IT r^,""™'^' "^ '^■■^^-"S fnends to stimulate his zeaTZlZ'T^^ f^^'' "^ "dmiriul Pnde,a„d soothe him for theTbuff^.; ''T^"' ''''"«■ '"^ 'emay keep on his course and n„ f- T"'" ^""^ *he world 2- But let him find MmL?? ."''""« •"« '«■*■ Kpublieof his'ol : r^n'^'^-'V"' "- "- no h tliivarted on eyery poiTl^ t" .' '''"''^ '° '"■'». 'et him l«, unseen by all Ke 1 1 tl'V""'^^'' *" ^-"^ ^ Iten nothing but contradictfon.in? ^. ^^'' ""counter from lewill .oon begin to say t wC?f wf """^ '■'S'-''«"'«3e, and kh for the unworthy ? He whn 1 ^ '"*^'' '""^ "'"'"■•« "o (««s only a creature a beino- nT "' '"'"' '''"' "^n's sake hrth than himself,-peS n„V'"'''''"f '^""'' "^ ""> -t^ h,l;ira more than htatf/ 7*^: "i"'' ! ""d why shall ho [» "ghost stretch of hum » love is t^.'' '""^'"' '"' '""'? hthcm more than we do ourselves "■'"'''' ^''"'' "•« P; -^ay, Pliilanthronv it^Plf ,■; . r^nt, not a prindple Tt " T "^ '^"'■'''"'^«- It h a h- any other Of our :ilTar;^oS I ! 72 THE FOURTH RKADER. distinction between the sentiment of philantliropy, and the duty of doing good to others, — between seeking the good of otiiers from sentiment, and seeking it in obedience to a huv whicjj binds the conscit'nce. 4. The measure of tiie capacity of philanthropy, as a senti- ment, is the amount of satisfaction it can bring to the pos- sessor. So long as, upon the whole, he finds it more delight- •fnl to play the philanthropist than the raiser, for instance, lie will do it, but no longer. Hence, philanthropy must alwa} decrease just in proportion to the increase of the repugnances it must encounter, and fail us just at the moment when it is most needed, and always in proportion as it is needed. It follows the law so observable in all human society, and heljK most when and where its help is least needed. Here is the condemnation of every scheme, however plausible it may look, that in any degree depends on philanthropy for its success, 5. Tlie principle the Associationists want for their success is not philanthropy, — the love of man for man's sake, — but cfivinc charity, not to be had and preserved out of the Catho- lic Church. Charity is, in relation to its subject, a superiiat- urally infused virtue ; in relation to its object, the supreme and exclusive love of God for his own sake, and man for tlie sake of God. He who has it, is proof against all trials; for his love does not depend on man, who so often proves himself totally unamiable and unworthy, but on God, who is always and everywhere infinitely amiable and deserving of all love. He visits the sick, the prisoner, the poor, for it is God whom he visits ; he clasps with tenderness the leprous to his bosom, and kisses their sores, for it is God he embraces and whose dear, wounds he kisses. The most painful and disgusting offices are| Bweet and easy, because he performs them for God, who i love, and whose love inflames his heart. Whenever there is j| service to be rendered to one of God's little ones, he runsmtl eagerness to do it ; for it is a service to be rendered to G himself. 6. " Charity never faileth." It is proof against all natu; repugnances ; it overcomes earth and hell ; and brings Gi down to tabernacle with men. Dear to it is this poor begi 't ^eeds ia fo ;"fe' its robo iiig tV sorfc and winch it of these my \ 8- All is d fflen, more th liim and heav( principle you yoa and /or principle, Assc t^s is sufficien of poh'tical, so Gfod can hare in es ^ God, „, tile world, in "'ays with her JJ^orld, in ad % Spirit, in /f^ffbt us how h f*"^* and inexhau, LOVE FOR THE OnUROII. n the )d of , law SLMltl- J pes- ICO, h iilway.' ;naiict'S ,cu U ii ea. It id help- c is Ihe lay look, ;cess. r success .ko,— l)ttt le Oatlio- supcvnat- tn for tlie I Irials; ion is al'-vays all love. I ji od wboffll lis V)osoni,| vhose deail I offices awl k1, ^vliO is| there is s |oruasVi^»] led to G*' all natuti jrings 6«* )orl)egg for it sees in him oniy oar Lord who had " not where to lay his head ;" dear are the sorrowing and the afflicted, foi it sees in them Hira who was " a man of sorrows and acquaiut( d with infirmity ;" dear are these poor outcasts, for in them it beholds Him who was "scorned and rejected of men;" dear are the wronged, the oppressed, the down-trodden, for in them it be- holds- the Innocent One nailed to the Cross, and dying to atone fo human wickedness. t And it joys to succor them all ; for in so doing, it makes .oparation to God for the poverty, sufiferings, wrongs, con- teu.pt, and ignominious death which he endured for our sakes ; or it is his poverty it relieves in relieving the poor, his hunger it -"ccds in feeding the hungry, his nakedness it clothes in throw- ing its robe over the naked, his afflictions it consoles in consol- ing tho sorrowing, his wounds into which it pours oil and wiuo and which it binds up. " Inasmuch as ye did it unto the least of these my brethren, ye did it unto me." 8. All is done to and for God, whom it loves more than men, more than life, and more than heaven itself, if to love him and heaven were not one and the same thing. This is the principle you need ; with this prmciple, you have God with you and iov you, and failure is impossible. But with this principle. Association is, at best, a matter of indiflference ; for this is sufficient of itself at all times, under any and every form of political, social, or industrial organization. He who has God can have nothing mord. 4. Love for the Churoh, DR. BR0WN80N, 1. God, in establishing his Church from the foundation of Itlie world, in giving his life on the cross for her, in abiding al- ways with her, in her tabernacles, unto the consummation of [the world, m adorning her as a Bride with all the graces of the IHoly Spirit, in denominating her his Beloved, his Spouse, has [taaght us how he regards her, how deep and tender, how infi- p« and mexhaustible, his love for her, and with what love and 4 ■ 74 THE FOURTH BEADEB. honor we should behold her. lie loves us with an infinite love, and has died to redeem us ; but he loves us and wills our hhI vation, only in and through his Church. lie would brin^^ us to himself, and lie never eeatfes as a lover to woo our love ; but he wills us to love, and reverence, and adore him only us children of his Beloved. Our love and reverence must reduund to his glory as her Spouse, and gladden her maternal heart, and swell her maternal joy, or he wills them not, knows them not, 2. Oil, it is frightful to forget the place the Church holds in the love and providence of God, and to regard the relation in which we stand to her as a matter of no moment 1 She is the one grand object on which are fixed all heaven, all eartii, ay, and all hell. Behold her impersonation in the Blessiil Virgin, the Holy Mother of God, the glorious Queen of heaveu. Humble and obscure she lived, poor and silent, yet all heuveii turned their eyes towards her ; all hell trembled before her ; all earth needed her. Dear was she to all the hosts of heaven ; for in her they beheld their Queen, the Mother of grace, tlit Mother of mercies, the channel through which all love, and mercies, and graces, and good things were to flow to man, and return to the glory and honor of their Father. 3. Humblest of mortal maidens, lowliest on earth, under God, she was highest in heaven. So is the Church, our sweet Mother. Oh, she is no creation of the imagination 1 Oh, she is no mere accident in human history, in divine providence, di- vine grace, in the conversion of souls I She is a glorious, a living reality, living the divine, the eternal Ufe of God. Her Maker is her Husband, and he places her, after him, over all in heaven, on the earth, and under the earth. All that he can do to adorn and exalt her, he has done. All he can give lie gives ; for he gives himself, and unites her in indissoluljk union with himself. Infinite love, infinite wisdom, infinite power, can do no more. 4. All hail to thee, dear and ever-blessed Mother, tlioiil chosen one, thou well-beloved, thou Bride adorned, thou chaste, I immaculate Spouse, thou Universal Queen ! All hail to tlieel] We honor thee, for God honors thee ; we love thee, for God loves thee ; we obey thee, for then ever conuuandest ^he will Pu J" To be He on 2- Years Still Yet fej Th At w An of thy lord The no i 76 ;;•« pHnee of this wUr;:J'„X{, /;-/''-, "'« — '^ of "'" ""'•"•'•"mci,,.d m„„ I J "" ' "'<"* '>''><-'k ! the .laughters of • -•"". «i,-i„.st thee, „:^ ;M''2,r; , """ "•■" "- "P n tli'Mi to our hearts • nil «,„ " ', "" "'« more dear nrt - m thee , and Jt^Zl^t'T' ''""'■'" "'« ''o"."'e -'■-e our h„„,l.,o offe^Lrandrr ^ '"^ "'"^ "'«« '« ' '™'f ""er „a that weTever forf, T, '" ^"' "'>■ ''' ''1"'", our Motiier. """'"' '^»*" the right to .Ml theo «• Masy, Qceen of Mbsot. MANOAN-. • • JaV1!8 ClaRENOB MA>fOAV A /■ron/tho Iri8hrife French '.? *?"«J'^to-V, ho W,nS,5«"*?an desorvoX t>^ truMsfuso into h^H om 'T''' ""^^ «"«'» " US 1 3' ?f."I'«n, ti.o Dan- He only sa.d^ at certain seasons, ' ■ O Mary, Queen of Mercy I" Yot felt he nof fnd T l^'''""-"'""! ; Th„ t "'*'" ^"ffle shame • ■ '^"""'^"' """'Sh powerless to reform, * 76 TIIK FOURTH READER. Would bo, in hope to appeaso that sternest Avenger, cry, and more in earnest, " Mary, Queen of Mercy I" 3. At last Youtli's riotous time* was gone, And Loatliing now came after Sin. With locks yet brown, he felt as one Grown gray at heart ; and oft, with tears, He tried, but all in vain, to win From the dark desert of his years One flower of hope ; yet, morn and evening, He still cried, but with deeper meaning, " O Mary, Queen of Mercy 1" 4. A happier mind, a holier mood, A purer spirit ruled him now : No more in thrall to flesh and blood, He took a pilgrim-staflf in hand, And, under a religious vow, TravaiPd his way to Pommerland ; There enter'd he an humble cloister. Exclaiming, while his eyes grew moister, " O Mary, Queen of Mercy I" 6. Here, shorn and cowl'd, he laid his cares Aside, and wrought for God alone. Albeit he sang no choral prayers. Nor matin hymn nor laud could learn. He mortified his flesh to stone ; For him no penance was too stem ; And often pray'd he on his lonely Cell-coucli at night, but still said only, " Mary, Queen of Mercy I" 6. They buried him with mass and song Ancath a little knoll so green ; But, lo ! a wonder-sight 1 — Ere long Rose, blooming, from that verdant mound, Tlie fairest lily ever seen ; And, Oh its petal-edges round 7. 1 Sir IfDjfPHR] tiio present ecu . ^- The ro 's a memorial J was passing ^''c peculiar ^^^^y- I had ^^y possession P'krims at Je Sepuiclire. p '>ieau. By a i , /f^iy Land, I j'iustrions ponj 2. He receii stTWces to exl ' ™'¥it think fif , ^''«t I was at ciiiied troublfna ^^^' iioly Landl ^y rosary froml ' ^' He receivf KEIJ0I0D8 MEMORIALS. Relieving their trausluceut whiteness, Did shine these words, in gold-hued brightness, " Mary, Queen of Mercy 1" 7. And, would God's angels give thee power, Thou, dearest reader, mightst behold The fibres of this holy flower Upspringing from the dead man's heart, In tremulous threads of light and gold ; Then wouldst thou choose the better part, And thenceforth flee Sin's foul suggestions ; Thy sole response to mocking questions, " Mary, Queen of Mercy I" 77 6. Religious Memokials. em HUM PlIKEY DAVY. Sir Uomphkey Davy— an otuiiiont English philosopher and chemiw^ o( the present century. lie wrote somo very interesting books of travel. 1. The rosary, which you see suspended around my neck, is a memorial of sympathy and respect for an illustrious man. I was passing through France, in the reign of Napoleon, by the peculiar privilege granted to a savant, on my road to Italy. I had just returned from the Iloly Land, and had in luy possession two or three of the rosaries which are sold to pilj^rims at Jerusalem, as having been 8us})ended in the Holy Sepulchre. Pius VII. was then in imprisonment at Fontaine- bleau. By a special favor, on the ploa of my return frcm the Holy Land, I obtained pernassion to see this venerable and ilhistrious pontiff. I carried with me one of my rosaries. 2. Ho received me with groat kindness. I tendered my services to execute any commissions, not political ones, he might think fit to intrust me with, in Italy, informing him tliat I was an Englishman : he expressed his tlianks, but do elincd troubling me. I told him that I was just returned from the Holy Land ; and, bowing, witli great humility, oflfered him my rosary fi'om the Holy Sepulchre. 3. He received it with a smile, touched it with his lips, gave 78 THE FOrRTH RKADER. his benediction over it, and returned it into my hands, suppos- ing, of course, that I was a Roman CathoHc. I had meant to present it to his Hohness ; but the blessing he had bestowed u[)on it, and tlie touch of his hps, made it a precious relic tu niu ; and I restored it to my neck, round which it has ever since been suspended " We shall meet agaiu ; adieu :" and he gave me his paternal blessing. 4. It was eighteen months after this interview, that I went out, with almo'st the whole population of Rome, to receive and welcome the triumphal entry of this illustrious father of the Ciiurch into his capital. He was borne on the shoulders of tlie most distinguished artists, headed by r^anova : and never sliall I forget the enthusiasm with which he was received ; it is impossible to describe the shouts of triumph and of rapture sent up to heaven by every voice. And when he gave his benediction to the people, there was a universal prostration, a sobbing, and marks of emotion and joy, almost like the burst- ing of the heart. I heard everywhere around me cries of " The holy father ! tlie most holy father 1 His restoration is the work of God !" 6. I saw tears streaming from the* eyes of almost all the women about me, many of whom were sobbing hysterically, and old men were weci)ing as if they were children. I pressed my rosary to my breast on this occasion, and repeatedly touched with my hps that part of it which had received the kiss of the most venerable pontiff. I preserve it with a kind of hallowed feehng, as tiie memorial of a m'^n whoso sanctity, firmness, meekness, and benevolence, are an honor to his Church and to human nature : and it has not only been useful to me, by its influence upon my own mind, but it has enablea me to give pleasure to others ; and has, I believe, been some- times beneticial in insuring my personal safety. 6. I have often gratified the peasants of Apulia and Cala- bria, l)y presenting them to kiss a rosary from the Holy Sc|)- ulchre, which had been hallowed by the touch of the lips and benediction of the Pope : and it has even been respected hy, and procured me a safe passage through, a party of brigands, who once stopped me in the passes of the Apennines. F. X. Gaf nutlior of tJi iiolds," says tains, but ifoi to portray J) Canada ; in / Ciarneau is a i'liblie Instrij principal Jitei jac«.i t States ( 1. The h hjthedkchi and Lake C These banks nates at the slope on the La Chute, ali yards in breai of the decJivi which eommaj ping ground , uected by a f ;^i'e still to be '".? three or "nj?Ie, and corr asvvellasthe P'ain, and the I J! of the 6th— 7t I J"clieated that i "lents, formed I f t'le 6th, anc '^^ ; they took the heights on hK to cross t h shallow goi'ir Fscended to tl m might be pos- it to )weLl Lc to ever eu :" went re and 3f tlie era of never cd ; it •apture ive his atiou, a B burst- cries of :ation is all tlie jerically, pressed )eatedly the kiss kind of sanctity, to his «n useful euablea |en some- \m\ Cala- [oly Sep lips and ictcd hy, )rigau(ls, THE BATTLE OF OABILLON. The Battle of Carillon. G A. K N E A U 79 F. X. Garneatj stftnds deservedly high amongst American writers ns tho aiitlior of tlie best liistory of Canadii yet written. " This rank liis liistory lioUls," says a Canadian writer, " not only for tlic groat information it con- tains, but for the purity and perspicuity of tlio language which ho employs to portray his opinions of men, and tilings in general, connected with Oiinuda; in fact, we have no history of Canada equal to Garneau's." Mr. Guriieau is a native of Quebec. He has been a niember of the Council of Public Instruction of Lower Canada, and an honorary member of all the principal literary and historical societies of British America, and the ad- jacvit States of the Federal Kepublic. 1. The heights of Carillon are situated in the angle formed by the discharge of Lake St. Sacrament, named River La Chute, and Lake Champlain, into which that river pouis its waters. These banks arc of no great elevation, and their point culmi- nates at the very summit of the angle, terminating in a gentle slope on the lake side, and more abruptly on that of River La Chute, along which runs a little sandy beach about fifty yards in breadth. At the extremity of the angle, on the edge of the declivity, there was placed a small redoubt, the fire of which commanded the lake and the river, and raked the slo- ping ground along the water-course. This redoubt was con- nected by a parapet with Fort Carillon, the ruins of which are still to be seen. The fort, which was capable of contain- ing three or four hundred men, was placed midway in the nnglc, and commanded the centre and right of the table-land, as well as the level ground beneath, bordering on Lake Cham- plain, and the St. Frederick river. The army passed the night I of the 6th — 7th July, 1758, in bivouac. The enemies' fires g iudieated that they were in force at the ford. The intrench- 1 meats, formed by zig-zag angles, were commenced on the evening [of the 6th, and continued with great activity all day on the rtb ; they took the fort, followed for some time the crest of I the heights on the side of River La Chute, then turned to the Iright, to cross the angle at its base, following the windings of la shallow gorge Avhich intersects the table-laud, and finally Idosceuded to the shallow water which extends to the lake. jTliey might be six hundred yards in extent, and five feet in ? * I i THE FOURTH READER. height ; they were formed of round trees laid one on the other ; in front were placed up-rooted trees, the large branches of which, pointed at the end, formed a sort of chevaiix-de-frUc, 2. Each battalion having taken on its arrival the post it was to hold during the action, threw up that portion of the intrenchment destined for its protection. The men all worked with incredible ardor. The Canadians, who had been unable to obtain their hatcl»ets sooner, only commenced in the after- noon their intrenchment in the shallow water on the Lake Charaplain side. They finished on the following day about noon, just as the English made their appearance. The country in front being covered with wood. General Montcalm had all the trees felled for a certain distance round, in order to have a clearer view of the movements of the enemy. 3. Meanwhile, General Abercromby had disembarked with liis whole array. He learned from some prisoners that the French had intrenched themselves in oi^der to await a reinforcement of 3,000 men, which the Chevalier de Levis was expected to bring, lie therefore resolved to attack Montcalm before the arrival of that force. The engineer whom he had sent to reconnoitre having brought him word that the French works were not yet finished, he immediately put himself in motion, and on the evening of the Vth pushed forward his vangiuirtl, under Colonel Bradstreet, to within some 1400 vards of the French. Both sides then prepared for action on the morrow. 4. The English army, exclusive of some hundreds of men ieit at the Chute, and to guard the boats at the foot of the lake, still numbered over 15,000 chosen men, commanded by ex- perienced officers, and it went into the combat with all the confidence given l»y great numerical force. The French army reckoned only 3,000 men, of whom 450 wore Canadians ami marines; ; there were no savages. Montcalm placed 300 imii in cliarge of Fort Carillon, thus leaving 3,300 for the delenfe of the intrenchments, which, from their limited extent, that force was enabled to line three men deep. The order was given for each battaUon to hold in reserve its grenaditjr com- pany, with a picket of infantry, and to draw them up iu the rear, so as to have them in readiness to send wherever they 1 might be n same morni wing, havii) tiviiie right wing was < Montcalm r French orde; 5. Genera so as to atta the flower of columns, rece ments, with leaped m ovei of barges we the left flank cohnnns bega troops, amon^ under cover of (lerous fire. the ravine in i'y, in admiral of tiie French against their ri« "here the Cana the skirmishers from one columi to penetrate int( de Levis. That composed of gn Canadians to mo attack succeeded I to that of the ti '■"hmin to fall b{ ^" avoid a doul converge a little piiiiksas to reac close together w] Diomentsome thu h TIIK BA'ITLE OF CARILLON. 81 might be needed. The Chevalier de Levis, who arrived that same morninp:, was charged with the eoimuaud of the riglit wing, having under him tlie Canadians, wlio formed the ex- treme right, under the order of M. de liaymond ; tlie left wing was commanded by M. de IJourlamaniue ; General Montcalm reserved the centre for himself. Such was the French order of battle. 5. General Abercromby formed his army into four columns, so as to attack all points simultaneously. The grenadiers and the flower of the - infantry, chosen to form the head of the columns, received orders to throw themselves on the intrench- ments, with bayonets fixed, and only to draw when they had leaped m over the breastworks. At the same time, a immber of barges were to descend the River 'La Chute, to threaten the left flank of the French. At one o'clock the English colmnns began to move ; they were intermixed with light troops, among who i were some Indians. These savages, iiuder cover of the trees, opened, as they ai)proached, a mur- derous fire. The colunuis emerged from the woods, descended the ravine in front of the intrenehments, and advanced stead- ily, in admirable order, the two first against the left wing of tiie French, the tiiird against their centre, and the last as^ainst their right, following the foot of tlie hill to the strand, where the Canadians were stationed. The fire conunenced by the skirmishers of the right column, and extended gradually from one column to the other, on to the left, which endeavored to penetrate into the works by the right flank of the Chevalier de Levis. That officer, perceiving the intention of this colunm, composed of grenadiers and Scottish highlanders, ordered the Cauadians to make a sortie, and attack it on the flank. This attack succeeded so well that the fire of tlie Cnniulinns, johied to that of the two battalions j)lac«'d on tlie hill, obliged the column to fall back on that which was at its right, in order ti) avoid a double flank fiie. The four eoluinns, forced to j converge a little 'as they advanced, as well to protect their flanks as to reach the point of attack, found themselves all close together when they gained the heights. At the same I moment some thkty barges presented thomsukea on the River 4* • I 82 THK FOUKTII RKADKK. La Chute, menacin"^ the French left. Some cannon-shots from tlie fort, vvhicli sunk two «f them, and some men sent along the shore, sufficed to put them to flight. General Montcalm had given orders that tlie enemy should be permitted to ap- proacli witiiin twenty paces of the intreneliments. That order was punctually executed. When the English reached the l)]ace appointed, the musketry assailed their compact* masses with such prompt and terrible effect, that they reeled and fell into disorder. Forced for a moment to fall back, they never- theless recovered themselves quickly, and returned to the charge ; tat, forgetting their orders, they began to draw. The lire opened with great vivacity all along the line, and was long and well sustalnerl ; but, after the greatest exertions, the assailants were forced a second time to retire, leaving the ground covered with dead. They rallied at some distance, formed their columns again, and, after some moments, rushed again on the iutrenchments, in the face of so brisk and con- tinuous a lire as had hardly ever been seen. General Mont- calm braved all the danger like the meanest of his soldiers. From the centre, where he was placed, he darted to every point that appeared in danger, either to give orders, or conduct assistance. After unheard of efforts, the English were iit length repulsed. 6. Astonished more and more by so obstinate a resistance, General Abercromby, who had thought that nothing coulii stand before the forces he had at his disposal, could not per- suade himself that he should fail before a force so inferior in numbers ; he thought that whatever might be the courage of his adversaries, they must eventually give way in a strugale whose violence and duration would but make their defeat tiie more ruinous to them. He resolved then to continue the at- tack with energy until success should crown his efforts, nl from one till live o'clock his troops returned full six times tu the charge, and were each time repulsed with considerable loss. The frail ramparts that protected the French caught | fire several times iu the course of the action. 1. The British columns having failed in their first simultaneous I attack CD Montcalm's wings and centre, were then brought together ; centre, m than befo] made, and three cons Jiighlander Tile higlila themselves almost righ turesque co{ midst of sm with twentj their attack, efforts of th obstinate int cries of " y:i several charg of the enemy 8. At half- fjgeof hope, them to draw before giving appeared, am French line. same op])ositi "seless efforts, to their oppJi ^•'oud of sharp-; who salliofl for 9- Tlie Pre„, ■*'''^'' joy. Gei "Je Levis and hi,< f''^''" in tlic klni tlirough all that tJie records of J ''''. i'l the defin "ew engagement ^ preparations THE BATTLE OF CARILLON. 83 rom long calm . the lassos id m Qevt'v- o the draw, id was US, the ng the stance, rushed lid ecu- L Mont- soldiers. every conduL'l 1 were ut distance, irr COUltl \ot pel'- ferior in lura^'c of Istrugglc Ifeat the the at- t»rts, cH' Lunes to dderal'lc I lltaueoiui brougW! together ; thus united, they attacked now the right, now the centre, now the left of the French, with no bettor success than before. Against the right their most furious assault was made, and there it was tliat the battle raged the fiercest. For three consecutive hours did the grenadiers and the Scotch lijo'lilanders continue to charge with courage that never faltered. The highlanders especially, under Lord John Murray^ covered themselves with glory. They formed the head of a column almost right in front of the Canadians. Their light and pic- turesque costume distinguished them from all the others in the midst of smoke and fire. They lost the half of their sold'ers, with twenty-five officers killed or grievously wounded. But their attack, like the others, was at length repulsed, and the efforts of the assailants failed once more before the calm but obstinate intrepidity of the French troops, who fouglit to the cries of " Vive le Roi ! Vive notre general !" During these several charges the Canadians still made sorties on the flanks of the enemy, and carried oflF prisoners. 8. At half-past five. General Abercromby, losing every ves- tige of hope, withdrew all his columns to the woods, to enable them to draw their breath ; he would make one more attempt before giving the signal for retreat. An hour after, they re- appeared, and commenced a general attack on the entire French line. All the troops took part in it, but they met the same opi)osition as in all the previous assaults ; and, after useless efforts, they were forced at length to yield the victory to their opponents. The English retired under cover of a eloud of sharp-shooters, whose fire, with that of the Canadians, who sallied forth in pursuit of them, was prolonged till night. 9. The French troops were exhausted with fatigue, but wild with joy. General Montcalm, accompanied by the Chevalier (le Levis and his staff, went all through the ranks, and thanked them in tlie king's name for the conduct they had maintained through all that glorious day, one of the most memorable in the records of French valor. Being unable to believe, how- jever, in the definitive retreat of the English, and expecting a I new engagement on the morrow, he gave his orders and made his preparations to be ready to receive them. The troops M THE FOURTH READER. passed the night in their respective positions ; they cleaned their arras, and prepared to commence at daybreak tlic com- pletion of the iutrenchments, which they strengthened with two batteries, one to the right, with four pieces of cannon, the other to the left, with six. After some hours of expec- tation, seeing that the enemy did not appear. General Mont- calm sent out some detachments to reconnoitre. They proceeded some distance from La Chute, and burned an in- trenchment which the English had commenced raising and had abandoned. On the morrow, the 10th, the Chevalier de Levis pushed on to the foot of Lake St. Sacrament with the grenadiers, the volunteers, and the Canadians ; he found only the traces of Abercromby's precipitate flight. The same night that followed the battle, that general had continued his retrograde movement toward the lake, and that movemeut had become an actual flight. He had abandoned on the way his tools, a part of his baggage, a great number of wounded — who were taken up by the Chevalier de Levis — and had re- embarked in all haste at the first dawn of day, after throwing his provisions into the water. 10. Such was the battle of Carillon, in which 3,600 men struggled victoriously for more than six hours against 15,000 choice soldiers. The winning of that memorable day singu- larly increased the reputation of Montcalm (whom fortune seemed to favor ever since he had been in America), and in- creased still more his popularity among the soldiers. 8. Language of a Man of Education. COLKRI DO E. Samuel Taylor Coleriuok, an English poet, died in 1834, iigeJ 62. He was one of tlio renmrkuble men of liis times, and exerted a wide and deep intellectual influence on minds of the liigliest class. He was decidedly uii original poet, and a critic of unrivalled excellence. Coleridge's lifu was not what tiie admirers of liis genius could have wislied. 1. What is that which first strikes us, and strikes us at once, in a man of education ? and which, among educate . men, su instantly distinguishes the man of superior mind, that (as was observed with eminent propriety of the late Edmund Burke) "' sJiower of 2. JVot iimisnal in , «"j)j)0se Ik nc'ss of 01 The differe tiou shoulc pavement. 3. Still J and phrases caied man, fail to foUo usual word necessitate n lessons of hi times hazard conversation 4. There r sible; and tl impression mj deutly habitm 'labit of fores every sentence cate. Howe\ method 'n the 5. Listen, o perhaps shrew( be describing o memory alone i I events recur in same accorapan they had first o 6. The neces hjon, and the al pis pauses; and Vhere," and the likewise all his e LAifQUAQK OF A TIT A xr ^« "«- A MAN OF EDlTCATlOir. 85 ""usual interest of"(acts oomm • "[ ',"' '''"^'"'^' < ""t any «"PI.o»e both the o,:ZZT "" '7 '"■'" ' '•'"• ^^ '"ay no».s of our intercourse „,,?"'?. 'r'^'"*-! I'X the short The difference will be LI 1 ' , ^^'i;!^ "' '"" '"^i^^'^^s. t.ou should be confiuedTthe «.!/'.*""«" ««"=<"'ven commm" »f -orf fa the fragments '^''"'""'^ "-'^ '"'fc. there is 0. Listen, on the other han,) t^ • perhap.s shrewd and able in Ms naU™! '^°T' '"'"•• ««'°gl' be describing or relating. We [11!, T^"'"^ ' '''""'•er he -memory alone is called h,to actir f ![^ ^'""■'''•^ that his 'vents recur i„ the narrati°„t "h T ""'' *'"' ""j'^^'^ "-d *e accompaniments, hoCcvTr accir^ r*'' ""^ '""' t^e |'";7l^d first occurred to the narrator"" " ""P'=«'"-'. - J'«,a„d traCpt"'rSt!:.rof'it'"rf"'-'^ "^ --"ec "pauses; and wifh exception of fi ' '""''' P'"''-"-'" «" f V' and the still less fia, t I ;"''^"'" *'>« "''"^ H^^m all his coMectioBs """' *•'"' 'W coi^titute 80 THE FOURTH KliADEB. 0. Language. IIUI.MHS. O, W. TIoLMKs — nil Atiioricivu poet of the dny. Ho poRseRRCB much humor ami ffoiiial Heiitlmetit, iitul his Htylo is rotnurltrihlc for its purity mul exciiUHito liiiiah. Jic possesses the haupy talent of bleiidiiij? ludicnnm ideas with fancy and iinairiiiation. His lyrics sparkle with mirtli^ ard 'i.iH chi :y serious pieces arrest the al icntion by touclios of (J^t-nuine pathos and leiider- ness. '* Terpsichore," "Mania," and "Poetry," are among his loudest and best pieces. 1. Some words on Language -nay be well applied ; And take them kindly, though they touch your pride. Words lead to things ; a scale is more precise, — Coarse speech, bad grammar, swearing, drinking, vice. Our cold Northeaster's ic} fetter clips The native freedom of the Saxon lips : See the brown peasant of the plastic South, I low all his passions play about his mouth 1 With us, the feature that transmits the soul, A frozen, passive, palsied breathing-hole. 4. A foi Tosf Leari] The ci Her e( T/,e ci Lofifi si And St She pill Wiio m iiiit kni 'I'o hear 2. Tlie crampy shackles of the ploughboy's walk Tie the small muscles, when he strives to talk ; Not all the pumice of the polish'd town Can smooth this roughness of the barnyard down ; Rich, honor'd, titled, he betrays his race By this one mark — he's awkward in the face ; — Nature's rude impress, long before he knev The sunny street that holds the sifted few. 8. It can't be help'd ; though, if we're taken young, We gain some freedom of the lips and tongue : But school and college often try in vain To break the padlock of our boyhood's chain ; One stubborn word will prove this axiom true — No late-caught rustic can enunciate view.^ ^ The poet here humorously alludes to the difficulty which man) pei'Sons, bred in retirement, find in pronouncing this word correctly. It will be difficult to express in letters the manner in which it is i\'(- THE iNDIAjfB. A»-*- and wastmg pestUence bi not dont !'„ «^"' """™'"<"'- The nor famine-nor war ; there ha, l? ' '"^^^^ ^'"^- No, ■nora] canker, which has eaten T ", ""'ghtier power ; a plague, which the tonorotteJIf^ *'"' ''^"' "o^o^-" poison which betrayed them to i; • ""'"' «»"'"'""icated_a . the Atlantic fan no^ a eSe Lfc^ '7' ^''<' '''"dB of own. Already the last feeble fe2»."'^, *^.'^ ""^ «^« their Panng for their journey bevo„HT^L* °^ ^^"^ ««« a™ pre- iea;e their miserable honXi'''^ ^"t'*^'' ^ =^« *e« and the wan-iors_"ferani~ *" "g*", the helpless, the me^ 5. The ashes are Xu^JT' ^** ^'""'^'"' «till." ' - longer curls around thTlowW^ "f ''^- ^he smoke *wm,steady steps. The wS ma„ '' ^"^ -"o^e on with 'error or dispatch; but they hefdhT V^r^ *^''^ ^eels for a la^t oofc of their desolaTe vffl2 Th ^''"^ """ *"> t^^e "Pon the graves of their fathm% J 7^* " "««' g'^-co utter no cy, they heave no ^o J'"'^^*^'^ »<> tears; they be»- hearts which passes sLfb ru^J^"^ " ^•'"'ething i„ looks, not of vengeance orCbniisI k 'f '"""'^'''g ^ their ;l..eh stifles both; which choS";,''"' "^ ''"'' °^<»^«ity, ™ or method, it is conr»;f i "**«'^"<=e; which has no ^"ger but a moment. tSI"""'"' ^^ ^''P^^- They «■ They have passed the feta^ st*"""^"- "passed by them, no-never v., l^""' ^* «'«'" "e^er be «d them an impisable gl^' ^1 ^' "'' "°* "^'^^^ "' ^ or he« still one remo^ ferthlr It "."T "f ''^' *'"'* *ere » the general burial-ground Set tt"' ""' "'^«»- '' '• Reason as we m»,v it :=, • f ®- f'e much which we tool ZT""" "<" *" "^^i^ meb a provocation to cmd .deed! and d'' *" '""^'P^^*' """ho? r'ogy for wrong and Z^^ ^'^ resentments; much of Agnation ; mnc! Tf dfu&tf "^ !" P''^ -Ogling wit"/ h »^ Pai^-i .collections! ^^^^T^C^i^,^ > 90 THE FOURTH READER. 11. IlODlIAN I^AMES. SIGOUKNEY. Mrs. Ltdia H. Sioouknet is a popuLr American poetess. She hap written no poem of length, but many of her fugitive pieces evince a Hght and agreeable poetic talent. 1. Ye say, they all have pass'd away, That noble race and brave, That their light canoes have vanished From off the crested wave ; That 'mid the forests where they roamed I There rings no hunter's shout ; But theu* name is on your waters, You may not wash it out. 2. 'Tis where Ontario's billow Like Ocean's surge is curl'd. Where strong Niagara's thunders wake The echo of the world; ,, Where red Missouri bringeth Rich tributes from the West, And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps ^ On green Virginia's breast. . 8. Ye say, their cone-like cabins. That cluster'd o'er the vale, / Have fled away like wither'd leaves Before the autumn gale ; But their memory liveth on your hills, Their baptism on your shore, Your everlasting rivers sp«ak ,; , Their dialect of yore. 4. Old Massachusetts wears it Within her lordly crown. And broad Ohio bears it. Amid her young renown ; «" artist of merit fro n iiis convers- '"''fiate acquaint jork^ on art a^e , competition ioJipr ""f-butherSsS" , ^- This renoi ^i«rch has been p, and in Frai Nration from r^ the main d Nrrent testim? ^rejected. J^-Hev^as bom rentius, in i-;^ She hag ace a light ^°d bold Ke„S ?''"«« '^^«^. 5- Wachusett hides it. i; • Througfe^Tf "^ *»"« Mo„8dnockonW fr'^'^'- i2. St. V,.ok»t, D^,„, competition ia j,pr/^P"*ation, both «?'„ ^'^ ^^egends of h i^^'^ndarv ^Wcli the d i f ""^^earches shp ? ""^ »»^ most cS?- " '« « ^rotesu k »d ^ p^" "'°^* r<*P»Iar in S^." a*^ ^^^'^ Christian Kfion frori' ''•'''! ''^ ""^ been M oblTr^ '"'^ Ws- l'»t the maL .• ' ''^* "entnry. j;°.'"'Je«t of particular r Ws inwLht' " sufferings for «,? ^""*°*. dea- Ken" wfm„ """f^^' ^P-'essed b* l-r"'' "^ ^^i^'^'- 91 I 1 92 THE FOURTH HEADER. having produced more saints and martyrs than any other city in Spain. During the persecution under Diocletian, the cruel proconsul Dacian, infamous in the annals of Spanish martyr- dom, caused all the Christians 0/ Saragossa, men, women, and children, whom he collected together by a promise of immunity, to be massacred. Among these were the virgiq Eugracia, and the eighteen Christian cavaliers who attended her to death. 3. At this time lived St. Yincent : he had been early in- structed in the Christian faith, and with all the ardor of youth devoted himself to the service of Christ. At the time of the persecution, being not more than twenty years of age, he was already a deacon. The dangers and the sufferings of tlie Christians only excited his charity and his zeal ; and after having encouraged and sustained many of his brethren iu the torments inflicted upon them, he was himself called to receive the crown of martyrdom. 4. Bemg brought before the tribunal of Dacian, together with his bishop, Yalerius, they were accused of being Chris- tians and contenmers of the gods. Valerius, who was very old, and had an impediment in his speech, answered to the accusation in a voice so low that he could scarcely be heard. On this, St. Yincent burst forth, with Christian fervor,— " How is this, my Father 1 canst thou not speak aloud, and defy this pagan dog? Speak, that all the world may bear; or suffer me, who am only thy servant, to speak in thy stead I" 5. The bishop having given him leave to speak, St. Yincent stood forth, and proclaimed his faith aloud, defying the tor- tures with which they were threatened ; so that the Christians who were present were lifted up in heart and full of gratitude to Qod, and the wicked proconsul was in the same degreei filled with indignation. He ordered the old bishop to be[ banished from the city ; but Yincent, who had defied him, reserved as an example to the rest, and was resolved to beni hun to submission by the most terrible and ingenious torturi that cruelty could invent. 6. The young saint endured them unflinchingly. When body wa mentors were his w^as but r. The fire, on tl but God 1 guards lo b'glit and : triumph, a Jn hymns c enter and had been ^ upon their 8. But 1 sider what querable vie to try seduc strewn with and allowed weeping, gtai his flowing ] ^o«ght him t( soch protract bed, than his ons indulgenc their wings, a 13. ^- DimmG t hVed in the cit ^'ans ; their na '''''' John, Sera oflfer sacrifice bunal. But t( th THE SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS. 93 Birly in- f youtli J of the he was of tlie id after bbren iu jailed to together ng Chris- was very jd to tk [be heard. fervor,- ^loud, and I layhear; ik in thy body was lacerated by ironworks, he only smiled on his tor- mentors : the pangs they inflicted were to him delights ; thorns were his roses ; the flames a refreshing bath ; death itself was but the entrance to life. 1. They laid him, torn, bleeding, and half consumed by fire, on the ground strewn with potsherds, and left him there ; but God sent down his angels to comfort him ; and when his guards looked into the dungeon, they beheld it filled with light and fragrance ; they heard the angels singing songs of triumph, and the unconquerable martyr pouring forth his soul in hymns of thanksgiving. He even called to his jailers to enter and partake of the celestial delight and solace which had been vouchsafed to him; and they, being amazed, fell upon their knees and acknowledged the true God. 8. But Dacian, perfidious as he was cruel, began to con- sider what other means might remain to conquer his uncon- querable victim. Having tried tortures in vain, he determined to try seduction. He ordered a bed of down to be prepared, strewn with roses ; commanded the sufferer to be laid upon it, and allowed his friends and disciples to approach him. They, weepmg, stanched his wounds, and dipped their kerchiefs in his flowing blood, and kissed his hands and brow, and be- gought him to live. But the martyr, who had held out through such protracted torments, had no sooner been Ifiid upon the bed, than his pure spirit, disdaining as it were these treacher- ous indulgences, fled to heaven : the angels received him on theu" wings, and he entered into bliss eternal and ineflfable. f I ' 1 13. The Seven Sleepers of Ephestts. MK8. JAMESON. 1. During the persecution under the Emperor Decius, there lived in the city of Ephesus seven young men, who were Chris- tians : their names were Maximian, Malchus, Marcian, Diony- siiis, John, Serapion, and Constantine ; and as they refused to offer sacrifice to the idols, they were accused before the tri- bunal. But they fled and escaped to Mount Ccelian, where 94 THE FOURTH READER. tbey hid themselves in a caTe. ^eing discoyered, the tyrant ordered that they should roll great stones to the mouth of tlie cavern, in order that they might die of hunger. They, em- bracing each other, fell asleep. 2. And it came to pass in the thirtieth year of the reign of the Emperor Theodosius, that there broke out that dangerous heresy which denied the resurrection of the dead. The pious emperor, being greatly afflicted, retired to the interior of liis palace, pnttmg on sackcloth and covering his head with ashes: therefore, God took pity on him, and restored his faith by bringing back these just men to life — which came to pass in this manner : #. 3. A certain inhabitant of Ephesus, repairing to the top of Mount Coelian to build a stable for his cattle, discovered the cavern ; and when the light penetrated therein, the sleepers awoke, believing that their slumbers had only lasted for a sin- gle night. They rose up, and Malchus, one of the number, was dispatched to the city to purchase food. He, advancing cautiously and fearfully, boheld to his astonishment the image of the cross surmounting the city gate. He went to another gate, and there he found another cross. He rubbed his eyes, believing himself still asleep, or in a dream ; and entering the city, he heard everywhere the name of Christ pronouucod openly : and he was more and more confounded. 4. When he repaired to the baker's, he oflfered in payment an ancient coin of the time of the Emperor Decius, and they looked at him with astonishment, thinking that he had found a hidden treasure. And when they accused him, he knew not what to reply. Seeing his confusion, they bound hira and dragged him through the streets with contumely ; and he looked round, seeking some one whom he knew, but not a face in all the crowd was familiar to him. 5. Being brought before the bishop, the truth was disclosed, to the great amazement of all. The bishop, the governor, and the principal inhabitants of the city, followed him to the en- trance of the cavern, where the other six youths were found. Their faces had the freshness of roses, and the brightness of a| holy light was around them. Theodosius himself, bemg in formed of t of the sleej have been ] thou nughtc having said spirits to G( 6. Gibboi he traced to About the ei Syriac into tl era Christend Mahomet has ^oT&n, Ithj in Scandinavia ^orJd this siB to have been i 7. The Sevt ' side by side, oc ture, and stain tunes. Thus t of Edward the name of each is , fiOBEOTSoUTHWBL D1595. Of all t ;f in Elizabeth's on Descended frc J Continent, and b J ion ho resided chic If in the Tower of Pe remained three y Peveral times. Notlii fcd:-that he Sis Mwas the conditio C V. I? quartered PU, to those horrib ^^ w^n, torturer Jo TIMES 0„ BY TCKNS. ., '"Ving .aid this, they bolt h''™''^'' »' 'he Dead 1" And spirits to God. 'Th:^\7 it'tth-'^ a-d gave „p tt _ 6. G'bbon, in quotiua- tl, if? ?..**"' "''™™ for 196 years - traced to withl A It "Hi '"' "" *"" " ""' About the end of the sixth cenK '''"« "^ ^e miracle Syriac into the Latin anrl 1 ^' * '"'' translated from the ™ Christendom. ZrTju 'T^ """ "'" '"'ole of "e^t Mahomet has introSTa:Td1v-*" '"^ «''™«»S .Koran. It has penetrated int^YJ'^'"" ^^^'^tion, mto the in Scandinavia j-in fact in «? ^^^"^"^^ It has been fonml ,^«rid this sin^ia^ttl „ t r^::! "^""^ °^ '^'^' to have been Icnown and accep T ™ ""■ ''"°*''^'' "PP^ars »• Ihe Seven Sleeners nf v u * by side, occur P^^naUy t th?' ■"''^'"'^ '» t''^'' cave i K and stained glarof tt tht,'"^*'''-^'' '"'='*"* '™'^ 1 1™. Thus they are represent!..^ f.* ^"^ foorteenth cen^ «f Edward the ConfessTlt wi"" • ! ^""'' "^ *« "Cl « of each is written o^XaT"^''^'-- ^^ «»*'-". the 14— Tons GO BY TmsB. em the Tower of Snln ?t""'' ^^" ^^'"^e, countess S\^"^"'^^^ »i>«- F remained three v^^ra ^ '• "^^'^ was tliro wn inf^^- °\ Arundel, who 96 THR FOURTH READER. sign of the croBS. Besides his poems, which possess a solid enerjfv of dlo^ tion. m well »» a noble BpirituHl elevation, Southwell left behind nini two works in prose, which abound in beanty and pathos, Mary Magdalent'i Funeral learSj and the Triumphs over Death. • 1. The lopped tree in time may grow again, Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; The sorriest wight may find release of pain, The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. 2. The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow; She draws her favors to the lowest ebb; Her tides have equal tunes to come and go; Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web: No joy so great but runneth to an end. No hap so hard but may in fine amend. 3. Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring; Not endless night, yet not eternal day; The saddest birds a season find to sing; The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. Thus, with succeeding turns God tempereth all, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. 4. A chance may vrin that by mischance was lost; That net that holds no great takes little fish; In some things all, in all things none are crossM; Few all they need, but none have all they wish. TJnmingled joys here to no man befall; • Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. 15. Catholic Missions in the Northwest. EXTRACTS FROM BAITCROFT'S BISTORT OF THE UNITED STATES. George Banokoft has written the only work that deserves the titlo oil History of the United States. From a Catholic point of view some objec-l tions can be made to the first volumes, bnt on the whole it is a noblel monument of the genius of the author and the genius of his country.— /''f Brmcnson. Bancroft was born at Worcester, Massaohueettg, October 3, 18ftO. 1. Re iiiflucuce( governor tilt' laiuo piissiomit burning z tlian the ( 2. Thus bition whi Continent i'ounded '^ ii]>I)er lak< (Catholic) iind its sen] enterprise Eiig-lish sctl 3. Years (Catholic) I 1^'rauce, in \ unambitious liawks, had ] Wyandots, a on foot, or f i^iii'd, taking Lake Huron, 4. While priests of t\\ —had labore or made the! tlie waters of 5. To confi Jishment of a Marquis de ( assented to hi from their am for education a auspices, in 16 the living; and CATHOLIC MISSIONS IN TIIK NORTHWEST. 0' 1. Religious zeal not less than commercial ambition had influenced France to recover Canada; and Clianiphiin, its governor, whose imperishable name will rival with posterity tiie fame of Smith and Hudson, ever disinterested and com- passionate, full of honor and probity, of ardent devotion and burning zeal, esteemed " the salvation of a soul worth more than the conquest of an empire." 2. Thus it was neither commercial enterprise nor royal am- bition which carried the power of France into the heart of our Continent ; the motive was religion. Religious enthusiasm rounded Montreal, made a conquest of the wilderness of the upper lakes, and explored the Mississippi. The Roman (Catholic) Church created for Canada its altai's, its hospitals, iuid its seminaries. . . . The first permanent ellbrts of French enterprise in colonizing America preceded any permanent English settlement on the Potomac. 3. Years before the pilgrims landed in Cape Cod, the Roman (Catholic) Church had been planted, by missionaries from France, in the eastern moiety of Maine ; and Le Caron, an unambitious Franciscan, had penetrated the land of the Mo- hawks, had passed to the north of the hunting-grounds of the Wyandots, and, bound by his vows to the life of a lieggar^ liad, on foot, or paddling a bark canoe, gone onward, and still on- ward, taking alms of the savages, till he reached the rivers of Lake Huron. 4. While Quebec contained scarcely fifty inhabitants, priests of the Franciscan Order — Le Caron, Fiel, Lagard — had labored for years as missionaries in Upper Canada, or made their way to the neutral Huron tribe that dwelt on the waters of the Niagara. 5. To confirm the missions, the first measure was the estab- lishment of a college in New France, and the parents of the Marquis de Gamache, pleased with his pious importunity, ^ assented to his entering the Order of the Jesuits, and added from their ample fortunes the means of endowing a Seminary for education at Quebec. Its foundation was laid, under happy auspices, in 1635, just before Champlain passed from among the living; and two years before the emigration of John Hai> ."i^ii M4 !• i, 1)8 THE FOURTn RKADKR. vard, and one year before the General Court of Massachusetts had made proviHions for a CoUej^e. 6. The; fires of cliiirity were at the same time enkindled. The Duchess D'Aguillon, aided by her uncle, the Cardinal Richelieu, endowed a public hospital dedicated to the Son of God, whose blood was shed in mercy for all mankind. Its doors were opened, n«t only to the sufferers among the emi- grants, but to the maimed, the sick, and the blind, of any of tlio numerous tribes between the Kennebec and Lake Superior; it relieved misfortune without asking its lineage. From the hospital nuns of Dieppe, three were selected, the youngest but twenty-two, to brave the famine and rigors of Canada in their patient mission of benevolence. 7. The same religious enthusiasm, inspiring Madame de lu Peltier, a young and opulent widow of Alenqon, with the aid of a nun of Diei)po and two others from Tours, established tlie Ursuline Convent for girls Is it wonderful that the natives were touched by a benevolence which their poverty and squalid misery could not appall? Their education was at- tempted ; and the venerable ash-tree still lives beneath wliich Mary of the Incarnation, so famed for chastened piety, genius, and good judgment, toiled, though in vain, for the education of the Huron children. 8. The life of the missionary on Lake Huron was 8imi)le and uniform. The earliest hours, from four to eight, were ab- sorbed in private prayer. The day was given to schools, visits, instructions in the catechism, and a service for proselytes. Sometimes, after the manner of St. Francis Xavier, Brebeuf would walk through the village and its environs rmging a little bell, and inviting the Huron braves and counsellors to a con- ference. There, under the shady forest, the most solemn mysteries of the Catholic faith were subject to discussion. 9. Yet the efforts of the Jesuits were not limited to the Huron race. Within thirteen years, the remote wilderness was visited by forty-two missionaries, members of the Society of Jesus, besides eighteen others, who, if not initiated, were yet chosen men, ready to shed their blood for their faith. Twice or thrice a year they all assembled at St. Mary's; during thri rest ( tiihcH. 10. Til JJivbenf, : their devo victim to t elate, FafI ill Michiga ^'•lon'ou.s, fii .'iiul was ujj vi]lag(!s. n. For and every t< yet there wi was thrown there clung J two captive ''awk.s, satisf sanctity, spai 12. On a 1 t'lt-re, in the i soothed his gr adored the tri file stately foi of Jesus on th I'uto possession Jj'fting up his V its banner and sionary himself I^utch, and sail 13. Similar V flliile on his wa dnVen barefoot I scourged by a ^ scarred;— he wa pam'ons, who wa: protected his lit Patch. '!"■"■ devote.! a.„l. . l' '""l" '"" «'"'■'.,„« ,,„„.,,„ ,„ '■"■•nn to tl,o .litnatc. an.l',]- l!'' ""V"'"'""' «""" "'H't IWI „ '■'""K'^s. fc«uiii/ct at tlircc dilhtm Jl,.l„„vk IJ. For days and inVri,*^ i «">levcTyto,m.i,twbidril(,,l ,~' "'"""'""«1 to l„,„„,r «« thrown to the R-ood Fat er " ^'""""-m on the stalk !"■'•« cl-ng iittlodropsof dew or\; It ■ '" "'" ""•""'' '''^'"^ "•0 captive neophytes. He^md cxJ . 'I'T'"""^* '" '"'l"'^" »-^ satisfied, perhaps, wthtiVTff' '^'''''' ' ''•'' "'«*'»■ sanctity, spared l,is life and « 11 ""^ "«». or awed at l,is '2. On a lull apart, he ea ve j a T'' "'"' "''"'«^''- •'i»re, in the solitude medit!* !, .f*^ "**' '^'■''■■«' "» » tree • and 7"-d his griefs S^e":t- ;i t a;"""""" "' ^''"•^'' " "(loi-ed the trne God of 3k ^r'' '" """ "<>'*■ '-e^ion 'J-tateiy forests of t ,e M ^."vl T^"- ,^-""'-»*? ^^'^ »f Jesus on tl,e hark of trees ' I"^'' '"^ "■'■«"' "'» ""aie * possession of these on S'X'''" "■^-' '-' ™ten d "ng up his voice in a solitarrchantl!!"'™,",' .?"''-' '"^" "' banner and its faith to tl,; Inff J™' ''"^ ^^'^e brine »«y himself was hum L ;«!"«. f ^"""^- '''"'^ ">'- ""teh, and sailing for France ToonTf ? '"^''^'^ ''^ tl-o , 13. Similar was the fate of P.tl? n ""^ *" *^'">"'I»- *le on bis way to the HuL„s Te'^''''^'"- ''''"<» I'-oncr p"en barefoot over ro„„" ' t" ,' t,^ ', T""'"''"' ""'"'^''^d; W"i«ed by a whole villte'' 1'= 1 ''"''' "'"' "'"^'^^'^ *»™on«, who was boiled and eate^ V '"" "^ ""<* "^ '''« '■^^"'- f teted his life, and he too "» . '"^ "^'*"™"^ "«-^ Bitch. ' " "*' *°°' 'fas humanely rescued by the 100 THE FOURTH KEADER. 16. Catholic Missions — continued, 1. In 1655, Fathers Chaurnont and Dablon were sent on a mission among the tribes of New Yorlv. They were hospi- tably welcomed at Onondaga, the principal village of tliiit tribe. A general convention was held at their desire ; and before the multitudinous assembly of the chiefs and the whole people gathered under the open sky, among the primeval forests, the presents vrere delivered ; and the Italian Jesuit, with much gesture after the Italian manner, discoursed so elo- quently to the crowd, that it seemed to Dablon as if the word of God had Ijeen preached to all the nations of that land. On the next day, the chiefs and others crowded rouixl the Jesuits with their songs of welcome. 2. "Happy lanrl," they sang, "happy land, in which the Jesuits are to dwell I" and the chief led the chorus, " Glad tidings I glad tidings I It is well that we have spoken to- gether : it is well that we have a heavenly message," At once a chapel sprung into existence, and by the zeal of the nation was finished in a day. "For marble and precious stones," writes Dablon, "we employed only burk ; but Iho path to heaven is as open through a roof of bark as thron.g'i arched ceilings of silver and gold." The snvaG'CS f^hovrc] themselves susceptible of the excitements of religious ecstasy; and there, in the heart of New York, the solemn scrviccv-. of the Roman (Catholic) Church were chanted as securely as iu any part of Christendom. 3. The Cayugas also desired a missionary, and they received the fearless Rene Mesnard. In their village a- chapel was erected, with mats for the tapestry ; and there the pictures of the Saviour and of the Yirgin mother were unfolded to the admiring children of the wilderness. The Oneidas also listened to the missionary ; and early in 1657, Chaumoii reached the most fertile and densely peopled lands of tlio | Seuecas The Jesuit priests published their ftiitii from tlie Mohawk to the Genesee The Missions I stretched westward along Lake Superior to the waters of tlie Mississippi. Two young fur-traders, having travelled to tlie I West five number of mi-ssionarie 4. Tlieir iet tes, the Afaiue, and Ilurons, we of sacrifices the tawny triumph and low Montret '1w^^ited the mounded, ani 5. But th cfoss westwa "can penetra blood ; if me; of the Siou3 cabins I" . . i of Quebec, k mission ; but \ to visit Green 'i'Jf't to establ for the surroui 6- His depai preparations; Providence wh clothes the wilt tive seemed to ""Pelled him t( a^pd man enten lii^ predecessors, I'lroiigh the ^NlV '0 weeping, "jj "yo« may add n ^- His predict '"s attendant wai P^oe, he was Ids CATnOLIO MISSIONS IN THE NORTHWEST. 101 3n a Dspi- tliiit and vliole ncvul esuit, clo- if the f that rouiid ch the "Glad ken to- ." At . of the )Vceioib jut Ih'.' llVOllg':! t;ho\ve'l cst'usy ; vice> (II ly as ill ccccivcd [pel was [pictures Wed to las also laumoii'. of tlio \\r ftiitlil VlissiOiis I of tlie to m West five hundred leagues, returned in 1656, attended by a number of savages from the Mississippi valley, who demuiided missionaries for their country. 4. Their request was eagerly granted ; and Glabriel Dreuil- Icttes, the same who cari'ied the cross through the forests of Maine, and Leonard Gareau, of old a missionary among the Ilarons, were selected as the first religious envoys to a land of sacrifices, shadows, and deaths. The canoes are launched ; the tawny warriors embark ; the oars flash, and words of triumph and joy mingle with their last adieus. But just be- low Montreal, a band of Mohawks, enemies to the Ottawas, awaited the convoy : in the affray Gareau was mortally wounded, and the fleet dispersed. 5. But the Jesuits were still fired with zeal to carry the cross westward "If the Five ^^ations," they said, "can penetrate these regions, to satiate their passion for blood ; if mercantile enterprise can bring furs from the plains of the Sioux ; why cannot the cross be borne to their cabins 1" The zeal of Francis de Laval, the Bishop of Quebec, kindled with a desire himself to enter on the mission ; but the lot fell to Rene Mesnard. He was charged to visit Green Bay and Lake Superior, and on a convenient inlet to establish a residence as a common place of assembly for the surrounding nations. 6. His departure was immediate (a. n. 1660), and with few preparations; for he trusted — such are his words — "in the Providence which feeds the little birds of the desert, and clothes the wild flowers of the forests." Every personal mo- tive seemed to retain him in Quebec ; but powerful instincts impelled him to the enterprise. Obedient to his vows, the aged man entered on the path that was red with the blood of Ms predecessors, and made haste to scatter the seeds of truth through the wilderness, even though the sower cast his seed in weeping. "In three or four months," he wrote to a friend, "you may add me to the memento of deaths." 1. His prediction was verified. Several months after, while 1 tus attendant was employed in the labor of transporting the Ciuioe, he was lost in the forest, and never seen moie. Long 102 THE FOUKTH READER. ..■■■• afterwards, his cassock and breviary were kept as amulets among the Sioux Similar was the death of the great Father Marquette, the discoverer of the Mississippi. Joliet returned to Quebec to announce the discovery Tlie unaspiring Marquette remained to preach the gospel to the Miamis, wlio dwelt in the north of Illinois around Chicago. Two years afterwards (a.d. 16t5), sailing from Chicago to Mackinaw, he entered a little river in Michigan. 8. Erecting an altar, he said mass after the rites of the Catholic Church ; then, begging the men who conducted his canoe to leave him alone for a half-hour, "In the -darkling wood, Aniid the cool and silence, he knelt down And ottered to the Migjitiest solemn thanks And supplication." At the end of half an hour they went to seek him, and he was no more. The good missionary, discoverer of a new world, had fallen asleep on the margin of the stream which bears his name. Near its monfii the canoe-men dug hip ^rave in the sand. Ever after, ilq foref-t rangers, if in danger on Lake Michigan, would invoke hi;' name. The people of the West will build 'u;v monr i^ient. 2. "0J\ Be w Forir I solai Fort! And CI 3. " Oh, I How e If lady. Had be But the ] Of faith i "Butth IT., M^RY Stuart's Last Prater. SMYTHE. HoK. J. G. Smythk has written some of the sweetest ballads in the Eng- lish language ; those particularly in connection with the Housw of Stuart, are distinguished for their beauty and pathos. 1. A LONELY mourner kneels in prayer before the Virgin's fane, With white hands clasp'd for Jesus' sake — so her prayer may not be vain; Wan is her cheek, and very pale — her voice is low and faint, And tears are in her eyes the while she makes her humble plaint : • Oh, little could you deem, from her sad and humble mien, That she was once the Bride of France, and still was Scot- land's Queen I T. D. MoGek still comparntivi labor. As an oi a prose writer hi tliera possessing Inland, Irish Se Insh Writers, dn tamed the first r sects the city of THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. loa inlets great Jolu3t . Tlie ;o the Icago. Lgo to of the bed his and he a ne\v n which IF grave Liiger on of the the Eng- oi Stuart, n's fane, prayer id faint, humble le mien, las Scot- 2. " Mar} mother 1 Mary mother I be my help and stay 1 Be with me still as thou hast been, and strengthen mo to-day ; For many a time, with heavy heart, all weary of its grief, I solace sought in thy blest thought, and ever found relief : For thou, too, wert a Queen on earth, and men were harsh to thee 1 And cruel things and rude they said, as they have said to me 1 3. " Oh, gentlemen of Scotland 1 oh, cavaliers of France 1 How each and all had grasp'd his sword and seized his angry lance, If lady-love, or sister dear, or nearer, dearer bride. Had been like me, your friendless liege, insulted and belied I But these are sinful thoughts, and sad — I should not mind me now Of faith forsworn, or broken pledge, or false or fruitless vow 1 i " But thou, dear Mary — Mary mine ! hast ever look'd the same, With pleasant mien and smile serene, on her who bore thy name : Oh, grant that when anon I go to death, I may not see Nor axe, nor block, nor headsman — but thee, and only thee I Then 'twill be told, in coming times, how Mary gave her grace To die as Stuart, Guise, should die — of Charlemagne's fear- less race 1" 118. The Discovery of America. . * THOMAS d'ABOY McOEE. T. D. MoGrEK is a native of Curlingford, county Louth, Ireland. Though still comparatively young, lie has achieved an immense amount of literary labor. As an orator he has few^ if any, superiors at the present day, As a prose writer his works are chiefly historical and biographical, many of them possess! iigf a high order of merit, such as his Popular History of Ireland, Irish Settlers in, America, Catholic History of America^ Gallery of Irish Writers,, d&c, c&c. As a statesman and politican he has already at- tained the first rink in the Canadian House ot Assembly, where he repre- sents the city of Montreal. - 14 ' i;.? IJi ■:] ■f'yi l:)4 THE FOURTH READER. 1 In the foreground of American history there stand these three figures — a lady, a sailor, and a monk. Might they not be thought to typify Faith, Hope, and Charity ? The lady is especially deserving of honor. Years after his first success, the Admiral (Columbus) wrote : " In the midst of general incredulity, tlie Almighty infused into the Queen, my lady, tlic spirit of intelligence and energy. While every one else, in his ignorance, was expatiating on the cost and inconvenience, her Highness approved of it on the contrary, and gave it all the support in her power." 2. And what were the distinguishing qualities of this foster- mother of American discovery ? Fervent piety, unfeigned hu- mility, profound reverence for the Holy See, a spotless life as a daughter, mother, wife, and queen. " She is," says a Protestant author, "one of the purest and most beautiful char- acters in the pages of history." Her holy life had won for her the title of "the Catholic." Other queens have been celebrated for beauty, for magnificence, for learning, or for good fortune ; but the foster-mother of America alone, of all the women of history, is called " the Catholic." 3. As to the conduct of the undertaking, we have first to remark, that on the port of Palos the original outfit depended, and Palos itself depended on the neighboring convent. In the refectory of La Rabida the agreement was made between Co- lumbus and the Pinzons. From the porch of the Church of St George, the, royal orders were read to the astonished townsfolk. 4. The aids and assurances of religion were brought into requisition to encourage sailors, always a superstitious gener- ation, to embark on this mysterious voyage. On the morning of thefr departure, a temporary chapel was erected with spars and sails on the strand ; and there, in sight of their vessels riding at shortened anchors, the three crews, numbering in all one hundred and twenty souls, received the blessed sacra- ment. Rising from theu* knees, they departed with the benedic- tion of the Church, like the breath of heayen, filling their sails. 1 On tJ tlie 6'aive . raphers, th( His speech ever iiellver{ it can never lofty homily such a man t 2. We car deck of the already odon to the west. land ! Whei ludia and Cat aud with it th I Seville, countr 3. "There I rirers of life J nion, the son o of the living G to Christ, tow] mil be the firs I claimed 'of old l^iit, alas I who jSQcli a man at s |tationanduncert 4. Columbus i lie 12th of Octo jSsu Salvador. Iw.each boat Veen cross." o F on his kneei Pen, raising his ^ per, which, afi ^repeat. THE DlSCOVEKr OF AMKKlCA. i^- The Discovery of AME^irA 105 ilis ..peed, must have bee« ono "H ' '"^''''^'^^ "> W^ crew ever delivered in the Now WoHd r,""'' '''""'""^ "^'io^^' ;'«n uever be invented. We cn„ f' T' "^^^ '•^^'"•^'--l ; W 7hom,ly on confidence in God an 1 H '"' '=°"<=^'^« *'"'t . '"t « ™au so sitnated would be abt ?o77 '"'''"' *^°"'^'f 2- We can imagine wp » J i • " '''^'"'<"-- " of the SaJa CTbl^r' l" ''""* °" «>« "aAened f-Iy odoron,, of l,n" m,d hi l ^l' ''^ "' ''^'' '''•- - the west. We ahno.st hear in f" , ""^ ^'''''^''g ""«>'d a-1 1 Where yon can se tl!™,!? !'T " ^™"^^ "^'^ "■« Wia and Cathay I The darl^es" o « f ™'"""=y' ^ '^'''""<'" ^"■" P^s-^ away, Sev.he, countries ^ore fertile th^ 4 ^■f "'°"' ''«'««'"' tha^ 3- "There lies *e terre! t i"'''''»«'"a. "re off yonder ~ --of life ; there ZTlZ:^'^'rr' ''"'' ''^ f»- wn, the son of David drew fh„ ?,'^^"' ^""^ ^hieh Solo- »f'l- '-i»g God; tier ^Isha iT. ",' ■•"'°™<^ ««-" temple '« Christ, to whom you ve f~ '^ "'^^''^ "^^"""^ ""k-own «' ''f the first to',,L^;<^:^°: .vir ""';^ °' "'^ -^'^^t- " 'famed 'of old by an^Is" li, l / !f '"'8'" of great joy pro ,^«t, alas 1 who shaiuti to l"*!'"'"^ "' ^h^W^''" - a man at such ^ZZLl"!^' f" "°"'^ ■^P°''-«' "^ N.o„anduncertai„ty-theev:;f h f "'' "«''* "f expoc- <• Columbus and his ^a,! ' ■' f ^"^ "'' " "^'^ '^O'W ? fc 12th of October, 1492 on«r-.."' "" "'« -"oniing of fa Salvador. Three font "" "''""' ^^"'^' tl-^J cnH d k.eaeh boat floated a o"rr''" "'™ *" «'<^ ^"o « h™^«." On reaLug treUTtr'/!"'''',"' ""'' "" 6» in I f ■ I - ■i : i ll i4l m 106 THE FOURTH READER. 5. It is iu these words : " Lord God, Eternal and Omiiip. otent, who by thy Divine Word hast created the heavens, the earth, and the sea, blessed and glorified be thy name, and praised tliy majesty, who hast deigned, by me, thy humble servant, to have that sacred name made known and preached in this other part of the world !" 6. The nonicMchiture used by the great discoverer, like all bis acts, is essentially Catholic. Neither his own nor hi« patron's name is precipitated on cape, river, or island. Sau Salvador, Santa Trinidada, San Domingo,- San Nicolas, San Jago, Santa Maria, Santa Marta — these are the mementoes of his first success. All egotism, all selfish policy, was utterly lost in the overpowering sense of being but an instrument iu the hands of Providence. - ' '< 1. After cruising a couple of months among the Bahamas, and discovering many new islands, he returns to Spain. Iu this homeward voyage two tempests threaten to ingulf his solitary ship. In the darkest hour he supplicates our Blessed Lady, his dear patroness. He vows a pilgrimage barefoot to her nearest shrine, whatever land he makes ; a vow punctually fulfilled. Safely he reaches the Azores, the Tagus, and the port of PaloR. His first act is a solemn procession to the church of St. George, from which the royal orders had been first made known. 8. He next writes in this strain to the Treasurer Sanchez : " Let processions be made, let festivities be held, let churches be filled with branches and flowers, for Christ rejoices on earth as in heaven, seeing the future redemption of souls." The court was, at the time, at Barcelona, and thither he repaired with the living evidences of his success. Seated on the royal \ dais, with the aborigines, the fruits, flowers, birds, and met- als spread out before them, he told to prmces his wondrous] tale. . ' ;. ' , 9. As soon as he had ended, " the King and Queen, wii all present, prostrated themselves on their knees in gratefiill thanksgiving, while the solemn strains of the Te Deum wcrej poured forth by the choir of the royal chapel as in commemo ration of some great victory I" To place beyond any sup positioi one evic Boyereig fin "the I • to our Bless( rank and reu as les esclave, Mercy," for fuii, were de\ I. Beneati ye Of noble And eyes bre ^OT a de£ W( 2. Toward th( birt And ten tii wor His step he „ Tillagallaij ''Wliataile] ^f counsel oj W{ S] imp- ,tlic and mble iclicd THK VIRGIN Mary's knigfit. 107 position of doubt t)ie Catholicity of this extraordinary event, one evidence is still wanting — the official participation of the sovereign Pontiff. That it had from the outset. ie all )r his Sau s, San lentocs utterly nent in ihainas, iiu. In Tulf Ins Blessed efoot to nctually and tlie i to tlie ad been ianchcz: icburches on eavtli " Tlie • repaired the royiil I land met- 1 rondrous leeii, ■^•itl\[ gratcfnl| tommeino any 20. The Yirgin Mary's Knight. A BALLAD OF THE 0BU6ADRS. THOS. d'aROT McGEK. [In " the middle ages," tliere were orders of knights espeeiallv devoted to our Blessed Lady, as well as many illustrious individuals ot knightly rank and renown. Thus the order called Servites, in France, was known as les esclavea de Marie; and there was also the order of "Our Ladv of Mercy," for the redemption of captives ; the Templars, too, before tneir fall, were devoutly attached to the service of our Blessed Lady.] 1. Beneath the stars in Palestine seven knights discoursing stood, But not of warlike work to come, nor former fields of blood, Nor of the joy the pilgrims feel prostrated far, who see The hill where Christ's atoning blood pour'd down the penal tree ; Their theme was old, their theme was new, 'twas sweet and yet 'twas bitter, — Of noble ladies left behind spoke cavalier and ritter. And eyes grew bright, and sighs arose from every iron breast, ' For a dear wife, or plighted maid, far in the widow'd West. 2. Toward the knights came Constantine, thrice noble by his birth, And ten times nobler than his blood his high out-shinmg worth ; His step was slow, his lips were moved, though not a word he spoke. Till a gallant lord of Lombardy his spell of silence broke. '* What aileth thee, O Constantine, that solitude you seek ? If counsel or if aid you need, we pray thee do but speak ; tiv m ft' 111' III 108 THE FOURTH EKADER. Or dost thou mourn, like other freres, thy lady-love afar, Whose image shineth nightly througli yon European star ?" 8. Then answer'd courteous Constantine — " Good sir, in sim- ple truth, I chose a gracious lady in the hey-day of ray youth ; I wear her image on my heart, and when that heart is cold, Tlie secret may be rifled thence, but never must be told. For her I love and worship well by light of morn or even, I ne'er shall see my mistress dear, until we meet in heaven ; But this believe, brave cavaliers, there never was but one Such lady as my Holy Love, beneath the blessed sun." 4. He ceased, and pass'd with solemn step on to an olive grove, And, kneeling there, he pray'd a prayer to the lady of his love. And many a cavalier whose lance had still maintained his own Beloved to reign without a peer, all earth's unequalled one, Look'd tenderly on Constantine in camp and in the fight ; With wonder and with generous pride they mark'd the lightning light Of his fearless sword careering through the unbelievers' ranks. As angry Rhone sweeps off the vmes that thicken on his banks. 6. " He fears not death, come when it will ; he longeth for his love. And fain would find some sudden path to where she dwells { above. How should he fear for dying, wnen his mistress dear is dead?" Thus often of Sir Constantine his watchful comrades said ; Until it chanced from Zion wall the fatal arrow flew. That pierced the outworn armor of his faithful bosom through ; And never was such mourning made for knight in Palestine, As thy loyal comrades made for thee, beloved Constantine, 6. Benei Wher That I Whici Appro The he; Norwc For th( AbbA Marti theirenchnat to those of Mo( Diaiiual against ^ What c mjsterious p ^hole parish, intimate relai he is to receii diyine word • most secret tn 2. It is to it by the sight child of God i that he awaits intimately to h ow his spiritt fessed to his c I priest Jiad alwa '•ecall the impre I 3- But to th( zon extends, anc Around his foauaon father T"K YOUNG OATHOUC. .^,. 6. ^^eneath the royal tpn^ fh„ K- Approach I behold I nay worshi,f« ' l'^''^'^''^"'^"'''''*'? T1.0 heavenly Q„eoa who rlwTn T." ""^ """^^ "'""^ '"^'-■. Nor wonder that around hfbt?h 7""''"^ ''"^'^ ""'"ve For the spotless one that L /^ '' ''"^"'^ ''"='' » %''* , 21. The Yovm Catholic. Abb4 Martinez— • « ^ ^ « E Z . 1. What comm-,nH. i • .. "" "" """""y. « imrrvilled. -y^feHons pZrotth: S'rr'"t *y ^^'-p'^- ■•■' «>« rtole parish, and with whom he i nh^T ""' ''''*''^'' "^ ">o .*mate reIations,_at catechism If °"V". ''"™ ""« -"o«t e .s to receive, with child en of 1:1,^^' '^"'"S °>any years, dime word , or ia the confession^ T T' ""^ """^ «f the «t secret movements of jll Ct' '' ''^ ^'" ^^^^''J '^e «.^ the^StltV^s'^^^^^^^ he i. reminded of « of God a*nd of the Chureh~t , f '"^.' "' *'*'« "^ *•■« kat he awaits the mysteriorln:. '^""" ""'^ «aered hand whis spu-itual children. nIIII '"\r«eof his pastor «d to his companions in exUe "?-;" '"^ ''^"ti-bed, con- Pnest had always spolcen tn t- , *' *''« P'^e^ence of the *"^he ;".P Jsion^l t^^^^^ H^- '«* eve^ o^'l i-oxteVan: «y r'^v^fs S!f ^ *"« -"^-us hori- Around his narhh ^:, ^^^ "^^^^ with age. h*o» father o?';^Lr^-;;„5f« are Aered. '^''e a people-the pnest cmphaticaUy 1 if :f ■) 110 TIIK FOURTH KKADKK. — the bishop, nppcars in tlie midst of joyful clmnts. His Bacred hand touelies tlic young brow, and the union, b«^foi'o so close, of our youth with the mystical body of tlie Church be- comes still closer. 4. Beyond and above bishops, universal veneration points out to him the Bishop of bishops, the universal pontiff, seated upon the immovable chair of St Peter, and forming of the one hundred and sixty millions of .Catholics, scattered through- out the world, one only body, animated with the same spirit, nourished with the same doctrine, moving towards the same end. 5. He sees in the clear light of history this vast society, which no visible band has formed or supports ; and for the destruction of which, all the known forces of the physical ami moral world have conspired, — surviving all human societies, resisting the most frightful tempests, and constantly bringing the ininicnse majority of Christians into subjection to its laws so unyielding to the passions of men. 6. Who are the enemies, in every age, rising up against the House of the living God ? He sees odious tyrants, the ene- mies of all restraint ; proud dreamers, who pretend to substi- tute their thought of a day for universal faith ; sectarians vvitliout a past, without a future, with no tie to bind them to each other but their common hatred to Catholic society ; — and all confessing, by the name they bear, their descent from one man, and their religious illegitimacy. 1. What a powerful guarantee against the asiaults of doubt is presented to the young CathoUc by this fact, which is as clear as the sun, and the evidence of which is more convincing every step we aqlvance in the knowledge of the present and tlie past. He cannot refuse to believe in the Church, without s;iying : " In matters of religion I see more plainly, I alone, than a hundred and sixty millions of my co temporaries and the eight or ten thousand millions of Catholics who preceded me, all as interested as I am in knowing the truth, and most of them with better advantages of becoming acquainted with it." a j.ro.so a I J'iltllOS, '1 ""It'll liiirii «"''ji-'t'tint, J The 0^ a man'i pnittle. f certain popular proverbs — tho snlijeet in the present instunco being, " Home is hon>6, be it over so homely." 1 The innocent prattle of his children takes out the sting of a man's poverty. But the children of the very poor do not prattle. It is none of the least frightful features in that con- dition, that there is no childishness in its dwellings. " Poor people," said a sensible old nurse to us once, " do not bring up thi'lr children; they drag them up." The liiHc careless darling of the wealthier nursery, in their hovel, is transformed betimes into a premature) reflecting person. No one has time to dandle it, no one thinks it worth while to coax it, to soothe it, to toss it up and down, to humor it. There is none to kiss away its tears. If it cries, it can only be beaten. 2. It has been prettily said that "a babe is fed with milk and jiraise." But the aliment of this poor babe was tliin, un- iiourushing; the return to its little baby tricks, and efforts 'to engage attention, bitter, ceaseless olyurgatiun. •It never had a toy, or knew what a coral meant. It grew up without the lullaby of nurses; it was a stranger to the patient fondle, the hushing caress, the attracting novelty, the costlier plaything or tho cheaper off-hand contrivance to divert the child, the prut- tk'd nonsense (best sense to it), the wise impertinences, tlir wholesome fictions, the apt story interposed, that puts a sto]) to present sufferings, and awakens the passions of youii'.'; wonder. ' . • . 3. It was never sung to; no one ever told it a tale of tho nursery. It was dragged up, to live or to die as it happened. It bad no young dreams. It broke at once into the iron realities of life. A child exists not for the very poor as an object of dalliance; it is only another mouth to be fed, a pair of little hands to be betimes inured to labor. It is the rival, till it can be the co-operator, for food with the parent. It is never his 112 THE FOURTH READER. mirth, his diversion, his solace ; it never makes him young again, with recalling his young" times. The children of tlio very poor have no young times. 4. It makes the very heart to bleed to overliear the casual street-talk between a poor woman and her little girl, a woman of the better sort of poor, in a condition ratlier above the s((ualid beings which we have been contemplating. It is not of toys, of nursery books, of summer holidays (fitting that age), of the promised sight or play, of praised sufficiency at school. It is of mangling and clear-starching, of the price of coals, or of potatoes. The questions of the child, that should be the very outpourings of curiosity in idleness, are marked with forecast and melancholy providence. It has come to be a woman — before it was a child. It has learned to go to market ; it chaffers, it haggles, it envies, it murmurs ; it is knowing, acute, sharpened ; it never prattles. Had we not teason to say, that the home of the very poor is no home ? 8. 23. My Life is like the Summer Rose. WILDK. R. H. Wilde was born in 1789 ; lie passed his chiklhood in BaUimoro, and subsequently removed to Georgia; and, ulthougli eii;:>^nicii thev are al/ nvnjf , ^ ^"^ ""'ty of tli'if --<;t flowers and :;::L';;,1^';: f -■■;o- arel,i.„eturo, „„,u ""J I'e tumult of thrillfj To„: Tf ""'"''^ °f '"""W" ■•"eel '™'-»'"Ppers, is the bio if '^' '"^"'••' "'»"«»"'k- of nroS 'f ^I'd '«vo, of triumph aud „f , " '"""^ '''^■^"l »ct.s of "T """=« surely represent " '"""''"°»' ''" "«t cucl. of ». Ine world ovpr fh.. ;f-'>.- The gardl t rr„ft '"f '"'«' -"' «- voice 'f flung beneath the ftet 0?,. ^ '"' '''''''■*'^'' '^'"^-^"'"-^ to steeples are reeliujf with tt ^ *''" Sacramental God Tim '"ominginthegorgl of thet"! °' "'^*' "'« --Lire "1» »f 'heharbors^arep^' i„t''tr''' ""^ ^'-■"•"-" «e siow of gaudy flags • thf,^ ^ I '"'^' "^ "«^ ^ea with the r »Iutes^the xfng of kings^ '""''' °^ -^»' - -publican IlS ho^cloistoerulsll''''"''' »"''*'''' ^chool-girl in her.-, .tf^'-tan-esand^rars^m^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^-^^ ^^^^^^ '""mmated ; the dwellings of men !,1 ^r*""™'- Cities are I 1 • Joy so abounds, that m™ 1 ? ^'"' "citation nd their joy overflow on sTlJT" ""^^ "^'""^ "«» ^^V • »« imprisoned and the TS ■ "■''' """^ o" 'he poor "L' *«»osiek exiles. A I thlmnr"^ ""^ "•« "-Phaned and Ihf h^4> family and ^St^^:^^^ f-t belong^ t^ ajed, more or less, with the RlL"!, c "'"""' *"■« '"-day en- rtole Chureh militant is thrim' ^t.^T'''"''''*' » «'at the -™. ons rocking of the mt% sla t^ ^"»«-' '*« the ears even are of ranture roH 1 ^^° ^^^ms forgotten • ;-ui's first day ifh^rx-rtrr"^''- ''^^^ r ''"""'"'' as it well might'do fo I '""^ '^^^ I'a^'^S |8»crameut. . *''""''««'• W of the Blessed -to I." 116 THE FOURTH READER. ft; 25. The Bund ]\[ArwTYR. CAUUINAL WISEMAN. His Eminence Cardinal Wiseman, tlie iirst Archbishop of Westniiiistc r, was Ijoru rtt Seville, in !Si>ain, of Irit>h 2'iireiit.s, August 2. ISO:.', lie \va> orilaiued priest in 182."), and was for some years Kector of tne Englisli Col- ieire at Home. He was elevated to the episcopate in 1840, being made Co- adjutor, to Dr. Walsii, Vicar Apo.stolic of the Midhmd District. In IRIS, he was made Pro-Vicar Apostolic of tlie London District, on the death of Dr. Grifiitlis ; and subsequently, Vicar Apostolic. On the 2yth of Septem- ber, 18o0, his Holiness Pope Pius IX. re-established the Catholic Ilierarohy in England, when Dr. Wiseman was made Archbishop of the new See u{ Westminster; and on the following day lie was raised to the dignity of u Cardinal Priest of the Holy Roman Cliurch. " Few of the great men of our day will, in the pages of Chnrcli histoiy, occupy a more conspicuous place tlian Cardinal W iseman, as a learned aiuj brilliant controversialist, or as a writer abounding in erudition, a knowled^'e of the Oriental langruages, manners, and customs, the life of the i)rimitivo Christians, and all tiieir remains, as well as in a thorough knowleilire alike of tlieology, and of tlie times in which he lived. His Lectures on lieveaK d Keligion are acknowledged to be the best and most <'omplete answer in the language to the infidel doctrines of the day." — Metropolitan. Tliese form but a small portion of liis learned labors. We ^ive below an extract from his une(pialled tale of "Fabiola," the scene of wTiicli is laid iu Kome during the reign of the tyrant Diocletian. [CiBcelia, a poor, blind young girl, warns the Clnistians, who had assemhled in the Catacombs to assist at the Uoiy iSacriflce of the Mass, that they have been betrayed to the Prefect of Koine.] 1. CECELIA, already forewarned, had approached the ceme- tery by a diflferent but neighboring entrance. No sooner liad she descended than she snuffed the strong odor of the torches. "This is none of our incense, I know," she said to herself; " the enemy is already within." She hastened, therefore, to the place of assembly, and delivered Sebastian's note ; adding also what she had observed. It warned them to disperse, and seek the shelter of the inner and lower galleries ; and begged of the Pontiff not to leave till he should send for him, as bis person was particularly sought for. 2. Pancratius urged the blind messenger to save herself too. " No," she replied, " my office is to watch the door, and guide the faithful safe." " But the enemy may seize you." " No matter, ' she answered, laughing ; "my being taken may save much worthier lives. Give me a lamp, Pancra- tius." 3. 'M "True " Thoj " Eveij tlie (lurk, ccmetei'j, Off she copt that fnends, au 4. Whe viiis was p —it was ri t^ie earth, foamed ; t qiiatus ?" toltl in as m it annoyed own mind, i . wJio had esc Jf'so, this ca .^«'- He St, ^'"S" and awf ^'oman, and 5. "Imus answered the ^oice; "doy "Bliiidl'' ' ^^ ^i<-'i". But ^¥^test possi pursued by a knowledge hac linnds. 6- " It will mai-ch through y>^i' quarters, ^^^''^i'ni8, take I te^ him all. j "^"0 treachei THE BLIND MAETTB. 117 8. " Why, you cannot see bv it " „», , " T''u= ; but others ean " ^ ' °^""^'^ ■>«. ^-ailing. Efcn so," she answered • " T H„ . • "'» ' '"*. If my Brideg^oo,; eoL tn" ^"^ *" ''^ "'k'^'' '« cemetery, n,„st he not find m ^h ' T '" ""^ "'"^'"t "^ «»« Off she started, reachorl 1^ ^ '™P '"'""led ?" copt that of qnie't Zuel^Tl""'.^'''"''' "» -- - -•t >vas ridieulous-a po;r IZ ' "'"" * *'"''l f-'il-re ^ -rth. He rallied'corvTnus tm T °'" "' *"" •'"-^'^ "^ formed ; then sudde,Jy he a*.H '! ^'''*'''' ^'"^^d and 7/"^?" He heard thLeounff'h;?'";', ""^''^ '^ Tox' toU ... as many ways as the Dae "t '""^^ <*'^ Wearance, It annoyed him g-eatlv ct ^^ ^"""^^ adventures ■ bnt »«n mind, that he had h» ^'^ "" ''""'^'' whatever in U, .^l.ohadeseapedi:totet:ari''^- "'« -PPOsedUti'm * so, this captire would know ' ,tl J T'"' "^ ^^^ '='^»etery ''•'■• He stood before her twf '^'''™'"^'^ '» q«e«tion "'? a..d awful look, and Id o?' ^f "" '"' ■"»«' search" ™..aa, and tell me ihe truth » ^''' ^*^''"'^' "^'^k at n,e, »• X must tell you the tn,ti> ^-.i, «"^«red the poor gin, ^L hereW T? '""^'"^ '' ?»"- «-," Bliu'dl" re"1 ^^^ "-' - S'r.' ™"^' -' * :; !r B."'irtnattro) i^ ^ --^^^ *« ,ook *Sl.test possible emotion in" ' 1^ T'"'™ ">ere passed the f^^'f by a playful b^ee^e n^ 1"' "'' '^''^^ «">* run. »»>vledge had flashed into hi,\ T "f '*» ^^^dow. 1' Ms. ■"'""'«•• "<=!«« had fallen into ht r'^'Cr^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ;?^ twenty soldiers to h!'™ ^n. I .^1 frwrlfarrif " *^ -^""^ ^»'*-.^nd' ^ "^0 treachery, Pulvius. '"he s JdT "'^"' *'"' •=''P«^«'" ' "**"'' '^^ed and mortified. li 118 THE FOURTH KEaDER. T. " Mind you bring her. The day must not pass without a Bacrifice." " Do not fear," was the reply. Fulvius, indeed, was pondering whether, having lost one spy, he should not try to make another. But the calm gentle- ness of the poor beggar perplexed him more than the boister- ous zeal of the gamester, and her sightless orbs defied him more than the restless roll of the toper's ; still, the first thought that had struck him he could still pursue. When alone in a carriage with her, he assumed a soothing tone, and addressed her. He knew she had not overheard the last dialogue. "My poor girl," he said, "how long have you been bhnd?" 8. "AH my life," she replied. "What is your history ? Whence do you come ?" " I have no history. My parents were poor, and brought me to Rome, when I was four years old, as they came to pray, in discharge of a vow made for my Ufe in early sickness, to tbe blessed martyrs Chrysanthus and Daria. They left me in charge of a pious lame woman, at the door of the title of Fas-, ciola, while they went to their devotions. It was on that memorable day when many Christians were buried at the tomb, by earth and stones cast down on them. My parents had the happiness to be among them." 9. " And how have you lived since ?" "" God became my only Father then, and his Catholic Church my Mother. The one feeds the birds of the air, the other nurses the weaklings of the flock. I have never wanted for any thing since." "But you can walk about the streets freely and without fear, as well as if you saw." , " How do you know that ?" 10. "I have seen you. Do you remember very early one morning in the autumn, leading a poor lame man along tbe Vicus Patricus ?" She blushed and remained silent. Could he have seen her put into the poor old man's purse her own share of the alms ? "You have owned yourself a Christian?" he asked, negli* gently. 11. "0] " TJjen t "Certain .He want about whoi nothing, wa; must yield, ( 12. After you know wJ "Before t] ^y Spouse in "And so c no token fron "So joyful] 13. Ha vino to Corvinus al to her fate. Ii I ceding evening pad kept dow: been compelled collect, as hour tidings, most o J persevering rem jtlie public garc jfresh knot of s pide-doors, from 26. T !• As Corvinu m, Tertullus h could be Ii ^poor, ignorant, ^^ perfectly stil '^"^^ as she woi °^^y penalties on THE BLIND MAMTYR. 119 "T)l?h r ' '^°'' """'•J I deny it r- i-uen that meetho- was ,. ni. • f. "Certaiulyr • »),„. !, ' » Clmstiau meeting ?" «bont whom TorquafuJ haVw ""m ^"■'' ^''"«^'3- Agnes "otWng, was certainl/a Chl,^:r W ' "' ^'"'"^ *° ««"^ m 70U know whrthr;;trf^i:iV ^'"'''''^*'^' "« '""j. -^o Before the judge of earth T mj Spouse in heaven." ' ^ '"^P"'"' «'•«> ''iU send me to "And so calmly ?" he B go " kelp you V -iced LCapirilllir "t" ""^^^ ^ ^an I "Let me foose I sav n.T' *' "'^"'''"'g h'm fast. "Who will be gone ^; "'■'''""«' SO«e-" ''«' "e had got ele?r off^ nT; r''"^ .^°""''' "-"J «e-g I"" go ; but it was too late Zh ''I'""-" A"-! he lei »es' in Suburra. ''• ^''^ ^outh was safe at Dioo-e- '"^et," said Sebastian. "'"""'''" ^""""'^ ^^ »" hour affer 124 THE FOURTH RKADER. 10. " It shall be delivered there, safe/' said the executioner. " Of what, do you think, did that poor girl die ?" asla»d a Rpoetator from his compiuiion, as they went out. "Of fri^lit, I fancy," he replied. " Of Christian modesty," interposed a stranger, who passed them. 27. Peace Tribunals. AROIIBISnOP KENKIOK. FuANCis Patrick Kknriok, T). D.. archbishop of Baltiinoro, was born in Duliliti, in 17lt7. In biMiciil and theolofrical hiarnin)/, he hus no pnp(!riiii,ii; to return and close tiie Council. " Afterwards," said lie, " 1 shall "Wait on the Kini^ of Enj^'land, my godchild and relativi', and exhort him, Count Theobald his nepiiew, and otiiu's wiio die at variance, to come to a reconciliation, that eacii, lor tl;e love of God, may do justice to the other, and accordini;' to the law of God, all of them being pacilicd, may abandon war, and with their subjects enjoy the security of perfect peace." 6. Leibnitz regarded this mediatorial office of the pope as one among the most beautiful evidences of Christian induence on society, and expressed the desjrc, which, however, he did not hope to see realized, that a peace tribunal were establisiied anew at Rome, with the Pontiff as its jiresident, that the con- troversies of princes, and the internal dissension of nations might, by the mild influence of religion, be decitled without bloodshed. " Since we are allowed to indulge fancy," said he, " why should we not cherish an idea that would renew amoug us the golden age ?" 28. FiEST Battle on the Plains of Abraham. . . garneau. 1. At daybreak the English army was drawn up in battle array on the plains of Abraham. When, at six in the morning, M. de Montcalm received the unexpected news of this landing, he could not believe tt. He thought it was some separate de- tachment, and, carried away by his usual vivacity, he set for- ward with only a part of his troops, without making his arrangements known to the governor. 2. At this moment the army of Beau Port found itself reduced to about 6,000 fighting men, because sundry corps had been detached from it. General Montcalm took with him 4,500 men, and left the rest in the camp. These troops defiled by the bridge of boats placed across the River St. Charles, entered the city by Palace Gate, on the north, and marchmg through, I- 'I!! iC': Hi ';i li 126 TlIK rOURTII UKADI R. wont out by St.-.Tolui's nnd St. Louis' Onto, on tlio west, to the plnins of Ahrnlmin, wIhtc, nt cii^hf o'clock, they came in si<;ht dl' tlic cnciny. Montcalm perceived, not witliont snr- l)risc, I lie entire Kiit;Hsli army drinvn np in line to receive him. IJy n fatal i»rccii)itation lie resolved to make the attack, not- withstnndinu; nil advice to the contrary, despite the opinion even of his mnjor-ycneral, the Chevalier de Montrenil— who represented to him tluit with snch a far inferior force they were in no condition to attack — and despite the positive orders of the j^overnor, who wrote him not to open lire till all the forces were bronght together, and that he himself wonld march to his assistance with the troops left to guard the camp. IJnt the general, fearing lest the English should intrench them- selves on the plains, and render their }>osition imj)regiud)le, gave the order f\)r battle. The English were two to one ; they numbered 8,000 men present under arms. But Mont- calm was willing to try his fortune, hoping that success might again crown his audacity, as it did beibre at Carillon. 3. He drew up his men in a single line three men deep, the right on St. Eoy's, and the left on St. Louis' road, without any reserved corps. The regulars, whose grenadiers were with M. de IJougainville, formed the centre of this line. The govern- ment militia of Quebec and Montreal occupied the right, that of Three Rivers and a portion of that of Montreal formed the left. Platoons of marines and Indians were thrown ou the two wings. Then, without giving time fot the troops to draw breath, he gave the order to advance on the enemy. They rushed forward so precipitately that the line broke, and the battalions were found one in advance of the other, so that the English thought they were advancing in columns, especially those of the centre. 4. General Wolfe's army was drawn up in a square in front of the heights of Neveu, the right resting on the wood of Samos, and a small eminence on the verge of the precipitous bank of the St. Lawrence ; the left on the house of Borgia. One of the sides of the square faced the heights ; another looked toward the St. Foy road, along which it was drawn up ; and a third was turned towards the wood of Sillery. Wolfe had pommenc redoubts regimen fi f<)i'me(i t formed lj Scotch II other reiri centre of 5. The some Indi which bor( WoJfe, coi sihie, passi to fight, ordered th paces. Th they came \ manner, anc which took Vance ; but, they were a: order in whi their raoven strangest co attack in his he led his gr He had only h a second 1 the rear, ant feeing unav/ai JQ pursuit of gave way at his principal out, ''They r aud his face ] ^vas the replj "^"d so saying 6. Almost FIRflT BAITLK ON THE PLAI.V9 OF ABRAHAM. 127 front ^amos, ink of lue of looked and had pommoncod aloni^ the St. Foy rond a lino of small cnrthon rocloiibts, wlii^'Ii wore carried l)a('k\vard in a scniicirolo. Six ro«i;iincnts, tl^^ Ijouisbiirj;' ^rcMiadiors, and two jjirccs of cannon formed tl»e side facing the city. The two otiier sides wero form(!il by three full regiments, one of which was the 78tli Scotch lIi tates a man. The bodv half i '^""''"^^ ^ » monkey imi- »ff in a serpentine mann;r fmhr"!""^ ^^^^ Satanie, S J;« pbiJoscphy. On his Tead •nT"'"'/{ 'he crookedness of decern a little Red Ren IZ " "^ *'"' ^ocratic bays we ^■Oe. to make him looSiV^P '.""f ^"«'>'!^ «^ ol a wonderful dictionary como leTc' "'"'"' '"'^ "^ he carries progressive, ultra-demo ,S:ldr:"5 "^ '^'""''° ^"-^i"" 3. From this book of ''.";P""»d« at he knows he ought to S T ! ^ "'^'^^'l ™«Picion l™ cry loudly for a measure «. . ' '""^ '"''•""'''er we hear -t^be^understandsTtt b" Z^^ '"'' ^'^''^ -« ^ P* to U:t"Sp'?:Lt;sre?^^ ^■"'"^'■' •>»' - rtat he means. Thus, for eTamT 'T'""^'^' '»'«• discover "»nary at the word Liberty and? "'/''? '"^ "?»« his die "P -e of its greatness and glorvt " '""r' P^^^^^'' do" senons face, and suspect thi t i ^' T '"'"'''^' «' his teepi^,, '« -"eans, it would sound vet ''^ ^^ '" ''*'"« '""'ostly ^^ ;». Liberty means leave Et '"f ' '■'^'"°'' •• "G-t »«-i.ot to complain." ' '° P"^^ J""' Pocket, and for !l L'M: THE FOURTH EEADEK. 5. He turns over a leaf of liis book, and tells us of the phil- osopliy of his enlightened school. We translate his definition of philosophy, and it avers that philosophy is the art of prov- ing that two and two, not unfreqiiently, make five ; that black in many cases looks exceedingly like white, and that persons who wish to preserve their countenances from being burnt by the sun ought to wear a thick veil, especially at twelve o'clock n t night. Does the Genius speak of the upwardness of modern progress ? Then, to our understanding, he means that prog- ress is a faithful imitation of the motion of a crab going down hill. He descants upon the comforts of equality. 6. Understood as he means it, no matter what he may say, equality consists in the very pleasant process of cutting off the heads of the tall men, and in pulling out the small men, as one might do a spy-glass, so that both become of a size,, And when he searches his dictionary to give us the true meaning of his favorite word, Fraternity, his warm description of the peace which it produces puts us in mind of the famous Kil- kenny cats, who fought until they had eaten each other up, all except the tips of their respective tails, which they still wagged in token of defiance. 7. Guided by this key to the true meaning of the learned Genius of the Age, we look to him for an answer to the ques- tions proposed higher up, and we have no doubt that his true view of the case would embody itself in solutions equivalent to the following: "Rehgion and society," he would say, "are two orders, one opposed to the other. Religion was made, of course, by the Almighty ; it begins at the altar, ends at the holy-water font at the door, and is bounded by the four walls of the church. The period of its duration is from Sun- day morning until Sunday evening. Society was invented by the Devil, and it rules the week from Monday morning until Saturday night. Business, politics, and amusements, are things that lie beyond the verge of morality, and the control of re- ligion. He who pretends to be religious anywhere but inside of the church is a bigot, a hypocrite, a man of the Dark Ages ; and he who outside of the church suits his convenience by cumiingly cheating, smoothly lying — playmg, in short, the conjider bonorab out — he and cout Wjf. H. J While all d ''■t'erdlnand .00 regretted into grievous freely, as it h sp«^t, or rathe "iore, as .such niiud of Mr. J i. For a the Moors, ^ere finally Granada wai K 1491 ; I glons receive in December, 2. Orders Andalusia to the south of i Moors. Sev( accordingly a; tliem were A: Coade de Cifu ''^^ follows ; '^- It was d ^^ the Red s , wcks rising to of iasurreclionj I '^'imped before f^e Moors wcr J force. Theyhj h^emywere see DEATH OF ALONZO DE AOUILAR. 13.*) li- on ick ous ,by lock ieru »rog- ;omg learned le qnes- As true tlent to [y,"are made, ends at ihe four fm Sun- tntedby ,gr until |e things >l of re- Lt inside kAges; tence by ,rt, tbc confidence man — is a smart man ; in fact, something of an lioiiorable raiiu ; and, in fact — if he take care not to be found out — he may be one of the most remarkable men of his age uud country." »» 30. Death op Alonzo de Agtjilae. PRE8C0TT. Wm. H. Pbescott — a distinguished American historian, born in 179R. "Wliile all due praise is given him for the merits of his two great works, "Ferdinand and Isabella," and the "Conquest of Mexico," it is much to be regretted that religious prejudices have in many instances betrayed him into grievous error, as well as into gross injustice. " We sav it the more freely, as it is almost the only stain on an otnerwise faultless book — a dark spot, or rather a collection ot spots, on the sun. We regret this fault the more, as such prejudice is wholly unwortliy the enlightened and moderate miud of Mr. Prescott." — Jit. Jiev. Dr. Spalding. 1. For a long period, the south of Spain was occupied by the Moors, the city of Granada being their capital. They were finally conquered by Ferdinand the Catholic, to whom /> Granada was surrendered on the twenty-fifth day of Novem- ber, 1491 ; but many of the inhabitants of the mountam re- gions received with great reluctance the Christian yoke, and in December, 1500, an insurrection broke out among them. 2. Orders were issued to the pii:ici})al chiefs and cities of Andalusia to concentrate their forces ai the city of Ronda, in the south of Spain, and thence to march against the insurgent Moors. Several distinguished no'olcmon and officers of Spain accordingly assembled with their troops at the city. Among them were Alonzo de Aguilar, the Conde de Ureiia, and the Conde de Cifuentes. The historian's narrative then proceeds as follows : 3. It was determined by the chiefs to strike into the heart of the Red Sierra, as it was called, from the color of its rocks rising to the east of Ronda, and the principal theatre of insurrection. On 18th March, 1501, the little army en- camped before Monarda, on the skirts of a mountain, where tlie Moors were understood to have assembled in considerable force. They had not been long in these quarters before the enemy were seen hovering along the slopes of the mountain, 136 THE FOURTH KEADKR. m from which the Christian camp was divided by a narrow river — the Rio Verde, i)robably, which has gained so much ce- lebrity in the Spanish song. 4. Aguilar's' troops, who occupied the van, were so mucli roused at the sight of the enemy, that a small party, sciziiiL' a banner, rushed across the stream, without orders, in pursuit of them. The odds, however, were so great, that they would have been severely handled, had not Aguilar, while he bitterly condemned their temerity, advanced promptly to their support with the remainder of his corps. The Count of TJrena* fol- lowed with the central division, leaving the Count of Ci- fuentes,^ with the troops of Seville, to protect the camp. 5. The Moors fell back as the Christians advanced, and re- tiring nimbly from point to point, led them up the rugged steep far into the recesses of the mountains. At length they reached an open level, encompassed on all sides by a natural rampart of rocks, where they had deposited their valuable effects, together with their wives and children. The latter, at sight of the invaders, uttered dismal cries, and fled into the remoter depths of the sierra. 6. The Christians were too much attracted by the rich spoils before them to think of following, and dispersed in every quarter in (juest of plunder, with all the heedlessness and iusubordiuation of raw, inexperienced levies. It was in vain that Alonzo de Aguilar reminded them that thi^ir wily enemy was still unconquered, or that he endeavored to force them into the ranks again and restore order. No one heeded his call, or thought of any thing beyond the present mo- ment, and of seeming as much booty to hunself as he could carry. 7. The Moors, in the mean while, finding themselves no longer pursued, were aware of the occupations of the Chris- tians, whom they, not improbably, had purposely decoyed into the snare. They resolved to return to the scene of action and surprise their incautious enemy. Stealthily advancing, there- fore, under the shadows of night now falling thick around, * Pronounced A-ghe-lar. ' U-rane'-,va. ' Thee-fuen'-tes. they pou astonishc 8. An der into i glare ove; of the he many of t of their fa so many d( of their in victims. 9. This 5een, and f assailants, i 'It'd, scarce! 10. The 3foors, famj ^vas fatal t( the sierra, ar swords of tl precipices wJ 31. Dea !• Ajiidst succeeded in lialted, and ffis noble co position on t followers to "«^as an Agi eldest son, th( ^'ordova, a yoi jiad received a 'ai^elin had pi, resting on the i ^ sword. DEATH OF ALONZO DE AOUILAR. 137 rivcT ti ce- ursult would ittevly iipport la* fol- of Ci- p. and re- Tugged ;th thoy natural valuable .atter, at into the lie rich |)ersed iu lessncss was in heir wily to force 3 heeded lent mo- he could selves no le Cbris- )yed into :tion and lo- tliere- ar '.te». ound, they poured through the rocky defiles of the inclosure on the astonished Spaniards. 8. An unlucky explosion, at this crisis, of a cask of pow- der into which a spark had accidentally fallen, threw a broad "hire over the scene, and revealed for a moment the situation of the hostile parties — the Spaniards iu the utmost disorder, many of them without arms, and staggering under the weight of their fatal booty ; while their enemy were seen glidiug, Hke so many demons of darkness, through every crevice and avenue of their inclosures, in the act of sprmging on their devoted victims. 9. This appalling spectacle, vanishing almost as soon as seen, and followed by the hideous yells and war-cries of the assailants, struck a panic into the hearts of the soldiers, who lied, scarcely offering any resistance. 10. The darkness of the night was as favorable to the Moors, familiar with all the intricacies of the ground, as it was fatal to the Christians, who, bewildered in the mazes of the sierra, and losing their footing at every step, fell under the swords of their pursuers, or went down the dark gulfs and precipices which yawned all around. 31. Death of Alonzo de Aguilar — continued. 1. Amidst this dreadful confusion, the Count of Urena succeeded in gaining a lower level of the sierra, where he halted, and endeavored to rally his panic-struck followers. His noble comrade, Alonzo de Aguilar, still maintained his position on the heights above, refusing all entreaties of his followers to attempt a retreat. "When," said he, proudly, " was an Aguilar ever known to fly from the field ?" His eldest son, the heir of his house and honors, Don Pedro de Cordova, a youth of great promise, fought at his side. He liad received a severe wound on the head from a stone, and a iavelin had pierced quite through his leg. With one knee resting on the ground, however, he made a brave defence with Ilia sword. 1^ 138 illK FOUUTII RKADKR. 2. Tlie sight was too much for his fatlier, and he implored him to suffer liiinsolf to bo removed from tlie field. "Let not tlie liopes of our house be eruslied at a single blow," said lie. "Go, my sou; live as becomes a Christian knight; live, and cherish your desolate mother 1" All his endeavors were fruit- less, however ; and the gallant boy refused to leave his father's side till he was forcibly borne away by the attendants, who fortunately succeeded in bringing him in safety to the station occupied by the Count Urena. 3. Meantime, the brave little band of cavaliers who re- mained true to Agiiilar had fallen one after another ; and tlie chief, left almost alone, retreated to a huge rock in the middle of the plain, and, placing his back against it, still made fight, though weakened by a loss of blood, like a lion at bay, against his enemies. In this situation, he was pressed so hard by a Moor of uncommon size and strength, that he was compelled to turn and close with him in a single coml)at. 4. The strife was long and desperate ; till Don Alonzo, whose corselet had become unlaced in the previous struggle, having received a severe wound in the breast, followed by an- other on the head, grappled closely with his adversary, and they came rolling on the ground together. The Moor re- mained uppermost ; but the spirit of the Spanish cavalier had not sunk with his strength, and he proudly exclaimed, as if to intimidate his enemy, "I am Don Alonzo de Aguilarl" to which the other rejoined, "And I am the Feri de Ben Este- par I" — a well-known name of terror to the Christians, 5. The sound of his detested name roused all the vengeance of the dying hero ; and, grasping his foe in mortal agony, lie rallied his strength for a final blow. But it was too late ; his hand failed, and he was soon dispatched by the dagger of his more vigorous rival. Thus fell Alonzo Hernandez de Cor- dova, or Alonzo de Aguilar, as he is commonly called, from the land where his family estates lay. 6. "He was of the greatest authority among the grandees of his time," says Father Abarea, "for his lineage, personal character, large domains, and the high posts which he filled both in peace and war. More than forty years of his life he served a^ boyhood, viceroy of 7. "He who had f) the accurs( believe," c soul has r( was armed of confessio , TJiG sad deat III the fore^oini i'ikI was kept i] «ihI iHljiiiration coiiiitiy. The ' ;"test/iiit Hial 'ftiic ballads ir iitK'ii is tbnud ii liy Bishop Perc' "'l'«5. It has wvoruble influe 'oitspublieatioi 1. G M 2. A Mc 3. Lo] • The original •anish also mean has a proper nam( pountain strean GENTLE RIVER. 139 AoTcd lit not id lu.'. e, anil ; fruit - itlicr's ,s, wlio station vho re- md the in tlie it, still B a lion ; pressed that he combat. Alonzo, struggle, id by an- gary, and Moor re- alier had as if to ilarl" to en Este- Is. Vengeance igouy, he I late; his ter of his de Cor- lied, from served against the infidel ; under the banner of his house in boyliood, and as leader of that same banner in later life, as vieeroy of Andalusia and commander of the royal armies. t. "He was the fifth lord of his warlike and pious house who had fallen fighting for their country and religion against the accursed sect of Mahomet. And there is good reason to believe," continues the same orthodox authority, "that his soul has received the reward of a Christian soldier, since he was armed on that very morning with the blessed sacraments of confession and communion." 32. Gentle River. The sad death of Alonzo de Aguilar and his brave companions, as related ill the foregoing lesson, fell mournfully upon the nutiona! heart of Spain, imcl wan kept in fresh remembrance by the numy expressions of sympathy luid udniiration which it called fortli from the popular literature of the country. The ibllowing poem is a tniiishitiou by the Kev. Thomas Percy, I'Mitcstant Bishop of Dromore, in Irchmd (burn 1728, died 1811), of one ct thu ballads in which the fate of the hero is commemorated. The trans- liition is found in the " Keliques of Ancient English I'oetryj" a work edited liy Bishop Percy with great taste and judgment, and originally published in 17G5. It has since been frecjuently reprinted, and has exerted a most favorable influence upon English poetical literature of a date subsequent to itB publication. 1. Gentle river,* gentle river, Lo; thy streams are stain'd with gore; Many a brave and noble captain Floats along thy willow'd shore. 2. All beside thy limpid waters, All beside thy sands so bright, Moorish chiefs and Christian warriors Join'd in fierce and mortal fight. 3. Lotds, and dukes, and noble prmces On thy fatal banks were slain; S^ , H • The original is Rio Verde, that is. River Verde. But verde in persona ■gpanigh also means green; and the translator, not being aware that it l,e fiUeilHwag a proper name, substituted ^c/j/Zc; — an epithet not well suited to lis U^6 be^tniouutain stream. ■4 140 THE FOURTH READER. Fatal banks, that gavo to slan^^htcr All tlio pride aiul ilovver of Spaiu, 4. There the licro, brave Alonzo, Full of wounds and glory, died ; There the fearless Urdiales Fell a victim by his side. 6. Lo, where yonder Don Saavedra* Through their squadrons slow retkesj Proud Seville, his native city. Proud Seville his worth admires. 6. Close behind, a rcnegado Loudly shouts, with taunting cry, " Yield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedral Dost thou from the battle fly ? 7. " Well I know thee, haughty Christian; Long I hved beneath thy roof ; Oft I've in the lists of glory Seen thee win the prize of proof. 8. " Well I know thy aged parents, Well thy blooming bride I know; Seven years I was thy captive, " Seven years of pain and woe. 9. " May our prophet grant my wishes, Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine; Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow ' Which I drank when I was thine." 10. Like a lion turns the warrior, Back he sends an angry glare; Whizzing came the Moorish javelin, Yainly whizzing, through the air. • ^ • Don Saavedra is an imaginary personage, no nobleman of that] name having really been engaged in the battle. sr. Peter's entry into rome. 11. Back tho hero, full of fury, Sent a dcoi) and mortal wound ; Instant sank the rcncf^ado, Muto and lifeless, on the ground. 12. With a thousand Moors surrounded, Bravo Saavedra stands at bay; "Wearied out, but never daunted. Cold a4 length the warrior lay. 13. Near him fighting, great Alonzo Stout resists the paynim bands, From his slaughter'd steed dismounted, Firm intrench'd behind him stands. 14 Furious press the hostile squadron, Furious he repels their rage; Loss of blood at length enfeebles; Who can war with thousands wage ? 15. Where yon rock the plain overshadows, * Close beneath its foot retired. Fainting sank the bleeding hero. And without a groan expired. 141 33. St. Peter's Entry into Home. AE0HBI8HOP HUGHES. Most Reverend John IIughes, D. D., first Arch bishop of Nevir York, born in Tyrone, Ireland, in 1798. A few years aftev liis ordination he was t)roii|Eflit before the American pnbliu hy a controversy and oral discussion vith Rev. Mr. Breckinridi^e, a Presbyterian minister, whicli established ills reputation as one of the ablest controvorsialists of the day. Indeed, his lite since then has been almost a continual controversy, owinor to the perpetual attacks made upon the Church tlirouifh him. Soon after he be- came Bishop of New York, h'j was called o i to maintain, in a lonjr-pro- Inicted strujrele, the freedom of (-(lneation. His " I)el)utcs on the School I Question," his "Letters to Kirwan," and his "Lottorao Brooks," on the niaiiiij);emi;nt of church property, are excellent specimens of close reason- ing, keen wit, and polisliod sarcasm. Innumerable lectures and letters on Various subjects connected with Catholic interests have kept the Arch- [bisliop iu the front rank of the champions of the Church. 1. It must have been during the latter portion of the reign of 142 THE FOURTH READER. Tiberius Nero Drusus, or in the beginning of the reign of Nero, that a traveller, dressed in Eastern costume, was seen approach- ing one of the entrances of the imperial city of Rome. He was weary and wayworn. The dust of travel had iiicrustcd itself on the perspiration of his brow He bore in his hand a staff, but not a crosier. His countei.ance was pale, but strik- ing and energetic in its expression. Partially bald, what re- mained of his hair was gray, crisp, and curly. 2. Who was he ? No one cared to iiiquire, for he was only one of those approaching the gates of Rome, within the walls of which, we are told, the population numbered from three to four millions of souls. But who was this pilgrim ? He was a man who carried a message from God and his Christ, and who had been impelled to deliver that message in the very heart and centre of Roman corruption and of Roman civiliza- tion, such as it was. 3. His name at that time was Peter. His original name had been Simon, but the Son of God having called him and his elder brother, Andrew, from the fisherman's bank on the Sea of Galilee, to be His apostles, changed the name of Simon and called him in the Syriac language, Cephas, wMlch in Latin and English is translated Peter. In Syriac the word signifies a rock, and our Saviour, by changing his name, declared the mission for which he was especially selected. * 4. He said to him : " Thou art Cephas, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." He was an Apostle, like his brother and the j other ten. But he was more — ^he was the Rock on which the j Church was to be built — he was the prince of the Apostolic College. And this was the man who was approaching the gates of the city of Rome. Where he slept that night, | whether on or under the porch of some princely palace, his- tory has not informed us. But he soon began to proclaim I the message which he had from God. To human view the | attempt would appear to be desperate. Rome, at that pe- riod, was divided into two principal classes — masters and slaves — ^both of the same color, and, in many instances, botlij of the same country. « THOtr OOrLDST BE A BIED. ^^3 "iHch the tri«mphantCie,"f R^r?'? """ *"" P'''"der Imperial capital from the eonauereH.K '""' ^'°"^^' *» "'e then known world tZT^ ^ *"^' ^""^ ""t'ons of the boon plundered, as we ^ ^t H"'''' "/"•"'^' ''"^^ haV^ taiaed as perpetual tributart t^k"""' f ' ""■ '^^^^ ^«" >■«- Md of their satellite., Se:*tt"''''<''l"^'<'^t''« Caesars ose nations were all inangnratedTT ""' '•"""'""' «f tlie Imperial city. Their eorr!!*- f ^ P^^an temples of troduced, spreadh.^ frol' ZXZ 1, '""™'^ "^^ '''«° - ™ the state of local morals "lat no ''' "'""""Sl. such »aM add much to the univer al de 1 1;"''"'''' ''°""''"«» 6- Such was Rome when thi, ^ f y «'osures. He preaehid t .e Wo ^ Irr,^ -T^" ^"'-«'' «^ »a even in that polluted „t!; v ^''™'' ""d his preach- »l« to acknowledge tdld^™^^^^^^ ^r"^"' '""^"""an; "q-ntly joined b^ St. Paul and L^rrK'"' ^' ™^ '-b- " " zeal to propagate the doctant of \ , ^-"^ ^'"* * ••■»»>- Jcady made such an impress^ fK f '"'nation. They had 4»— dandcondemSrVS' ^'^ *^^'"" ^^ ''ad '• X eter was crucifipd > • J»t on which St. Peter'; ehurfh now" Vr^^"' «° *« -«>7 le instrument of pumshmenrfor tT ""''■ '^^ "°«^ '^as ,ll»tPaul of Tarsus, baZT\I° ,"" '"^" "^ Hebrew orin-in l*ied to a less igrioS,"^ .^h " d ^'""'"' "'«-"' -"« Weaded at a place cal!ed the Th're r """"'''"S'' ■•« «« ' "•ce from Rome, fco made tl. r .•■^"""*'''"^' «<»»« dis- ; popular, between what^'^ ?'"•-'""".' "'""•^'' '^ -- toe body was temporal; and Wer^ ^7""" ""^ ^PWtual. """■er than its destructiou ^"^ "''* ?'«'«". r'Ssrr;:,^:?;^-^ 144 THE FOURTH READER. Screaming and wailing when stormy winds rave, Or anchor'd, white thing 1 on the merry green wave ? 2. Or an eagle aloft in the blue ether dwelling, * Free of the caves of the hoary Helvellyn, Who is up in the sunshine when we are in shower, And could reach our loved ocean in less than an hour? 3. Or a heron that haunts the Wallachian edge Of the barbarous Danube, 'mid forests of sedge, And hears the rude waters through dreary swampa flowing, And the cry of the wild swans and buffaloes lowing ? 4. Or a stork on a mosque's broken pillar in peace, By some famous old stream in the bright laud of Greece. A sweet-manner'd householder I waiving his state, Now and then, in some kind little toil for his mate ? 5. Or a murmuring dove at Stamboul, buried deep In the long cypress woods where the infidels sleep. Whose leaf-muflfled voice is the soul of the seas. That hath pass'd from the Bosphorus into the trees I 6. Or a heath-bird, that lies on the Cheviot moor. Where the wet, shining earth is as bare as the floor ; Who mutters glad sounds, though his joys are but few- Yellow moon, windy sunshine, and skies cold and blue ? T. Or if thy man's heart worketh in thee at all. Perchance thou wouldst dwell by some bold baron's hall, A black, glossy rook, working early and late, Like a laboring man on the baron's estate ? 8. Or a linnet who builds in the close hawthorn bough, Where her small, frighten'd eyes may be seen looking through ; Who heeds not, fond mother ! the ox-lips that shine On the hedge-banks beneath, or the glazed celandine? 9. C T 10. Bu Ma •Doi Fro n. The] The And Thot !• It is a of the presi in principle, 80 high-tone authors, so good compo! "yury, but a *age. Ascl to afford so ( able a knowh respects a use 2- There cj present peri«c phatically caL mances of foi Jealtb either ( ^ supersede ive? hour? swampa ring ? [ Greece. ;e, Lte? ^OVEL BEADING. ^' Or a swallow tUi a- *i- ., ^^^ The true h ae „f ' '^ ^""^ '"■"•? ^orld over, . ■]^^o ,0 -here hoS^r;,it'''^-'lowers to discover- «<><"i words fr„:„ rn^ZlTZr.J'lrT brings ? , ""^ *he bright thoughts he 10. Bat what I can tho • M»te the child to forS'that f ''™"°'' ''»S'' '" "-'^1'' the earth, and raisint a 1^ ■ "^ ^"""""tod hi,, l,odv ,„ v illustrious explorer of X t ^ ^'"° ""^ ''"'^ 'ing our dear Lord — I do not mean in a religious life, which caiiuot be judged at theu* age, but of being his wherever they ma}' be. 3. " The distant hope your letter gives that there is a pos- sibility of your coming to this country, is a light to my gloomy prospects for my poor children ; not for their temporal good : our Lord knows I would never grieve to see them even beg- gars, if they preserve and practise their faith ; but their pros- pect, in case of my death, is as desolate as it can be, unless they are given up to their old friends, which would be almost their certain ruin of principle. 4. "I give all up, you may be sure, to Him who feeds the birds of heaven, as you say ; but in the weak and decaying state of my health, which is almost broken down, can I look at the five without the fears and forebodings of a mother, whose only thought or desire is for their eternity ? Our bless- ed Cheverus seemed to have many hopes of them when he came to see us last winter, and encouraged me to believe he would FiliccJi 5. " many ] charge besides enabled and I h( our esta 6. "I our first more; b are, as I in my reJi i3ed our t more my finally taL he had bbf even in po them. . . creased am it I Bless forever \ ■ V. "Yoi miles from : had but the it would be of wars he church, St. spacious log 'i^mys there them; thoug] ^he bar of JV '■easons why ^^'ster,' that ii "■^^ed to the I ^^ ears. Th 8. "Will would do bII ho cnnlrl P *. . be.su es poor children wl,o h^^ 1 """'"'"' "^ "'""" «%, enab od us to get on ver/well Citlm Tr."' "^ ''''"'••""''". '"[ »nd I hope our Adored hararr^itf *'*'"'• »>''''™«»mcnt, oar establishment. ""'^ ''°'"' " gwat deal througll ourV:t'd,>el^;, triilf;-,^-^'^ ■■" «"'«™-. who wl "o^" >■ but he did not IdTe^arrrr'"' '" "" " «««' S "^- as I had to include the co,!^^d«^/ "' T'""''^ S™-»"y » ">y religious character, wJcM ■ .,"^ ""^ P"""- •''"''d-'on fied our blessed Cheverus a^^ itl ,.^1'^ ^^ "'^■^^■^" '""^ ^»««- r"i? 7 P-'oteetor than ever _to ' . ? ^''"■™"' »■''» '^ ^o^y finally takes the superior cNrJ°f *"' ^'''''oehed to us, and he bad bestowed ou another .rthL ''""'■"' "•'"■<^'' «' fi-^t even m points less materia is "''tnT^ *'"'« ^ 'l" <»• act, »<"»•• . . Pih-cchi, how tlhT '•'''' ^"'^''^ '^''-^o'cd b; creased andinereasing in olrt o , Tud""" '""^' '»^« '- ;i^^B.sse, a thousand times S?'^ Snj'r *3ft.o^mVrL'":i^":?:;r"""^^' •'"*-'•- ««, had but the dear ChrisZ .."i , ""■' ""'' ">«untains. If „^ 'he bar of New York wrri ''"™' """^ ^'^Sa"' "^torr^t ;-o„s ..h,she should notMTen'.t ^"'f'' '^"""^S olt ^''ster/ that in a f^yr ^„^^^ ''^^^° <^o the siren voice of hnr ""J ««^. That would be odd i"'''^^"'^")' be pulled about «• "Wm yon tell your lTt7'"^'^"''°f''''crt/ yoM most honored brother that my ■'. ^ 151 THE FOURTH RKADKR. prayers shall not now go beyond the grave for hun, but will be equally constant ? All the children go to communion once a month, except little Ileb(!cca (Annina once a week), and believe me their mother's example and influence is not wanting to excite every devotion of gratitude and lively affection for their true and dearest friends and best of fathers, through whom they have received a real life, and been brought to the light of everlasting life. Our whole family, sisters and all, make our cause their own, and many, many communions have been and will be offered for you both, by souls who have no hoj5e of knowing you but in heaven. 9. " Eternity, eternity, my brother 1 Will I pass it with you ? So much has been given, which not only I never de- served, but have done every thing to provoke the adorable hand to withhold from me, that I even dare hope for that, that which I forever ask as the dearest, most desired favor. If I never write you again from this world, pray for me con- tinually. If I am heard in the next, Antonio, what would I not obtain for you, your Filippo, and all yours I . . . . May the blessings you bestow on us be rewarded to you a thpusaud times I Ever yours." 10. The blessings, however, enjoyeu by the inmates of St. Joseph's, and the usefulness of the institution, would not have been permanent, without increased and strenuous exertions on the part of Mother Seton. The maintenance of the house found a provision in the income from the board and tuition of the pupils ; but the debts contracted by the improvement of theiB*property were yet to be liquidated, and threatened to place it in a very embarrassing position. 11. To avert the destruction of the institution, Mother Se- ton privately appealed to the liberality of friends, among whom General -Robert G. Harper was conspicuous, both for the in- terest he manifested in the welfare of St. Joseph's house, and for the eminence of his position in society.' The following » General Harper, son-in-law of Charles Carroll of CarroUton, was one of the most gifted orators of the American Bar. Some of bis speeches have been published in 8 vols. , 8vo. letter, the dil her pt' 12. forgott nients ^ to act lieve yc spectivc retired with th< abode o] appearin foundati( 13. " Tance, ac but also 1 workmen, deed. Ti only of 61 ulariy whe already in 14. "\ our debts, Must it b guardian p serve the i ^ould Mr agant drea heaiT of pit Sieved but J^e blessed j^g is our ol our beginnif continually i'rom him \ 15. "Wi *^e questioi KARLY DAYS AT EMMKTlblll'KO. 'I ^ w nco and ting for I the i all, have re no with er dc- orable p that, favor, le con- , would . . May Lpusaud of fest. lot have :ions on house lition of ment of lened to Ither Se- Ig whom Ir the in- luse, and lollowing llton, was ie of tia letter, addressed to him by Mother Seton, will serve to show the difficulties she had to contend with, and tlio cioquencc of her pen in pleading the cause of religion and humanity : 12. " Will you permit the great distance between us to bo forgotten, for a moment, and sufler the force of those senti- ments which your liberality and kindness to us have created, to act without reserve in speaking to you on a subject I be- lieve you think interesting ? The promising and amiable per- spective of establishing a house of plain and useful education, retired from the extravagance of the world, connected also with the view of providing nurses for the sick a^id poor, an abode of innocence and refuge of afOiction, is, I dnir, r > / dis- appearing under the pressure of drbts i ontvMcted ai lu> very foundation. 13. "Having received the pensions of our boiij'ders in ad- vance, and with them obliged not only to lUKintjrn. ourselv .s, but also to discharge the endless demands of r arpentois » i,il workmen, we are reduced now to our 'jredit, which la v^oor in- deed. The credit of twenty poor wcoion, who ^ro cuj>L!jIo only of earning their daily bread, is but a ^uml. sto< ):, p ularly when their flour-merchant, grocer, nwl bvitchf r, are more already in advance than they are willing to afford 14. " What is our resource ? If we sell out house lo pay our debts, we must severally return to our sepaiate homes. Must it be so, or will a friendly hand assi;.t us, become our guardian protector, plead our cause with the rich and pov' jrfal, Bcrve the cause of humanity, and be a father to the pooi* ? Would Mrs. Harper be interested for us, or i& this an extrav- agant dream of female fancy? Oh, no; Mrs. Harper has a heart of pity, — she has proved it, unst'ijcited. If w*^ were re- lieved but from a momentary embarra?j.n^o'nt, her name would he blessed by future generations; f-r, so simple and uupretend- iug is our object, we cannot foil of success if not crushed in our begmning. The Rct Mr, Dubourg has exerted hunself continually for us, and bestowed all he could personally give. From him we are to expect no more. 15. " What shall we do ? How dare I ask you, dear sir, the question? But, if addressing it to you gives you a mo- 156 THE FOURTH READER. ment's displeasure, forgive ; and, considering, it as any other occurrence of life which is difTerently judged of according to the light in which it is viewed, then blot it out, and be assured, whatever may-be your impression of it, it arose from a heart filled with the sentiment of your generosity, and overflowmg with gratitude and respect. Dear Mrs. Harper, tell your sweet nieces to look at the price of a shawl or veil, and think of the poor family of St. Joseph's. December 28th, 1811." 16. Happily for religion and society, the institution was rescued from its impending danger by the timely aid of ita friends ; and though it had to struggle on amidst diflficultiea and trials, it gradually became more and more consolidated, and an instrument of great and extensive good in the hands of Divine Providence. rli' 39. The Parrot. OAMPBELL. • Thomas Campbell, a native of Scotland, died in 1844. His principal goeins are the "Pleasures of Hope," and " Gertrude of Wyoming ;" but is genius is seen to greater advantage in his shorter poems, such as "The Exile of Erin," "O'Connor's Child," "Lochiel's Warning," "Hohenlin- den," " The Battle of the BaltiCj" &c. These are matchless poems, contain- ing a magic of expression that fastens the words forever upon the memory. No poet of our times has contributed so much, in proportion to the ex- tent of his writings, to that stock of established quotations which pass from lip to lip and from pen to pen, without thought as to their origin. 1. The deep affections of the breast, That Heaven to living things imparts, Are not exclusively possess'd By human hearts. ^ 2. A parrot, from the Spanish Main, Full young, and early caged, came o^er, With bright wings, to the bleak domain Of MuUa's shore. * 8. To spicy groves where he had won His plumage of resplendent hue. His native fruits, and skies, and son, He bade adieu. 4U. roEil . Francis i »n France, w of the Chur It was truly of men. fli fn spiritual Adventure «^d"Treatij !• Anti labor; she aU conting she acts re ployed, but ^ its prope i PORTRAIT OF A VIRTUOUS WOMAN. 4. For these he changed the smoke of turf, A heathery land and misty sky, And turn'd on rocks and raging suyf His golden eye. 6. But, petted, in our climate cold He lived and chatter'd many a day ; Until with age, from green and gold, His wings grew gray. 6. At last, when, seeming blind and dumb. He scolded, laugh'd, and spoke no more, A Spanish stranger chanced to come To Mulla's shore. 7. He haiPd the bird in Spanish speech ; The bird in Spanish speech replied, Flapp'd round his cage with joyous screech, Dropp'd down, and died.' 157 40. Portrait of a Yirtuous and Accomplished Womaw. FENKLON. Francis de Salignao de la Mothe J'enelon, archbishop of Cambray, in France, was born at Perigord, 1651 ; died, at Cambray, 1715. No prelate of the Churcli, in any age. nas left behind a greater name than Fenelon. It was truly said of him, tliat he was oi^g of the meekest and most amiable of men. Ilia works are numerous, and in high repute. They are chiefly on spiritual subjects. Those best known to the English reader, are the " Adventures of Telemacluis," " Treatise on the Education of a Daughter," aud " Treatise on the Love of God." 1. Antiope is mild, simple, and wise; her hands despise not labor; she foresees things at a distance; she provides against all contingencies; she knows when it is proper to be silent; she acts regularly and without hurry; she is continually em- ployed, but n^er embarraased, because she does every thing in its proper season. * The above poem records au inoideat which actually took place. t €^i 'W^*jt^f -i -X * -M" t-Jt-S, 158 TUE FOURTH KEADEli. 2. Tlie good order of her father's house is her glory, it adds greater lustre to her than beauty. Though the care of all lies upon her, and she is charged with the burden of reproving, refusing, retrenching (things which make almost all women hated), yet she has acquired the love of all the household; and this, because they do not find in her either passion, or conceit- edness, or levity, or humors as in other women. By a single glance of her eye, they know her meaning, and are afraid to displease her. 3. The orders she gives are precise; she commands nothing but what can be performed; she reproves with kindness, and in reproving encourages. Her father's heart reposes upon her as a traveller, fainting beneath the sun's sultry ray, reposes himself upon the tender grass under a shady tree. 4. Antiope is a treasure worth seeking in the most remote corners of the earth. Neither her person nor her mind is set off with vain ornaments; and her imagination, though lively, is restrained by her discretion. She never speaks but through necessity; and when she opens her mouth, soft persuasion and simple graces flow from her lips. When she speaks, every one is silent; and she is heard with such attention, that she blushes, and is almost inclined to suppress what she intended to say; so that she is rarely ever heard to speak at any length. 41. Execution of Mary, Queen of Scots. MISa AGNE8 STRICKLAND. AoNEs Strickland is tho author of " Lives of the Queens of England and Scotland." As a biographer, she is noted for her careful and eriidite researches, and is ffenerallj' considered impartial. In her "Life of Mary Stuart," slie forcibly vindicates the persecuted, traduced, and beautifiil queen from the darlc imputations from which even Marv's friends Lnve not always suiiiciently defended her memory. Miss Strickland is a native of England. M I 1. Before Mary proceeded further in her preparations for the block, she took a last farewell of her w|pping maidens, kissing, embracing, and blessing them, by signhig them with the cross, which benediction they received on then* knees. 2. Her upper garments being removed, she remained in her pettico hind, e sleeves. borden With i . same in had be and witi but she hystericj 3. Mi said she me." "V of their from the tragedy i courage pcated, IE "In thee, fusion." 4. Beii she bowec so, In ma my spirit.' formance the coup-d iand coven and stream 5. A m tioner perc ^ith both they must moved then them tight]; the axe a ci courage of sjmpathizini deep wound EXECUTION OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 159 adds II lies )ving, romea .-, and )iiceit- single aid to Lotbing ss, and pou her reposes remote id is set h lively, through sion and jvery one blushes, to say; Ih. rs. If England ln<.l erlidite Ife of Mui-.v |l beautiful lis u native itions for 1 maidens, icm with lees. Led in her petticoat of crimson velvet and camisole, which laced be- hind, and covered her arms with a pah* of crimson-velvet sleeves. Jane Kennedy now drew from her pocket the gold- bordered handkerchief Mary had given her to bind her eyes. With this she placed a Corpus Christi cloth — probably the same in which the consecrated v.aCer sent to her by the Pope had been enveloped. Jane foldod it corner-wise, kissed it, and with trembling hands prepared to execute this last ofl&ce ; but she and her companion burst into a fresh paroxysm of hysterical sobbing and crying. 3. Mary placed her finger on her lips reprovingly. " Hush 1" said she ; "I have promised for you. Weep not, but pray for mo." When they had pinned the handkerchief over the face of their beloved mistress, they were compelled to withdraw from the scaffold ; and " fhe was left alone to close up the tragedy of life by herself, which she did with her wonted courage and devotion." Kneeling on the cushion, she re- peated, in her usual clear, firm voice. In te Domine speravi — " In thee. Lord, have I hoped ; let me never be put to con- fusion." 4. Being then guided by the executioners to find the block, slie bowed her head upon it intrepidly, exclaiming, as she did so. In manus tuas — " Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit." The Earl of Shrewsbury raised his baton, in per- formance of his duty as Earl Marshal, to give the signal for the coup-de-grdce ; but he averted his head at the same tune, and covered his face with his hand, to conceal his agitation and streaming tears. 5. A momentary pause ensued ; for the assistant-execu- tioner perceived that the queen, grasping the block firmly with both hands, was restmg her chin upon them, and that they must have been mangled or cut off if he had not re- moved them, which he did by drawing them down and holding them tightly in his own, while his companion struck her witli the axe a cruel, but ineffectual blow. Agitated alike by the courage of the royal victim, and the sobs and groans of the sympathizing spectators, he missed his aim and inflicted a deep wound on the side of the skull. ill 160 THE FOURTH READER. 6. She neither screamed nor stirred, but her sufferings were too sadly testified by the convulsion of her features, when, after the third blow, the butcherwork was accomplished, and the severed head, streaming with blood, was held up to the gaze of the people. " God save Queen Elizabeth I" cried the executioner. "So let all her enemies perish I" exclaimed 'Urn Dean of Peterborough. One solitary voice alone responded "Amenl" — it was that of the Earl of Kent. The silence, the tears, and groans of the witnesses of the tragedy, yea, even of the very assistants in it, proclaimed the feelings with which it had been regarded. t. Mary's weeping ladies now approached, and besought the executioners "not to strip the corpse of their beloved mistress, but to permit her faithful servants to fulfil her last request, by covering it as modesty required, and removing it to her bedchamber, where themselves and her other ladies would perform the last duties." But they were rudely re- pulsed, hurried out of the hall, and locked into a chamber, while the executioners, intent only on securing what they con- sidered their perquisites, began, with ruffian hands, to despoil the still warm and palpitating remains. 8. One faithful attendant, however, lingered, and refused to be thrust away. Mary's little Skye terrier had followed her to the scaffold unnoticed, had crept closer to her when she laid her head on the block, and was found crouching under her garments, saturated with her blood. It was only by violence he could be removed, and then he went and lay between her head and body, moaning piteously. 9. Some barbarous fanatic, desiring to force a verification of Knox's favorite comparison between this unfortunate prin- cess and Jezebel, tried to tempt the dog to lap the blood of his royal mistress ; but, with intelligence beyond that of his species, the sagacious creature refused ; nor could he be in- duced to partake of food again, but pined himself to death. 10. The head was exposed on a black velvet cushion to the view of the^populace in the court-yard for an hour, from tlie large window in the hall. No feeling but that of sympathy for her and indignation against her murderers was elicited hy this wo were cc been to upper c' formed Puterboi R. H. Da is siirpassec grace of hk 1. How Toll] Iloo] Lines These I mus Like Long And I Butal TisI I feel J 2. The br. Breath The lea While ^ Are ho] The mo But not Myriads Familia: In vain Ye were With wl hf M '*■ «", THE CONSTANCY OF NATURE. 161 were pvhcu, [, and the :d the d *tlie ond(.'(l ilence, 7, yea> ;s with sought )eloved ler last )ving it • ladies iely re- 3 amber, ley con- despoil this woful spectacle. Tho remains of this injured princess were contemptuously covered with the old cloth that had been torn from the billiard-table, and carried into a large upper chamber, where the process of embalming was per- formed the following day by surgeons from Stamford and Peterborough. 42. The Constancy of Katuee. DANA. R. H. Dana, born at Cambridge, Mass., 1787, ranks high as a pcet, and is surpassed by none of our prose writers in the clearness, purity and olasaio grace of his stylo and diction. 1. How like eternity doth nature seem To life of man — that short and fitful dream 1 I look around me : nowhere can I trace Lines of decay that mark our human racel These are the murmuring waters, these the flowers I mused o'er in my earlier, better hours. Like sounds and scents of yesterday they come. Long years have past since this was last my home I And I am weak, and toil-worn is my frame; But all this vale shuts in is still the same: ^Tis I alone am changed; they know me not: I feel a stranger — or as one forgot. 2. The breeze that cool'd my warm and youthful brow, Breathes the same freshness on its wrmkles now. The leaves that flung around me sun and shade, While gazing idly on them, as they play'd, Are holdmg yet their frolic in the air; The motion, joy, and beauty still are there, But not for me; — I look upon the ground: Myriads of happy faces throng me round, Famihar to my eye ; yet heart and mind In vain would now the old communion find. Ye were as living, conscious beings then, With whom I talk'd — But I have talked with men I 162 THE FOURTH READER. ^^i With uncliecr'd sorrow, with cold hearts I've met; Seen honest minds by harden'd craft beset. Seen hope cast down, turn deathly pale its glow; Seen virtue rare, but more of virtue's show 43. The Humming-Bikd. AUDUBON, » John J. Audubon was born in Louisiana, in 1780. His " Birds of Amer- ica," in seven imperial octavo volumes, was pronounced by the ereat Cuvier the most splendid monument which art has erected to ornithology. Ho died in 1851. 1. Where is the person, who on observing this glittering fragment of the rainbow, would not pause, admire, and instantly turn his mind with reverence towards the Almighty Creator, the wonders of whose hand we at every step discover, and of whose sublime conceptions we everywhere observe the mani- festations in his admirable system of creation ? There breathes not such a person; so kindly have we all been blessed with that intuitive and noble feeling — admiration. 2. No sooner has the returning sun again introduced the vernal season, and caused miUions of plants to expand then* leaves and blossoms to his genial beams, than the little hum- ming-bird is seen advancing on fairy whigs, carefully visiting every opening flower-cup, and, like a curious florist, removing from each the injurious insect that otherwise would ere long cause theh' beauteous petals to droop and decay. 3. Poised in the air, it is observed peeping cautiously, and with sparkling eye, into their innermost recesses, while the ethereal motions of its pinions, so rapid and so light, appear to fan and cool the flower, without injuring its fragile texture, and produce a delightful murmuring sound, well adapted for lulling the insects to repose The prairies, the fields, the orchards, the gardens, nay the deepest shades of the forest, are all visited in their turn, and everywhere the little bird meets with pleasure and with food. 4. Its gorgeous throat in brilliancy and beauty baffles all competition. Now it glows with a fiery hue, and again it is change delicati itself t conceiv of light this mai country, season. Autumn 44. Bes Alexane died in 185{ wns the aut ' tiliesiibjocti 1. At animated ( a visible i passive coi Christianit adopted as beneficial i incnlcatim the views o, no longer n oftheChur? imaginative himself in in ^ild strife organic devo 2. At the atire imagina from the wri Tories, and th for mournful I ^^, may be ofthelanguai DKSCKIPTION OF NATURE. 163 of Amer- the great lithology. ;littermg instantly Creator, >r, and of the mani- j breathes ssed with Luced the >and their iittle hum- py visiting removing ere long Dusly, and [while the at, appear \e texture, iapted for [the fields, |the forest, aird meets [baffles all again it ^ changed to the deepest velvety black. The upper parts of its delicate body arc of resplendent changing green; and it throws itself through the air with a swiftness and vivacity hardly conceivable. It moves from one flower to another like a gleam of light, upward, downward, to the right, and to the left. In this manner it searches the extreme northern portions of our country, following, with great precaution, the advances of the season, and retreats, with equal care, at the approach of Autumn. iL Description of Nature in the Christian Fathers. HUMBOLDT. Alexander Von Humboldt, a German baron, born in Berlin, 1769, mid died in 1859, the most distinguished «at'an^ of the nineteenth century. IIo wn» the author of many profound and erudite works on natural auti soieu- tiHo subjects. 1. At the period when the feeling died away which had animated classical antiquity, and directed the minds of men to a visible manifestation of human activity rather than to a passive contemplation of the external world, a new spirit arose. Christianity gradually diffused itself, and wherever it was adopted as the religion of the State, it not only exercised a beneficial influence on the condition of the lower classes by inculcating the social freedom of mankind, but also expanded the views of men in then* communion with nature. The eye no longer rested on forms of the Olympic gods. The Fathers of the Church, in their rhetorically correct and often poetically imaginative language, now taught that the Creator showed himself in inanimate no less than in animate nature, and in the wild strife of the elements, no less than in the still activity of organic devolopment. 2. At the gradual dissolution of the Roman dominion, cre- ative imagination, simplicity, and purity of diction, disappeared from the writings of that dreary age; first in the Latin terri- tories, and then in Grecian Asia Minor. A taste for solitude, for mournful contemplation, and for a moody absorption of Dund, may be traced simultaneously, in the style and coloring of the language. 16i THE FOURTH READER. 3. Whenever a new element seems to develop itself in the feelings of mankind, it may almost invariably be traced to tri earlier, deep-seated, individual germ. Thus the softness of Mimncrmus has often been regarded as the expression of ii general sentimental direction of the mind. The ancient worlil is not abruptly separated from the modern, but modifications in the religious sentiments and the tenderest social feelings oi men, and changes in the special habits of those who exercise an influence on the ideas of the mass, must give a sudden predom- inance to that which might previously have escaped attention. 4. It was the tendency of the Christian mind to prove from the order of the universe, and the beauty of nature, the greatness and goodness of the Creator. This tendency to glorify the Deity in his works gave rise to a taste for niitural descriptions. The earliest and most remarkable instances of this kind are to be met with in the writings of Minucius Felix, a rhetorician and lawyer at Rome, who lived in the beginning" of the third century, and was the contemporary of TertuUiau and Philostratus. 5. We follow with pleasure the delineation of his twilight rambles on the shore near Ostia, which he describes as more picturesque, and more conducive to health, than we find it in the present day. In the religious discourse entitled Octavius, we meet with a spirited defence of the new faith against the attacks of a heathen friend. 6. The present would appear to be a fitting place to intro- duce some fragmentary examples of the descriptions of nature, which occ'-.A in the writings of the Greek fathers, and which are probably less known to my readers than the evidences afforded by Roman authors, of the love of nature entertamed by the ancient Italians. 7. I will begin with a letter of Basil the Great, for which I have long cherished a special predilection. Basil, who wa^ born at Cesarea, in Cappadocia, renounced the pleasures of Athens when not more than thirty years old, and, after visiting the Christian hermitages in Caelo-Syria and Upper Egypt, retired to a desert on the shores of the Armenian river Iris. He thus writes to Gregory of Nazianzen : 8. "] the end thee — 01 have bee niained u {IS has c fancy Jias liiy'h mo I north by extended moistened ferent kin( 9. "Th one side t an almost impeded bj on the sum plain, and f beautiful, a Strymon ne 10. "Th than any oti and throws admiration to the nativ waters. Sh I'-^^e from tht rippled face > n. "Sha rich luxurian l^evond all elj occasionally I <^f deer and of'ier spot c( ^ad found the ^2. In this feelings are es tliose of model DESCEimON OF NATURE. 165 in the i to an iioss of on of a t wo I'll I leatior.s ilings 0[ 3rcise an predom- ttentioQ. ;o prove ture, the dcncy to ir natural jtanecs of ius Felix, bcgUining TertulUim 3 twihght as more find it ill Octaviu?, ;aiust the to intrO" of nature, and whicli evidences ntertained )r which I who wa-i jasurcs of [cr visiting [er Egypt, 1 river Iris. 8. " I believe I may at last flatter myself with having found tlie end of my wanderings. The hopes of being united with tlicc — or I should rather say, my pleasant dreams, for hopes liiive been justly termed the waking dreams of men — have re- liiaiiicd unfulfilled. God has suffered me to fin 1 a place, such tts has o/'ten flitted before our imaginations; for that which fancy has shown us from afar is now made manifest to me. A high mountain, clothed with thick woods, is watered to the north by fresh and overflowing streams; at its foot lies an extended plain rendered fruitful by the vapors with which it is moistened; the surrounding forest, crowded with trees of dif- ferent kinds, incloses me as in a strong fortress. 9. " This wilderness is bounded by two deep ravines: on the one side the river rushing in foam down the mountain, forms an almost impassable barrier; while on the other, all access is impeded by a broad mountain ridge. My hut is so situated on the summit of the mountain, that I can overlook the whole plain, and follow throughout its course, the Iris, which is more beautiful, and has a more abundant body of water, than the Strymon near Amphipolis. 10. " The river of my wilderness, which is more impetuous than any other that I know of, breaks against the jutting rock, and throws itself foaming into the abyss below; an object of admiration to the mountain wanderer, and a source of profit to the natives, from the nnmerous fishes that are found in its waters. Shall I describe to thee the fructifying vapors that rise from the moist earth, or the cool breezes wafted over the rippled face of the waters ? 11. " Shall I speak of the sweet song of the birds, or of the rich luxuriance of the flowering plants ? What charms me beyond all else, is the calmness of this spot. It is only visited occasionally by huntsmen ; for my wilderness nourishes herds of deer and wild goats, but not bears and wolves. What other spot could I exchange for this ? Alemacon, when he had found the Echinades, would not wander farther." 12. In this simple description of scenery and of forest life, feelings are expressed which are more intunately in unison with those of modem timee, than any thing that has been transmitt- ICO THE FOURTH READER. ed to US from Greek or Roman antiquity. From the lonely Alpine hut, to which St. Basil withdrew, tlie eye wanders over the humid and leafy roof of the forest below. The place of rest, which he and his friend Gregory of Nazianzen had long desired, is at length found. The poetic and mythical allusion at the close of the letter falls on the Christian ear like an echo from another and earlier world. 13. Basil's Homilies on the Hexcemeron also give evidence of his love of nature. He describes the mildnetsd of the con- stantly clear nights of Asia Minor, wher*"*, accord rig to liis expression, the stars, " those everlasting blossomr of heaven," elevate the soul from the visible to the invisible. 14. When in the myth of the Creation, he would praise the beauty of the sea, he describes the aspect of the boundless ocean-plain, in all its varied and ever-changing conditions, " gently moved by the breath of heaven, altering its hue as it reflects the beams of light in their whiter blue, or roseate hues, and caressing the shores in peaceful sport." "W e meet with the same sentimental and plaintive expressions regarding nature in the writmgs of Gregory of Nyssa, the brother of Basil the Great. 15. "When," he exclaims, " I see every ledge of rock, every valley and plain, covered with new-born verdure ; the varied beauty of the trees, and the lilies at my feet decked by nature with the double charms of perfume and of color ; when in the distance I see the ocean, toward which the clouds are onward borne, my spu-it is overpowered by a sadness not wholly devoid of enjoyment. 16. " When in autumn, the fruits have passed away, the leaves have fallen, and the branches of the trees, dried and shrivelled, are robbed of their leafy adornments, we are in- stinctively led, amid the. everlasting and regular change of nature, to feel the harmony of the wondrous powers pervading all things. He who contemplates thera with the eye of the soul, feels the littleness of man amid the greatness of the Universe." It. While the Greek Christians were led by their adoration of the Deity, through the contemplation of his works, to a poefh d the earli *bent Oi' art. Th r 18. ": n^ould hi heaven, a graze by t tions of a with admi hght over grass besi( shade of a i and hazy di 19. Anti oneof whic] recovered hi the mounta then coverec Philip Massi ffartyr," the fi, 'nere can be lit Wis hterniy care Jra. His writii political maxims, f«'i;f»on and moi |n«r't consists Jew M<'Wjt they have Ant. How sv ToHea That cai Of joys TIIK VIRGIN MARTYR. 167 lonely rs over )lace of ad long allusion an echo evidence the con- g to his heaven," )raise the boundless onditions, I hue as it ■jY roseate "We meet regarding trother of hock, every [the varied by nature rhen in the ^re onward )lly devoid away, the dried and |we are ii- change of pervading Lye of the less of the adoration rorks, to a poetic delineation of natnre, they were at the same time, during the earlier ages of their new belief, and owing to the pecuUar ►bent or their minda, full of contempt for all works of human art. Thus Chrysostom abounds in passages like the following : , 18. " If the aspect of the colonnades of sumptuous buildings would lead thy spirit astray, look upward to the vault of heaven, and around thee on the open fields, in which herds graze by the water's side. Who does not despise all the crea- tions of art, when, in the stillness of his spirit, he watches with admiration the rising of the sun, as it pours its golden light over the face of the earth ; when, resting on the thick grass beside the murmuring spring, or beneath the sombre shade of a thick and leafy tree, the eye rests on the far-receding and hazy distance ?" 19. Antioch was at that time surrounded by hermitages, in one of which lived Chrysostom. It seemed as if Eloquence had recovered her element — freedom — from the fount of nature m the mountain regions of Syria and Asia Minor, which were then covered with forests. 45. The Yirgin Martyr. MASSINOEB. Philip Massinoer was born at Salisbury, a. d. 1584. The "Virgin I Martyr," the first printed of Masainsrer's works, appeared in 1622 ; but there can be little doubt that he had written mucn before that period. I His literary career was a constant struggle, for fortune never smiled upon liira. His writings breathe a spirit incoinparablv nobler and manlier than that of his contemporaries generally; they are wholly free from the servile political maxims, and, in a large measure, from the grave offences against religion and morals with which the stage in his time abounded. Their merit consists less in the vigor with which they delineate passion than in jtheir dignity and refinement of style, and the variety of their versification, |T(«wit they have no pretensions. The place o/exeeution. Antonius, Tbeophilas, Dorothea, Ae. Ant. See, she comes ; — How sweet her innocence appears 1 more like To Heaven itself than any sacrifice That can be ofifer'd to it. By my hopes Of joys hereafter, the sight makes me doubtful 168 THE FOURTH RKADEB. In my belief ; nor can I think our gods Are good, or to be served, that take delight In offerings of tliis kind ; that, to maintain Their power, deface this masterpiece of nature, Which they themselves come sliort of. She ascends, And every step raises her nearer heaven 1 She smiles, Unmoved, by Mars 1 as if she were assured Death, looking on her constancy, would forget The use of his inevitable hand. Theo. Derided too 1 Dispatch, I say 1 Dor. Thou fool I Thou gloriest in having power to ravish A trifle from me I am weary of. What is this life to me ? Not worth a thought. Or, if it be esteem'd, 'tis that I lose it To win a better : even thy malice serves To me but as a ladder to mount up To such a height of happiness, where I shall Look down with scorn on thee and on the world ; Where, circled with true pleasures, placed above The reach of death or time, 'twill be my glory To think at what an easy price I bought it. There's a perpetual spring, perpetual youth ; No joint-benumbing cold, or scorching heat, Famine nor age, have any being there. Forget for shame your Tempd ; bury in Oblivion your feign'd Hesperian orchards : — The golden fruit, kept by the watchful dragon, Which did require a Hercules to get it, Compared with what grows in all plenty there. Deserves not to be named. The Power I serve Laughs at your happy Araby, or the Elysian shades ; for He hath made his bowers Better, indeed, than you can fancy yours. CotJNT MON "oblemen of •teudy devotio ^' GeNERi princes, was «'hich she h> proceed from or purely hun inspiration, a poor person WKm SUWBCT., OK 1.L-N0AKV. Though riorifled 1 ;? ""' ^<"'«>'''^fo»t, ■ MylovelyAngelo! '' '"°°'"' ■Angela. _. ^nd still the servant to your Z;^ *'" "■* """•' •• To gnide your St 1 tTV" """"" ^°" »""' ""cm) When,in a beS J, ^ ^•""' "='"'"'y. Your Dure L/ ^"^ '''^* *« ^arrj 169 46. Qma^ EtizABBTH OK Huira^,^. - ^O^TALEMBERT tOCNT M0NTAI.EMBE»T ' Pn»oes, was one of thf ^oTr;!^^^'^ *""* '^"^'^-''^ ^7 *h she lived , but we Sr^W •' 't"*"*' "' *"« "?« ■>■ proceed from rank, stUlIeK thl^* " ''"'' '""'"'y ^id "ot " purely human latitude hTf *'":" "^ '"^l"'""? Praises ■^Piration. From he cradKr Z '"*^"'" '"" heaven 7 •poor person without S hji:!:" .'""^«»' *•« sight of ^ 7 '■*"* P'erced with grief, and 170 THE KOUiiTH KKADKR. now that her husband liad granted her full liberty in all that concerned the Iwnor of God and the good of her neighbor, she unreservedly abandoned herself to her natural inclmation to Bolace the Buffering members of Christ. 2. This was her ruling thought each hour and moment : to the use of the poor she dedicated all that she retrenched from the superfluities usually required by her sex and rank. Yet, notwithstanding the resources which the charity of her husband placed at her disposal, she gave away so quickly all that she possessed, that it often happened that she would despoil her- self of her cloXhes in order to have the means of assisting the unfortunate. 3. Elizabeth loved to carry secretly to the poor, not alone 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 cabins of the neighboring valleys. 4. One day, when accompanied by one of her favorite maid- ens, as she descended by a rude little path (still pomted out), and carried under her mantle bread, meat, eggs, and other food to distribute to the poor, she suddenly encountered her husband, who was returning from hunting. Astonished to see her thus toiling on under the weight of her burden, he said to her, " Let us see what you carry," and at the same time drew open the mantle which she held closely clasped to her bosom ; but beneath it were only red and white roses, the most beautiful he had ever seen — and this astonished him, as it was no longer the season of flowers. 5. Seeing that 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 form of a crucifix. He then desired her to continue her route without being disturbed by him, and he returned to Wartbourg, meditating with recollec- tion on what God did for her, and carrying with him one of these wonderful roses, which he preserved all his life. 6. At the spot where this meeting took place, he erected a pillar, surmounted by a cross, to consecrate forever the remem- brance of that which he had seen hovering over the head of his TV her c heart their ] of as Kene] his " M( profoiiiK most ren its deep, preciatio live of £i 1. In the sixt crowd tl of an a high fest " Placeb hours of Church. many boc that full ( of that g] 2. The procecdinj door gave left alone, of blessed Jiv^ing and purged fro] iiiethought ascending f ^^velve thoi every natioi stood aroun AGKS OF FAITH. 171 bat she 1 to : to From Yet, band b she Iher- g the alone stined ugged of the I maid- l out), br food sband, sr thus "Let en the ; but lautiful longer Console rer her [e then )ed by icollec- lone of Icted a iemem- lead of his wife. Among the unfortunate who particularly attracted her compassion, those wlio occupied the greatest part in her heart were the lepers; the mysterious and special character of tlieir malady rendered them, throughout the middle ages, objects of a sohcitude and affection mingled with fear. 47. Ages of Faith. BY KENELM II. DIGBY. Kenelm H. DidBT, in his " Com{iitiim, or Meetinpf of the Ways," and his " Mores Catliolici, or Agen of Fuith," denotes all tlie resources of hie profound erudition to the middle ages. The latter worlc is one of tiie most remarkable literary productions of our times, for its varied loarniiig, its deep, reverential tone, its sincere and ferv«*nt piety, and its noble ap- preciation of Catholic honor and Catholic heroism. K. 11. Digby is a na- livo of £nghind. 1. In the third stage of this mortal course, if midway be the sixth, and on the joyful day which hears of tlie great crowd that no man could number, I found me in the cloister of an abbey, whither I had come to seek the grace of that high festival. The hour was day's decline ; and already had " Placebo Domino " been sung in solemn tones, to usher in the hours of special r^harity for those who are of the suffering Church. A harsh sound from the simultaneous closing of as many books, cased m oak and iron, as there were voices in that full choir, like a sudden thunder-crash, announced the end of that ghostly vesper. 2. The saintly men, one by one, slowly walked forth, each proceeding to his special exercise. Door then shutting alter door gave lon^ echoes, till all was mute stillness, and I was left alone, under cloistered arches, to meditate on the felicity of blessed spirits, and on the desire which presses both the living and the irmates of that region in which the soul is purged from sinful stain, to join their happy company. Still, methought I heard thera sing of the briglit and i)iiis8ant angel ascending from the rising of the sun — and of the twelve times twelve thousand that were signed ; and of the redeemed tVom every nation and people and language ; and of the angels who stood around the throne of Heaven. 172 THE FOURTH RKADKK. Ul I. '»■ 4 3. It seemed now as if I heard a voice like that which said to Dante, ** What thou heardst was sung that freely thou niightst open thy heart to the waters of peace, that flow dif- fused from their eternal fountain." What man is there so brutish and senseless to things divine, as not to have some- times experienced an intefral like that which is described by him who sung of Paradise, to whom the world appeared as if stretched far below his feet, and who saw this globe — *' So pitiful of semblance, that perforce It moved his smiles ; and him in truth did hold For wisest, who esteems it least — whose tlionghts Elsewhere are fix'd, him worthiest call'd and best ?" ' 4. But soon the strained sense will sink back to it — for the human spirit must perforce accomplish, in the first place, its exercise in that school which is to prepare it for the home it anticipates above. Yet I felt not disconsolate nor forgetful of the bright vision. My thoughts were carried backwards to ages which the muse of history had taught me long to love ; for it was in obscure and lowly middle-time of saintly annals that multitudes of these bright spirits took their flight from a dark world to the Heavens, 6. The middle ages, then, I said, were ages of highest grace to men — ages of faith — ages when all Europe was Catholic ; when vast temples were seen to rise in every place of human concourse, to give glory to God, and to exalt men's souls to sanctity ; when houses of holy peace and order were found amidst woods and desolate mountains — on the banks of placid lakes, as well as on the solitary rocks in the ocean ; i^iges of sanctity which witnessed a Bede, an Alcuin, a Ber- nard, a Francis, and crowds who followed them as they did Christ ; ages of vast and beneficent intelligence, in which it l)leased the Holy Spirit to display the power of the seven gifts in the lives of an Anselm, a Thomas of Aquinura, and the saintly flocks whose steps a cloister guarded : ages of the highest civil virtue, which gave birth to the laws and institu- tions of an Edward, a Lewis, a Suger ; ages of the noblest * Gary's Dante. art, Dor mon mori ages the s glory with on th the w when the m world- of rep adore 6. h hopes, i to snrve in this stranger l»oIy, we home ; world an commenc <>nly sup from thef so often youth ma circumsta ^'hile, haT vanity ; t m/ AGK8 OP FAITH. 173 art, which beheld a Giotto, a Michael Angelo, a Raffaclo, a Dominichino ; ages of poetry, which heard an Avitns, a C'ued- mon, a Daute, a Shakspeare, a Calderon ; ages of more than mortal heroism, which prodnced a Tancred and a Godfrey ; ages of majesty, which knew a Charlemagne, an Alfred, and the sainted youth who bore the lily ; ages, too, of England's glory, when she appears, not even excluding a compnri^on with the Eastern empire, as the most truly civilized country on the globe ; when the sovereign of the greater portion of the western world applied to her schools for instructors — when she sends forth her saints to evangelize the nations of the north, and to diffuse spiritual treasure over the whole world — when heroes flock to her court to behold the models of reproachlcss chivalry, and emperors leave their thrones to adore God at the tombs of her martyrs I as Dante says, " No tongue So vast a theme could equal, speech and thought Both impotent alike." 6. In a little work which embodied the reflections, the hopes, and even the joys of youthful prime, I once r»ttempted to survey the middle ages in relation to chivalry ; and though in this we had occasion to visit the cloister, and to hear as a stranger who tarries but a night, the counsels of the wise and holy, we were never able to regard the house of peace as our home ; we were soon called away from it to return to the world and to the courts of its princes. Now I propose to commence a course more penceiul and unpretending, for it only supposes that one has left the world, and withdrawn from these vain phantoms of honor and glory, which distract BO often the morning of man's day. Thus we read that in youth many have left the cloister, dazzled by the pomp and circumstance of a wild, delusive chivalry, who, after a little while, have hastened back to it, moved by a sense of earthly vanity ; there " To finish the short piigrlmaj^e of life, Still speedinfr to its close on restless wing.* • Dante, Ptirg. 20. 171 THK FOURTH READER, T. Yes, all is vanity but to love and serve God I Men have foimd by long experience that nothing but divine love can satisfy that restless craving which ever holds the soul, *' finding no ibod on eartli ;" that every beauty, every treas- ure, every joy, must, by the law which rules contingency, van- ish like a dream : and that there will remain for every man, sooner or later, the gloom of dark and chaotic night, if he is not provided with a lamp of faith. Those men who, reason- ing, went to depth profoundest, came to the same conclusion ; they found that the labors of the learned, and the visions of the poet, were not of their own nature different in this respect from the pleasures of sense : < *• 'Tia darkness all : or shadow of the flesh, Or else its poison." respi brig] denlj out . virtuj grave 3. chillin Truly Sweet they h alone < 48. Ages of Faith — continued. 1. Thi was th(M*r experience. That labor of the mind, or that fond ideal ecstasy, did not necessarily secure the one thing needful — the love of Jesus. In a vast number of instances it led to no substantial good : its object was soon forgotten, or the mind recurred to the performance with a sense of its im- perfections. 3. Still the heart cried, Something more I What, said they, can be given to it? What will content it? Fresh labor ? fresh objects ? Ah ! they had already begun to sus- pect how little all this would avail ; for, in hearkening to "the saintly soul, that shows the world's deceitfulness to all who hear him," they had learned to know that it might in- deed be given to their weakness to feel the cruel discord, but not to set it right — to know that it was but a vain, delusive motive wlilch would excite them to exertion from a desire of pleasiu!!,- men ; for men pass rapidly with the changing scene of life, and the poor youth, who, mistaking the 'true end of human labor, had fondly reckoned upon long interchange of 4. c; and let respecti with kn way of pass nea forth be 5. Til constant the worl make su be their the rest ( 6. Ret t^iought '. the groui AGES OF FAITH. 175 Men love BOUl, treas- , van- r man, f he is •eason- usion ; ions of respect respect and friendship, at the moment wlien his hopes are brightest and his afifections warmed into ecstasy, wakens sud- denly from his sweet protracted dream, and finds himself with- out honor, without love, without even a remembrance, and virtually in as great solitude as if he were already in his grave I 8. Well might they shudder at the thought of this eternal chilliness, this spiritual isolation, this bitter and unholy state I Truly it was fearful, and something too much for tears I Sweet Jesus, how different would have been their state, if they had sought only to love and serve thee 1 for thy love alone can give rest and comfort to the heart — a sure and last- ing joy :— Other good There is, where man finds not his happiness ; It is not true fruition ; not that blest Essence of every good, tlie branch and root. 4. Changed, then, be the way and object of our research, and let the converse to that which formerly took place hold respecting our employment here ; and if we shall again meet witli knights and the world's chivalry, let it be only in the way of accident, and, as it were, from the visit of those who pass near our spot of shelter ; and let our place of rest hence- forth be in the forest and the cell. 5. Times there are, when even the least wi^ can seize a constant truth — that the heart must be devoted either all to the world, or all to God. When they, too, will pray, and make supplications urged with weeping, that the latter may be iheir condition in the mortal hour, that they may secure the rest of the saints for eternity. 6. Returning to that ' cloisteral meditation, how miiny, thought I, throughout the whole world, have heard this day the grounds nnd consummation of the saints' felicity 1 how many have been summoned onward, and told the steps were near, and that now the ascent might be without difficulty gained? and yet, "A scanty few are thoy, wlio, when they hear Such tiding.-, I.ustoii. Oli, ye race of men! 176 THK FOURTH READER. Though born to soar, why Buffer ye a wind Sobliglitto baffle ye r'» 7. But for those who seemed to feel how sweet was that solemn accent, eight times sung, which taught them who were blessed, would it not be well, when left alone, and without distraction, if they were to take up histories, and survey the course which has been trod by saintly feet, and mark, as if from the soul-purifying mount, the ways and works of men on earth, keeping their eyes with fixed observance bent upon the symbol there conveyed, so as to mark how far the form and acts of that life, in ages past, of which there are still so many monuments around them, agreed, not with this or that modern standard of political and social happiness and gran- deur, but with what, by Heaven's sufiferance, gives title to divine and everlasting beatitude ? 8. Such a view would present a varied and immense hori- zon, conii)rising the manners, institutions, and spirit of many generations of men long since gone Jay. We should see in what manner the whole type and form of life were Christian, although its detail may have often been broken and disordered ; for instance, how the pursuits of the learned, the consolations of the poor, the riches of the Church, the exercises and dis- positions of the young, and the common hope and consolatiou of all men, harmonized with the character of those -that sought to be poor in spirit. 9. How, again, the principle of obedience, Lhe Constitution of the Church, the division of ministration, and the rule of government, the manners and institutions of society, agreed with meekness and inherited its recompense. Further, how the sufferings of just men, and the provisions for a penitential spirit were in accordance with the state of those that were to inourn and weep there. 10. How the character of men in sacred orders, the zeal of the laity, and the lives of all ranks, denoted the hunger and thirst after justice. Again, how the institutions, the founda- tions, and the recognized pruiciple of perfection, proclaimed * Dante, Farad. 12. Carey's translation. men ] ftud 1 geniu 11. of pci confuj then ( men. and tl which TORQUJ much, bii (iiirinor h re;,'arded i is a histo] Clemen crown — ni (liiys of P when the t'> retire t( Was near, secure a h '■iiise hia s] him at the h'ols have ynii call ^|( ine for fort Tasso! Itii all's vanity on his brea '^fi recoivii 'I'e ehariet the Capitol ".s-'oiiy at ]ji 'I'v hands, I 1. Saff Desf Tl Fron Ai THB SHKPHERD8 80N0. 2^*7 ii s that ) were ithout ^ey the I, as if men on )on the rm and still 80 or that d gran- title to Lse hori- of many d see in Jhristian, ordered ; solationa and dis- isolatiou ,t sought stitution rule of , agreed |her, how jnitential were to ke zeal of Inger and founda- loclaimed men merciful Moreover, how the philosophy which prevailed, and the spiritual monuments which were raised by piety and genius, evinced the clean of heart. 11. Still further, how the union of nations, and the bond of peace which existed even amid savage discord, wars, and confusion ; as also, how the holy retreats for innocence, whicli tlien everywhere abounded, marked the muliitude of pacific men. And, finally, how the advantage taken of dire events, and the acts of saintly and heroic fame, revealed the spirit which shunned not suffering for sake of justice. 49. The Shepherd's Song. TA8SO. ToRQUATo Tasso — an Italian poet of the sixteenth century. He wrote much, but his " JorusahMU Delivered" gained him tlie preatest renown; durinof his life it excited universal favor, and has ever since been justlv rej^arded as one of the ji^reat poems of the world. " Jerusalem Delivered ^* is a history of the crusades, related with poetic license. Clement'VIII. invited Tusso to liome, that he niifjht receive the laurel crown — an honor wiiich had not been conferred upon any one since the (lays of Petrarch. But scarcely was the »lay of coronation about to dawn wlien the poet felt his dissolution approacliina:. He requested liberty t'> retire to the monastery of St. Otiotno. On liearin;? that his last hour was near, he joyfully returned thanks to God for havina: brouprht liim to so secure a haven. A few days before his death, one of tiie monks souofht to raise his spirits by speaking to hiui of the triutiiphal honors i>repariiijX for liiin at the Capitol. Tasso replied—'" Glory, glory, notliing but f,'K)ry. Two idols have reigned in my heart and deeitled my life — love and tliat vapor you call glory. The one has always betrayed me; the other, after tlcemg ine for forty years, is ready to-day to crown — what? — a corjise. Laurels for Tasso! It is a winding sheet he requires I 1 feel too well to-day thai on earth all is vanity, all but to love and si-rve God. But," he added, as his head sunk on his breast, "all the rest is not worth a quarter of an hour's trouble." On receiving a plenary indulgence from the Pope, ho sai — "This was the ehariot on wiiich he hoped to go crowned, iiot with laurel as a poet into the Ca})itol, but with glory, as a saint, to Heaven." Feeling his mortal n^roiiy at hand, he closely embraced the cruciiix, and murmuring, " Into thy hands, Lord!" peacefully resigned his spirit. 1. Safe stands our simple shed, des})IsGd our little store ; Despised by others, but so dear to me. That gems and crowns I hold in less esteem ; From pride, from avarice, is my spirit free, And mad ambition's visionary dream. My thirst I quench in the pellucid stream, 8* /!', 178 THK FOUUTH RKADER. Nor fear lest poison tlie pure wave pollutes ; With flocks ray fields, my fields with herbage teem ; My garden-plot supplies nutritious roots ; And my brown orchard bends with Autumn*s Wealthiest fruits. 2. Few are our wishes, few our wants ; man needs But little to preserve the vital spark : These are my sons ; they keep the flock that feeds, And rise in the gray morning with the lark. Thus in my hermitage I live ; now mark The goats disport amid the budding brooms ; Ndw the slim stags bound through the forest dark ; The fish glide by, the bees hum round the blooilis ; And the birds spread to heaven the splendor of their plranes 3. Time was (tliese gray hairs then were golden locks), When other wishes wanton'd in my veins ; I scorn'd the simple charge of tending flocks. And fled disgusted from my native plains. Awhile in Memphis I abode, where reigns The mighty Caliph ; he admired my port, And made me keeper of his flower-domains ; And though to town I rarely made resort. Much have I seen and known of the intrigues of court. 4. Long by presumptuous hopes was I beguiled, And many, many a disappointment bore ; But when with youth false hope no longer smiled, And the scene pall'd that charm'd so much before, — ' I sigh'd for my lost peace, and brooded o'er The abandoned quiet of this humble shed ; Then farewell State's proud palaces 1 once more To these delightful solitudes I fled ; And in their peaceful shades harmonious days have led. 5( iM WAR OF 1812 AND DEATH OF GKN. RItorK. 179 50. War of 1812 and Death of Gkn. Brock. 1. The American Governmont assombled at tho Nhii^ara frontiers a force of 6,300 men ; of this force, 3,170 (900 of whom were regular troops) were at Lewiston, under the com- mand of General Van Rensselaer. In the American reports this army is set down at 8,000 strong;, with 1 5 pieces of field ordnance. To oppose this force Major-General Brock had part of the 41st and 49th Regiments, a few companies of militia, and about 200 Indians, in all 1,500 men ; but so dispersed in different posts at and between Fort Erie and Fort George, that only a small number was available at any one i)oint. 2. Before daylight on the morning of the 13th of October, a large division of General Van Rensselaer's army, numbering between 1,300 and 1,400, under Brigadier-General Wads- worth, effected a landing at the lower end of the villpge of Queenston (opposite Lewiston), and made an attack upon the position, which was defended with the most determined brave- ry by the two flank companies of the 49th Regiment, com- manded by Captains Dennis and Williams, aided by such of the militia forces and Indians as could be collected in the vi- cinity. Captain Dennis marched his company to the landing place opposite Lewiston, and was soon followed by the light company of the 49th, and the few militia who could be hastily assembled. Here the attempt of the enemy to effect a pas- page was for some time successfully resisted, and several boats were either disabled or sunk by the fire from the one-gun bat- tery on the heights and that from the masked battery, about a mile below. Several boats were, by the fire from this last battery, so annoyed, that falling before the landing-place, tliey were compelled to drop down with the current and re-cross to the American side. A considcraljle force, however, had effect- ed a landing some distance above, and succeeded in gaining the summit of the mountain. No resistance could now be offered to the crossing from Lewiston, except by the battery at Vro- mont's Point, half a mile below, and from this a steady and harassing fire was kept up, which did considerable cxecutiou. 180 TlIK FOUUTH KEADEB. 3. At this juncture Sir Isaac Brock arrivrd. He had for days suspected this invasion, and on the preceding evening he called his staff together and gave to each the necessary in- structions. Agreeable to his usual custom he rose before day. light, f^nd, hearing the cannonade, awoke Major Glegg, and called for his horse Alfred, which Sir James Craig had pre- sented to him. He then galloped eagerly from Fort Georgo to the scene of action, and with two aides-de-camp passed up the hill at full gallop in front of the light company, under a heavy fire of nitillery and musketry from the American shore. On reaching the 18-pounder battery at the top of the hill, they dismounted and took a view of passing events, which at that moment appeared highly favorable. But in a few min- utes a firing wt^s heard, which proceeded from a strong de- tachment of American regulars under Captain Wool, who, as just stated, had succeeded in gaining the brow of the heights in rear of the battery, by a fisherman's path up the rocks, which being reported as impossible, was not guarded. Sir Isaac Brock and his aides-de-camp had not even time to re- mount, but were obliged to retire precipitately with the twelve men stationed in the battery, which was quickly occupied by the enemy. Captain Wool having sent forward about 150 regulars, Captain Williams' detachment of about 100 men advanced to meet them, personally directed by the General, who, observing the enemy waver, ordered a charge, which was promptly executed ; but as the Americans gave way, the re- sult was not equal to his expectations. Captain Wool sent a reinforcement to his regulars, notwithstanding which, the whole was driven to the edge of the bank. Here some of the American officers were on the point of hoisting a white flag with an intention to surrender, when Captain Wool tore it off and reanimated his dispirited troops. They now openea a heavy fire of musketry, and, conspicuous from his cross, his height, and the enthusiasm with which he animated his little band, the British commander was soon singled out, and he fell about an hour after his arrival. 4. The fatal bullet entered his right breast, and passed through his left side. He had but that instant said, " Push TlIK BATTLE OF QUKRN8T0N IIEIGHT8. 181 \ for igho ry in- 3 day. ;, and i prc- leorgd icd up nder a shore. le hill, lich at sw min- )ng de- who, as heights } rocks, A, Sir le to re- B twelve pied hy 3ut 150 00 men eneral, lich was the ro- ll sent a Ich, the some of a white ool tore opened TOSS, his is little and be passed «' Pusb on the York Volnntecra 1" and he lived only long cnongh to request that his fall niigiit not be noticed, or prevent the ad- vance of his brave troops ; adding a wish which could not be distinctly understood, that some token of remembrance should ^be transmitted to his sister. lie died unmarried, and on the same day, a week previously, he had completed his forty-third year. The lifeless corpse was immediately conveyed into a house close by, where it remained until the afternoon, unper- ceived by the enemy. His Provincial Aide-de-camp, Lieuten- ant-Colonel McPonell of the militia, and the Attorney-Gen- eral of Upper Canada, a fine promising young man, was mor- tally wounded soon after his chief, and died the next day, at the early age of twenty-five years. Although one bullet had passed through his body, and he was wounded in four places, yet he survived twenty hours, and during a period of excru- ciating agony his thoughts and words were constantly occu- pied with lamentations for his deceased commander and friend. He fell while gallantly charging up the hill with 190 men, chiefly York A^olunteers, by which charge the enemy was compelled to spike the 18-pounder in the battery there. 60J. The Battle of Queenston Heights. 1. At this time, about two in the afternoon, the whole British and Indian force thus assembled was about 1,000 men, of whom 600 were regulars. In numbers the Americana were about equal — courage they had, but they wanted the confidence and discipline of British soldiers. 2. After carefully reconnoitering, Gen. Sheaffe, who had ar- rived from Fort George, and who had now assumed the com- mand, commenced the attack by an advance of his left flank, composed of the light company of the 41st, under Lieutenant Mclntyre, supported by a body of militia and Indians. After a volley, the bayouet was resorted to, and the American right driven in. The main body now advanced under cover of the fire from the two three-pounders, and after a short conflict forced the AmtTicans over the first rid^je of the heights to IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) k Jk O /- 4^ :a ^o !.0 ||_y_ 11.25 mia 121 |io "^^ II^Hi iM 12.0 us 1.4 6" I 1.6 i% A w ^^* ^ Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO (716)172-4503 '^ 182 THE FOURTH READKIt. f:% r the road leading from Queenston to the Falls. The fight was maintained on both sides witli courage truly heroic. The British regulars and militia charged in rapid succession until they succeeded in turning the ^; ft flank of the enemy's col- umn, which rested on the summit of the hill. The Americans who attempted to escape into the woods were quickly driven back by the Indians ; and many, cut off in their return to the main body, and terrified by the sight of these exasperated warriors, flung themselves wildly over the cliffs, and endeav- ored to cling to the bushes which grew upon them ; but some, losing their hold, were dashed frightfully on the rocks be- neath ; while others, who reached the river, perished in their attempts to swim across it. The event of the day no longer appeared doubtful. 3. Major-General Yan Rensselaer, commanding the Ameri- can army, perceiving his reinforcements embarking very slowly, recrossed the river to accelerate their movements ; but, to his utter astonishment, he found that at the very moment when their services were most required, the ardor of the unengaged troops had entirely subsided. General Van Rensselaer rode in all directions through the camp, urging his men by every consideration to pass over. Lieutenant-Colonel Bloome, wIiq had been wounded in the action and recrossed the river, to- gether with Judge Peck, who happened to be in Lcwiston at the time, mounted their horses and rode through the camp, exhorting the companies to proceed, but all in vain. Crowds of the United States militia remained on the American bank of the river, to which they had not been marched in any order, but ran as a mob ; not one of them would cross. Tliey had seen the wounded recrossing ; they had seen the Indians ; and they had seen the "green tigers," as they called the 4&th from their green facings, and were panic struck. There were those to be found in the American ranks who, at this critical juncture, could talk of the Constitution and the right of the militia to refuse crossing the imaginary line which separates the two countries. 4. General Van Rensselaer having found that it was impos- sible to urge a single man to cross the river to reinforce the army its ar retrea ferry ] ton, C( reland was, tj mainta self an o'clock 5. 1 w'ounde loss tha ors tak amongsi the cout find mo.< memory nadian a the loss colonel general c »him wort 6. The of Brocli to perpe strunient ccuting fresh in a lofty CO he fell, summit ^ River, w was a Tu{ statue ; and the railing, ten feet in THE BATfLK OF QUEENSTON HEIGHTS. 183 r\xi was 3. The on until ly's col- naericans ly driven pn to the isperated [ endeav- 3ut some, rocks be- d in their 110 longer he Ameri- nj slowly, but, to his oient when unengaged elaer rode n by every oome, wlio river, to- icwiston at the camp, Crowds »rican bank any order, Tliey had idians ; and d the 4&th There were this critical •ight of the jh separates t was inipos- einforce the army on the heights, and that army having nearly expended its ammunition, boats were immediately sent to cover their retreat ; but a desultory fire which was maintained upon the ferry from a battery on the bank at the lower end of Queens- ton, completely dispersed the boats, and many of the boatmen relanded and fled in dismay. Brigadier-General Wadsworth was, therefore, compelled, after a vigorous conflict had been maintained for some tune upon both sides, to surrender him- self and all his officers and 900 meii between three and four o'clock in the afternoon. 5. The loss of the British army was 16 killed and 69 wounded ; while that on the side of the Americans was not less than 900 men, made prisoners, and one gun and two col- ors taken, and 90 killed and about 100 wounded. But amongst the killed of the. British army, the government and the country had to deplore the loss of one of their bravest and most zealous generals in Sir Isaac Brock, and one whose memory will long live in the warmest affections of every Ca- nadian and British subject. The country had also to deplore the loss of the eminent services and talents of Lieutenant- colonel McDoncll, Provincial Aide-de-camp and Attorney- general of the Province, whose gallantry and merit rendered »him worthy of his chief. , 6. The gratitude of the people of Canada to the memory of Brock was manifested in an enduring form. They desired to perpetuate the memory of the hero who had been the in- strument of their deliverance, and they were not slow in ex- ecuting their design ; and whilst his noble deeds were still fresh in the memory of all, the Provincial Legislature erected a lofty column on the Queenston heights, near the spot where he fell. The height of the monument from the base to the summit was 135 feet ; and from the level of the Niagara River, which runs nearly under it, 485 feet. The monument was a Tuscan column on rustic pedestal, with a pedestal for a statue ; the diameter of the base of the column was 11^ feet, and the abacus of the capital was surmounted by an iron railing. The centre shaft containing the spiral staircase was ten feet in diameter. 184 THE FOURTH READER. 7. On Good Friday, the Hth of April, 1840, a vagabond of the name of Lett introduced a quantity of gunpowder into the monument with the fiendish purpose of destroying it, and the explosion effected by a train caused so much damage as to render the column altogether irreparable. Lett had been compelled to fly into the United States for his share in the rebellion of 1837, and well knowmg the feeling of attachment to the name and memory of General Brock which pervaded all classes of Canadians, he sought to gratify his malicious and vindictive spirit, and at the same time to wound and insult the people of Canada by this atrocious deed. 8. After the first monument had remained in the dilapi- dated condition to which it was reduced for some years, a new and beaatiful column has a short tune ago been raised on its site. It is thus described : 9. Upon the solid rock is built a foundation, 40 feet square and 10 feet thick, of massive stone ; upon this the structure stands in a grooved plinth or sub-basement 38 feet square and 27 feet in height, and has an eastern entrance by a massive oak door and bronze pateras, forming two galleries to the interior 114 feet, in extent, round the inner pedestal, on the north and south sides of which, in vaults under the ground floor, are deposited the remains of General Brock, and those . ^ of his aide-de-camp. Colonel McDonell, in massive stone sar- cophagi. On the exterior angles of the sub-basement are placed lions rampant 7 feet in height, supportmg shields with the armorial bearings of the hero. 10. The column is of the Roman composite order 95 feet in height, a fluted shaft, 10 feet diameter at the base ; the loftiest column known of this style ; the lower one enriched with laurel leaves, and the flutes terminating on the base with palms. 11. The height from the ground to the top of the statue is 190 feet, exceeding that of any monumental column, ancient or modern, known, with the exception of that on Fish-street Hill, London, England, by Sir Christopher Wren, architect, in commemoration of the great fire of 1 666, 202 feet high, which exceeds it in height by 12 feot. ,_ ADVICE TO A YOUNG CRITIO. 185 61. Advice to a Young Critio. ' POPE. Alkxander Pope will always be popular "while the English language remains as it is. One of his merits was to mould tlie language of poetry into pliancy and softness: — before his time there was much ruggedness iu tiie diction even of the most celebrated poets. Some of his pieces are re- pulsive to the sentiments of religion and morals. He died in 1744. 1. 'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning join ; In all you speak, let truth and candor shine ; That not alone what to your sense is due All may allow, but seek your friendship too. Be sileiit always, when you doubt your sense, And speak, though sure, with seeming difiBdence. 2. Some positive, persisting fops we know, Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so : But you, with pleasure, own your errors past, And make each day a critic on the last. 'Tis not enough your counsel to be true : Blunt truths more mischief than slight errors do ; Men must be taught, as if you taught them not, And things unknown proposed, as things forgot. 3. Without good breeding truth is disapproved ; That only makes superior sense beloved. Be niggard of advice on no pretence ; For the worst avarice is that of sense. With mean complacence ne'er betray your trust, Nor be so civil as to prove unjust. Fear not the anger of the wise to raise ; Those best can bear reproof, who merit praise. 4. But Where's the man who counsel can bestow, Still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know ; Unbiass'd, or by favor, or by spite ; Not dully prepossess'd, nor blindly right ; Though learn'd, well-bred; and, though well-bred, sincere; Modestly bold, and humanly severe ; 186 THE FOURTH READER. Who to a friend his faults can freely show, And gladly praise the merit of a foe ? 5. Blest with a taste exact, yet unconfined ; A knowledge both of books and human kind ; Generous converse, a soul exempt from pride, And love to praise with reason on his side ; Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame ; Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame ; Averse alike to flatter or offend ; Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend ? AM 62. Loss AND Gain. DR. NEWMAN. John Henuy Newman, D.D., superior of the Oratory in England, born 21st February, ISOl. In 1S?45 he became a convert to "the Catholic faith, and was ordained priest in Rome, May 26, 1847. He was a}:ipointed iiist rector of the Catholic University of Ireland, which office he tilled for sev- eral years. Dr. Newman is undoubtedly one of the leading minds of the present century. His Engiiah style is unrivalled in any age for majesty, copiousness, and long-drawn but sustained harmony. Jlis learning: is quite a nuirvel among Englishmen, and is united with -a profound and subtle analytic genius. " Loss and Gain," and " Callista,'' are works of fiction in whicli he l>as displayed as singular a versatility. 1. The conversation flagged ; Bateman was again busy with his memory, and he was getting impatient, too ; time was slipping away, and no blow struck. Moreover, Willis was beginning to gape, and Charles seemed impatient to be re- leased. " These Romanists put things so plausibly," he said to himself, " but veiy unfairly, most unfairly ; one ought to be up to their dodges. I dare say, if the truth were knov.n, Willis has had lessons ; he looks so demure. I dare say he is keeping back a great deal, and playing upon 4jiy ignorance. Who knows ? perhaps he's a concealed Jesuit." 2. It was an awful thought, and suspended the course ofj his reflections some seconds. " I wonder what he does really think ; it's so difficult to get at the bottom of them ; tliev j won't tell tales, and they are under obedience; one never knows when to believe them. I suspect he has been wofully service,' w L083 AND GAIN. 187 I; ae ; nd? England, bnrn Catholic faith, appointed tiist e tilled tor stv- ^ minds of the (re for niiiicsty, \\» leurniiitr is profound d Count il-Oottes, , monk of ared the r brought ,ntly, and t the soli- j and the oor moun- built their and there iure for a ear 1800, lonks con- ;beir alms, lifting up and left wandering he present U hia talents Iftd repaired, lodest desire lie suddenly Votherofthe f 1S40, at tl»e ICoUcgians' "Suil Dhn," ''Trncy's Ambition," nnd "Tales of the Fivi; Senses," are equal to any thing of the kind in our laiijarunge. His preat hi.M'ricul novel ot "The Invasion" contains a mine of antiquarian research, his tragedy of *' Gvsuppus" holds ■>ne of the first places in the modern drama. As a poet, Grittin was also eminently successful. 1. Old times I old times ! the gay old times ! When I was young and free, And heard the merry Easier chimes, Under the sally tree ; My Sunday palm beside me placed, My cross upon my hand, A heart at rest within my breast, And sunshine on the land 1 Old times I old times ! 2. It is not that my fortunes flee. Nor that my cheek is pale, I mourn whene'er I think of thee, My darling native vale ! A wiser head I have, I know, Than when I loiter'd there ; But in my wisdom there is woe. And in my knowledge care, Old times ! old times I 3. I've lived to know my share of joy, To feel my share of pain. To learn that friendship's self can cloy, To love, and love in vain — To feel a pang and wear a smile, . To tire of other climes, To liKe my own unhappy isle. And sing the gay old times 1 Old times I old times I 4. And sure the land is nothing changed, The birds are singing still ; The flowers are springing where we ranged, There's sunshine on the hill I , 196 TUE FOUKTII KKADEK. The sally w.aving o'er my head, Still sweetly shades my frame, But ah, those happy days are fled, And I am not the same I Old times I old times 1 6. Oh, come again, ye merry times I Sweet, sunny, fresh, and calm ; And let me hear those Easter chimes, And wear my Sunday palm. If I could cry away mine eyes, My tears would flow in vain ; If I could waste my heart in sighs, They'll never come again I Old times 1 old times 1 N. 65. Character of the Irish Peasantry. \ i- '. barrington. Sir Joxah Barrinoton was born in Queen's comity, Ireland, in 1707; died, 1S34. He was a Jiidgfe of the Coni't of Admiralty, and a member of the Irish Parliiiment. He has left behind n valuable work on a most iii- tcrestinff period of Irish history, entitled " Kise and Fall of tlie Iri>h A':i- tion." His Personal Sketches of the men of his times are inimitable in their way. 1. The Irish peasantry, who necessarily compose the great body of the population, combine in their character many of those singular and repugnant qualities which peculiarly desig- nate the people of different nations ; and this remarkable con- trariety of characteristic traits pervades almost the whole current of 'their natural dispositions. Laborious, dornostic, accustomed to want in the midst of plenty, they submit to hardships without repining, and bear the severest in'ivatioiis with stoic fortitude. The sharpest wit, and the shrewdest subtilty, which abound in the character of the Irish peasant, generally lie concealed under the semblance of dullness, or the a]>pearance of simplicity ; and his language, replete with the CHARACTER OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY. ^E. 197 keenest humor, possesses an idiom of equivocation, which never fails Buccessfuliy to evade a direct answer to an unwelcome question. 2. Inquisitive, artful, and penetrating, the Irisli peasant learns mankind without extensive intercourse, and has an in- stinctive knowledge of the world, without mingling in its societies ; and never, in any other instance, did there exist a }icople who could display so much address and so much talent in the ordinary transactions of life as the Irish peasantry. 3. The Irish peasant has, at all periods, been peculiarly distinguished for unbounded but indiscriminate hospitality, which, though naturally devoted to the necessities of a friend, is never denied by him even to the distresses of an enemy.* To be in want or misery, is the best recommendation to his disinterested protection ; his food, his bed, his raiment, arc equally the stranger's and his own ; and the deeper the distress, the more welcome is the sufferer to the peasant's cottage. 4. His attachment to his kindred are of the strongest na- ture. The social duties are intimately blended with the natural disposition of an Irish peasant : though covered with rags, oppressed with poverty, and perhaps with hunger, the finest specimens of generosity and heroism are to be found in his unequalled character. 5. An enthusiastic attachment to the place of their nativity is another striking trait of the Irish character, which neither time nor absence, prosperity nor adversity, can obliterate or diminish. Wherever an Irish peasant was born, there he wishes to die ; and, however successful in acquiring wealth or rank in distant pla>ces, he returns with fond affection to renew liis intercourse with the friends and companions of his youth and his obscurity. ** It has been remarked that the English and Irish people form theii judgment of strangers very differently: — an Englishman suspects a stranger to be a rogue, till he finds that he is an honest man ; the Irishman conceives every person to be an honest man till he finds him out to be a rogue ; and this accounts for the very striking difference in their conduct and hospitality to strangers. ! i 198 THE FOURTH RKADKR. Ill 6. An innate spirit of insubordination to the laws has been strongly charged upon the Irish peasantry: but a people to whom the punishment of crimes appears rather as a sacrifice to revenge than a moasure of prevention, can never have the same deference to the law as those who are instructed in the principles of justice, and taught to recognize its equality. It has, however, been uniformly admitted by every impartial writer on the affairs of Ireland, that a spirit of strict justice has ever characterized the Irish peasant.* 7. Convince him by plain and impartial reasoning, that he is wrong ; and he withdraws from the judgment-seat, if not with cheerfulness, at least with submission : but, to make him respect the laws, he must be satisfied that they are impartial ; and, with that conviction on his mind, the Irish peasant is as perfectly tractable as the native of any other country in the world. 8. An attachment to, and a respect for females, is another characteristic of the Irish peasant. The wife partakes of all her husband's vicissitudes ; she shares his labor and his mis- eries, with constancy and with affection. At all the sports and meetings of the Irish peasantry, the women are always of the company : they have a great influence ; and, in his smoky cottage, the Irish peasant, surrounded by his family, seems to forget all his privations. The natural cheerfulness of his dis- position banishes reflection ; and he experiences a simple happhiess, which even the highest ranks of society might justly envy. o Sir John Davis, attorney-general of Ireland, who, in the reign of James the First, was employed by the king to establish the English laws throughout Ireland, and who made himself perfectly acquainted with the character of the inhabitants, admits that "there were no people under heaven, who loved equal and impartial justice bettor than the Irish." ST. FRANCK9 OF ROMK. 190 67. St. Frances of Rome. LADY FULLKRTON, Lady G. Fulierton — Born in Encjland, in 1812. She is ft convert to the Cutholic faith, nnd a writer of considerable merit. Her "Ellen Middle- ton " and " Grantlv Manor" were written previous to her conversion. Her "Lady Bird," and her beautiful "Life of St. Frances of Komo," are the •works of a later period, and boar the unmibtakable stump of faith-inspired genius. 1. There have been saints whose histories strike us as par- ticularly beautiful, not only as possessing the beauty which always belongs to sanctity, whether exhibited in an aged servant of God, who for threescore years and more has borne the heat and burden of the day, or in the youth who has of- fered up the morning of his life to his Maker, and yielded it into His hands before twenty summers have passed over his head ; whether in a warrior king like St. Louis, or a beggar like Benedict Labre, or a royal lady like St. Elizabeth, of Hungary ; but also as uniting in the circumstances of their lives, in the places they inhabited, and the epochs when they appeared in the world, much that is m itself poetical and in- teresting, and calculated to attract the attention of the his- torian and the man of letters, as well as of the theologian and the devout. - 2. In this class of saints may well be included Francesca Romana, the foundress of the religious order of tlie Oblates of Tor di Specchi. She was the model of young girls, the example of a devout matron, and finally a widow, according to the very pattern drawn by St. Paul. She was beautiful, courageous, and full of wisdom, nobly born, and delicately brought up. Rome was the place of her birth, and the scene of her labors ; her home was in the centre of the great city, Id the heart of the Trastevere ; her life was full of trials and hair-breadth 'scapes, and strange reverses. 3. Her hidden life was marvellous in the extreme. Visions of terror and of beauty followed her all her days ; favors such as were never granted to any other saint were vouchsafed to her ; the world of spu-its was continually thrown open to her sight ; and yet, in her daily conduct, her character, and her 200 THE FOURTH READER. ways, minute details of wliicli liave reached us, there is a simplicity as well as a deep humility, awful ia one so highly gifted, touching in one so highly favored. 4. Troubled and wild were^the times she lived in. Perhap?;, if one had to point out a period in which a Catholic Christian would rather not have had his lot cast, — one in which there was most to try his faith and wound his feelings, — he would name the end of the fourteenth century, and the beginning of tlie fifteenth. War was raging all over Europe ; Italy was toin by inward dissensions, by the rival factions of the Guelphs and the Ghibellines. 5. So savage was the spirit with which their conflicts were carried on, that barbarism seemed once more about to over- spread that fair land ; and the Church itself was aflQicted not only by the outward persecutions which strengthen its vitality, though for a while they may appear to cripple its action, but by trials of a far deeper and more painful nature. Heresy had torn from her arms a great number of her children, and re- peated schisms were dividing those who, in appearance and even in intention, remained faithful to the Holy See. 6. The successors of St. Peter had removed the seat of their residence to Avignon, and the Eternal City presented the aspect of one vast battle-field, on which daily and hourly conflicts were occurring. The Colonuas, the Orsinis, the Sa- vellis, were every instant engaged in struggles which deluged the streets with blood, and cut off many of her citizens in the flower of their age. Strangers were also continually invading the heritage of the Church, and desecrated Rome with mas- sacres and outrages scarcely less deplorable than those of the Huns and the Vandals. t. In the capital of the Christian world, ruins of recent date lay side by side with the relics of past ages ; the churches wore sacked, burned, and destroyed ; the solitary an(} in- destructible basilicas stood almost alone, mournfully erect amidst these scenes of carnage and gloom ; and the eyes of the people of Rome were wistfully directed towards that tutelary power which has ever been to them a pledge of prosperity and peace, and whose removal the signal of war and of misery. SfRINO. 20J ^8- Spring, i-ongfellow. tlltl W^n iS ?"',ff 5.'S^ -f o'«r ; born i„ ;^ o|/iaZ;rre: •„?;; t^?^ ^^^ «H„„a„ ...•m.„ .„, ^"'allow, as herald of the season : ' ^^^ "»»"• *» "<>■' of the East X] f- a^t^?::™tZ,tr"^ ■"-'" o^^-^-h even » mhale the balmy^r TJ^"^- '"''"'' '^^ "P-^" our wiudowj ear the .hirriug sLnd ot%TZ% '" ^"^ ^-' "" ^ " '"'^ — ^0- --h:ii;r Lz's -ir - fpon the Wind JbSf'""'' '^" ueacs With ley flail." -^ . 202 THE FOURTH RKADER. 4. The red-flowering maple is first in blossom : its beautiful purple flowers unfolding a fortnight before the leaves. The moosewood follows, with rose-colored buds and leaves ; and the dogwood, robed in the white of its own pure blossoms. Then comes the sudden rain-storm ; and the birds fly to and fro, and shriek. Where do they hide themselves in such storms? at what firesides dry their feathery cloaks ? At the fireside of the great , hospitable sun ; to-morrow, not before : they must sit in wet garments until then. 5. In all climates. Spring is beautiful : in the South it is intoxicating, and sets a poet beside himself. The birds begm to sing : they utter a few rapturous notes, and then wait for an answer from the silent woods. Those green-coated musicians, the frogs, make holiday in the neighboring marshes. They, too, belong to the orchestra of nature, whose vast theatre is again opened, though the doors have been so long bolted with icicles, and the scenery hung with snow and frost like cobwebs. 6. This is the prelude which announces the opening of the scene. Already the grass shoots forth. The waters leap with thrilling pulse through the veins of the earth, the sap through the veins of the plants and trees, and the blood through the veins of man. What a thrill of delight in Spring-time ! what a joy in being and moving ! 1. Men are at work in gardens, and in the air there is an odor of the fresh earth. The leaf buds begin to swell and blush ; the white blossoms of the cherry hang upon the boughs, like snow-flakes ; and ere long our next door neighbors will be completely hidden from us by the dense green foliage. The May flowers open tlieir soft blue eyes. Children are let loose in the fields and gardens ; they hold buttercups under each others' chin, to see if they love butter ; and the little girls adorn themselves with chains and curls of dandelions, pull out the yellow leaves, and blow the down from the leafless stalk. 8. And at night so cloudless and so still I Not a voice of living thmg, not a whisper of leaf or waving bough, not a breath of wind, not a sound upon the earlh nor in the air ! And overhead bends the blue sky, dewy and soft and radiant 59. FATIIKRS DK BliKBKUF AND LALKMANT. 203 eaatlful }. The !S ; and ossoms. r to and storms? s fireside e : they ath it is :d8 begin ait for an lusicians, }. They, theatre is ig bolted frost like with innumerable stars, like the inverted bell of some blue flower, sprinkled with golden dust, and breathing fragrance ; or if the heavens are overcast, it is no wild storm of wind and rain, but clouds that melt and fall in showers. One does not wish to sleep, but lies awake to hear the pleasant sound of the dropping rain. It was thus the Spring began in Heidelberg. 59. Martyrdom of Fathers dr I5rkbf<:uf and Lale- MANT. REV. J. B. A. PBRLAND. AbbA J. B. A. Fkkland, a contemporary Frencli-Cnnadiiin writer of considerable eminence. His principal pulilishetl works are, " 01)Hcrv:i- tions on a History of Cannda, by the Abbd lirasseur ;" " Notes on the Registers of Notre Daino de Qnehcc ;" " A yoyiijje to Liibnulor ;" " A Course of Canadian History ;" " Journal of a Voyage to the Coast of Giope ; "Life of Monseigneur Plessis," &c.,