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N- Un das symbolaa suivants apparaftra sur ta darniira imaga da chaqua microficha. talon la cas: la symbols ^»> signifia "A SUIVRE". la aymbola V signifia "FIN ". )ba to ha Laa cartaa. planchas. tablaaux, ate. pauvant itre film«s i daa taux da reduction diff«rants. Lorsqua la documant ast trop grand pour *tra raprdduit •n un saul clich*. il ast film* * partir da I'angia sup*riaur gaucha. da gauche A droit*, at da haut an bas, an pranant la nombra d'imagas n*cassaira. Las diagrammas suivants illustrant la m*thoda. 2 t J 3 2 3 • lO 6 VI 'X. 6k ^; ^<[SSL K •••*'.• .;.» ' '1- ^i^'^fi /^^- ' V -^v^ ^ 366 The Dominion Catholic Series f SADLI DOMINI Fourth Reader REVISED AND ENLARGED BY A CATHOLIC TEACHER JAMES A. SADLIEK MONTREAL and TORONTO *ft^?iVii^i'. ' .. ■: : i-^ ,*., .■■■■'-/ -'-'""Mi''^;.'., .N* -^(^li.^v .,•;.. 'STS. TJCTO^^ lirecled effort in Ibe use of Ms concluding I I lllllll ^m ■""" ■■""" '" ""^^'- The Elocntionary ')' «'"Cation which shall develop and unfold both the practical and the ideal man. Now, if ever, the student must acqutre a love for a pure, finished, manly style-for the ge„' „e prose and verse which refine, sttcngthen. ennoble, give wholeZe conceptions of life, and minister alike to titental and spMtual gt^^r REQUtEE A Spkca. P,epa,„,on before each Reading, which hall Tpfece 7- T" ^"^ """"-'• ">«<-• >"*"■« ™- Ind ^h » T t "'"'' """° '" "•"P-""»'^i«ion in the Reading ^d the Notes, ,W». all needful definitions, explanation^ ,nd bio k^it^SL""' '°, "■• '"*■'"' ^""■/■""*'y. » summary of he oJttm! C'.T """T' '"''^/•'**- ■l>« """"I. concluTion. or ontcome. btrett h,s attention dally to the character of the composi- «on-- gramnutical construction, rhetorical figures, logical arTnge' THE Index TO the Notes is of the utmost impbrla„ce..and ought .obeempl„y.ddaily. Mdt. special efforts to give pupil, great facm'; ^tered accordlM; to Act of Parliynent A. D. 1891 By jATfES A. SADLIER In the Office of the Minister of Agriculture and SutlsUo. at OtUwm ' i f v. ^ -•-♦-•- SADLIER'S Dominion Fourth Reader, the highest num- ber of the Series, now thoroughly revised and enlarged •s essentially a nav book. It is designed lo supply the wants of all students from the midAe to the advanced classes and worthily to crown the Dominion Catholic Series of Readers' The Treatise on Elocution is simple and comprehensive^ presenting the subject in its most attractive and practical form.' Its important divisions, and their relations to each other, are exhibited to the eye by the use of a Series of Blackboard Diyams [see page 5]. AH of Webster^ s marked letters are used as required to indicate Pronunciation. The Phonic Alpha- ^ bet IS made complete by the addition of seven of Watson's com- bined letters, as follows : Ou, ow, dh, ^, fh, ^, and 1^. This marked type affords nearly all thp,vantages of pure phpnetics. without incurring any of the objeltions. and is as easily read as though unmarked. Its use in the Notes can not fail to remove localisms and form the habit of correct pronunciation Part Second contains 125 Reading Lessons of surpassing worth, representing every variety of style and subject, and specially adapted to illustrate the principles of rhetorical de- " livery. They embrace matters of local interest, biographical geographical, historical, and scientific, are of suitable length and of a character that will not permit the interest to flag. To these are added the fittest pieces of classic English literature from Shakespeare to the present time-narrative and descrip- tive, moral and didactic, spiritual and religious, and largely representing Catholic truth and usage. .^ > = '^^^ ! A S, ■«*'., ' ' ... -f^. A.- 17 PREFACE. .K Training the Memory, so important an educational factor, that it may retain the memorabiliapbf literature, as well as of • events, and afford ^bundant available material for ready use, calls for special provision in a reading-book of this grade. Many; m^terpieces in ^rose and v«rse are bere^given to be committed to memory, for- individual declagmtion and class rechation, as well as for reading exercises. The^eacSngs are also, interspersed, at fit intervals, with numerous literary gems from writers of rare genius, to be memorized by the students. The Gradation of the Readings is systematic, presenting the simplest first irt or^er. Commencing with* pieces quite as elementary as those at the close of the Dominion Third Reader, the student gradually and well-nigh unconsciously progresses until the difficulties and even intricacies of speech ' give added iest and value to the Lessons.* The Additional Aids needed for a thorough understanding of the text, and preparatory to the Class Readings, are supplied. The Pictorial Illustrations are of rare excellence. Fpot-notes give the pronunciation of words that had to be re-spelled for the purpose; definitions; explanations of classical, historical, and other^allusfons ; and biographical sketches of authors and of persons whose n^mes occUr in the Reading Lessons. This assistahce is given in every instance on the page where the ; difficulty first arises, and a complete Index to t/u Notes is added for general reference. -i/ ' 'J. ^ ^ CONXEN-TS. ELOCUTION. ■I. ORTHOEPY. * Articulation! .. i .;".; ' "*' Oral Elements ['.'",. Cognates^ ..;.''. ?.,... " Alphabetic Equivalents ' Oral Elements Combined ^/\ ...'. Errors in Articulation. . Analysi.* of Words... y... ' RuJes i^ Articulation , . . '. '. '. '. ". '. ' ' " '[[''''_ ^2. Exercises in ArticuUrtton. ' Syllabication \.^ ., Exercises in Syllabication " ^ jf^^ Accent. Exercises in Accent .. ' - 24 Emphasis. //. EXpRE^SIok. Rules in Emphasis Exercises in Emphasis Inflection ^ Rules in Inflection Exercises/in Inflection.. Slur ( '■ ■):. r Exercises in Slur Pauses Rules for Pauses Exercises in Pauses Marks of Piinctuation Exercises in Punctuation . ." , 10 12 14 14 16 18 20 21 22 22 26 2^ 27. 28 29 ' 30 30 31 32 32 33 .31^ ^- \f^ , K \ ^- VI CONTENTS. RK A D I N OS. /. PIECES IJT PROSE. FAOR 39 A Winter Carnival— Pait Fii St .. A Winter Carnival— Part Second The Young Traders ' „ 40 • 52 ■ 55 1. 2. 4. 0. Helping Father— Part Ftrst . . 7. Helping Father— Part Second 9. Useful People 10. Generous People V.! .. ^ 18. The Boy of Haarlem a 16. Heroines of Charity—Part First 7^ 17. Heroines of Charity— Part Second . I, "^ Sign of the Cross.. The Cross of Constantine Mountain of the Holy Cross . 28. Saint Christopher — Part First .q. 29. Sajnt Christopher— J»art Second .^ 86. God's Acre ....'.".".'.".* 87. St. Philomena— Part First .11 88. St. Philomena— Part Second 42 4S. 21 22. 28. 88 90 93 116 118 ^ 49 51, 62 64. 68. tn^ff. >v- Hygienic Clothing ".V. V. '.V //u„i 120 The First of Virtues. ' ,_. 47. The Sermon on the Mount — Part First 48. The Sermon on the Mount— Part Second The Idea of a Saint '^'.Cardi„ayNewma,i: 1 he Priest ^-.a „., - - . , otooons. What Monks Have Done ArcAhsAop Spalding. Religious Orders in Heaven ^^„, Jacques Cartior— Part First 69. Jacques Cartier— Part Second 164 61. First Bishop of Ontario !!".!!!!!.!!! 16 62. First Canadian Cardinal .!!!.!!!...!!! '-- 67. Lumbering— Part First 68. Lumberlng-Part Second ■.*.■.■. \ ' ^pi-tlirrlque Canada Thft Gulf Stream— Part First , Jg 72. The Gulf Stream-Part Second ' .^^ .'''^Maur^. 201 78. Uses of the Ocean— Part First j£L- ao6 70. 71 »35 138 140 M3 145 147 150 161 175 187 190 ->'W. uses oTlhe Oc^arh^^art ^coniTFromThV'' Mlioihtca Satrv: — ^. «. ?u*^ ^^**^** t-^'ll- 209 TO. The Dear St. Elixabeth ; . . . ; tMontalembert. 216 81. Westminster Abbtey tVashington Irving, aas i'MfJ^''^:^--:-^ -■ , CONTENTS. Vll PAOB • 39 • ■ • r 42 . 48 • 52 • 55 • 59 • • • . 60 • 67 . . • tS . . . 8x . 88 ■ 90 • 93 . 104 . 106 • • • "5 . . . 116 . . 118 mt. 129 • • • »35 138 ■ t • 140 an. 143 ns. 145 »g' 147 'ft: 150 1 • • 161 164 169 175 187 ia. 190 tz. 195 • • 198 r)'. 201 82. Execution of Mary Stuart '"^" 84. Joan of Arc— Part First.. .'." ". " " " '^^''^'""^- 227 85. Joan of Arc— Part Second*. ^"^".'" ^^^ 86. Hymn of St. Francis .... ' ' " .V " ' f ' ^"'""y- ^36 90. Noble Revenge Matthew Arnold. 239 93. Survey of the Universe.'. 'f! ^z"'""^' ^^^ 94. The Providence of God. . . ." w^'""''^^'^"'^- ^53 96. An Ideal Farm mL" •^^'"""" ^<'«'"'. 257 98. Arts of Expression. ' HP ' " ' : •'^- • ; • -^^'J'tt. 261 101. The Cross and the Harp.'. [[" ^'"^'y- ^^5 103. Daniel O'Connell— Part First ^^* 103. Daniel O'Connell— Part Sprorin ;V "W"''', ^76 104. Rome-Part First... .''-''^''" '^""^^^ ^- Burke. 281 105. Rome^Part Second.. ^^' * '„'."'' 1' ^^^ 107. Gladiators' Last fight * " ^^ ^^ Gilmour. 288 108. St. Peter'^inRbme... J ;.•••• ^91 110. The Everiiisting Church ' -Eustace. 294 111. Our Duty to the Holy 8ee.^'.■. .Vl V * •/J'-««'«y- 30o 113. The discovery of America^. '"""' ^Z"T' ^°' 114. The Return of Columbus. . • •^'^"' 3^7 115. Capture of Quebec Prescott. 313 116. Government-Part First ".".*.*.'.'. Loosing. 316 117. Government— Part Second. „ "^^^ 118. The Starry Heavens ' Brownson. 321 119. Genius of Shakespeare.'. r"^'"', !f'*''^"' 3*4 134. The Dead. ... Cardinal Wtseman. 326 • Mrs. Sadlier. 347 //. PIECES IJV VERSE. 8. What I Live For 6. Keeping His Word. .!!...!..." '" ^6 8. Hand and Heart, 5o 11. Jerry, the Miller ," ' 58 13. The Barefoot Boy '•'• ^' ^'''- ^^ 14. Excelsior. IVkitHer. 63 15. Battle of Blenheim.'.'.':.'.' 'i>\^^/'''?'' ^' 18. Blrdsin Summer... Aohert Soutkey. 74 19. TheS„monof St.F;ands.'.'.;'. ••.•^fountt. 84 aQ.,Whyth eRohm'^B^t W Re d ' ' ' Longfell ow^ if, 24. Voice of the Grass^ *^™'---.^r. ... ; . ^. . .7: By - 26. Little Streams Sarah Ho^ts. 95 26. The Oak-Tree. .'.'.'.*.'.".".".'. ^"'^ H: , LOCUTION is the mode of utteranqo. or' deliifrt. of any thing spoken. It m&y he good or{&id. ^'\■^ 2. Good Elocution is the art of utterin^aeaa under- standingly, correctly, and effectively. It emhT^J,he two genei^l divisions. Orthoepy and Expression. '"' - E (O'ti^^.^/'i. -t-i^-n f:^e.Ay, €ie^u i-i^'n c^iz/'t.i:^ Orthoepy has to do with separate words-the production of their oral elements, the combination of these elements to form syllables, and the accentuation of the right syllables. ijf the peroepiive faculties in "'.Ion with oral iiustruotion. lon'Ili"*!!^/*"" *^« *»"^^°»«"«« «' c^F^ctton with oral iMtructlon. young tflachen,. and a« consUnt re- i PronunolaUon (pro nto'^hl «'. mindew of the Importance of em ^an). 10 7 DOMINION FOURTH READER. 4* X. DEFINITIONS. ^ I. ARTICULATION: Pl^l^^^ is the distinct utterance of the orkl •^^* JDMpJP^s in syllables and words. ^ 2. Om^Elements are the sounds that form syllables and words. i- 3. Oral Elements are Produced by different positions of the organs of sppech, in connection with the voice and the breath. » 4. The Principal Organs of Speech are the lips, the teeth, the tongue, and the palate. 5. Voice is Produced by the action of the breath upon the larynx, or windpipe. 6. Oral Elements are Plvlded into eighteen tonics, fifteen subtonics, and ten atonioq. 7. Tonics are pure tones produced by the voice, with but slight use of the organs of speech. 8. Subtonics are tones produced by the voice, modified by the organs of speech. 9. Atonies are mere breathings, modified by the organs of speech. , 10. Letters are characters that are used to represent or to modify the oral elements. 11. The Alphabet is Divided into vowels and conso- nants. 12. Vowels are the letters that usually ^-epresent the ^^^l^y^^JJ"^ '^* hh <^' «va"d somfttimftti y, TS. A Diphthong is the union of two vowels in a syl lable ; as ou in our, ea in brmd. -.A ' k. DEFINITIONS. jl U. A Proper Diphthong is the union of two vowels in a syllable, neither of which is silent ; as ou [jx out. 16. An Improper Diphthong is the imioi ^ in a syllable, one of which is silent ; as oa in^ ' 16. A Triphthong is the union of thre '*^^® ^ «8 ««« in heau (bo), ieu in Si&ieu (ad] ^17. Consonants 1 are the letters that either subtonic or atonic elements. They «.^^ single letters and combined, inciijj^ing all the leD^^^Mn alphabet, except the vowels, and the con/binations K Wh, ng : th subtonic, and fh atonic. / 18. Labials are letters whose oral e/ements are chiefly .formed by the lips. They are *, j., J and Vh. Jf is a > nasal labial, /^and v are labio-dentals. / 19. Dentals are letters whose oral/elements are chiefly formed by the teeth. They are j, s, zj ng and Short Vowels •* The attention of the class should he called to the fact that the first element, or Aound, repreiwnted by each of the vowels, is usually In- .=:.dlcated l)y,»^Qriaoat»f line pteoed over the letter, and the second bftll. «Are. (glass. Bound by a curved line. ' A Plftli.^The;yw element, or sound, repjresented by &, Is its Jirat or Alphalj!tic sound, mddlfied or softened by r. In its prf)dnctioD. the lips, ^placed nearly jtogether, are hetdf immsvible ^hlle thT student tries to say R. •A Sikth — The tix^ element 1. f, 2. A S. k,^ 4. p, 5. s, \ ORAL ELEMENTS. IS 7. e,- 8. &, 9. e,i JO. i, II. I, 12. 6, J. h, 2. d, 3. g, ^ .h 5. I, 6. m, 7. n, 8. ng. 1-f, 2. X S. k, 4. p, 5. s. m iC << tt (( in he, * «k, ' her, ' i9e, ' ink, ' old, did, gag. yoin, /ake, wild, wame, gang. /ame, Aark, /feind, ;?i/?e. these. Snd. v6rse. dhild. indh. home. IS. 6,2 U- Q, 15. u, i6\ u, 17. u, i_^ • ^*°7' •««'"« *• TMfTff n»- .. ... »^i« L^„d 'pj^' -^s* «"'r;»,r ' '"." '°''""'°"' •» ¥ 14 DOMINION FOURTH READER. * - . » in- . COGNATES.^ piRST require the student to pronounce distinctly the 1 word containing the atonic element, then the subtouic cognate, uttering the element after each word— thus : \\p, p; oxh, b, etc. His attention should be called to the fact t^t cognates are produced by the same organs and, similarly, the one being an undertone and the other a whisper. ATONICS. '" SUBTONICS. If' J>. ..*.... . ;. . orb, b. f\r^f ./• . v&lve, V. vfhite, y/h ..'.■. wise, to. *ave, * \jeal, «. " ^ade, ^ aznre,' zh^ ' <^arm, dh. yoin, J. '"r'' ^ '. . did, ' d. ^i»g' ^- . this, th. ^*-*' *• gig, g. ALPHABETIC EQUIVALENTS. OTUDENTS will read or recite the following tables, using »^ this formula : The Alphabetic Equivalents for A first power are at, au, ay, e, ea, ee, ei, ey ; as in gam, gauge, stray, meW, great, vein, they. I. TONIC ELEMENTS. For ft, at, au, ay, e, ea, ee, ei, ey ; as in g&in, g&u^, stnly, For &, at, ua; as in pl&trf, gttftranty. For ft, au, «, ea, ua; aa in hftiint, sw^nt, h#ftrt, gnArd. .*/ fc. ^Lf'tlABETlC EQUIVALENTS. " j^ For 4, „r. «, «,, «; ,3 in d,4,>, «,«„, sw.4r, h«r. ^.^Tt V "': "*' "'' "■' '"' *^' «' «'• <« in «ny, 8«.d 8<,» head, h?,fer, Ifopard, fr.«nd. b«ry, guisB. "' ^f^- \T' '' "' °"' "' ""' »' «» '" S"'*, gW, word scoftrge, b4m, gaerdon, myrrh. ' eye, au, ohoir, gaide, bay, my, rye. b..n, ..„e, women, Wrtolse, h«sy, b«.ld, hj-ma ^ ^' *or ««, «a„, eo, em, oa, oe, 00, ou, om ; as in ha«tbfli- ^», yeoman, ««,, ««„l, ,5,, ^Oor, M, uL. *' For !' t ""' ""'■ "" '■' '^'' '""'«'■ <'»'"^>- knowledge. . K::::::,":ir::':z^r:;r^^-«- ' torou, ow; as in now. Foroi(ftJ), oy; asinbdj^. •• H II. SUBTONIC AND ATONIC ELEMEN-K. ^or f, gh, ph; as in ebngh^ nfmph. *^or j, g; asin^m, gin. ^^^W^ ; M in 9ell, 9ity. ^^''' ^^net^ For t d thpUK; as in dan9erf, mmee, /,;4Mi5ie. 4-,. /^,' 16 DOMINION FOURTH READER. For y, i; as in pinion. For z, c, §, x^; as in suffice, ro§e, arebec. For zh, ^, 5; as in r ORAL ELEMENTS COMJlINED. A FTER giving the class a thorot,gh,drilI on the preceding ^ 1. tables as arrai^ged, the following exercises will be found of great value to improye the organs of speech and the voice a^ well as to familiarize the studeut with different combina- tions of sound., "uuiim As the ///A element represented by a, and the third ele- ment of ., are always immediately followed by the Oral ele- ment of r m words, the r is introduced in like manner in lable by itself, ,s always immediately followed by the oral employed ^' "' " '' " ""'^^ '^"^ '^*^^^« ^'^ ^«- «^- I. TONICS AND SUBTONICS. ba, bft, * bdr, baf; be, dft, dAr, c^; ftg; 1. ba, Jb, da, ga. ba, lb; d& id; jAr, Ob, da, 6d, ga, «g. lAr, fib, 1^ tlb, das; dS, ud, lid, ifc la. la, la; isr, le, il?' dd. jft> ja. be, ub; d6, ud; g6, ug; J6, bfir ; 'oub. d^r ; oud. j6; &,«,V/--"f>- »^ -. t JiV*!.*.'., ,j J , 14' > r ORAL ELEMENTS COMBINED. 17 'mAs, m4r, md, mS, mfi, Im, im; gm, dm, dm; 3. an, ftn, &n, Arn, nan, ^Jy njr; nft, no, nd; &ng, Arn, ftng, *ai, ^ng, Ing, ing; dug, ong, Qng; rfi, ra, rAr, rft, rft, ^' r»; r6, ro, fq; otti, af, eth, Arth, 4' &th, thi, . - ve, iv, ,^ wa, wi,. yi, zow; §6r, ouzh 6rzh, thi vii, Iv; wa, wi ; yft, yi; thfi, tho, thQ ; vAr, vi, vdf, ftv, 6v, dv; wAr, wa, wft, wo, wd, wq; y*> * y», yAr, yo' y^ yo; , 2> zu, zu; zol), §S» §e ; §af, §6r, ; uzb, uzh, ilzh; Qzh, 62h, ezh; df, Arzh, me ; om, an ; nil, ring; raf ; ru, ath ; thu, va; uv^ wdf; wu, ydn; y", z5. m6r, 6m, en,, nu, gng, ung, re, ru,J eth, thu, v6r, uv, wrr, wu, y6, y«. z6; , md, mi ; um ; oum. 6rn, dn ; nu ; nou. 6rii, eng ; ung; own. r6r, ^^ ; ru ; row. Srth, eth ; thu ; thou ^e, v(?; ov; wd. dzh, azh. §a,> ozh; azh. ouv. we; wu ; wow. y^» y6r ; yu; yow. zi, zl; ga. izh; izh, &zh, azh. L ffi. If, h6r, hi, ki, II. TONIC AND ATONIC COMBINATIONS. r^ fa, fa, Jf; Of,, hdn', hft, hi; h6, ak, kd. Af, &k, ki; ajj, .p»; fft, ha, hd, ak, ■kd, fAr, Qf; hu, hu; Ark, kft; fas; fg, uf, fif, ha ; hd. uf; he. hu, hu, hu; af; dk, ek, ku, ky, ku^; fdr; oul her; how. drk; kou. op, dop, ^pj 6rB, 68, asj As, paf; p«, pi, per; PU» pfi, pdq; owp. §8; 8lr, 8d, gfj \ _ Vi^ " t j ill J v„,^^ V IS DOMINION f OURTH READER. '^ Is, Is; flg, ^ .. tis, tAr, tft, t^ ty;. td, 5. thif, fhdr, (hft, Ith, Ith ; oCh, owdh; udh, tidh, 6rdh, edh, «dh ; (Hi^; u^, ii^, V^6w;wTiu, \»^u, as, at, too, fha, fith, dhaf, \diu; Whas, os; &t, to; tha, «th; ddi, dha, 6^, who, VhAr, 80, at; lit, fha; uth, ftdh, cHia, i^a, \lTlQ, Whil, 8n, t6r, yt, fli6r, uth, 6dh; dhdr, ds^; Aft, Vhd; Wha, 8u; 6t, ut; the, uth; idh, dha, ^a, whi, wTifi, OUB. et;'' tow. th6; OUfli idb;* dha. ^a. Whi Vhft ERRORS IN ARTICULATION. ERRORS in Articulation arise, fir^, from the omission of one or more elements in a word : as an' ,fri6n'§ .l|in"ness fa€'8 sdf'ly fielY wir§. for. an»' « a modiflrf b^thmg; hence, it is an .tonic. The secon TUT I»kWflirw-»y8nriiWthe letter S; not a boj knew lt."~~~ «. The Word A, when not emphatic, is marked thus A, it« quality of sound in pronunciation being the same as the regular sixth sound bMo-A i., *i. mass, bSsket; aa, *''" *'"'<'' *»"' 8^88, aire 4 b.by stater 4 ™Ue. » ku,d „„rt. .„d 4 k,».. ■ nounced ttiu ; as ' ^^"""^"^ ^^ P^o- Are you sure ftat Ar.«Hi ygufh wag rude ? ^ ^' «»M«^.-. word,, it sh„„Id bflriUed • T """""' '" ' He is boa »,„„ „, ,^. , ^,^ ^;.__^ ____^ EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION. ^. Thfi bold bid b»Iz brok bolte 4nd b&rz. '.»' ^A '"^u f ^' ■^"'^ ** ■•« 'Sd rtka.. . i- ShBr »1 her paa, Jr pith. «v pea. ft Oiarj a,e 61d mta to dhflz 4 dhftTa r« lit, hifl, lit «v m begild. »• Arm It with rSJ,, 4 pigml 8tr» ^n p8„ rt m 2^ DOMINION FOURTH READER. 11. He wddht ftnd w6pt, he fglt ftnd prad % ftl. 12. HIz iz ftmrdst thu mrsts, m6zh6rd an ftzhgr ski. 13. Thu Vhalz Whid &nd Vhfirld, ftnd bArd thAr brad, broun b&ks. U. Jasn Jonz sfid, Luna, Alas, AmA«, vIllA, aro'ma. 15. Tbu strif ses^Oi, pes Approdhgfh, and thii g^id m&n rejftlsdth. i<5. X>ur ^FQd ants yfizd ^riigz. And ^Arp, ^rll ^rgks. And ^riingk ^iir frdm thu AroudSd ^rin. 17. Amidst thii mists And koldfist frdsts, with bAr^st ristl And stoutest hosts, h6 thrusts hiz fists agfinst thu posts, and stil insists he sez thii gdsts. 18. A stftrm Arlzdfh dn thii s6. A mdd^l vfiasfil iz striig- gling Amidst thii wftr dv 616m6nt8, kwIvMng And i^Iv6ring, ^iringking And bAttling Hk A thingking being. 11. SYLLABICATION. A SYLLABLE is a word, or part of a word, uttered by a single impulse of the voice. 2. A Monosyllable is a word of one syllable ; as, it. 3. A Dissyllable is a word of two syllables ; as, lll-p. -^ A Trisyllable is a word of three syllables ; as, con- fltte-ment. 6. A Polysyllable is a word of four or more syllables ; as, in-no-cen-cy, un-in-tel-li-gi-Ul-i-ty. Let pupila tell the number of syllables in words that are not monosyllables, in the following EXERCISES IN SYLLABICATIO N. ■ 1. When yQB rise in the morning, resolve to maka the day a happy one to a ffillOw-oreature. It is easily ddne. ACCENT. 23 2. A kind word, an encouraging expression-trifles in hemselves hght as Air-may make some heart glad for at least twenty-four hours. " S A life of idleness is not a life of pleasure. Only activity and usefulness afford happiness. The most miserable are those who have nothing to do. ,J. Would you be free from uneasiness of mind, do n6thing l^at you know or think to be wr6ng. Would you enjoy the purest pleasure, do always and everywhere what you see to be unquestionably right. 5li the spring put forth- no blossom, in summer ttiere trifled away without improvement, manhood will probably be contemptible, and old age miserable. ^ dl p' ^*"*[ T'"' * """^"^"^^ '^ «^^« before God, so does Politeness before men. in. ACCENT. ACCENT is the peculiar force, given to one or more sylla- -^ 1. blesof a word. ^ -vL!" ""'"^ J^'^yl'^Wes and Polysyllables, of two y lablea ^cented, one is uttered with greater force than the other. Ihe more forcible accent is called pri,narp, and tho less forcible, secondary ; as /mW-TA-tion. "^ *' " Ci€co • aa .^^ I the voice ; as, Do you love your V I The Falling: Inflection is the downward bend or slide of the voice : as, ' -^ When are yoa going <^» uLI^^^^^"^ '' *^' ""'^" ^^ *^« inflections on th» namg with the fatUnff, or commencing with the faUing and ending with the rising, thus prodndng a slight waving movement of the voice. K" waving / M V. »8 DOMINION' FOURTH READER. e- The Acute Accent [' J is used to mark the rising inflection; the grave accent [^] i\,^ falling inflection ; as. Will you read or sp^U ? I will r^ad, not spell. 7. The Falling Circumflex, which commences with a rising and ends with a falling slide, is marked thus -- • the rising circumflex, which commences with a falling and ends with a rising slide, is marked thus ^, which the pupil will see is the samQ mark inverted ; as, Tftu muBt take me for & f^l, to fhigk I could do t^t - RULES IN INC;LECTI0N. ^ nPHE Falling Inflection is employed for aH ideas that X are leading, complete, or known, or whenever some- thing IS affirmed or commanded positively; as. He will ^ed tfiars. o^his return. Sp^ak, I dharge you 1 2. The Rising Inflection is employed for all ideas th^t are conditional, incidental, or incomplete, or for those that are doubtful, uncertain, or negative ; as. Though he 8lay me. I rihall love him. On its retfira. fliey will rihed tears, not of figony and distress, but of gratitude and jdy. , , . S. Questions for Information, or those that can be answered by yes or no, require the rising inflection ; but their answers, when positive, the falling ; as, ' v Do you love MAry ? Y^s ; I dd ' , '^ - » V ' '' * 4. Declarative Questions, or those tW can not be an- swered by yes or no, require the falling inflection ; as,- What mSans tiiis stir in tpwn V When ar© you going to Rdme ? ~^^5^~When Words or Clauses contrast or compare, the first part usually has the rising, and the last the fallitii) mflection ; though, when one side of thfl-oontrast is ajtrmini >,^, v\ EXERCISES IN INFLECTION. : the rising ion ; as, ices with a us ^ ; the ? and ends pupil will ideas that »ver some- 29 «. Tie Circumflex is used when the thoughts are not ::zzz:rt Tr '""""-' '- '--'' •^--'^--r mockery. 1 he /a?;^^ circumflex is used in places tha would otherwise require the falling inflection ; the "i • 1 :;Z:„7ar"'"^^ that wou.d „therwis. requi. the ::Z ■n.eb<,gg., intend, to ae,n„,,„„ak. Ah, Ae I„v.b ;,?„ l' fences that are unmarl*d, and tell what rule or rules are Illustrated by each of the following EXERCISES IN INFLECTION. 1. I w»nt a^^». It is not » j^^ j ^_^^j a The war must go i„. We must fight it Mrt„^^. nil."" ™" "P '*™«''- *« ^^«-wfll create I We stall mak, this a glarious, an immortal day IVhen we are m our graves, our diildren will honor it S. Do you see that bright star ? Yes : it is spltodid. 7. ha candle to be p,t under a bfi^el, or under a bM ? *• ^"°*"« "«»' ■>»* ««,/», ^all be his game. 10 ™™ i/*!!'f ^Pf"™? *»™»' <" %» fr"" fti^tlee ? ir^igk or swim, live or die/survive or pdri^, I she mv [hand and h^arttatiiis vote. °, i give my ^^. If Candle Bays so/then all must believe it, of course. i.ij'd;f^,::.ii'd.%J-ii-/^ -; w.. 30 DOMINION) FOURTH HEADER. 13. Is this a time to be gloomy and sdd > When our mother N4tare^l^ughs Ground ; When even the deep blue heavens look gI4d, And glMness breatiies from ttie bldssoming ground T U. Ah, it wa/M^rfd that gave it ! I never thought, under any circumstances, it could be you I -•■•■•- '^a HI. SLUI?. *i% -. OLUR is that smooth, gliding, subdued movement of the ^ voice, by which those parts of a sentence of less com- parative importance are' rendered less impressive to the ear, and emphatic words and phrases set in stro|jpr relief. ^. Slur must be Employed in c^es ofparmhesis, con- trast, repetition, or explatMion, where the phrase or sentence IS of small comparative importance ; and often when qualij^. cation of time, place, or manner is made. S. The Slurred Parts in a portion of the exercises are printed in Italic letters. Students will first read the parts of the sentence that appear in Roman, and then the whole sentence, passing lightly and quickly over what was first omitted. They will also read the unmarked examples in like manner. EXERCISES IN SLUR. 1. I am 8«re, if you provide for your young brother? and sisters, that G6d will bless you. , 2. The ggnC^ral, with his head drooping, and his hands leaning on his horse's neck, moved feebly out of the battle. S. Children are wading, with cheerful cries, _ In Jbe ihoals oLthe^ sparkling brd&k ; Laughing maidens, loith soft young eyes. Walk or sit in kie Aady h(55k. f^C/S£S. 31 a Diessing on the summer rain. 5. -tte calm Shade Aall bri^ , kindred c&lm, and tte sweet breeze, ttat makes the gr^ leaves dinee 4all ^! a b&lm to thy sick heart. "«nce, snail waft , 6. Young eyes, that lAst year smiled in ours, Now point the rifle's barrel ; And hant^ttien steined with'fruits and flowers, B^ar redder stains of quarrel. ZZ JT^ """ ^'''' ^^«^^*--He must delight in virtue • and that wOiidh He delighte in must be happy! ' *. . The moon i§ at her full, and, riding high, Fiood§ the eaim field§ with light. The airg that hdver in the summer sky Are all asleep to-night. nl Irln^^r"""" spoken, r^allylcomes from God. At IS, m snort, a divine essence. IV. PAUSES. "V* . DEFINITIQNS. pAUSES are suspensions of the voice in reading and and to give effect to e^^pression. ^' 3iS DOMINION FOURTH READER. RULE§ FOR PAUSES. 'T^HE SUBJECT of 4 sentence, or that plv V^hich some- -I- thing is declared, when either emphatic or compound, requires a pause after it ; as, . ; The cavM 7 will raise up annies. Sincerity and truth f form iiie basis of gvery virtue. '2. Two Nouns in the same Case, without a connect- . ing word, require a pause between them ; as, I admire Webster J the drator. 3. Adjectives that follow the words they qualify or limit, require pauses immediately before^ them ; as. He had a mind T deep 7 active J well-stOred witii knowledge. 4. But, hence, and other words that mark a sudden change, when they stand at the beginning of a sentence, require a pause after them ; as, ^ But 7 ttese joys are his. Hence 7 Solomon calls «ie fear of tiie Lord 7 MARKS OF Pi7NCTU4TION. 33 4- Paul 7 the Apostle 7 wrote to Timofhy: ^. Solomon the son of David, wa5 king-of Israel. > 7. Yfiu see a gentleman, polished, eaay nuiet wittv . j socially, ygur equal. ■ . ^ ? - ' ' *'*'^' *"''' ae^ftllLatofll^n:" ""^ ^ ''"^ "°^ '^^'^^"^ ^M Husbands and fitt,ers 7 think of th^ir wives and dhil- III. MARKS OF PUNCTUATION. gUCH marks' are here introdneed as are necessary, in j;- The Comma [ , ] marks the smallest division of . sentence, and represents the shortest pause • as Tie butterfly, M>d of aie summer, flutter in a.e L. «• The Semicolon [;] separates snch parts of a sen tenoe as arf less closely connected than tho^ divMed bya" comma, and usually represents a longer pause ; as, ^ 1^ «.»gl..»g fl,e Hugh, (hmkiug tie ftought, of childhood. olosei;^r„„*^°*Ti-'^ '''™™''' P?"^' »' * »«'>'™'=« le» tody connected than those divided by a semicolon, .nd nsnaHy represents a longer pause ; as, ^^ ^^ 9 ' ' ^mty -* . t'' V •, =»- ;» ^ •\ , ■• ^ li ■4> '> s - » - 1 '■ 1 « ?. 34 DOMINION FOURTH REAjDER. 4- The Period [ . ] is placed at the close of a sentence which declares something, and usually represents a full stop. It must be used after an abbreviated word ; as, If you will, you can rige. Send the clothing and the money to Geo. W. Steven^gn, Esq. 3. The Interrogation Point [?J shows that a question is asked ; as, Yqu say you will do better tQ-mSrrOw ; but are you sure of to-mor- row ? Have you one hour in your hand ? 6. The Exclamation Point [!] is placed after words that express surprise, astonishment, admiration, and other strong feelings ; as, , AlAs I my noble boy I that thou ^ouldst die ! Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair I 7. The Dash [ — ] is used when a sentence breaks off abruptly; when there is an unexpected turn in sentiment; and for a long or significant pause ; as. Wag there ever a braver soldier? Was there ever-but I 8c6m to boast, l^ere are two kinds of evils-those Whidh can not be cured, and those Whidh can. 8. Marks of Parenthesis ( ) are used to inclose words that interrupt the progress of the sentence in which they . appjpar, and that can be omitted without injury to its sense. ; TJ^ey should be slurred in reading ; as, • (^ Whether playing ball or riding on horseback (for hs ride, often), the S boy khowB both how to start and When to stop. 9. Brackets [ J are chiefly used to inclose words that serve to explain one or more words of a sentence, or to point t»ttt-tt fofe ren ce ^ as; ~ — " ^"^^^^ Wfrtilngton [ttie Father of his country] made this remark. You wiU ilud an account of the creation in die Bible. [See Oenesto, chap. 1.] MARKS OF PUNCTUATION. , gg JO Marks of Quotation [ " "] are used to .how that the eal or supposed woris of another are given. A quotatio,, written w.thm a quotation requires only single marks ; as oJlT'„rT;;2';„"i"i;r"'" ■•*""»">""^»«^». •' «..o^ Man, „,erc,<» , • ' ' "^ ""' "" """^ "" «■•="» ^ hi, for special attention ; as, H- All orters .Will be prfmptl, and cirefully ..tended i„. ' ^ ahn'vl ^'•^,.AP°/"-0Phe [ ']. looking like a comma placed above the Ime denotes the omission of one or more lette,.. It IS also used before , in the singular number, and after , in the plural, to mark possession ; as, ^^ °"1 1^ 7^°'" «' '^'^ ^°" -■ ^'^ ^'»«^'^- ^^Q*l« bought Cori's rihges, and tfie boys' hats. - ^ IS. Marks of Ellipsis [— . .... ..«j „,„ ,„,„,j . means of a long dash, or of a succession of periods or sta,; of various lengths, and are used to indicate the omission of letters m a word, of words in a sentence, or of one or more sentences ; as, * w.ft a 1 thy heart and «,y neighbor as ftyself." -.Charity suT eT^I^TuX"" ^ * * * • "^-^^^ " "^-- ""-- - -- ^^. The Hyphen [-J is placed after a syllable endinir a line, to show that the remainder of the word begins the next Ime It usually unites the words of which a compound If, formed, when each of them retains its original accent ; as We fhask tt.6 alK-wise- Qfld fo, ftg l p-oen.^hw„^.^ng ^„^ fv, ou^**"^' ""^ Reference—The Asterisk, or Star fl, the^ Obelisk or Dagger [f], the Double Dagger ft], the Section [g], Parallel Lines [«], and the P^agraph f], ...ii.':. .xJ^^mii'.., S6 DOMINION FOURTH READER. are used, in the order named, when references are made to remarks or notes in the margin, at the bottom of the page or some other part of the book. Letters and figures are often used for marks of reference. 16. The Diaeresis [ .. ] is placed over the latter of two vowels to show that they form separate syllables ; as. His ideas of the Creator were formed in «iose aSrial heights. Pupils will be required to give the names and uses of all the marks of punctuation in the following EXERCISES IN PUNCTUATION. 1. The true lover of beaut> sees it in ttie lowliest flower, meets it m 6v6ry path, enjoys it everywhere. ' 2. Stones grow; vegetables grow and live; animals grow, live, and feel. ■'?. Do not insult a poDr man : his misery entitles him to pity and assistance. i I take-eh ! oh !-as mudh exercise-^h !-as I can. Madam Gout. Yqu know my inactive state. _ 6. /'Honest boys," said I, "be so good as to tell me whether I am in the wfty to Ridhmdnd.'' e. "A pure and gentle soul,- said he, -df<«n feels that tfiis world is full of beauty, full of innocent gladness." 7. Has Gdd provided for tiie p(55r a cOarser Carth, a rougher sea, thinner Air,' a paler sky ? 8. Aggry- Children are like men standing 09 their heads : they see all fliings the wrcing wfty. To nile Vne's aijffer is well : to prevent it is better. g. Yftu a peak like » boy~llike a boy who {hinks tfie old^ gnftrieiroftk can ^ellTstSd as easily as the young sapling. 10. Wh^t do yQu gfly p ^What ? I reillly do not understand you. Be 80 good as to explain youraelf again. GENERAL DrJcRAM. U. Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase I) Awoke «ne night from a deep dream of peace. And saw within the moonlight of his nCT Makmgjt neh and like a lily in bloom. An angel writing in a book of gold Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold- And to the presence in the room he said, ' ' An?witrfr r'T' '''"' ™'- ""--i "« ^ And, w,th a look made of all sweet accord. Answered. ; '"^ "'est; ■ana, lo ! Ben Adlftm's name led all the rest. sr ElOOUTION < »"■> GENERAL DIAGRAM. I Articulation SvL.AB,C*r,OK • Accent \I^RiMARy ( Secondary Emphasis ■•{ Falung ' -€/RCt/MFtMX EXPIIESSION I Inflection. 'Slur Pauses ^j-^mM^ IUb. -i . S^ilOJSTETIC ^EY". ' ♦ \a /. TOJilCS, i. ft, or G ; a§, ale, veil : ^. d; a§, fftt : ,?. ft ; af, art : ^. a, Of 6 ; as, all, €dm : J. A, or 6 ; a§, eAre, tti^re : tf. &; a§, ftsk : 7. e, or i ; as, we, pique : «S. 6 ; a§, 611": 9. 6, I, or A ; a§, li6r, sir, btb- : 10. i, a§, ige : ii. ! ; a§, ill: 12. 6; a§, old: 13. 6, or ^; as, 6n, What: I4. q, (5&, or u ; ag, dg, fd5l, r«le : 15. u ; a§, mule : 16. ii, or 6; a§, lip, s6n : 17. ij, 9, or db; a§, bijU, W9lf, wdbl : 18. (hi, ou, or ow ; a§, Out, lout, owl. //. SUBTOJVICS. 1. b; a§, bib: ^. d; a§, did:, 3. g; a§, gig: 4. j, or g ; a§> jig, gem : 5. 1 ; a§, luU : tf . m ; a^, mum : 7. n ; a§, nun : <9. g, or ng ; a§, link, sing : d. r ; a§, rare : 10. Th, or th ; a§. That, thith'er : ii. v ; a§, valve : ii?. 16. ,. — , w. — , »,j, ^u„„, uiixvu CI . ^jL. V , tt^, vaive : ?. w ; a?, wig : 13. j ; a§, yet : I4. z, or 5 ; aa, zi^c, i$ : ?. z, or zh, as, ftzure : $ for gz ; a§, ej act' /J/. ATomcs. 1. f ; 85, fife : ^. h ; a§, hit : 3. k, or « ; a§, kigk, €at : 4. p ; a§, pop : 5. s, or 9 ; a§, siss, 9iiy -.6. t ; aa, tort : 7. Th, or £h ; 35, Thin, pith : ^. Oh, or dh ; 09, Chin, ridh: P. Sh, rih, or 9h ; as, 3hot, wfli, 9haife: 10. ^Wfh, «r i(^ r aj, ^IWiife, "«^iF~^toKM, mfent j if, ''' (L->:> iis V»^fe' I A WINTER CARNIVAL, -> 41 try to step with one 'snow-shoe while standing on it with the other; for, if he did, he would take a "header" into the deep snow. ' » 9. After much practice, and very many awkward and very amusing mistakerfand mishaps, Ralph concluded that he had x got the peculiar "shack" movement necessary, and so he was anxious for the time to come, when he could pr(^e to his cousms his apt scholarship, liut when, under Herbert^s direction, he first put hi Jefjorts in snow-shoe walking to a , practical test, the ludioi^us results, as shown i|i the above picture, were rather disastrous. He soon, however, became reall y s killful with^fc he^owghoeB. ' ' 10. Lastly, Ralph was intrpduced to the tobog'gan or Indian sled, of which he had often heard. It was made of a thin board, gracefully cufved »t the forward end, with croej 1 ^'^ >lV <*^ - 4^ DOMINION FOURTH READER. and side pieces securelVbound to it by deer thotigs or sinews 80 as to make a light an)d strong flat slU. These varied in length from four to e^ht feet, and w^re generally covered with a carfyet or ^cushion. « ^2. A WINTER CARNIVAL V PART SECOND, nnOBOGGANING slides were quite numerous in Montreal A Several of these slides, on the mountain-sideg, were built and kept in order by clubs of yoUng men, who were fond of the sport. 'The winter is the dull business season - there, as the great river fs blocked with ice; and many, who are very busy in the summer months, have much spare time during the long winter. 2. But the young people are not idle then: they plav about as hard a. they work in summer, and chief am^ng their sports is toboggan-sliding. The club dress was a very pretty one indeed, made of white blanketing, one club being distinguished from another by the colors of the' blanket-borders, and also by their sashes and their toques 3 When Balph's party came in sight of the Mount Royal slide. It was crowded with club members, their friends, and spectators, and presented a very novel and picturesque ^ ap- pearance. Ralph had brought an extra toboggan with him, intending to steer himself down the slide; but when he saw toboggan after toboggan, loaded with two or more sliders dash down the steep shoot of the starting platform, glide at runway speed along the icy incline, jump several i^c^s into tJa^ air i[ )YerL^»>^^ ^^^ ^ - ^ving the kind of beauty wWcU una or wtJfioUL " ,Wf. \ down 1 confide was lee 4. B white e would ; Wheni with fr boggan gladly 1 pshaw, take hie ing upo S. ", " as rea his couE jjg^^ggg^^^jtt^eyy^y^^^^^^t^ faBtptiip- m thi-ee '8 Wl rudder t 6: Aw rushing proachec dear lifoj the tobo desperati 7. Th« rapid %\u boggaihii oflf. Bef npoii the stant ana sled • '^MtA^>,A ' V,. -1... .i.» t.£. ijd..?-.yuA tj*'itA"J'*':> i.jA>\ ^ . ; -4 WINTER CARNIVAL. j^q down the jbng elide between the great snow-banks,* his self- confidenc^gavfe way and he put oS, liis steering until the slide was less st^ep or less crowded. . ; J^, BuiHerbert, who looked like a young Polar bear, in his ' white suit was not to be put off. Ralph must slide and he would giiide him. So the two boys mounted the platform. When they reached the top of the slide, Ralph looked doWn with fresh misgivings. The pitch was so steep and the to- boggan which had just stai-ted weni so swiftly, that he-^ would gladly have backed out. But his pride and Herbert's - Oh pshaw, there^s nothing.to be afraid of !" alike led him to take his place upon the toboggan, which Herbert was" hold- ing upon* the shoot. J. "Are you ready?" said Herbert. "Yes," said Balph, as ready as I ever shall be."-" Well, thto, hang on ! " criei 1 °°T !" •■* J'""I»'» '"' •"hi"'! «»'P1V sitting on side- mdder »ith which to steer their course. /' . ft Away they shot down the steep declivity, with the wind ru8h,ng^.nd whistling about Ralph's ears. As they an- prpached the buniper hole, he shut his eyes and, held on for r^t " ^^^ '^^ "«' "■» *»"°Pi"g "otion of the toboggan made him grasp the low side-pieoe in , fit „f desperation.* l^r^A ''""f^* """' "^°'y J""^' '"' ^'^ *» «»W his ™p.d slide and he was just wishing it longer, when the to- bogg,« in front of them slewed around and spilled its load Lr, ^°" ^'^1 "^"" ^^' ^ *■"« «'^«' they too were upon the wreck, and wete themselves "spilled." In an in- .tot^t^er tobo ggan came d a s hing sm c n g thorn. ,». d thu. three«Joadsj,ere^n»»e^ upon the^slide. But no one •l-l'Wl, or oJ dotag wlthoM re- of hopelawiM.. "•»• S'^-tfei.'rf;*:; W^'-tu '.'B.i.. . iku&M^ «t^ u DOMINION FOURTH READER. i 11 1 1 i W nil /was badly hurt, for these sleds are so light and elastic that the chances of injury are very much less than with the heavier steel-shod sleds. 8. -In a few moments all were up again> laughing at their mishap and brushing off the dry snow. Ralph was initiated now, and as eager for another slide as his cousin could have " wished him to be. He was sorry enough when they were sum- moned home to dinner. On the way down the road, he tried steering his own toboggan on the steep places, and soon found that It -answered the helm," as the sailors say, very readily. P., After dinner, all went down to Doiiiinion Square to see the inauguration of the ice palace, and the torchlight proces- sion of thp snow-shoe clubs. The electric lights shone through the sides of the palace and made it look like a fairy X castle of ground glass. Thousands of people in warm furs ■ crowded about it and listened to the bands of music inside The snow-shoe clubs with their torches surrounded three sides of the Square with a line of light, ana at given signals showers of rockets ascended from the center and Roman can- dles were let off from the whole line. The Ice palace was br,ghtly,Iighted with colored fires, one tower being red, an- other green, and another blue. It was like fairy-land, the ,.sm>ci beings almost magical.* W. Ralph Rodney's first day at the carnival was but the b^ning^of many days which were filled with delight, and crowd^^d with sights anJi scenes never to be , forgotten. Soon tobogganing occupied nearly all his time, and nothing pleased him more than cousin Herbert's account of how he had once gone tobogganing down the ice-cone of the falls of Mont- morenci, near Quebec. He said that the ice-cone rose over Ma« io al, relating to the hid- of th^ East ; seemingly requiring dep wisdom thought to be pos- more than human powerY start sessed by the Magi, or holy men ling in performance. larger each day by the epmy which,.fiee»,s „fo„ it, told him of the great, cavern in the cone, showed him the beantif^ engravmg that i. printed in this leaaon. and spoke of "y 4j6 DOMINION FOURTH READER. % 11- other wonders that^ Ralph was anxious to add Quebeo, also/ to the winter carnival trip. 2i. He enjoyed jolly snow-shoe trips over the moqntaiii, went to the f«wjy-diies8 skating carnival at the Victoria Bink, watched tho cni^Hng clubs at their exciting games upon the it;e, and cpnddejred his visit to Montreal a grand success. His only regret is that Boston can not be moved to.Montreal.. 80 that he irnay have winters cold enough to affc^rd more of sport than^f slush, and more of downright winte^ fun than is possible! amid the dam^ess ;l«it<$: chilly. east winds of the usual Boston winter. ' ^S^r"^'' ■ * - • 3. WHAT I LIVE FQR. I f, •r' \^: LIVE for those who love me. Whose hearts ai'e kind and true ; , For the Heav0n that smiles above "me^ And awaits my spirit too ; For all hn|nan ties that bind me^ For the t^]l(: by God assigned me, ||pr the ho^ not Iefb4lehind me, \ ••,(. ^dt that lean do. :%s n. •~)i I live to learn their story > Who've suffered for my sake ; || :,To emulate * their glory. And follow in theu\wake; v\ ^Iterds,* pfttnots,* maifpa,* sages,* ^ Jfil^otall^agei^,:;;-:: J- Mi ' ' m ^*SS . WIM^-^'i^irii^g T^neBtly sappdrur" earpass in actions or qualities ; to and defends it. vie with ; to rivdl. 'lUr'tsrn, thloise who sni^r ■ » Bfirda, poets.^^^^'^^r"-^ death or loss for religioE ■ ' ^ •K'triot, (HhT^^o loves his • SAftes, wisi^ men, usn&lljmi^. s. WHAT I LIVE FOR. Whose deeds crown' history's pages. And time's great volume make. I live to hold communion* With all that is divine ; To feel there is a union ^ ' 'Twixt nature's heart and mine ; To profit by affliction,^ Reap truths from fields of fiction," Grow wiser from conviction,* And fulfill each grand design. I live to hail that date By gifted minds foretold. When men shall live by faith. And not alone by gold ; When man to ^an united. And every wroW thing righted, The^ whole worjd shall be lighted As Eden was of old. 4i J ^j^ 6, I live for those who love me. For those who know me true ; For the Heaven that smiles above me, ^ And awaits my spirit, too ; For the cause that lacks assistance, ^ For the wrong thiiti^ needs resistance. For the future in the distance. And the good that I can do._^- — -^ inte^^^r^ n ^ »«»^°). «P or iomgined ; . fefined story. . PXCtion^that which is made state of being oonviiwedl of ef^T' £«. /** . ' #• /> 4 f VJ^ AS DOMINION FOURTH READER. J4 4. THE YOUNG TRADERS. 'T^ wo country lads came, at an earljJiour,^to a market J- town, and, arranging » their little stands, 's^t downytp wait for customers. 8 One of the boys had a stock ^ of fruitT and vegetables, nearly the whole of which had been culti- vated by himself. The other lad had a supply of fish, which his father, who lived in a fishing village sortie distance from the towii^ had caught. 2. The market hours passed on, and the little mercjiants saw^ith pleasure^^heir stores steadily decreasing;" and so they rattled the nioney whicJi they had received in exchange, '" with great satisfaction. 3. The last melon lay on Harry's stand, when a gentleman came up, and placing his hand upon it, said, " What a fine *- large m^lon ! How do you sell this, my lad ? " 4. "It is the last one I haje, sij:; and though it looks ^ very fair, it is'uusound,'' said the boy, turning it over. " So it is,"/8aW the gentleman. ** But," he added, "is it wise or very blisiness-fike to point out the defects" of your stock , to customers?" ^f "It is bet^ter than being dighonest, sir," said the boy modestly. ," Yott are right, my little man ; always remem- ber that principle, and you will find favor with ^od, and man also. I shall remember your little stand in future." 6. "Are those fish fresh P" he continued, going on a few steps to the other lad's stand. " Yes, sir, they #ere fresh I ^ ^°*'**V. Betting in order. » D« ortM'lng,lIaiing^fl or be~. Otto torn «r, one wlto fregnenta coming lew by degreea ; leaaentn "*P»WOT8aiBtoTJttT6ba8e6ro«ler In amount or siae^ good. ;. buyer . D. «ct', . fault ; the want or wopn, a ooUe^ion of sAlable absendb of something needful to MtWe. or gooda^ -^ in*ke a thing oomplete or perfect ; _ .-Pi.MU«»(pl».h'ur). . IWling.' ,.M.i...,.v.M.ii^'^>.; ■> f -^ , ' '■...,, THE YOUNG TRADERS. t 4» this morning; I caught them myself/' was the ready and confident 1 reply, and a purchase « being made, the gentleman , directly" went away. . 7. ''Harry, what a fool you were to show the gehtleman that mark on the melon. Now you can take it home, or throw it away. How much wiser is he about those fish father caught yesterday? I sold them for the same price I did the fresh ones. He would never have looked at the melog^until he got home.'- 8. "Ben, I would not tell a lie, nor act one either, for twice what I have earned this morning. Besides, I shall be better off in the end, for I have gained a good customer and you have lost one. You have not done unto him as you would wish to be done by, which is a mistake. ** 9. And so it proved, for the next, day the gentleman bought newly all his fruit and vegetables of Harry, but never spent another penny at <«he stand of his neighbor. Thus the season passed: the gentleman, finding he could always get a good article from Harry, made regular purchases, and sometimes talked with him a few moments about his future hopes and prospects. , 10. To become a merohaht was Harry's great ambition,* and when the winter came on, the gentleman, wantipg a trustworthy boy in his own warehouse, decided on giving the place to Harry. Steadily and surely he advanced in the con- fidence of his employer unUl, having passed through various gradations' in clerkship, he became at length an honored and respected partner in the firm. occasion for trurt. 'PAr'olMuw, that which is ob- talned by giving therefor money or some other thing of value; the wt of baying. mediately after. * Ambition (am bliTh' an), an eager wigh for power or an im. proved condition, * Cka dfi'tions, ranks ; stepi^ , ..-.j.^ij ^ ^S-t*»" ^H'' so DOMINION FOURTH READER. *y 5. KEEPING HIS' WORD. " IVT ^^^"^^ ^ ^"^y * I^""y * t>o*'" he said ; 1 VX But the gentleman tnrned away his head, As if he shrank from the squalid ' sight Of the boy who stood in the failing light. » *, " o,TiT r^THs ifaminered,' •• You can not know •»— v; ^ ^^ ^® brushed from his matches the flakes of show, «8qaaUd (rttwttlMd), reiy dirty ^8tJ(iii4«rad,^ke with hwU thtough neglect ; filthy. • ^ ^ tation ; statterad. v , / , imLiStiL^ ^stijs^tMti^i .!^!:!3!^kMMX.M!»:S>J^ijSii&i> 'A: '..■im-\^. "I?-Ic But Rub KEEPING HIS WORD. That the sudden tear might have chance to fall ; "Qr I think— I think you would take them all. # S. " Hungry and cold at our garret pane, Rftby will watch till I come again, Bringing the loaf. —The sun has set, And he hasn't a crumb of breakfast yet. k- " One penny, and I can buy the bread." The gentleman stepped. ' ' And you ? " he said. ' ^'MfcyP ^^*^ *h® hunger and cold^^ ''itf§fi\ five years old. 5. "I promised my mother before she went— She knew I would do it, and died cont^nt-- 1 promised her, sir, through best, through worst, I always would think of Ruby first." e. The gentleman paused at his Op«n door Such t«les he had often heard before ; But he fumbled his purse in the twilight drear— " I have nothing less than a shilling here." - 7. " Oh, sir, if you'll only take the pitck, I'll bring you the change in a moment back ; Ipdeed y^u may trust me."—" Trust you ? No I But here is the shilling ; tj|ke it and go." S. The gentleman lolled in his cozy chair. And watched his cigar-wreath hielt in the air. And smiled on his children, and rose to see The bal?y aaleep on its mother's knee. 9. "And now it is nine by the clock," he said, " " T^me that my darlin gs w erw all in bed ; ' — Kiss me good-night, and each be sure,. When you»w saying your pniyera, remembeif the pooff.'' to, Jiiist then came a message— "4 boy at the door"— , 'But ord ft was uttered, he stooia on the floor, 51 ■ M ,1 ^* ^P' ^0^'NJON FOURTH READER. 'Halfbreathless, bewildered, and^agged, and strange; ' ' "I'm Rftby-Mike's brother-I've brought you the ch||ge. 11. "Mike's hurt, sir; 'twas dark ; the snow made him biSd, And he didn't take>notice the train was behind, Till he slipped on the track— and then it wAizz^ by ; AAd he's home in the garref— I think he wiU die. f is: " Yet nothing would do him, sir— nothing wouJd do, fiut out through the snow I must hurry to you ; I Of his hurt he was certain you wouldn't have heird, ' Xnd so you might think he had broken his wordi' ' • IS. When the garret ^hey hastily entered, they saw Two arms, mangled, shapeless, outstretched froih the atraw ' ' You did it ?-fdear Ruby— Gkxi bless you," he slid ; And the boy, ^ly smiling, sank back— and waaldead. el HELPING FATHER. 1 : r ■ •■ . i . I - PART FIRST. " I '* A/T ^^^^ ^^^ "°* ^^* ^^^fi nowadays, Clarisan,** uud J" V i. Mr. Andrews to hitf wife one evening. " It i« only a week since I received my month'p salary, and now I hav^ but little more than half of it left. I bought a coi^ of pine wood to-day, and to-mofrow I must pay for that suit of clothes which Daniel had : that will be fifteen dollars more." «. '/And Daniel will need a pair of new shoes ift a day or two; those he. wears now are all ripped, and hardly fit to wear,- said Mrs. Andrews. " How fast he, wears out shoes I It seems Hardly a fArt'nIght since I bought the laat shoes for him." said the f ather. S. *' Oh, well I But then he enjoys running about so very much that I can not check his pleasure as long as it is quite harmless. I am sure yoU would feel sorry to see the little .. As* ' \t 'OS 63 ^r^/riLP/JVC FATHER. " J. Daniel, during this conversation," was sitting on the Th, . K ? T ' ^ "PP'^-t'y' ocenpied. with his eflorto,^. he heart all that his father and mothe had S h^klTd tiHC r/ "^ r ''''''' """"-^ deal of money?" '^' ■*" ^ ^^'^ <»* jou a good iS. Now, Mr. Andrews was book-keeper for a mannf^t • company and his «^«.T was har^.y sufflctn r^m L" Z comfortably at the high ™te at which every thinrwrsemnl He had nothing to spare for »uperfl„itie.,/,nd hirX, "f ' 6. ** Whatever ^-moriey you may cost me. mv 8on T fln « . ment To be snre, your papa does not hare a great d J It S'-'" hI'""'!! "".r^ '"^"^ withorLl e i^aniei. — How much will mv now unif «# ^t xu asM Daniel. .<.if.een do.his."' ™' hj ^Jl" ?] irr^^ -^^'"-'"-"Two doUa™ n,o^fp,,,,i^ woA 1?-'™ " """"' """'*'" ''?"""• I '"•' I could work «,d e«^ «,„e „<,„^y ,„^ father," s«d Daniel Oh, well, my son, don't think about that now 'If „ :.r;?r.t'dr'"^^»" »''"•'-' *^--» w^^^ < .'•x t 12. Just then George Flyson came into the y^rd and asked Daniel if he wasn't going to fish for smelts that day* *'I guess not. This wood must go in, and then it will be tpo late to go so far this afternoon," replied Dai^e); ; lufF ' .IS. "Oh, let the wood alone! We have got some remind at dur house that ought to go in, but I sh^Vt ^o it, Father mayhire a man to do such work* Oi»pie,,ol4 Tqqi will be glad of that job," said George. " No, I am going to do this before any thing else," said Daniel, as he picked u^ a % ■It ip y a nd sent itJying^doyn the.ceilar*wayr ^ '•'Vr.v nm U. "Did your old man make you do itP" asked FFyiOft. "Who?" queried Daniel, so sharply that tbi Jl!(iy at* h.i J. I ■*.*. ' ('•'•>(i.,ai£viW < 1 !"■*, "■ HELPINS FATHER. gg error, «id corrected his form of question. " Did your father nalte jondothia job?" j rge Flyson, don't you eall my father ' old mln ' If you don t know any bettor than to treat your father disre- spe^fully, j-ou sha'n't treat mine so," answered Daniel. /«. Ho ! Seems yon are getting mighty pious all of a udden. Gness I'll have to be going. I'm not good enough for you i and, with a sneering look, George went off. - t T. HELPING FATHER. PART SECOND. T-HE wood-pilo in the cellar grew larger, until the wood- M. p,le m the yard was all gone; then Daniel shut down the tmp-door, ran into the house and brushed his clothes and started ont to find his playmates and have a game of Wit ^^^ *''" '"" """y' '^™'°fe Bomething for him and the thought of this pleased him much J. He felt happier still when his fither came homo to sup- per, and s«d wh,le at the table, " My wood did not come, li tt^:i " Mr A V" T ""^■"' " «P this aftern'oon certainly. Mr. Andrews always called his wife "mothe? » wd » iTli'J m""^ T"- ' "** "■" *^ "'«"' '■"» 'h« yam, replied Mre. Andrews. J' " Ji;^" ""^^ ^"""^ "'"'' *^*^^ P"<^ '^ ^"' I «"PPo«e he will charge fifty or eeventy-five cents for doing it," said Mr An- 1 !?: !!?..^^'"^ ^ ^^ P"i '^ ^"'^ ' ^'d ^"" ^^''^ " Whflt uuyr-w.uh a smart little fellow that plays around here a ^ 66 DOMINION FOURTH AeaDER. / 4. *'Some little boy who wanted some pocket-moneV^ I suppose. Whose boy was it > " asked Mr. Andrews. - There he is; he will tell you all about it-' and Mrs. Andrews pointed to Daniel, who was enjoying the fun quietly. And now he was pleased indeed to hear how gratified his father was at finding his little boy so ?ndustrious and thoughtful It repaid him amply for not going smelt^fighing. * ^. It was not long after this that the bleak winds of No- vember began to blow. The leaves of the trees fell lifeless to the earth, and every thing prepared to put on the ermine^ garb of winter. One evening when Daniel went to bed he put aside his curtain, and looked out into the street. He 'was surprised to find it white with snow. Silently and gently, one by one, the tiny^ flakes had fallen, until hillside and valley, street and house-top, wei-e fairly covered with the spotless snow. 6. -I wonder how deep ^ will be by morning. ) Perhaps there will be enough for sleighing. Old Tom will U round to clear off .the sidewalk and platforms. I hjust get ahead of him this winter, and save father some more money;" «ad Daniel got into bed as quickly as he could, so that he should awake early in the morning. ^ 7. When Mr. Andrews awoke the next day, he heard the scraping of a shovel on the sidewalk, and said to his wife "Tom has got along early this morning. These snow-storms are profitable to him. Last winter I guess I paid him five or SIX dollars for shoveling snow.'* , ,,.| j v^;, 8. When hb got up, however, and looked out of the win- dow, he was not a little astonished to see Daniel shovelinRofl the sidewalk, his cheeks all aglow with the healthy exercise m. tt Inbabits oold climates, and • ti'nj^ lutlej veiy aajib; - J ^^ Jl. ,I\lMthksi'^fy>. '■A m?i ;3Sf HELPING FATHER. m See that boy, mother," said he to his wife; -he has cleared the walk off nicely. What a good little fellow he is r When Christmas comes, we must reward him for this " P. And so Daniel went on according to this beginning. He cleared the snow dff after every storm. In the spring- time he put the garden and yard all in order, and did a great many things which his father had always paid a nWi for doing. And he had plenty of time to play besides, and then he enjoyed his play better^r there is always a satisfaction in doing well, which lejjdgl charm to every undertaking 10. One day^^ut a year after the day-that Daniel had put. in the $i^t load of wood, his father said to him, -My son, I have kept an account of the work that you have done for ' me the past year, and find that, allowing you what, I shoqld have paid ^ Tom, I owe you to-day forty-two dollars " 11. -As^much as that, father.? Why, I did not know I could earfl so much all myself, and I did not work very hard either, said Daniel. - Some of it was pretty hard work for a little boy that likes to play,- replied his father; -but you did It well, and now I am ready to pay you." 12 -Pay me ? What ! the re'al money right in my. hands ? -- Yes, the real money ; " and Mr! Andrews placed a roll t)f - bank notes - in his little son's hands. ;< ^t ?f'^^ ^''''^^^ ^* ^^ ^^'^ * ^"^ °^^»«*««' *«d then said, ni tell you what to do with this money for me, papa. "- What, my eon ?"-'' Buy my clothes with it.- And ] he did so. TO BE MEMORIZED. The riches of the commonwealth -^ftrrpTermong^inWs^andJ^^ of health / And more to her than gold or grain. The cunning \ hand and cnltured ^rt/V».-WHimER. CWn'nlng, ingenious ; akUlful. 'M . '0 if- '*■! k' i^ III w 68 DOMINION FOURTH READER 8. HAND AND HEART. IN storm or shine, two friends of mine Go forth to work or play ; And when they yigjt poor men's homes. They bless them by the way. .2. Tis willing hand ! 'tis cheerful heart I The two best friends I know ; Around the hearth come joy and mirth. Where'er their fades glow. ^ 5. Come shiiie, 'tis bright ! comiB dark, 'tis Hght 1 • Come cold, 'tis warm ere 16ng ! So heavily fall the hammer-stroke ! Merrily sound the sdng ! 4. Who falls may stand, if good right hand ' I^ first, not second best : ' Who weeps may sing, if kindly heart Has lodging in his breast. 6. The humblest bdard has dainties pou?fed. When they sit down to dine ; The crust they eat is honey-sweet, * ^^ The water good as wine. 6. They flit the purse with honest ^Id, They lead no creature wrong ; So heavily fall the hammer-stroke I Merrily sound the song ! . - 7. Without the s e , twai n, thjB poor complain Of evils hard to bear ; But with them poverty grows rich, And finds a loaf to sparol, •, ■ » ., ..'Jai ■4ii^;V.ijfc>;te-;.i>l3C: ■ijSi .-^^ /■ USEFUL people! 59 9. 8. Their looks are fire ; their words inspire; Their deeds give courage high ;— About their knees the children run, Or climb, they know not why. Who sails, or rides, or walks with them. Ne'er finds the journey long ; So heavily fall the hammer-stroke ! Merrily sound the song ! ^ 9. USEFUL PEOPLE. T^HERE are many /ays of being useful. You are useful A —you who, from a love of order, and from a wish to see everybody happy, watch carefully that nothing should be out of place, that nothing should be injured, that every thing should shine with cleanliness. 2. You are usef ul-you whom sickness keeps in chains, and who are patient and resigned, praying for those who are doing work that you would like to do. * ]| /\ 5. You are useful-you who are prevented by others from working because «iey douK your capacity; you who get snubbed and hive employments given to you that are quite unfitted.to your ability, and.who yet keep silence, and are humble and good-natured. 4. Which one of you all, dear souls, is the hftppidst and most useful? The one that is nearest to God. 5. ** Do well to-day the little that Providence asks of you just now,- writes wise St. Francis de Sales,* " and to-morrow, which will then be our to-day, we shall see what onghft to he Undertaken." ^ nnhi *^r^ "'•^^'"'*'* ''**«* *» '^o** o' cliaHtr. He ^ ^J*?^/^ "*" ^•"•'* *° ^*«7 WM canonized in 1666 HteTellir. and died in 1689. after a life de- ions works aie bighVeJZS^ r% \- 60 DOMINI^ FOURTH READER. 6. Let UB leave off castle-gilding, and make beautiful the present minute, which our good God gives us to embellish ; ' after that another, and then another. * 7. How swi^y these minutes fly, and how easily they are either lost or made precious in the sight of God ! Let us re- member thenihat it is with minutes well spent we are to obtain an entrance into heaven. 10. GENEROUS PEOPLE. A N alms of which very few think is the alms of happi- ^^ ness. Give a little happiness to those around you : it is a pleasant thing to^. Try to make them happy : it is a charming and easy occupation. .. / 2. Happiness is one of those goods that we can give to /others without losing any thing ourselves. Each one has it at the bottom of his heai*t like a provision « in reserve. 3. It can never be exhausted, if we were to give forever ; and by this alms, given with a good intention, we enrich both ourselves and others. 4. The small change of happiness— coin which the poorest possess, and with which we can give alms at any ti^e— is this : A kindly way of receiving a request, a visit, or a contradic- tion; a pleasant expression, which, without effort, ^raws a smile to the lips of others; a favor graciously granted^ or, sometimes, simply asked ; thanks uttered sincerely and with- out affectation;' a word of approbation* given in an affec- tionate tone to one who has worked near us, or with us. 6. It is very little, all this : do .not refuse it. God will re- pay it 4;o you, even in this life. iy^toli,HHd£et>eroaful: ' Af «d Ul*|Utt, "Wl>ttemprW • Proviaion (pro viih'un), some- thing laid up in store; especially a'stootTof food. assume or diaplaf what is not natural or real. * Ap'pro brUon, praise; likbig.. ■■i*si^ik.: ' hJirf .it'X'--ii?*!«J!&;i si^id ':•■-, J::ikMi~'-i^:b^i£l<&: f--^ JERRY, THE MILLER. 11. JERRY, THE MILLER. « BENEATH the hiU you may see the mill Of wasting wood and crumbling stone ; The wheel is dripping an^J^^rjing still, But Jerry, the miller, J^Bjid gone. Year after year, early aL Alike iirttammer aad jn^p^^her, He peeked the stones and cSik the gate, And mill and miUer grew old together. ei A " Little Jerry ! "-.'t^all the same— They loved him weU who called him so ; -1 And whether he'd ever another name, Nobody ever seemed to know. Ih 'Twas ' • Little Jerry, come grind my rye ; " And "Little Jerry, come grind my wheat." ■ And "Little Jerry" was still the cry, From parent kind and children sweet. B. 'Twas ' « Little Jerify " _ on every tongue, And thus the simple truth was told • ^ For Jerry was little when he was young. And he was little when he was old. <5. But whAt in size he chanced to lack, ' • Jerry made up in being strong ; Jg I've seen a sack upon his back, As round as the miller and quite as long. 7. Always busy and always merry, Always doing his very best, A notable wag was little Jerry, ■It Blflts $l»ndingj«8l7' B.^ How Jerry lived is known to fame, '^ But how he died there's none may know .; \X ■ /' £> 6S DOMINION FOURTH READER. 'p\ One autumn day the rumor * came — "The brook and Jerry are very 9. And then 'twas whispered mournfully The leech' had come and he was dead, And all the neighbors flocked to see— " Poor little Jerry " was allfchey said. ' Rumor (r^'mor), flying or pop- known authority for the trutli of it. ular report ; a story passing from ^ « Liaoh, physician ; one who person to person, without any practices the art of healing. THE BAREFOOT BOY. 10. They laid him in his earthly bed— His miller's coat his only shroud^ " Dust to dust,"" the words were said, And all the people wept aloud ; IrU-^Jov he had shunned the deadly ' sin, And not a grain of over toll Had ever dropped into his bin, To weigh upon his parting soul. 12. Beneafh the hill there stands the mill Of wasting wood and crumbling stone ; The wheel is dripping and clattering still, But Jerry, the miller, is dead and gone. Saxe.* 6^ o 12. THE BAREFOOT BQY. OLESSINGS, on thee, little man, -LI Barefoot boy, with cheeks of tan I With thy turned-up pantaloons. And thy njerry whistled tunes ; With thy red lip, rodder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill ; With the sunshine on thy face. Through thy torn brim's jaunty a grace: From my heart I give thee joy ;— I was once a barefoot boy ! •» 2, Prince thou art— the grown-up man ^ Only is republican,* ' D^ad^y, here meang the bjd of » Jaunty (jto^tl). airy • nhowy r'"*7™"^ „ " «Rep«/Uoan,onewhofaV^ John O. 8i«e, an American or prefers a-^veriiment of, the IT'iC' "T. ** «'«''«*^^' people exerclsTfor the peop e by I \ "rmont. 1819 ; died in 1887. elected representative.. * \* ■>»'^,^/ r-^ 4> 64 DOMINION FOURTH READER. Let the million-dollared ride — '■ Barefoot, trudging at his side, ThotPftast mok than he can buy. In the reach of ear and eye : \^ ' Outward sunshine, inward joy — Blessings on thee, barefoot boy ! S. Oh for boyhood's painless play ; Sleep that wakes in laughing day ; Health that mocks the doctor's rules ; Knowledge (never learned of schoolg) Of the wild bee's morning chase. Of the wild flower time and place, Flight of fowl, and habitude ^ Of the tenants of the wood ; How the tdr'toise bears his shell. How the woodchuck digs his cell. And the ground-mole sinks his well ; Hpw the robin feeds her young. How the oriole's' nest is hung ; 4' Where the whitesf lilies blow, ? Where the freshest berries grow, WheiU the ground-nut trails its vine, •^ Where the wood-grape's clusters shine ; Of the black wasp's cunning way. Mason of his walls of clay, ^ And the architectural « plans Of gray hornet artisans !* 1 Bflb'i tflde, usual manner of called golden-robin or hang^rd. "-°^'/^"°^' oi- acting. » Ar^ohl Utet^flr al. of. or relat ■CKriWi, a blnTof aeveral va- lietieB of the thrush family— some of a golden yellow and black, oth- ers orange and black ; sometimeii ing to, the art of building. ♦ Ar^lpan (ttr'tl ran), one trained to hand skill in some mechanica! art or trade ; a builder. 6. f THE BAREFOOT BOY. For, eschewing 1 books and tasks. Nature answers all he asks ; Hand in hand witft- her he walks. Face to face with h^r he talks, Part^and parcel of her joy, Blessings on the barefoot boy ! Oh for boyhood's time pf June, Crowding years inune brief moon. When all things I heard or saw. Me, their master, waited for ; — I was rich in flowers an^^Ltrees, Humming-birds and honey-bees \ For my sport the squirrel played. Plied 2 the snouted mole his spade ; For my taste the blackberry-cone Purpled over hedge and stone ; Laughed the brook for my d^ight. Through the day, and through th^ night. Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall ! 65 r f ^ * jji Mine the sand-rimmed pickewsl pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond. Mine on bending orchard trees * Apples of Hesperides !« Still as my horizon * grew. Larger grew my riches, too.; All the world I saw or knew raioEexR^g (es diQ'ing), keep" ing cW of ; shunning. « PObd, work«d steadily. • Hea ^x'i ,JSi, four sisters fa- ble'l as guardians of golden ap o plea ; hence, gdden applet. * Ho rl'zon, the circle 6r line that bounds the part of the earth's sur- face where the earth and sky ap. pear to meet. y .#S'' ,',C- ^15 V' ^ 66 DOMINION FOURTH READER. Seemed a complex ^ Chinege' toy. Fashioned for a barefoot boy ! 7. Oh for festal' dainties spread, liike my bowl of. milk and bread — Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone gray and rude ! .O'er me like a regal' tent, # Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, •*» Looped in many a wind-swung fold ; While fof music came the play Of the pied frogs' orchestra ; * And, to light the noisy choir, . Lit the fly his lamp of fire ; I was nlbnarch : pomp and joy Waited on Ifhe barefoot boy I 8. Cheerily, then, my little man. Live and laugh as boyhood can. Though the flinty slopes be hard. Stubble-speared the new-mown sward. Every "fliorn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew ; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat. 9. All too soon these feet must hide In the prison-cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, , Like a colt's for work be shod. ' Obm'ptox, not simple. ■FKi'tiO, belonging to a holi' day, dr feast ; joyous ; gay. ' Rf 'f Hi, pertaining to a king ; kingly ; royal ; as, regal state. . < Orohestra (dr'kM tri), a band of musicians performing in a oon- eert-hall, or other public place. N,::.k. f.^ 'V- 67 ^ -%' THE BOY ok HAARLEM. t 'Made to tread the mills of toil " ITp and down iii ceaseless moil I * Happy if their track be found Nevter on forbidden ground — Happy if they sink not in Quipk and treacherous sands of sin. Ah ! that thou couldst kno^ thy joy t Ere it passes, Barefoot 3oy ! Whittier.' ■' ^ 13. THE BOY OF HAARLEM. AT an early period in the history of Holland, a boy, who is xl. the hero' of the following narrative, was born in Hiiarlem, a town remarkable for its variety of fortune in war, bui happily still more so foF its manufactures and inventions in peace. , • *. ^ 2. His father was a sluicer^th&t is, one whose employ- ment it was to open and shut the slii ices', Vr large loat' gates, which, placed at certain regular distances, close the entra^^ of the canals, and e^cure H 3. When water is wanted, the sl^S«r rai^efi the sluices more or less, as required, and closes thdm again cajjjft^lly at night ; otherwise the w^ter would flow into,4he can^ovefr flow them, and inundate * the whole country. Even "the little children in Holland are fully aware of the importance of a punctual discharge of the sluicer^s duties. Mnl l, th t -d^ouwuV^^MT toH^ icaTr poetg, was bom TOW-Btvgf . that oomes from hard labor ; a apot '"^f ^^^ ^^^ father's orders, did not ?*^5l^^^ffi*g^ m^s 8tQries,buta8 ' W^^Jwl "^iWlearorie muffin, took leare of him to \^' 'Aa^Jie^^ljii" along ^^ *^® canals, then qui^ull, for it was in Atober, and the autumn rains had iwelledlie waters, the bof ^rst stopped to pull the little blue flow*rs which , hia mpth1| loved so well, then, in childish gayety,%u^me^ ^B»e merry song. The road gradually became more ^litary,^ toid'^oon neither the joyous shouts of the villager, returning ^^^is^ottage home, nor the rough voice of the carter,^rum- J^ing at his lazy houses, was^ny longer to be heard. ' 7. The little fellow now perceived that the blue of the flowers in his hand was scarcely distinguishable from the green of the surrounding herbage,' and he looked up in some ^ ' would he himself be drowned, but his rather, his breathers, his neighbors — nay, the whole village. • ^^^^ 13. We knoA^noj; what faltering * of purpose, what m<>- mentary failure of courage there might have been during that, long and terrible night ; Jaat^ certaiB r4t48. that at Jilay - break he was found in the same painful positiori^hy a priest, returning from an atrenSahce on a death-bed, who, as he ad- > Ffltering (farter ing). falling short ; trembling ; hesitatioB. .#' '»- EXCELSIOR. ^j vanced, thought he heard'Iroans, and bending oyer 'them/ discovered a child kneeling on a stone, writhing from pain,' 'and with pale face and tearful eyes. H. *'Why, dear child," he exclaimed, **what are you doing there? "--I am hindering the water from rhnning out," was the answer, in perfect simplicity, of the child, who, during that whole night, had been eyincing»" such heroic lortitude 2 and undaunted^ courage. 15. The Muse* of history, too often blind to true glory, has handed down to posterity the n^me of many a warrior' the destroyer of thousands of his'iellow-Bien— she has left us in ignorance 9f this real little hero of Haarlem, \t #=> 14. EXCELSIOR. 'T^ HE shades of night were falling fast, A As through an Alpine village passed, A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device. Excelsior!" His brow waa sad : his eye beneath Flashed like-a falchion* from, its sheath; And like a silver clarion ' rung The accents of that unknown tongue, ;f)xcEi^8iou I / -*v- mi ' B vlno'lng, sh^inf^olearly. 'J'^r'ti tflde, tl;i$^trep^h of ioH which enables one to meet dangefwllh coolness and^^rmness, or to bear pain ot ^appointment without murmuring "^ » Un cUunt'ed, bmVe ; feariess. 'Mfiae, one of the nine gtxl- desses of history, poetry, etc. » BzoM'ilor, more elevated; aiming higher ; l^ie mntto^of JM State, of New York. * Falchion (fel'dhun), a short, crooked sword. ' if^*OU(ifio{pi,^yirind instrument suited to war. W ' 1 ' . ^ il i * Wm i 72 FOURTH READER. S. ^Jn happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleamum«|,and bright ; ^ Above, the spectra^l^Kciiere^gTioni^ > ^And-from his lips escaped a groan, ExCELSIOli ! "Try not the Pass !" the old man said ; " Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; The roaring t6rrent is deep and wide ! " A^d loud that clarion voice replied. Excelsior I . - « % 5. *'0h, stay," the maiden said, ''and i;e8t Tt|^ weary head upon this breast ! " A tfea'i-^gtood in his bright blue eye ; But still he answered with a sigh, EXCEIJWOR ! 6. " ^ew^.the pine-tree's, witherei| branch I Beware^l^ avMl avalanche ! "3 " This WM' the peasant's last Good-nigljt ! A voice r^ii^, far- up i\^ height • ■ ... ■■ " , -^^EXOELBIOB ^' >f:A 7. At break of ^ay, as^ The pious monks ^. ^%|c»#al, relating ¥o te appa^a relftarkable modntajn pass in the tion^, or the appearance of a -"^ chain of the Alps, between Pi6d'- P%irit; ghostly, mont and the Valais (va Ifi'). A '^. » OiaVSr, aJ'moving field of ice strong stone building is situated and snow, formed in the valleys on the summit of this pass. It is and elopes of Idfty mou nM ns. oc cupied during the wIioIm y nnr b y <&*•>. 'Avalanche (llv'a l&6ih'), a snoW-slip; a vast body of ice, 'or ea^h, sliding down a mountain. * Saint Bernard (isent bSr nftrd'). ; pious monks, who, with their val- uable dogs, hold themselves in readiness to aid travelers arrested by the snow aud\x)ld. trttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried, through the startled air. Excelsior 1 -^^j^l^-^^^^ ll '* DOMINION FOURTH READER S. A t^yder^ by the faithful hound. Half -buried in the enow was found, . Still graaping, in his hand of ice,, -y That banner with the strange device, ^ :.;>_.,__._:>._• 'Excelsioe!:;,,-;-.! ,:-- ! 9. There, in the twilight, cold and gray. Lifeless, but beautiful he lay i And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell like a falling star, ExceuaoBl ' - ' liOirOFELIiOW.' 16. BATTLE OF BLENHEp. IT was a summer evening. Old Rasper's Work was dWe : And he before his cottage door\ , Was sitting in the sun J \ And by him sported on the green, ' ' / JHis little grandchild Wflhelmine^l $, She saw her brother Peterkiii ^'' Boll something large and round, ! ; J Which he beside the rivulet, ' i ^ ri In playing there had found. He came tp ask what he had fotind, " : That was so large, and smooth, and round. .„'■ ^ 'BMury Wadrarorth LoagM. moral purity and eani««t hatean- jy^^jg,:^"'^^"^ Po«* . Hgg bom Ity portTay e l in hfa rt i iBa, exdU loJr* **' ^*^^' ^«^"»^ ^> the aympathy, and nach the heart 1807 and died March 34, 1882. of the public. His workg have Thj high finish, graoef ulneas, and passed through many editions both vivid beauty of his stylo, ani the in America and in Europe. \'.- (.:.> ::!:/ ■ ■. ;* ■ I ■ ■ I:- BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. ■76 S. Old Kasper took it from the boy. Who stood expectant* by ; And then the old man shook his head. '^^^lirilliT^naturar'Bigh, "'"'"' "*Ti8 some poor fellow's skult/* said he, " Who fell in the great victory. ' B^>eot«nt (?kB pSkt^uit), apr>eariag to watt or look for vomeifiing. "!« .^•.•'A' '.«■. W ■iMtt -1 «v Si DOMINION FOURTH READER. H i •• ti ! !M Uf f ID' ! 4. Among the desperately wounded was the generqil m "clMiiimand of the department. He was borne from the .Reamer to the waiting ambulance,' writhing in anguish from the pain of his bleeding limb, which had been torn by a shell ; and when they asked where he wished to be taken, he feebly moaned: "Anywhere, it matters not. Where I can die in peace." "'^vy- 5. So they todk him to the Hotel Dieu, a noble and beauti- ful hospital in charge of the Sisters of Chal4ty. The limb> was amputated, and there he was nursed for weeks through the agony of the surgical operation, the fever, the wild de- lirium, and for many days no one could tell whether life or d'eath would be the victor. But who was the faithful nurse, ever at his bedside, ever watchful of his smallest needs? Why, only " one of the Sisters. " f 6. At last life triumphed, reason returntd, an^ with it much of the old, abrupt manner. T^he general &woWt to a face not altogether unknown bendfcig over him, and to a pair of skillful hands arranging a bandage, wet in ice-cdld water, around his throbbing temples, where the mad pain and aching had so long held sway. He was better now, though still very weak ; but his mind was clear, and he oould think calmly and connectedly q^ all that had taken place since the fatal" Imttle which had so nearly taken his life, and had left him at best but a mutilated remnant of his former Self. 7. Yet he was thankful it was no worse — that he had not been killed outright. In like degree he was grateful to those who had nursed him so tenderly and faithfully, es- pecially the gray-rob§4 woman, who had become alipost angelic in his eyes; an4 at last he expressed his gratitude' in sick or wounded br diiiiablod from "tfafrfiwld uf batllB. — — — % • m I HEROINES OF CHARITY. 8S / his own peculiar way. Looking intently at the Sister, he said : "■ Did you get the ice alid beef ? " 8. The Sistet- started. The question was So direct and un- expected. Surely her patient must be on the high road to : recovered health.', ''Yes," she replied simply, but with 3, ' kind glance of her soft eyes that spoke eloquently her thanks. " And your nameis-r " '* Sister Frances." 9. "Well, then. Sister Frances, I am glad you got the things — glad I gave you the order, j I think I know" now ' what you do with your beggings — I comprehend something " • of your work, your charity, your rel/gion, and 1 hoj)^ to be ' better for the knowledge. I owe you a debt I can ne^er re- pay, but you will try to believe that I am deeply grateful for • all your great goodness and 'ceaseless care." ' 10. *' Nay» you owe me nojtliin^ ; but to Him whose cross I bear, and in whose lowly footsteps I tr^^to follow, you owe a debt of gratitude unbounded. To His infinite mercy I com- mend you. ll matters not for the body ; it is that sacred mystery, the immortal soul, that I would save. My work liere Ih done. I leave you to the care of others. - Farewell." The door softly opened and closed, and Sister Frances was gone. 11. Two months afterward she received a letter, sent i<\ the care of the Mother Superior, enclosing a check for one tho*wjmd dollars. At the same time the general took occasion to remarK' that ho wished he were able to double the amount, knowing by experience "what they did with the beggings." TO BE MEMORIZED. Fo^ one thing only. Lord, dekr Lord, I plead, lead me aright. Though strength should falter i and though heart should bleed, ^^''QUgh peace to light, ^lllfiy is like restless day ; but peace divine like quiet night : Lead me, O Lord, till perfect day shall shine, through peace to light. .A,r| ! SDSLAIDE~A'nPROCTER. :if^ H '\, DOMINION FOURTH READER. 18. BIRDS IN SUMMER. Hf 'I \ n ! if J r How pleasant the life of a bird must be, Flitting about in each leafy tree : In the leafy, trees so bro^d and talT, Like a green and beautiful palace hall, / With its airy chamber^, light and boon, ,.>-/ That open to sun and stars and moon, / That open unto the bright blue sky, / And the frolicsome winds as they wai)4er by ! 2. They haVe Iqft their nests in the fWest bough, Those homes of delight they nee^i not now ; And the young and the old they wandei" out. And traverse their green wo/ld round about ; * And hark ! at the top of i\A% leafy hall, \ How one to the other th^y lovingly call : ' ' Come up, come icp ! 'V tljfey seem to say,i '■'■Where the topmost twigs in the breezes s^way /'* 3. " Come up, cqme up ! for the uwld is fair, Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air.** And the birds below give back the cry, " M^e come, ire come to the branches high ! " How pleasant the life of a bird mu^t be, [Flitting about in a leafy tree ; And away through the air what ipy to go, And to look on the green bright earth below ! IT 1 . 4. How pleasant the life of a bird^ must be, Skimming about on the breezy sea, Gfesting the billows like* silvery' foam. And then wheeling ajTay^to its cliflf-built^Jiome ! What joy it must be, to sail, upbonfe By » strong free \ving, through th^ rosy natorn, To meet the young sun face to ftfce. And pier ce like a shaft th^ I tound lfi ^a apftC ff t v"1r -w/ 5. 1 " ^ * :., 'v' .'• 'V ■ BIRDS IN StJMMER. '^ -v/ 5. How pleasant the life of a bird mii8,t be, Wherever it listeth, there to flee ; To go when a joyful fancy calls^ DashiT% adown 'mong the waterfa Then wheeling abotil with its mates |)ove and below, and amoi^g the spr^^ Hither and thither, with se)^S^ni8 as w ABIIielSttpnigrni^tFWa rosy chill 86 DOMINION FOURTH READER. What a joy it must be, like a living breeze, To flutter about 'mong the flowering trees ; Lightly to soar) and to see beneath Thei^astes of the blossoming purple heath, A^ the yellow furze, like fields of gold. That gladden some fairy region old ! On mountain tops, on the billowy sea. On the leafy stems of the forest tree, How pleasant the life of a bird must be ! HOWITT. 19. TMJE. SERMON OF ST. FRANCIS. P soared the lark into the air, A shaft of song, a winged prayer, a soul, released from pain, Were flying back to heaven again. 2. St. Francis heard ; it Wfis to him An emblem of the Seraphim ; ' The upward motion of the fire. The light, the heat, the heart's desire.- S. Around Assisi's cftnvent gate The birds, God's poor who can not wait, From moor ' and mere * and darksome wood Come flocking for their dole * of food. J^. "O brother birds," St. Francis said, " Ye come to me and ask for bread. But nt)t with bread alone to-day Shall ye be fed and sent away. * > Mary Hewitt, an English au- thoress, was bom in 1804. She is an adniirable prose writer, and she ranks deservedllir high among the fair poets of her country, hav- -4ag but lew eqoatef- -^ ..„—.. — » Sdi/a phim, angels of the high ept order. » Moor, waate laqd, covered witii heath or with rocks. * M^re, a po^l or lake. H;^ ^ lV//y THE ROBIN'S. BREAST IS RED. 87 B. *♦ Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds With manna of celestial ' words. ' Kot mine, though mine they seem to be. Not mine, though they be spoke by me.^| V z' 6. "Oh doubly are ye bound to praise The great Creatbr in your lays : He giv5th you your plumes of down, Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown. 7. "He giv5th you your wings to fly And breathe a purer air on high, And carfetb for you everywhere, Who for yourselves so little -care ! " 8. With flutter of swift wings and songs, Togetjier rose the feathered throngs, singing, scattered far apart : )eep peace was in St. Francis' heart. He knew not if the brotherhood His hiomily ' had understood ; He only knew that to one ear The meaning of his words was elear. H. W. Longfellow. 20. WHY THE ROBIN'S BREAST IS RED. THE Saviour, bowed beneath the Cross, Ascended Calvary's hill. While from the cruel, thorny wreath - Flowed many a crimson rill, irhe brawny • soldiers thrust Him on With unrelenting hand, Till, staggering slowly 'mid the crowd, He fell upon the sand. * Ce Ks'tial, heavenly. » Brawn'j^, having lai^, Strang AHam^ly,anaddwM;a. — — — - . — A •>i: f.^ #, r^ '^S: ■'a^",. i^!:' I ■' fer :n,i \. %^^^ .0^. \^^^< it*' '•■ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) & /. :a . t> « k ,-u «'i« r:o I.I no ■^" ■ 2.2 ~ 13.6 ■■■ IL25 i 1.4 L//«|l 12.0 1.6 If Sciences Corporation '^v :i>^ ^4 %. 23 WIST MAIN STRUT WnSTU.N.Y. 14SS0 (71«) •73-4909 ■ '^ ' 1 » 4 - ■ •' i ..^ - a' >■ * *• * « ^ k 1 « 3 « f • * * Hk "'r"* • « ■ r * <« >■• J ^ ^ •t * » f^ k It- . .. ■ ■ -u • , ■% - 38 DOMINION FOURTH READER. 2. A little bird that warbled near, '' That ever blessed day, . Fli^ied around, and strove to wrench One single thorn away. The cruel spear impaled ' his breast, And thus, 'tis sweetly said, The robin has his silver vest Incarnadined ' with red. S. O Jesus ! Jesus ! God made man 1 My dolors ' arid my sighs, Sore need the lesson taught by this Winged wanderer of the skies. I, in the palace of delight. Or caverns of despair, Have plucked no thorns from Thy dear brow, But planted thousands there. ..^ 21. SIGN OF THE CROSS. IT is the token, the memorial of tiie pains and humilia- tions which our dear Lord bore for us; and each time we make it we ought to mean thereby that we t^ke up His Cross, accept it willingly, clasp it to our heart, and unite all we 4o to His saving Passion. With this intention, let the Sign of the Cross be your first waking act ; dedicating your day to Him as a soldier of the Cross ; let your last conscious act before sleep be that precious sign, \%ich will banish evil spirits from your bedside and rest upon you as a safeguard till the day returns. 2. Begin your prayers, your work, with the Sign of the QrQ§g^ in token that they are dedicated to Him. Let it sanc- > Im pUad', pierced ; fixed on a sharp instrument. * In oir'na dlneil, dyed red. • DO' lor, pain ; distrem. SidN OF THE CROSS. S9 tify, or make holy, your going out and your coming in. Let It hallow your conversation and intercourse with others, wliether social or in the order of business. 3. Who could be grasping, over-reaching, false ; who could give way to unkind words, judgments, uncharitable gossip, unholy talk, who had but just stamped the Cross of Christ • upon their lips in token that 4hey are pledged to use the gift of speech, like all else, in the service of their God ? I Let it consecrate your food, so that eating and drinkiuff instead of the mere indulgence of earthly cravings, may be to the glory of God." Let the Sign of the Cross soothe and stay you in sorrow, when, above all, you are brought near Him who lays it on you, but who also bore it for you. Let it sober and steady your hour of joy or pl(5asure. Lgt it calm your impulse of impatience, of petulance, of intolerance of others, of eager self-assertion or self-defense. Let it check he angry expression ready to break forth, the unkind word Uie unloving sarcasm, or cutting jest. 5. Let it purify the light, or careless,,or Jrreverent utter- ance, the conventional falsehood, the brfkstful wortl of self- seeking. And be sure that if the Sign 6f the Cross is thus your companion and safeguard through the day, if in all places and seasons you accustom yourself to - softly make the sign to angels known," it will be as a tower of strength to you. and the po^er of evil over you will become feebler and feebler TO BE MEMORIZED. Tkg saint that wears heave^n's bfightest crown In deepest adoration bends: The weight of glory bmvs him dn his couch, pondering • on this prodigy,' ,. the Lord Jesus Himself appeared to liim, and b&de him taka. the miraculous ' sign he had seon in the heavens as his standard, for under that sign he should triumph over all liis enemies. 5. This standard is the famous Lab'arum. It is described by the historian Euse'bius, who saw it himself, and who ako had from the lips of Constantine, confirmed* by oath, an e?^act account of the miraculous events which led him to ad6pt the Cross as his standard. G. It consisted of a spear of extraordinary length, overlaid with j^old, athwart which wad laid a piece in fashion of a Cross. Upjju its top was fixed a crown composed of gold and precious stones, and inserted* in the crown was the mono- gram" or symbol of the Saving Name, viz.: two Greek letters 2 expressive of the figure of the Cross, and being also the initial* letters of liie name of Christ. 7. From the cross-piece hung a banner of purple tissuij^'in length exactly ftqual to its breadth. On its upper portlpn were embroidered in gold and in colors the portrait of tlie vjmperor, and' thos6 also of his childi-en. The banner wa\ thickly studded with precious stones and interwoven with \ much gold, presenting a spedtacle' of inexpressible beauty. ||L . 8. This standard was intrusted to the keeping of fifty o)^^v the bravest and noblest of the imperial* guards, whose duty it^^ a. ' Pdn'der ing, applying the mint) to a subject with long and careful attention. * Pr5d'i Jy, a miracle ; a won- der ; a thing fitted to astonish. ' Oon finiMd', strengthened : rendered certain. ^LiMrt'ad, set within some- thing. * Mttn'o gram, two or more let- ters blended into one. Xinitial (inlA'al), relating to or marking the commencement ; the first letter of a word. ^ 8p«o^a ole, a remarkable sight or noteworthy fact. ' ^ "Impi'rid, belonging to an ,." empire or an emperor. ^ ^ ^2 DOMINION FOURTH READER. was to surround and defend it on tlie field of battlo ; and this post was regawied as the liighest possible in honor and dig- nity. Constantine also caused the sacred monogram to be emblazoned' on his own helmet, and on the bucklers, hel- mets, and arms of his legions. 9. On the morpng of the great battle, wh«u the first rays of tho October sun gleamed from the mysterious emblem, the soldiers of the Labarum felt themselves, animated with an irresistible ardor. Wherever the sacred .sign appeared, •the enemy gave way before the numerically' inferior soldiers of the Cross. 10. Therefore Gonstantine ordered the saving trophy" to be carried Vherever-lie saw his troops exposed to the greatest danger, and thus victory was secured. The result was most decisive ; for those of the enemy who escaped on the field of battle were drowned in the Tiber. 11. Maxentius had thrown across that river a bridge of Uoats, so contrived as to be pulled to pieces by means of ma- chinery, managed by engineers stationed for the purpose on tho opposite shore. The tyrant thought thus to take his rival in a snare. But he fell into the trap he had laid for another ; for, as he was retreating with his guards over the bridge so cunningly devised, the boats separated from each other, and himself and all who were with him perished in the turbid < waters. 12. Constantine, in his manifesto" to the people of the East, alludes to the m'lracle of the Cross as a well-known fact. Addressing himself to €ur Lord, he says ; " By Thy ' Bm blS'zon, to adorn ; to set off with ornament. » Nu m«r'i oal ly, with .respect to numbers. . ■TrO'phy. semething that ia evidence of victory. < Tftr'Ud, distarbod ; muddy. ' Man 1 fta'to, a public declara- tion, Qsaally of a prince or mler, showing hid intentions. MOUNTAIN OF THE HOLY CROSS. 93 guidance and assistance, I have undertaken and accomplished salutarjr things. Everywhere carrying before me Thy sign, I have led my army to victory." IS. Thp wonderful events here related are beyond doubt. They led to the conversion of Con8tantin(^, who was baptized soon afterward, and is known as the first Christian emperor. 23. MOUNTAIN OF THE HOLY CROSS. * r>M a spuri of the Rocky Mountains which divides the V^ Colora'do district into nearly equal parts, and about one hundred miles west of Denver city, rises a peak to the height of /thirteen thousand three hundred feet above the level of/he sea. In the midst of the immense grandeurs of this m IB. Summer music is there flowing — Flowering plants in them are growing; IIappy*life is iif theni all. Creatures innooei\t and ^all ; Little birds, come dbwn to drink, Fearless of their leafy brink ; * Noble ttees beside them grow. Glooming' them with branches low; And between, the sunshine, glancing. In their little waves, is dancing. S. Little streams have flowers a many. Beautiful and fair as any ; Typha -strong, and green bur-reed ; Willow-herb, Mfith cotton-seed ; Arrow-head, with eye of jet ; And the water-violet. ' :\^ Thfere-the flowering-rush you fneet. And the plumy " meadow-sweet ; " And, in places deep, and ^tilly. Marble-like, the water-Mly. ^ ,- ' - ^ Little streams, their voices cheery, Sound forth welcomes to the weary ; Flowing on from day to day, Withoflt stint and without stay : Here, upon their flowery bank. In the old-time pilgrims drank-^ J 4-- > Brink, the naargin, border, or dark; darkening; as, "A black edge of a deep place ; the ba«k of yew gloomed the stagnant air." a stream or pit. ' 'Plflm'j^, adorned or covered * Oloom'ing, making obscure or with plumes ; feathery. ■M., u , THE OAK-TftEE. Here have seen, as now, pass by, King-fisher, and dragon-fly, *> "Those brig;ht things that have th6ir d^ellitig Ay^herethe little streams arewdling. 5. Down fn*^ valleys gresbn.and lowly. Murmuring not and gliding slowly ; ^- Up in mountain-hollows wild; Fretting like a peevish child ; Through the liaihlet,' where all day ' Sn their, waves the children play; ^ Running jvest, or running east, ^Doing good to man and beast — ' - Always giving, weary never, ^ Little streanls, I love you ever. " > MaBV HoWfTT., 99 26r. THE OAK-TREE. " SING for the oak-tree, the^n^arch » of the wood 1 Sing for the oak-tree, that growfeth green and good ! That groweth broad and branching within the fOrest shade ; That groweth now, and still shall grow when we are lo^vly laid ! The oak-tre* was an acorn once, and fell upon the earth ;< And sun and shower nourished it, and gave the oak-tree 1i)irth : The little sprouting oak-tree ! two leaves it had at first. Till sun and shower nourished it, then out the branches burst. The winds came and the rain fell ; the gusty tempest blew ; All, all were frieAds to ttre oak-tree,^ and stronger yet it grew. The boy that saw the aoom fall, he feeble grew and gray ; But the oa)t was still ft^hriving tree, and strengthened every day. ' Hfim'Iet, s small village ; a lit- superior to all others of the same tie cluster of houses in thd coubtiy. kind ; as. a lion is called the' moth 'Mttn'aroh, a sole ruler; one areA of wild beasteT i*»^ 100 DOMINION FOURTH RE4DER. Four centuries grows, the oak-tree, nor does its verdure faU ; Its hear4; is like the ifon-wood, its bark like plaited mail. Now cut us down the oak-tree, the monarch of the wood ; And of its timber stout atd strong we'll build a vessel good. The oak-tree of the forest both east and west shall fly ; And the blessings of a thousand lands upon our ship shall lie. She shall not be a man-of-war, nor a pirate shall she be ; But a ship to bear the name of Christ to lands beyond the seft. 27. LEGEND OF THE INFANT JESUS. IN a small chapel rich with carving quaint,' Of mystic symbols and devices bold. Where glowed the face of many a pictured saint. From windows high in gorgeous drapery's fold ; And one large mellowed painting o'er the shrine Showed in the arms of Mary— Mother mild- Down looking, with a tenderness divine In His clear, shining eyes, the Holy Child. 2. Two little brothers, orphans young and fair. Who came in sacred lessons to be taught. Waited, as every day they waited there. Till Father Bernard came, his pupils sought, And fed his Master's lambs. Most innocent Of evil or of any worldly lure, Those children were ; from e'en the slightest taint Had Jesus' blood their guileless souls kept pure ! S. A pious man that good Dominican, Whose life with gentle charities was crowned ; BlB dntteB ft the church «8 saoristaa,* For hours in daily routine kept him bound, ^ 1 QuSlnt, Ingenious ; very nice ; onrlouB and old. * BXo'ilat an, an oflBoer of the church who has the care of the ■acred ntenslla or the movables a sexton. LEGEND OF THE INFANT JESUS. 101 '♦... While that young pair awaited his release, „ Seated upon the altar-steps, or spread Thereon their morning meal, and ate in peace And simple thankfulness their fruit and bread. ^ • And often did their lifted glances meet The Infant Jesus' eyes ; and oft He smiled — So thought the children ; sympathy so sweet Brought blessing to them from the BlessM Child- Until one day, w^hen Father Bernard came, The little ones ran forth ^ with claaping hold _^ Each seized his hand, and each with wild acclaim,' In eager words the tale of wonder told : > Ao oUim, a shout of applause or weloome. 102 DOMINION FOURTH READER. 5. " O fathQi', father 1 " both the children cried, " The^dear OhUd Jesus ! He has heard our prayer I We prayed Him to come down and sit beside Us.lfts we ate, and of our feast take share ; '" And He came down and tasted of our bread, And sat and smiled upon us, father dear ! "— Pallid ' with strange amaze, Bernardo said, '* Grace, beyond marvel ! Hath the Lord been here ? 6". " The heaven of heavens His dwelling— doth he deign ' To visit little children ? Favored ye Beyond all thise on earthly thrones who reign, In having seen this strangest mystery ! * , O lambs of His dear flock ! to-morrow, pray Jesus to come again to grace your board And sup with you ; and if He come, then say, * Bid us to Thine own table, blessed Lord t 7. '* ' Our master, too 1 ' do not forget to plead For me, dear children ! In humility I will entreat Him your meek prayer to heed, That so His mercy may extend to me ! " Then, a hand laying on each lovely head. Devoutly the old man the children blessed. ** Come early on the morrow morn," he said, '* To meet— if such His will, your heavenly guest I " 8. To meet their father by the next noon ran The youthful pair, their eyes with rapture * bright. " He came ! " their happy, lisping tongues began ; " He says we all shall sup with Him to-night ! Tho u, tno, dear father ; for we could not comO Alone, without our faithful friend— we said. 'ipKl'lld,Ter7pale. human nndeTBtandlng until ex • XMfn (din), oondescend. plained ; a deep Betfret. • • MjM'tcr f , aomethlng beyond ' HMpt'flre, the gieatest delight Imr ., A: /^^« •li%W"aS.i LEGEND OF THE INFANT JESUS. 103 Oh ! be thou sure our pleadings were not dumb, Till Jesus smiled consent, and bowed His head." .9. Knaeling in thankful joy, Bernardo fell. And through the hours he lay ehtranced * in prayer ; " Until the solemn sound of vesper bell Aroused him, breaking on the silent air. Then rose he, cfllm, and when the psalms were o'er, And in the aisle the chant ' had died away, With soul still bowed his Master to adore. Alone he watched the fast departing day. 10. Two silvery voices, calling through the gloom With seraph sweetness, reached his listening ear ; And swiftly passing 'neath the lofty dome. Soon, side by side, he and his children dear Entered the ancient chapel, consecrate ' By grace mysterious. Kneeling at the shrine,* Before which, robed in sacerdotal * state, That morning he had blessed the bread and wine, 11. Bernardo prayed. And then the chosen three Received the sacred Hosts the priest had blessed. Viaticum * for those so soon to be Borne to the country of eternal rest ; Bidden that night to sup with Christ I in faith Waiting for Him, their Lord beloved, to come And lead them upward ^rom this land of death, To live forever in His Father's home I ' Biitruko*d (en trinst'), bo ab- sorbed in thought »8 to be almost or quite unoonBoloiu. * Bhrlna, a case or box in whidh sacred relics are kept ; hence, an altar ; a place of worsbip. ^^oinm,! — ■ Bld'OT dsnii, neumgtnf to tne^ priesthood. * ▼! Xt'l onm, prorisitms for a joomey ; \\m oommanion given to persons in their last moments. fody^ song words Bung withouTiliilsloal measure. ' Ottn's* orftt*, here used in the sense of consecrated ; hallowed ; dedicated ■ saored. 'JS^J. AltiiitfeSitli 10 A DOM W ION FOURTH READER. 12 In that same chapel, kneeling in their place, All were found dead, their hands still clasped in prayer ; Their eyes uplifted to the Saviour's face, ' The hallowed peace of heaven abiding there ! - While thousands came that wondrous scene to view, And hear the story of the chosen three ; Thence gathering the lesson deep and true- It is the crown of life with Christ to be. • 28. SAINT CHRISTOPHER. PART FIFBT. THE story of St. Christopher, the man so strong and so simple-hearted, has never lost its charm. He was a giant of Canaan, and was called Offero, or Bearer ; that is, one Mdio. carries great burdens. So proud was he of his won- derfu>8trength that he determined to set forth from the land ?f Canaan in search of the most powerful monarch m the world whom alone he would condescend to serve. 2 Offero traveled far and wide and served various masters, but left each as soon as he found there was One more power- f ul He served a mighty king, but the king was afraid of the devil. Then he served the devil, but found ho was afraid of Jesus Christ. "I can never rest," said he, "nor can I taste bread in peaoe, until I have entered the ser^rice of Jesus Christ, who is more powerful than any king on earth, or than Satan himself." */ . , wi S No sooner did he say these words than he sftw at the .pinin g Of a cave a hermit ' weavin g his baakets, with Im prayer-beada of small Btones and his crosa at his siae. " Oansl .thou tell me how I can serve that Jeaiis Ohria^ho isjnort' iBftr^mit^lHary. whose life is deroted to pimyer an^ k^^ SAl^tT CHRISTOPHER. 105 } 18 mon' powerful than any king, and even than Satan, the Prince of Evil?" •' \ I Jf. The' hermit replied gently, *' This King, whose service thou art seeking to enter, will require thee to obey His will instead of thy own, to fast often and to pray much."—*' Fast I will not, for then I should lose my strength ; and to pray I have never learned— yet I wish with my whole heart and strength to serve thy Christ." 5. The hermW was touched by these earnest wor^s, and pointing to the turbulent ^ river, whose hoarse murmurs filled the air, he said : " Though thou canst neither fast nor pray, our Lord Jesus Christ will not refuse thy service. Take thy stand on the bank of that deep and rapid stream, and t;arry over the travelers who call on thee for help ; for there be many that seek my solitude,^ and many that p^ through this desert to the regions beyond." ^^^ 6. OflEero heard the words of the hermit with joy, and^with a glad countenance took up* his abode » on the banks ot the stormy river. Many a one did he carry on his broad shoulders across its seething* waters, ever rejoicing in this his service of Jesus Christ. Meanwhile the hermit taught him many things concerning his great Master. 7. One night the giant heard, a childish voice calling aloi\d to him : ** Good Offero, come and carry mo over the swift river." Prompt to his trust he came at the call, and on the river-bank stood a small, beautiful child, who held out his hands to the faithful servitor.' Offero took up the *T!iiy figure as if he were a feather. But no sooner had he stepped into the stream than the child on his shoulder ■ Ttr'ba lant, disturbed ; quiet ; reatlesB. < Bdl'l tade, a lonely place. un- awens or livei ;« awBllliif. * Meth'ing, boiling ; bubbling. « Sir'vi tor, one who profemee * A l^M*', the place where one .duty or obedience. ii^.. loe DOMINION FOURTH READER. grew heavier than any burden his mighty strength had evei before endured. 8. For a moment his limbs seemfsd to fail him, but he be- thought himself to say, " My Jesus, all for Thee ! " and in- stantly his feet touched the further ^ shore. Setting the child down on the green bank while he wiped the great drops of sweat from his brow, he said, " Child, I think the whole world would not have set so weightily on my shoulders as thou." 9. But the child answered : " Wonder not, good Offero ; for know that this ni^ht thou hast carried, not the world, but Him who made the world. Henceforth thou shalt no longer be called Offero, but Christofero. Plant now thy dry staff in the ground, and to-morrow thou shalt find it covered with leaves and flowers in token ^ that I am He." And when Christofero saw in the morning that it was indeed so, he bowed himself to the dust and said, "Truly He whom I serve is the Greatest and the Best of Masters." 29. SAINT CHRISTOPHER. ^ ' PART SECOND. SOON after this the word of our Lord came unto Chris- topher, that he should arise and go into another country, for there also service was required of him. 2. After many days and nights Christopher reached a large city, and entering in, he found the streets filled with people, and every-where were idols and their temples. Then he knew that here he was to tarry;' but he understood not the language of the people, therefore, kneeling down, he prayed ' > FAr'thmr, here xaawM the more xemote or distaot. * In tSlMii, M a sign. • TV'Ti *o wmaln ; to wait. SAINT CHRISTOPHER. 107 to Jesus Christ that this strange tongue ^ might become ab familiar to him as his native language. S. Rising from his knees, Christopher found that his Master had heard his prayer. Immediately he was able to compre- hend 2 whither the crowds about him were going, and for what purpose. The Christians of Samos, hunted like wolves by their pagan rulers, according t6 the edict of the Emperor Decius,' were on that day to be given to the wild beasts in the circus. . ^. Christopher moved on with the throng, and sought a place as near as possible to these confessors of the faith. As they entered the arena* he called aloud, ** Be of good cheer, my brother^, and persevere unto the end for Christ Jesus \" This fearless exhortation ^ creating a tumult among the spec- tators, the president of the games ordered the offender to be immediately expelled.' 5. As the officers approached and saw his gigantic figure they hesitated, and Christopher said, "Such puny' creatures as ye are I could crush with my fingers, but fear not ! Ye serve your master, and I serve One far mightier, as I will show." Going out, he planted his huge staff firmly in the ground, praying to God that it might again put forth leaves and fruit in order to convert these people. 6. And again God hearkened to the prayer of His servant, for immediately the dry staff stood before all the city a pftlm- tree in full leaf, and bearing most delicious dates. At this sight many were instantly converted to Christ. But the king, > Tonga* (t&ng), speech ; lan- gua^ ; discourse. * OSm pre hind^, to anderstand. ' IM'ol na,' a Roman general who became emperor in 249. He origi- nated the seventh general perse- cuti(m. * A rS'na, the ceptral space of a circus or amphitheatre. ' BKhorUtlon (eks^flr ta^rfhnn). the act of moving to g^ood deed* ; words intended to encourage. * Bz pKUed', driven out. f Pft'ny, small and feehle. - *■• 108 DOM W ION FOURTH READER. Dagnus, hearing of these wonders and filled with hatred, ordered that Christopher should be brought before him. 7. He, meanwhile, remained without the city receiving and instructing those who resorted to him. The soldiers found him alone and absorbed in prayer, his face and figufe so sub- lime in attitude and expression that they paused in fear before him. When Christopher had finished his devotions, he said 4 to them, " Whom do you seek ? '* 8. They answered, "The king has sent us for thee." Christopher replied, " Unless I go willingly, ye can do naught because of my great ^rength. But because I desir^ above all things to behold my Master, lead me to the king."—" What dost thou command ujs to do? "they exclaimed. "Seeing thy great fidelity, We too will serve thy Christ ! " And they entreated * him that he should save himself. 9. But Christopher insisted 2, on being brought before tl^ king, who interrogated him as to his name and profession.^ "Before^I was baptized, they called me Offero, but now I am called Christofero.'' — " Thou hast given thyself a silly name in taking tnat of Christ who was crucified, and who can do nothing for Himself or'for thee." 10. " With good reason," retorted Christopher, " hast thou been called Dagnus ; thou who art the death of thp world and the companion of the devil." Then the king, filled with rage, pronounced his sentence : " Bind this Christopher to a pillar, and let four hundred of the most skillful archers pierce him with their arrows." i 11. The archers indeed were skillful, but not a weapon reached its mark. One arrow turned in its flight, as if driven Hby an inTiBiblo handylind^l^nfered the klnglf^eyerlt^ifliig with pain and rage, he cried out to the* axemen, "Behead that evil one I " > Bn Xs^%V9Ay beggred ; peTBttade4, ' In pSat', to be determined. :(t .■■vA'./"-;', tilfe THE HUCkET. 109 Jf^. Then Christopher called out in a loud voice, "Behold, Dagnus ! my end is at hand, but take the earth that is wet with 9iy blood, and lay it on thy wQunded eye, and thou shalt ^recover thy sight. At the same moment the head of Christo- pher rolled on the earth. 13. The king commanded them to lay the earth, soaked in the martyr's blood, on his eye, and .lo ! the pain ceased, the sight was restored, and Dagnus, like another Pauf, with the recovery of his bodily sight, received the gift of perfedt faith. 30. THE BUCKET. How dear to this heart are the seenesrof my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view I The orchard, the meadow, the deep-t«Dgled wild wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew ; The wide-spreading pond, and the mUl which stood by it, The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell ; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well : The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The mdss-covered bucket, which hung in the well. «. That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure, For often, at noori, when returned from the Eeld, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell ; Then soon, with the emblem • of truth overflowing. And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well : The old oaken bucket, the iron-boiind bucket, The miOS||i||rered bucket arose from the well thms ' Bmlilem, a tETng thoaght to r^aemUe some other thing in its leading qualities, and so used to ^ represent it. Water is called the enMem of truth because of its clear- nesa and parity. > '^ dt «4»^ >-^1 »' ■ 110 DOMINION FOURTH READER. How sweet from the green mossy bnm to' receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips ! Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar* thai Jupiter sips. And now, far removed from the loved situation. The tear of regret will intrusively ■ swell, •^ / > N«o'tar, the drink of the hea- then gods, of whom Jupiter was the chief ; honey ; any sweet or very delicious drink. « ^truaively (in trg'siv out wish or invitation. / 11). wj^h r LOVE OF COUNTRY. Ill As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well : The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well. .f\ WOODWORTH.' 31. HOME, SWEET HOME. 'V/T ^D pleasures and palaces though we may roam, iVl Still, be it ever k) humble, there's no place like home : A charm from the skies seems to hallow it there. Which, go through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home, home, ^weet home ! ^ There's no place like home— there's no place like home-! ^. An exile from home, pleasure dazzles-in vain, •. > Ah ! give me my lowly thatched cottage again ; , - -., The birds singing sweetly, that came to my call- Give me them, and that peace of mind dearer than all. Home, home, sweet home ! There's no place like home— there's no place like home ! Paynb.« 32. LOVE OF COUNTRY. IDREATHES there the man with soul so dead, AJ Who never to himself hath said. This is my own, my native land ? Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned Aa home his footsteps he hath turned ^rot n wandering on a fdreigp strand ? ' Samuel Wpodworth, an Amer- ican poet, dramatk and actor, was lean journalist and poet, died DeV born in New York, June 9 1792 J??»»^imjftJhe Aftyaeventh Hifrsoagei ^' H ome.Sw«t nomt> '' year of his age. Some of his writ- is one of the most popular ever Th^C"!^'!' '"*'**' *''''^^*'^ ^'•"*«°- He became a Catholic at ihe Bucket iS most popular. Tunis, where he was Consul for the jonn Howud Payno^ an Amer- United States, and died in 1882. i% ,-f ^ lliS DOMINION FOURTH READER. If such there breathe, go mark him well ; For him no minstrel raptures sWell ! High though his title, proud his name. Boundless his wealth ad wish can claim : i< Despite those titlfes, power, and mlf, \ The wretch, concentered alf in self/ "^ Living, shall forfeit fair renoWn, And doubly dying, shall go down V "To the vile dust, from whence he sprung. Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. * - ' Scott.' 33; HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE. How sleep the brave who sink to rest. By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold. Returns to deck their hallowed mould. She there shall dress a sweeter sod - Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 2. By fairy hands thdr knell is rung ; 3y forms unseen4M|^i|^ is gum here Honor coJ^wHSBim graj To bless the turrtnaT wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall a while repair. To dwell a weeping hermit there. Collins.' >^,fllr Wklter Scott, a Scottish poet and novelist, was a remarka- 1A|Uq4 laborious writer, though inQtist to Catholics. He was bom in Edbiburgh, August 15, 1771, and OlBd W Abbotsfdrd, Sept. 31, 1883. .*W|lli»m CtolUnis one of the mo«t jntciresting wad exquisite of English poets, was bom on Chrisi- mas-day, 1730, and died, in 1756. B^is style is clear,' correct and fas cinatingj His "Odes" are unsur- passe d in the English lang ua g e, ^d that to the ''Passions" is a masterpiece of varied'^motionsiand poetic descriptipii^^ _ e-& ,i:„%!;5*^i< my COUNTRY AND THY HOME. lis 34. THY COUNTRY AND THY HOME. THER^is 4 land, of every land the pride, Beloved h)! Heaven o'er all the world beside ; ^ Where brighter stins dispense serener light, And milder moons emparadise ' the night : — A land of beauty, virtue, valor, truth, ^ ' Tinyj-tutored age, and love-exalted youth : The wandering mariner whose eye explores - - The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores. Views not a realm so bountiful and fair, ^ " Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air ; In every clime, the magnet of his soul. Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ; For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace, ' The heritage of Nature's noblest i-ace. There is a spot of earth supremely blest-^ A dearer, 8weetep«pot than all the rest. Where man, oration's tyrant, casts aside His sword and scepter, pageantry " and i»ide. While in his softened looks benignly » blend The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend ; Here woman reigns ; the mother, daughter, wife. Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ; In the clear heaven of her delightful ^ye, An augel-guard of loves and gf acerf life ; Around her knees, domestic duties meet. And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet. " Where shall that land, that spdt of earth be found ?" Art thou a man ?— a patriot ?— look around • O, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps ro^ That land thy Country, and that spot thy Home. ^ MONTOOMERY.* ♦ V fectly happy. • Padr*^t *^, a grand display. ' * B* Blgn'lj^, favorably ; kindly. / * JftBHW M e ntg o m e r y, a BrtlisH? poet, was born in 1771^ and died in 1854. A complete edition of his poetical woiIeb appeared in 1856. ^ 'i^^*^. 114 DOMINION FOURJH READER. 35. THE HEAVENLY COUNTPY. FOR thee, dear, dear country, Mine eyes their vigils keep ; For very joy, beholding Thy happy name, they weep. The mention of thy gloty Is unction ^ to the hreast. And medicine in sickness. And love, and life, and rest. 2. one, O only mansion, paradise of joy. Where tears are ever banished, And smiles have no alloy ; Beside thy living waters All plants are, great and small. The cedar of the forest. The hyssop ' of the wall. S. With jaspers glow thy bulwarks ; ' Thy streets with emeralds blaze ; The sardius and the topaz Unite in thee their rays. Thine ageless walls are bonded With amethyst unpriced ; ^ Thy saints build up the fabric, • And the corner-stone is Christ. •Unotlon (ttngk'rtinn), tbot • Hypwp (Ws'gfip), a plant bav. used for anointing or soothing ; ing a sweet smell, and a warm, that which awakens strong relig- pricking taste ; the hyssop of ioas feeling and tenderness. Soriptnre, a speoiea of oaper. GOD'S ACRE. 115 r- 36.* GOD'S ACRE. u T^O you know, Arthur, why a burying-ground was LJ called by the Anglo-Saxons ' God's Acre ? ' "— " We should say, George, if we wanted to express the same idea, God's Field, or the place where God sows His seed for the harvest."— ** Still, Arthur, the meaning is not quite pTain." ^. "In the first place, George, those old Saxons, when they became Christians, were very much in earnest. Some truth of faith, or thought of God, was united to every name .they bestowed on the objects around them. They believed r' with theiy whole heart and soul in the resurrection oft the body; and therefore, when their friends died, and they laid them away in the ground, instead of mourning without hope, as they did in pagan times, they said : ^n Jhese fields our good God sows the seed of our mortal bodies which are to spring up, in the day of the resurrection, fresh and beauti- ful like new grain.' S. " Do you see, now, how beautiful and appropriate is the title of ' God.'s Acre ' when thus applied ? As the grain of wheat which we plant bears no likeness to the green and slender stalk whicli it brings forth, so our mortal bodies, planted in God's Acre, and guarded by the blessing of God's Church, will rise again in gldry, unlike our old selves, and yet, in reality the very same." 4. " I think I understand you, Arthur. You mean that God will sow our lifeless bodies in His fields, which are the J^Q"gQ-gi^lburjing-gronnda and cemeterica ; and theae, life less bodies of good men and women and children, will spring up new and vigorous at the last day, like the strong fresh wheat stalks we see in summer." * 5. "Yes, George, you have the id64. And this belief of lie DOMINION FOURTH READER. Christians in the resurrection of the body, gives the body, evin after death, a sacred worth in their eyes." 6. " How cheering, Arthur ! Our bodies are not laid away, like worn-out garments, to moulder into dust, and burn up with the world. They are planted carefully and gently in the earth, like the precious seed of wheat and other grains, waiting for the day when Jesus Christ /iv^l raise them to life like His own glorious body." , • ^^pT 7. '• Yes, George, and we should walk* Gdf *f lilly, and with respect, among these graves, from which will rise such noble and beautiful bodies. In these Acres or Fields of God, He has planted precibus seed— so precious that He never loses sight of them, though they may have been in the earth for thousands of years." c 37. ST. PHILOMENA. PART FIRST. CC HER name must be Lumena," said the happy mother, " for did not our child come to us with the light of faith ? "—" This is true," said the prince, her father. " Pub- lius has been more than a courtier; he has been to us a friend and brother. 2. "Through him we have learned the doctrines of the true faith, and received strength to practice them. Now, as he promised, our little daughter comes as a" reward of this faith, which gives us so much happiness every day." And with such gentle words was Lumena, the first and only child of her royal parents, welcomed into life. ^ When the time cimw for her to be bi ^tiaed , the y w i i■ ^ 12 Jf. DOM/NIO^ FOURTH READER. €.• A moment on his upturned face t'he priest in silence gazed, Then solemnly his aged hands O'er Rodolph's head he raised. " Sir hunter, when nine circling yeare Have passed upon their^way, Thy loving Master will rdjl^ard Thy service of to-day .*'«Hi; ~ 7. Thefy passed — fair Hapsburg'a youthful chief A stalwart ' knight had grown, And now they need a king to fill His native land's proud throne ! Nor hath higijjanhood's fame belied The hope^ early years, For he is first tri rank and name Among his gallant peers. 8. Now serfs and nobles bend the knee, To own with one accord; As monarch of their German land. Fair Hapsburg's noble lord, And well the count remembered then, The hoary * father's word ; "Thy loyal service of to-day, Thy Lord will well reward." ^ 41. WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. IT waff the schooner Hesperus That sailed the wintry sea ; Arid the skipper had taken his little daughter, — — To bear him compan y. ^-- ^.:r=:=: ' Stalwart (gtftl' wart), orave ; ' HOar'y, white or gray with strong; vinlant, age; ap, Aoary hairs. ^ WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 125 2, Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, , Her cheeks like the dawn of day. And her forehead white as the hawthorn * buds, That ope in the month of May. ' Haw'thoroj a shrub having rose-like flowers, and fruit called /taw. 126 DOMII^lON FOURTH READKR. X-- p. The skipper * he stood, beskie the helm ; 2 * ^ His pipe was in his mouth ; "^ And he watched how the veering flaw^ did blow The smoke, noW west, now south. 4. Then up and spake an old sailor, WhoM sailed the Spanish main : "I pray thee, put into yonder port. For I fear a hurricane.* 6. " Last night the moon had a golden ring. And to-night no moon we see ! " /^he skipper he blew a. whiff from his pipe. And a scornful laugh laughed he. 6. Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the northeast ; The snow fell hissing in the brine, An4 the billows frothed like yeast. 7. Down came t|ie storm, arid smote amain " • The vessel in its strength ; She shuddered and paused like a frighted steed^ Then leaped her cable's length. 8. " dome hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, \ And do not tremble so ; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did' blow." .9. He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast ; ^ ' Skip'per, the master of a small ag^^ mercha nt Vww^T- ' HMm, the instrument by which a,ship is steered. ' Flaw, a sudden burst of wind. * Hiir' ri cSne, a fiei^e storm, arked iy t he g r eait fur y ef^the wind and its sudden changes. ' A mfiin', with sudden force ; suddenly, or at once. - \ WRECK OF THE NESp£rUS. " 127 He cut a rope from a brokeii spar, And bound Her to the mast. 10. "0 father ! I hear the church-bells ring ; say, what may it be ? ^* " 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast ! " And he steered f6r the open sea. 11. "0 father ! I hear the sound of guns ; say, what may it be ? " " Some ship in distress, that can not live In such an a.ngry i^ea ! '* 12. '* O father ! I see a gleaming light ; say, what may it be ? " But the father answered never a word— A frozen corpse was he. IS. Lashed to the helm all stiff and stark, ^ With his face turned to the skies. The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes. H. Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be ; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave On the Lake of Galilee. 15. And fast through the midnight dark and drear Through the whistling alefet and snow. Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Toward the reef ' of Norman's Woe. 16. And ever, the fitful ' gusts between, A sound came from the land ; ,.x, ' Stfirk, strong; ragged. « Fit' fill, often and saddenly ; ' Reef, a chain of rocks lying at changeable ; irregularly variable ; or near the surface of the water. impulsive &nd unstable. 128 DOMINION FOURTH READER. It was the sound of the trampling surf ^ On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 17. The breakers were right beneath her bows i She drifted a dreary wreck ; And a whooping ^ billow swept the crew. Like icicles, from her deck. 18. She struck where the white and fleecy w a v«s Looked soft as carded wool ; But the cruel rocks they gored her side Like tljie horns of an angry bull. 19. Her rattling shrouds,^ all sheathed in ice, With the mast went by the board ; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank — Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 20. At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast,* To see the form of a maiden fair Lashed close to a drifting mast. 21. The salt sea was frozen on her breast. The salt tears in her eyes ; And he «aw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise. 22. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow ; Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe ! Lonofellow. IjTT Serof TOpW, TOHPtr ing from the mast-heads to Die sides of a vessel, to stay the maHtn. * Aghast (a gftst'), struck with sudden horror or fear. ^ Buirf l^sBrf), tK swell dflBe sea which breaks upon the sjiore, or upon sand-banks or rocks. * Whooping (hop' ing), crying out with eagerness or enjoyment. >,ti HYGIENIC CLOTHING. Ud . 42. HYGIENIC CLOTHING. CLC^HING is important in cold climates, not because it can originate or create warmth, but because it so utilizes the heat produced as to keep the air that is circulating about our bodies warm enough to make us comfortable. In speaking of the skin, we associate with it the clothing. For many its only meaning seems to be that which has to do with decency, beauty, and taste. Important as these are, the most impor- tant view to be taken of it is that which relates to the health. 2. Clothing is the additional skin which, because of changes of temperature and of conditions, often necessarily artificial, we are called upon to provide. Its design is to obstruct or regulate the abstraction of heat which goes on from every warm or moist body placed in a cooler atmosphere. The heat that is radiated from us is kept longer about us by our clothing ; and even the thinnest clothing, such as a veil over the face, will lessen radiation,* and so help to keep us warm. As about fifty per ceht. of air-heat is lost by radiation, we need to know how far clothing can interrupt this, and what kinds do it most effectually. S. When we are siurrounded by other bodies, or things equally as warm as ourselves, a« in artificially heated rooms, or in a crowd with persons as warm as ourselves, our radia- tion is exactly counterbalanced by that which is received from our surroundings, and our loss is chiefly by conduction^ and convection." This is mainly accomplished by the cur- 'lUdiaUon (rft'dl ft'^iin). the shooting forth of anything from touch, or from particle to particle of tho samo body. .Ap point or Bnrfaca» mxaya of light J Oonv e otion (kfln y6Vrtiiln)» or heat. ' Oonduotlon (kSn dfik' ^fin), the passing through of heat from one body, to another, when they the act or way of transfer or pas- sage, as heat, by means of cur- rents — as when hett is applied to liquids from below. tjiSjk'iik'iii ii' '.-;.,■. 131 DOMINION FOURTH READER, rents \of air moving about us. Fortunately there is this constant movefne^t of air, which is seldom lesstj^an one and one- hairy ieet per s^ond, and not perceptible as a draught until it amounts to about three feet per second. 4. Under usual conditions, the losses by radiation and con- duction are the chief losses of bodily heat. When, however, these are insufficient, we fortunately have such a supply ot sweat-glands and tubing in the skin, and such relations of the capillary circulation thereto, that the skin increases its insensible perspiration to sensible, and thus evaporation re- duces the temperature and keeps it from becoming excessive. When the skin pours forth water, as in profuse perspiration, the evaporation equalizes 'differences resulting from varying production of heat or from embarrassment o^the other two methods. 5. Between these throe methods there is opportunity for delicate adjustment of heat. But even this, in changing climates and circumstances, depends much, in variation and efficiency, upon the proper adaption of clothing. Conse- quently, clothing has been very carefully studied. A com- mon idea is that clothing is designed to shut out the air from oar bodies ; but as conduction and evaporation, and to some degree radiation, depend upon air, the complete shutting out of air would not conduce to healthy regulation of temperature. 6. The design of clothing is rather to catch between its fibers the circulating air, and so to regulate the temperature of the air between the outside and the skin as shall secure comfortable warmth. Heat radiates from, and is conducted from or evaporated through, different forms and kinds of at quite differont rate s * Oolothi u i an infl|iflnce 4a^ relation to radiant heat received. In this regard, in direct sunlight, the order of preference is, white, gray, yellow, pink, green, blue, and blaok. In the shade the diflerenoes nearly C HYGIENIC CLOTHING. 131 disappear. The power of absorbing odors is greatest in the following order : black, blue, red, green, yellow, white. 7. Clothing merely means to put materials between our skin and the outside air, which shall retard the outgoing o! heat, and, meeting air, shall warm it before it reaches the skin. One of the first facts which experiment has shown and experience confirmed is that it is not the substance and the weight, but the texture and the volume that cause the chief difference. A loose substance, as in a new bed-quilt, greatjy loses its power to help us retain warmth when it be- comes compressed or packed. Hence, an article like feathers, which can not be thus packed by use into a hard flat surface, is very valuable as a covering. The same is true of furs, and especially *of the light hair near the skin. So three or four layers of the same article will keep us warmer than the same amount in weight closely compacted. This is illustrated by the coldness of a very tight boot or glove in cold weather, as ^ompared with one looser and of the same weight and material. 8. Any garment for warmth must, therefore, admit of air next to the skin, and in its crevices or meshes. Sa garments made of very fine fiber are warmer in proporticm to weight ' and thickness than those of coarser fiber. Pers^^s who have tried the use of buckskin, or leather, or india-rubber, as a clothing, have found themselves suffering greatly when ex- posed to severe cold. These have their uses, but only aa shutting out water, or cold winds, so far as is consistent with the free passage of air through garments beneath them. 9. Another important consideration in the choice of cloth- ing for health is that relating to its property of condensing water from the a tmosphere, gener a lly knowiLaa the hygro - - scopic property of different materials. This also, in part, determines the ability of various kinds of material to dispose of the perspiration of the body. Interesting and reliable i:l&SM£u^M|iilJ&ldi: 43. THE MASTER'S TOUCH. IN the still air, the music lies unheard ; In the rough marble, beauty hides unseen : To make the muSic and the beauty, needs The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen. 2. Great Master, touch us with thy skillful hand ; Let not the music that is in us die I Great Sculptor, heW and polish us ; nor let, Hidden and lost, thy form within us lie ! S. Spare not the stroke ! do with us as thou wilt ! Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred ; Complete thy purpose, that we may become Thy perfect image, thou our God and Lord ! > Ban M. Hunt, M. D., LL.D., an American educator, 'sanitarian, and author, wwl bom at Metuchen, N. J., in 1880. As medical prac- and enthusiasm. He was delegate to the International Med. Cong, in 1876. 1881, 1884. and 1887. He has been President of the Am. Pub. dilttmef, oollege professor, faoBpiial Health Association, ~ snd of tfae~ director, and practical philanthro- pist, he has achieved success, ow- ing not less to his ability than to extraordinary industry, readiness. N. J. State Med. Soc. The preoed- . ing selection is from his "Princi- ples of Hygiene," a text-book of rare excellence, published in 1886L ^ ( 134 ~~ DOMINION FOURTH READER. 44. MAXIMUS/ MANY, if God should make them kings, . Might not disgrace the throne^fie gave ; How few who could as well fiilfill - The holier office of a slave ! ^ S. I hold him gi;eat who, for Love's sake, Can give, with generous, jearnest will — Yet he who takes for Love's sweet sake, I think I hold more generous still. S.. I.prize the instinct ' that can turn From Vain pretense " with proud disdain ; • Yet more I prize a simple heart Paying credulity.* with pa^n. ^. I bow before the noble mind That freely some great wrong forgives ; Yet nobler is the one forgiven. Who bears that burden well, and lives. 5. It may be hard to gain, and still To keep a lowly steadfast heart ; Yet he who loses has to fill . A harder and a truer part. 6. Glorious it is to wear the crown Of a deserved and pure success : He who knows how to fail has won A crown whose luster is not less. 7. Great may he bawvho can command ■ And rule with just and tender away ; "T^S'iangtjTnlwrraTmpttlSSl nw- TMus^ning prompting to action ; Hpecially, the natural impijlae which moTes an animal to perform an action. ^•1P»t»iiM*,*aTB»Bhow: "=^ * Dii dUn', the regarding of any thing as beneath one ; pride. * Ore dd' li tj^, «aBiness of belief -; a disposition to lielieve too readily. THE FIRST OF VIRTUES. 135 Yet is diviner wisdom taught Better by him who can obey. S. Blessfed are those who die for God, And earn the Martyr's crown of Ijght ; Yet he who lives for God may be A greater Conqueror in His sight. Procter.* 45. THE FIRST OF VIRTUES. MOTHER Marie-Aimee de Blonay, an intimate friend of St. Jane Prances de Chantal,* and one of th'e first sisters in the Order of the Visitation, experienced from her infancy the happy effects of devotion to the Blessed Virgin. 2. She was yet in her cradle, when her mother, dying, • placed her under the protection of the Mother of God and of St. Anne. Having attained to years of discretion, she en- deavored to show herself a true child of Mary by often retir- ing into a little oratory ^ to invoke her. 3. Mary, on her part, deigned to become the Mother and Mistress of this devout child, and herself instructed her in the practice of the virtues she afterward displayed so eminently. U. On one occasion, ^eing then fifteen^ M^rie-Aimee went to 9hurch for Vespers, and f At rather annoyed at having to France, on the 28d of January, 1678, and died at Moulins, Dec. 18, 1641 . Together with St. Francis de Sales, she founded the Order of the Visita- tion. She was qitnoniied in 1769, o wlio is in heaven. ' is V THE SERMON ON TH'E MOUNT. 139 * A. Do not think that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets : I am not come to destroy but to fulfill. For amen I say unto you, till heaven and earth pass, -pne jot, or one tittle shall not pass of the law, till all be /ulfilled. He there- fore that shall break one of these ledVt commandments, and shall so teach men, shall be called the Idast in the kingdom of heaven : but he that shall do and teach, he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven. - For I tell yop, that unless your justice abound more than that of the scribes and pharisees, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. 5. You have heard that it was said to them of ofd : Thou Shalt not kill : and whosoever shall kill, shall be in \Janger of the judgment.* But I say to you : that whosoever is 'angry with his brother, shall be in danger of ~the judgment. If therefore thou offer thy gift at the altar, and there thou re- member that thy brother hath anything against thee : leave there thy offering before the altar, and go first to be'recon- . ciled to thy brother ; and then coming thou shalt offer thv . gift.— ., ^ 6. Again yi'u have heard that it was said to them of old : Thou Shalt not forsWear'thyself : but thou shalt perform thy oathg to the Lotd. But I say to you not to swear at all,' ^ neither by heaveh, for it is the throne of Go4».'i,^i&> ^ I Uo DOMINION FOURTH READER. let your speech be yea, yea : no, no : and that which is over and above these, is of eviJ. 7. You have heard that it hath beep said : An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Itivt I say fo you not to resist evil : but if one strike thee on thy right cheek, turn to him also the other : and if a man will contend with thee in judg- ment, and take away thy coat, let go thy cloak also unto him • and whosoever will force thee one mile, go with hiin other two. Give to him that asketh of tliee : and from him that would lg)rrow of thee turn not away. 8. You have heard that it hath been said : Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thy enemy. But I say to you • Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you : and pray for them that persecute and calumniate ^ou : tfiat you may be the children of your Father who is in heaven : ,who maketh his sun to rise upon the good and bad : and raineth upon the just and the unjust. For if you love them, that Ibve you what reward shall you have ? do not even the publicans this '^ And If you salute your brethren only, what do you more^ Do not also the heathens this? Be you therefore perfect as also your heavenly Father is perfect. 48. THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT. PART SECOND. npAKE heed that you do not your justice before men, to -1- be seen byjthem : otherwise you shall not have a reward of your Father \^ho is in heaven. Therefore when thou d6st an alms-deed, sound not a trumpet before thee, as the hypo- jorites do in the synagogueB an dinthe st . r P At«, tw t>,ny ^ ^ >C«lilm'nl ate, to spread abroad other; to make knowingly false evil reports to the injury of an- charges of crime or offense. 'AikJ^IMx^Aii^^' . THE SERMON ON THE MOUNT. 141 be honoured by men : Amen I say to you, f hey have received their reward. But when thou dost alms, let ^t thy left hand kn^w what thy right hand doth : that thy alms may be in secret, and thy Father, who seeth in secret, will re- pay thee. ' 2., And when ye pray, you shall not be as the hypocrites, that love to stand and pray in the synagogues and-corners of the streets, that they may be seen by men : Amen I say to you, they have received their reward. But thou when thbu shalt pray, enter into thy chamber, and having shut the door, pray to thy Father in secret : and thy Father who seeth in secret will repay thee. And when you are praying, speak not much, as the heathens ; for they think that in their much "ipeaking they may be heard. Be not .you therefore like to them ; for your J'ather knoweth what is needful' for you, before you ask him. S. Thus therefore shall you pray : Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our super-substantial bread. And forgive us our debts, as we also forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation. But deliver us from evil. Amen. For if you will forgive men their offences : your heavenly Father will forgive you also your offences. But if you will not forgive men : neither will your Father forgive you your ofEences. 4. And when you fast, be not as -the hypocrites, sad ; for they disfigure their faces, that they may appear unto men to fast. Amen I say to you, they have received their reward. But thou, when thou fastest anoint thy head, and waah thjL face, that thou appear not to men to fast, but to thy Father who is in secret : and thy Father who seeth i^ secret, will re- pay thee. .^ 6. Lay not up to yourselves treasures 9^i^k : where tlib u^ DOM J M ION FOURTH READER. f- rust and moth consume, and where thieves break through and steal. But lay up to yourselves treasures in heaven : where neither the rust nor moth doth consume, and where thieves do not break through, nor steal. For where thy treasure is, there is thy heart also, 'r he light of thy body is thy eye. If thy eye be single : thy whole body shall be light- some. But if thy eye be' evil : thy whole body shall be dark- some. If then the light that is in thee, be darkness : the darkness it self how great shall it be ? No man can serve two masters : for either he will hate the one, and love the other : or he will su^ain the one, and despise the other. You can not serve God and mammon. 6. Ask, and it shall be given you : seek, and you shall find : knock, and it shall be opened to you. For every one that asketh, receiveth : and he that seeketh, findeth : and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened. Or what man is tliere among you, of whom if his son shall ask bread, will he reach him a stone ? Or if he shall ask him a fish, will he reach him a serpent? If you then being evil, know 'how to give good gift's to your children : how much more will your Father who is in heaven, give good things to them that ask him ?-* — 7. Not every one, that saith to me. Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven : but he that doth the will of my Father who is in heaven, he shall enter into the kingdom of heaven. Many will say to me in that day : Lord, Lorcl, have not we prophesied in thy name, and cast out devils in thy name, and done many miracles in thy name ? And then will I profess unto them : I never knew you : depart from me, you th at w ork iniquit y . 8. Every one therefore that heareth these my wordp, and doth them, shall be likened to a wise man, that built his house upon a rock, and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the wind^* blpw and they beat upon that house, and it THE IDEA OF A SAINT. US fell not, for it was founded on a rock. And every one that heareth these my words, and doth them not, shall be like a foolish man, that built his house upon the sand, and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and they beat upon that house, and it fell, and great was the fall thereof. 49. THE IDEA OF A SAINT.. » ■ WORLDLY-MINDED men, however rich, if they are Catholics, pan not, till they utterly lose their faith, be the same aS those who are external to the Church ; they have an instinctive veneration for those who have the traces of heaven upon them, and they prai^se what they do not imitate. 2. Such men have an idea before them which a Protestant lyition has not ; they have the idea of a Saint ; they believe, they realize the existence of those rare servants of God, who rise up from time to time in the Catholic Church like Angels in disguise, and shett around them a light as they walk on their way heavenward. They may not in practice do what is right and good, but they know what is true ; they know what to think and how to judge. They have a standard for their principles of conduct, and it is the image, the pattern of Saints which forms it for them. S. Very various are the Saints, their very variety is a token of Ood's workmanship ; but however various, and whatever was their special line of duty, they have been heroes in it ; they have attained such noble self-command, they have so -criicifled the fl o ahy thoy have »o ronoiwced thfr worid |-4h«y - are so meek, so gentle, -80 tender-hearted, so merciful, so sweet, so oheerful,,8o full of prayer, so diligent, so forgetful of injuries; they have sustained such great and continued pains, they have persevered in such vast labors, they have iIm. ..-'■£,.111.1.1 ^i'.f'.'Mi'. 'i,: 144 DOMINION FOURTH READER. made sucn valiant ' confessions, they have wrought such abundant miuacles, they have been blessed with such strAnge successes, that they have set up a standard before usof truth, of magnanimity,! of holiness, of love. 4.. They are not always our examples : we are not always bound to follow them ; not more than we are bound to obey literally some of our Lord's precepts, such as turning the cheek or giving away the coat j not more than we can follow the dourse of the sun, moon, or. stars in the heavens ; but, though not always our examples, they are always our standard of right and good ;i they are raised up to be monuments and lessons, they remind us of God, they introduce us into the unseen world, they teach us what Christ loves, they track out for us the way which leads heavenward. They are to us who see them, what wealth, notoriety, rank, and name are to the multitude of men who live in darkness— objects of our veneration and of our homage. Newman.' 50. A LEGEND.' THE Monk was preaching : string his earnest word, 1 From the abundance of his heart he spoke, And the flamo spread— in every soul that heard Sorrow and love and good resolve awoke : The poor lay Brother, ignorant and old. Thanked Go d that he had heard such words of gold. University of Ireland, which office he held for several years. His poetry is excellent, and his English prose is unsurpassed. ' L a^gend, a atory, appointed to be read, respeciFng Bdnts, espe- cially one of a niarvelnns kind; hence, any remarkable story handed down from early timei; or, less exactly, any story. > Mftg'na nim'i tf^ greatness of mind and soul which makes one despise and avoid meanness and injustice. I John Henry Newman, Car- ilhial, was bom Tn 'England In 1801 and died In 1890. He was edu- cated at Oxford ; became a convert to* the Oatholio faith in 1847, was the flnt |«otor of the Cktholio .■sAv., jij- ,» t "'^ THE PRIEST. X $. " still let the glOry, Lord, be thine alone "— So prayed the Monk, his heart absorbed in praise : •* Thine be the glory : if .my hands have sown The harvest ripened in Thy mercy's rays, It was Thy blessing, Lord, that made my word Bring light and love to every soul that heard. S. " O Lord, I thank Thee that my feeble strength Has been so blessed ; that sinful hearts and cold Were melted at my^leading— knew at length ' How sweet thy service and how safe thy fold : While souls that loved Thee saw before them rise Still holier heights of loving sacrifice." 4. So prayed the Monk : when suddenly he heard An angel speaking thus : " Know, O my son, Thy words had all been vain, but hearts were stirred And saints were edified, and sinners won. By his, the poor lay Brother's humble aid. Who sat upon the pulpit stair and prayed." Adelaide A. Procter. 14s 51. THE PRIEST. \ THE moral power exercised by a good priest in his parish is incalculable. The priest is always a mysterious being in the eyeb of the world. Like his Divine Master, he ** is set for the fall and the resurrection of many in Israel, and for a sign which shall be contradicted." 2. Various opini9n8 are formed of him. Some say of him as was said of our Saviour; **He is a good man." And othew say : " No, but he seducdth the people.*' He is Loved most by those who know him best. Hated or despised he may be by many that are strangers to him and to his sacred character; but he has been too prominent a factor in the '^^r^' Uo DOMINION FOURTH HEADER. \¥ \ civilization of mankind and the a^^ncement of morality ever to be ignored. ' , .- '3. The life of a miseionary priest is never written, nor can it be. He has no Boswell. ^ His biographer may record the priest's public and official acts. He may recount the churches he erected, the schools he founded, the works of religion and charity he inaugurated and fostered, the sermons he preached, the children he catechised, the converts he received into the fold, and this is already a great deah 4- But it only touches upon the surface of that devoted life. There is no memoir' of his private daily life of useful- ness, and of his sacred and coniide|itial relations with his flock. All this is hidden with Christ in God, and is regis- tered only by His recording angel. 6. " The civilizing and moralizing influence of the clergy- man in his parish," says Mr. Lecky,^ '' the simple unostenta- tious, unselfish zeal wjth which he educates the ignorant, guides the erdng, comforts the sorrowing, braves the horrors of pestilence, and sheds a hallowing influence over the dying hour, the Countless ways in which, in his little sphere, he allays evil passions and softens manpers, and elevates and purifies those around him ; all these things, though very evi- dent to the detailed observer, do not stand out in the same vivid prominence in historical records, and are continually forgotten by historians." 6. The J)riest is Christ's unarmed officer of the law. He is more potent in repressing vice than a band of constables. His only w<»apon is his voice ; his only badge of authority his r^iSnwi Boswell, the friend and biographer of Dr. Johnson, bom 1740, and died 1796. ^ Memoir (mem'wor), An a^unt of Khinga done in which the writer bore a part ; an account written from memory. * William Bdward Bartpole Leoky (ISkM), a British aathor bom in 1888. ■Ri^ ^,il t .'■ , >• . ' IVNA T MONKS HA VE DONE. U7 sacred office. Like the fabled Neptune putting Eolus to flight and calming the troubled waves, the priest quiets mainy a domestic storm, subduing the winds of passion, reconciling the jarring elements of strife, healing dissensions, preventing divorce, and arresting bloodshed. 7. He is the daily depository of his parishioners' cares and trials, anxieties and fears, afflictions and temptations, and even of their sins. They come to him for counsel in^ doubt, for. spiritual and even temporal aid ; and if he can not sup- press, he has at least the consolation of mitigating the moral evil arot^nd him. ' . '\ GlBBONSf* r 52. WHAT MONKS HAVE DONE IT was a mdrjk— Roger Bacon — wjio first discovered and explained those principles \yhich, a little later, led another monk — Schwartz of Cologne' — to invent gunpowder ; and which, more fully developed some ceftturies afterward by the great Catholic ph'ilosoplier, Oalile'o, ena,bled him to invent the mi' croscope and the telescope. 2. It wak a monk— Salvino of Fisa— who, in the twelfth century, invented epeotaples for the old and the short-sighted. To the nionk^— Pacifico of Verona^ the great Gerbert, and William, abbot of Hirschau— we owe the invetltion of clocks, between the tenth and the twelfth centuries. S. It was the'monK^ who, in the middle agps,itaught the l>eoplo agriculture, and who, by their skillful inf dustry, re- claimed whole tracts of waste lAnd. It was' the monks who lege of Cardinans by t*ope Leo ZIII. He is the author of '''The Faith of our Fath^ra," "Ohristian Heritage/^ >uuiuiBuuiii^ puHiuunB m- l^e ^nd a contributor to the " Ameri- Church, he was raised to the CoT-Ami Catholic Quarterly Betiew.** ' James Cardinal Oibbons, was bom in Baltimore in 1884. After occupying several important and commanding positions in' t^ie ,'fK' \ ^'whjMMt.^^ ,: ' .;V h '.-iM ^JtS DOMINION FOURTH READER. first cultivated botany, and made known the hidden me- dicinal properties of plants. ^. It is to the monks that we are in all probability indebted for the paper on which we wri^e. It was the monk Gerbert who first introduced into Europe the arithmetical numbers of the Arabs (a.d. 991), and who thus laid the foundation of arithmetical and mathematical studies^ 5. It was an Italian priest — Galvani.-,P-who first discovered the laws of the subtile fluid called after him. It was a Spanisli Benedictine monk— Pedro da Ponce— who (a.d.' 1570) first taught Europe theiart of instructing the d^af and dumb. It was a French Catholic priest— the Abb6 JIauy— who, in a work published toward the close of the last century, first un- folded the principles of the modern science of mineralogy. 6. It was a Catholic priest — Nicholas Copernicus— who, in the beginning of the sixteenth century, promulgated the th^eory of a system of the world, called after him— the Copernican— which is now generally received, and which led to the brilliant discoveries of Kepler and Galileo, and formed the basis of the splendid mathematical demonstrations of Newton and La Place. Finally, it is to the missionary zeal of Catholic priests that we are indebted for most of our earliest mftr'itlme and geographical knowledge. 7. The Catholic priest always accompanied voyages of dis- covery and expeditions of conquest ; often stimulating the former by his zeal for the salvation of souls, and softening down the rigors of the latter by the exercise of his heroic charity. Catholic priests were at all times the pioneers of civilization. Archbishop Spalding J 'MarSn John Spalding, Arch- bishop of Baltimore, born in Marion qpunty, Ky., May 38, 1810; died in Baltimore, Feb. 7. 1873. He wag a voluminous and elegant writer, his best-known work being a " Re- view of IVAnbigne'B History of the Reformation." Several volumes of his essays and reviews have been published since his death. i^-.t..- s''t ^jL-.* »».. MACARIUS THK AfONfC. 149 63. MACARIUS THE MONK. IN days of old, while yet the Church was young, And men believed that praise of God was sung. In curbing self as well as singing psalms, There lived a monk, Maca'rius by name, A holy man, to whom the faithful dame ^ With hungry hearts to hea]r the wondrous Word. In sight of gushing spring and sheltering palms,- He lived upon the desert : from the marsh •" He drank the brackish water, and his focjd Was dates and roots — and all his rule w^s harsh. For pampered flesh in those days warre4 with good. From those who came in scores, a few there were Who feared the devil more than fast and prayer, And these remained and took the hermit's vow. A dozen saints there grew to be ; and now Macarius, happy, lived in larger care. He taught his brethren all the lore he knew, A.nd as they learned, his pious rigors grew. His whole intent Was on the spirit's goal : He taught ihem silence— words disturb the soul ; He warped oi joys, and bftde them pray for sorrow. And be prepared to-day for death to-morrow. To know that human life alofte was giveri, To test the souls of those who merit heaven, He bade tl>e twelve in all things be as brothers, Avpd die to self, to live and work for others. •' For 80," he said, «' we save our love and labors. And each one gives his own and takes his neighbor's." Thus long he taught, and while they silent heard, ~HeT>i*ayod for fruitful soillo hold the word. ^. One day, beside the marsh they labored long— For worldly ,work makes sweeter sacred song— Alii ^\ . .^k. 1 *-! «.,* .-'-';;:, -jA-* ISO DOMINION FOURTH READER. And when the cruel sun made hot the sand, And Affic's gnats the sweltering face and hand Tormenting stung, a passing traveler stood And watched the workers by the reeking flood. 5. Macarius, nigh, with heat and toil was faint ; The traveler saw, and to the suffering saint A bunch of luscious grapes in pity threw. Most sweet and fresh and fair they were to view, • A generous cluster, bursting-rich with wine. . Macarius longed to taste. " The fruit is mine," He said, and sighed ; " but I, who daily teach, Feel now tjlie bond to practice as I preach." \) He gave the cluster to the nearest one, , And with his heavy toil went patient on. 6. And he who took, unknown to any other, , / . The sweet refreshment handed to a brother. \ And so, from each to ea^h, till round was made The circuit wholly ; when the grapes at last. Untouched, andlempting, to Macarius passed. " Now Gk)d be thanked ! " he cried, and ceased to toil : " The seed was good, but better was the soil. My brothers, join with me to bless the day."' But, ere they knelt, he threw the grapes away. ^ J. B. O'Reilly.' 54. RELIGIOUS ORDERS IN HEAVEN. WE may reasonably suppose that God has prepared for the different religious orders of the holy Church, and for those who had the happiness of belonging to them on earth, a peculiar reward, and a distinguishing glory in tteaveE TB6 c()nnec^dttn6etw&en the utrarcfiiJtiiitant and 1 John iBoyle O'Reilly, an Irish- popular writer, was bom in 1844 American joariulist and poet, a and died in 1800. ..W'.^'faii^W .l^^k.' iSt^%^^^i^,i ti«.'«M&^j.l Mi, ' i RELIGIOUS ORDERS IN HEAVEN. 151 the Church Triumphant is so intimate, that this peculiar species of vocation can not fail to have a corresponding dis- tinction in the realms of bliss. 2. St. Teresa seems to have reference to this, when she mentioned a peculiar glory in Heaven for the members of the Society of Jesus. We may justly infer from thi^ that all the other religious orders of t^ holy Church are Similarly distinguished in the glory of Heaven. Each one df these Or^rs has its own mission to fulfill in the Kingdom of God earth, and contributes, in its own way, to the greater ad- vancement and glory of all. Does not this seem to foreshadow, tljat each of those noble brotherhoods and sisterhoods shall be also distinguished, one from the other, in Heaven ; each glorified in a way peculiar to itself ? S. What a consoling and edifying sight it is, to see a great number of religious, robed in the habits of their seVeral orders, assembled together for the celebration of Divine serv- ice ! How much grander would their display appear, could we see them headed by their respective founders, St. Bene- dict, St. Bernard, St. Francis, St. Dominic, St. Ignatius, or St. Alphonsus ! How our hearts would swell with joyful emotion, could we see, at one view, all those that ever be- longed to each one of these orders ; all the illustrious men and women, whose holy lives, salutary teachings, and Chris- tian heroism ^dified the Church, during their mortal career^,, and who are still her noblest ornaments. » " 4. These religious orders are the legions of honor in the holy Church, and not a few of them have meriti!! and ob-: tained for their members the lofty title of the thundering JegioDS agai nst t he powers of darkneaa. When we behold a s' •-A \ body of troops, arrayed in the same uniform, returning as victors from the battle-field, is it not a cheerful and a charm- ing sight ? So we may contemplate in Heaven, th^orifiod »i . i i^fe^** *^ftt'»f- ^M 0%k "^ ••* ... . ■" ' ' /• ?"" 'iy- 162 DOMINION FOURTH READER, /^ members of these several orders, as so many conquering troops of the Church, once militant, now triumphant. 5. What a glorious sight it is to behold them eternally united in their mutual and unchangeable beatitude, sheltered for ever from the storms of life, in the secure haven of ever- enduring rest and safety. We might also compare these orders, in their heavenly glory, to the Himalayas^ or other chains of lofty mountains, which rise from the surface of our globe. . Among them may be seen one point or peak, overtopping all the rest, surrounded by others of almost equal height, and these again by others, which gradually decrease in elevation, till they sink to the level of some valley of cool and verdant freshness, or a smiling plain of gay and exquisite beauty. , 6. In Heaven, we see St. Benedict surrounded by*his hun- dreds of thousands, nay, millions of brothers and sisters, who have been saved during the» fourteen hundred years of his order's existence. Ascending pear to the summit of his vir- tue and glories, rise the blessed spirits of St. Maurus, St. Gregory, St. Boniface, St. Gertrude, St. Mechtilda, with a countless number of holy Popes, Bishops, Abbots, Doctors, and many Martyrs, all Itelonging to this first-born order of the Western Church. r 7. There we see St. Francis of Assisium, in the very height of his elevation. Next to him, in glory, we behold a St. Bonaventure, a St^ Anthony of Padua, a St. Capistran, a St. Clare, a St. Elizabeth, and all the multitude of the other Saints and Blessed of his order, crowned according to the diflferent degrees of their merits. St; Dominic is there, -towering amongst the blessed brethren and sisters of his Order ; and, at an almost equal height of glory, are seen St. ThoTSia^ Aquinas, St. Vincent Ferrer, StVOSlh^rine of Sienna, St. Rose of Lima, and all the other lights of that illus- trious OEder. \.. ;!/: ::wi-.*r^ THE HUN'S DEFEAT. 153 8. There we see, in the loftiest regions of heavenly bliss, St. Ignatius, surrounded by his glorious bi'ethren of the So- ciety of Jesus ;, chief amongst wfiom are St. Francis Xavier, St. Francis Borgia, St. Francis Regis, St. Francis Hieronymo, St. Aloysius Gonzaga, St. Stanislaus Kostka, and all the thousands of Martyrs, and other great servants of God, who sanctified their souls, arid who won the palm of victory under the banner of that noble champion of the Church of- Christ. And so are brightly shining all the other founders and mem- beF8 of the different orders and congregations. Weninqer." TO BE MEMORIZED. Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, with all your feeble light! Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, pale empress of the night! And thou, refulgent orb of day, in brighter flames arrayed; My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere, no more demands thy aid. Ye stars are but the shining dust of my divine abode ; The pavement of those heavenly courts where I shall see my God. There all the millions of his saints shall in one song unite / And each the bliss of all shall view, with infinite delight. - 55. ^THE HUN'S DEFEAT.^ IT was the glad midsummer time^ The sun shOne bright and clear, The birds were singing in the boughs, The air was full of cheer, » Rev. P. H. Wenlnger, a J., an eminent missionary and author of our day, bom in Germany, but he bns labored many years in America. » Attila, King of the Huns, ap- .^ jy»*chitig th^ty nf Troyes. Saimt aoldicra ^t^ed Ldpdb, who was then bishop of the place, went forth to meet him, saying : " Who are you, who waste and ruin the earth ? " Attila an- swered, "I am the Scourge of God." Whereon the holy bishop replied : "The Scourge of God is welcome ; " and opened the gates of the city to him. But, as his God. in reward- of the humble submission, blinded them, so that they passed through without doing the least injury to the place or the citiseiu. ^M- 15 Jf. DOMINION FOURTH READER. f And overhead the blue sky spread, p Without a fleck or flaw, When messengers of evil brought The fearful news to Troyes, 2., " With fire and sword, a savage horde' Is wasting all the land ; No force may stem * their wild onslaught,' No pity stay their hand ; ' ; And hither now their course is bent : Before the set of sun. Will close him round your walls of strength, The fierce and fiery Hun ! " J- 3. Ah, me ! the woful sights and sounds That filled the city ilien, The terror wild of wife and child. The still despair of men ; In the council and the arsenal * Were tumult and affright — One palsy of white terror bound " The burgher and the knight. 4. " Yet," said th^r princely bishop, " Is not God as strong to save, As when He led Hi!?^)hosen race Across the parted wave? Oh ! seek Him, still, against whose will No danger can befall, Although the leaguered ' hosts of hell" Were thundering at your wall." 5. Then a calm fell on the people. And a chant of piteous prayer, \ * H9rde, a wandering clan, tribe, troop, or gang. * SUfon, to oppose. * On'slaught, attack ; asaault. * Ai/se nal, a magazine of aruis and military stores. * Leagpiered (15g'Srd), confeder- ated or united. .:lit- '.-&!,. THE HUN'S DEFEAT. 165 i^:-^!!^, 5c3fi^ Rose in solemn diapason ' on The hushed,.and trembling air ; it And, amid their doleful litanies, The bishop, passed in state To where the foe, with heavy blow, Struck at the outer gate. From the arched and olden doorway, ^ — Asked he of their earBtain st captain strong ; " Now, who are you would menace thus Our peaceful homes with wrong ? " 1 Dl'a pS'son, harmony. « s. • 166 DOMINION FOURTH READER. But Attila ' answered scornfully, He spake in bitter mirth : •* 'Tis the Scourge of God, to whom 'tis given To slay and waste the earth I " ?'. Tlu»^|>astor bowed obedience low, llljid cope and staff aside, .Then once again addressed him to That man of blood and pride ; But now such accents clothed his words, ^, Such tender tones and moving, That all Who heard were inly stirred At a faith so leal * and loving : m 8. " And God forbid, our gates should close • Against the Master dear ; In whatsoever guise He comes, He's surely welcome here. We gladly bid Him to our halls— We pray Him there abide "— And with his own old hands he flung ^ The clanging portals wide. 9. Have you seen the stream that swept, like ohaflf, Its curbing banks away, Silver-footed tread the meadows, Nor displace a branch or spray ? So, through the gates of Troyes unbarred. Slow welled the flery Hun ; But he reft no burgher's treasures. And his hand was raised 'gainst none. 10. Oh I the woflBers of God's mercy I H e w as blind to aU ^inf^ a igh. -. Only saw he clouds of angels, Threat'ning from the upper sky ; ' AttUa (fttMl 4), the Seovl^ge of , • Lf al, loyal ; faithful ; true »oa; king of the Hung, died in 458. Land of the Leal.'het^ven. ' ^ ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. i W% t^7 And a terror wilder than it brought Urged on the affrighted horde — Her prelate's faith sa^d Troyes from scath,' And the fierce barbarian sword. 56. ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. THOUGH flowers have perished at the touch Of Fr68t, the early comer, I hail the season loved so much, The good St. Martrn's " Summer. S. O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn, And thin moon curving o'er it ! The old year'^i&arling, latest bom, More loved than all before it I "^ S. How flamed the sunrise through the pines ! How stretched the birchen shadows, Braiding in long, wind-wavered lines The westward sloping meadows I 4- The sweet day, opening as a flower Unfolds its petals tender, Renews for us at noontide's houy The summer's tempered splendor. 5. The birds are hushed ; alone the wind, Tiiat through the woodland searches, The rod-oak's lingering leaves can flnd. And yellow plumes of larches. 6. But still the balsam-breathing pine Invites no thought of ^rrow, '', No hint of lo s s from air lik e w in e Q The earth's content can borrow. ' Soath, destruction ; damage ; from MarHnmcu, the feast of St. injury ; harm. Martin, held on the eleventh of ' 8t Martin*! 8uibm«r, bo called November. 158 DOMINION FOURTH READER. ^ i / 7. The summer and the winter here Midway a truce are holding, A soft consenting atmosphere Their tents of peace enfolding. 8. The silent woods, the lonely hills, Rise solemn in their gladness ; The quiet that the valley fills Is scarcely joy or sadness. 9. How strange ! The autumn yesterday In winter's grasp seemed dying ; On whirling winds from skies of gray The early snow was flying. 10. And now, while over Nature's mood There steals a soft relenting, I will not mar the present good. Forecasting or lamenting. 11. My autumn tune and Nature's hold A-drean»y tryst ' together. And, both grown old, about us fold The golden-tissued weathijr. 12. I lean my heart against the day To feel its bland caressing ; I will not let it pass away Before it leaves its blessing. 13. God's Angels come not as of old The Syrian shepherds knew tliem ; In reddening dawtig, in sunset gold. And warm nocm lights I view them. IJf. Nor need there is, in times like this When heaven to earth draws nearei% Of wing or song as witnesses • To tnake their jiresence etloarer. ' Trj^it, an appointment to meet ; au appointed place of meetinfr 1' ^ 1 ■ ■ d . ♦ ., . ■ — " > 1 ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER. 159 ■ ^ 1 v^ 4bi&? j^ 1 x^'^^kJ^^^^^m^^^-. ff—^ ^fc^MJ^^^^JB^^B^Kf^^^^^fc^i^^-Tj^yjflt/l^^^H^Wt^'^ ^^JtFvf'^mM ^ J^^^v/^SB^B^^^* ' • - ^P^ i 1 1 fci^v^~^ ^^HB^fe^'-*_\^^; ."I;, "'"■''■" - ""'iflB^^ H 1 i 1 ^Ri^i'v' "ll^^^bw^i ' ^' ^^*!l )ilL.y \P ■' (^1 t iiatMP^^^a:^&gg^<^ r^^ *•■:- ' % m Wm Wk wBSKmtt^^^BB^^^B^EMmBai^vMuumKF^^i!^ ^j^/' "■ t ^^ 1 ; 1 ■Ll\iA -:-'^-rA; -.^^-^^riWf 'ri^^j^ ^^^^' 1 'iMra^^^SHSlMi^^^^^il ip^i' • ""^^sg^^W^^BwiBM^B^^ s^ 1 ^%U' ;! "'ilBlila^l^^W'' J?? i IF). () strciam of lif(\ whoso swifter flow 1 Iff of. the end forewarninj?, Methinks thy sundown afterglow Seems less of night than niotning I ' 16. Old cares grow lijfht ; aside T lay The doubts and fears that troubled ; The quiet of the happy da«y Within my soul is douUed. - •> • .» 4 , .. #' i *■ «» * ' 160 19. DOMINION FOURTH READER. . That clouds must veil this fair sunshine Not less a joy I find it ; Nor less your warm hori'zon line That winter lurks behind it. The mystery of the untried days I close my eyes from reading ; His will be done whose darkest ways To light and life areieading ! Less drear the winter night shall be, If memory cheer and hearten Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee, Siveet summer bf St. Martin ! Whfttiee. N 57. RING OUT, WILD' BELLS. RING out, wild bells, to the wild sky. The flying cloud, the frosty light ; The year is dying in the night : Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Z. Ring out the old, ring in the now, . ^ Ring, happy bells, axjross the snow : The year is going — let him go ; Ring out the false, ring in the true. S. Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here wo see no more ; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. 4. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife, Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin. The faithless coldness of the times ; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. / JACQUES CAP.TIER, 16J. 6. Ring out false pride ip place and blood, i The civic ' slander and the spite ; Ring in the love of truth and right, . , Ring in the common love of good." 7. Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrdt^ing Imt of gold ; • Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Tennyson.* 58. JACQUES CARTIER. PART FIRST. AMONGST those who distinguished themselves in the dis- x~V covery of the New World, there is none, after Colum- bus, who has more right to our admiration than Jacques Cartier.' The account of his voyages shows him not only possessed of a profound knowledge of the art of navigation, but of an observing mind, and a courageous, perialfvering character. It 'displays, moreover, a hero whose mind is im- bued* with Christii^ sentiments, a^j|||irho is i!«ady to make .> great B8|^fice8 in order to secure tW benefits .of faith and Christian civilization to the peoples .0/ the New World. He, therefore, deserves a conspicuous ' place in our early history. 2. Jacques Cti^r wad a native of Saint Malo, one of the ports of Bretagne*: His m&i-itflb knowledge ai^Mtt qu^i- ti«S won for hira'the cortfidenco ofthe French kiug^Hlhcis J., • OIv'lo, relating tOj, or derived from, a city op citisen. * Alfred Tennyson, poet>laure- ate of England, was born in Lin- colnBhlre in 1810. Hjb firaf. tqL_ ume was published in 1880. His Htyle is correct, refined, and exqui- Bite. He easily ranks as first among' the ablest English poets of to day. llis poems have passed through 6 many editions both IflT'Ep and America. He died In 1 * Jaoquee Oartier (shilk; kAr tyk'), a French navigator and explorer, ipoptant r a n ad i ai Ldift l kgeBeiW bom 1494, died 1565. * Im biled', deeply tinged or colored ; Jmpreased or penetrated. * Oon jplto'fi oils, easy (b be seen ; nbted ; distlnguiahed. ^i t . •> ,! .» m: % ism .1 rN/c 'A who Wy^' desipj^H^f iFo^Hi5!iug colonies In Amifica. He, thereM#, recei^(sd ft cqgaimiBsion'lW^go uypeMK^ii new coun- itf ies, Btil| j^nclaim^ii W%|||api!!ap pQWs^l-s^m ^ 5. On the 20th of ^i||'$5a||*%|i^ the port of int Mltloy and sdt saif^or'^m«^rP|j.witn'thi^^^ vessels |itel'^w of sixty-one men. A favorable wind soon brought nfo- Cape JBonavista, iir.New'foundland. . He ascended ^(|fthward, following the itnores of that island, and entered tne Bay des Chateaux, or S|i^it of Bellisle, which he crossed. He! then made his way intKs|»Ithe Gulf of St. Lawrence, and. describing in his daring courp through that still unexplored ^' gulf an immense semicircle, ijifhich permitted him to study the western coasts of N*ewfoiiiidland, he discovered several islands, and arrived, on the ^ihird of Jwly, at the entrance o^! a large bay, which he called the Bay des Chaleurs. 4. It was somewhere in that vicinity that he planted a cross, ithirty feet higli, and beaving the inscription: Vive Ic Roi de France ! [Long live the King of France !J Thus, the first monument raised in the name of France on the soil of America, Wai^ a religious symbol, the sign of our redemption. ^ 6. Leaving the Bay des OhaUurs, Cartier entered the River St. Lawrence, which he ascended for some sixty leagues. As the season was advanced, he dared not venture further. He had reached Canada, and it ther into the country. He returned to Oan'ada in the 6. The happy, resu' he fairest hopes. F already made, comple ~Breton captain a mon powers. Several gen|I?mi 4ti this second expedition ; a charged with the spiritual care of the mftriners. remained to . pfenetrate fur- his coarse, to France, ajd ng year. ' -I *s first f oyage, gave rise to wished to have the. Jfecoveries as pdssible. He gave -the P&Te fleets aM more extra^ ted the honor of taking part "tyro Benedibtine religious were ■t / > ■^ •A JACQUES € ARTIER. 163 7. On the l^th of May, 1535, the little fle^t commanded by Cartier left the port of Saint Malo, And steered for America^' Violent tempests dispersed the vessels, whiq]! only^cce^ded in coming together again at the end of July, at Blanc^lon,' on the Strait of Bellisle. It wa^ from there that he set oul •continue the discoveries of the previous year., By the 1st of September, hp was at the mouth t)f the Saguenay, one of the most considerable tributj^ries of the.River St. Lawrence. <9. Fifteen days later, he reached the heart of wild Canada, in front of a lofty cape, projecting boldly and abruptly into the river, crowned with tall trees, and displaying on its left side an Indian village named Stadacona. This superb prom- ontory, afterwaia^i# called Cape Diamond, was to become,/ under the name of Quebec, a center of civilization, and the bulwark of the French power in the New World. 9. Cartier had, therefore, acquired for France imtaiense countries, watered by the finest tributary of the Atlantic, and %,first^iver of the world for navigation. He had already followed the course of that great river for 750 miles. It was the longest voyage yet attempted by any vessel on the rivers of America. And yet, he was to go gtjll further. But he would first stop at Stadacoiia, a village governed by a chief of ,^<^^®'PMjgiof Donacona, who, from his dignity, wm called ^*^ 'tAg.ih(S^^, lord. This petty barbarian king, nowise alarnjOT'by?*tBfe arrival of the Europeans, gave them his con- ^fi(|ence, and, in t^en of his joy, a sokmn reception. ^ W. DomicoiSa ^od at'^tihe^e^' of his people, on the shore oflhe little riVer St. C^ix, now 8js. Charles, al*^e place where Carti6|J« Vegeels-^^re' anchore d. Aqcording to barba- rnm etfquette> so^ anOpSSBea 1v^fe^^ grayer ceremonies jl^o«|^ takj, place. il. The AgohannyaflliiT^8^,rang#l|f8r people in good )eJ^ ; then, tra6iiM|^ ^jrcle on i;he sapd, he inclosed Cartier / t ■"*■- 164 DOMINION FOURTH READER. ■U and his companions within it. He then delivered an oration, after which he came to offer three young children to the Ereilch captain. These gifts were accompanied oy appro;«'ing cries, or howls, from all his people. Cartier caused two swords and two large plates of brass to be brought, and made a present of them to the Agohanna. The savages concluded this Homeric scene by songs and dances. s 59. JACQUES CARTIER. PART SECOND. SEPTEMBER 19th, leaving a portion of his people at Stadacona, Cartier 8fet.sail) with a single vessel, to con- tinue the ascent of the river. He had with him the gentle- men and his choicest mariners. Every-where, the spectacle ■ of Nature ih> her most enchanting aspect, met his wondering eyes, and he saw before him, as ffe took pleasure in repeating, the finest country that could be seen. 2. The course of the river, although' confined, was still broad and de^p ; its low-lying shores formed but a(protuber- ant^ border, tich with verdure, and so stu^dfi^ with small trees and, wild vines that one might have thought them plaiited by the hand of man. Behind this screen of wild gragevines, stretched away far as the eye could reach grace- fully unduUting plains, where ^rew in abundance the oak, the elm, and the walnut-tree. Forth from the deep^'l^rests that served to shelter them, came jthe natives to meet tli6 Frenchmen, greeting them with as much confidence and good- will as though they had been, wont to live tojlther. -„jg. At H oc helaga, mo g& than a thouaand-perflona crowded to: meet them, bringing them presents whiohv consisted of fish ^nd bread(mAde of coarse millet. Divided into three groups, aooording to the difference of age* and sex, men, women, and children e the presen Cartier, " retired to on the she night had night lon^ resound w 4. The gentlemen center of j maize, or lar palisad closure of tecting it entered wi meet him. where thei the solemi and the F thronged t 5. The very soon i clothing, s nia that di around hie '^^ After testij hkn, the A and beggec ■^ -lAjfj,!".. JACQUES , CARTIEH. J 16$ children executed dances to express the satisfaction caused bjy the presence of their new guests. "Never did father/" says Cartier, "■ give a better welcome to his children.'' The French retired to their vessels at ni^ht-falL The savages remaineii on the shore, continuing their joyful demonstrations. Wheh night had closed in, they kindled great fires, and danced all night long by the light of those blazing piles, making the ait- resound with their songs and shouts of joy. ^ % ' i U. The following day, Cartier went ashore with all, th^ gentlemen to visit the village. It* was situated nearly at the center of a superb island, in the midst of rlfij fields, where! maize, or Indian corn, wis gathered in abundancej^^A circu-1 lar palisade, formed of a triple row of stakes, forSB|Fthe in- closure of this Indian town, and sufficed for its defence, pro- tecting it against any surprise from the enemy. Cartier entered with a crowd of the inhabitants who had gone out to meet him. He was conducted to the center of the village, where there was a public place of considerable size. There the solemn reception wSs to take place. Mats were brought,' and the Frenchmen seated upon them ; an d^ound them thronged the inhabitants of the town. "^^Pi^ 5. The Agohanna of the country, carried on a deerskin, very soon arrived, and was placed upon a mat. He had, for clothing, some tattei^d skins of wild beasts. The only insig- nm that distinguished him, from his subjects was a red strip around his head. He was quite helpless and unable to walk. After testifying by signs the joy which Oartier's arrival gave him, the Agonaiina showed him his limbs paralyzed by pain, ^fi^J^^gg^^ him to touch them. A ll the .HJok^.th e b lind, t he- 4ame, of t)ie village were th^n brought to the feet of the Breton eaptain, thf^fc, he , might cure t*hem by his touch. It seemed al^ though !!h^||pi\initj& had cofie down from heav to .deliver them fro m t^J gyn^ijiiyes. '"M^ m- "'W'- •^ 166 DOMINION FOURTH READER. ^ 6. Ga^(^||pi||lM%r wa^t of an inte^^jreter, could not make himself understood, cotud oMy pray ferv&ntly for them to Him from AW^hom all good doth flow. He re^ aloud the beginning of the Gospel of St. John and the Passioii of our Lord. Silent and recollected., the savages listened to the holy word which they did not understand. They raised their eyes to Heaven, and imitated all the external Signs of pili^ which the Frenchmen made.. This touching scene ended with pres- ents distributed amongst them,, of knives, hatchets, etc. 7. Cartiel afterward, at his reqi^st, was conducted to the mountain adjoining the village, ^^e wished to el^ine and measure with his eye the extent of his new dlscovelHfe The view of the favored region, of which he speaks so oft^u pre- sented itself then to his eyes in all its ravishing beautpf^He gave tiWthe mountain the name of M^nt Royal. This nai moiSKied^ into that ^^ Montfeal, extended to the whole island^ aMkit is also the naS^e '^of the rich and populous city which h^replaced the ancient village pf Hochelaga. S. The Breton captajn did not seek to go further up the i er. He |!|turned t^|jrtie riyer St. Croix to rejoin the com- panions he had le|t there, ^ere^t was resolved to pass ttre winter. . Haig|it^rabte was th^^urage of this handful of Frencjjiiten, who fg ared not to brave the rigor of a long win- ter, t ^Mi) M|ndred leagues from their own country, in t§^''^ gions tiplknotm, amongst a, savage people, restless, suspicious, '"- and having, like all barbarians, the most ferocious instincts ! 9. It was autumn. Soon, the river was covered with ice, and the ground with thick snow. The cold became excess- ive. To the anxiety of a situation so new for the French, titnttak md" of ah epidemic, which^was afterwards ^was added the "leri known by the nanfiii^lof "malarial fever." Twenty-five per- sons died of it, and lilearly all the rest of the crew were at- tacked by it. Car|iier, who saw no human means of getting -.^ . JACQUES C ARTIER. 167 rid of anch a scourge, ordered an image of the Blessdd Virgin to be fastened to a tree^, near the little fort which he had erected ; and, on the following Sunday, all repaired to the imag6, singing psalms and the Litany of Loretto. Then, Mass wap sung in the open air for the first time, amid the snows of Canadi, and there was a procession in honor of Mary. to. Cartier later learned from the Indians of a remedy for tlie disease, and when used by his sick companions they speedily recovered. Spring returned, and with it the hope of again seeing their native land. , May 16th, 1536, they left Stadacona, and sailed for Europe, where they safely arrived. 11. In 1541, a French gentleman, de Roberval, having be- come viceroy of New France, deputed Cartier to conduct a small ^ony to the banks of the St. Lawrence. The Breton captain settled the colonists on the north- shore of the river, some miles above Stadacona, or Quebec ; and there he con- structed a small fort, which he named Charlesbourg Royal. Several causes contributed to render this' undertaking abortive. The French monarchy, embarrassed by wars and internal troubles, could giv.e no thought t|t|ik9 colonizing of America. So Cartier had to die in BrittaiJ^ J^out the consolation of foreseeing the splendid results oi^fnigreat discoveries. 60. JACQUES CARTIER. IN the seaport of St. Male, 'twas a smiling morn in May, When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away; In the crowded old cathedral all the town were on their knees For the safe return of kinsmen from the undiscovered seas ; « -And everytrotmnn blast that s w e p t o 'er pinnacle and pier^ Filled manly heart;;; with sorrow, and gentle hearts with fear. 9. A year passed o'er St. Malo—again came round the day When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away ; '^ V^^'l 168 DOMINION FOURTH READER. ^ Bat no tidings from the absent had come the way they went, And tearful were the vigils that many a maiden spent ; And manly hearts were filled with gloom, and gentle hearts with fear, . When no tidings came from Cartier at the closing of the year. .r 3. But the Earth is as the Future, it hath its hidden side ; And the captain of St. Malo was rejoicing, in his pride. In the forests of the North, while his townsmen mourned his loss. He was rearing on Mount Rioyal the fleur-de-lis and cross ; And when two months \i'ere over, and added to the year, St. Malo hailed him home again, cheer answering/to cheer. -^ 4. He told them ,of a region, hard, iron-bound, and cold, Nor seas of pearl abounded, nor mines of shining gold ; Where the wind from Thule freezes the word upon the lip, And the ice in spring comes sailing athwart the early ship ; He told them of the frozen scene until they thrilled with fear, < And piled fresh fuel on the hearth to make him better cheer. 5. But when he changed the strain, he told how soon are cast In early spring the fetters that hold the waters fast ;' How the winter causeway, broken, is drifted out to sea, And the rills and rivers sing with pride the anthem of the free ; How the magic wand of summer clad the landscape to his eyes. Like the dry bones of the just, when they wake in Paradise. V He told them of the Algonquin braves — the hunters of the wild, Of how the Indian mother in the forest rocks her child ; Of how, poor souls I they fancy, in every living thing A spirit good or evil, that claims their worshiping ; Of how they brought their sick and maimed for him to breathe Upon, And of the wonders wr6't for them through the Gospel of St. John. 7. He told them of the river whose, mighty current gave Its freshness for a hundred leagues to Ocean's briny wave ; He told them of the glorious scene presented to his sight, ^hat time he reared the cross and crown oh Ho>chelaga's height^ And of the fortress cliff that keeps of Canada the key. And they welcomed back Jaeques Cartier from his perils o'er the sea. . ' Thomas D'Arcv McGee. ■ilL/',' I FIRST BISHOP OF ONTARIO. 169 61. FIRST BISHOP OF ONTARIO. FEW lives are more interesting, whether taken in their private details or in relation to the country at large, than that of the Rt. Rev. Alexander Macdonell, first Bishop of Kingston. Some one has remarked, that as the life of Washington was the history of his country, so the life of Bishop Macdonell was the history of the early Church in Upper Canada. His life was an eventful one even before his coming to Canada, in so far, at least, that he was the witness of stirring events. 2. Born on the borders of Loch Ness, Glen-Urquhart, In- verness-shire, Scotland, he was early sent to the Scottish Col- lege in Paris, to begin his studies for the priesthood. He was removed soon after to the Scottish College at Valladolid, in Spain, where his stay was peaceful — perhaps the most peace- ful portion of a checkered life. Having been ordained, he left the Spanish Seminary to be a missionary priest in the Braes of Lochaber. 3. Father Macdonell became at o^c^ the benefactor of his people, no less in a material thaft in a spiritual sense. As great distress prevailed in the Highlands, he made ar- ranca^f^^jte with large manufactories at Glasgow to receive a dfertaiH^number of Highlanders into their employ. He accompanied them himself as *ichaplain, notwithstanding the warnings received that as a Catholic priest he was still amen- able to the penal laws. While in Glasgow, contrary to the custom of his predecessors, he said mass with open doors, a nd was nev e r melo st c d. But ^i ^erfame^ foll ow e d hia poor people to the metropolis, many of the factories closed on account of the hard times, and the Highlanders, for want of other employment, enlisted in various regiments. ,, Out of P 4 'F 170 DOMINION FOURTH READER. this grew a serious evil, which Father MaMonell, with char- acteristic proinptitude, proposed to remedy. Jf. Catholi^ in the British service^were obliged to attend Protestant worship. Father Macdonell formed ' his men into a Catholic regiment,* the first since the Reiformation, having obtained permission from the king. It was called the First Glengarry Fencibles, tmd was under command of young Macdonell of Glengarry. Contrary to existing law, Father Macdonell was nan»ed chaplain, a^d under his careful super- vision, his men soon became distingu^hed for good conduct, bravgry, and fidelity to duty. They were assigned to various difficult posts throughout the Britt^i Dominions,' and always gave full satisfaction to their superiors. ^ . 5. At a time when many soldiers w^e a terror^ to th^ country by reason of their depredations, the Highlaiid regl- , ment was honorably distinguished by its free^m from all such excesses. AVhile the regiment was on duty ilBfeeJandi^ » Father M^Jfenell excited the lively gratitude of IJH^oor persecuted^ people ol the remoter districts, by preventing their chapels from befng burned or tujrned into stablds-, and celebrating Divine service there. In 1803, the regiment was disbanded, and Father Macdonell beffan to tj^ink bf emi- j grating to America with the disbanded soldiers and Catho- lics from^the Highlands. Many Highlanders, notably of ihe "Macdonald clan, had gone thither, Home to the United jltates, others to Prince Edward Island. „ 6. ^uring the Amef-ican lievolutionary War, the Scoidh- ^ jnen- in the United Statea^had chiefly made their way to Canada, where they were rewtf^ded by grants of lands -for fidelity to the British (^owuitont. Father Macdpnell now asked the English GoveririJPKfor further grants in Upper ..Canada, and a,fter con8idelN|fple delay an^d various oftjectiohsi! hilB request was granted. H» ^till had to encounter iBerce ■•> ■ ■\ , • .*» ^' FTRST bishop of ONTARIO. 171 opposition from the Highland pi-ofrietors, who brought^ into force against the projected enterprise all the restrictions of the Eifiigration Act. Father Macdbnnell had literally to smuggle away his peoJ)le in fishing boats. . , '" f. For the next twenty-five years, this golden-hearted Scottish priest labored at the new settlement of Glengarry, labored rather in the wh6le Province of Ontario. His min- istry extended qver a district of 700 miles. When he arrived in Upper Canada, there were but thre6 Catholic Churches for the Province, two or three priests, and in the whole of British North America, but one Catholic Bishop, that of Quebec^,,; There was a mighty task stretching' out before onfe mindV churches to be built, schools provided, a clergy gathered to- gether. In fact, every thing was to be done, a»,d Fathef Macdonnell set abottt doing it with characteristic energy. 8. He never faltered, he never allowed himself to bencome • discouraged ; difficulties seetned but to increase his* ardor. Through a counti'y without roads or bridges, he made his way up to the region of the Great Lakes, often carcying his vestments on his iftck and going on foot. Or, again, on •V iibar horseback, or in a- Dark canoe, sleeping by night *as best hft" could, enduring cold and hunger and privation of fivery^ind. Wherever there were settlers, Irish or Scotch, and there were many of both, he found them out, and preached the gospel ' of peace to willing ears. * It would be impossible to e^tlwate the nature, extent, and variety of the work which he. accom- plished. ** A ripQ scholar, a polialied gentlcmfin, a learned divine," wrote a Protestant contemporary journal, soon aftef' his death, "he movel among all classes-'an^ creed^ with a * mind unbla^d by religious prejudiced; taking an interest in all that tende/I to develop the ftsoufces of aided the general prosperity. t^He endeared liimself to his people^^tjiro^lgh his unbonnd ed bfenetolence ftnd g re'ft tnea a of H Ottl.* ^ '" •f # .4 h0 it' k i "it my- 172 DOMINION FOUfiTH READER. 2. Mgr. Plessis, one of the greatest ot the French bishops of early Canada, asked from the Holy See two coadjutors, one of them being Father Macdonell of Glengarry. However, there were certain difficulties, arising out of opposition on the part of the English Government, and it was not until January, 1819, that he was nqminated Bishop of Resina, and Vicar Aj)ostolic of Upper Canada. Through the new Bishop's own influence with the British Government, tfe^p- position to the appointment of titular bishops was withdrawn, .and he was consecrated Bishop of Regiopolis, or Kingston, i, January, ,1826. < to. At the time of the second American War, Father Mac- doneH induced his people to form a regiment, named as of old, the Glengarry Fencibles, for purposes of nS^tionat de-. fense. Again, during the rebellion of 1837-38, his influence was all-powerful in restraining his* flock from taking part in the agitation. He held that such risings could only produce unnecessary bloodshed, and that all grievances could be reme- died by constitutional means. One of the bishop's last services to Upper Canada, was a projected Catholic college, mainly for the higher education of the clergy. For this purpose he collected funds in' England, and the corner-stone of the new edifice was laid June 11th, 1838. 11. On the 16th of January, 1837, this patriarchal old man celebrated the golden jubilee of his ordination to the priestbood, which had taken place, in the dimness of another centurv, in the ancient Spanish town of V^alladolid. The anniversary of that memorable day was held, by the bishop's special desire, in his former Parish church at Glengarry — hfeld in what had lately been the wilds of a nfew country, remote from all the splendors that had marked the Ordina- tion day. The canticle of praise sung, was the stOry of the trials, hardships and privations^ the superhuman labors and 4. Fiji ST msgOP OF ONTARIO. 17S the weary struggles, the indomitat)Ie energy and the single- ^ ness of purppse of that one man, who stood old and gray be- fore them now, but none the less, the "Victor in a noble strife.". The scene was most touching, when the venerabJqM •- prelate spoke to his flock in their native Gaelic, the language^^ of the heart, to him as^jto them. He spoke to recall those . Scottish shores fwm which they had sailed together, look- ing back with straining eyes and yearning hettrts toward all that they were leaving forever, those common sacrifices and difficulties ovej-i3ome, prayers whispered at the same altar, and the hymn of the exile sung with united hearti and voices. W. He reminded them that it was probably the last time he should address themj^.a'nd solemnly, as one who stood upon the shore of that tfiigh^est sea, rolling between life and tleath, he asked their pardon for whatever might have scan- dalized them in his wor3s or in hia deeds, for any bad exam- ple which he might havo given, or any dereliction in his duty , toward them. The vhitQ of the ag^d pastor was choked by emotion, and answering teai^ sprang from the people, who with one accord hailed him as their veritable father in Israel. How close indeed must^iave been the bond between that gaa- tor and his flock ; how the aged must have recalled him, strong. with the vigor of early manlwod, fighting their bat- tles against king and government. How the young miwt have reverenced him, old, as they beheld' him, but with his face still boldly turned toward the foe. v ' '. 13. The end had comey and the final farewells. Shortly afterward the venerable bishop went away on board the Kiteamer "Dolphin" for England. His own parishioners and tiie people at largo united in paying to him their laat trihn*<» of respect and affection.-* The bell tolled out from 's / SH, I ___^, ..._.. 174 T-^ DOMINION FOURTH READER. of its own, and had been amongat the people from the be- ginning. " Wait, till I come back," cried the bishop to one who bemoaned his departure ; but he never came back; and the years went swiftly upon their way without hini. The old bell tolled in sorrow or in joy, the people thronged the churches on the quiet Sabbath morning, as of old, but before another Itaimmer, the pioneer bishop of Upper Canada was laid in a distant grave. i-4- During his stay in Great Britain, Bishop Macdonelf visited Ireland, where he was hospitably entertained by his brethren of the Episcopate, by the President of Carlow, Col- lege, and by the Jesuits at Clongowes. While there he was attacked with inflammation of the lungs, and though he seemed to rally, he never entirely recovered. He paid a brief ; visit to the Earl of Gosford, formerly Governor of Canada, at his residence in Armagh, and proceeded thence to Scot- land, on his way to England. He was going thither pn business with the Government concerning his Canadian flock. He Stopped at Dumfries, in Scotland, to visit an old college companion. Father Reid, who was* then pastor there. He ' arrived on the 11th of January, 1840, apparently in good health, and said mass the next morning. On the evening of the 13th, he conversed with his host until bed time, and seemed well and in good spirits. 15. During the night, he called up his old servant, and - asked hinl to make a flre and procure him more covering. The servant inquired if he were unwell, mnd receiving no answer, ran down for Father lieid. The latter had scarcely time t6 administer his dying friend, when the soul of the great-hearted bishop took its flight. He was buried at Duni- ■ fries ; later' his remains were removed to St. Margaret'* Cdn- Seijt, ildinburgh, and brought to Canada about 1861. Tlu! \ . aad^fewS of his death was communicated to liia pegple, jind -V .Mi FIRST CANADIAN GARDIiyAL. 175 bis coadjutor, Bishop Gaulin, took formal possession of the See, on Passion Sunday ot that year. But the name of Bishop Macdonell lias remained ever since in honor among the peo- iJe. Without respect to class or creed, they recall his virtues, his prudence, his judgment, his zeal, his influence with the Government, the mighty work he accomplished, his large- hearted charity, and his indefatigable labors for Canada and for Canadians — labors whidlJF were directed no little toward its material prosperity, while they advanced proportionally Jibe needs and the growth of religion. ^ ,, 62. FIRST QANADIAN CARDINAL. ELZEAR ALEXANDRE TASCHEREAU was born/Feb- ruary 17tb, 1S20, at the old manor ho'ftBe of Sainte V^ Marie de la Beauce» one of the seigniorial possessiqas ot ftig family. Many generatioj|p of the family bad lived and di^ tbere, since that gentleman of Touraine, Thomas Jacques Tas- cbereau, had left the sunny shores of France for the more inhospitable one of Canada, where, however, he received a 8eigniory,^nd married a descendant' of Joliet, joint discoverer \Vith Father Marquette, of the Mississippi River. The father of Cardinal Ta^chereau wfiis Judge J^an Thomas, who died of the cholera in \9,'^^\ His mother, Marie Panet, was daughte of the Hon. J. A. Panet, first President of the Canadian Legid lative Assembly. It would be tedious to enumemte the , various claims of the Taschereau family to the hig}i«st dis- tinction in the Province of Quebec, and in C4ina^. Ijet it ^ui^ce to fiay that it gave to the Sacred College an illustrious member, whose career will be fourjd of special interest. 2. T'he first recorded event iiWiis life is necessarily that of his baptism, which ceremony 1 was jier^ormed by » fl!|ierable * priest of Tourainii who liadi^d from revolutionary dfiormjs " -> f x» ^ -^ 176 DOMINION FOURTH B^AD^R. in France to a peaceful haven, near a quiet Canadian river, and whose lot it thus became to baptize the first Canadian Cardinal. At eight years of age, young Taschereau entered college, finished his course when scarcely ' sixteen, and gave abundant promise of those very qualities which, in after life, were so conspicuous. His pru^«nce, zeal" for religion and all holy things, devotedness to the Holy See, witli the virtues whioh are^the found^ti|^n of a Christian cliaracter, exemplary truthfulness, love of jU9j;ice, and at ihfe same time a certain gayet'y, a gej^^tleness and self-restraiht, gained him the love, no less thah the.esteem of hia ct^yege companions, S. On leaving school, he went tx) Rome in company with the celebrated Abbe Holmes, that most eminent scholar, and man of letters, then Professor of the Seminary of Quebec. In Rome, M. Taschereau received t^|M;on8Tjy|i at the hands of Mgr. Piatti, in the hi8tori%,Cfiurch of Kt ♦lohn Lftteran. He returned t|i Quebec in tkenbtum^H the same year, 1837. and conlinue one detail of business has been neglected, not one abuse per- mitted to raise its head tinrebuke^, nof one scandah^imong his flock left ufireproved. With the zeal of a St. Ambrose and the wisdom of an Augustine, he has driven away the wolyea t] in a verj his colle^ omy and of the Se 10. In the vent arid futu beheld ' li name glc present, be truly appeared sons pla and her veloped new and and the to a pla to rep res 11. It sequent one and through tions in one 'acc( humbles festival nals wei Leo XIl werfr u enthuisul ing to\n * FIRST CANADIAN (ORDINAL. 179 wplyea that seek to find entrance to the fold. He has been in a verjMfpecial sense the guardian of his people. During his college life he was the author of some treatises on Astron- omy and Architecture, as also of a yet unpublished history of the Seminary of Quebec. 10. In June, 1886, the crowning honor was bestowed upon the venerable Archbishop. Kome, to which past, present, arid future are, in her mighty universality, as an open book, beheld' how in the past^ Catholic Canada had written its name gloriously upon the annals/)f the Church ; how in the present, her people in the Province of Quebec were found to be truly Catholic. ^ Looking forward to the future, there appeared a glory to which Canada was destined to attain, her. sons playing well ^ their part in the drama of thc^enturies, and her mighty resources, agricultural and commercial, de- veloped to the utmosi^^d constituting the foundations of a new and vigorous empu^. So the fullness of time had come, " and the occupant ot the primatial See of Quebec was called to a place at the Council Board of the Sovereign Pontiff, to represent his country amon^ the Princes of the Church. 11. It would be impossible to^describe the rejoicings con- sequent upon this eVeiit, how the bishops of North America, one and all, -wrote dongratulacions, and the religious orders thrQughout Canada^ vied with secular and civic \ associa- tions in resolutions' Franois Mahony, ,an Irish clergyman, better kpown as Father Pnmt, was born in. 1805, and died in 1886. The musical flow of this verse and its happy adaptation of sound to sense add greatly to the interest and pleasure of the reading. * B vo Ifl'tion, the act of unfold- ing or unrolling ; henoe, in the course of growth or development ; a series of things unrolled, un- folded, or gradually developed. * RMewdon (r6 sSA'ftn), the act of moving back or withdrawing; the act of restoring or ceding back. « Swart, Uwny ; being of a dark hue or color moderately black : as, "A nation strange, with visage 188 DOMINION FOURTH READER. days when a grandfather 0r great-grandfather married an Algonquin or Huron bride, congregate at every well-known rendezvous.* 3. These fine fellows have the strength and graceful bear- ing of the Indian, and the garrulous good-humor of the Frenchman; their rough dress is appropriate and quaint, and is generally lit up coquettishly with some bit of bright color in necktie, vest, or scarf. ^ In the Ottawa district, the lumbermen that are not French are largely Scottisli Highlanders. Long ago in the Old World, the two nationali- ties were allies. They fought then against men ; they fight ^ow against the giants of the forest. 4- Each gang is under the direction of a foreman, who follows the plan laid out by the explorers. The first duty is to build a shanty for the men, and stables for the horses. Logs are cut, notched at the ends and dovetailed together, so ,^„*j?,|o^"^ a quadrangular' enclosure. On the top of this, from end to end, two large timbers are laid, each se^ftl feet from the center. On these and on the walls the roof rests. It has a slight pitch, and is formed of halves of trees hollowed out, and reaching from the ^oof-top downwards (in each side, so as to project a little beyond the walls. 6. These ** scoops," as they are called, are placed concave =* and convex * alternately," so as to overlap each other. Fitted logs are then placed between the gable walls and the apex « of J ' Rendezvous (rgn' de vq), a place of meeting, oi; at whieh per- sons regularly meet ; the place ap- pointed for troops, or ships of a fl^et, or gangs of men, to assemble. * Quad rftn'gu lar, having four luigles, and hence four sides. * Ottn'oSve, hollow and curved or rounded. * OSn'vez, rising or swelling into a rounded form — said of a curved surftice or line when viewed from without, and opposed to cod cave. ' Alter' nately, following and being* followed by turns. * A'pez, the tip or hi^^est point of any thing. LUMBERING. 189 the roof ; all chinks and openings are filled up with moss or hay, and the rude building is made quite warm and weather- tight. In the end wall is a large doorway .with a door of roughly-hewn lumber ; the floor consists of logs hewn flat, and the huge girders of the roof are each supported midway by two large posts, some four or five yards apart. The space between these four posts, in the genuine old-fashioned shanty, is occupied by the ** caboose," or fire-place, substantially built up with stones and earth. Within the shanty there is no chimney, but an opening in the roof with a wooden frame- work does duty for chimney ; so wide is the opening that the inmates, as they lie in their bunks at night, can look up at the sky and stars. 6. On three sides of the shanty are rows of burtks, or plat- forms, one above the other, along the ientire length. On these the lumbermen sleep, side by side, in their clothing and blankets, their heads to the wall and their feet to the centr fire, which is kept well supplied with fuel all night. A ter class of shanties is now built, of oblong shape, with bunks along one length only, and a table at the opposite side ; with such luxuries as windows, and even lamps at night ; with box-stoves instead of the central caboose ; and at the rear end a foreman's room. 7. When shanty and stables have been built, the next work is to construct the ** landing," or roll- way, on the shore of river or lake. The roll-way is usually on the slope of a hill, and must be carefully cleared of all obstructions, so that the gathered piles of logs may roll down easily in the spring. From the roll- way, the ** head-swamper,*' or road-maker, ex- tends the road into the forest as the lumbermen advance. 8. This road is often far from level ; when the descent is da^ngorously steep, what is called a ** gallery road," is con- ijtructed by driving piles into the hill-side and excavating 190 DOHflNION FOURTH READER. earth, which is thrown on the artificial terrace thus carried around the face of thft hill. Down this the merry sleigh- •driver descends safely with incredible speed ; above him, the steep — beneath, the precipice from which the wall of piles, logs, and earth, secures him. The logs unloaded at the landing are marked on ihe end with the trade-mark of the owner ; also with another mark indicating their value. 68. LUMBERING. PART SECOND. THE great expense of transporting for long .distances large quantities of provisions has led some operators to establish farms on arable* lands close to their "limits." Thus they have a supply of farm prdduce ready at hand in the fall, when, as the snow-roads are not yet formed, trans- port is most expensive. The farm-hands and hor^es^ are em- ployed during the winter in the woods, so that men may pass years in these regions without visiting a city. Blacksmith and carpenter shops for repairing sleighs, and other trades- men's shanties, gather round . these centers, and a village grows up. 2. As other farms are cultivated near it, or a saw-mill is established to manufacture lumber for local iKsea, the village often becomes the nucleus ' of a town or city. It often hap- pens, too, that the good prices and ready market of a lumber depot indace the hardy- settler to build his log-house and clear his patch of ground in the woods near it, and here he lives his rough fife — jobber, farmer, and pioneer. Thus , ' Ai/a ble, fit for tillage or plow- ing ; land which haa been plowed or tilled. *Vfi'ole iia, a kernel ; hence, a central point about whic^ matter is gathered or increase maid^. LUMBERING. 191 \'^ our Canadian civilization has advanced in the wake of, the lumber trade. .,5«- 5. When the sunshine at the end of March melts the snow, or just l^fore the' roads break up, the teamsters return in long trains, with empty sleighs, to their far-ofif homes. » Soon after, about the middle of April, when the warm rains have ruined the snow-roads, when the ice has gone down from the swollen streams and the lakes are clear with blue spring water, a new phase of the lumbermMi's life begins — the ex- citing, but dangerous work of getting the logs down the roll- ways into the river, and guiding them by stream or lake to mills or market. To facilitate this, the landings or roll- ways, when not on the river ice, have been constructed on a steep declivity. Consequently, when the lower logs are loosened and thrown, into t^ river, those above them follow from their own weight. ^. Should any obstacle have been allowed to remain on the roll-way, hundreds of logs may be arrested and so huddled together as to make th^ir extrication most dangerous. la one instance, a hardy river-driwi|Fwho went beneath such a hs^nging mass of timber, or ** jam," and cut away the stunip which held it suspended, saved his life from the avalanche of logs only by jumping into, the river and diving deep towards mid-stream. Such an exploit is merely one of many instances of cool courage displayed constantly by the '* river-drivers," the name given to those lumbermen who follow the " drive"- down the river. 6. The river-drivers are usually accompanied as far as pos- sible by a scow with a covered structure, which serves all the purposes of a shanty. The greatest danger is when logs are caught mid-stream, especially above a rapid. Then it is nec- essary to disengage the ** key-piece "-tthe log which, caught by rock or other obstacle, causes th^ jam. The preciBion V m':- 192 bOMINION F.OURTH READER. K wifh which experienced river-drivers will ascertaiir the " key- ' . > -J piece" of a jam, is no less rerna*kable than the daring and skill with which they escape the rush of the suddenly liberated logs down the rapids. They leap from log to log, and ipain- tain their balance with the dext^ity of rope-dancers. Still, scarcely a season passes without loss of life from this cause during a drive. The men, therefore, do alliK their^ower to prevent the occurrence of a jam. Pike-poles in hand, they shove onwards the logs that seem likely to cause obstruction. 6, On fivers down which sq\iare timber is brought, and where, as in parts of the Upper. Ottawa, cataracts occur' of such magnitude as to injure the pieces oy dashing them with great violence against roejfe|B. resort is had to contrivances called "slides." These QP^wt of artificial channels, the side-walls and bottoms liried*«^ith smootl^, strong timber- work. At the upper en^ of this channel are gates, through which the pent-up water can be admitted or shqt off. Through these slides pass the "cribs." ^These are con- stntliled of a regulation width, so as to fit the passage-way of the slide. The crib is about twenty-four feet wide ; its length varies >vith that of th§ square timber, tt is often, furnished with ^ fr^me house for the raftsmen, wtth long oars as "sweeps," and with a mast and sail. / 7. Frequently the Ottawa river-drivers take tQurists or others as passengers, to give them the sensation of "shooting a slide." Let us embark on board a crib above the slide-gates at the falls of the Calumet. The* raftsmen bidjhis take firm hold of the strong polps which are driven between the lower timbers of 'C\dk crib. Above the slide, the waters of th^ Ottawa are still and deep; at the left side, through the inter- vening woods, we can hear the ro^ of th§ cataract. The slide-gates are thrown open ; th6 water surges ' over the smooth, inclined channel ; our crib, carefully steered through K { IMMIiERING. 191^ J , the gatdi^ay, slowly moves its fo;*ward end bver the eihtrance ; it advance^, sways for k moment, then, with a sudden plunge, ru8he| fastoj^and faster between the'liartaw walls. 8. The reflow of tlie torro^it streams over the crib from the fronll r jet^of ^gter spurt u]) e very -v here betwjuen the timbers under our feet ; then dippttig heavily as it leaves the slide, our crib is in the calm water beneath, the glorious scenery of the cataract full in view. Without knowing' it, we have got wet through^a trifl^ not to be thought of, amid tjie rapture of that rapid motion which Dr. John^n considered one of the greatest Of life's enjoyments. He spoke of *' a fast drive in a post-chaise." What would he have said, to a plungd down the slides of the Ot£awa I : 9. The immediate destination of the square timber con- veyed -by water gt" railway is the ** banding-ground," where it is formed into immense rafts. Like the separate cribs, , each raft^is propelled^ordinarily bysweeps, or, weather per- mitting, by sailsy^The crew consist* of from forty to fifty well-built and skillful men, who live— flometimefwith their wives and children — in little wooden houses on the raft. 10. Osi the rivers, the greatest danger to rafts and rafts- men is from the rapids ; on the lakes, from storms ; j/^et owing to the skill of the pilots *nd the efficiency of the crews,, accidents are rare ; and these timber iMands, after a journey from the remotest parts of Canada, float down the broad St. Lawrence', sound as when first banded tog^her, to their des- Jination in the coves of Qu^c. At these coyeig'the rafts are finally broken up, and from these acl^s flf*tiii^ber the large / ocean-going ships are loaded. PicruBEWiUB Canada. TO BE MEMORIZED. • One impulse from a vernal wood may teach you more of man. Of moral^.evil and of ^ooii^ than all the sages '>^ F ' A INTlTV as tolls the evening chime Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. itnn's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast. The rapWs are near and the daylight's past ! 2. Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? There is not a breath the blue wave to curl I But, when the wind blows off the shore, Oh I sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow I the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past ! 3. Ottawa's tide I this tr^;mbling moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon. Saint of this green isle ! hear our prayers. Oh ! grant us cool heavens and favoring airs. Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream rung fast. The rapids are near and the daylight's past ! Thomas Moobe.' TO BE MEMORIZED. Love, Hope, and Patience charm us on oitr way ; love, Hope, and Patience form our spirit^ stay ; Love, Hope, and Patience watch us day by day. And bid the desert bloom with beauty vernal, ^ Until the earthly fades in the eternal. — Temple Bar. i Thonvul^ Moore, a distin- guished. Irish poet and prose writer, was bom at Dublin in 1780, and died in 1852. He. showed from boyhood an imaginative and mu- sical turn ; and various circum- i^nces combinfKl in impressing him early with that deep sense of the Wrongs and sufferings of Ire- land to which his poetry owes so many of its most powerful touches. Of his serious poems, " Irish Melo- dies" and "Lalla Hookh" best support his fame. His political satires show his genius in the most brilliant light. The most note worthy of his prose writings is the romance of " The Epicurean." AMERICA THE OLD WORLD. 195 70. AMERICA THE OLD WORLD. FIRST-BORN among the eontinents, though so much later in culture and civilization than some of more re- cent birth, America, so far as her physical history is con- cerned, has been falsely denominated the New Wdrld. Hers was the first dry land lifted out Mphe waters, hers the first shores washed by the ocean that enveloped all the earth be- side ; and while Europe was represented only by islands rising here and there above the sea, America already stretched an unbroken line of land from Nova Scotia to the Far West. 2. There was a time when our earth was in a state of igne- ous^ fusion, when no ocean bathed it, and no atmosphere surrounded it, when ho wind blew over it, and no rain felL upon it, but an intense heat held all its materials in solution. In those days, the rockei, which are now the very bones and sinews of our mother Earth, — her granites, her porphyries, her basalts, her sienites, — were melted into a liquid mass. 3. From artesian^ wells, from mines, from geysers, from hot-springs, a mass of facts has been collected proving incon- testably the heated condition of all substances at a certain depth below the earth's surface ; and if we need more positive evidence, we. have it in the fiery eruptions that even now bear fearful testimony to the molten ocean seething within the globe and forcing its way out from time to time. ^. ,The modern progress of geology * has led us, by success- ive and perfectly connected steps, back to a time when what is now only an occasional and rare phenomenon was the nor- ' Ig'iM OU8, pertaining to, result- ing from, or consisting of, fire. * Artesian (ar tS'zhan), artman wells are wells made by boring into the earth,, usually very deep, till the instrument reaches water. * Qe 6ro ify the science which treats of the structure and mineral constitution of the earth, and th« causes of its physical foaturwi. ^.■i. . , if-. L»-' ■ 196 DOMINION FOURTH READER. ^ mal condition of our earth ; when those internal fires jwere inclosed in an envelope so thin that it opposed but littl^ re- sistance to their frequent outbreak, and they constantly forced themselves through this crust, pouring out nielted materials that subsequently cooled and consolidated qn its surface. So conjgtant were these eruptions, and so slight was the resistance they encountered, that some portions af the earlier rock deposits are perforated with numerous chin^neys, narrow tunnels as it were, bored by the liquid massed that ^.poured out through them and greatly modified theit first condition. ; . . ! 5. There was another element without the globe, equally powerful in building it up. Fire and water wrought to- gether in this work, if not always harmoniously, at least with equal force and persistency. AVater is a very active agfent of destruction, but it works over again the materials it puUsidown or wears away, and builds them up anew in other forms. G. There is, perhaps, no part of the world, certainly none familiar to science, where the early geological periods can be studied with so much ease and precision as in the United States. Along their northern borders, between Canada and the United ^tates, there runs the low line of hills known as the Laurentian Hills. Insignificant in height, nowKfere rising more than fifteen hundred or two thousand feet above the level of the sea, these are nevertheless the first mountains that broke the uniform level of the earth's surface and lifted themselves above the waters. y'' 7. Their low stature, as compare(rwith that of other more lofty mountain-ranges, is in accordance with an inviariable rule, by which the relative ages of mountains may be esti- mated. The oldest mountains are the lowest, while the ydunger and more recent ones tower above their elders, and are usually more torn and dislocated also. This is easily uu- y-^y- :JLi^, iiiii^iJmii&iiUkMii AMERICA THE OLD WORLD. 197 deretood, when we remember that all mountains and nioiint- ain-chains are the result of upheavals, and that the violence - of the outbreak must have been in proportion to the strength . of the resistance. 8. When the crust of^he earth was so thin that the heated masses within e^ily broke through it, they were not thrown to so great a height, and formed comparatively law elevations, such as the Canadian hills or the mountains of Bretagne and Wales. But" in later times, when young, vigorous" giants, such as the Alps, the Himalayas, or, later still, the Rocky Mountains, forced their, way out from their fiery prison-house, the crust of the earth was much thicker, and fearful indeed must have been the convulsions which attended their exit. 9. Such, then, was the earliest American land— a long, narrow island, almost continental in its proportions, since it stretched from the eastern borders of Canada nearly to the point where now the base of the Rocky Mountains meet the plain of the Mississippi Valley. We may still walk along its ridge and know that we tread upon the ancient granite that first divided the waters into a northern and southern ocean ; and if our* imaginations will carry us so far, we may look down toward its base and fancy how the sea washed against this earliest shore of a lifeless world. 10. This is no romance, but the bold, simple trijth ; for the fact that this granite band was lifted out of the waters so early in the history of the world has, of course, prevented any subsequent deposits from forming above it. And this is true of all the northern parts of the United States. It has been lifted gradually, the beds deposited in one period being subsequently raised, and for^j^ a shore along which those of the succeeding one collectiil, so that we have their whole aequence before us. For this reason the American continent offers facilities to the geologist denied to him in the so-called |At^i-^,\f;lA.t^:Ll'i^~liVl'-;(^;4(lv;UyV'WJ>i.-itCi 198 "^DOAflNION FOURTH READER. Old World, where the' earlier deposits are comparatively hidden, and the broken character of the land, intersected by mottntains in every direction, renders his investigatio'n still more difficult. ' Agassiz.» 71. THE GULF STREAM. PART FIRST. .^r THERE is a river in the ocean. • In the severest droughts 2 it never fails, and in the mightiest floods it never over- flows. Its banks and its bottom are of cold water, while its "current is of warm. The Gulf of Mexico is its fountain, and its moirth is in the Aretic Seas. It is the Gulf Stream. There is in the world no other such majestic flow of waters. Its current is more rapid than the Mississippi or the Amazon, and its volume more than a thousand times greater. 2. The currents of the ocean are among the most impor- tant of its movements. They carry on a constant inter- change between the waters of the poles and those of the equator, and thus diminish the extremes of heat and cold in every zone. S. The sea has its climates as well as the land. They both change with the latitude ; but one varies with the elevation above, the other with the depression below, the sea-level. The climates in each are regulated by circulation ; but the regu- lators are, on the one hand, wind ; on the other, currents. 4. The inhabitants of the ocean are as much the creatures of climate as are those of the dry land; for the same Al- mighty Hand which decked the lily, and cares for the spar- ; > Loais John Rudolph Agassis (ig'^se), a Swiss naturalist, and teacher in America, was l)om in 1807, and died in 1878. « Drought (drout), want of rain or of water ; such dryness as affects the earth, preventing the growth of plants. THE GULF STREAyr. . 190 fow, fashioned also the i)e»rlj jiiul feeds the great whale, and adapted each to the physical conditions by which His provi- dence has surrounded It. Whether of the land or the sea, the inhabitants are all His creatures, subjects of His laws, and agents in His economy. 6. The sea, therefore, we may safely infer, has its offices and duties to perform ; so, we may infer, have its currents ; and so, too, its inhabitants : consequently, he who undertakes to study its phenomena ' mu^^cease to regafd it as a waste of waters. He must look upon it as a part of that exquisite 2 machinery. by which the harmonies of nature are preserved, and then he will begin to perceive the developments" of order, and the evidences of design. 6. From the Arctic 8eas a cold current flows along the coasts of America, to replace the warm water sent., through the (rulf Stream to moderate the cold of western and north- ern Europe. Perhaps the best indication as to these cold cur- rents may be derived from the fishes of the sea. The whales first pointgd out the existence of the Gulf Stream by avoiding its warm waters. Along the coasts of the United States all those delicate animals and marine productions which delight in warmer waters are wanting; thus indicating, by their ab- sence, the cold current from the north now known to exist there. In the genial warmth of the sea abouj; the Bermudas on the one hand, and Africa on the other, >vie find in gi*eat abundance those delicate shell-fish and cdral formations which are altogether wanting in the same latitudes a(long the shores of South Carolina; j 7. No part of the world affords a more diffttult or danger- > Phe nSm'e na, things appareiit * Exquisite (Sks'kwl zlt), care- or seen ; things of unusaftl jor fully selected or sought out ; strange appearance, not readily hence, exceedingly nice; giving understood. rare satisfaction. v '■'iB r:% 200 DOMINION FOURTH READER ilCAi \ OU8 navigation than the approaches of the northern coasts of the United States in winter. Before the warmth of the Gulf Stream was known, a voyage at this season from Europe to New England, New York, and even to the Capes of the Del- aware or Chesapeake, was many times more trying, difficult, and dangerous than it now is. In making this part of the coast, vessels are frequently met by snow-storms and gales, which mock the seaman's strength, and set at naught his skill. In a little while his bark becomes a mass of ice ; with her crew frosted and helpless, she remains obedient only to her helm, and is kept aWay for the Gulf Stream. 8. After a few hours' run she reaches ita edge, and almost at the next bound passes from the midst of winter into a sea at summer heat. Now the ice disappears from her apparel, and the sailor bathes his stiifened limbs in tepid waters. Feelfng himself invigorated and refreshed by the genial warmth about him, he realizes out there at sea the fable of Antaeus and his mother Earth. 9. He rises up, and attempts to make his port again, and is again, perhaps, as rudely met and beat back from the north- west ; but each time that he is driven off from the contest, he comes forth from this stream, like the ancient son of Nep- tune, stronger and stronger, until, after many days, his fresh- ened strength prevails, and he at last triumphs, and enters his haven in safety, though in this severe contest he some- times falls to rise no more, 10. The ocean c^irrents are partly the result of the immense evaporation which takes place in the tropical regions, where the sea greatly exceeds the land in extent. The enormous quantity of water there carried off by evaporation disturbs the equilibrium of the seas ; but this is restored by a perpet- ual flow of water from the poles. When these streams of cold water leave the poles they flowidirectly towards the equa- 1:-i THE GULF STREAAf. 201 tor ; but, before proceej^ing far, their mption is deflected by the diurnal motion of the earth. 11. At the poles they have no rotatory motion ; and al- though they gain it more and more in their prdgress to the equator, which revolves at the rate of a thousand miles an hour, they arrive at the tropics before they have ^ined the same velocity of rotation with the intertropical ocean. On that account they are left behind, and, consequently, flow in a direction contrary to the diurnal rotation of tl?e earth. Hence the whole surface of the ocean for thirty degrees on each side of the equator flows in a stream or current three thousand miles broad from east to west. The trade winds, which constantly blow in one direction, combine to give this great Equatorial Current a mean velocity of ten or eleven miles in twenty-four hours. 12. Were it not for the land, such would be the uniform and constant flow of the waters of the ocean. The presence of the land interrupts the regularity of this great westerly movement of the waters, sending them to the north or south, according to its conformation^ • 72. THE GULF STREAM. . PART SECOND. THE principal branch of the Equatorial Current of the Atlantic takes a north-westerly direction from off Cape St. Roque, in South America. It rushes along the coast of Bra- zil ; and after passing through the Caribbean Sea and sweep- ing round the Gulf of Mexico, it flows between Florida and Cuba, and enters the North- Atlantic under the name of .the Gulf Stream, the most beautiful of all the oceanic currents. 2. In the Straits of Florida the Gulf Stream is thirty-two miles wide, two thousand two hundred feet deep, and flows et aw £ W^i:^>4.>i^^^'^iiS^ ^V^.^li^j ?&ii^- 202' DO. \f IN ION FOURTH READER. at the rate of four miles an hour. Its waters are of the pur- est ultramarine blue as far as the coasts of Carolina ; and so completely are they separated from the sea through which they flow, that a ship may be seen at times half in the one and half in the other. 3. As a rule, the hottest water of the Gulf Stream is at or near the surface ; and as the deep-sea thermometer is sent down, it shows that these waters^ though still much warmer than the wate;* on either side at corresponding depths, gradu- ally become less and less warm until^the bottom of the cur- rent is reached. There is reason to believe that the warm waters of the Gulf Stream are nowhere pei-mitted, in the oceanic economy, to touch the bottom of Ihe sea. There is every-where iji cushion of cold water between them and the solid parts of the earth's crust. This arrangement is sug gestive, and strikingly beautiful. U. One of the benign offices of the Gulf Stream is to con vey heat from the Gulf of Mexico,. — where otherwise it would become excessive — and to dispense it in regions beyond the Atlantic, for the amelioration of the climates of the British Islands and of all Western Europe. Now', cold water is one of the best non-conductors of heat ; but if the warm water of the Gulf Stream were sent across the Atlantic in contact with the solid crust of the earth, comparatively a good con- ductor of heat, instead of being sent across, as it is, in con tact with a non-conducting cushion of cold water to fenc it from the bottom, all its heat would be lost in the firsi; part of the way, and the soft climates of both France anc England would be as that of Labrador, severe in the extreme and ice-bound. 6. It has been estimated that the quantity of heat dis charged over the Atlantic from the waters of the Gulf Strcaii in a winter's day would bo-siffficiont to r.-iiso the wlio|o colnnii i, THE GULF STREAM. 203 of atmosphere that rests upon France and the British Islands from the freezing-point to summer heat. 6'. Every west wind that blows crosses the stream on its way to Europe, and carries with it a portion of this heat to temper there the northern winds of Europe. It is the influ- ence of this stream that makes Erin the " Emerald Isle of the Sea," and that clothes the shores of Albion in evergreen robes ; while, in the same latitude, the coasts of Labrador are fast bound in fetters of ice. 7. As the Gulf Stream proceeds on its course, it gradually increases in width. It flows along the coast of North America to New'foiindland, where it turns to the east, one branch set- ting towards the British Islands, and away to the coasts of Norway and the Arctic Ocean. 8. Another branch reaches the Azores, from which it bends round to the south, and, after running along the African coast, it rejoins the great equatorial now, leaving a vast space of ne&rly motionless water between the Azores, the Canaries, and Cap6 de Verd Islands. This great area is the Grassy or Sargasso Sea, covering a spaoe many times larger than the British Islands. It is so thickly matted over with gulf weeds that it greatly retards the speed of passing vessels. 9. When the companions of Columbus saw it, they thought it marked the limits of ^lavigation, and became alarmed. To the eye, at a little distance, it seemed substantial enough to walk upon. Patches of the weed are always to be seen float- ing along the outer edge of the Gulf Stream. 10. Now, if bits of cork or chaflF, or any floating substance, be put into a basin, and a circular motion be given to the water, all the light substances mJJ be found crowding to- gether near the center of the p^pwhere there j||p,the least motion. Just such a basin is the Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf Stream ; and the Sargas-so Sou is the center of the whirl. r- 204 DOJ^/NION FOURTH fiEADER. / ^\ ■-• ... I . /r 11. Columbus first found this weedy sea in bis voyat^e of discovery ; tbere it bas remained to tbis day, moving up and down, and cbaugiug its position according to tbe seasons, tbe jstorms, and tbe winds. Exact observations m ^ its limits 'and tbeir range, extending back for fifty years, Sure us tbat its mean position has not been altered" since that time. /' Maub 73. USES OF THE dCEAN. PART FIRST. ■"-^^.., THE traveler who would speak of his experiencejn fdr- eign lands must begin with the sea. , God has spread this vast pavement of His temple between the hemispheres, so tbat he who sails to foreign shores must pay a double trib- ute to £he Most High ; for through this temple )ie has to carry his anticipations as he goes, and his memories when he returns. 2. The sea speaks for God ; and however eager the tgurist may be to reach the strand that lies before him, and enter upon the career of businesa or pleasure th»t awaits him, he must check his impatienca during this long interval of ap- proach, and listen to the ^oice with whiph Jehotah speaks to him as, horizon after hoi^on, he moveii to his purpose along the aisles of God's njighty tabernacle of the deep. . ^ « S. It is a common thing, in speaking of the sea, to call it "a waste of waters.*' But this is a mistake. Instead of being an encumbrance or a superfluity, the sea is as essential to the life of the world, as the blood is to the life of the human body. Instead of beihg a waste and desert, it keeps the earth itself from beco;ning a waste and a desert. It is * Matthew Fontaine Ifanry, an American h7drograph)^, a dis- tingnished instructor and scientist, was bom in 1806, and died in 1878. r " ."' . ' / .''. ■ / / \ ■ 1 ■ - ■* ./ia; teafe^-w.;;;.V L-tLiiL.tif 'W^ »M)AMi,:sk:A: Jtfirs;v;j..,J,j:, ••.-■■ ^li'i*: SI-JJ!.*:*. •'■••^- r I I ! 7 ES OF^THE OCEAN. 205 the world^s fountain of life and healtli and beauty, and if it were taken away, the grass would perish from the mountains, the fdreata would crumble on the hills, the harvests would become powder 06 the plains, the continent would be one vast Sahara of fro^s and fire, and the solid globe itself, scarred apd blasted on every side, would swing in the hcaveris,' silent and dead as on the first morning of creation. 4. Water is as indispensable to all life, vegetable or animal, as the air it^lf. From the cedar on the mountains to the lichen » that clingg to the wall ; from the elephant that past- ures on the forests, to the animalcule that floats in the sun- ^ beam ; from the leviathan that heaves the sea into billows, to the microscopic 2- creatures that swarm, a million in a single foam-drop,— all alike depend for their existence on this single element and must perish if it be withdrawn. . 6. This element of water is supplied entirely by the sea. The sea is the great inexhaustible fountain which is continu- ally pouring up into the sky precisely as m^ny streams, and as large, as all the rivers of the world are pouring into it. 6. The &ea is the real birthplace of the clouds and the rivers, and out of it come all the rains and dews of heaven. Instead of being a wa^te and an encumbrance, tlierefore, it is a vast fountain of fruitfulness, and the nurse and mother' of all the living. Out of its mighty breast come the re- sources that feed and support the population of the world. Omnipresent 8 and every-where alike is this need and bless- ing of^ the sea. It is felt as truly in the center of 'the continent— where, it ma y be, the rode inhab itant never • BSI'oro sc^i/ih, very small ; to » Uohan (ll'kenX one of an or- der of plants, the leaf and stem appearing alike, usually of scaly, expanded, frond-like forms. They derive their nourishment from the air. ^ be seen only by the aid of a mi- croscope. » Om'ni prw'mt, present in all places at the same time ; as the omm]prM0nlJehoyah. sua /)(hVf/.\70.V FOL'RTIf READER. '^ .^ heard^of tlie ocean — UH°it is on tho circumferunue of tlie wavg- beaten shore. 7. We are Burroiiuded, every moment, by the presence ancl bounty of the sea. It looks out upon us from every violet in our garden-bed ; from every spire of grass that drops 4ipon^ our passing feet the beaded dow of the morning ; from the bending grain that tills the arm of the reaper ; from bursting 'presses, and from barns tiUed with plenty ; fron> the broad fdreheatjs^of our cattle and the rosy faces of our children ; from the cool dropping well at our door; from the brook that murmurs from its side ; aiUl from the elfti or spreading maple that weaves it« protecting branches beneath the suit, and swings is breezy sJjado\<|^r our habitation. 8. It is the sea that feeds' us. . It is the sea that clothes us. It cools us with the summer cloud, and warms us with the blazing fires of winter. We make wealth for ourselves and for our children out of its rolling waters, though we may live a thousand leagues away f roni ltd shore, and never have looked iji its crested beauty, or listened to its eternal anthem. 74. USES OF THE OCE PART SECOND. 'HE sea, though it bears no harvest on its bosom, yet sustains all the harvests of the world. Though a desert ^ma^es all the other wildernesses of the earth to bud khe r6f«.;r^ Though its own waters are as salt it n^^ Omniaoient (om ni^'ent), hav- ing uniyeraal knowledge, qr knowl- edge of all thingtT; infinitely know, ing ; as, %\iid omniacient Ch)d. li ■ »l£^ m ■^, W ^ti.t,. 'tsi^ frs • .»j 4. >\,{\ -^ ^-, ■«„ ^OS ' DO Af IN ION FOURTH READER. its huge bulk sleeping along the shore, or tumbling in aini- less fury from pole to pole. It is a mighty giant, who, leav- ing his oozy bed, comes up upon the land to spend his strength in the service of man. He there allows his captors to chain him in prisons of stone and iron, to bind his shoul- ders to the wheel, and set htm to grind the food of the na- tions, and weave the garments of the world. v Q. The mighty shaft, which that wheel turns, runs out into all the lands ; and geared and belted to that center of power, ten thousand times ten thousand clanking engines roll their cylinders,* and ply their hammers, and drive their million shuttles. Thus the sea keeps all our mills and fac- tories in motion. Thus the sea spins our thread and weaves our cloth. 7. 14 is the sea that cuts our iron bars like wax, rolls them out into proper thinness, or piles them up i^ the solid shaft strong enough to be the pivot of a revolving planet. It is the sea that tunnels the mountains, and bores the mine, and lifts the coal from its sunless depths, and the ore from its rocky bed. It is the sea that lays the iron track, that builds the iron horse, that fills his nostrils with fiery breath, and sends his tireless hoofs thundering across the longitudes. 8. It is the power of the sea that is doing for man all those mightiest works that would be else impossible. It is by this power that he is to level the mountains, to tame the wilder- nesses, to subdue the continents, to throw his pathways around the globe, and make his nearest approaches to omni- presence and omnipotence. Ptom^he "BiBuoTHErA Sacra." TO BE MEMORIZED. Heaven and earth are a musical instrument ; if you touch a string de/ow, the motion goes to the top ; any good done to Christ's poor manbers upon earth, affects Him in heaven. SIGHTS AT SEA. 209 75. SIGHTS AT SEA. THE most beautiful thing I have seen at sea — all the more so that I had never heard of it-i-is the trail of a shoal of fish through the phosphorescent water. It is like a flight of silver rockets, or the streaming of northern lights through that silent nether* heaven. I thought nothing could WQ beyond that rustling star-foam which was churned up by our ship's bows, or those eddies and disks of dreamy flame that rose and wandered out of sigbt behind us. 2. But there was something even inOre delicately rare in the apparition of the fish, as they turned up in gleaming fur- rows the latent 'moonshine which the ocean seemed to have hoarded against these vacant interlunar' nights. In the Mediterranean one day, as we were lying becftlmed, I obsei'ved the water freckled with dingy specks, which at last gathered to a pinkish scum on the surface. The sea had been so phos- phorescent for some nights, that when the captain gave me my bath, by dowsing mo with buckets from the house on deck, the spray flew off my head and shoulders in sparks. '5. It occurred to me that this dirty-looking scum might be the luminous matter, and I had a pailful ^dipped up to keep till after dark. When I went to look at it after night-fall, it seemed at first perfectly dead; but when I shook it, the whole broke out into what I can only liken to milky flames, whose lambent" silence was strangely beautiful, and startled me almost as actual projection might an alchemist. To avoid the death of so much beauty, I poured it all ovet-board. If. Another sight worth taking a voyage for is that of the -^H«th«r(n6th'iT),8ltaatetldowir rhr twnjunctioff^^writh the bud, \r or below ; under. invisible. ' In'tw Ifl'nar, belonging to the * Lftm'lMnt, playing on the sar- time when the moon, at or near face ; twinkling. tflll^! 210 DOMINION FOURTH READER. sails by moonlight. Our course was "south and by east, half south," so that we seemed bound for the full mqon as siie rolled up over our wavering hori'zon. Then I used to go forward to the bowsprit and look back. Our ship was a clipper, with every rag set, stunsails, sky-scrapers, and all ; noi* was it easy to believe that such a wonder could be built of canvas as that white, many-storied pile of cloud that stooped over me, or drew back as we rose and fell with the waves. 5. Were you ever alone with the sun ? You think it a very simple question ; but I never was, in the full sense of the word, till I was* held up to him one cloudless day on the broad buckler of the ocean. I suppose one might have the same feeling in the desert. I remember getting something like it years ago, when I climbed alone to the top of a mount- ain, and lay face up on the hot gray moss, striving to get a notion of how an Arab might feel. But at sea jou may be alone with him day after day, and almost all day long. 6. I never understood before that nothing short of full daylight can give the supremest sense of solitude. Darkness will not do so, for the imagination peoples it with more shapes thaij, ever were poured from the frozen loins of the populous North. The sun, I sometimes think, is a little grouty at sea, especially at high noon, feeling that he wastes hia beams on those fruitless furrows. It is otherwise with the moon. She "comforts the night," as Chapman finely says, and I always found her a companionable creature. 7. In the ocean horizon I took untiring delight. It is the true magic-circle of expectation and conjecture— ^almost as good as a wishing- ring. What will rise over that edge we sail toward dajly and never overtake ? A sail ? an island ? "the new shore of tHeUId World ? Something rose every day. ' whjlch I need not have gope so far to see, but at whose leve«i I was a much more faithful courtier than on shore. .,S» (.l.j>\ ..«. .. »\A,\'ik'A.im'-,^ .\*4. '^iiiiUiViit . ADDRESS rO THE OCEAN. 211 S. A cloudless simriso in iiiid-oceaii is boyond compurisun for simple grandeur. It is like Dante's * style, bare and per- fect. Naked snn meets naked sea, the true classic of Nature. There may be more sentiment in morning on shore — the shivering fairy-jewelry of dew, the silver point-lace of spark- ling hoar-frost — there is also more complexity. Loweljl.* 7G. ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar. I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which [ steal From all I may Ije, or have been Injfore, To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal. 2. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! Ten tiiousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain The wrecks an; all thy dctnl, nor doth remain A sliadow of luau's ruvage, save his own, When, for a moment, 11 k(! a drop of rain, H(» sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan. Without a grave, unknelled, uncoflfinetl, and unknown. S. His steps are not upon thy ptttlis — thy fields Are not a spoil for him — thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction, thou dost all despise, -_- Spurning him fnoro thy boaom to the akie»T ====^ t^ ' Dant* (dftn'te), the Italian poet, bom in 186Q. aq^ died in 1821. ■JamM RttusU Lowsll, the American poet, bom in 1810. He ranknd among the very flnt of American autliors. He died, 1893. *il(t .."ilitiii'il O f a' M I. ifat" ij^K 1 . 1 >',^ . 212 DOM IX /ON FoanrH reader. And aend'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay. And dashest him again to earth ;— there let him lay. 4' The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake. And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans,' whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's • pride or spoils of Trafalgar.* 5. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee— Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free. And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to^eserts :— not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play— Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow- Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou roU^st now. 6. 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 ^^^'^'^^^^^'^^ ;— boundless, endless, and sublime- • LevUthan (le vl'ifhan), a great on the^; w. coast of Cadiz.~In the sea animal, described in the Bible ; a great whale ; here means a bat- tie ship. 'Armfl'da, a fleet of armfid memorable naval battle off Cape Trafalgar, Oct. 31, 1805, the En- glish gained a complete victory over the combined French and ,, ' »" """• ""' »iumuiu«a jTTencn and -aWpa4*aquadr«nr^«»^^fe^-tte Spanish fleets. Lord l^son, M IZ^HTn*?;ar* ***'"* '*'""'* ^°«^""** commander, was mortally l^^?•^Ji"^• '^*'"°***^ He waa victor of the f T^.«l gir", a. niuf hto (drifts) or checkers, tion or a game played with wooden pieces on a checkered board. * B mer'j(en of^ a sudden or un- expectetl occurrence. " * Qudtfa, Bald ; gpoira lUHWt only in the first and third peraons in , the past tense, and with the nomi- nntlW always, following It, •4 A-ifliisAs ,«■ •■ ' ft, A u .i :54.„' A SAINT'S ANSWER. U5 4- 6. And 80 the question parried ' to and fro, Drew varied answers ; voices loud and low Ringing the changes on a theme ' so near Those pure, unworldly heai-ts, till, in the ear Of Aloysius, bending o'er his game, A whisper from the Switzer ' novice came : " Fratello mio !* thou alone art mute ; " Which others, in the height of the dispute Hearing, were 'shamed ; and he of Corsica Cried out, "Whaldost thou say, good Gonzftga ? '^ • Then in the sudden hush the holy youth — " Dear brother, if this hour, in very truth. Death's angel with the a^ful summons* came, Methinks " — he, smiling, pointed to his game — " I would continue this ; " — the while, surprise Held all the others dumb — with drooping eyes He added, " Doth not he commence The noblest work, who, in obedience To holy rule, and for the greater gain Of God's dear glory, doth his will constrain ? " He who performs each duty in its time. With sinless heart and ever-watchful eye, His very pastime maketh prayer sublime. And any moment is prepared to die. " / \l TO BE MEMORIZED. T/ie Christian faith is a g rami cathedral, with divinely pictured TtHndows. Standing without, you see no glory, nor can possibly imagine any ;. standing within, every ray of light reveals a harmony of unspeakable splendor. ^ ' P&r^ried, paased from one to itant'of Switzerland ; a Swiaa. another, as used here. *Pr«t«l'lo ml'o, my dear * ThSme, a subject of thought brother. OP conversation. ^ Sdm'iaionB, an imperative call. *9^ts'er, a native or inhab- • Oon »trWii', to bend ; to compel Akft>»"i<^.'»-.,ji.'-s#>,i. .» A^yj'tii.:; I £16 DOMINION FOURTH READER. c 78. THE DEAR ST. ELIZABETH. THE tender piety with which Elizabeth of Hungary had been animated from her childhood, after her marriage took every day new developments, which in a short time merited for her the sweet and glorioHs title under whicli all Christendom » now venerates her— that of' Patroness of the Poor. 2. From her cradle, she could not bear the sight of a poor person without feeling her heart pierced with grief, and now that her husband had granted her full liberty in all that con- cerned the honor ol God and the good of her neighbor, she unreservedly abandoned herself to her natural inclination to solace 2 the suffering members of Christ, 4. 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 that the charity of her nusband placed at her disposal, she gave away so quickly all that she possessed, that it often happened that she would de- spoil* herself of her clothes in order to have the means of as- sisting the unfortunate. 4. But it was not alone by presents or with money that the young princess testified her love for the poor of Christ ; it was still more by personal devotion, by those tender and pa- tient cares which are assuredly^ in the sight 6i both God and the sufferers, the most holy and most precious alms. Sho applied herself to these duMes with simplicity and unfailins THE DEAR ST. ELIZABETH. 217 lieving their wants, she would inquire where they lived in order that she might visit then., and no distance, nor rough nesso^oad, could keep her from tiiem. ^She knew that nothing strengthened feelings of charity more than t-o penetrate into all that is positive and material m human misery. She sought out the huts most distant from her castle, which were often repulsive through filth and bad air; yet she entered these haunts of poverty in a manner at once full of devotion and familiarity. She carried herself what she thought would be necessary for their miserable in- habitants. She consoled them, far less by her generous gifts than by her sweet and affectionate words. 6. Elizabeth loved to carry secretly to the poor not only money, but provisions and other matters which she destined"' for them. She went, thus laden, by the winding and rugged paths that led from the castle to the city, and to cabins of the neighboring valleys. One day, when accompanied by one of her favorite maidens, as she descended from the castle and 3arried under her mantle bread, meat, eggs, and other 'food to distribute to the poor, she suddenly encountered l^er hus- band, who was returning from hunting. 7. 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 h6 had ever seen ; and this astonished him, as it was no longer the season of flowers. Seeing that Elizabeth wasstroubled, he sought to console her by his caresses, but he ceased suddenly, on seeing over her bead a luminous appearance in the form of a crucifix. =^^ He^ thmr desii^liCTto cohTimW her route wi!houtl)elng ~" di^8jmjed_by h^^^ to Wartburg, med itating • IMt'Uned, designed; intended. \ ; i 1 ■m^ el^ ) DOMINION FOURTH REAI^ER. with recollection on Avhat (fO Montal^mb^t.» '4'-u «\ 79. THE QUEEN'S KISS. PART FIRST. IN Wl the .blessed calendar,^ The sweetest saint I hold tQ be Thuringia's gracious LandgravMfe,*, Elizabeth of Hungary.- 2. A heart of love, a soul of fire, A hand to succor and to bless, A life one passionate desire For pure and perfect holiness. 3. They brighten the historic page, Those legends, beautiful and quaint. Of miracles that so illume The tragic history of our saint. U. The story of her fasts, relieved By angels serving food divine. Of water from her goblet turned. Upon her fainting lips, to wine. > Ck>unt Charles Forbes Ren*, de Montalembert, a French states- man, bom in London May 39, 1810 ; I Jn^ Paris Marck 18, 1970. He- was distinguished for his efforts in behalf of free Catholic education, and is the author of several valoa- ble works, the best known of which are "The Monks of the West" and the " Life of St. Elizabeth of Hungaiy." — * O&I'en dar, a list of names. * li&nd'gra vine, the wife of a landgrave or Qerman nobleman. i>-" ^!fc«s^,:iK^-^;:vi>ii^;j»t.;^_.!^laS^;^*'a' ^.. 6. 8. THE QUEEN'S KISS. The story of the leprous child She laid upon her own soft bed ; And how the court stormed at the deed, ' And all her maids in terror lied, t ' How, chiding, came her angered lord. To find his chamber filled with light. And on his couch a Christ-child fair, '^ ^JSh&i smiled and vanished from his sight ! The story of the beggar, crouched Upon her court-yard's pavement cold. O'er whom she flung in Christ's dear name Her ermined mantle, wrought with gold. And how it was the Lord Himself Who, in that abject human form, . So moved her heart — to whom she gave Such royal covering from the storm. And that dear legend that they keep In roses round her castle still, Her memory blooming bright and sweet. By Wartburg's steep and rocky hill ; ^How, -one midwinter day, she went Adown the icy path, to bear A store of meat and eggs and bread, To cheer the poor who claimed her care ; How, hiding all beneath her robes, Against the tempest toiling down, She met the landgrave face to face, ^Hd, tfembtingjStTOd before his frowii7~^ 12. And how. "What dost thou here, my wife? What bear^st thou ? " he sternly said, 9. 10. 11. 219 ew DOArr.vro.v fourth reader. And opediher mantle's folds, to find Within but ros^s, white and red I ' '■ * * IS. How then he thought to kiss her cheek, -But dar e d cot>^ird^tK )uld only lay One rose, a rose of Paradise, Against his heart, and go his way. 4 w^''^'ii.\73\:\'\j ■■'.:'■',':' i^.i''..-.:: ^ J. ^ :-.^"%^ - THE (2UEEN'S KISS. 221 80. THE QUEEN'S' KISS. PART SECOND. ' WITHIN the French king'g banquet-hall. Upon the royal dais raised, ^ Sat Blan9he, the queen from fair Castile, The princess by our Shakespeare ' praised. 2. She who, through blessed motherhood, A more than royal glory won — From Louis, kingli^st of saints. And saintliSst of kings, her son. S. It chanced that, as the lovely queen Gazed round the bannered hall that day. She marked a pensive stranger stand " Beyond a group of pages gay. . Jf. A fair, slight youth, with deep blue eyes. And tender mouth that seldom smiled. And long, bright hair that backward flowed, From oflf a forehead pure and mild. 5. " Know'st thou, my dear lord cardinal, Yon fair-haired page that stands apart ? " Asked Blanche, the queen ; ''his sad face brings A strange, deep j'earning to my heart.'- '•That daughter there of Spain, the lady Blanche, Is near to England. Look upon the years Of Lewis the Dan plan, and that lovely maid : If zealous love should go in search of virtue, Where should he find it purer than in Blanche ? -iriove ftinbitTbtts sought a match of birth. Whose veins bound richer blood than lady Blanche ? — . Shakespeare. i ^i^iairusya.. ^ ..-j._k»'J 4 ■^sj- V ♦' i> . DOMINION FOURTH READER. 6. 7. 8. " Your highness, from a blessed life, g Now hid in God, that youth drew breath 'Tis Herman, of Thuringia, The son of St. Elizabeth." Then rose Queen Blanche, and went and stood In all her state, before the lad, And fixed upon his comely face A ^aze half tender and half sad. '* Thou'rt welcome to our court, fair prince ! " At last she said, and softly smiled. '* Thou hadst a blessed mother once : Wilt tell me where' she kissed her child ?*' 9. He like his mother's roses stood, All white and red with shy surprise ; 10. 11. ON 01 lat and evenii the jdeclin about Wef to the seas and, as I ] into' the r shades of j 2. The seclusion ( 'Mrs. L Clarke), an was bora i writer, so gr icHiT" homef ' known as G "> De ollne ing ; the \tA\ •West m iW.a^jt ¥■■• fii. :m. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 223 t( > 10. 11. Twas here, your majesty," he said, An4|touched his brow between his eyes. Fair Blanche of Castile boweU, and pressed A reverent kiss upon the place ; Then crossed her hands upon her breast, Exclaiming with uplifted face : •* Pray for us ! dear and blessed one ! r- Young victor over sin and death ! Thou tender mother ! spotless wife ! Thou sweetest St. Elizabeth ! " Mrs. Lippincott.* ^. 81. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. ON one of those sober «nd rather melancholy days in the latter part of autumn, when the shadows of morning and evening almost mingle together and throw a gloom over the jdecline ' of the year, I passed several hours in rambling about Westminster Ab"bey.' There was something congenial* to the season in the mournful magnificence of the old pile ; and, as I passed its threshold,' it seemed like stepping back into' the regions of antiquity, and losing myself among the shades of former ages. ' 2. The cloisters' still retain something of the quiet and seclusion of former days. The gray walls are discolored by ' Mrs. Lippinoott (Sara Jane Clarke), an American authoress, was bom in 1828. This gifted writer, so greatly beloved in Amer- llOIHei,~Tl^taore generally ■ICHll" linown as Graee Qreenwood. '' De ollne', a sinking or lessen- ing ; the latter part. •West mto'ster Ab'boy, built in 610 as a Benedictine monastery ; used now as a b«rial-plaoe for England's great men. * Oon gVxd al, partaking of the same niitiM. ' ThrCah'Old, the door-sill. * Olois' tmrs, enclosed passages or halls of some length, lighted by windows. sfti... ■.j*^.*&- 22Jl. DOMINION FOURTH READER. damps and crumbling with age ; a coat of hoary moss has gathered over the inscriptions' of the mural 2 monuments, and obscured the death's heads and other funereal emblems. The sharp touches of the chisel are gone from the rich tracery 3 of the arches; the roses which adorned the key- stones* have lost their leafy beauty ; every thing bears marks of the gradual dilapidations « of time, and yet has something touching and pleasing in its very decay. - 3. The sun was pouring down a yellow autumnal ray into the square of the cloisters ; beaming upon a scanty plot of grass in the center, and lighting up an angle of the vaulted passage with a kind of dusky splendor. F^om between the arcades,^ the eye glanced up to a bit of blue sky, or a passing cloud, and beheld the sun-gilt pinnacles'^ of the Abbey tower- ing into the azure heaven. J).. I pursued my walk to an arched door opening to the in- terior of the Abbey. On entering here, the magnitude of the building breaks fully upon the mind, contrasted with the vaults of the cloisters. The eye gazes wifh wonder at Cltia- tered columns of gigantic dimensions, with arches springing from them to such an amazing height that man, wandering about their bases, shrinks into insignificance in comparison with his own handiwork. The spaciousness and gloom of this va«t edifice produce a profound and mysterious awe. 5. I passed some time in Poet's Corner, which occupies an end of one of the transepts or cross-aisles of the Abbey. Tlu' • In sorii/tion, that which ia written on stone, wood, or other sabfltanoes. ^ — -«- Ma^wJ, bgloayl^<»f atta ^died^ to a wall. ■ VTri'owff, fine drawn lined ; oompllcated, graoeful pattemn. « Xf y'ltflna, a ntoira wider at the top than the bottom, placed in th*< center of an arch to strengthen it ? m Vkiffi di'tlon, decay ; state of bolngpartly mined: - * Ar old*', a series of ar«')u■^^ supported by columns. "* Pln'na ol«, a high, slender tur- ret or |)oint'. tiii^iiktj^&|Wii^^aLaM^M£jitt!i monume men affo and Add greater inscripti morials. Abbey rt feeling ti tion wit] the great 6. Fro part of tl I wander now occt every tur zance* o 7. As! catches g as if in hands pi( posing af nobles in 8. The effigies or or in the effect infi >M«cUU lar tablet < embossed o ch tiyi e m e ^Oogniw * Bf fi ti ure or pain' « Nioha ( :jlM^kMaMl^ IV£S TM/NS TER ABBE V. 225 monuments are generally simple ; for the lives of literary men afforS no striking themes for the sculptor. Shakespeare and Addison haf e statues erected to their memories ; but the greater part have busts, medallions,' and sometimes mere inscriptions. Notwithstanding the simplicity of these me- morials, I have always observed that tl;ie visitors to the Abbey remained longest about them. A kinder and fonder feeling takes the place of that cold curiosity or vague admira- tion with which they g^e on the splendid monuments of the great and the heroic. 6. From Poet's Corner I continued my stroll toward that part of the Abbey which contains the sepulchers of the kings. I wandered among what one* were chapels, but which are now occupied by the tombs and monuments of the great. At every turn I met with some illustrious name, or the cogni- zance » of some powerful house renowned in history. 7. As the eye, darts into these dusky chambers of death, it catches glimpses of quaint effigies,^ some kneeling in niches < as if in devotion; others stretched upon the tombs with hands piously pressed together ; warriors in armor, as if re- posing after battle ^ prelates with crosiers » and miters ; and nobles in robes and coronets' lying, as it were, in state. 8. There is something extremely solemn and awful in those effigies on Gothic tombs, extended as if in the sleep of death, or in the supplication of the dying hour. They have an effect infinitely more impressive on my feelings than the fan- ' Me dUlUon, (-yJin), any circa- or recess, generally within the lar tablet on which are presented thickness of a wall for a statae. emboMed or raised figures ; a large bust, or other ornament. c3itiqao mcm oriaKcoiar » Oredw (krt V^ ihcrn a irt»hop^ » Oognl««noe(kfin'ii4ns), badge, crook or pastoral staff ; a symbol * Bf fi I^M, likenesses in sculpt- of his aathoijty. ure or painting ' • Ofir'o n«t, an inferior crown * Nioh* (uldi), a cavity, liollow worn by a nobleman, k^i/: »JU> .W^^i^^ ■•jy i'a«.u.j, S26 DOMINION FOURTH READER. ciful attitudes, the over-wrought conceits' and allegorical groups which abound on modern monuments. I haveieen struck, also, with the superiority of the old sepulchral ^ inscriptions. 9. There was a noble way in former times of saying things simply and yet saying them proudly ; and I do not know an epitaph < that breathes a loftier consciousness of family worth and honorable lineage, than one which affirms of a noble house, that **all the brothers were brave and all the sisters virtuous." I continued in this way to move from tomb to tomb, and from chapel to chapel. , " 10. The day was gradually wearing away.' I stood before the entrance to Henry the Seventh's" chapel. Two small aisles on each side of this chapel present a touching instance of the equality of the grave, which brings down the oppressor to a level with the oppressed, and mingles the dust of the bitterest enemies together. In one is the sepulcher of the haughty' Elizabeth ; in the other is that of her victim, the lovely and unfortunate Mary. ^^'^^^ an *»o"r in the day but so^e ejaculation of pity is utter^tt over the fate of the latter, mingled Vith indignation at her oppressor. The walls of Elizabeth's sepulcher cort^ tinually echo with the sigh of sympathy heaved at the grave of her rival. 12. A peculiar melancholy reigns over the aisle where Mary lies buried. The light struggles dimly through win- » Oon out, an ill-founded, odd, or extravagant notion. • Al'Ie ifir'l cal, a method of deaeribltig n^4biflg by ita j ca om. blance to another thing. , • 8« pttl'ohral, relating to a tomb ,<^ 6r bnMal place. ^Qp'itkph, an fnacription in memory of the dead. » Honiy . Vn., founder of the Tador dynasty of English kings, f*th» r of B« Bf y VHI. ,- bom at Pembroke Cftstle, in South Wales, July as, 1450; died at Richmond April 31. 1609. ' Bani^'ty, arrogant; disdainful. fe* :,^MMMik a«tuiii ^'.,*..i^^U■.^f;i^'al^.4ai^.^ii^iafei^>.«J;L^AV>i.t%V.%i^.H;^..^/■.^ EXECUTION OF MARY STUART. 2^7 dows darkened by dust. The greater part of the place ig in deep shadow, and the walk are stained and tinted by time and weather. A marble figure of Mary is stretched^npon the tomb, round which is an iron railing, much corroded,^ bear- ing her n&tional emblem — the thistle. I was weary with wan- dering, and sat down to rest myself by the monument, revolving in my mind the checkered ^ and disastrous story of poor Mary. Washmcoton lavwo.' 82 EXECUTION OF MARY STUART. DURING the long night previous to her execution, with the sound of the hammer on her scaffold ringing from the next room, Mary Stuart knelt before the agonized figure of her crucified Redeemer. She read the divine history of His sacred Passion ; she read a sermon on the subject of the penitent thief ; she drew from the bleeding lips of the five wounds bf Jesus the blood of remission and the waters of consolation ; and her saintly soul grew strong within her, and leaping up from the sorrowful earth with the renewed sense rtf God's pardon, found rest and refreshment already on the bosom of that dear Lord who died for her. ^. At four in the morning she lay down upon her bed, but not to sleep. Her attendants looking on her steadfastly, saw through the mist of their tears, that her lips were moving in incessant prayer. ' Oor rOd'ed, eaten away by time or rust. ' OMok'ared, of mingled dark =«ndbrigbi. --^ ' WasliiBgton Irving, born in New YoA city April 8, 1788 ; died Nov. 28, 18S0. HiB style has the I and purity, and more than the ^race and polish of Franklin. His carefully selected words, his vari- oasly constructed periods, his remaricsble el^pfance, ani&Lined- sweetness, and distinct and deli- cate word-painting place him in the front rank of the masters of our langnag«. ^28 DOMINION FOURTH HEADER. ' ■- ' ' ' ^ '■ . 3. Oh, through those moments of repose, did th» smile of her mother reappear? Did her^lad sweet youth in sunLy France come back ? Did she see the bright skies and the purple bloom of the vineyards ? Was the pomp of her young royalty visible ? Was the shadow of her yearning love be- tween her heart and heaven ? 4. I fancy not. I think that she heard nothing but the choirs on high, saw only the crown eternal, the unfading palm- branch, the blue rushing of the stream of life, that fl6weth from the throne of God and of the Lamb. At day-break she arose, called^ her spiall household round her, and once more ^bade them farewell ; read to thfem her last will; gave them her money and apparel ; Vkissed the wildly sobbing women, and gave her hand to the strong men, who wept over it. 3. Then she went to her oratory, and theyknelt, crying, behind her.- There Kent, and Shrewsbury, and Sheriff Andrews found her. Thence she arose, and taking the crucifix from the altar in her right hand, and her prayer- book in her left, she followed them. Her servants knelt for her benediction. She gave it and passed on. ^. Then the dobr closed, and the wild wail of their loving agony shook the hall. Besides what the commissioners re- ported, she said, to Melville, -Pray for your mistress and your queen." She begged that her women might attend her to disrobe her, and the Earl of Kent refused to grant this natural request. 7. ''My lord," she said, '^your mistress being a maiden queen, will Vouchsafe, in regard to worhanhodi, that I have some of my own women about me at my death." Kent gave _?g_^'» ^^.»g^ 8he 8aidx _^ Ton m ight , X thiak^ g i ant mft-a- — __. . .. . - -.. _ ^ — .^, .» ».»>»••>, ^*tm**,9 iM^'-Mh' far greater tourtesy > were I a woman of lesser calling than the Q ueen of the Scots." , OoArt'e ay, an act of kindnem perfonned wUh politenesfl' J Df f her , t^ vii \ 'tmli^i *'■>. - iliitXCsJ.il^UlJil ^.-Mtlj' ^29 ' EXECUTION OF .\[AR'y STUART. • 4 . • ^. % answer still. >ml then—" My lords, I uni a cousin of your queen, a desoendant of the blood-royal i of Henry Seventh, a married Queen of France, and the anointed Queep • of Scotland.-" Then they allowed Jane Kennedy and Mistress Curie to wait on her. •She wore her richest royal robes as she walked to the scaffold,^ and approached it with the graceful majesty ^ that ever distinguished her. 9. Then Dr. Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough, began to preach, exhorting < lier to forsake the Catholic Faith. Mary begged him not to trouble himself or her. On his persisting,' she^iYned away from him. He walked round the scaffold, confronTedfi her, and began again. Then.the Earl of Shrews- bury commanded him to stop preaching and begin to pray ; a command which was instantly obeyed. 10. But, meantime, Mary was repeating in Latin the Psalms for the dying. Then she knelt down and prayed for her son ' and for Elizabeth*, for Scotland, for her enemies, and for her- self, and holding up the image of her suffering Saviour, she •cried out: "As Thy arnip, my God ! were stretched out upon the Cross, so receive me into the embt-ace of their mercy, and forgive me all my sins." '/' 11. "Madame," cried courteous Kent, "you had better leave such Popish trumperies, and bear Him im your heart." And Maijr answered, "Were He not already in my heart, ^ His image would not) be in my hands." Then they bound « gold-edged handk»^hief over her eyes, ai^d she, saying, " Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit," knelt down. 12. At the first blow, the executioner spHt the lower puit - J i f her akull ;^ at tb e^ B e oond, hc^ut deeply into her lieekjtfrt — ' Ilo3r'aI, relating to a sovereign. » So&f'fold, a niaed platform for the execution of a criminal. • MiU'ea tt, dignity ; loftiness. ^BzhArt'ing, advising, warn' ing, or cautioning. » Per sist' Ing, continuing deter- minedly, , * O0nfroitUd(kon friint'ed),stood faoinig, in front of, or opposed to. iNf,^.. i 230 DOMINJON FOURTH READER. the third, he severed ' her head from hkx body, and, holding it up by the long gray/liair, said, "God save Queen Eliza- beth ! " THie peoDle ^bbed and weptr' " So perish all. her- enemies ! " 'j^Jne Dean of Peterborough. And the people sobbed and/wept ; but no one said, " Amen ! '* McLeod.» 83. JOAN OF ARC AT REIMS.^ THAT was a joyous day in Reims * of old, When peal on peal of mighty music rolled ~ Forth from' her thronged cathedral ; while ar^Md,'^ A multitude, whose billows made no sound,/ Chained to a hush of wonder, though elate * With victory, listened at their temple's gate. And what was done within ?— within, the light Through the rich gloom of pictured windows flowing. Tinged with soft awfulness a stately sight. The chivalry of France, their proud heads bowing In martial vassalage ! *— while 'midst that ring, And shadowed by the ancestral tombs, a king Received his birthright's crown. ' SXv'ered, separated ; parted. * Dbnald MoLeod (-load), born in New York in 1821, was the youngest son of Ale jandpr McLeod, a Scotch PresbyteriaA |>reacher fa- mous in New York fifty years ago. He became a Catholi<^ when about thirty years old. He was a pleasing and elegant writer. A "Life of Mary Queen of Scots!" and " De- votion to the Blessed Virgin in North America," were among his beat volume. Later in life he be'- c«ne a prieM^ and was killed on a railroad near Oinoinnati while go ing'on a call of sacerdotal duty. « Reims (r6m»), a walled city of France, department of Mame. Its Gothic Cathedral of the 13th cent- ury, and its church of St. ftemy, the oldest in the city, are among the finest church structures in all Europe. Philip , Augustus was consecrated here in 1179, and near- ly all his successors, till the revo- lution flif 1880. ^BUt*', having the spirits raised by success, or hope of suc- cess : proud ; swe lling. • yXi'ial age, stote of being a vassal, or one who holds land of a superior subject to military duty. 4. j'i^Kii*a^ii24i«bS|laiSfiS;i^ ■a 4 yOAX OF ARC AT REIMS. 231 ~- ^ - For this, thf iiymii ' Swelled out like rushing ^waters, and t In; day With the sweet censer's misty breath grew dim, As through long aisles it floated o'er the array Of arms and sweeping stoles. But who, aloiio And unapproached, beside: the altar-stone, With the white banner, forth liker sunshine streaming, And the gold helm, through clouds of fragrance gleaming- Silent and radiant stood ?— the helm was raised And th(f fair face revealed that upward gazed Intensely worshiping :— a still, clear face ■ Youthful, but trightly solemn !— Woman's cheek And brow were there, in deep devotion meek. Yet glorified with inspiration's trace On its pure paleness ; while, enthroned alx)ve. The pictured Virgin, with her smihe of love. Seemed bending o'er her votaress— That slight form ! . Was that the leader through the battle's storm ? - S. Had the soft light in that adoring eye. Guided the warrior where the swords flashed high ? 'Twas so, even so— and thou, the shepherd's child Joanne, the lowly dreamer of the wild ! Never before and never since that hour, Hath woman, mantled with victorious power, ' Stood forth as thou beside the shrine didst stand ; Holy amidst the knighthood of the land And beautiful with joy and with renown. Lift thy white banner o'er the olden crown, Ransomed for France by thee ! ^- The rites are done. ^Now let the dome with irumpet-notes be shaken, "XtTdnbTd the echoes of the tombs awaken. And come thou forth, that HBiven's rejoicing aun May give thee welcome from tWne own blue skies, M:Su. ^. X 232 DOMINION FOl^RTH READER. Daughter of victory !— a triVmphant strain, A proud rich stream of warlikA melodies, Gushed through the portals of the antique fane, . And forth she came.— Then rose a nation's sound' Oh. ! what a power to bid the quick heart bound, The wind bears onward with the stormy cheer Man gives to glory on her high career ! r*. Is there indeed such power ?— far deeper dwells In one kind household voice, to reach the cells W::ence happiness flowed forth !— the shouts that filled The hollow heaven tempestuously, we^ie stilled One moment v and in that brief pause, the tone. As of a breeze that o'er her home had blown. Sank on the bright maid's heart.- " Joanne ! "—Who spoke Like those whose childhood with her childhood grew Under one roof ?— ' ' Joanne "—that murmur broke With sounds of weeping forth !— She turned— she knew Beside her, markedfrom all the thousands there, In the calm beauty of his silver hair, The stately shepherd ; and the youth, whose joy Frt)m his dark eye flashed proudly ; and the boy— The youngest-born, that ever loved her best ; " Father ! and ye, my brothers ! "— '6-. '^- On the breast ^f-that gray sire sh^ sank— and swiftly back ^ven in an instant, to their native track Her free thoughts flowed.— She saw the pomp no more^ The plumes, the banners :— to her cabin door. And to the fairy's fountain in the glade, Where her young sister, |)y her side had played, And to her hamlet's chapel, wher; it rose HaUowingtbe fdresc unto aeep jrepoBe, Her spirit turned. ^s >. -U'-v, !i JOAiV OF ARC. ^33 8. The very wood-note, sung ; In early spring-time by the bird, which dwelt ' Where o'er her father's roof the beech leaves hung, Was in her heart ; a music heard and felt, > ' Winning her back to nature. — She uBibo^nd The helm of many battles from,iier head, "; And, with her bright locks bowed to sweep the ground, Lifting her voice up, wept for joy, and said — " Bless me, my father, bless me ! and with thee, To the still cabin and the beechen tree, let me^eturn I "^- 9. 0\\ ! never di^ thine eye Throa^h the green haunts of happy infancy Wander again, Joanne ! too much of fame ^ I Had shed its radiance on thy peasant name ;* / And bought ^lone by gifts beyond all price, The trusting heart's repose, the paradise Of home with all its loves, doth fate allow The crown of glory unto woman's brow. Mrs. Hemans.* / . 84. JOAN OF ARC. j^. PART FIRST. WHAT is to be thought of her ? What is to be 'thought of the poor shepherd girl from the hills and fdrests of Lorraine,'^ that, like the Hebrew shepfierd boy from the hills and forests of Judea,' rose suddenly out of the quiet, out of the safety, out of the religious inspiration, rooted in deep pastoral solitudes, to a station in the van of armies, and to the more perilous station at the right hand of kin^s ? 2. The Hebrew boy inaugurated * his patriotic mission by ' Felicia DoroUiea Hemaiu, a noted English poetess, bom in Liverpool, September 25, 1794; "^«aii«fif Dablin, JfeyTSriaW. * KWP riffed; made^a puT>-~ * Iiprraine (lor rRn'). a fonnei*^ He or fi»mial beginning of. large province of France, now in- cluded in a department, ' David, King df Israel. 234^ DOMINION FOURTH READER. an act, by.a victprious act, such as no man could deny. But 80 did the girl of Lorraine, if we read her story as it w|s^ read by those who saw her nearest. Adverse armies bore witness to the boy as no pretender ; but so they did to the gentle girl. Judged by the voices of all who saw them froiri a sfation of ffood-will, both were found true and loyal to any promises in- volved in their first act. ■< 3. Enemies it was that made the difference between their subsequent fortunes. The .boy rose to a splendor and a noon- day prosperity, both personal and public, that rang through the records of his people, and became a by-wori amongst his posterity for a thousand yea^i-s, until the scepter was depart- ing from Juda. ' 4. The poor, forsaken girl, on the contrary, dra^ not her- self from that cup of rest which she had secured tor France. She never sang the songs that rose in her native Domremy, ^as echoes to the departing steps of invaders. She mingled not in the festal dances of Vaucouleurs, which celebrated in rapture the redemption of France. No ! for her voice was then silent. No ! for her feet were dust. 5. Pure, innocent, noble-hearted girl ! whom from earfiest youth ever I believed in, as full of truth and self-sacrifice, this was amongst the strongest pledges for thij side, that never once— no, not for a moment of weakness— didst thou revel in the vision of coronets and honor from man. Coro- nets for thee ? Oh, no ! Honors, if they come when all is over, are for those that share thy blood. 6. Daughter of Domremy, when the gratitude of thy kintr shall awaken, thou wilt be sleeping the sleep of the dead*^ - Call her, king of France, but she 4i\\ not h^ar thee ! Cite her by thy apparitors* to come and receive a robe of honor, batshe will be found in contempt. When tlie blunders of -♦— — --^ . '~ --w— .1 I, , — _- -,^ -— — - "nSp pe^f-^-^iirger or o|cer wlio serves the process of « court. t4tiJi'a^>)U!: £» >i. ■..ilX', -^.'^ '^^'^j* 4.^ l* . r^ JOAN OF ARC. 235 universal France, as even yet may happen, shall proclaim the grandeur of the poor shepherd girl that gave up all for her country, thy ear, young sliepherd girl, will have been dfiaf for five centuries. 7. To suffer and to do ! that was thy portion in this life : to rfo— never for thyself, \l ways Jor others ; to .vw/er— never '" " -in the persons of generous champions, always in thy own- that was thy destiny, and not for a moment was it hidden from thyself. " Life," thou saidst, " is short, and the sleep which is in the grave is long. Let me use that "life, so tran- sitory, for the glory of those heavenly dreams destined to comfort the sleep which is so long." 8. Pure from every suspicion of even a visionary self-inter- est, even as she was pure in senses more obvious, never once did this holy child, as re^rded herself, relax from her belief in the darkness that wag traveling to meet her. She might not prefigure the very manner of her death ; she saw not in vision, perhaps, the aerial altitude of the fiery scaffold, the spectators without end, on every road, pouring into ^Quen as to a coronation, the surging smoke, the volleying flames, the hostile faces all around, the pitying eye that lurked but here and there, until nature and imperishable truth broke loose from artificial restraints — these might not be apparent through the mists of the hurrying future ; but the voice that called her to death— ^/m/ she heard forever. 9. Great was the throne of France, even in those days, and great was he that sat upon it ; but well Joan knew that not the throne, nor he that sat upon it, was for her ; but, on the contrary, that she was for them: not she by them, but they by her, should rise from the dust. Gorgeous were the lilies of France, and for centuries had they been spreading their ^ftwty Qsar land and a c tt,ttntil,w anothe r ee t itur y , t 3. O^iild of France ! shepherdess, peasant girl! trodden ^iin(ier foot by all-around thee, I honor thy flashing intellect, quick as the lightning and as true to its mark, that rtin be- fore France and laggard Europe by many a century^ con- founding the malice of the ensnarer, ahd making dumb the oracles of falsehood ! - Would you examine me as % witness against myself? " was the question by which many times she ■Mgd^hMr art s . The reau l t o f t hi s t ri aLwa^ th« oonde mTra^ tion of Joan to be burnt alive. Nper was a fairer victim doomed to death by baser means. 4. Woman, sister ! there are some things which you do not ^4ir. yOAxV OF ARC. es", execute 'as well as your brother, man — no, nor ever will. Vet, sister, woman, cheerfully and with the love that bums in depths orf admiration, I acknowledge that you can do one thing as well as the best of men — you can die grandly ! 5. On the 20th of May, 1431, being then about nineteen years d¥ age, Joan of Arc underwent her martyrdom. She was taken, before midday, guarded by eight hundred spear- men, to a platform of prodigious height, constructed of wooden billets, supported by occasional walls of lath and plaster, and traversed by hollow spaces in every direction for the creation of air currents. With an undaunted soul, but a meek and saintly demeanor, the maiden encountered her terribly fate. Upon her head was placed a miter bearing the inscription, ^'Relapsed heretic, apostate, idolatress." 6. Her piety displayed itself in the most touching manner to the last, apd her angelic forgetfulness of self was mani- fested in a remarkable degree. The executioner had been directed to apply his torch from below. He did so. The fiery smoke rose upward in billowing volumes. A monk was then standing at Joan's side. Wrapb'wp in his sublime office, he saw not the danger, but still persisted in his prayers. Even then, when the last enemy was racing up the fiery stairs to seize her, even at that moment did this noblest of girls think only for him — the one friend that would not forsake her — and not for herself, bidding him with her last breath to care for his own preservation, but to leave her to God. 7. "Go down/* she said, "lift up the cross before me, ^that T tnay see jiin dying, an d s peak, to me pious words tQ_ the end." Then, protesting her innocence and recommend- ing her soul to heaven, she continued to. pray as the flanges leaped and walleh. A soldier who had sworn to throw a fagot on the pile, 'turned away, a penitent for life, on hear- ing her last prayer to her Saviour. Ho had seen, he said, a white dove soar t^ heaven from the ashes where the brave girl had stood. 8. Illustrious to-day, through the efforts of her country- man, Monseigneur Dupanloup, Joan's memory is to be held up to still greater fame. Through the sunlit windows of a great Cathedral, t^ie gift of the noble of Joan's s6x, her legend as told in the tinted glass will cause men to give glory to Him who was her strength. 9. The name that fire could not tarnish will, through the cheery reflections of summer sun and autumn glow, through the gladdening gleams of spring's fair mornings, be reflected in the house of her Creator. Tfie chills of the winter of historical falsehood have passed : Joan lives in the windows of holy ChuFoh, the glory of her sisters' land. . . De Quincey.' ' TO BE MEMORIZED. Good name, in man and woman, dear my lord. Is the immediate Jewel of their souls ; - Who steals my purse, steals trash ,- 'tis something, nothing ; ' Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; But he, that filches from me my good name, Robs me of that which not enriches hitn. And makes me poor indeed.— Shakespeare. ' Thomas D« Qninoey, one of the most remarkable of English mthoig, j«ra«- bora itt .1786y *B d^ died in 1859. He wrote upon a wider and more diversified range of sabjeots than any other author of his time. His matter was always abundant and good, and his style of the rarest brilliancy «Bd riehsesBi His namerons con^ tribntions to periodicals brought a large price. He wrote ^he admirable memoirs of Shakespeare and Pope in the Encycloposdia Britannica. M t « HYAfN OF ST. FRANCIS. 239 86. HYMN OF ST. FRANCIS. - IN. the beginning of the thirteenth century there appeared in Italy, ■io the north of Rome, in the beautiful Umbrian country at the foot of the Apennines, a figure of the moat magical power and charm — St. Francis. His century is, I think, the most interesting in the history of Christianity after its primitive age ; and one of the chief figures, perhaps the very chief, to wbifih this interest attaches itself, is St. Francis. He found^MJH most popular body of Ktunisters of religion that has efjJPi^ed in the Church. 2. He transformed monachism ^ by uprooting the stationary monk, delivering him from the bondage of property, and sending him, as a mendicant friar, to be a stranger and so- journer, not in the wilderness, but in the most crowded haunts of men, to console them and to do them good. This popular instinct of his, is at the bottom of his famous mar- riage with .poverty. Poverty and suffering are the condition of the people, the multitude, the immense majority of man- kind ; and it was toward this people that his soul yearned. "He listens, "it was said of him, "to those to whom God Himself seems not to listen." 3. So, in return, as no other man he was listened to. When an Umbrian town or village heard of his approach, the whole population went out in joyful procession to meet him, with grefin boughs, flags, music, and songs of gladness. The master who began with two disciples, could, in his own lifetime (and he died at forty-four), collect to keep Whitsun- t*de with him, in presence of an immense multitudej fivfl thousand of his Minorites. He found fulfillment to his pro- phetic cry : " I hear in my ears the sound of the tongues of eluded from temporal oonoems and devoted to religion. ■ Monachiuii (mAn^a klim), the system and influenoea of a life ae- I;; r-V k FOURTH READIER. 240 'fj^ DOMINION all the nations who shall come untb us— Frenchmen, Span- iards, Gernvans, Englishmen. The Lord will make ot us a great people, even unto the ends of the earth." ^ 4. Prose could not satisfy this ardent soul, and he made poetry. Latin was too learned for this simple, popular nature, and he €omposed in his mother-tongue, in Italian. The be- giilnings of the mundane » poetry of the Italians are in Sicily, at the court of kings ; the beginnings of their religious poetry are in Umbria, with St. Frapcis. /?. His are the bumble upper waters of a mighty stream ; at the beginning of the thirteenth century it is St. Francis ; at the end, Dante. , St. Francis's Canticle of the Sun, Canti- cle of the Creatur^es (the poem goes by both names), is de- signed for populw- use; artless in language, irregular in rhythm, it matchef with the child-like genius that produced it and the simple natures that loved and repeated it ? O Lord God ! most high, omnipotent, * and gracious ! To Thee belong praise, glory, honor, and all benediction ! All things do refer to Thee. No man is worthy to name Thee. ' Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for all Thy creatures ; especially for our brother, the sun, who bripgs us the day and who brings us the light; fair is he, and shining with a very great splendor: O Lord; he signifies to u^. Thee ! , Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our sisters, the moon and the stars, the which Thou hast set clear and lovely in heaven. Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our brothers, the winds, and for air and clouds, calms and all weather by the which Thoii upholdest life in all creatures. Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our sister, the water, who is very serviceable unto us, and lowly, and precious, and pure. Jiwww be tt» Thwr^ my fconf, tor our&rbthor, the fire, through whom Thou givfest us light in the darkness : and he is bright, and pleasant, and very mighty, and strong. ' » Man'dln., worldly. , ~: ^ Qm j^j^i^^^~^^^ IJM, tA ; J N' f^HVAfN OF ST.- FRANCIS, ■ . HI Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our mother, the earth, the which doth sustain and nourish us, and bring^th forth divers fruits, and flowers of many colors, and grass. Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for all those who pardon one another for Thy love's sake, and who endure weakness and tribula- tion ; blessM are they who peaceably shall endure ; for Thou,> O^ Most Highest, sh^lt give them a crown. Praise be to Thee, O my Lord, for our sister, the death of the ' body, from whom no man escapeth. Alas ! for such as die in mor- tal sin. Blessed are they who, in Uie hour of death, are found living in conformity to Thy most holy will, for the second death " shall have no power to do them harm. All creatures, praise ye and bless ye the Lord, j^nd give thanks unto Him, and serve Him with all humility. ' 6. It is natural that man should take pleasure in his senses. It is natural, also, that he should take refuge in his heart and imagination from his misery. When one thinks i^at / human life is for the vast majority of mankind, its needful toils and conflicts, how little of a feast for their senses it can possibly be, one understands the charm for them of a refuge offered in the heart and imagination. ' 7. The poetry of St. Francis's hyi;nri, is poetry treating the ' world according to the heart and imagination. It takes the ' world by i^ inward, symbolical side. It admits the whole world, rough and smootn, painful and pleasure-giving, all alike', but all transfigured by th9 power of a spiritual emotion, all brought under a law of super-sensual lov«, having its seat in the soul. It can thus even say, ** Praised bo piy Lord for our sister, the death of the body." "^ Matthkw Arnold.* /*x « * Tffattii^^ Arnold, an BngliBh poet, essayist, and critic, born at Laleham, Dec. 24, 1822. His writ- ings are most remarkable for the parity of their style, and the keen- ness with which he satirises Cer- tain defects of his coantrjrnien. As rhetorical models they Will re- pay careful stady. He died in 1888. V r- ■«• €'•;•. ' H^, ^9 87. DOMINION FOURTH READER. CHARGE OF tHE LIGHT BRIGADE. *^ T TALF a league, half a league, X X Half a league onward. All ill the valley of death \ Rode the six htmdred. *' Forward, the Light Brigade ! Charge for the guns ! " he said ; Into the valley of death Rode the six hundred. ^. '• Fcurward, the Light Brigade ! " Was there a man dismayed ? ISTot though the soldiers knew Some one had blundered : » Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why. Theirs but to do and die — Into the valley of death Kode the six hundred. S. Cannon to right of them. Cannon to left of them. Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered ; Stormed at with shot and shell. Boldly they rode and well. Into the jaws of death, ■^ Into the mouth of hell ' Bode the six hundred. 4. Flashed all their sabers bare, Flashed as they turned in air. Sabering the gunners there. For gold But glory The braVi Remembei ^ tji- \idSt tf' ik^^il^Jt aUS&*.^! . For gold the merchant plows the main, the farmer plows the mam>r. But glory is the soldier's pritte ; the soldier's wealth is honor ; The brave poor soldier ne'er despise, nor count him as a stranger. Remember he's his country s stay in day and hour of danger.— Bvuntk : "ii?y&ii^..aitf' i.;j;j. t <-♦.' IV ^44 DOMINION FOURTH RkADER. W:*i 88. WATERLOO. STOP !— for thy tread is on an Empire's dust ! An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchered below ! Is the spot marked with no colossal bust ? Nor column trOphied for trium^al show ? None : but the moral's truth tells simpler so. As the ground was before, thus let it be :— How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! And is this all the world hath gained by thee, Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory ? 2. There was a sounc^ of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her dtiivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, , Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, \ And all went merry as a marriage bell ; ' ' But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a risi^ knell ! S. Did ye not hear it ?— No ; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street. On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ! No sleep till morn when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet— But hark !— that heavy sound breaks in once more, As iftjie clouds its echc), would repeat ; And nearer, clearer, deadlieir than before ! ' Arm ! Arm I it is— it is— the capnon's opening roar 1 \ k- Within a windowed niche of tli^it high hall " ^t^ funswick'a fated ohief^in r he^did bcai ' =^ That sound the first araddst the festival, »On the night previous*^ the gfi^n at Bru^aels. which was large action, it is said that a brfll was lyi^ttended tytlie military officers. .S?» ■\ ,•*% J w ^ ^45 v^ , WATERLOO. And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear ; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well - Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance bloOd alone could quell: He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 5. Ah ! then and there was htirrying to and fro. And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness.; ' < And there were^udden partings, such as press The life froinpafyoung hearts, and choking sighs WhicjMie'er might be repeated : who could guess If eve/more should meet those mutual eyes. Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise .' 6'. And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, \The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, We^t pouring forward with impetuous speed, - And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; . ■ And the deep thunder peal on peal afar ; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips, " The foe ! They come ! They come ! » 7. And wild and high the ''Cameron's gathering" rose! The war-note of Loehiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes :— » How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage ancl shrill ! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instills - The stirring memory of a t l iou s mid years- ^" An d Evan's,' Donald'^ fame, rings in each clansman's ears ! ' Sir Bran Oamerou^ and bis descendant Donald, of renown, the meet " gentle Loehiel" of the "forty-five." ^ ^\ ^46 * ■ / DOMINION FOURTH HEADER. s -*■ S. And Ardennes ' waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass. Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unretuming brave, — alas ! Ere evening to be troddeqf like the grass Which now beneath them, l^t above shall grow In its next verdure, when this flery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe. And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. 9. Last noon beheld them ^11 of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay. The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife. The morn, th* marshalling in arms,— the day. Battle's magnificently stern array ! The'thunder-clouds close b'er it, which, when rent, The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse— friend, foe— in one red burial blent ! Byron. s 89. BURIAL-MARCH OF DUNDEE.' I OUND the fife, and cry the slogan, let the pibwxjh shake the air With its wild triumphal music, worthy of the freight we bear. Let the ancient hills of Scotland hear once more the battle-song Swell within the glens and valleys, as the clansmen march along ! -if&ver from the field of combat, never from the deadly fray, Was a nobler trOphy carried than we bring yith us to-day. Never, since the valiant Douglas, on his dauntless bosom bore Good Kinfe Robert's heart, the priceless, to our dear Redeemer's shore ! ' ArdenneB, the wood of Soignies, "forest of Ardennes," famous in Shakespeare's "As You Like it." , '^ Iiord ViaoQiint Dundee, who distinguished himself as the last and most devoted champion of the- Stuart family in Scotland, was slain at the decisive battle of Killie crankie in 1689. y -*• /^ BURIAL MARCH OF DUNDEE. 247 ^, Lo I w§ bring with us the hero ! Lo ! we bring tlie conquering Gnemei ' Crowned as best beseswns a victor from the altar of his fame ; Fresh and bleeding from the battle whence his spirit took its flight, 'Midst the crashing charge of squadrons, and the thunder of the fight ! Strike, I say, the notes of triumph, as we m^h o'er moor and lea ! Is there any here will venture to bewail our dead Dundee ? Let the widows of the traitors weep until their eyes are dim ! Wail ye may full well for Scotland, let none dare to mourn for him ! 3. See, above his glorious body lies the royal banner's fold, .See, his valiant blood is mingled with its crimson and its gold. See how calm he looks and stately, like a warrior on his nshield. Waiting till the flashibf morning Ijreaks along the battle-field ! See : Oh ! never m^e, my comrades, shall we see that falcon eye Redden with its inward lightning, as the hour of fight drew nigh : -Never shall we hear the voice that, clearer than the trumpet's call, Bade us strike for King and Country, bade us win the field, or fall I ^. On the heights of Killiecrankie yester-morn our army lay. Slowly rose the mist in columns from the river's broken way ; Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent, and the Pass was wrapt in gloom. When the clansmen rose together from their lair amidst the broom. Then we belted on our tartans, and our bonnets down we drew. And we felt oi# broadsw^s' edges, and we proved them to be true ; And we pftiyed the prayer of soldiers, and we cried the gathering cry. And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, and we swore to do or die. 5. Then our leader rode before us on his war-horse, black as night- Well the Cameronian rebels knew that charger in the fight ! And a cry of exultation from the bearded warriors rose ; For we loved the house of Claver'se, and we thought of good Montrose. JLut he rai s ed hi»4taa4 for ailcnca^" Soldwr t t ! I havea w w i m vow h- Ere the evening star shall glisten on Schehallion's lofty brow, Either we shall rest in triumph, or another of the Grffimes Shall have died in battle-hHrries.s for his country and King James ! 'Ai^ f-y- V **?,'!<;■■ ■' ^l/Jn^i TH READER. 24s -: DOMINION FOUi 6. Think upon the Royal Martyr, thipk of what his race endui^e, ♦ Think of him whom butchers murdered on the field of Magus Muir': By his sacred blood I charge ye, by the ruined hearth and shrine. By the blighted hdpes of Scotland, by your injuries and mine^ Strike this day as if the anvil lay beneath your blows tfie while", Be they Covena^ng traitors, or the brood of false Argyle ! 7. Strike ! and drive the trembling rebels backwards o'er the stormy Forth ; I^.t them tell their pale Convention how they fared within the North. Let them tell, that Highland honor is not to be bought nor sold, That we scorn their prince's anger as we loathe his foreign gold Strike ! and when the fight is over, if ye look in vain for me, Where the dead are lying thickest search for him that was Diindel! " 8. Loudly then the hills re-echoed with our answer to his call. But a deeper echo sounded in the bosoms of us all. \ For the lands of wide Breadalbane, not a man who heard hiiti speak \ Would that day have left the battle : burning eye and flushing cheek told the clansmen's fierce emotion, and they harder drew their breath ; For their souls were strong within them, stronger than the grasp of death : Soon we heard a challenge-trumpet sounding in the Pass below, ' ,And the distant tramp of horses, and-^:he voices of the foe. 9. Down we crouched amid the bracken, till the lowland ranks drew near, Panting like the hounds in sutamer, when they scent the stattoly deer. From the dark defile emerging, next we saw the squadrons come, Leslie's foot and Leven's troopers marching to the tuck of druirf. Through the scattered wood of birches, o'er the bi-oken ground and heath, Wound the long battalion slowly, till they gained the field beneath ; Then we bounded from our covert : judgehow looked the Saxons then, When they saw the rugj^ed mountain s tart to li fe w ith armfed men ! 10. Like a tempest down the ridges swept the hurricane of steel, Rose the slogan of MacdonaW— flashed tl»c liroadsword of Loehiel ! \>- 11. ^'-'' ■f ■" ^ BURIAL MARCH OF DUNDEE. ^JfO Vainly sped the withering volley 'mongst the foremost of our band • On we poured untal we met them, foot to foot, and hand to hand ' Horse and man went down like drift-wood when the floods are black at Yule, And their careasses are whirling in the Garry's deepest pool It t r,".*:,"' '""" "^s^wr"""" "« 'h^™ '""-w none on the held of K.ll.ecrankie,^»|^i,ubb.ra ftgh. was done - 11. And the evening staj head, -^ When we wiped our bloody bi^^ords." and returned to count" the dead. on Schehallion's distant ■i. , and gory, stretched upon the cum- There we found him ga bered plain, As he told us where to seek him, in the thickest of the slain And a smile was on his visage, for within his dying ear ' ^ Pealed the joyful note of triumph, and the clansmen's cFamor- ous cheer : So, amidst the battle's thunder,' shot; and steel, and scorching flame In the glory of his manhood, pass^l the spirit of the Gneme ! 12. Open wide the vaults of Atholl, where the bon^ of heroes rest' Open wide the hallowed portals to receive another^! ' Ust of Scot8,.aod last of freemen, last of all that dXless race Who would rather die unsullied than outlive the land's disgrace -' O thou lion-hearted warrior ! reck not of the after-time • Honor m^ be deemed dishonor, loyalty be called a crime. Sleep m peace with kindred ashes of the noble and the true ' Hands that never failed their country, hearts that never b«se-4 ness knew. " Sleep !-and till the latest trumpet wakes the dead from earth and sea Scotland shall not boast a braver chieftain, than our own Dundee ! ' Professor Aytoun,' "tiJSl'J^f^""*''^* ^^- *«*°»>urgh. author of "Lays of toun, Scottish educator and poet, the Scottish Cavaliers » and nu Utewtore In the Lniverslty of in 1818. and died in 1865. |i *■;' ■■'i^•'^■'■'^ 'iSM- 250 DOMLXION FOURTH READER. DO. NOBLE REVENGE./ ^ \ ■ A YOUNG officer (in what army no matter), had so far forgotten himself, in a moment of irritation, as to strike a private soldier, full of personal dignity (as sometimes hap- pens in all ranks), and distinguished for his courage. The inexorable • laws of military discipline forbMe to the injured soldier any practical redress— he could look for no retaliation by acts. 2. Words only were at his command, and, in a tumult of indignation, as he turned away, the soldier said to his officer that he would "make him repent it." This, wearing the shap^ of a menace,^ naturally rekindled the officer's anger, and intercepted any disposition which might be rising within him toward a sentiment of remorse ;» and thus the irritation between the two young men grew hotter than before. S. Some weeks after this a partial action took place with the enemy. Suppose yourself a spectator, and looking down into a valley occupied by the two armies. They are facing each other, you see, in martial array. But it is nq more than a skirmish which is going on ; m the course of which, however, an occasion suddenly arises for a desperate service. A redoubt, which has fallen into the enemy's hands, must be recaptured at any price, and under circumstances of all but hopeless difficulty. « .> I^. A strong party has volunteered for the service ; there is a cry for somebody to head them ; you see a soldier step out from the ranks to assume this dangerous leadership; the party moves rapidly forward ; in a few minutes it is^wallowedj up from from be of blood guns, ro^ receding 6. At that whi( made caj rious gor at libert} e. Th( with his fragment he 8e\^es from the none in confound and to \\ noble fro 7. But into muti this office stood face struck hii armies is in a mom between t 8. Aso dead, the ' In «jt'o ra ble, not to be per. suaded or moved by entreaty or prayer; anohanjpfeable. * AUn'aoe, the show of a pur- pose or desire to inflict an evil ;*a threat. ■ R« mom*', the keen pain caused by a sense of guilt; gnawing regret. >m'ero meaning b; or figures. *Humhi NOBLE REVENGE. 251 up from your eyes in clouds of smoke ; for one half hour, from behind these clouds you receive liieroglyphic ' reports of bloody strife— fierce repeating signals, flashes fifom tlie guns, rolling musketry, and exultinglihurrahs* advancing or receding, slackening or redoubling. ' " 6. At length all is over ; the redoubt has been recovered ; that which was lost is found again ; the jewel which had been made captive is ransomed with blood. Crimsoned with glo- rious gore, the wreck of the conquering party is refieved, and at liberty to return. From the river you see it ascending. 6. The plume-crested officer in command rushes forward, with his left hand raising his hat in homage to the blackened fragments of what once was a flag, whilst with his right hand he 8e\^es that of the leader, though no mor^'than a private from the ranks. That perplexes you not ; m'ystery you see none in that. For distinctions of order perish, ranks are confounded ; *' high and low " are words without a meaning, and to wreck goes every notion or feeling that divides the noble from the noble, or the brave man from the brave. 7. But wherefore is it that now, when suddenly they wheel into mutual recognition," suddenly they pause ? This soldier, this officer— who are they ? reader ! once before they had stood face to face— the soldier that was struck, the oflUcer that struck him. Once again they are meeting ; and the gaze of armies is upon them. If for a moment a doubt divides them, in a moment the doubt has perished. One glance exchanged between them publishes the forgiveness that is sealed forever. 8. As one who recovers a brother whom ho has accounted ^^"^f^^^^Q^^^LJPri^g forward, thre\ y l iis arms arQUji d t h(L_ ' Hi'a ro glj^hMo, expressive of meaning by characters, pictares, or figures. • Hurnhs (h^r rfts'). huwas ; shouts of joy or exultation. *R«oognitiou (rfik'og'nlrti'un), acknowledgment ; knowledge con- fessed ; act of knowing again. ^i.'- 252 DOM fy fox FOURTH READER. neck of the soldiei-, and kissed liim, as if he were some mar- tyr glorified by thakshadow of death from which he was re- turning ; whilst, oS^is part, the soldier, stepping back, and carrying his oj^n hand through the beautiful motions of the military B^luto to a superior, makes this ,i;nmortal answer- that answer which shut up foreyer the memory of the indig- nity offered to him, even while for the last time alluding to It: "Sir," he said, -I told you before, that I would make you repent it. " ^^ ^ ^ Ue QuiNCEY. TO BE MEMORIZED. No war, nor battle's sound, was heard the world around ; The idle spiar and shield were high tiphung ,- The hooked chariot stood unstained with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ,^ And kings sai still with awful eye, ' f As if they surely kne7v their sot>ereign Lord was by.-UxLron. 91. THE RIGHT MUST WIN. OIT is hard to work for God, to rise and take his jiart Upon this battle-field of earth, ^d not sometimes lose heart I He hides himself so wondrously, as though there were no God ; He is least seen when all the powers of ill are most abroad. 2. HI masters good, good seems to ehange to ill with greatest ease ; And, worst of all, the good with good is at cross-purposes. - Ah I God is other than we think ; his ways are far above. Far beyond reason's height, and reached only by child-like love. 3. Workman of God! O, lose not heart, but learn what (iod is like ; . * •^ "^ ^» the darkest battle-field thou shalt knowjvhero to strike. ThncB ctest Is heTo wTiora is given the Instinct, that can toH That God is on the^field when he is most invisible.' » In vto'l bU, not able or fitted seen by the eye; t^ -To a8 7n^^, to be geen ; not capable of being or dimly seen In those thy works." 4. Bl( And dar For righ To doub f THI C( hums JB day ; th bespeakf 2. Ma in adver prosperii from hir ders ; or tuitous' crude ar exquisite 3. It 1 played, j They wh a Supror which gr motion ai tions of t tions of permaner 4. The ' Freder distingniah Catl^lic dii shire in 181 PURVEY OF THE. UNIVERSE. 21jS 4. Blest, too, is he who can divine where real right doth lie, And dares to take the side that seems wrong to man's blindfold eye. For right is right, since God is God ; and right the day must win ; To doubt would be disloyalty, ^ falter would be sin ! Faber.* ' 92. PURVEY 01^ THE UNIVERSE. ' n^HERE is a God. The plants of the* valley and the • A cedars of the mountains bless His name ; the insect hums His praise ; the ejepj^ant salutes Him with the rising day ; the bird glorifies Hrni among the foliage ; the lightning bespeaks His power, and the ocean declares His immensity. 2. Man alone has said, ''f here is no God." Has he thpn in adversity never raised his eyes'^loward li§aven ? Has he in prosperity never cast them on the earth ? Is Nature so far from him that he has not been able to contemplate its won- ders ; or does he consider them as the mere results of for- tuitous a causes? But how could chance have compelled crude and stubborn materials to arralige themselves in such exquisite order? ' 3. It might be asserted that man is the^-jjdea of God dis- played, and the universe His imagination made mapifest; They who have admitted the beauty of nature.as a proof of a Supreme intelligence, ought to havg pointed out a truth which greatly enlarges the sphere of wonders. It is this • motion and rest, darkness and light, the seasdfts, the revolu- tions of the heavenly bodies which give variety to the decora- tions of the world, are successive only in appearance, and permanent in reality. I The scene that fades upon our view'is painted in brilliant • Frederick WiUiMm Faber, a dlstlnguishpd English author and Catl^plic divine, was born in York- shire in 1814, and died in 1868. 'Fortfi'itotM, happening by chance ; occurring or coming un^ expectedly, or taking place with- out any known cause. 2oJf DOMINION FOURTH READER. colors for another people; it is not the spectacle that is changed, but the spectator. Thus God has combined in His work absolute duration and progressive duration. The first is placed in time, the second in space; by means of the former, the beauties of the universe are one, infinite, and invariable ; by means of the latter, they are multiplied, finite, and perpetually renewed. Without the one, there would be no grandeur in the creation ; iwithout the other, it would exhibit nothing but dull uniformity. 6. Here time appears to us in a new point of view ; the smallest of its fraction becomes a complete whole, which com- prehends all things, and in which all things transpire, from the death of an insert to the birth of a world ; each minute is in itself a little eternity. Combine, then, at the same mo- . ment, in imagination, the most beautiful incidents of nature ; ■' represent to yourself at once all the hours of the da^ and all the leasons of the year, a spring morning and an autumnal morning, a night spangled with stars and anight overcast with clouds, meadows enameled with flowers, fdrests stripped by the frosts, and fields glowing with their golden harvests ; ^•you will then have a just idea of the prospect of the universe. 6. While you are gazing with admiration upon the sun sinking beneath t^ western arch, another beholds it emerging from the regions of Aurora.' hy what inconceivable magic does it come, that this agdd"^ luminary which retires to rest, as if weary and heated, in the dusky arms of night, is at the very same moment that youthful orb which awakes bathed in dew, and sparkling through the gray curtains of the dawn ? Every moment of the day the sun is rising, glowing ai his aenith.a and setting on the world ; or rather our senses de- wiTett8,-and thOTB is no real suWrlse, hbbh, or sunset. ' Aa r«'r«, the dawn of day ; the rising light of morning. » Zi'nith, the point of the heav- enlB directly ovurliead. * -r^'f^ . », 's[//iy£y oft:he universe. 255 7 The whole is reduced to a fixed point, from which the orb of ^ajr emits, at one apd the same time, three lights from one single substance. This triple splendor is perhaps the most beautiful incident in nature; for, while it affords an Idea of the perpetual magnificence and omnipotence of God It exhibits a most striking image of His glorious Trinity.' We can not conceive what a scene of confusion natui»wouM presentif It were abandoned to the sole movements ff mai- ter. The clouds, obedient to the laWs of gravity, v^Ould fall perpendicularly upon the earth, or ascend in pyramids into the air ; a moment afterward the atmosphere would be too dense or too rarefied, for the organs of respiration S. The moon, either too near or too distant, would at one time be invisible, at another would appear bloody and cov- ered with enormous spots, or would alone fill the whole celes- tial concave witli its disproportional orb. Seized, as it were with a strange kind of madness, she would pass 'from one eclipse to another, or rolling from side to side, would exhibit that portion of her surface which earth has nev^r yet beheld The stars would appear to be under the influence of the aa^e capricious • power ; and nol;jbing would be seen but a suSS- sion of tremendou8'.'conjupc(*Bri8.» 9. One of the summer signs wqwM be speedily overtaken by one of the signs of winter ; the (j^herd. would lead the Pleiades, and the Lion would roarln Aquarius ;kaFe the stars would dart along with the rapidity oj lightnlif there they would be suspended motionlesg ; sometimes crowding together in, groups, they would form « galaxy ; « at others, "T V to change auddenl^ ; freakish » Oon Jtfno'Uon, the act of con- jolAing or being unitwl. The hoavunly bodies are said to bo In the same part of the sky. » (Hl'uc f, thfr Milky Way : a splendid assemblage of penotu or things. «^ i •■ ';M^ '256. DOMINION WO UR TH READER. disappearing all at fcce, i^d, to use t]|e exittessio^^s tullian,» renting Mie curtaiolpf the iniy^r8e,ll^ey woi(d ex- pose to v^ the abysses of l(HjQruity/'^m such^^w^eafft^^ ||vei^- will stHke terrol- i^SfyJ'the bi^Sl^f mari, unlal^he [ yhen the Almighty witl ajrop the i-ein^ of A|i^ ,w^J(|, em, '*^j^1 ««7gf(>r its d6|tiTjg0on<^no Mer meifei ijaftijtaleatft^li '^^ Y IN CREATION. Ood, the life and lighll' "alllth'lij wondroiis world we stee gio^sj.l>y day, its smile by night, i, Are but reflections caught from thee, lere'er We turn, thy glories shine, all things' fair and bright are thine. ^;t \%. When day, with farewell beam, delays ' Among the op^mm iM of globes and of nations, ' and gives theli fair weathei ta%li-ner it; and from age to age, ami<||!ii8 creatuffe^of endless forms dhd poM^ers, in tUc . beauty and the sunshine, and the m&gilfecenc^,(^ ^Nit^'re', he " saii ns^ojing^roughoM creation the glorious song of his N T^»^i Bite, without limit or iofl^ ^'xcellen«^r superior. bounds ; pet^foct ; very great. * In Im^ ta bla, i^t capable of bcinr Imitated w, cd^itlL;, surpass- ' Ih tafl'^yr a blejAr.^ can nrrt be counts^ enunjmted, o| num. bered, fogjinulllt^e ; cfiintleBs. ^ « . •■•V"., ^, of his vouth, in the om- nipotencc^ of his nature, in the eternity 3 of his patience, and the abounding boundlessness of his love. ^. What a family hangs on his sustaining arm ! The life and souls of iiifinite ages and uncounted worlds ! Let a mo- ment's failure of his power, of his watchfulness, or of his will to do good, occur, and what a sweep of death and annihila- tion ^ through the universe !« How stars would reel, planets expire, and nations perish ! 5. But from age to age ,no such catastrophe « occuik, even m the midst of national crimes, and of atheism ' that denies the hand that made and feeds it : life springs with a power ever new; food springs. up as plentifully to sustain it, and sunfehine and joy are poured over all from the invisible throne of God, as the poetry of the existence he has given. 6. If there come seasons of dCarth or of failure, they come but as warnings to proud and tyrannies man. The potato is smitten, that a natiati niay not be oppressed forever ; and the harvest is ^abundance. God wills that all the arts of man to check his bounty, to create scarcity, to establish dearness to enfeeble the hand of the laborer, and curse the table of the poor, shall be put to shame ; that his creatures shall eat and be glad, whether corn-dealers and speci^lators live or die. William HoWitt.* 95. TRUE HAPPINES5. MY spirit is gay as the breaking of dawn, As the breeze that sports o'er the sun-Hghted lawn, As the song of yon lark from his kingdom of %ht, Or the harp-string that rings in the chambers of night. For the world and its vapors, though darkly they fold, I have light that can turn tliem to purple and gold. Till they brighten the landscape they came to deface, And deformity changes to beauty and grace. 2. Yet say not to selfish delights 1 must turn, From the grief -laden bosoms around me that mourn ; For 'tis pleasure to share in each sorrow I see, And sweet sympathy's tear is enjoyment to me. Oh ! blest is the heart, when misfortunes assail, That is armed in content as a garment of mail, For the grief of another that treasures its zeal, And remembers no woe but the woe it can heal. irn'on ttrate,|^|kpTOve to a author, Iwrn in 1796^ died in 1879. certainty, or wit^^Mpp^ clearneBS. He and his wife, Mary Hewitt, pre- J Be niff ' i Qenti^bounding in pared many books, jointly and Bep- C^eodaesa 4 "eaaf ita Me^ - arat c ly v which w e reveiy- popolat^- ' Per apIo'Q dtlM Ij^, in a way especially juvenile ones. Mr. How- clear to the underatonding; plainly, itt's Writings in liehalf of Irish re- * William Ho^Rt, an English lief were effective. t\ V 260 DOMINI READER When the storm Jipi^HPrT'er the summer's young bloom. And each ray df||^ '^oontide is sheathM in glom, ' > I would be the rainbow high arching in air, Like a gleaming of hope on the brow of desnair. When the burst of its fury is spent|pPMpi|-, ?i^, ," v, . And theiJuds are yet bowed with t'he weight of the shower, I would, b^ the beam that comes warming and bright, And t^l^ids them burst open to fragrance and light., I wouidpfe the smile that comes breaking serene, O'e^^e Matures whei-e lately affliction, has been,' Or the heart-speaking scroll after years of alloy, ' Thattrings home to the desolate tidings of joy J • Of the )ife-giv% rose odor borne by the breeze' To tlie sense ri^ng keen from the coudi of disease, Or the whisper of charity tender and kind, ' \ ,0r the dawniijg of hope on the penitent's mind 5. Thcn^reathe,, yeV^t' roses, your fragrance around, And Waken, ye wild birds, the grove with your sound • When the soul is unstained and t^heart is at ease, There's a rapture in pledsuVes i?^ simple as thesliiin, aiul opens the genial bosom of tiie eartli to the sun ujul air ; nature's holy sacrament of seed-time is solemnized beneath tiie vaulted cathedral sky; silent dews aiul gentle showers, ami kindiv sunshine, shed their sweet influence on the teeming soil ; springing verdure clothes the plain : golden wavelets, driven by the west wind, run over the joyous wheat-tield ; and the' tall maize flaunts in her crispy leaves and nodding tassels. ^ 7. While we labor and while we rest, while w^ wake and wiiile we sleep, God's chemistry, which we can not see, goes on beneath the clods ; myriads and myriads of vital cells fer- ment with elemental life; germ and stalk, and leaf and flower, and silk and tassel, and grain and fruit, grow up from the common earth. The mowing-machine and the reaper- mute rivals of human in'dustry — perform their gladsome task. The well-filled wagon brings home the ripened treas- ures of the year. The bow of promise fulfilled spans the foreground of »*tre picture, and the gracious covenant is re- deemed, that while the earth remain^th, summer and winter, heat and cold, and day and night, and seed-tim/ftn'd harvest, shall not fail. EVKRETT.' 97. WHAT IS NOBLE? WHAT is noble ?— to inherit wealth, estate, and proud de- gree?— There must be some other nieritJ4|p^^et than these for me !— Something greater far must ent(|yntS[fe's majestic si)an, Fitted to create and center true noWiity in man. Massachusetts, Embassador to En- * Edward Bverett, an American statesman, orator, and man of let- ters, was bom in Dorchester, near "Bnsfon,' Ma^., In"" 1794, died in 1865. He was a member of both houses of Congress, Governor of gland, President of Harvard Col- lege, and Secretary of State. As a scholar, rhetorician, and orator, he has had but few equals. His prose style is of extraordinary excellence. "<) 264 DOMINION FOURTH READER. jssy «^ t'. What is noble ?— 'tis the finer portion of our mind and heart Linked to something still diviner than mere language eati impart. Ever prompting-— ever seeing some improvement yet to plan ; . To uplift our fellow being, and, like man, to feel for man ! ^ What is noble ?— is the saber nobler thai\,the humble spade ? There's a dignity in labor truer than eVr pomp arrayed ! He who seeks the mind's improvement aids the world, in aiding mind ! Every great commanding movement serves not one, but all mailkind. 4- O'er the forge's heat and ashes— o'er the engine's iron ho^^d— When^ the rapid shuttle flashes, and the spindle whirls its thread : There is labor, lowly lending each requirement of tlie hour- There is genius, stiirextending science, and its world Of power. «■ ' 'Mid the dust, and speed, and clamor, of the loom-shed and the mill, 'Midst tlVe clink of whe(>l anfl hammer, great results are growing still I Though tcWvoft, by fa.shion"s creatures, work and workers mav be blaiJod, '^* Comm.M-oe yLl not hide its features-Industry is not ashamed ! y 6. What is immTN?-^hat which places truth in its enfranchised will, '] ' • - - ^t^ » ■• • Leaving steps, like ,iii/?vl traces, that mankii^d may follow still ! E'en though scorn 's,ii|iilignant glances prove him poorest of his clan. He's the Noble-wh(inAaneK^ Freedom and the Cause of Man ' _.. ' Swain." / ^ TO BE MEMORIZED. //.' y^mji'//i best who Imu'th best ail things, Uth great and svialt; For the ttei^Godwho loveth m. Fie made and tm>eth all. -CoitRftwic • Charles SWain, the - Manches- in periodicalBT HeVublisbed " fet- ter Poet," was bqrn In, Manchester, 'rical Essays," in 1828: "^eautiesof England, in 1808. and died i.^l874. the ftfind." In 1881; and an adnii- He was at fir8 say ; -the' world, Europe, England, does not know me-will never know me," AVhat then ? Do what thou canst.. Somebody will know It. No true word or work, is eyer lost. Stand tTiou in thy lot ; do tiiy work ; for the great :Being that framed the world assuredly meant that somebody should do it-that men and w«mgn of various gffts should do it. as thev are'able e. Why can we nt)t look at tlie goodly band of human occu- pations and arts as it is; and depreciate 2 „o tr,uh that is necessary, no art that i§ useful, no ministration that sprinag from tlie bosom of, nature. amMs thus clefirlv ordaiued of Heaveh i If there be abuses of such ministration, let them be remedied : but rejection and scorn of any oue^hinvs angels \\m, whisper peace. Let majesf ic philoso- 268 DOMimON FOURTH READER. i4 (. phj touch the dark secfet of life, and turn its bright side at a hvmg hght upon the paths of men. 10. I believe in a better day that i» coming. Improved agriculture, manufacture and mechanism, less fabor and more result, rriAJre leisure, better culture, high philosophy, beauti- - fnl art, mspiring mii^ic, resources that will not iK3ed the base applj|nces of sense, will come ; and with them truth, i,i^rity lind virtue ; reverent piety building its alfar in all human abodes ; and the worship that».is gentleness and disin'terested- ness, and holy love, hallowing all the scene ; and human life will go forth, amidst the beautiful eaJth and beneatii the blessed heavens, in harmony with their spfrit. in fulfillment of their high teaching and intent, and in communion with the all-silrrounding light and loveliness. . dewey.' 99, T^E DESERTED VILLAGE. SWEET Auburn ! lovoliost village of the plain, Whore honlth and plenty ch.HTQd the laboring swain, " Where smiling Spring its oarliost visit paid, And parting Summer's lingering blooms do'layea ; Dear, lovcily bowcMs of innoconce and t^ase, Seats of my youth, when every sport could' please, ' How often hav(! I loitered o'er tjj^y given, , Where humble happin(\ss endearedveach scene ! How often have I paused on evei-y charm— The sheltered jcot, the cultivatbd farm, • The never-failiifg brook, the busy mill', TIk; decent church that toppivl the neighboring hill, . The hawthorn bush, with s(' imagination and groat depth «ng^.shed American author and of thought. His style is artistic, divine was l,6ra m Massachusetts scholarly.. ;idafpt*d fo the thought, in 1794. and a,e-*> X" THE DESERfED VILLAGE. 2. How often have I blessed the coming day, When toil remitting ' lent its aid to play, And all the village train, from labor free. Led up their sports be*ath the spreading tree ! While mjiny a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed ; And many a gambol' frolilfted o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. 3. And, still, as each repeated pleasure tired, ■ . Suceeeding sports the mirthful band inspired : The danping^air, tliat simply songht renf)\vn ' By holdinjj out to tire each other down ; The swain, mistrustless'o'f liig smutted face, "^ While secret laughter tittthy glades, "a«oIitary giiest, . The hollow-sounding bitjtern guards its nesl ;, Amid thy desert walks the lapwihg flies. And tires their echoes with uijvuried cries. " * Sunk are thy bowers in shiiiieltss ruin q,ll, * ' ■ - And the long grass o'^rtops the pioldering wall.; » >^»jftltt'tiug, given up, for ii time ; made lux or less. ■ • ■'••■■ ■■■• V" ■ \ ' . . 269, f ^. i\ /■ 270 DOAf/.Y/OX F( ) CR Til READER. And, (iTmbliug, shHiikin^r u-am tlic ,spoii. Ill fares the hiiid, to hastening iMs a prey, ^i^'i*'''*^, ^^f'tilf' accimiulat«»s. and men decay : Pmfe and lords may flourish or may fade ; ir<»atli ean make them, as a breath has made; Itit a hold peasantry, their country's pride, len once destroyed can never he. supplied, -tirue there was, ere England's' griefs began, hen every rood of groujid maintained ifs man ; For \\m\ light labor s|xread lier vvholesonu\store, ^nst gave what life- required, (nit gave no ^ore ; ' His best companions, innoceiice and health ; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. ^ '. Hut times are altered : trjide's unfeeling train Usurp the land, and dis|)08se8s the swain ; ' Along tlu; lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, I'Bwieldlf wealth and cumbrous p6mp reposf ; And evc^ry want to luxury allied, Aod every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to blooing Those calm desires that asked but little rtnt^ Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, Lived in each look, and brightenefl all the green ;— The.se, far departing, H(i^k a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more. Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour. Thy glades forlorn ccmfesa the tyrants power. Here, as I take my soljtary ro\inds, Amid thy tangling walks and r^jined grounds, And, many a year elapsed, return to gfew Where owers to lay me dowu^; To husband out life's taper at the close,' And kec^pthe flame from wasting by repose : I still had hopes— for pride attends us still— Amid the swains" to show my bouk-fearned skill • Around my fire an eveni/ig group to draw, And tell of all I felt and all I saw ; And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue. Pants to the place from wlwuce at first she tiew! I still had hopes, my long xl'xations past. Here to return -and die at home at last. 9. O blessed retirement ! friend to lifc'.s deelinei Retreat from care, th.'it never must be mine, How blessed is he who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labor witlj an age of ease ; j^ Who quits a world where stj^g t«nptations try f'W And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly I For him no wretches, born to work and wel'p. Explore th(. muie, or tempt the dangeroiis deep ; Nor surly porter stands, in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; But (m he moves to meet his latter end, Ang(!ls around l)efriend!ng virtue's friend ; Sinks, to tlu; grave with unperceived decay,' Whil(> resignation gently slopes the way; ' ATn>mniis prosp(;ets brightening to tl„. bwt, -^ His heaven commences ijre the world lie j)asf. 10. Sweet -was the sound, when oft, at evening's close Up yonder hill thc^ village murmur rose : There, as I passed with carehNss steps and slow , The mingling notes came softened fmm below ; The swain responsive as tlu; milkmaid sung, ^he sober-herd that Idwed to mee( (heir young; ^T't \ u. MUf/A/o.y IfoCRTH READER. The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the i)ool The playful children just let loose from school • Jhe watch-do^'s voice that bayed the whisperin'ff wind And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant rtiind ,: I hese all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made. But now the sounds of population fail, No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale. No busy steps the grass-grown fcotwav tread, But all tlie bloomy flush of life is fle^ • ' ~^ All but yon widowed, scilitary thing, That fe(!bly bends beside the plashy spring • She. wretched -matron, forced in age, for k^ul To strip the brook with mantling cresses lJp?^„| To pick her wintry fagot from thy thorn, To seek her nightly «l,ed, and weep till morn- She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the f>ensive plain. (Jolosm,', „ ' TO BE MEMORIZED.^ i Throughout this beautiful and unnuterf Hi creation there is neve, ceas:n,r „,rion, without rest by night or day, ..er n,eaving to and fro ^^/t..rthanaweaver^s shuttle, it flies fro,n birth to death, fron. death o b^rth : from the beginning seeks the end and finds it not ■ Jor the seeming end is only a dim beginning of a new outgj^ing and endeavor after the end As the ice upon the mountain, Jen the ^varm breath of the s^^mmer's sun breathes upon it, melts, Xd divide, znto drops each of ..J^ch reflects an image of the sun, soJrfr, in th ■ J^it^le of Gods love, divide, itself into separate forms, 'each t^earin. tn^djrflectin^n image of God's /^.. -LbNCFELLow. ' Oliver Oold-mlth, one oi the verse are unsurpaLed in charac mc«t pleasing of English classic teristic excenenc' Hew^agrea W ' Zo "/' P»"as. Ire- perhaps an unequaled master o land. ,„ ,728, and died in 1774. the artsaf seiectl. classificSon His origmal works of prose and and ebndensation .!5i°««'«°' S. "S ^Jp«P"w THK i:.\ILEimt liKI.W \ ^JP*^**« ^7S 100. THE EXILE OF ERIN. THERE came to the beach a poor exile of Erin ; The dew ou liis thin robe was iieavy ami cliiil ; For his country lie siglied, when at twilight repairing ' To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. But the day-star attracted hijj eyes' 'sad devotion ; For it rose o'er his' own native isle of the ocean, Where once, in the tire of his youthful emotion^ He sang the bold anthem of Erin-go-bragh. "Sad is my fate," said the heart-broken stranger : , " The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee ; But I have no refuge from famine and dangei;, A home and a country remain not to mo. Never again, in the green supny bowt'rs Where my forefathers lived, shall 1 spend the sweetjioursl Or cover rtiy harp with the wild-woven flowers, ♦ And strike to the members of Erin-go-bragh. "Erin, my country ! though sad and forsaken, In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; / » ' But, alas in a far f^reign^land I awaken, ' \ And sigh for the friends who can meet mo no more ! Oh, cruel fate : wilt thou never replace me In a mansion of peace where no perils can chase me ?- Never again shall my brothers embrace me ! l^ ' They died to defend me, or live to deplore ! * ' " Where is my cabin door, fast by the wild wood ? v, i Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall ? . ' ^■- Where is the mother that looked on my childhood ? An^ where is the bosom-friend dearer than all ?* Ah ! my sad heart, long abandoned by pleasure ! Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure ? Tears like the rain-drops may fall without m|^ But rapture and beauty thdy can not recall! ■ V ■*1 .^ '" ■■" ?f D(\\JhNIO>J I'O'Unih J^EADER y Erin, mavouriWi. Erin-go-bragh ! " Campbell.' 101. THE CROSS AND THE HARP. ■pELIGION and nationality have ever been intimately A V assocmted in the minds and liearts of the Irish peoplj Ihe events of the past three hundred years show that the efforts of the Irish were chiefly directed to obtain liberty of conscience, tlie nobl|»|alI liberties. The struggles of the Anglo-Norman peri,|p ,p thoughts, not only of political yranny, but als^ll^ high-handed attempts of English kings to impose a syslti of ecclesiastical discipline at vari- ance with the ruling of the Sovereign Pontiff and tiie spirit of the Catholic Church. ^. The three centuries of warfare with the Danes remind us that the chieftains strove both to expel despotic rulers and to pun^h the insulters of their holy religion. The blessed era of St. Patrick and the happy timfes that followed it, are also illustrative of this association of ideas. Under the ban- ner of the Crdss the Irish people won their noblest victories J>ruidism was completely crushed, and Ireland, in the bright- ness of her faith and learning became, for a time, the 'dav star of Europip'an civilization. ' Thomaa Campbell, the po«it, was born in Glasgow in 1777, and died in 1844. His first extended poem, "The Pleasures of Hope," is probably the finest didactic poem of the English language. His lyrical pieces are also of unusual excellence. ^ TUK CROSS .IXn THE HARP. • 275 >y ^ 3. Tlie glories of Ireland urt; her heroic struggles for the Faith. These, are her pride and her boast, and if they wqyh erased from her history, but little wortliy of mention would be left. Tije days of "Conn of the Hundred Battles " ami " Nial of the Nine Jlostages " are days of bloody wars cai-ried on merely for their own sake ; and if freed from J^ myth that surrounds them, they M^uld only i)rove what » since been often shown in afar better cause— that the Irish are a brav^ and hardy luition. j/ But afterward, when, animated with religious zeal, they frrled the land with churches and schools, became the evan- gelizersof pagans, and the teachers of barbarians, the Irish people covered themselves with true glory. In that tumult- uous period, wheir other nations boasted of nlp'Tne and de- struction, and kings gloried in the multitudes they had reduced to misery, Ireland alone pursued the noble palling of improving the moral and intellectual .condition -of her neighbors, of bi^jtfely building up what others had savagely- pulled down. It was tWe prevalence of religious motives that made sacrc^-tJjeWs of the Ulster chieftains, and flung the odium of Christendom on their opponents, when the latter refusetl religious toleration. The heroism of Sarsfield would lose its highest significance, were it not that freedorii of conscience was the paramount idea in his mind. a Few can admire the rebellion of ''Silken Thomas," unless we allow the admiration that is given to reckless un- productive bravery. 'But every right-thinking person mtTSt pay a tribute of respect to the gallant Owen Roe O'Neill, who, befoi;e his battles invoked the aid of the Lord of Hosts ; who, after his victories, never failed to offer Him thanksgiving ; and who, when the day of adversity appeared, bowed his head, exclaiming, '* IMiy will be done/' & \ # .)& .4 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) Sciences Corporation 33 WEST MAIN STiEET WEBSTER, NY. 14S80 (716) 873-4503 ^76 /)0M/A70.\' roURTH READER. 7. The passage of the Emaneipatiou Bill won for O'Connell his greatest fame. While the struggle for that iin])ortant measure lasted, all the world sympathized with him; when it became law and a whole nation was made religiously free. t))e world admired and applauded him. So, whether we consider tiio career of the nation or of the individual, the Irisli race is famous for its unswerving attachment to religion as well us to country, its love for the cross as well as the harp. Other nations have fought for liberty, too, but frequently it was such liberty as the socialist seeks— the liberty to trample on all laws, civil and divine. 8. Irishmen's struggles for fi*eedom have been associated with the dearest and grandest of principles, to obtain just and equitable ' laws, and a dpe share of the sacred rights of humanity. This combination of spiritual and physical good is the brilliant and abiding feature in Irish history. It has made Ireland a nation of heroes and saints, and-it has caused priest and layman to work hand in hand for the same glorious purpose. Let us hope that the day will never come when this noble union will be dissolved— when the triumphs of the cross will cease to be themes for the harp. ^ 102. DANIEL O'CONNELL PART FIRST. 'T^HE destinies of nations are in the hands of God, and l when the hour of His mercy comes, and a nation is to regain the first of its rights, the free exercise of its faith and roligion. He, who is never wanting to His own designs, ever |)rovides for that hour a leader for His people-wise, high- mindad, seeking the kingdom of God, honorable in his labors, flquiUble (}^k'y/\ ta bl), upright ; IrapaWlal. ^ :*>. PANJEL O'CO^NELL. nr . strqiig in conflict with his entmies, triumphani in the issue and crowned with glory. JVor was Ireland forgotten in the designs of God. Centuries of patient endurance brought at last the dawn of a better day. God's hour came, and it , brought wittt It, Ireland's gVtest son, Daniel O'ConnelP His generation ii^ passing aw%, and the light of historv already dawns upon his grave, and she speaks his name with cold, unimpassioned voick 2. In this age of hours, '^Jew v'ears are jis a century of times gone by. Great changes and startling event* follow each other In such qiAck succession that the greatest names are forgotten almost as soon as these who bore them disappear- and the world itself is surprised' to fin.l how short-lived is the fame which promises to be immortal. He who is in scribed even in the golden book of the world's annals finds that he has but written his name upon water. S. The ChurcJvalbpe is the true shrine of immortality, the temple of fame which perisheth not ; and that man only whose name and memory are preserved in her sanctuaries receives on this earth a reflection of tlie glorv which is eternal m heaven. But before the Church will crown anv one of her children, she carefully examines his claims to the imm^r, » tahty of her gratitude and praise— she asks : What hmfQ done for God and man? This great question am I cotne here to answer to-day for him whose tongue, once so eloquent IS now stilled in the silence of tiie grave. And I claim for Daniel O'Connell the meod of our gratitude and love, in that he was a man of faith, ^hom wisdom guided in -the right ways," who loved and sought -the kingdom of God," who was "most honorable in his labors," and who accomplished his -great works"; the Jiberator of his race, the father of > Daniel O'Connell, the distin- ing ,K,lltical agitator, ^as bom in gulshwl Irish orafor and unsworv 1775 and died in 1847, I I -rrM \ 278 DOMINION FOURTH READER. liis people, the conquerof in the '' undeaied coiiflict " of prin- ciple, truth, and justice. . 4. Toward the close of the last century, the Catholics of Ireland^ ^re barely allowed to live, and were expected to be grateful even for the boon of oxistence : the profession of the Catholic faith was a complex bar and an insurmountable i obstacle to all advancement in the path of worldly advantage, honor, dignity, and even wealth. The fetters of conscience hung heavily also upon genius, and ^very prize to which lawful ambition might aspire was beyond the reach of those who refused to deny the religion of their fathers and forget their country. 6. Among the victims of this religious and intellectual shivery was one, who was marked amongst the youth of his time. Of birth which in any other land would be called noble, gifted with a powerful and comprehensive intelligence, a prodigious 2 memory, a most fertile imagination,^ pouring forth its images in a vein of richest oratory, a generous spirit. a most tender heart, enriched with stores of variej^arning and genius of the highest order, graced with QvJHfrm of manly beauty, strength^ and vigor, of powerful fr^me'-Tnothing seemed wanting to him, and yet all seemed to hip' lost in him : for he was born a Catholic and an Irishman. 6. Before him now 8ti*etched, full andT broad, the two ways of life, and he must choose between them : the way which led to all the world prized— wealth, power, distinction, glory, and fame ; the way of gt..iu8, the noble rivalry of intellect, the association with all that was most refined and refining— ' theway which led up to the council chambers of th^ nation. ' Ine of Peace, in all things taking the shield of faith. And take unto ypu the sword of the spirit which is the Word " 11. O Connell knew well that such wSapons in such a hand .is Ins were irresistible-tlmt, girt round with the truth and justice of his cause, he w^is clad in the arnfor of the Eternal xQd; that, with words of peace and order on his lips, with the strong shield of faith before him and the sword of elo. quent speech in his hand, with the war-cry of obedience principle, and law, no power on earth could resist him, for it is the battle of God, and nothing ran resist the M6st High Accordingly, he raised the standard of the new way and unfurled the banner on which was written, freedom to be achieved by the power of truth, the cry of justice, the asser- tion of right, and the omnipotence of the law. Religious liberty and perfect legal equality ^vm his first demand. 103. DANIEL O'CONNELL PART SECOND. T^HE new apostle of freedom went through the length A and breadth of Ireland. His eloquent words revived the hopes and stirred up the energies of the nation • the people and their priesthood rallied around him as one man • they became more formidable to their enemies by the might of justice and reason", and they showed themselves worthy of . liberty by their respect for the law. Never was Ireland more excited, yet never was Ireland more peaceful. Thd people were determined on^ gaining their religious freedom. 2. Irishmen, from 1822 to 1829, were as fiercely deter- mined, on their new battle-field, as they had been in the { \ I !S82 />().]/ /X/O'X FOURTH READER. i breaches of LimuricJv or on tint slopes of KonteuOy. They \ were marshalled by a leader jis brave as Sarslield and as dariiij^ as Ked Hugh. He. led them against the strongest citadel in the world, and even xxs, the walls of the city of old crumbled to dust at the^sound of Israel's trumpet, so, at the sound of his mighty voi^e, wfio sjjoke in the name of a united peoi)le. **the lintels of the doors were moved," and the gates were opened which 300 years of i)ride and prejudice had barred against our people. S. The first decree of our liberation went forth: on the i:3th of April, 1820, Catholic Emancipation was proclaimed and seven millions of Catholic Irishmen entered the nation's -xlegislature in the j^erson of O'Connell. It was the first and greatest victory of peaceful principle which our age has wit- nessed, the grandest triumph of justice and of truth, the rarost glorious victory of the genius of one man, and the first great act of homage, which Ireland's rulers paid to the religion of the people, and which Ireland's people paid to the great principle of peaceful agitation. 4. O'Connell's first and greatest triumph was the result of his stro-n^ faith and ardent zeal for his religion a^ his Church. Tiie Church was to him, as it is to us, ** theKing- dom of God," and in his labors for it, "he was made honor- able" and received from a grateful people the grandest title ever given to man. Ireland called him "The Liberator." He was honorable in his labors, when we consider the end which he proposed to himself. He devoted himself, his tal- ents, his energies, his power, to the glory of God, to the libera- tion of God's Church, to the emancipation of his people; This was the glorious end : nor were the means less honorabfe. ^. Fair, open, manly self-assertion : high, solemn appeal to eternal principles : npble and unceasing proclamation of rights founded in justice and in the constitution; peaceful DAM EI. O 'COXXELL 28S but most powerful pressure of a people, united by h\^ geiiius, inflamed by his eloquence, aiid guided by his vast kiiowledge ahd wisdom— these were the honorable means by whi^h he ac- complished his great work, and this gneat work was th^ achieve- ment which gained for him not only the title of Liierator of Ireland, but even the uHnimenical title of the LiWrator of Christ's Church. Were it only to Ireland that Emincipation has been profitable, where is the man in the Churcli who has freed at once seven millions of souls ? Challenge your recol- lection, search history from that first and famous ellict which granted to the Christians liberty of conscience, and ^ee if tliere are to be found many such acts, comparable by tl^e extent of their eflfects with that of Catholic Emancipation. Seven mill- ions of souls are now free to serve and love God eve^ to the end of time ; and each time that this people, advancijng in their existence and their liberty, shall recall to memorir the aspect of the man who studied the secret of t^ifeir w^sj they will ever find the name of O'Connell, both on the lailest pages of their servitude and on the first of their fegenera|ion. 6. His glorious victory did honor even t6 thbse whom he vanquished. lie honored them by appealing ^ their sense of justice and of right ; and in the act of Cat^lolic Emanci- pation, England acknowledged the po#eT of k people, not asking for mercy, but clamoring for the liberiy of the soul, the blessing which was born with Christ, and/ which is the inheritance of the nations that embrace the Cifoss. Catholic Emancipation was but the herald and the beginning of vic- tories. He, who was the Church's liberator knd most true son, was also the first of Ireland's statesmef and patriots. Our people remember well, as their futnre| historian will faithfully record, the many trials borne for them, the many victories gained in their cause, the great Jife ievoted to them by O'Connell. ' S84 DOMJN/ON FOURTH READER. 7. It is with tears of sorrow that we recall that agdd man reyered beloved, whom all the glory of the world^admirj t.on and the nation's love had never lifted up in soul out of he holy atmosphere of Christian hun^ility and simplicity -^ . ObcHhence to U.e Church's laws, quick zeal for the honor an.I < hgnity of her worship ; a spirit of penance, refining winlst It expiated, ohastening whilst it ennobled all that was natu- ra nithe man ; constant and frequent- use of the Church's holy sacraments, which shed the halo of grace round his venerated head-these were the last grand lessons which he left to his people, and thus did the sun of his life set-in the glory of Christian holiness. ' .?. For Ireland he lived, for. Ireland did ho die. The people whom he had so faithfully served, whom he loved with a love second only to his love for God, were decimated by a visitatiQn the most terrible the world ever witnessed ; he nations of the earth trembled, and men grew pale at th s ght o Ireland's desolation. Her tale of famine, of misery, from H T T^'\ ''"' ^'"'' "^^ P^^P^^ fl-^ -frighted from the soil which had forgotten its Ancient bounty, or died their white lips uttering the last faint cry for bread . 9. All this the aged father of his country beheld. * Neither his genius, nor his eloquence, nor his love, could now save 118 people, and the spirit was crushed which had borne him tiuumphantly through all dangers and toil; the heart broke within him, that brave and generous heart which had never known fear, and whose ruling passion was love for Ireland The martyred spirit, the broken heart of the great Irishman led him to the holiest spot of earth, and with tottering steps he turned to Rome. The man whose terrible voice in life shook the highest tribunals of earth in imperious demand for justice to Ireland, now sought the Apostles' tomb, that, from that threshold of heaven, he might put ^p a cry for mercy DANIEL O' CON NELL: 285 to his country and people, and offer up his life for his native land. Like the prophet king, fie would fain stand between the people and the angel who sn^te them and offer himself - a victim and a holocaust • for the fand he loved. 10. But on the shores of the Mediterranean the weary traveler Jay down to die. He had led a mighty nation to the opening of the -right way," and directed her first and doubtful steps in the path of conciliation and justice tb Ire- land. The seed which his hand had sown it was not given to him to reap in its fullness. Catholic Emancipation was but the first installment of liberty. The edfflce of religious freedom was to be crowned when th^wise architect who had laid its foundations and built up its walls was in his grave. 11. Time, which touches all things with mellowing hand', , has softened the recollections of past contests, and they who ' once looked upon him as a foe now only remember the glory of the fight, iind the mighty genius of him who stood forth the representative man of his race, and the champion of his people. His praise is in the Church, and this is the surest pledge of the immortality of his glory. A people's voice ^ay be the proof and echo of all human fame, but the voice of the undying Church is the echoof everlasting glory. Rev. Thomas N. Burke. TO BE MEMORIZED. Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends ! Hath he not always treasures, always friends. The good great man f— three treasures, Iwe and light. And calm thoHghts, r^ular as in/ant's breath ; And three firm friends^ more sure than day and night— Himself, his Maker, and the angel /?-'rtM.— Coleridge. > H»ro oauat, a burnt sacrifice sum^ by fire. A kind of sacrifice or offering, aU of which was con- in use among Jews, and pagans. f 2S6 DOMINION FOURTH READER. 104. ROME. PART FIRST. ^u casually pass, you see. the tower w)i«re Kero» fiddled while Rome burned, or. a part of th« Servian wall built 500 years before Christ. On tl^e Palatii^^ m"^, yoJ . see the pavements laid down while Rome was a republic, and 111 the stones of the Via Sacra, ^^yx see the ruts made by the Wagon wheel^. • - \ , S. But a rilep from the 'Forum, you pass thefuins of the' golden house of Nerp, and the palaces of the C^sars; with their endless columns and arches, amidst which are seen mo- saics and mural paigings almost as fresh and bright as when they came from tiieliahds of the artist. All along this hill are walls so massive and ruins so gigantic that one is lost in wonder to know for wluit they could have l)eeii used. A. Every-where in Rome, you see the wondrous changes time has, wrought. , The- tomb of Augustus ts now a low theater, while the great Mausoleum of Hadrian is a military fort. The gardens of the Pope »rere once the gardens of Nero, m whose wallfe is pointed out a tower from which^ tra- dition says, this Roman monster was wont' to gloat upor. the agonies of the Christian martyr^ burning by his orders as torches to light up his gardens. 5. 6n the place where great CaBsar fell, stands the shop of a ?reen^^ooer|^but^^8t^^ is |he old Flaminian -.^♦J^*7!l ^i""*""" °*''"'' *^* the crurflest, was born i^T^ST. slzth of the Roman •toperors. and » Wont (wfint), accustomed. ^ROAfM. 28% Way, now the qorso or Broadway of Rome. The arch of a temple ha. become the workshop of ,. cobbler, while the theater of Mir^ellus ,8 ablaze with the fires of a dozen blacksmiths 6. Comfe^with me to the Forum, once the heart of the lio- mun Empire On the way, you pass the Panthe'on and the Colurfm of Irajan; palaces -rich in tjieir, treasures of art . fountains, and obelisks.^ Passing on through narrow streets,' yousuddenly^merge, to see beiore :^o^u a large opening cov- ered, with massive ruins. %4tfe, Forum. Here Romulus and the ^abme, met. fought, and ^ame one people. Amid these broken arches and fluted o«l„\„„s, Cicero thundered, and Ca o calmed the angry mob. yor long years, it lay buriea deep in its own ruins. It is noV weil cfeared out. 7.-Let us go up.this long fligiit of steps, at whose top stands the Capitol. Turn and face the Forum. On your left IS he Ara Coeli, wher^ formerly stood the temple ot Jupiter Jpnails; on the right, the Tarp^an Rock, whence,. male act(^ were hurled. At your feet, aJe the ruin^f the emples of Concord, Saturn, Faustiu^, Castor h„,1 \M\nx Between ^henj stand the Basilica Juliana, the drcl/of 8evi erus, theMamertine p^^ i„ which Saints Peter and Paul were confined; the /orum proper; the Rostrum w^eTe the laws were published ; and the Umbilicus f.om whence all the great roads of Rome started. . " 8. A stone's throw to the right is the Palatine Hill, at whose base once stood the temple of the Vestal Vixgins In front, 18 the Via Sacra and the temf^le of C^sar, built on the spot where Mar6 Antony burned the body of C^sar i^ sight of all Rome. Just beyond, are the arches of Titus and Con- stantine ; the temple of Venus^; the Colisg'um ; and the V la Xnumpha. lying between th^ Celian and Palatine hill^s. . ' 0^'»"«k. an upright, four, it rises, and terminating in a pfra- sidc^pillar, gnKTually ta,,ering as mid called pyramidion > '' I / S88 DOMINION FOURTH READER. '9. Conceive, if you can, the grandeur of such a place. Imagine yourself arpid its splendor; hear a Cicero and a Cato speaking, and a Marc Antony maddening Rome over the bleeding body of a Caesar. See Rome's heroes as they pass along the Via Triumpha, down the Via Sacra, kings chained to their chariot wheels, aild the people shouting " lo Triuinphe." From this Forum, went forth Rome's armies, . and thither came the wild hordes of the North to make Rome a ruin. Here Pagan Rojpe began ; here ended. None can ' stand amidst its ruins without a tear at its fall. •' " 105. ROME. PART SECOND. y^UT of the ruins of the Forum, rose a Rome mightier V^ than lier past. For three hundred years. Pagan Rome warred against Christ. She drove the Christians to the Catacombs,! and fille^d her prisons with martyrs. Yet Chris- tianity Jived while Rome waned and fell. 2. Constantirje removed the seat of empire to the East, and built Constantinople to immortalize his name. The barba- rians came, sacked and, laid waste the seven-hilled Queeu, making, like Babylon, her palaces dens for the wild beasts. Christianity came forth' from her hiding-places, wept, and began Rome's regeneration. 3. Christian Rome bore the Cross to the ends of the world. Pagan Rome conquered by brute force ; Christian Rome by moral force. The first fell because she was human; the second lives, and will live, because she represents God. Jeru- salem alone excels Rome, because in Jerusalem the Word Jncarnate Jived and died. Christian Rome inherits the Di- vine of Jerusalem, hence she is ** Eternal. " ^ OaUcombs (kftt'a Mmbz), large underground burying-places. ROME. 289 ^ Borne 18 essentially a holy city; and in her nature is nnhke any other ; hence she can only be judged by her own standard, ghe is the beginning and the end of herself- and has, and can have no duplicate of herself. It is this fact that renders all comparison with her, or criticism of her so entirely at fault, ^o man can have visited Rome or made her monuments or history a study without realizing this 1 urn where you will, this fact stares you in the face 6. Christian Church or Pagan ruin alike speak qf dogma and martyr, or hallowed scene, ^r the Catecombs, and Chnstianity 18 written on tjie walls SI sealed with the blood of the heroes buried there. Take a carriage, drive down any lane along any street or by-way, and every turn and step is marked by some fact of Christian history. Here is where a martyr fell ; there, where Peter or Paul lived ; a little fur- ther on, where John was thrown into a caldron of boiling oil. The places where St. Paul was beheaded and St. Peter crucified are distinctly marked, while their bodies repose be- neath the great basilicas efected to their names. 6. It is impossible to stand where a Lawrence was roasted an Agnes and Cecilia beheaded, or a Praxedas gathered up the blood of the martyrs, or kneel at the tombs of a Sebastian and Hellena, and not be moved. Nor can any man of honest historic mind stand by the tombs of a Benedict, Francis Dommic, Ignatius, and not acknowledge the mighty work done by those whom they commemorate. 7. Christianity is crystallized in the Coliseum and St * Peter s In the former, by the triumphs of the martyrs ; in the latter by the dedication of art to the worship of God. Conie with me along the Via Sacra, paat the Forum and the Arch of litus. But a step, and we are at the Coliseum pressed in between the Celian and Palatine IJills, the Arch of tonstantine and the Temple of- Venva 290 DOMINION FOURTH READER. 8. As we enter, the moon has risen, giving a weird appear- ance to the scene, as we see its shadows flit, dissolve, and lose themselves amid the arches of this mighty ruin. Amid broken arch and column, and vaulted corridor, terrace rises upon terrace, till the blood curdles and the' hair stands on end. Memory is busy, and hurries us back to when Christian martyr and gentle maid stood within this vait arena to die for Christ. 9. The emperor is there ; the nobility of Rome is there • ■ tier upon, tier is^densely packed ; the wild beasts paw their cages, impatient for the feast; 100,000 voices shout, -The Christians to the lions ! " A spring, a growl, a quiver, and another hero has gone to God. Every brick, and stone, and grain of sand in this mighty, ruin haa been sanctified by the blood shed there. Here a Felicitas and Perpetua, a Cyriacus and Pancras died ; here Rome brutalized herself, and within these walls strove to crush out truth. Here Pagan Rome fell, and Christian Rome rose. The blood of the martyrs was the seed of the Church. b,,,,, ^^^^^^^ 106. THE DYING GLADIATOR. I SEE before me the gKdiator lie : He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low ; And thriUgh his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, \ Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now ' The arena ' swims around him : he is gone, ^Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won. ' Art'na, the middle or central from arena, sand, a sandy place part of an amphitheater, temple, where glidiators fought, and other or other incloaed place- lc uuled shows were held GLADIATORS' LAST FIGHT. 291 *. He heard it, but he heeded not ; his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away : He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize ; But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, ' There were his young barbarians all at play. There was their Dacian ' mother — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday. / All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire, And unavenged ? Arise, ye Goths," and glut your ire ! Lord Byron. 107. GLADIATORS' LAST FIGHT. CHRISTIANITY worked its way upward, and at last was professed b^ the emperor on his throne. Persecu- tion came to an end, and no more martyrs fed the beasts in the Coliseum. The Christian emperors endeavored to pre- vent any more shows where cruelty and death formed the chief interest, and no truly religious person could endure the spectacle ; but custom and love of excitement prevailed even against the emperor. They went on for fully a hundred years after Rome had, in name, become a Christian city, and the same customs prevailed wherever there was an amphi- theater' or pleasure-loving people. 2. Meantime the enemies of. Rome were coming nearer and nearer. Al'aric, the great chief of the Goths, led his forces into Italy, and threatened the city itself. Hono'rius, the emperor, was a cowardly, almost idiotic boy ; but his brave general, Stiricho, assembled his forces, met the Goths at Pollen'tia (about twenty-five miles from where Turin now ' Daoian (dft'shan), from DaCia. a coantry of ancient Oermany from whence came many gladiators. * 06tlui, a celebrated nation of ancient Oermans, noted warriors by choice and profession. ' Am'phi thS' a ter, a circular building having rows of seats, one ab(ive another, around an arena, used for public shows and sports. \ 2^^ DOMINION 10 UR TH READER. Standi), and gave them a complete defeat, on Baster-day of the yeaf 403. He. pursued them to the mountains, and for that time leaved Rome. , „ ■ S. In the jby of victdry, the Roman Senate invited the con- queror and his ward Honorius to enter the city in triumph, at the opening of the new year, with the white steeds, purple robes, and vermilion cheeks with which, of old, victorious generals were welcomed at Rome. The churches were visited instead of the Temple of Jupiter, and there was no murder of the captives ; but Roman bloodthirstiness was not yet allayed, and, after the procession had been completed, the Crfliseum shows commenced, innocently at first, with races on foot, on horseback, and jn chariots; then followed a grand hunt of beasts turned loose in the arena; and neit a sword- dance. But after the sword-dance came the arraying of swordsmen, with no blunted weapons, but with sharp spears and swords— a gladiator combat in full earnest. The people, enchanted, applauded with shouts of ecstasy this gratifica- tion of their savage tastes. ' ' U. Suddenly, however, there was an interruption. A grand, roughly-robed man, bareheaded and barefooted, had sprung into the arena, and, waving back the gladiators, began to call aloud upon the people to cease from the shedding of innocent blood, and not to requite God's mercy, in turning away the sword of the enemy, by encouraging murder. Shouts, howls, cries, broke in upon his words ; this was no place for preachings— the old customs of Rome should be observed— " Back, old man ! "— *' On, gladiators ! " 5. The gladiators thrust aside the meddler, and rushed to the attack. He still stood between, holding them apart, striving in vain to be heard. "Sedition! sedition!^'— "Down with him ! "-was the cry; and the prefect in author- ity himself added his voice. The gladiators, enraged «t in. GLADIATORS' LAST FIQHT. , 29$ ■' ■ : - I I terference with their vocation, cut him- down. Stories, or whatever came to hand, rained upon him from the furious people, and he perished in the midst of the arena ! He lay dead ; and then the people began to reflect upon what had been so cruelly done. ' 6. His dress showed that he was one of the hermits who had yowed themselves to a life of prayer and self-denial, and who were greatly reverenced, even by the most thoughtless. The few who had previously seen him, told that he had come from the wilds of Asia on pilgrimage, to visit the shrines and keep his Christmas at Rome. They knew that he was a holy man— no more, His^spirit had been stirred by the sight of thousands flocking to see men slaughter one another, and in his simple-hearted zeal he had. resolved to stop the cruelty, or die. 7. Honorius, the emperor, having been informed of what had taken place, learned, after a full investigation, that the holy hermit, Telemachus^ by name, had come from the East to Rome for the express purpose of influencing the Romans to abandon these murderous amusements. He was honored as a holy martyr. His death was not in vain ; for since that day there has never been another fight of gladiators. Not merely at Rome, but in every province of the empire, the custom was utterly abolished ; and one habitual crime at least was wiped from the earth. TO BE MEMORIZED. / worship thee, sweet Will of God! and all thy ways adore. And every day I live I seem to lave thee more and more. When obstacles and trials seem like prison-walls to be, I do the little I can do, and leave the rest to thee. I have no cares, V blessed Wiil! for all my cares arc thine ; I live in triumph. Lord! for thou hast made thy triumphs mine. F. W. Fabbr. Telemaohus ( te li^in'a kQs). H94 DOM/N/OX FOUKTH HEADER. 108. ST. PETER'S IN ROME. pROM the bridge and castle of St. Angelo, a wide street p-esents at oaee, the court or portico, and part of the B Jica.- When the spectator approaches the entrance of this court he iT' T \T " '""^ P'"""' ^"^^P'"S »» to *6 right- and ef m a bold semicircle. In the center of the ar Armed by th,8 immense colonnade,^ an Egyptian obelisk, of one solid - piece of granite, ascends to the height of 130 feet. Two perpetual fountains, one on each side, play in the air and fall m spray round the basins of p-^rphyry that receive them. h„ h T .r:. ™ *'"•"' """"^"^ "'«'"« »' '""^We steps, he beholds the majestic front bf thl Basilica itself, extending 400 feet in length, and towerini to the elevation of 180 This front is supported by a singiaVow of ciinthian pillars and pilasters, and adorned with aU attic, a balustrade/ and thirteen colossal ' statues. t «. Par behind and above it, risesHhe matchless dome, the jnstly celebrated wonder of Rome and of the world. The colonnade of coupled pillars that surround and strengthen ite '«« base, the graceful attic that surmounts this colonnade, the bold and expansive swell of the dome itself, and the pyramid seated on a cluster of columns, and bearing the ball »nd cro» to the skies, all perfect jn their kind, iorm the most magnificent and singnhir exhibition that the human eye perhaps ever contemplated. On each side a lesser cupola, rising proudly, reflects the grandeur, and adds not a Lie ■ to the majesty of the principal dome. 0)M on Did.', . «rie» of eol- . Oo K.'«U, of p^ a«^ >■ Sr. PETER'S IX ROAtk 29o S. Th^ interior corresjpouds perfectly with the grandeur of the exterior, and fully answers the expectations, however great, which so magniacent an entrance must have raised. Five lofty portals open into the vestibulum or portico, a gallery, in dimensions and decorations, equal to the most spacious cathedrals. It is 400 feet in length, 70 feet \\x height, and 50 in breadth ; paved with variegated marble ; covered with a gilt vault; adorned with pillars, pilasters,' mosaic, and basso-relievos ; and terminated at l>oth bnds by equestrian ' statues, one of Constantine,^ the other of Char- lemagne.3 A fountain at each extremity supplies a stream sufficient to keep a reservoir* always full, in ordeipto carry oflf every unseemly object, and perpetually refresh and purify the air and the pavement. Opposite* the five portals of the vestibule are the five doors of the church ; three are adorned with pillars of the finest marble ; that in the middle haa. valves of bronze. J^. As you enter, you behold the most extensive hall ever constructed by tuman art, expanded in magnificent perspec- tive before you ; advancing up the nave, you are delighted with the beauty of the variegated marble under your feet, and with the splendor of the golden vault over your head! and when camei'opards and tiger/bounded in the Flavian ^ am- phitheatre. / ^ , , 2. The proudest royal/houses are but of yesterday, when^ aompared with the lin/of the Supreme Pontiffs. That line wiB trace back in a/ unbroken series, from the Pope who crowiied 3^oleo/iu the nineteenth century, to the Pope who cr \;'^ ■■■' • ■■ -.1 'tV , ''■■„' '1 / S02 -DOMINION mURTH READER. /T convenfence of life— that niediciue, surgery, chemistry, en- gineering, have been very greatly improved— that govern- ment, police, and law have been improved, though not quite to the same extent. Yet we see that, during these 250 years. Protestantism has made no conquests worth speaking 9f. Nay, we believe that, as far as there has been a change, that change has been in favor of the Church of Home. Macaulay.' 111. OUR DUTY TO THE HOLY SEE, OUR duty to the Holy See, to the Chair of St. Peter, is to be measured by what the Church teaches us con- cerning that Holy See and concerning him who sits in it. Now St. Peter, who first occupied it, was the Vicar 2 qf Christ. You know well, our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, who suf- fered on the Cross for us, thereby bought for us the kingdom of heaven. *' When Thou hadst overcome the sting of death," says the-hymn, " Thou didst open the kingdom of heaven to those who believe." He opens, and He shuts ; He gives grace. He withdraws it ; He judges. He pardons, He condemns. 2. Accordingly He speaks of Himself in the Apocalypse as "Him who is the Holy and the True, Him that hath the key of David (the key, that is of the chosen king of the chosen people), Him that openeth and no man shutteth, that shutteth and no man openeth." And what our Lord, the Supreme Judge, is in heaven, that was St. Peter on earth ; and worth of his prose. • Vicar (vik'ar), one authorized or appointed to act for another; an AposMie vicar is an ecclesias- tic to whom the Pope delegates a portion of his jurisdiction, or com- missions to decide certain casea. ■ > Tho. Babbington Macaulay, Baron of I^othley, English histo- rian, essayist, poet, and statesman, was bom in 1800, and died in 1869. His poems are excellent, but they are insignificant in compari- son with the unrivaled brilliancy OUR DUTY TO THE HOLY SEE. SOS he had tliose ke\'s of the kingdom, according to the text, " Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build My Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. And I will give to thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven ; and whatsoever thou shalt bind upon earth shall be bound also in heaven ; and whatsoever thou slialt loose on earth, shall be loosed also in heaven." 3. Next, let it be considered, the kingdom which our Lord set up, with St. Peter at its head, was decreed in the coun- sels of God to last to the end of all things, according to the words I have just quoted, "The gates of hell shall not pre- vail against it." And again, "Behold, Tarn with^ou all .days, even to the consummation^ of the world." And in the words of the prophet Isaias, speaking of that divinely estab- lished Church, then in the future, "This is My covenant with them, My Spirit that is in thee, and My words which I have put in thy mouth, shall not depart out of thy mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out of the mouth of thy seed's seed, saith the Lord, from henceforth and for ever." And the prophet Daniel says, "The (Jod of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed . . and it shall break in pieces and shall consume all those kingdoms (of the earth, which went before it), and itself shall stand for ever." I 4. That kingdom our Lord set up when He came on earth, and especially after His resurrection ; ^for we are told by St.- Luke that this was His gracious employment, when He visited the Apostles from time to time, during the forty days which intervened between Easter Day and the day of His Ascension. " He showed Himself alive to the Apostles," says the Evan- gelist, "after His passion by many proofs,. for forty days ap- pearing to them and speaking of the kingdom of God." And accordingly, when at leng th He had ascended on high, and ' 6n^»um inflation, completion ; end. ^04 DOMINION FOURTH READER. had sent do\m "the promise of His Father," the Holy Ghost, upon His Apostles, they forthwith entered upon their high duties, and brought tha^kingdom or Church into shape, and supplied it with members, and enlarged it, and carried it into all lands. 5. As to St. Peter, he acted as the head of the Church, according to the previous words of Christ ; and, still accord- ing to his Lord's supreme will, he at length placed himself in the see of Rome, where he was martyred. And what was then done, in its substance can not be undone. " God is not as a man that He should lie, nor as the son of man, that He should change. Hath He said then, and shall He not do? hath He spoken, and will He not fulfill ?" And, as St. Paul says, ''the gifts and the calling of God are withoUt repent- ance." His Church, then, in all necessary matters, is as un- changeable as He. Its frameworjc, its polity, its ranks, its offices, its creed, its privileges, the promises made to it, its fortunes in the world, are ever what they have been. 6. Therefore, as it was in the world, but not o/the world in the Apostles' times, so it is now : as it was *' in honor and dishonor, in evil report and good report, as chastised but not killed, as having nothing and possessing aH things," in the Apostles' times, so it is now : as then it taught the truth, so it does now ; as then it had the sacraments i of grace, so has it now ; as then it had a hierarchy or holy government of Bishops, priests, and deacons, so has it now ; and as it had a Head then, so must it have a Head now ? Who is that visible Head now? who is now the Vicar of Christ? who has now the keys of the kingdom of heaven, as St. Peter had then ? Who is it who binds and looses on earth, that our Lord may » A Saorunetit is a visible sign, grace and inward sanctification ar» |gg*J*^M for ""T j n «t»fic i itiQn by cnmmanlcated to our houIh. Jesus CbriSt, by which invisible OUR DUTY TO THE HOLY A'A'A'. 30n Wnd and loose in heaven ? Who, I say, if a successor to St. Peter tliere must be, who is that successor in his sovereign authority over the Churgh ? 7. It is he who sits in St. Petey's Chair ; it is the Bishop of Rome. We all know tlds ; it is part of our faith ; I am ijot proving it to you, my brethren. The visible headship of the Church, which was with St. Peter while he lived, has been lodged ever since in his Chair ; the successors in his lieadship are the successors in his Chair, that continuous line of Bishops of Rome, or Popes, as they are called, one after an- other, as years have rolled on, one dying and another coming, down to this day, when we see Pius the Ninth sustaining the weight of the glorious Apostolate, and that for twenty years past — a tremendous weight, a ministry involving momentous ^ duties, innumerable anxieties, and immense responsibilities, as it ever ha^done. 8. And now, though I might say much more about the prerogatives 2 of the Holy Father, the visible Head of the Church, I have said more than enough for the purpose which has led to my speaking about him at all. I have said tha^, like St. Peter, he is the Vicar of his Lord. He can judge, and he can acquit ; he can pardon, and he can condemn ; he can command, a^d he can permit ; he can forbid, and he can punish. He has a supreme jurisdiction over the people of Gpd. He can stop the ordinary course of sacramental mer- cies ; he can excommunicate from the ordinary grace of re- demption ; and he can remove again the ban which he has inflicted. It is the rule of Christ's providence, that what His Vicar does in severity or in mercy upon earth. He Himself, confirms in heaven. .' Momtnt'oili, of ooDsequence ilege given to none other; a pe- -«r nioiu^Dtx important T weighty. oullaT" right eoaiing iu the order /' * Pir* brfig'a UC^e, a peraonal priv- of time. soe DOMINION 'fourth READER. 9. And in saying- all this, I have said enough for my pur- pose, because that purpose is to define our obligations to him. That is the point on which our attention is fixed ; "our ob- ligations to the Holy See;" and what ,need I say more to measure our own duty to it and to him who sits in it, than to say that, m his administration of Christ's kingdom, in his religious acts, we must never oppose his will, or dispute his* word, or criticise his policy, or shrink from his side ? There are kings of the earth who have despotic authority, which their subjects obey in deed but disown in their hearts ; but we must never murmur at that absolute rule which the Sov- ereign Pontiff has over us, because it is given to him by Christ, and in obeying him we are obeying his Lord. We must never suffer ourselves to doubt that, in his government of the Church, he is guided by an intelligence more than human. His yoke is the yoke of Christ ; he has the respon- sibility of his own acts, not we ; and to his Lord must he render account, not to us. 10. Even in secular matters it is ever safe to be on his side dangerous to be on the side of his enemies. Our duty is- not indeed to mix up Christ's Vicar with this or that party of men, because he in his high station is above all parties- but to look at his former deeds, and to follow him whither he goeth, and never to desert him, however we may.be tried but to defend him at all hazards, and against all comers, a^ a son would a father, and as a wife a husband, knowing that his cause is the cause of God. And so as regards his succes- ■ sors, It IS our duty to give them in like manner our dutiful allegiance and to follow Ihem also whithersoever they go having that same confidence that each in his turn and in his own day will do God's work and will, which we felt in their predecessors, now taken away to their eternal reward. VkVDTSkVT. H. TfBWMAM. :.i'.i,Ai.'iiiSSii^- THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 307 112, THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 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,' the Almighty infused into the Queen, my lady, the spirit of intelligence ai\d energy. While every one else, in his ignorance, was expatiating ^ on the cost and inconvenience, her Highness approved of it on the contrary, aiiu gave it all the support in her power. '' 2. And what were the distinguishing qualities of this foster-mother of American discovery ? Fervent piety, un- feigned humility, profound reverence for the Holy See, a spotless life as a daughter, mother, Avife, and queen. "She is," says a Protestant author, ''one of the purest and most beautiful characters 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 learn- ing, or for good fortune ; but the foster-mother of America alone, of nil the women of history, is called "the Catholic.'" S. As to tlie 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 liabida the agreement was made between Columbus and the Pinzons. From the porch of the Church of St. George, the royal orders were read to the astonished townsfolk. The aids and assurances of religion were brought into requisition to encourage sailors, always a superstitious generation, to embark on this mysterious voyage. On the > lafof dfl'U tj^, the t]ua]ity of Seing un'belleviDg ; unwillingness to believe. * Bxpatiating (el(8 pS'^i At ing), d(«canting ; enTarglng Tn dr8C0Qile~ or writing. 308 - DOMINION' FOURTH READER. morning ol their departure, a temporary chapel was erected -th .para and .ails oh the strand ; and there Tsigh of the.r vessels riding at shortened ancho,., the three crews numbenng in all 1.0 souls, received the iiessed srcram!: ' of the Church, l^ce tte Veath of heaven filling their sl^ils. the tlTn "'^ i . r "'' ^'^"'''^ "' *'■' «>-' '""d, after ^.e.s, the Admiral .made an impressive address to his or^w His speech must have been one of the most Catholic orat 2 ever delivered in the New Wni-1,1 rn, . ,_ orations it ,.,■,„. w "oi'icw world. It has not been recorded : t an never be invented. We can, indeed, conceive what „ lofty homily on confidence in God and His ever BlessM Mother such a man so situated would beable to deliver w! en imagine we see him as he stands on the darkened de!k of the kanta Uana, his thin lock^ lifted by the breeze ' to the west. We almost hear him exclaim • » "^ ^. " Yonder lies the laud ! Where you can see only night the hour will pass aw^y, and with it the night of nations Cit.s more beautifnl^an Seville, countries more fertile han Andalusia, are off yonder. There lies the ter^s rial pan^ dise watered with its four rivei. of life ; there lies the golden Ophir, from w iich Solomon, the son of David, drew the o,^ find whole nations unknown to Christ, to whom you, ye thrf/^T"" ™ "' ""^ ™^'«''' ^'"'" ""^ ">e first to bring he glad tidings of great joy proclaimed 'of old by angels' lips to the shepherds of Chaldea.- But, alas! who sC attempt o supply the words spoken by such a man at such a moment, on that last night of expectation and uncertainty ::r?°°j'l«tlllji birthday of a new wor ld ?-' - - ^ cted ) t of ent. tiou TH£ DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 309 9. Columbus and his companions landed on the morning of the 12th of October, 1492, on the little island which they called San Salvador. Three boats conveyed them to the" •shore ; over each boat floated a broad banner, blazoned with "a green cross." On reaching the land the Admiral threw himself -on his knees, kissed the e^-th, affid shed tears of joy. Then, raising his voice, he uttered aloud that short but fer- vent prayer, which, lifter him, all Catholic discoverers were^ wont to repeat: "0 Lord God, Eternal and Omnipotent, who by thy Divine Word hast created the heavens, the earth, and the sea, blessed, and glorified be thy name, and praised thy majesty, who hast deigned by me, .thy humble servant, to have. that sacred name made known and preached- Jn this other part of the world ! " 7. The nomenclature ' used by the great discoverer, like all' his acts, is essentially Catholic. Neither his own nor his patron's name is precipitated on cape, river, or island^ San Salvador, Santa Trinidada, San Domingo, San Nicola^, San Jago, Santa Maria, Santa Marta— these are tjie mementos 2 of his first success. All egotism,^ all selfish policy, was ut- terly lost in the overpowering sense, of being but an instru- ment in the hands of Providence. . 8. After cruising a couple of months among the Bahamas, and discovering many new islands, he returns to Spain. In 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 punc- ^ tually fulfilled. Safely he reaches the Azores, the Tagus, and the port of Palos. His first act is a solemn procession to the church o f St. George, from which the foyal orders had * NO'men oiat'flM, list of names. 1 Jtf« ^afa'i Thomas D'Aroy MoOee was born in Ireland, in 1825. and died in the Dominion of Canada in 1868. He emigrated to the United States •in 1842 ; and, removing to Canada in 1867, he soon entered into Cana- dian politics, and was elected a member of purliament. He was President of the Executive Coun- cil, in 1862 ; a Commissionecfrom Canada tq the Paris ExpoBition/ in 1867 ; aiid subsequently Minister qf Agriculture and Emigration, e was a poet of high rank ; and as orator, journalist, and states- man, he bad few equals. or IB. /as ^ ing.p] after I Jt- /* *^ FROM THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS. 311 —Was it for this I lingered life away. The scorn of Folly, and of Fraud the prey ; Bowed down my mind, the gift His bounty gave, At courts a suitor, and to slaves a slave ? —Yet in His name whom only we should fear, « ('Tis all, all I shall ask, or you shall hear,) Grant but three days."— He spoke not uninspired ; And each in silence to his watch retired. 3. Although among us came an unknown Voice ! '' Go, if ye will ; and, if ye can, rejoice ; Go, with unbidden guests the banquet share ; In his own shape shall Death receive you there." Twice in the zenith blazed the orb of light ; No shade, all sun, insufferably bright ! Then the long line found rest— in c6ral groves. Silent and dark, where the sea-lion roves :— And all on' deck, kindling to life again, Sent forth their anxious spirits o'er the main. 4. "Oh whence, as wafted from Elysium,' whence These i)erfumes, strangers to the raptured scjnse? These boughs of gold, and fruits of heavenly hue, Tingeing with vermeil light the billows blue ? And (thrice, thrice bleSsed is the eye that spied. The hand that snatched it sparkling in the tide), Whose cunning carved' this vegetable bowl, , Symbofof social rites, and intercourse of sou2 ? "— t>. The sails were furled : with many a melting close. 4 Solemn and slow the evening anthem " rose- Rose to the Virgin. Twas the hour of day. When setting suns o'er summer seas display ^ A path of glory, opening in the west To golden climes ^rid-islands of the blest ; ' Blydum (e lizh' i um), a dwell- » An'them, a hymn sung in alter- ing-place assigned to happy souls nate parts ; church music adapted after death : «jg-d'^ljghtful p lage, t o p assHgea f i 3U- DOMINION FOURTH READER. And human voices, on the silent air, Went o'er the waves iii songs of gladness there I 6. ^osenofmen! 'twas thine,, at noon of night; First from the prow to hail the gJimmering light ; (Emblem of Truth divine, whose secret ray ' ' Enters the soul, and makes the darkness day i) " Pedro ! Rodrigc^T there, methought, it shone ! Tfiere— in the west ! and now, alas ! 'tis gone !— 'Twas all a dream ! we gaze and gaze in vain ! ^ —But mark, and speak not, there it comes again 1 . It moves .'—what form unseen, what being there With torch-like luster fireS the miirky air ? His instincts, passions, say how like our own ? Oh ! when will day reveal a world unknown ?"— f 7. Long on the wave the morning mists reposed Then broke— and, melting into light, disd Exotic (eg^5t'ik). a plant of prodnctlon. i^oreign » Ar'o m&t'ic, odoriferous ; spicy ; fragrant; Btrong-scCTited. 314 f DOMINION FOlfRTIf READER. known in Europe, and birds whoso varieties of ^randy pi^^. age gave a brilliant effect to the pageant. 4. The admiral's pi-ogi-jess tluoiigh the eountry was.-every- where impeded by the , multitudes thronging forth to gaze at the extraordinary spectacle, and the more extraordinary man who, in the emphatic language of that time, which has now lost its force from its familiarity, first revealed the existence of a "New ^ovVV As he passed through the busy, popu- lous city of Seville, every, window, balcony, and housetop which could afford a glimpse of him i6 described to have been ■ crowded with spectators. 6. It was the middle of April before Columbus reached Barcelona. The nobility and cavaliers in attendance on the court; together with the autliorities of the city, came to the gates to receive him, and escorted him to the royal presence. Ferdinand and Isabella were seated, with their son. Prince John, under a superb canopy of state, awaiting his arrival. On his approach, they rose from their seats, and extending their hands to him to salute, caused him to be seated before them. 6. These were unprecedented . marks of condescension to a person of Colitmbus's rank, in the haughty and ceremonious court of Castile. It was,' indeed, the proudest moment in the life of Columbus. He had fully established the truth of his long-contested theory, in the face of argument, sophistry, sneer, skepticism, and conteiiipt. He had achieved this, not by chance, but by calculation,. supported through the most adverse circumstances by consummate conduct. The honors paid him, hitherto reserved only for rank, or fortune, or military success, purchased by the blood and tears of thou- sands, were a homage \p intellectual power, successfully exi ertod in behalf of the noblest interests of humanity. 7. After a brief interval, the sovereigns requested from Columbus a recital of his adventures. His manner was se- \ THE REtU'RN OP CaLbWflil'S. '/ Sid date and dignifij^, but warmed by the glow of natural enthu- siasm. . He enumerated the several islands-^vhich he liad visited, exj^atiated on the temperate Character of the climate, and the capacity of t^e soil for every'variety of agricultural production, a{)pealing to the samples imported by him, as evidendl: of their natural friiitfuln^ss. He dwelt more at large- on the precioiis metals to be found in these islands, which he inferred less from the specimens actually obtained than fropi the uniform testimony of the natives to their abundance in the unexplored regions of the interior. Lastly, he pointed out the wide scope afforded to Christian zeal in the illumination of a race of men whose minds were pre- pared, by their extreme simplicity, for the reception of pure and unforrupted doctrine. 8. The last consideration touched Isabella's heart most sensibly ; and the whole audience, kindled with various emo- tions by the speaker's eloquence, filled up the perspective with the gorgeous coloring of their own fancies, as ambition, or avarice, or devotional feeling predominated in their bosoms. When Columbus ceased, the king and queen, together with all present, prostrated themselves on their knees in grateful thanksgivings, while the solemn strains of the Te Deum* were poured forth by the choir of the royal chapel, as in commemoration of some glorious victory. Prescott.* * Te Deum (te de'um), a hymn of thanksgiving, so called from the first words, " Te Deum lauda- mus," Thee, God, we praise. * William H. Prescott, the emi- nent American Historian, was horn in Balem, Mass., in 1796. and died in 1869. The choicest words of praise can alone give adequate expression to the exquisite beauty of Mr. Pres- cott's descriptions, the just propor- tion and dramatic interest of his nar- pitive, his skill as a character writ- er, the expansiveness and complete- ness of his views, and that careful and intelligent research which en- abled him to make his works as valuable for their accuracy as they are attractive by the finish and all the graces ox his style. / '' ' AX-'- ii;.. %"mi^ ^N y,r k cc^ •^^ S16 DOMINION FOURTH READER. --'115. CAPTURE OF QUEBEC. VII/OLFE,' though weak and suffering, resolved to lead V V the expedition; and he was with the troops that as- cended the^river. It was the 12th of September, and the brief Canadian summer was over. After midnight, while Clouds were gathering in the firmament, the army left the vessels; and in flat-boats, without oars or' sails, they glided down noiselessly with the tide, followed by the ships soon afterward. Wolfe was in good spirits, yet there was evidently a presentiment a of speedy death in his mind. ^. At his evening mess on the ship, he composed and sang impromptu « that little song of the camp, commencing- " Why, soldiers, why, should we be melancholy, boys ? Why, soldiers, why— whose business 'tis to die ' " And aa he sat among his officers, and floated softly down the river at the past-midnight hour, a shadoW seemed to come upon his heart, and he repeated, in low, musing tones, that touchmg stanza of Gray's "Elegy in a Country Church- •' The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow€r. And all that beauty, all that wealth e*r gave,! Await alike the inevitable hour : The paths of glory lead but to the grave ! " At the close he whispered : -Now, gentlemen, I would pre- fer being the author of that poem to the glory of takine Quebec to-morrdw." Jime* Wo lfe , jn Engli«lt .g^ evit of uB fi tei^M Tt faoTrt to fauppsir. th^ h ^,'\ ? V°** ^"'^ ^•^ ' ^» P'^^P'*"' mr^^i^W^ made the b^tle here described in 1759. or done offhand : something com- . K f V ' *" '^""« '*' posed or said at the moment r with, seeing Morehand of something out previous study. \ CAPTURE OF QUEBEC. 317 3. The flotilla reached a cove which Wolfe had marked for a landing-place (and which still bears his name), before day- break, and there debarked. At the head of the main division, Wolfe pushed eagerly up a narrow and rough ravine ; while the light infantry and Highlanders, under Colonel Howe, climbed the steep acclivity by the aid of the maple, spruce, and ash saplings and shrubs, which covered its rugged face. The sergeant's guard on its brow was soon dispersed, and at dawn, on the 13th, almost 5,000 British troops were drawn up in battle array on the Plains of Abraham, 300 feet above the St. Lawrence. 4- Montcalm ^ could hardly believe the messenger who brought him intelligence of this marshalling of the English upon the weak side of the city. "It can be but a small party come to burn a few houses, and return," he said ; but he was soon undeceived. Then he saw the imminent danger to which the town and garrison were exposed, and he imme- diately abandoned his 'intrenchments, and led a large portion of his army acr&ss the St. Charles, to attack the invaders. At ten o'clock Montcalm was upon the Plains of Abraham, and his army in battle line. The B*rench had three field- pieces ; the English had one, which some sailors had dragged up the ravine. 5. Wolfe placed himself on the right, at the head of the Louisburg grenadiers, who were burning with a desire tq,, wipe out the stain of their defeat at the Montmorenci. Mont- calm was on the left, at the head of the regiments of Lan- guedoc {lan'ghe dok), BCarne, and Guienne {ghe-en'). So the two commanders stood face to face. Wolfe ordered his -men "to load with^" twa Htrallet^"eBt5h, imd i;o^" reBerve"th6i^ until the French should be within forty yards. These orders ' Louli Joieph, Marq. Mont< o«Im (mOnt kilm'), a French gen- eral bom in 1718, and killed in this battle in 1789. 318 DOMINION FOURTH READER. were strictly obeyed, and their double-shotted guns did ter- rible execution. After delivering several rounds in rapid succession, which threw the French into confusion, the En- glish charged upon them furiously with their bayonets. 6. While urging on his battalions in this charge, Wolfe was singled out by some Canadians on the left, and was slightly wounded in the wrist. He stanched the blood with a handkerchief, and, while cheering on his men, received a second wound in the groin. A few minutes afterward, another bullet struck him in the breast, and brought him to the ground, mortally wounded. At that moment, regardless of self, he thought only of victory for his troops. *' Support me," he said to an officer near him ; "let not my brave sol- diers see me drop. The day is ours— keep it V 7. He was taken to the rear, while his troops continued to charge. The officer on whose shoulder he was leaning, ex- claimed,' - They run ! they run ! " The waning light returned to the dim eyes of the hero, and he asked, ** Who run?"— *'The enemy, sir; they give way everywhere."— "What," feebly exclaimed Wolfe, " do they run ? Go to Colonel Pres- ton, and tell him to march Webb's regiment immediately to the bridge over the St. Charles, and cut off the fugitives' retreat. Now, God be praised, I die happy ! " These were his last words, and, in the midst of sorrowing companions, just at the moment of victory, he expired. 8. Montcalm, who was fighting gallantly at the head of the French, also re^ceived a mortal wound. " Death is cer- tain," said his surgeon. "lam glad of it," replied Mont- calm ; " how long shall I survive ? " " Ten or twelve hours, perhaps less." " So much the better ; I shall not live to see perr ^tnrendBi-ijr^ueBecT'^ He wrotTa lett^^^^^ ToWnsend, recomra^ding the prisoners to the humanity of the British, and expired at five o'clock the next morning. ^ dOVERNMENT. 319 Five days later the city capitul^ed,' thus ending the cam- paign ' of 1759. Almost seventy years afterwards, Lord Dal- housie, governor of Lower Canada, caused a noble granite obelisk to be erected in the city of Quebec to the memory of Wolfe and Montcalm. ^ Lossing.* . . 110. GOVERNl\5ENT. PART FIRST. ' t SOCIETY never does and never can exist without govern- ment of some sort. As society is a necessity of man's nature, so is governmejJt a necessity of society. The sim- plest form of society is the family — Adam and Eve. But though Adam and Eve are in many respects equal, and have equally important thougli different parts assigned them, one or the other must be -head and governor, or they can not form the society called family. They would be simply two indi- viduals of different sexes, and the family would fail for the want of unity. Children can not be reared, trained, or educated without^ome degree of family government — with- out some authority to direct, control, restrain, or prescribe. Hence the authority of the husband and father is recognized by the common consent of mankind. ' Oa i^t'u Ifit ed, surrendered on terms agreed upon. * Oampaign (kam pSn'), the part of a year an army keeps the field. * The reduction of Canada, the object of the campaign, was* not, however, accomplished. The French, early in the next year, the British, at the close, being com- pelled to fall back to their defenses, where they were succored by the timely arrival of a British fleet. In September following, the French surrendered Montreal ; and by the Treaty of Paris, made in 1768, Canada became a Brititb t*toyince._ / prepared to attempt the recovery of their stronghold ; and on the 28th of April was fought one of the most desperate battles of the war ; *• Benson J. Lossing, an Amer- ican writer and engraver, author of numerous works in Amerioan his- tory, bom in 1818. and died 1891. ■J 320 DOMINION FOURTH READER."'^ 2. Stiir more apparent is the necessity of government the moment the family develops and grows into the tribe, ^nd the tnbe mto the nation. Hence no nation exists without ^ov- ernment ; and we never find a savage tribe, however low or degraded, that does not assert somewhere, in the father in the elders, or in the tribe itself, the rude outlines or the fJint reminiscences of some sort of government, with authority to demand obedience and to punish the refractory. Hence as ^an IS nowhere found out of society, so nowhere is society found without government. S. Government is necessary : but let it be remarked by the way, that its necessity does not grow exclusively or chiefly out of the fact that the human race by sin has fallen from its primitive 1 integrity, or original righteousness. The fall as serted by Christian theology, though often misinterpreted, and Its effects underrated or exaggerated, is a fact too sadly confirmed by individual experience and universal history but It 18 not the cause why government is necessary, though It may be an additional reason for demanding it. ■ 4. Government would have been necessary if man had not ^ sinned, and it is needed for the good as well ^ for the bad The law was promulgated in the Garden, while man retained his innocence and remained in th^ integrity of his nature. It e/ists m heaven as well as on earth, and in heaven in its perfection Its office is not purely repressive, to restrain violence, to redress wrongs, and to punish the transgressor. It has something more to do than to restrict our natural liberty, curb our passions, and maintain justice between man and man. / 5. Its office is positiv e as well as negative. It is needed • ^i'XlT' '' '.r*' 7 "'• consoJidatlon of 'intereatB and 8« I dftr'ltj^, an entire union rMponsibility ; fellowship. finimitmiii ^•'mmmmmmmmmtmmmmmf*: se^ DOMINION FOUR.TH READER. viduals for advancing their private interests, buCit is not government. To be government, it must govern both indi- viduals and the community. If it is a mere machine ^or , making prevail the will of one man, of a certaiii number of men, or even of the^community, it may be very effective sometimes for godd, sometimes for evil, oftenest for evil, but- government in the proper sense. of the word it is not. 2. To govern is to. direct, control, restrain, as the pilot controls and directs his shipV It necessarily implies two terms, governor and governed, and a real distinction be- tween them. The denial of this real distinction is an error in politics analogous to that in philosophy or theology qf denying all real distinction between creator and creature, God and the universe, which all the world knows is either pantheism i or pure atheism »— thd'suprenie sophism. » S. Government is not orily that which governs, but that which ha« the right or authority to govern. Power withput right 'is not government. Governments have the right to use force at need, but might does not make right, and not every power wielding the physical force of a nation is to be regarded as its rightful government. Whatever resort to physical force it may be obliged to make, either in defense of its authority or of the rights of the nation, the govern- ment itself lies in the moral order, arid politics is simply a branch of ethics <— that branch which treats of the rights and duties of men in their public relations, aa distinguished from their righta^nd duties in their private relations. Govern- 'Pantheism (pjn' the izm). the G^, or^^ui^^iffielntemgeniBeW doctrine that the universe itself is » Sophism (sfif i«n), a false doc- 7^ "u ^'^.*"°« *^** *^«f« « no trine or mode of rea8 ««d leamed of an nation., H».w4 ^^CHjhtrfic faith and-^evoterhis are numerous and volami,^ powerful intellect and ^r«at talents . » SteUar (stgl' I6r), of orTii. to tlie service of Catholicity. Asa lug to stars ; starry ^'P""^'^^ iiiaii£Ai^Mki>j!i^ 1* ,. ■yi >■ 325 .^^. But look yet farther. Away yonder,, m the distance you behold a faint, hazy, nebulousi ring of light, the interior ' ' almost entirely dark, but the exterior ring-shaped, and' ex- hibiting to the eye, under the most powerful telescope, the fact that it may be resolved entirely into stars, producing a universe somewhat analogous to the one we inhabit. ""Go yet deeper into space, and there you will behold another universe-voluminous scrolls of light, glittering with beauiy, flashing with splendor, and sweeping a curve of most extraor- dinary fgrm and of most tremendous outlines. 3. Thus we may pass from planet to planet, from sun to sun, from system to system. We may reach beyond the limits of this mighty stellar cluster with which we are allied •We may find other island universes sweeping through space Ihe great unfinished problem still remains- Whence came this universe ? Jf. Have all these stars which glitter in the heavens been shining from all eternity ? Has our globe been rolling around the sun for ceaseless ages? Wherice, whence this magnifi- cent Architecture, whose architraves thus rise in splendor ^ before us in every direction ? Is it all the work of chanceV-^ I answer, No. It is not the work of chance. o. Who shall reveal to us the true cosmogony 2 of the uni- verse by which we are surrounded? Is it. the work of>^n Omnipotent Architect? If so, who is this August BeinTK Go with me to-night, in imagination, and stand with St Paul, the great Apostle, upon Mars' Hill, and there look around you as he did. Here rises that magnificent building, the Parthenon, sacred to Minerva, the Goddess of Wisdom! -Thcro tow€ra hw coteggal mtueV nsiug in Its majesty abore the city of which she was the guardian-the first object to \ !f*^'« ^«-;f o«dlike. ; the world or universe ; atheo^ Cos mfig'o ijy, the creation ofYaoconnt of such creation. 326 X DOMINION FOURTH READER. catch the rays of the rising, and the last to be kissed by the / rays of the setting sun. There are the temples of all the gods ; and there are the shrines of every divinity. Q. And yet I tell you these gods and these divinities thoitgh created under the inspiring fire of poetic fancy and Irreek imagination, never reared this stupendous structure by which we are surrounded. The Olympic Jove never built- these heavens. The wisdom of Minerva never organized these magnificent systems. I say with St. Paul, "Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things you are too super- stitious ; for passing by, I found an altar on which was writ- ten, 8. Shakespeare has sympathy as complete for Shylock,^ or lago,^ as he has for Arthur or King Lear.^ For a time he lives in the astute * villain as in the innocent child ; he works his entire power of thought into intricacies of the traitor's brain ; he makes his heart beat in concord with the usurer's sanguinary « spite, and then, like some beautiful creature in the animal world, draws himself out of the hateful evil and, is himself again ; and able, even, often to hold his own noble and gentle qualities as a mirror, or exhibit the loftiest, the most generous arid amiable examples of our nature. And this is all done without study, and apparently without effort. His infinitely varied characters come naturally into their places, never for a moment lose their proprieties, their per- sonality, and the exact flexibility" which results from the necessary combination in every man of many qualities. From the beginning to the end each one is the same, yet reflecting in himself the lights and shadows which flit around him. 9. Who, a stranger might ask, is the man, and where was ' Qbf I5ek, a revengeful Jew in Shakespeare's " Merchant of Ven- ice" whose avarice overreaches Itself. » lago (e ft'goX a subtle and ma- lignant villain, in Shakespeare's Britain, and the hero of Shakes- peare's tragedy "King Lear." * As tnte', crafty ; cunning ; eagle-eyed ; keen. ' Sanguinary (sSng'gw! nft rl), bloody ; murderous. tragedy of "Othe llo." who falsely * FWit a bfl ^ i tj^ , t he state or ~pef8iiifide8 Dthello of the tinfaith quality of being easily bent with- fulnesR of his wife Desdemona. out breaking, or of readily yield- ' King Ii«ar, a fabulous king of ing to persons or conditions. I rf- iM r.( 330 . DOMINION FOURTH READER. he born, and where did hfr live, that not only his acts and scenes are placed in any age, or in any- land, but that he can fill his stage with the very living men of the time and place represented, make them move as easily as if he held them in strings, and make them speak not only with general conformity to their common position, but with individual and distinctive propriety, so that each is different from the rest ? This ubiquity,^ if we may so call it, of Shakespeare's sympathies, constitutes the unlimited extent and might of his dramatic genius. It would be difficult to imagine where a boundary, line could at length have been drawn, beyond which nothing original, nothing new, and nothing beautiful, could be supposed ta have come forth from his mind. We are com- pelled to say that his genius was inexhaustible.* 10. We may safely conclude that, in whatever constitutes the dramatic art, in its strictest sense, Shakespeare possessed matchless sympathies with all its attributes. The next and *" most essential quality required for pure genius is the power to give outward life to the inward conception. Without this - the poet is dumb. He may be a ''mute inglorious Milton ;" he ca^ not be a speaking, noble Shakespeare. I need not 'descant upon Shakespeare's position among the bards and writers of England, and of the modern world. Upon this point there can scarcely be a dissenting opinion;, His lan- guage is thQ purest and best, his verse the most flowing and rich ; and as for his sentiments, it would be difficult without the command of his own language to characterize them. No other writer has ever given such periods of sententious' wis- dom. I have spoken of genius as a gift to an individual man. jUblqulty (1 1 hlk^w! tT), EvJng^ emptied. ttBedap,wRHt p d,iirflp o Ltv- •very where, or in all places, at the Hame time. " Xnasluttstiblc (in%gi «Bt'I bl), not c*p»ble of being «xh«u»twl, unfailing. ■ Senteutioiu (sfin t8n' ^ub), terstt tfud energetic in tipeech ; full of moaning. tA^.. QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND C A SSI US. 331 ^ , I will conclude by the reflection that that man becomes him- self a gift ; a gift to his nation ; a gift to his age ; a gift to the world of all times. Cakuinal Wiseman.' : 120. QUARREL OF BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. GAS^lUS. Thftt you have wronged me doth appear in this, You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; r Wherein my letters (praying on his side Because I knew the man) were slighted of. Brutus. You wronged yourself to write in such a case. Cos. In such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offense should bear its comment. Bru. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemned to have an itching palm ; To sell and mart your offices for gold, to undeservers. Cos. I an itching palm ! You know that you are Brutus that speak this. Or by the gods, this speech were else your last ! Bru. The name of Cassius honors this corruption, And chastisement ^ doth therefore hide its head. Cos. Chastisement ! ,^ Bru. Remember March, the ides of Mai;ch,* remember Did not great Julius bleed for justice' sake ? What villain touched his l)ody, that did stab, And not for Justice ? What shall one of us, ^ ' NichoIaB Patrick Stephen ■Wiseman, an English Cardinal and author, was born iijj 1802, and died in 1865. After pursuing his courao ai st u dy e ight ye itfa4a^- he completed his educAtiou in Rome, where he published his first book, a work on the Oriental lan- guages His numenms publicti- tions are of extraordinary ability. * Ohastisement (dh&s'tiz nit^nt). the act of inflicting pain for pun- ishment and correction ; puninli* tr oa with stripefc- ' Ides of March, the fifteenth of ^larch, here referring to the assas- HJnatlon of Cwsar on the Td(!S of March, b. c 44. r\ S32 VOAf^NION FOURTH READER. That struck the foremost man of aJI this world, But for supporting robbers ; shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space? of1mr large honors, For so much trash as may be grasped thus ? I had rather be a dog and bay the moon, than such a Roman. Cos. Brutus, bay not me ! I'll not endure it ; you forget yourself To hedge me in ; I am a soldier, I, ' Older in practice, abler than yourself to make conditions. Bru. Go to ; you are not Cassius. Cos. J. am. Bru. I say, you are nbt. Cos. Urge me no more. I shall forget myself— Have mind upon your health— tempt me no farther 1 Bru. Away, slight man 1 Cos. Is it possible ? Bru. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler ? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares ? Cos. O gods I ye gods ! must I endure all this ? Brn. AH this ? ay, more. Fret till your proud heart break Go, show your slaves how choleric you are. And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge ? Must I observe you ? Must I stand and crouch Under your testy humor ? By the gods, You shall digest' the venom of your spleen, Though it do split you ; for, from this day forth, I'll use you for ray mirth, yea, for ray laughter, When you are waspish. CltM.' Is it come to this? Bru. You say you are a better soldier ; ' Let it appear so : make your v aunting tru e. ' And it shall please me well. For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men. Owt. You wrong me every wny— you wrong me, Brutus ; ■ '■»■ *'t QUARREL OF liRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 3SS \ I said an elder soldier, not a better ; ^ Did I say better ? Brti. If you did, I care not. Cos. When Caesar lived, he durst not thus have moved me. fii'u. Peace, peace ; you durst not so have tempted him. Cos. I durst not ? Bru. No. Cos. What ! durst not tempt him ? Bru. For your life you durst not. Cos. Do not presume too much upon my love ; «^o that I shall be sorry for. . You have done that you^ould be sorry for. i^ no terror, Cassius, in your threats ; For I am armed so strong in honesty. That they pass by me as the idle wind, Which I respect not. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; For I can raise no money by vile means. By Jupiter, I' d rather coin my heart. And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring * From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions. Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius ? Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? When Marcus Brutus grows so covetou^, To lock 'Buch rascal counters from his friends. Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts. Dash him to pieces I Cos. * I denied you not. Bru. You did. J7(ML I did not ; — he ^y^s^ but a fool -^ That brought my answer back.— Bnitus hath rived my heart ; A friend should bear his friend's infirmities. But Brutus makes mine greater than they are. ^^• Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me. r.i ..iiiiv 334, DOMINION FOURTH READkR. »|t^ CiMSnTou love mo not. Bn I do like t faults. / 'A Cos. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appeaiA As huge as high Olympus. ^ Cos. Oome, Antopy, and young Oetavius, come ! Revenge youi-self alone on Cassius, . • Fot Cassius is a-weary of the world : Hated. by one he loves— braved by his brother- Checked like a bondman— all his faults observed, Set in a note-book — learned and conned by rote, (To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep My spirit from mine eyes ! — There is my dagger, And here my naked brea.*it ; within, a heart Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold ! If that thou b6'st a Roman, take it forth ! I that denied ^ee gold, will give my heart : Strike as thou didst at CsBsar ; for I know. When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better Than ever thpu lovedst Cassius. Bru. ASheathe your dagger ; Be angry when you will, it shall have scope^ ; Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor. Cassius, you are yokfed with a lamb. That carries anger as the flint bears Are ; Which much enforced, shows a hasty spark, And straight is cold again. Cos. Hath Cassius lived To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him ? Bru. When I spoke that I was jU-temperjjd, too. confess so much ? Give \ uas. uo you jggM. And myhoarty too. your tb at Cc wl is ea acl rel bu pyi oli Cos. Bru. O Brutus What's the matter ? >. Cos. Have you not love enough to bear \Yith me, DEATH OF SAMSON. lien that taah humor. whicU my mother ga.v» m», V Makes me forgetful ? - ' Bra. Yes, Cassius ; and, from henceforth," « When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, - He' 11 think your mother chides, and leave you so. Shakespeare.' ■ 121. DEATH OF SAMSON. . ^ • \SceHt—\-& Gaza.] OCCASION "drew me early to this city \ And, as the gates I entered with sunrise. The mornihg trumpets festival proclaimed Through each high street : little I had dispatched. When all abroad was rumored that this day ■ Samson should be brought forth, to show till' people Proof of his mighty strength in fepts and games ; I sorrowed at his captivo state, but minde(| Not to be absent at that spectacle, ^. The building was a spacious theater, <• Half -round, on two main pillars vaui|ted high. With seats, where all the lords, and each degree. Of sort, might sit in order to l>ehold ; ! . The other side was open, where the throng ' On banks and scaffolds undqr sky might stand ;' I among these, aloof, obscurely stood. "A < > William Shakespear^, one of the gpatest of all poets, wis bom at Stratford on- Avon, Warwick County, England, in April, 1504, where he died in April, 1616/ He is supposed to have received his early education at the grammar schoo? iu his native town. He "re- moved ^o^Xtondon trines, and usages are dealt with most reverently and in Catholic language. No jest nor i&rcasm is leveled at monk or nun, 'though then received with favor at court, 'His ftiars are devout and worthy of respect, his nuns things "en- iHirined and sainted." Carlyle sfiys. religion is not absolutely known, but his writings clearly mark his sympathy with Catholicism, Cath- olic dignitaries, traditions, doc m T08C HTs ^^Thls gloriouB Ellsahethan age, with Shakespeare as the outcome and flowerage of all that had pre- ceded it, is itself attributable t« the CkthoHcism of the middle ages," . « '•', SS6 DOAf/iV/OX FOURTH REAnEn. 4. 5. 6. 3. The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice Had filled their h^ftcts with mirth, high cheer, and wine, When to their sports they turned. Immediately Was Samson as a public servant brought, In their^tate livery clad ; before him pipes And timbrels, on each side went armed guards. Both horse and foot ; before him and behind Archers and slingers, cataphracts ' and spears. ' At sight of him the people with a shout Rifted the air, clamoring their god with praise. Who had made their dreadful enemy their thrall. He, patient, but undaunted, where they led him. Came to the place ; and what was set before him, Which without help of e^e might be essayed. To heave, pull, draw, or break, he stilled performed, All with incredible, stupendous force, None daring to appear antagonist. At length, for intermission sake, they led him Between the pillars : he his guide requested, As over-tired, to let him lean awhile With both his arms on those two massive pillars, That to the archM roof gave main support. Hq, unsuspicious, led him ; which, when Samson Felt in his arms, with head awhile inclined, And eyes fast fixed he stood, as one who prayed. Or some great matter in his mind revolved ; At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud : "Hitherto, lords, what your commands imposed I have performed, as reason was, obeying, Not without wonder or delight beheld : Now, of my own accord, such other trial I mean to show you of my strength, yet greater, As wffh amaze shaTT stnlce all whonSehold. " ' est < wa g died poei on t twei > Oataphraots (kW k fr&kts), horsemen covered with a kind of defensive armor for lioth men and horses. ::^'-ShA&jii-h DEATH OF S A A/SOX. .337 I : 7. This uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed ; As with the forcfs of winds and waters pent, When mountains tremble, those two massive pillars With horrible convulsion to and fro^ He tugged," he shook, till down they came, and drew The whole roof after them, with burst of thunde?. Upon the heads of all who sat beneath-i- Lords, ladies, captains, counselors, or priests. Their choice nobility and flower, not only Of this but each Philistian city round, Met from all parts to solemnize this feast. Samson, with these immixed, inevitably Pulled down the same destruction on himself : The vulgar only 'scaped who stoM without. Milton.' TO BE MEMORIZED. JVo/ Love, nor War, nor the tumultuous swell Of civil conflict, nor the wrecks of change. Nor Duty struggling with afflictions strange— Not these alone inspire the tuneful shell ; But where untroubled peace and concor^ dwell, , There also is the Muse not loath to range, ' Watching the twiligJit smoke of cot or grange, Skyivard ascending from a woody dell. Meek aspirations.piease her, lone endeavor. And sage content, and placid melancholy; She Iffiies to gaze upon a cryital river — Diaphanous because^ it travels slowly ; Soft is the music that would charm foreiu'r ,-' The flower of sweetest smell is shy and low/y.—v/oRMv/otirH. ■«, — - » John Milton, one of the great- finest lyric in the BJngliah language, est of English poets and scholars, In 1666 he oompteted "l^aradise _w a8 bom in London i n 16 06. an d Lost," a worlc which n^on i' H^ fur eg- died in 1674. He wrote several poems at an early age. His " Hymn on the Nativity," published in his twenty.first year, is probably the him a preeminence of literary fame. He never speaks of the Holy Trin- ity, however, and scarcely dis- guises his Arianism. >^«' . ^^% 338 2. ^ DOMINION FOURTH READER. 122. DEATH OF KING ARTHUR. PART FIRST. > SO all day long the noise of battle rolletl Among the mountains by the winter sea • Until King Arthur's ' table, man by man, Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord, King Arthur : theu, becaus^his wound was deep, The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him. Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights, And bore him to a chapel nigh the field, A broken chancel with a broken cross, ' That stood on a dark- strait of barren land. On one side lay the (|cean, and on one Lay a great water, and the moon was full. Then spake Kiyg Arthur to Sir Bedivere : ' ' The sequel of to-day unsolders '.all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep They sleep-^the men I loved. I think that we \ Shall never more, at any future time, ) Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, Walking about the gardens and the halls' Of Camelot, as in the days that were. I perish by this people which I made— Though Merlin » sware that I should come again To rule once more^but let what will be, be, , I am so deeply smitten through the helm That wi thout help I can not last till mom. 'King Axthur. The life and death of this ancient British hero are involved in fiction. Modred, his nephew,^ revolted from him, JfWch brougbt^ofr tW lataHwtttjF of Comlan, in Cornwall, Jn 543. Modred was slain and Arthur mor- tally wounded. The British Celts long believed that he would some day come back and vindicate for them the undivided sovereignty of Britannia. ^^H^def, tb separate, as whit has been soldered ; to sunder. ' Mer'lln, two British sorcerers of the 5th and 6th centuries. »l ofte «] *M m. > . Wi ■: i: } me for of S. DEATH OIKIXG ARTHUR. "Thou, therefore, take my brand Excalibur," Which was my pride ; for thou rememberest how In tljose old days, one summer noon, an arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite,' mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword— and how I rowed across And took it, and have wcrn it, like a kin*' : And, wheresoever I am sung or told, In after time, this also shall be known : But now delay not : take Excalibur, U And fling him far into the middle mere r " , Watch wjM»t thou seest, and lightly brin^ me word." fo him replied the Ix)ld Sir Bedivere : " It is not meet. Sir King, to leave thee thus. Aidless, alone, and smitten through the Ijelm. A little thing may harm a wounded man. Yet I thy best » will all perform at full. Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word." So saying, from the ruined shrine he stept, And in the moon athwart * the place of tombs, Where lay the mighty bones of ancient men. Old knights, and over them the sea-wind sang Shrill, chill, with flakes of foam. He, stepping dowp By zigzag paths, and juts of pointed rock, Came cm the shining levels of the lake. Tliero drew he forth the brand Excalibur, And o'er him, drawing it, the winter moon, • , Brightening the skirts of a long cloud, ran forth Aftd sparkled keen with frost against the hilt ; For all the haft twinkled with diamond sparks, Myri ads of tppazlig hig^ and j aoin t h-wofk • 339 » S&'mltA, a silk stuff, or taffeta, often adorned wfth gold. • M fr f orever from th^earthf ' SubUeat (sflt'lest), most cun- « P«'«i ♦* ra Z TT, ■ — ninglj wrought. , ^« ■!**. fidelity ; faithfulness xo An oath. •■>. /'" as 8. DEATH OF KING ARTHUR, Whioh might have pleased the eyes of many men. What good should follow this, if this were done ? What harm, undone ? deep harm to disobey 8eemg obedience is the bond of rule Were it well to obey then, if a king demand An act unprofitable, againsi himself ? ^ ' ' The king is sick, and knows not what he does. What record, or what relic of my lord Should be to after time, but empty breath And rumors of a doubt ? but were this kept ' Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings Some one might show it at a joust ' of arms Saymg, 'King Arthur's sword, Excalibur Wrougl^by the lonely maiden of the take Nme y/ars she wrought it, sitting in the deeps Upon the hidden bases of the hills,' So might some old man speak in the after time To all the people, winning reverence. But now much honor and much fame were lost." 9. So spake he, clouded with his own conceit. And hid Excalibur the second time, And so strode back slow to the wounded King Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily • yVhat is it tiiou hast see'h ? or what hast heard ? ^ And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : ' ' I heard the water lapping bn the crag. And the long ripple washing in the reeds. " 341 10. To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath : "Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, . Unknightly, traitor-hearted ! Woe is me ! Authority forgets a dying king, I i} -l«id T^oweain-thFp^w^eFm his^^ That bowed the will. I see thee what thou art ; ' Jouat (jflst), a tilting match ; a moi,k com'bat on horsed ''■■^^.;.. ,. *,i^- A ■ S42 ' DOMINION FOURTH READER. For thou, the latest left of all my kuighta, In whom should fteet the offices of all, • Thou wouldst betray me for the precious hilt ; Either from lust of gold, or like a girK Valuing the giddy ixleasure of the eyes. Yet, for a man may fail in duty twice, And the third time may prosper, get thee hence ; Butj if tTou spare to fling Exealibur, I will arise and slay thee with my hands." 123. DEATH OF KING ARTHUR. PART SECOND.. THEN quickly r<»e Sir Bedivere, and ran. And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged Among the bulrush-beds, and clutched the sword, And strongly wheeled and threw it. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon, i And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch, Shot like a streamer of the northern mom. Seen where the moving isles of winter shock By night, with noises of the northern sea. So flashed and fell the brand Exealibur ; But ere he dipt the* surface, rojse an arm Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, And caught him by tre hilt, and brandished hite Three times, and drew him under in the mere— And lightly went the other to the King. *" Then spoke King Arthur, drawihg thicker breath, . / " Now see I by thine eyes that this is done. Speak out : what is it thou hast heard, or seen ! " And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere : ^'^''' King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems 4. ^ould blind my purpose. forT never sawV Nor shall sec?, here or elsewhere, till I die, '.iiliftia -i' ^ DEATH OF KING ARTHUR. Not though I live three lives of mortal men, So great a miracle as yonder hilt. Then with both hands I flung him; wheeling him ; But when I looked again, behold an arm. Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, That caught him by the hilt, and brandished him Three times, and drew him under in the mere." 343 ', breathing hard : that I were gone. Eceive my weight, 'et tfear Id, and I shall die." S. And answer made r " My end draws ni^ Make broad thy she And b^ar me to tha 1 My wound hath takferi^ So saying, from, the pavement he half rose, Slowly, with p»i|B^lining on his arm. And looking wistfully with wild blue eyes As in a picture. Him Sir Bedivere Remorsefully regarded through his t^ars, "^ ' And would have spoken, but he found not wordsf^ Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee, ' 9 O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands'. And rising bore him through the place of t9mbs. U- But as he walked, King Arthur panted Like one that feels a nightmare on his When all the house is mute. So sighed the King, Muttering and murmuring at his ear, - Quick, quick I I fear it is too late, and I shall die." ^ut the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge. Clothed with his breath, and looking as he walked > Larger than human on the frozen hills.- He heai-d the deep behind him, and a cry Before. His own thought drove him like a goad. Dry clashed his harness in the icy cav(fs ■And baricn ^ cliasHw^^tinf^it- toiirft andT ip t The bare, black clitr clanged round him, as he based Hjs feet on juts of slipiH^ry crag that rang 3 44 ^DOMINpN FOURTH READER. Sharp smitten with the dint of armM heels— And on a suddeh, lo ! the level lake, And the long g/ories of the winter moon./ 5. Then saw they/how there hove a dusky barge, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern. Beneath then! ; and descending they were ware That all the decks were dense with stately forms Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream— by these Three Queens with croWns of gold-and from them rose A cry that shivered to the tingling stars, ' And, as it were one voice, an agony Of iamentation,slike a wind, that shrills All night in a waste land, where no one comes, Or hath come, since the making of the world. ' Then murmured Arthur, "Place me in the barge," . And to the barge they came. There those three Queens Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept. 6. But she that rose the tall6st of them all And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, ' And loosed the shattered casque, and chafed his hands. And called him by his name, complaining loud, And dropping bitter tears against his brow Striped with dark blood ; for all his face was white And colorless, and like the withered moon Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east ; ' And all his greaves • «nd cuisses" dashed with drops Of onset ; and the light and lustrous curls— That made his forehead like a rising sun High from the dais-throne— were jfarched with dust f Or, clotted into points, and hanging loose, Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. So like a shattered column lay the King ; ^rUSrtliat ArtJjur who, witlt lance in rest, Ortave., armor for the- logs ; a » Oulsae (kwls), defensive ftpTior for tlie thighs. Hort of boots. DEATH or KING ARTHUR. From spur to plume a star of tournament, Shot through the lists at Camelot, and charged Before the eyes of ladies and of kings. 7. Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere— ^ " Ah ! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go ? Where shall I hide my fOre/tead and my eyes ? " For now I see the true old times are dead, When every morning brought a noble cha'nc.., And every chance brought out a noble knight. Such times have been not since the light that led The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. But now the whole Round Table is dissolved. Which was an image of the mighty world ; ' And I, the last, go forth companionless, And the days darken round me. and the years, Among new men, strange faces, oth^ minds." 8. And slowly answered Arthur from the barge : " The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfill- himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself : what comfort is in me ? I have lived my life, and that which I have done May Ho within himself imike'pure ! but thou. If thou shouldst never see my face again, > Pray for my soul. Afore f/,tn^s arc wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better tfian sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If kimving God, they lift not hands of prayer 345 -i) Both for themsetues dntTthose who call For so the whole round earth is every 7i>ay Round by gold chains about the feet of God. f nor 'riendf Mamorize this paiwago in TUUicn. relating to p'ur^toiy. '3U ' DOMFNION FOURTH READER, 9. "But now farewell, f am goi.iij a long way With these thou seeSt— if indeed I go (For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) To the islan||r valley of Avalon ; ' Where fallsM)t hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies Oeep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard-lawns And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea. Where I will heal me of my grievous wound." ' 10. So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan, That, fluting a wild carol, ere her death, Ruffles her pure cold p|ume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving many memories, till the hull Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn. And on the meer tire wailing died away. V-.'tennysoiv. TO BE MEMORIZED. Lead, kindly Light, amid the atcirding gloom, lead Thou mean/ The mght is dark, and I am far from home, lead Thou me on! h'eep Thou my feet ; I dq, nqt ask to see The distant scene— one step enough for me. I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou shouldst lead me on ' I loved to choose and see my path ; but nri'm« (or drft'mA), a gtory of connected pventa ending in aa Which is acted, not told ; a number interesting or striking result. 'W (- ■HS DOMimOiV l-OUKTH READER. forever at rest each „ue reposing in the narrow house "of death under the shadow of that cross beneath which tliey fought the good flght-that cross which they loved and hon- orert in the days of their earthly pilgrimage ! i. How hopeful, how helpful is all that meets the eye ' Ihe sav.ng sign of mani redemption, raised aloft like tho bm^en serpent in the 'desert; the touching prayer for "the parted soul" whose mortal body molders beneath ; the sweet face of Mary, the Immaculafe Mother ; the venerable form ward tlT tl"™' °' "'""'' "'^ ^"^^' ?<""'"« '"'-en. ward the omblemafc figure of Faith, or Hope, or Charity sculptured on the sepulchral monuments around : all speak of «.e sweetl,ope of a blessM .^surrection, of an eternal re union with the dead and gone children of the Christian family , 5. Jn the Catholic cemetery there is nothing sad, nothing dreary. T ere the darkness of desolation h^ no place I tipsier , '""''"""--'""« ">e graves and sh^e the s, lent alleys-yet spring, smiling spring-the spring of Tth! ":T'"\"r r'^" "'™"^" "" "- '-g-gLs^,; I., tha calm abode of the b„rie,l dead. "May they rest in hrsto""";?!;'' '"«'.V """t-nts and an th; l,un>b head^t ues that keep watch over the dead, and the grand Amen ! goes ,^ from year to year as the living come and go amongst the tombs, and kneel beside the graves. oft , ■ ' °"'' ""^ ' "'"" » "'"•>'> <" ««'<"">• beauty. o mournful sweetness lies hidden in the words ! AVhat ten: der memones, what touching associations hover like angel- forms around them, while memory coujnres. up irZL »en no more, and recalls the tones of welMoved voices, silent ':^, tlut the dear eyes closed m the peace of God, that the latest , :::rhj;:rr *'"~^^'^'' -^-^ - "^ « 7. " Why are the once-loved dead forgotten, soon? Their' path no.more is intertwined with oui-s " in the daily walks of earthly Iffe, yet their .e^ory is ever with „s i„ ronrtope and fears our joys and ou, sorrows. Onr dead^re n^er for- gotten. Our fondest affections are buried wil them Our ' mlr T, "P T""^'"®'^ '"'*'""» '" the throne of the Most H.gh. They have a share in all the good works which by God s gmce we are enabled to perform. The very trials and suffenngs of our life are made available for them by being offered «p for their comfort and refreshment in the after life *. No, our dead are not forgotten. They are ever with ul everla8t„,g taans.ons-resting forever in the bosom of their God,-or ..,„ Purgatory's cleansing flre^," calmly, if painfully ' awa,t,ng the.r deliverance-that thon^ht served to cheer u on am, the toils and pains of life, brightening many atL" hour that, otherwise, were dark and dreary. Our dead are more with us than our living, and we may trul sweet Adehiide ProcteiG.: 4. with " One by one life robfiMis of our trpasures ; *' Nothing is our own e^j^ our I)ead." 9. The thought that we can slill help their^our prayers and suffrages- is «^ never.failing souro#of comfort to hearts oppressed w.th sorrow for their' Ipjs. All- the dav long and often, too, m the st jl l watd ies o f t h e n ig ht^i.^.fal^. % ■ If „v.-l""r r • '"'''"'"'' "■" "'^"p'-^f <»'^"'' "-i-mye; of oving hearts goes up like incense to the highest HeaveiV . and thence descends in refreshing dew On the souls of the %■ 350 » DOMINION FO UR III READER (imparted, if they are sti^, numbered amongst the' ■ P"«on/? of whom |t. PeW speaks in one ofJiis E^^^,^ ^ .. . 10 While tl^ ktars lo|. down^n lhe q|et gKl^ ^tho loni^y chur6h-yard, ai^l eye^M^ watc^ng y^l-e the ^ ,i>mye,jof fait|. ascends fr^rfc«orro^^ heart^trough the" l^^m evening hours, und tH^ ieep stifW^ ol^th, saiern3*mi#^ ^^^^i^-llthe petlti^s of tl«^ Ai^<,i^it^ a faithful deidiEfid tinH ^tt^r.\^„ *i,„-„ T._ if •«. /'^^^^ ied, and offering them |p ^|he |prd« ' sawo#?,^W in his, AtorferoUg Vl«^, to ^'^|!l^'^''^'''^"®' *^'® Lamb for sinners ^m^ and the dead. Mp.s^DUKR.i \K. fifcheJa; iy." \ - u w . ^. .. ^° ^^ MEMORIZED. ,™ ^Av/ ;»^ kr)4 W)^^^ Or^,,;/. / 7y,„ weary and ill at e^ And in0ngers -mmdered idly ewer the noisy kevs. \ I da nSt W what I was playing, or what I was dream iL then ■ ^{it / ftrut^ one chord of music, like the. sound of a <^reat Amen ' ^^dedthe crimson twilig/^/, like the close of an An^ers\^sdlm ^M it lay on my fevered spirit ivith a touch of infinite calm. ■ ^^Ui^tedpain and sorro^v, lik(? lm>e ai>ercoining strife ; // ^eemed the harmonious echofkom oftr discordatit life. n linked all perplexed meanings into one perfect peace. And trembled away into silence as if it were loth to cease. I have sought; but I seek it vainly, that one lost chord divine * , ^ miicli came from the soul of the Organ, and entered into mine ^ niiiay. be that Death's bf^ight angel will speak in that chord again // viay be that only in Heaven I shall hear that i^r^and Amen ' : ; • Adelaide Pr^octer. ' Mrs. James Sadller (Mary Ann <,f D. & J. Sadlier & Madden), was bom at (foothill, ptxblishers. Montrea Cavan, Ireland, in 1820 She con- Fork, t^ew writers tnbuted to a London ij^j^ine at have done so " fiJP tBemifusiol age. In grated to Montijeal. wfi»ff??U mary useful literatur. tied Mr, Jame^ Smdlier, of the firi^. being of her fel \^ I ■called fr Iw-en th on the ] /u^ .\ M%\: ELEGY TX A cUu RCH^yard. 361 r m -A .»'a. iei^: ^j^ "/' '* 125. ELEGY' IN A CHURdy-YARD. i^4f^f>PUi)^fPToflNht' knell of parting day, 'T'^e'owi^'hWi^'inds slowly o'er the ie'a A-^n-he plow|nau homeward plo(^% hi» weary way, And leav4 the world ^ d^^n^ss and \^, n^> ^l ■;?;-'^ ^'^S' ^ ii ^ «. IoTwTL V :^^, ""' " *'^"- '^'•^P'-cti-. com„,o„ In ' V ^W ^r« TT^ ^ ""\''"^^"" ""'^^ *«^«- ^«« '"produced ^ on the hearth^and remain witly„ que^i', as a nwSieure of poli.e. n 352 s. DOMINION Fourth reader. NoM fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; ' • S. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower ^ The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. 4. Beneath those ragged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap.. Each in his nai-row cell forever laid, ^ The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 5. The breezy call of incense-breathing mSrn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. G. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busj^ housewife ply her evening care ; * „ No childreiTrun to lisp their sire's return, ' ^ Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. 7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield. Their furrow oh the stubborn glebe '. has broke : How jocund ' did they drive their team afield ! ^ How bowed the 'woods beneath their sturdy stroke ' S. Lot not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; » Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful siiiilo, The short and simple annals of the Poor. < \ * Cll«b«,tinf; ground ; gbj; •JSc'und, sportive; very lively 'Obgcfire', darkened; covered merry ; over ; not well lighted ; humble ; retired ; unknown. >. ^P one due niei art regi ily i^JF sriu f ; evai V ELEGY IN A ^URCH-YARD. ^Q^ 9. The boast of heraldry,^ the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable ' hour— The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the* fault, ,If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 11. Can storied urn, or animated' bust. Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death ? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnantwith qelestial fire ; Hands that the rod of empjfe might have Swayed, Or waked to ecstasy * tXe living lyre,* But Knowledge to tl^eif eyes her ample page,^ * Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury • repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the st y 12. % 13. U- Full many a gem of purest ray serene,' The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. ' H To setter plenty o'er a smiling land And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forb^e : nor circumscribed « alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined • Forb^e to wade through slaughter to a throne ' And shut the gates of mercy on mankind. ^ %, 18. Tl^ struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, Or^heap the shnne c^t.^uxyry and Pride W^th incense kin(^^| at the Muse's flame ''■ ^fe^ -«<^diii^^^wds ignoble ' strife, Their^ber wishes n^ver learned to stray - Along the coolsequestered' vale of life They kept the n^% tenor- of^eir way ;?0. Yet ^ven Some fl i^^ ^^.^^^ itisult to ptotect, «-ne»ial '-^ still erected nigh, / d4in ,594, mortally^^X' ^^^°^-^^-^- an ^air With Prince |.W..,„, 1^8, 1«48, ^ Dfiunt-lw.. not to be^hecki br-fearofdanger; fearless; bole f ^ir'c^ B^bed, BKftt within « ,^r^^ ***■' °*>*''® ; fr#hora ; outJ»poken and truthfuL ly.dn«|who rules harshly orcon^ ./•jj"*«'*«"«l, taken from or set ^r, to law ; a cruel W *1'*:/^'" ' ^'*^^'«'^ ^^ '•««r«d. 4^„ "water. * T«n'or, character ; drift, * OHver Orttm Vell, Lo,^' p.. ^ *^^°^^» fhanteter ; drift. sctor ana virtually kinrofrt«ir* M,r myrf^at, any thing whlcHT Britain, was bom ApK TS Tf *° ^«'»' «»"»«*Wng else in v^im.im, mind', weaemo- monumBut. show is du St •» Bet id. in ELEGY IX A (CHURCH- YARD. ^ "> ^ ^ SI. S2. 23: U. 26. m> mth.%1. With uncouth ■ rhymos and shapeless sculpture deekml, Implores the passing tribute - of a sigh. ■■~^ Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy " supply; And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the riistic moralist to die. For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxioua being e'er resigned, I^ft the \j?krm prwincts * of the eheerful day, ^ov cast one longing,' lingering look behind ? On some fond breast the parting sotf 1 relies. Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; Even from the tomb the voice of Natyre cries, ' KVen in our ashes live their wonted fires For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, Dost in these Ijnes their artless tale relate. If chance, by lo^^ely Contemplation led, . ' Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate- Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seenjiim, at the peep of dawn, Brushing with hasty steps the dews away. To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. "There at the foot of yonder nodding beech. That wreathes its old fantastic roots so higw. His listless length at noontide would he stretZ,^ And pore upon the brook that babbles by, ^V, * ' ^^^ ^y yo" ^00^' now smiling as in scorn, Mutt ering his wayward fancies, hfe would roVe ; • Un CQuth', not usual ; strange ; * ^ ^'^ ^» * ^"^ P"^" ; * sopg re- •Trtb'ute, sbmetbiug given to show services received, or as what is due or deserved. TSHiSg to a funeral or some cause of sorrow. *Pr8'cinota, limits or bounds; confines. s,^e^ DOMINION FOURTH READER. Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn Or crazed with care, or croHnecI in h«,K3leL lova ^S. " One morn I miased him on the 'customed hill Along the heath, and near his favorite tree - ' Another came ; nor yet beside the rill Nor up the lawn, nor at the woo«r. ^' mi. His pZIjnJpiW s,';,^ rArj^^^'^'^''"*^"'^"^^^'^ most delicate noetic f J^ a ., ' ^'^'^^ ** ""««• and always « diction, aie^onTthJT f ^^^^ "' "^'^ ^'^' ^""^ ^^^led n, are among the most onlybyTemiyson's-InMemoriwn " t i.«, . ^ TjSr^Dr.JT TO jSrOTTJS, The Figures refer to Pag KS WHERE THE N'oTES APPEAR.. ' ^;^, /' it- ed )8t ed 1." AB(^DE, 105. Acclaim, lot. Accumulated, 94. Adversary, 90. Affectation, 60. Afflatus, 266, Affliction, 47.^ A Fifth, la. Agassiz, L^uis John Rudolph, 198. Aghast. 128. A Initial,unaccented, 2t. Allegorical, 226. Aloof, 185. Alow, 185. Alternately, 188. Amain, 126. Amazement, 90. Ambition, 49. Ambulance, 82. Amphitheater, 291. Angelus, 181. Animated, 353. Annihilation, 258. Anthem, 311. Apex, 188. Apocalypse, 94. Apparently, 53. Apparitor, 834. -At>pr«>b«tion;^-(So. Arable, 190. , Arcade, 224. \ Architectural, 64, ' Ardennes, 246. Arena, 107, 290. I Armada, 212. Arnold, Matthew, 241. j Aromatic, 313. ' Arranging, 48. \ Arsenal, 154. Artesian, 195. Arthur, King, 338. I Artisan, 64. i A Sixth, 12. j Aspersion, 78. I Astute, 329. j Atheism, 258, 322. i Athwart, 339. I Attila, 153, 156, 300. j Augustine, 300. Aureole, 181. i Aurora, 254, I Avalanche, 72, I Avalon, 346. I Avarice*^; Aytouflj Edmondi I BALUSTRADE, Bards, 46. "i BiSindi, 294" Bay, ,85. Beneficent, 259. Benignly, 113. Blackboard dia- grams, 9. I Blanche, Lady, 221, [Blenheim, 76. ! Bonheur, Rosa, 26a. Boswell, James, 146. Brawny. 87, ; Brink, 98. Brownson, 324. Byron. George Gor- i don Noel, 213. 1, C4l.£ND^, 21B. Calumniate, 140. Cameron, Sir Evan, \ 345- Campaign, 319, Campbell, Thomas, I =»74. ; Canada, Reduction I of, 319' Capitulated, 319. Capricious, 255. Carnage, 80. Cartier, Jacques, 161. Catacombs, 288. Cataphracts, 336, ; Catastrophe, 258. .Cathedral,^ 4 0. ' Celestial, 87. Champion, 95. 357 Chant, 103. Chantel, De, 135. Charlemagne, 295, Chastisement, 331. Chateaubriand, 256. Checkered, 2:71 Chivalry, 120. Christeitdora, 216. Circumscribed, 354. Civic, 161, Clarion, 71. Claude, 261. Cloisters, 223. Cognizance, 225. Collins, William, 112, •Colonnade, 294. Colossal, 294. Communion, 47, Complex, 66. Comprehend, J07. Concave, 18^ Conceit, 226. Conduction, 129. Confident, 49. Confirmed, 91, Confronted, 229. Congenial. 223. Congenital, 327. Conjunction, 255. " trGoajures upi 348. j Consecrate, 103, Consonant, jt. #. Conspicuous, Kii. OonsUntine, 295. Constrain, 215.' Consummation, 303. Contemplate, 94, 265. Convection, 129. Conversation, 53. Convex, 188. Conviction, 47. Coronet. 225. Corroded, 227. , (ipsraogony, 325. Courtesy, 228.' Credulity, 134. Crisis, 90. Crisp, 39. Cromwell, Oliver I 354- ' I Crosier, 225. Cuisse, 344. ^ ' Cunning, 57J Curfew, 35,. Curtly, 79. Customer, 48. 'Hurmrox hwirn, „„.„„„, t)ikc, 68. Dilapidation! .oard, 9. Diana, ^. Diap«s6n,"i55 ii-ffigies, 225. Effluence, 265. Effort, 53. Egotism, 309. Elate, 230. ^'egy. ass- Elysium, 311. Embellish, 60. , Emblazon, 92. •Emblem, 109. Emergency, 214. Emparadipe, 113. Emulate, 46. Entranced, 103. Entreated, jo8. Epitaph, 226. Equestrian, 295.' EquiUble, 276. Ermifle, 56. Eschew Ing, 6*. .Eternity, 2s8. 5(^*^'S' 322. E Third, 13. Everett, Edward,263, Evincing, 71. Evolution, 187. Evoiving, 327. Exalted,95. Excelsior, 71. Exhortation, 107. Exhorting, 229. Expfic,3..i, Expatiating, 30^ Expectant, 75. '' Expelled, j,ay. - Exqui^te, iqg. J-rcderirk'Ucspcrides, 2^ < I I _ . '■'5. I lest, 339. Bier<)g|y,,|,iL._ 251 Hoary, 124. Holocaust, 285. ) Homily, X7. I Hprde, 154. I Horizfah, 65. Hewitt, Ma^v, If,. Howitt.Willi'am, 2^9. Hunt, Ezra M., ,33. Hurrahs, 251. Hurricane, 126. ' Hyssop, ^^4. Ides of .March, 331. Igneous, 195. iRnoble, 354. ^>emiot. Jane Kran- i ;:^S^^-^- ; Further, ,06. n">ued, ,6,, I immortality, 258. '^^-^/../.Vr, 25s, Impaled, jg8. j Geology, ,95. ' ' • ' ^ Gibbons, Jamos, Car- dinal, 147. ' Glacier, 72. Glebe, 352. Glooming, 98. Goldsmith, • Oliver, 272. Goths, 291. * C'ia0»tions, 49. • Incredulity, 307. , Indicate, 94. Inevitable, 353, Inexhaustible, 330, •ilnexorable, 250. ' Inexplicable, 328. Infinite, 25^. Ingenuous, 354. Inimitable, 257. Initial. 91. .•? ^"'"al. A, unac- cented, 21. Injunction, 68. ,;|4 InnumeraWe, 357. Inscription, 334. Inserted, 91. I»ftist,.io8. L l^>; Intrusively, ,to,. M' ;s, (,5. ^>i^, 251. 4- ' ^ 1' 5- Iliam, 2_-9. 1 M., ,33. >>• 126. ' Ch,33i. VS. 258. 316. 333- .88. f,v 107- }• > 330. 10. J28. t- uniic- 57. Inured, 90. Invisible, 253. Irascible, 79. Irrepressible, 327; IrvinR, Washing tqn, /A7JKV TO A'DTJCS. Magnanimity, 144. Occupied, 53. Mahony,Krancis,i87. O'Connell, ' Daniel StiO 227. Jesuit, 214. Jocund, 352. Joust, 341. Judgment, In danger of the, 139. Jurisdiction, 279. KENT, 300. Keystone, 234. LAMBENT, 209. Landgravine, 218. I^ndscer, Sir ^idwin Henry, 362. Lbureate, 182. League, 90. 1/eaguered, 154. .,• Leal, 156. _.' Lear, {ling, ^9. Leckj^, WIIH«n Ed-" ward Hart'pole,i46. L,eech, 62. , Legend, 144. iviathan. 212. hen, 205. 'pincott, Mrs., 223. Lodore, 182. . Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 74. Lorraine, 233. Losing, Benson J., 3«9- Loudness, 25. , Lowell, James Rus- seH,-5fti. Luxury, 78f r "♦-yre. 35j. ■ • Majesty, 229, .Manifesto, 92. .Martyrs, 46. Maury, Mattliew Kontfcine, 204. Medallion, 225. Mementos? 309. .Memoir, 146. Memorial, 354. Menffce, 250. Merc, 86, 33,). Merlin, 338.. .Microscopic, 305. Milton, John, 337. • Mitchell, (). .M., 326. •Moil, 67. •Momentous, 305. Monachisni, 239. .Monarch. ,99. Monogram, 91, Montalcmhert, Count de, 218. ,,Mfintcarm.Louis,3i7. Montgomery, James, "3. Moor, 86. Moore, ftjoinas, i9'4.- M o r I a 11 opinf», 128. ;man, Nicholas, rdinal, 331. fe, James, 31O. It, 286. (Iwortli, Sam- I, III. V77/, 254. !W. J p .; . ^ ' ■ ' ' • • ** **» . • ■ ' 1; ' ^> 1 » e . • f . ' . '1 .5 '<< ■• y* . % • #: . r ' ; ■ ■ .'^ ■ : :— ^ — - ■ ■-- ■■— r ■ "7 -V * 1 ■ .-. - - ., ._' .»-' - ...' * ; , ■*- * ^ -'' * ■ , ■ ■' A- '*r"*' f !hk *kj >v ^ ■^." J3^ /■ "=^.-