IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I ttilM MIS itt IM 12.2 S lift ■" 2.0 III ■4.0 1^ Ib Ik 6" FhotogFaphic Sciences Corporation MbUSMm. 168 Flowm...^ .J 189 11i6BohokroftlMBoiHr7...T 170 M •« «• •' (OMfJntMd) .'. 172 Olie Month of May. .T: 176 The Month of Mazy, rr O. Foutt'* JKymfM. 177 Th« Indian... *r. , 178 Charity. ..«» Cbayfa^ 180 The EverlaatiDg Chvrch .r. MaemiU^. 181 Welcome to the Rhine , B m a i u . 188 llie Bee-Hive ..T 186 The Child's Wish in June. .,^ 187 TheMartyr'aBoy...^. Omti$ial Wimmt. 188 " " " iOmtinuei) ., " " 198 Anna's OfTering of Samuel.... BOikSMm. 196 TheBoyandtheOhUdJemw..r»..,..» E$itr. 199 The Holy Euchariat...'r.,...p, ..fiOfo AprJ*. 201 ThaHouieofLoratto.^ f.,..S. M. GnlhHa. 204 Bztrame Unction. . .•««-. A^y .,., AH^edol$i^Jhiimtii. 211 The Battle of Bleoheini Sovih^. 216 Th«Ann«ino|ation..rr. mbkStorim. 217 StFeUoitaaaodberSona.^^ Mr$. O^f. 220 Iiniiiortal}ty..r«> , .0. 4» Brmmttm. 224 lfceWidowofJWn.su •• '»^- 226 Monmnent to a Mother's Orave /-B- ChmSi^' 227 Adoration of the Shepherd*. «^..t.^ ,....BibUS(oHm. 280 The Angelua Bell... Qmpion. 282 The Adoration of the Magi. .«.» Bible l^orim. 284 lona 287 St. Columba blessing the Ides Maekay. 289 The Ohserving Judge 241 M «» " (CbfrfwiMrf).... 242 " . " •• (Orndtuki) ..244 Henry the Hermit ^. AnfAiy. 246 Ckid is Every vh«K»..«*i... « 249 Anecdote of Frederick Oie Great. .<> 260 A SmaU Catechism... «^ McOm. 261 10 OOVTIVTB. 71. llM Pradlgia 8oD . .«. ANiAorto. 72. BUnohcofOMtUe 266 78. HidlVli«lnofyifgiiir..w LymOMcUet. 266 71. LagMid of Danlal the Anchoret. «^ Mn. Jmmn. 269 76. M •• {OmHmud).... " 261 76. Ohildbood'i Tem KirhWMk 262 77. BnikkflMt-TRble Science..^ 266 7a •* . «• {amtitnui) 268 79. *• «• (OMMfiMU) 272 80. Tired of Fky WiOk. 278 81. Melroee Abbqr Or^imL 279 82. Curing the BUnd Lift i^ Ckritt for Tculh. 281 88. Conntrj Fellows and the Am .« JB^ron. 288 84. The First OruMde Xekand. 286 86. TbeBfttUeofAntloch 288 86. yilli«e Schoolmaster...-; (ToMimM 291 87. The Rector of Oolgnen Biihop Ba^Uy. 292 88. The Three Homes 294 89. 81 Peter deUvered ovt of Prison.^. . . . Toulh't 0. Mi^mim. 296 90. The Hermit....*. GMmUh. 298 91. Pope Leo the Great and Attlla .Ti . .JSn^w't Jfodim J9iiifory. 299 92. Childhood of Jesus I^ft (^ Okritifor roMllk. 801 98. The Butterfly's Ball, ete RoteM. 802 94. TheAsoeii8lon...'T.v.... JStbIs /SCorin. 804 96. TheTVaTeller..>».. * QddmnHk. 806 96. The Ifboffkh Wan in Spain 807 97. The Monks ofOld Q. P. R. Jtmu. 809 96. The8acradPictilreB...Tr -...mbUStorin, 811 99. Truth in Parentheses Bood, 812 100. Japanese Martyrs :. Oeumm. 818 101. Pain in a Pleasure-Boat Bood. 817 101 Flowen for the Altar Cliflm Dradt. ^3fi I hare given the names of some authors ; but in arranging this Header, my object was to seoore pieoes snitaUe for cldldren #ho were conimeBCing to read rather fluently. Many of them are fugitlTe. I sought rather te make it pleasant and iostmotiTe, than to oull flrom particular authors. THE FOURTH R PART FIRST. HSIBUCnONB ON THE PBINCIPLES OF READIKO. All that artkmlate langoage can effect to inflaence othen^ b dependent upon the Toice addreased to the ear. A skil- ftd management of it ii, oonaeqnentljr, of the highest import" * Distinct artionlation forms the foundation of good reading. To acquire this, the voice should be frequently exercised upon the elementary sounds of the language, both dmple and com* bined, and dasna of words containing sounds liable to be perverted or suppressed in utterance, should be forcibly and accurately jNTonoiuiced. Elekentabt YoOAii SOUNML VowU Scmdt. a as in ape. as in old. a " arm. " do. a " ball " ox. a " mat n " use. e " eve. n " tub. 6 " end. n " ftdL i " ice. oi " voice. 1 «• it on " sound. 12 THE VOUI^ BEADKB. ObRMMMNf Somdi. b* as in bag. d g J 1 m n « don. gate. jam. loye. " moment. not i< i< « II r as is rain. ▼ " vane. y ng th "' war. yes. EeaL song. there. Aspirate Sounds. The aspirate consonuit is distingnished from the vocal in its enondation : the former is pronounced with a foil emission of breath ; the lattw, by a mnrmnring soond of the voice. Exerciaea in (he Aspirate OoMonanta. f as in fbte. h as in hate. k as in key. p " pin. s " sign. t <* tdL oh " charm. sh " shade. th " thanki. Avdd the sniq>res8ion of a qrlUble ; as, caVn for cabin. deslate for desolate, particlar " particular. mem'ry " msmorj. Avoid the omission of any sonnd properly belonging to word; as, seem' i< wa^er " warmer, government" government. swif ly for swiftly, 'appy " happy. Visness " boisnesa Avoid the snbstitntion of one soond for another ; as, wil-ler forwil4ow. ' fem-peMt for temrper^te. ' win-der " window. com-prom-mise " com-pro^mse. separate " sep-a-rate. hoMer " hoUow. * The oommon defect in the articulation of A is a want of fofoe in . oompwing and opening the mouth. .9rwiW«»»«w OH TBB ISDlGEnJBS OF BIADINO. 18 EKFHABIB and ACX3ENT. Emphasis and Accent both hidicate some special stress of the voice. Emphaas is that stress of the voice by which one or more words of a sentence are distingnished above the rest. Jt is used to designate the important words of a sentence^ Irithont any dixect reference to other words. — ^Example : Be women, And snffer soch dishonor ? Men, and wash not The stain away in Uood / Emphasis is also used in contrasting one word or danse with another; as, JBdigion raises men above themselves. Irrdtgion sinks them 6enea»i^^ it is the most necessary of all the Sacraments, because, unlesi ire receive it, we cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. 2. There are commonly Reckoned three kinds of baptism : first, by water ; second, that of the spirit ; and third, of blood. The first only is properly a sacrament, and it is conferred by poniing water (m the head of the person to be baptized, repeating at the same time these words : "I baptize tiiee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." 3. The baptism of the epitit takes place when a person has a tme sorrow for his sins, and an ardent d^e to receive bap- tism, but is placed m such a position taftf it isjimpoodble for him to receive tiie sacrament./^ By this desire original and actual sin is forgiven. ( The baptism of blood is that which takes place when a person suffers n^yrdom for the foith, Hence the Hdy Innocents, put to death by the order of Herod, when tiliat wicked king sought td Idll our Lord, are esteemed as martyrs, and as being baptized ih their blood. 4. At whM portioalfur time during tiie life of our divine Lord biqytism was instituted is not ezaetiy known. Some holy Fatiiers think it was instituted when Ohrist mtf baptized by St John ; otl^rs, when He said, unless a iqimi 1^ bona of water and tiie Holy Ghost, he cannot witer the kingdtized, using the words, "I baptize thee, Ac./* which we mentioned before. The pouring ai the water onck is suffi- cient, as to making the lacram^Qt valid ; and it is not actually necessary to make the idgn of the cross while pouring the water, though it is UBuaSy done. 6. The ceremonies made as$ tif in eoikfeiring the sa^fa* ment of baptism are hnpresiite and instmctive. The priest breathes vpoa the iilfiint or Other person to be baptized, to BAPTTSIL 17 Bignify spiritual liff). It is used also to drive away the devil, by the Holy O^host, who is called the Spirit of God. The person is signed with the sign of the cross, to signify that he is made a soldier of Christ. Salt is put into his month, which is an emblem of prudence, and signifies that grace is given to preserve the soul inoormpt. 1 The priest applies spittle to the person's ears and nostrils, in imitation of Christ, who used that ceremony in ciuing the deaf and dumb. The anointing the head denotes the dignity of Christianity ; the anointing the shoulders, that he may be strengthened to carry his cross ; the breast, that his heart may concur wUUngly in all the duties of a Christian; the white garment in which the person is clothed signifies inno- cence ; and the %hted candle the light of futh with which he is endowed. 8. When children are baptissed, tiiey have also a godfather and godmother, whose duty it is to instruct the child in the duties of its reUgion, in ease of the death or neglect of parents to do it. The office of godfather or godmother is an important (me, and slionld not be undertaken without due con- sideration of its duties. ' 9. At baptism, the devil and all his works are solemnly re- bounced ; a promise is recorded on the altar to bear the white robe of innocence without stun of sm before the timme of Ood. Children, have you kept this promise f X / 18 THE FOUBTH ItEADEB. 2. The Smile of Innooenoe. Tran'sient, paanng, fleeting. Ma'ni-ac, a madman. Pen'sive, thoughtful. Plao'id, quiet. !Bn-rol', to register. Me rE-OB, a luminous, tran< sient body, floating in the atmosphere. In'no-gbnce, freedom from guilt. rzL 1. rpHERE is f^ sndle of Mtt«r scorn, -L Which curls the Up, which lights the eye ; There is a smile in beanty^s mom Just rising o^er the midnight sky. 2. lliere is a smile of yoathfol joy. When hope's bright star's the transient guest ; There is a smile of placid age, lake Rmset on the billow's bfeast. 8. There is a smile, the maniac's smile. Which lights the void that reason leaves, And, like the sunshine through a cloud, Throws shadows o'er the song she weares. freedom from KIND WOBDB. 4. There is a smile of love, of hope, Which shines a meteor through life's gloom ; And there's a smile, Religion's smile, Which lights the weary to the tombi. 5. It is the smile of innocence. Of sleeping infancy's light dream ; - Like lightning on a summer's eve, It sheds a soft, a pensive gleam. 6. It dances ronnd the dimpled cheek, And tells of happiness within ; It smiles what it can never speak— A human heart devoid of sin. 10 ♦ ^ ^^ 3. Kind Wosds. Mental, relating to the mind. I Wbath^ful, fhrions, raging. Mo-bosk', sour of temper. . i Un->pleas'ant, offensive. Do not say mtnt'l for mtntal; 'eom]^iak or veeomplUik for aeorf>fluk ruMolve foot retolve ; ferduce for produce. rpHBY never blister the tongue or lipsi And we have never ■*■ heard of one mental tronble arisiqg from this quarter. IThongh they do not cost much, yet they accomplish m^ch. M THE VOUBTH BBADBB. w They help one's own good-natnre and good-will. Soft worda BOilen our own sools. Angry words are fiiel to the flame of wrath, and make the blaze more fierce. 2. Kind words make other people good4iatared. Gold words freeze people, and hot words make them hot, and bitter words make them bitter, and wrathfbl words make them wrathfiil. There is such a rash of all otitar kinds of words ui onr days, that it seems unpleasant to give Idbd words a cliance among them. 8. There are Tain words, and idle words, and hasty words, spiteful words, aioid empty words, and profone words, and war- like words. Kind words also produce their own image in man's souL And a beautifiil image it iiu 4. They soothe, and quiet, and comfort the hearer. They shame him out €i his sour, morose, unkind feelings. If we have not yet begun to use kind wttrds in abundance as they ought to be used, we should resolve to do so inuuediately. 4 The 3bothebs. Sa'crbd, holy. Vv'nviovB'LKD, not troubled. Sound < comctly. Do not say aaemd Amt mored; wmt for Aroid a dnging Ume in reading poetry. 1. Tfl^ ABx BOT TWO — ^the others sleep * * Through death's untroubled night : We are but two-^oh, let us keep The link that binds us br^ht 2. Heart leaps to heart — ^the sacred flood 7 That Warms us is the same ; That good old man — ^his honest blood Alike w« fondly claim. / Softwordf the flame of BBWASK or iMPATnaros. We in one mother'B arroi were lock'd- Long be her love repaid ; In the same cradle we were rock'd, BoQiid the ^ame hearth we played. ai 4. Onr boyish sports were all the same^ Each little joy and woe : Let manhood keep alive the flame, Lit np so long ago. 6. Wk ark but two — ^be that the band To hold ns tin we die ; Shoulder to shoulder let ns stand, Till side by side we lie. 5. Bewabe of Impatience. DE-iyoious, excellent to the taste. Mis'e-bt, wretdiedness ; woe. Anx'ious, with trouble of mind. Im-pobt'ancb, consequence. Ad-vised V to have given ad> vice. Plunged, thrust in. Be-wark', to take care. Poi'soN, what is noxious to life or health. I? TBI fOORTn RKAD^B. THERE'S many a pleuure in life which we night ponesi, were it not for our impatience. Toung people, especially, miss a great deal of happiness, b^canse they cannot wait tUl the proper time. 2. A man once gave a fine pear to his little boy, saying to him, "The pear is green now, my boy, but lay it by for a week, and it will then be ripe, and very delicious.'^ " But," said the child, "I want to eat it now, father." " I tell you it is not ripe yet,'' said the father. " It will not taste good ; and, besides, it will make yon sick.'' 8. " No, it won't, father ; I know it won't,. it looks so good. Do let me eat it I" After a little more teashig, the father consented, and the child ate the pear. The consequence was, that the next day he was taken sick, and came very near dying. Now, all this happened because the child was impatient. — I— 4. He could not wait, and sa, you see, the pear, that might have been very pleasant and harmless, was the occasion of severe illness. Thus it is that impatience, in a thousand inr stances, leads children, and pretty old ones too, to convert sources of hi^piness into actual mischief and misery. 5. There if ere some boys once, who lived near a pond ; and when winter came, they were very anxious to ha^ it freeze over, so that they could slide and skate upon the ice. At last, there came a very cold night, and in the mommg the m TWO WAIB. 9^ boji went to the pond to see if the ice would betr them. Their father came by at that moment, and leeing that it was hardly thick enough, told the boys that it was not safe yet, and advised them to wait another day before they ventored upon it 6 Bat the boys were hi a great harry to ei\)oy the pleasure of sliding and skating. Bo they walked oat upon the ice ; bat pretty soon it went craek — crack — cMck I and do#n they were all plnng^ into the water I It was not very deep, so tiiey got ont, though they were very wet, and came near drowning ; and all because th^ could not wait 7. Now these things, though they may seem to be triflei^ are full of instruction. They teach us to beware of impatience, to wait till the fruit is ripe; they teach us that the cup of pleasure, seised before the proper time, is turned into poison. They show us the importance of paiienoe. 6. The Two Watb. Rhini, the prindpal river hi Germany. Con'sciencb, internal or self- knowledge. Cami'nbss, quietness. Mourned, sorrowed. Ravbk, a spedes d Uadi bird. Rust'uno, slight noise. Mis'ff-BY, wretchedness. Pab'a-blb, a fable; a simiU* tude. IN a village on the Rhine, a schoolmaster was one day teaching in his school, and the sons and daughters of the villagers sat around listening with pleasure, for his teaclung was full of interest He was speaking of the good and bad conscience, and of the still voice of the heart 2. After he had finished- speaking, he asked his ptq^ils: "Who among you is able to tell me. a parable on this sub- ject ?** One of the boys stood forth and said, "I thmk I can tell a par&ble, but I do not know whether it, be right" "Speak hi yoor own woMs,^ answtted the masCtir. And the boy began: "I compare the calnmass of a good eon* M iBB lOUBTH RIAOIII. idenoe and the onhai^iDefls of an e?il one, to two ways oo which I walked once. 8. "When the enemy passed through oar TilL.^e, the soldiers carried off by force my dear father auu our horse. When my &ther did not come back, my luothdr and all of as wept and mourned bitterly, and she seat me to the town to inquire for my father. I went ; bat late at night I came back sorrow, ftilly, for I had not found my father. It was a dark night in autumn. 4. "The wind roared and howled in the oakVirnd fif^sj^nd betweo) the rocks ; the night-ravens and oivli v » * -ieki^ and hoot!^ ; and I thought in my soul h > v we had lost my father, and of the misery of my mother ^hen ^'\e should see me return alone. A strange treiibliivr > ^ized me in the drei&i^ night, and each rustling leaf tcrriiieu uw. Then I thought to myself, — such must be the fuulings of a man's heart who has a bad conscience.'' -»<- 6. " My children,'' said the master, "would you like to walk in the darkness of night, seeking in vaia for your dear father, and hearing naught but the roar of the storm, and the screams of the beasts of prey ?" 6. "Oh I no," exclaimed all the children, shuddering. Then the boy resumed hip tale and said, " Another time I went the same way with my sister; we had been fetching many nice things from town for a feast, which our father was secretly preparing for our mother, to surprise her the next day. 1. "It was late when we retomed; but it was in spring; the sky was bright and clear, and all was so calm, that we could hear the gentle murmur of the rivulet by the way, and on all sides the nightingales were singing. I was walkii^ hand in hand with lo/ mter ; but we were so 'delighted thut wo hardly Kked to •ux'a'v ; fh'n our ^^ -^a father caniB to meet us. Now I thongs j^v^in uy myself, — such must be the state of the man who has done much good." 8. When the boy had finished his tale, the master tonldl kindly at the children, and they all said together, "Yea, wi will become good men I" OOVmiL TO TBB TOUMO. f COUNSKL TO TBI TOUNO. vVbb, net'wofk, Tbou'bf.e, care. Cheer' FUL, pleasant. Hab'ty, impetuor ; with ea- gerness. Mourn, to grieve. Bvn'-'T.B, a small bladder of water. Tri'flk a matter of no im-. portaiii 0. Re-vbnqb', returning evil for evU. NETER be cast down by trifies. If a spider breaks hs web twenty times, twenty times will he mend it. ^ake np your minds to do a thing, and yon will do it. Fear not if trouble comes upon you; keep up your spirits, though the day may be a diurk one- Troubles do not last forever, The darkest day will pass away. 2. If the sun is going down, look up to the stars ; if the earth is dark, keep your eyes on heaven. With Qod's prech ence and God's promise, a man or child may be cheerful. Never despair when fog's in the air, A sunshiny morning will oome without warning. 3 26 THE FOUBTB BEAOBR. 3. Mind what yon mn after 1 Never be content with a bubble that will burst ; or a fire that will enu in smoke and darkness : but that which you can keep, and which is worth keeping. Something sterling that will stay, When gold and silver fly away. - 4. Fight hard against a hasty temper. Anger will come^' but resist it strongly. A spark may set a house on fire. A fit of passion may give you cause to mourn all the days of your life. Never revenge an injury. He that revenges knows no rest ; The meek possess a peaodol toeast. 5. If yon have an enemy, act khidly to him, and make him your friend. Ton may not win turn over at once, bat try again. Let one kindness be followed by another till yon have compassed your end. By littlo and little great things ar» completed. Water lUling , day hy day, Weairs the baidept rock away. And 80 repeated kin^ess will 8dlte& a heart of stone. 8. On a Fiotube of a Girl L&u)iNa heb Bund Mother thbouqh the Wood. 1. rpHE green leaves as we pass -1- Lay their light fingers on thee nnaw^re^ And by thy side the bazels cluster fair, And the low forestgrass Grows green and silken where the wood-paths wind-^ Alas 1 for thee, sweet mother I thou art blmd I 2. And nature is all bright ; And the faint gray and crimson of the dfl.wn. Like folded curtains firom the day aro dra¥m | And evening's purple light aiBL LEADING HEB BLIirD HOTHEB. Quivers in tremalonfl softness on the sky — Alas ! sweet mother I for thy cloadcd eye. n 8. The moon's new silver shell Trembles above thee, and the stars float up, In the blue air, and the rich tulip's cup Is penciPd passing well. And the swift birds, on glorious pinions flee — Alas ! sweet mother 1 that thou canst not see I 4. And the kind looks of Mends Peruse the sad expression in thy face, And the child s^ons amid his bounding race, And the tall stripling bends 2a THE rOUBTH READBB. Lotr to thine ear with daty unfoigot-^ Alas 1 sweet mother I that thou seest them not t 5. Bat thou canst hear! and love May richly on a human tone be ponr'd, And the least cadence of a whisper'd word A daughter's love may prove — And while I speak thou knowest if I smile, Albeit thou canst not see my face the while ! 6. Yes, thou canst hear t and He Who on thy sightless eye its darkness hung, To the attentive ear, like harps, hath strung Heaven and earth and sea I And 'tis a lesstm in our hearts to know-— W^ bfut one sense the «oul may overflow. 9. Tbe Honest Shephebd Bot. Shep'herd, one who has the care of sheep. Fru'oal, saving of expenses. Crook, bend, a shepherd's staff. Gatt, manner of walkmg. Jourpxkt's end, place to be reached. De-pict'ed, portrayed. Ca-pac'i-ty, the power of re- ceiving Mid containing. I AM going to tell you something which happened in Eng« land. It is about a shepherd bby, natned John Borrow. It was a cold, wintry morning when John left his home, as usual, to tend the sheep of farmer Jones. In one hand John carried his frugal meal, and in the other he held a shepherd's crook. He walked briskly along, whistling as he went — ^now tossing with his feet the still untrodden snow, and, once in a while, rumimg back to slide where his own feet had made a way. Had you looked into the bright, sunny face of John Borrow, you would not have been surprised at his cheerfiil THE HONEST BBEPHEBD BOT. gait. His conntenance bore the impress of a happy disposi- tion, and a warm, confiding heart. 2. John had been carefully brought up by his only surviv- ing parent — a poor mother ; he was her only son, and though she had many little daughters to share her maternal care, still she seemed to think that her first-bom, the one who was to be the stay and support of the family, needed the most of her watchful love. 3. Hitherto John had not disappohited her — ^he was beloved by all for his open, frank manners, and his generous, honest heart; and he promised fair to become all that his mother had so earnestly prayed he m^ht be. ' 4 4. But while I have been telling you a little about our young friend, he, in spite of his playing a little by the way, has reached his journey's end. He first deposits his dinner in the trunk of an old oak, which always serves hun for a closet ; and then he begins to feed the poor sheep, who do not seem to enjoy the cold weather so much as himself. 5. John manages to spend a very happy day alone in the meadows with his sheep and his dog. Sometimes he tries how Pepper likes snow-balling ; sometimes he runs up to the wind- mill, not far off, to see if he can get any other little boys to come and play with him. This morning, however, he had a little more business to do than usual ; he had to take the sheep to another fold, where they would be more sheltered from the 80 TQjB fOVWni BEADEB. wiad. Aud just «^ be is in tlie act of driying them through the large field-gate, he sees farmer Jones coming towards him. 6. "John," exclaimed the farmer, as he came up to the other side of the gat 'M(mj»^ 1. T IVE for something ; be not idle— • J-^ Look about thee for employ ; Sit not down to useless dreaming--. Labor is the sweetest joy. Folded hands are ever weary. Selfiii^ hearts are never gay, Life for thee hath many duties — Active be, then, while you may. Scatter blessings in thy pathway t Gentle words and cheering smiles Better are than gold and silver. With their grief-dispelling wiles. As tlie pleasant sunshine &U^ Ever on the grateM eaxik. So let sympathy and kindness Gladden well the darkened hearth. PBEDOMINAIIT PASSIONS. H 3. Hearts there are oppress'd and weary ; Drop the tear of sympathy, Whisper words of hope and comfort, Give and thy reward shall be — Joy unto thy soul returning From this perfect fountain-head ; . Freely, as thou freely givest, Shall the grateM light be shed. 15. Predominant Passions. Mas'ter-y, control, superior influence. Un-REA ' SON - A - BLE, withOUt reason. Re-com-mend'ed, advised. Hauoh'ti-ness, an oyerbear- ing manner. Dis-oust'ing, exciting dislike, odious, hateful. Gon'temft, act of despising. IT is not usual, that in young persons, whose characters have not taken any settled form, any vice should have gamed so decided an ascendency, as to enable themselves or others to discern clearly the nature of then* prevailing passion. Gen- erally speaking, they should be more anxious to correct all their faults, than to find out the chief among them ; as that is not easily seen until they are placed amid the busy scenes of the world. 2. Still, as they cannot be made acquainted too early with the wretched effects of vice, it would be advisable for them to examine their consciences now and then lest any evil propen- sity may take root m their hearts, thereby become the princi- ple of their actions, and frustrate the ends proposed in Chris- tian education. 3. This prevailing passion of most persons is Pride, which never fails to produce not only thoughts of pride and vanity, but also such haughtiness of manner and self-importance, as to render them really disgusting and ridiculous. 4. Constantly endeavoring to attract attention, and b«com« u THB FOURTH TtWATU ffR. the sole object of attention, they spare no pains to ontdo others, to set themselves off, and by their conceited airs, their forwardness, their confidence in their own opinion, and neglect or contempt of that timid, gentle, retiring manner, so amiable and so attractive, especially in youth, they defeat their own purpose, and become as contemptible as they aim at being the contrary. 5. Many are so little sensible of the awful duties imposed ■by Christian charity, as to be ever ready to blame, criticise, and condemn all who come under their notice, and this is one of the most dangerous propensities, as the occasions for mani- festmg it occur very often, and frequently lead to mortal sin. Persons who are thus badly disposed, talk continually of the faults of others, which they are always inclined to exagger- ate, though often those defects exist only m the detractor's embittered imagination, which represents others in so unfavor- able a point of view, as to subject their actions to the most unkind censure. 6. To this may be added a fondness for sarcasm, which crit- icises and turns every thing and every person into ridicule, sparing neither superiors. Mends, enemies, nor even the most sacred characters, such as clergymen. This disposition never fails to make numerous enemies ; and, though sometimes en- couraged by laughter and smiles of approval, yet it neverthe- less is generally as hated as it is hateful. 7. Those whose temper is violent and unrestrained, cannot be ignorant that anger is their prevailing passion — their fre- quent, unreasonable, and impetuous sallies of anger, on the slightest occasions, render intercourse with them as unsafe qs it would be with a maniac. Such dreadful and mournful con- sequences have followed from even one fit of passion, as to render any family truly unhappy, who may possess a member with a violent temper. 8. Those who feel incUned to this passion, should, while young, use all their efforts to overcome so dangerous a dis- position. Reason, affection for their family, proper regard' for all those with whom they may be connected, and, above all, reli^oQ, fiomish powerfid motives and means for reducing any PBEDOmNANT PASSIONS. 45 temper, however violent, to the standard of Christian meek- ness. The chief among those means is prayer, and the next, perhaps the most effectual, is complete silence under all emo- tions of anger. 9. There are many other persons who, though they do not rank among the passionate, are nevertheless the pests of society, — ^particularly of domestic society. Their prevailing passion is a certain ill-humor^ fretfulness, peevishness, and discontent, which pervades their words, manners, and even looks; and it is usually brought into action by such mere trifles, as leave no chance of peace to those who live in the /house with them. ^If^lO. Children and servants are not the only butts of their spleen ; but even their best friends, their superiors themselves, are not always secure from cheir ill-tempered sallies and their incessant complaints. In a word, their sourness, their dissat* isfied, discontented manner, effectually embitters every society, and throws a gloom over the most innocent amusements. 'As this luckless disposition is peculiarly that of women, young persons cannot be too earnestly recommended to combat in youth any tendency thereto, lest they become, when older, the greatest torment of that society they are certainly intended to bless and adern. 11. Sloth, which is the prevailing passion of many persons, is also One of those vices most difficult to correct. It shows itself by habitual indolence, and such n^ligence and apathy, that no duty, however serious, can rouse a person of this character to exertion. Days, weeks, aoA even years, . pass over without any account of how they have passed; for though the indolent form many projects of amendment, yet those projects are never executed, because their postponement is the effect of sloth. 12. Any time but the present appears calculated for the discharge of duty, precisely because the most heroic efforts in prospect cost less than a single actual exertion. Thence it follows, that spiritual duties are so long neglected and de- ferred, that the torpor, which in youth could easily have been broken off, gains sudi a mastery that it becomes ahrost an* I li l! 46 ^B FOUBTH READER. conquerable, and at length reduces the soul to that dreadftd state commonly called tepidity, which is only another word for sloth in spiritual matters. 13. Then it is that every social and personal duty is aban- doned ; children, servants, affairs, spiritual and temporal, order, cleanliness, every thing is neglected, and permitted to run into puch disorder and confusion, as to render the persons degraded Jby this vice, no less a disgrace to themselves than to their ifriends and to society. In a word, there is no passion which leads more certainly to misery hereafter ; for, after all, the in- animate victim of sloth, who has lived without energy, without sentiment, almost without a soul, will at last be thoroughly roused by death, v. hose approach is terrible indeed to those who lead a useless, inactive, idle, and, therefore, a most sinful life. 14. Those whose prevailing passion is deceit, are fVequently not considered dangerous characters, until they have given many persons caase to repent having had any intercourse with them. Their manners are generally as seductive as their motives are base and interested. They are usually distinguish- ed by a total disregard for truth ; u base system of appearing to coincide with every one, the better to gain that confidence which they only intend to abuse ; deceptive expressions — con- tinual cunning and deceit — ^with so great an opposition to candor and plain -dealing, as to adc^t a thousand underhand means for carrying on theii most simple and ordinary transac- tions, thereby enga^g_ themselves and others in a labyrinth of difficulties, and spending their whole lives in trouble, in dissimulation, and deceit. 15. Even apart from religion, the natural desire we all have for happiness and security, should be motives enough for using efforts to counteract every tendency to this meian vice. It proves in general, sooner or later, its own punishment ; for, notwithstanding the deep-laid schemes, the cunning and arti- fices of those who seem to live for the purpose of deceiving their fellow-creatures, yet the depravity and meanness of their motives in all theu' actions, are seen through much clearer and more frequently than they are aware. Besides, one lie or trick FBEDOMIKAirr PASSIONS. 47 often requires many more to give it a show of truth, and to invent thes'^ their mind must be constantly on the rack ; bnt as their craft is generally discovered, they are exposed to such contempt and distrust as to deprive them of all credit. 16. Even when by chance they intend to deal fairly and openly, they are carefully shunned, because a long habit of deceiving has so indelibly stamped their character with the stigma of insincerity and knavery, as to render truth and false- hood equally disbelieved from their lips. In a word, they are sure to be, in the close of life, so hated, despised, and dis- trusted, as to become outcasts in society, a burden to them- selves, and almost as degraded ajid unhappy, even in this life, as they deserve to be. i 16. Pbedominant Passions — cmfinved, Re-pug'nance, feeling of dislike. Ob'sta-cle, that which hinders. THE capital fault of some persons is excessive, nngoveraable curwsily, a vice which is a certain road to many sins, especially in youth. It should, however, be observed, that there are two kinds of curiosity, one allowable, and even com- mendable, the other dangerous and sinfnL They may be em\j 48 THE FOUBTH HEADER. distingaished, one from the other, by their diifer«iiv effecto That species of curiosity which is mnocent and desirable especially in young persons, consists m a laudable desire oi useful information ; this thirst after knowledge, when well reg> ulated, produces emulation, application to study, patience and perseverance in difficulties, good employment of time, and a love for the society and conversation of the learned. . t 2. The vice of curiosity, on the contrary, is the bane of useful acquirement, because it consists chiefly in an eager desire to hear and see every trifling event that takes place, and gives persons so much to do with the concerns of others, as to leave them no time to attend to their own. Curious persors are always on the look-out for what is termed news ; and as that levity and shallowness of mind which produces misguided curiosity, creates also a taste for unnecessary talk, they are never so well satisfied as when they have discovered a nmnber of incidents to circulate among their friends and acquaintance. 3. Their inquisitive air, — their prying and intrusive man< ners, — then* incessant questions, — their eager impatience to be informed of every mcident that takes place, and minute inqmries into the affairs of others, would lead to the idea that they were commissioned to investigate the origin, ancestors, names, tempers, fortunes, and faults of every person that comes in their way. Even the secrets of families, which curiosity itself should respect, are by no means sacred to the inquisitive, nor are even the most trivial domestic occurrences below their notice. 4. On the contrary, to gain such information, they do not hesitate descending so low as to qne^on children and serv- ants; thereby giving occasion to numberless crimes against charity, often against truth. Another propenmty of curious persons is a desire to hear and see precisely those things which they have been told were dangerous, and to read every species of publication which they have ever been told to avoid, or know to be at all unsafe. This contemptible disposition can only be rectified by many years' strict attention to the short rule of never interfering in what does not concern ns, except whes Clarity or duty dictates the contrary. 5CU ible 3 ot reg. I aud nd a le of eager place, ers, as ersoEfl md as guided ity are Munber jitance. \ re man* ;e tobe nquiries lat they , names, ;omes in ty itself tive, nor ow their y do not md serv- agauist f curious igs which ry species ^ or know ji only he t rule of _.ept when \ PBEDOMINAKT PA88IONB. 5. There are few persons, even among the best Christians, who have not had, sometimes, to regret offending with the tongue; but the faults committed and mischiefs occasioned by tY 'e whose unbridled passion for tcUk is their predomi- nant failing, can scarcely be estimated. This bad habit is chiefly observed in persons of weak heads, vacant minds, and shallow understandings, who appear wholly incapable of one instant's serious reflection, and know not what it is to think two minutes, even before they undertake to decide upon Imr portant matters. Those who talk always, cannot hope always to talk sense, and hence their least material faults are absurd, random opinions, giddy, inconsistent expressions, and frequent faults against politeness and good-breeding ; for we sec that your great talkers never allow others to deliver an opinion, or finish any sentence without helping them out. 6. Their laughable and disgusting egotism, perpetual rela- tions of their own worthless adventures, ideas, or opinions, which they are too frivolous to perceive are interesting only in their own eyes ; their system of laughing, whispering, and ridiculing, generally mark out great talkers as persons of little or no intellect, though they often do not want sense, if they could but prevail on themselves to be silent, and reflect ever so little on the necessity of making use of that gift. *l. But those, however, are the least serious faults produced by excessive lave of tdk. Sins against charity, breaches of confidence, discovery of the secrets of others, indiscreet- com- munication of their own affairs and those of their families to acquaintances, strangers, even to servants; remarks on the defects of others, breaches of truth, habitual exaggeration, loss of time, dissipation and levity, are all the infallible con- sequences of a passion for talking ; besides the dreadful evils which unguarded repetition of stories has been known to pro- duce in society, by disuniting the members of families, irrita- ting and disgusting friends, breeding disturbances, &c. : evils which are much easier occasioned than removed. 8. Gould those useless beings, whose occupation is talk, foresee the mischief they may occasipn, even by one word, which often escapes their tongue and memo^ at the 60 THE FOUBTB BEADEB. j ' time, how bitterly they would regret the dearly-bought plea» [j • ore of talking I how carefully would they Btudy the vii'tue of silence and prudent restraint I and thus spare theinsolves the regret of having unfeelingly published faults too true to be contradicted, and stories too mischievous in their effects to be easily remedied ; thus mflicting wounds they cannot afterwards heal. 9. There are some persons who possess many amiable quali- ties, yet destroy the effect of them all by one predominant failing, a fund of caprice and inconstancy. Those persons rarely succeed in gaining one sincere friend ; on the contrary, they seldom fail to disgust those whom tl^ey had at first attracted, because they frequently receive with marked reserve one day, those whom they treated with kindness the day before. On one occasion these changeable beings will scarce allow others to join m a conversation — the next, they will not by a smgle word manifest a desire to please. ^ 10. Then: projects or undertakings are as variable as their ' ideas, and are never pursued with such steadiness as would encourage any rational persons to join in them ; nor can it eve: be conjectured, from the projects of one day or hour, what those of the next may be. They eagerly seek one moment aftei those objects which the next they despise ; and are one day dissolved u;i vnm joy, another oppressed with melancholy. But what is infinitely worse than all is, that this irrational capri- ciousness, besides rendering them the jest of others, and a biHV den to themselves, materially endangers their eternal salvation. 11. Their ideas and feelings on spiritual matters are just as variable as on all other occasions ; their plans of amendment and regularity, though frequently entered on with ardor, are as frequently abandoned ; consequently there can be no per- sons so little likely to gain a crown, which is promised only to perseverance. 12. Selfishness is a conmion failing, and a peculiarly un- amiable one, when it predominates in a character. Those persons who make self their idol, are from morning till night occupied m providiag for their own peculiar gratification and l^eamre, and in taking measures for warding off from them< FKIDOMINAKT PAMKOHB. n \, plea» rtue of ves the ) to be ts to be erwtvrds lie quali- iominant persons contrary, at first i reserve ay before, rce allow not by a , le as their I as would can it eve; lOur, what iment aftel e one day loly. But [onal capri- and a bitf^ [l salvation, are just as jamendment ardor, are be no per- used only to Belves every thing in the shape of tronble, inconyenience, proT* ocation, &c. ; thus they become almost the sole objects of their own thoughts, solicitudes, and exertions. 13. They generally manifest their predominant failing to the least attentive observer, by an habitual inattention or indifference when the gratification of others is in question, by an unfeeling indifference to the misfortunes of their fellow creatures, and by being the last to make an exertion for their relief. They seem almost incapable of takmg part in the pains or pleasures of others ; every species of misfortune or gratifi- cation pleases or grieves them, precisely only in as much as they perceive i^is likely to affect them personally. "^ 14. A propersity to excessive attachments is a fault which too frequently prevails in some warm, impetuous characters. Those persons are distmguished by a rash, hasty selection of favorites in every society ; by an overflow of marked atten^ tions to the objects of their predilection, whose interests they espouse, whose very faults they attempt to justify, whose opinions they support whether right or wrong, and whose cause they defend often at the expense of good sense, charity, moderation, and even conmion justice. 15. Woe to the person, whether superior or inferior, who ventures to dissent fi'om them in opinion concermng the objects of their admiration ; that alone exposes them to averdon and censure. The Mendship or affection of such characters does not deserve to be valued, for it results not firom discernment of merit, but blind prejudice ; besides, they are remarkable for annoymg those whom they think proper to rank among theur favorites, both by expectmg to engross theur whole attention or confidence, and resenting every mark of kindness they may think proper to show to others. However, as their affections are in general as short-lived as they are ardent, no one person is likely to be tormented long with the title of their friend. 16. The foregoing are the chief among those passions to which the majority of mankind are subject. There are also a variety of other shapes, in which the capital sins generally prevful in the different characters. It wmild not be easy to mention them all, bat you will not find it difficult, uded by tiis 92 TBI fOURTH BIADEB. grace of Ood, to discover yoar cftpital enemy, prorided yoa ardently beg that grace and light, and are sincerely desirous to overcorao it to the utmost of your power. n. The following marks by which you may discern your ruling passion, are pointed out by St. Chrysostora, and may assist your examination on this imix)rtant point: 1st. Your prevailing passion is that prqx;nsity, disposition, or failing, which is the ordinary cause of your faults and sins. 2d. It is that which chiefly disturbs the peace of your soul, and occa- sions you most remorse and uneasy reflections. 3d. That of which you are obliged to accuse yourself most frequentlv in confession. 18. 4th. That which gives occasion to the greatest conflicts in your soul, and which yoa feel most repugnance to overcome. 5th. That which usually inflaences all your thoughts, inten- tions, (N* projects, and which is the chief motive of all your actions ; that, m a word, which is most untractable and deeply rooted in your heart ; for if, when wounded on that point, you feel sensibly hurt, it is an evident m^rk that there is your prevailing passion, your capital enemy, the greatest obstacle to God's grace, and to your eternal salvation. X ■: 17. Mt Boy Absalom. Pulse, the motion of the blood. Tress'es, knots or curls of hair. Reed, a hollow, knotted stalk, a pipe. Pall, a covering thrown ovm the dead. 1. A LAS I my noble boy I that thou shouldst die t -^ Thou, who wert made so beautifully faur 1 That death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in this clustermg hair 1 How could he mark thee for the silent tciDb I My proud boy, Absalom 1 MT BOY ABBALOM. id yoo esiroufl n yonr id may . Your failing, d. It is id occar That of lentl^ io confiicta vercome. s, inten- all your d deeply oint, yott J is your obstacle X ;ted stalk, rown ovM diet I Ir! " Gold is thy brow, my son I and I am chill, As to my bosom I hare tried to press thee 1 How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, Lii(0 a rich harp^triug, yeanuug to caress theo. And hear thy sweet ' my father / ^ from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom ! 8. "But death is on thee. I shall hear the gosh Of music, and the voices of the young ; And life will pass me in the mantling blush. And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung ;— But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come To meet me, Absalom 1 4. "And oil I when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed is waiting to be broken. 64 THB FOUBTH BEADEB. How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token t It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom I 5. "And now, farewell 1 'Tis hard to give thee up. With death so like a gentle slumber on thee ; — And thy dark sin 1 — Oh I I could drink the cup, If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have calPd thee, like a wanderer, home, My lost boy, Absalom 1" 6. He cover* d up his face, and bow'd hunself A moment on his child ; then, giving hun A look of melting tenderness, he clasp'd His hands convulsively as if in prayer ; And, as if sjtrength were given hun of God, He rose np calmly, and composed the paU Firmly and decently — and left him there— > As if his rest had been a breathmg sleep. X 18. The Soholab's Vision. Yis'ioN, supernatural appear- ance. Cen'tu-rt, a hundred years. Stu-pio'i-ty, extreme dulness. Tdr'bu-lent, ttimnltnons, dis* orderly. Sup-port'ed, aided, assisted. Con-ceal'ino, hiding. AMONG the students of the University of Padua during the early part of the thirteenth century, there was a scholar by the name of Albert de Groot, a native of Lawin- gen, a town of Swabia, now fallen into decay. Albert was remarkable for his stupidity and the dulness of his intellect, and was at once the object of ridicule to his companions, and the victim of his teachers. 2. In addition to his mental defects, he was tunid and shy, and without any powers of speech to defend hunself against THE SOHOLAB'S YIBION. jB^ X as, dis* isted. dnring was a Lawin- ert was itellect^ tns, and nd shy, against the tacints and jeers of his schoolmates. Even his diminutive dze for one of his age, being then fifteen years old, did not escape the keenness of their satire. 3. Albert was not insensible to their raillery, and more than once would have listened to the temptation of despau*, had it not been for the care of his virtuous mother, the ardent piety with which she had inspired his youthful mind, an^ his tender and lively devotion to the Blessed Virgin. 4. If he felt it hard to endure the jeers and ridicule of hh companions, yet, when he considered that he had neither read- iness, memory, nor intelligence, he thought within himself that probably he deserved aU their reproaches ; and that the career of science, which he so ardently desired, was not his vocation. 5. Deeply influenced by this conviction, at the age of six- teen, he applied for admission into the Dominican Order, think- ing that if he did not shine among the brilliant men who were its glory, yet at least he might the better save his soul. The General of the Order, who was of his own country, gave him a kind welcome, and received him into the convent to complete his studies. 6. But, alas I he found in the cloister the same sorrows he had sought to avoid. His slow- wit and dull intellect could take in nothing, or expiress nothing; and though he found more charity among the novices than among the turbulent students of the university, yet he saw clearly that he was looked upon as the lowest in the house. 7. His piety and humility for a long time supported him ;< his courage did not fail ; he looked forward with hope to the day when his perseverance should surmount all obstacles and break the bonds which held him captive^ He took the habit, and became a monk ; but still his backwardness as a scholar continued. fe./^ 8. After two years of patience, he began to be thoroiighly' discouraged; he thought he had been mistaken ; that perhaps he had yielded to an impulse of pride in entering an order whose mission it was to preach to the people, and to proclaim to the world the faith of Christ ; and which, consequently, ought to be distinguished for science as well (ts for virtae; M THE VOUBnCR BEADBB. 1 h 4. and considering that he shoald never be able to master eithet logic or eloqnence, he resolved to fly firom the convent. 9. Concealing the matter from every human being, he con- fided the subject of his departure to the Blessed Virgin, his comforter in all his trials. On the night fixed for iua de- parture he prayed longer than usual, then, after waitmg till all the convent was asleep, he went from his cell, gained without noise the walls of the garden, and fixed a ladder against them. &ut before he ascended, he knelt again and prayed to God not to condemn the step he was taking, for that liem^lEfii^ess ne would serve him, and belong to hkn, and to him alone." 10. As he was about to rise, he beheld four majestic ladies advancing towards him. They were surrounded by a heavenly radiance, while their dignity, tempered with sweetness and se- renity, inspired him with confidence and respect. Two of them placed themselves before the ladder, as if to prevent him from ascending. 11. The third drawing near, asked him kindly why he thub departed, and how he could desert his convent and throw L'r self without a guide into the dangers of a wicked world, a I bert, without rising from the ground, pleaded as an excuse his obstinate stupidity, which resisted all the efforts of his per- severance. 12. "It is," said the lady, "because yon seek In the mere human strength of your own intellect, the light which comes only firom God. Behold your Mother," pointing to the fourth lady, " your amiable protectress, who loves you tMiderly ; ask her for the gift of knowledge ; implore her with confidence ; our intercession shall second yon." 13. The scholar recognized in the foiirth lady the Immacn-, late Queen of Heaven, and bending his face to the ground, he asked her in all the fervor of his heart for the light of science, as heretofore he had only prayed for the graces which tended to salvation. 14. "Science, my son," answered the amiable Vir^n, "is fbll of dangers ; but your prayer shall not be rejected. In philosophy, which you so much desire, beware of pride ; let not your heart be puffed up. Long shall yon possess the gift ^n bohoulb's yxsion. m r eithef he con- 'gin, his lu3 de- ^ till all without it them. [}odnot eless ne c ladies ieavenly I and se- of them dm from he thdii row L:" Id. ^ Lcuse his his per- le mere ih comes te fourth rly ; ask ifidence ; [mmacn-, ound, he science, i tended r^n, "is ted. In ride; let the gift 1 of sdenoe ; and I promise you, as a reward of yonr piety, that its light diall be withdrawn from you the moment it becomes ugerous to you." 15. The Tision disappeared, but Albert remained for an hour on his knees thanking God, and pouring forth the most fervent devotions to the Queen of Angels, who had so kindly interposed in his behalf. He then removed the ladder and retured to his cell 16. The next morning the whole convent was amazed at the astonishing change that had come over Albert; in his classes he surprised both the teachers and scholars. His former heaviness had given way to the liveliest and most sub- tle mtelligence ; he understood every thing ; the most difi&cult problems were solved with a clearness that astonished all. 17. No one, however, was aware of the vision, for the humble scholar kept it a secret. So rapidly did he advance in his studies, especially in philosophy, that in one year he passed all his companions, and even eclipsed his teachers. His piety and humility increased with his learning, and he ever remained inaccessible to the seductions of the world and vain •glory. 18. The scholar, who obtained this so wonderful gift of knowledge, as the reward of his tender devotion to the Blessed Yirgin, was the celebrated Albertus Magnus, who was so dis- tinguished during the thirteenth century. For fifty years he astonished all Europe by the vastness of his learning and the profoundness of his teaching. 19. Whenever he spoke, crowds gathered to hear him ; and his discourse always produced the most salutary results : yet up to the age of seventy-five, he had never experienced the slightest movement of vanity. 20. It happened, however, on a certain occasion as he was preaching at Cologne, and seeing the imifiense audience eleo- trified at his discourse, he lifted his head with an air of dignity, and was about tc indulge in a thought of self-admiration, when he stopped suddenly in the middle of a learned sentence, and descended from the pulpit without being able to finish it. He had lost his memory 68 THE FOUBTH BEADEK. I ¥ i i: !i 21. The Holy Yir^ through whose intercession he had obtained the gift of knowledge, appeared to him and deprived him of i\ at the moment when it was about to become danger- ous to him. He fell back into the state of dullness which he had deplored at Padua. He understood the warning, and devoted all his thoughts to prepare himself for a holy death, which took place two years after, on the 15th of November, 1282. 22. Let childi-en learn from this example, to place their studies under the patronage of tb^^ Queen of Heaven, and receive with the gift of knowledge, those virtues which will render them ornaments of society, and worthy cardidates for heaven. . ^— y 19. Birth of oue Savioxjb. Cen'sus, numl>3ring. Naz'a-reth, the village in which our Saviour lived. Beth'le-hem, the village in which our Saviour was bom. Ma'gi, wise men of the East Ad-mis'sion, admittance. Pub'chased, bought. Mes-si'ah, name given to onn Saviour Bead deliberately, aad pause to take breath and compress your lips. Give i its proper sound. Do not say putchui for purchate; Mettiar for Mesnah. AUGUSTUS GiBSAB having commanded a censns to be taken of all the population of the empure, Joseph and Mary went from Nazareth to Bethlehem, whence their family had its origin. There it was that, in the year of the world 4004, the Son of God came into the world, at the dead hour of night and in a poor stable, the poverty of Joseph bemg too great to pay for admission to an inn. - • 2. His birth was speedily announced by the angels to some shepherds who were watching their flocks by night. . " Olory to Ood" sang the heavenly messengers, making known tho joyful tidings, " Olory to Ood in the highest and on earth peace to men of good will I" 3. Eight days after his birth he was circmncised, and on tv BIBTH OF 0X7B BAYIOUB. that same day the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph, confonua* bly to the command which they had received from God by an angel, gave him the name of Jcavs, which signifies Sayioor, because he came to save all men, and to deliver them from sin and hell. 4. Tc the name of Jesus has been added that of Christy which means sacred or anointed^ not that he wa<3 visibly con- secrated by hands, but by reason of his hypostatical union with the Father. We also call Jesus Christ Our Lord, because he has a par- ticular claim on all Christians, whom he has redeemed and purchased at the price of his blood. 5. A few days after Jesus was circumcised, he was recog- nized as God and as king by three Magi, who, guided by a star, came from the East to adore hun. Havmg reached Jerusalem, they lost sight of the star, and went about inquir-^ ing for the new-bom king of the Jews. 6. The doctors of the law, bemg questioned by Herod, king of Galilee, made answer that the Messiah was to be bom in Bethlehem. Herod, being alarmed by this announcement, and already meditating the death of the divine infant, engaged the Ma^ to retum and acquaint him with the place where the child was to be found, falsely saying that he, too, would wish to adore him. . t. The Ma£i, resuming their journey, found the child, to whom they presented gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh ; but being wamed by an angel that Herod only sought to kill the infant, they retumed by another way to then- own country. 8. Forty days after the bu>th of Jesus, the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph took him to the temple, to present him to God, according to the custom of the Jews, he being the first-bora. The Blessed Virgin at the same time fiilfilled the law of puri- fication, and o£fered what the law ordained, that is to say, a lamb for her son, and for herself, a pair of doves, being the gifts usually made by the poor — ^what examples of humility, and of obedience to the law t 9. Herod, seemg that the Magi retumed no more, conceived the de^gn of putting to death all children under two years m I eo THE VOUBTH READBB. of age, whom he conld find hi Bethlehem or its yidnity, hop- ing thus to make sore of destroying the Saviour. But St. Joseph, apprised of this design by an angel, fled into Egypt with Jesus and Mary, where he remained till after the death of that barbarous prince. >' 10. He then returned to Juaea, and again took np his' abode in Nazareth of Galilee ; hence Jesus was called, through contempt, the Nazarene. The gospel tells us that at the age of twelve years Jesus was taken to Jerusalem to celebrate the festival of the Pasch, according to the custom of the Jews, when he remained be- hind in the temple unperceived by his parents. 11. When they found that he was not with them, they sought him in vain for a whole day, whereupon they returned to Je- rusalem, where they found hun in the temple, seated amid the doctors, listening to them and proposing to them questions in a manner so astonishing that all who heard him were surprised by his wisdom and his answers. 12. At the age of thirty years, Jesus Christ was baptized by St. John the Baptist in the river Jordan ; at which time the Holy Ghost descended upon him in th« "brm of a dove, and the eternal Father declared from the highest heavens that Jesus Christ was indeed his beloved Son. 13. Soon after this, Jesus Christ was conducted by the Holy Ghost into the desert, where he fasted forty days. It is in honor and in remembrance of this fiast of Jesus Christ that the Church has instituted the fast of Leut. Our Lord at that time permitted himself to be tempted by the devil, in order to teach us not to fear temptation, and also the manner in which we must resist it, so as to render it even profitable to om* souls. 14. Example. A certain mother whose piety was as great as her faith was enlightened, recommended to her children lo pass no day without asking the chUd Jesus for hie blessing, "When," said she, "you are at your morning and evening prayers, picture to yourself the Blessed Virgin, carrying in her arms the infant Jesus. 15. " Bow dewn respectfully before her, and say with all n . ■PlllIBH AMBODOnL ei poadble ferror ; '0 Mary ! deign to extend over me the hand of thy divme Son, so that being blessed by him, I may avoid the evU wliich is displeasing to him, and practise the good which is agreeable to him ; that I may imitate him in his obedience and in all his other virtues, so that I may become worthy of yossessing him with thee in heaven I"' \ 20. A Spanish Aheodctb. great en lo issmg, ening ug in i Bef'bc^o-rt, a dining-room in convents and monasteries. GE-BDN'o-MirE, a monk. Disoernbd', descried, seen. Fa-mil'ias, intunate, well known. Bc'sTA-sY, raptore, trance. Va'cant, empty. 1. TT was a holy usage to record ■*■ Upon each refectory's side or end The last mysterious supper of our Liord, That meanest appetites might upward tend. 2. Within a convent-fwlace of old Spain, — * Bich with the ^fks and monuments of kings,— Hung such a picture, said by some to reign liie sovereign glory of those wondrous thmgs. 8. A pamter of far fame, hi deep delight^ Dwelt on each beauty he so well discerned ; While, in low tones, a gray Geronomite ' This answer to his ecstasy returned : 4. " Stranger ! I have received my daily meal In this good company now threescore years ; And thou, whoe'er thou art, canst hardly feel How time these lifeless images endears. 6. "Idfoless I ah, no, while in my heart are stored Bad memories of my brethren dead and gone, THE FOURTH BEADEB. Familiar places vacant round oar board, And still that silent sapper lasting on ! • 6. " While I review my youth, — ^what I was then,- What I am now, and ye, beloved ones all, — It seems as if these were the living men. And we the color'd shadows on the wall'' 21. Aneodotes of Dogs. ^ Eeen'xess, sharpness. Lit'er-a-ture, leamiQg, ao- quaintiiiiee with books. Sa-oao'i-tt, quick discernment in animals. ' Giv'iL-izED, reclaimed ttom barbarism. Do-mes^-oa'tion, the act of making tame. Em-phat'ig, forcible. I THE dog stands to man in the relation both of a valuable servant and an engaging companion. In many employ- ments, especially those of shepherds and herdsmen, he performs services of ^eat importance, such as could not be supplied without him. In those sports of the field, such as hunting and ANIODOnfl OF DOCKS. ihooling, which many persons porsne with such eagerness, the assistance of the dog is essential to success. 3. By the keenness of scent he discovers the game, and by his swiftness of foot he rons it down. There is no period of time recorded by history in which we do not find the dog the friend and the servant of man ; nor is there any literature which does not contain some tribute to his faithfuhiess and sagacity. 8. The savage, roaming over the pathless wilderness, and dependent upon the animals in the forest and the fish in the streams for his daily food ; and the civilized man, dwelling in a comfortable house in a town or village, agree in the attach- ment they feel for their four-footed Mends. Many men of great eminence in literature and science have been remarkable for their fondness for dogs ; and more than one poet has sung the praises of particular specuneus of the race. 4. Sir Walter Scott was strongly attached to them, ana had one or more of them about him at all times during his life. In one of his works he thus speaks of them: "The Almighty, who gave the dog to be the companion of our pleasures and our toils, has invested him with a nature noble and incapable of deceit. He forgets neither Mend nor foe ; remembers, and with accuracy, both benefit and injury. ^ 5. "JSe has a share of man's intelligence, but no share of man's falsehood. Ton may bribe a soldier to slisiy a man with his sword, or a witness to take life by false accusation, but you cannot make a dog tear his benefactor. He is the Mend of man, save when man justly incurs his enmity." 6. A long course of domestication, and peculiar modes of training and rearing, have divided the canine race into nearly a hundred varieties ; many of which show marked diiGTerence in size and appearance. The savage bulldog seems hardly to belong to the same race as the delicate lapdog, that sleeps on the rug, and is washed and combed by its feir mistress almost as carefully as an infant. i. The swtft and slim greyhound looks very little like the sturdy and square-built mastiJET. But there are certain traits pf character, whi«h, in a greater or less degree, are common 64 THE FOURTH READER. -i: to all the kinds. Sagacitj, docility, gratitude, ft ettp§dtf to receive instraction, and attachment to hip^ master's person, are qualities which belong to the whole race/ Many anecdotes are to be fonnd in books which prove tbe^ vh'tues and intelli- .\ gonce of the dog, ft'om which we have made a selection for the " entertainment of our young readers. 8. Many instances have been recorded in which persons have been saved from drowning by dogs, especially by those of the Newfoundland breed, which have a natural love of the water. A vessel was once driven on the beach by a storm in the county of Kent, in England. Eight men were calling for help, but not a boat could be got off to their assistance. 9. At length a gentleman came on the beach accompanied by his Newfoundland dog. He directed the attention of the noble animal to the vessel, and put a short stick into his mouth. The intelligent and courageous dog at once under- stood his meaning, and sprang into the sea, fighting his way through the foaming waves. He could not, however, get close enough to the vessel to deliver that with which he was charged, but the crew joyfully made fast a rope to another piece of wood, and threw it towards him. 10. The sagacious dog saw the whole businei^ in an instant ; he dropped Ids own piece, and forthwith seized that which had been cast to him ; and then, with a degree of strength and of resolution almost incredible, he dragged it through the surge, and delivered it to his master. By this means a line of conmmnication was formed, and every man on board saved. 11. A person, while rowing a boat, pushed his Newfound- land dog into the stream. The animal followed the boat for some tune, till probably finding himself fatigued, he endeavored' to get into it by placing his feet on the side. His owner repeatedly pushed the dog away ; and in one of his efforts to do so, he lost his balance and fell into the river, and would probably have been drowned, had not the affectionate and generous animal immediately seized and held him above water till assistance arrived from the shore. 12. A boatman once plunged into the water to swim with another man for a wager. His Newfoundland dog, mintaking y ANECDOTES OF DOGS. 65 -1 tho purpose and supposing that his master was in danger, plunged after him, and draped him to the shore by his hair, to the great diversion of the spectators. 13. Nor are the good offices of dogs to man displayed only on the water. A young man in the north of England, while he was tending his father's sheep, had the Liisfortune to fall and break his leg. He was three miles fh)m home, in' an unfrequented spot, where no one was likely to approach ; eyening was fast approaching, and he was in great pain firom the fracture. In this dreadful condition, he folded one of his gloves in a pocket handkerchief, fastened it around the dog's neck, and then ordered him home in an emphatic tone of voice. 14. The dog, convinced that something was wrong, ran home with the utmost speed, and scratched with great violence at the door of the house for admittance. The parents of the young man were greatly alarmed at his appearance, especially when they had examined the handkerchief and its contents. Instantly concluding that some accident had befallen their son, they did not delay a moment to go in search of him. The dog anxiously led the way, and conducted the agitated parents to the spot, where their suffering son was lying. Happily, he was removed just at the close of day, and the necessary assist- ance being procured, he soon recovered. 15. On one of the roads leading firom Switzerland to Italy, called the Pixsn of St. Bernard, is a convent situated at more than eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. In the winter time, when the cold is intense and the snows are deep, travellers are exposed to great danger ; and the inmates of the convent, when storms are raging, are in the habit of going abroad to assist such wayfarers as may need their services. 16. They are accompanied by their dogs, a noble breed of animals, who are called by the name of the convent where-they are kept. They carry food and cordials fastened at their necks, and are able to pass over snow-wreaths too light to bear the weight of a man. They are aided by the acuteness of theur scent in finding the unfortunate persons who have been buried in the snow, and many men have owed theur lives to the timely succor afforded by these four-footed M<^nds of men. THE FOUBTH BEADEB. 11. One of them, which serred the conrent for twelve yean, is said to have been instromental in saving th« lives of forty individuals. He once found a little boy, who had become be- numbed by the cold, and fallen down upon a wreath of snow. By licking his hands and face, and by his caresses^ he induced the little fellow to get npon his back, and cling with his arms •roand his neck ; and in this way he brought him in triumph to the convent. 18. This mcident forms the subject of a well-known picture. When this dog died, his skin was stuffed and deposited in the museum at Berne ; and the little vial in which he carried a cordial draught for the exhausted traveller still hangs about his neck. How many men have there been, endowed with reason and speech, whose lives were less nsefiu than that of this noble dog ! -4 22. The Bubial of Sib John Moobb. Ram'part, the wall of a fort- ress. Marshal, military. Ran'dom, done without aim, left to chance. Reck, care, mind. Do not say tMntid for upbraid. 1. IVfOT a drum was beard, not a funeral note, -1-^ As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero was buried. 8. We buried him darkly at dead of night. The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. 8. No useless coflfin inclosed his breast, Nor In sheet nor in shroud we wound him. THE BUBIAL OF BIB JOHN MOOBI. But he laj like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak aroand him. e? ». Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; Bat we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,- And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 6. We thought as we hoUow'd his narrow bed, And smooth'd down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we fa; -»■ y on the billow. 6. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. *l. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock toll'd the hour for retiring ; THE FOURTH READER. And we heard the distant and random gnu That the foe was sullenly firing. 8. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone in his glory. 23. I TRY TO BE Good. Vex-a'tion, caose of trouble. DiF'Fi-GuirTiEs, obstacles in one's way. Warn'ino, previous notice, a caution. Ob'sti-na-cy, perverseness. I TRY to be good," said Emily, "but I have so many vex«r tions, that I find it difficult to do as I wish ; for whenever I feel pleased and happy, something will happen to give me a heavy heart." " But, child," said her mother, "you should rise above these little trifles ; a sincerely virtuous endeavor, pro- ceeding from right principles, enables one to overcome Uttle difficulties. It was but last evening I was reading a story on this very subject. 2. " It was the confession of a man who had severe struggles with a bad temper. He said that when he was a little child I TBY TO BE GOOD. 69 Qtice, a less. ny vex«r whenever ive me a ould rise vor, pro- me little story on straggles ttle child he was noted for pbstinacy, one of the worst faults of man or child. He had an indulgent mother, who kindly softened his unhappy hours by devising various ways for his amusement : ' But,' said he, ' if she did not succeed in the plan, I was sure to wear a sullen face.' 3. " But, to teach him how unjust and insensible he was to that kindness, his mother Was taken ill, and died. - It was then he felt how much he owed to her ; and bitter was his grief that he could not, by Mure acts of love, repair the un- happiness he had caused her. But now that her warning voice could not reach him, he was left to go on more unre- strained: 'And,' said he, 'until I began to see this trait of obstinacy displayed in my own children, I never began in earnest to correct it m myself.' %/ 4. "Let this, Emily, be your warning," said her devoted mother. " The little trials of life were designed to answer the same pnrpose in children, that heavier trials are to older people ; and just in proportion as we bear them now, shall we be fitted to endure life's future discipline. It is not a small matter, if an evil temper is '^rmitted to be indulged under every disappointment. 5. ■' Do you remember, Emily, that ngly-shaped tree, that you desired the gardener to remove the other day, because it grew so very crooked ; and you remember that he told you the reason of its being so ill-shaped, was because it was not pruned as it grew up." 6. " Yes, mother," said the smiling gbl ; " and just so it will be with me : if I d(\ not watch over my evil temper now, — I suppose you mean to say, — that like that tree, I shall be deformed in mind, which you always told me was a much greater blemish than a deformed body. I will endeavor to< morrow to be cheerful all day," "And if you desire to be good," added her mother "the virtuous attempt will be attend* ed with success." TO • THE FOURTH RBADEB. 24. The Gbeen Mosst !Bai7K. In'fan-cy, the first period of life. Wan 'deb, to rove, to ramble. Stream, running water. Spray, water driven by the wind. Bdt'ter-cup, a small yellow flower. 1. OH, my thoughts are away where my infancy flew, Near the green mossy banks where the buttercups grew, Where the bright silver fountain eternally play'd, Fuvt laughing in sunshine, then sighing in shade. There in my childhood, I've wander'd in play, , Flinging up the. cool drops in a shower of spray, Till my small naked feet were aU bathed in bright dew, As I play'd on the bank where the buttercups grew. 2. How softly that gre«n bank sloped down from the hill. To the spot where the fountain grew suddenly still 1 How cool was the shadow the long branches gave, As they hung from tlie willow and dipp'd in the wave ! OH THB BAFnEUAL Y0W8. n n l!i And tlnn each pale lOj that slept on the stream, Rose and fell with the ware as if stirr'd by a dream. While my home 'mid the yine-Ieaves rose soft on my view, ^ As I play'd on the bank where the buttercups grew. 8. The beautiful things I how I watchM th^n unfold. Till they lifted their delicate vases of gold. Oh 1 never a spot since those days have I seen. With leaves of such freshness and flowers of such dieen; How glad was my spirit, for then there was nought; To burden its wing, save some beantifiil thought, Breakmg up from its depths ?rlth eadi wild wind that blew O'er the green mossy bank where the buttercups grew The paths I have trod, I would quickly retrace. Could I win back the gladness that look'd fi'om my taee. As I cool'd my warm lip in that fountain of love^ With a spirit as gentle as that of a dove. Could I wander again where my forehead was Btan'd, With the beauty that dwelt in my bosom unmarr'd; And calm as a child, in the stari%ht and dew. Fall asleep on the bank where the buttercups grew. 25. On the Bapiisual Yowl Re-noumced', rejected. Af-fibm'a-tive, ratifying. Rat'i-fi-ed, confirmed. Fi-del'i-ty, faithfulness. Con'stant-ly, without ceasing. Pro-fes'sion, avowal A-pos'ta-st, renoundng one^ faith or solenm promises. Pbe'cefts, commandments. Thral'doh, bondage. Yi'o-LATE, to transgress, to break. Qive each vowel its sound. Do not say 'potlasjf for dpoata^; fad' Mily foe fidelity; meemintljf for itteeaianUif. WHEN presented to the Church to receive holy baptism, we were asked if we believed in God, if we would live accordmg to the precepts of the go^l, and if we renounced 72 THE FOURTH READER. -V with all onr heart the devil and his pomps, the world and its maxims ; and it was only when a formal and affirmatiye answer hud been returned, that we were admitted among the children of God. 2. It was, therefore, in the face of heaven and earth, in the presence of God and his holy angels, that we promised to obey ihe law of Christ, and to practise it in its fullest extent. 3. It is true we had not the use of reason at the time of c or baptism ; but it was for us and in our name that these promises were made ; we have since ratified them as often as we made a public profession of Christianity ; we also confirmed them every day by making on ourselves the sign of the cross, by reciting the Lord's prayer, assisting at the holy sacrifice of the mass, d,nd by receiving the sacraments. 4. We are not, therefore, our own property, but belong to God, — our soul, our body, and all are his. To follow the maxims of the world, to seek after its vanities, to love the pomps of the devil, to be ashamed of the gospel, would be to renounce the character, of a Christian, violate our engagements, trample on the blood of Jesus Christ, outrage the Holy Ghost, and shamefully expel him from our hearts. 6. Let us, then, never forget that these vows are written in the book of life, that God has account of them in heaven, and that we shall be judged by them at the hour of death. On our fidelity in fulfilling them depends our salvation and our eternal destmy. 6. In order to keep them in our minds we ought often to renew them, and constantly to thank the Lord for having snatched us firom the thraldom of the Evil One, and called us to the kingdom of his Son. 7. We read in the history of the Church that a holy dea- con, named Murrita, having answered at the sacred font for a young man named Elpiphodorus, had the misfortune to aee him become an apostate and a persecutor of the Christians. 8. One day, when he was piiblicly tormenting some Chris- tians in the midst of an immense crowd, the holy deacon sud- denly appeared ; he had preserved the white robe wherewith Elpiphodorus had been covered at his baptism, and presenting \ tj nd itg mswer lildren 1 THE LITANY. 73 it to him, he cried in a load voice : " Behold the witness of thine apostasy ; this will bear testimony against thee at the judgment-seat of God. 9. "Look upon this white garment wherewith I clothed thee at the sacred font ; it will call for vengeance upon thee, and it shall be changed into a robe of fire to burn thee for all eternity." The spectators were moved to tears by this ad- dress, and Elpiphodorus withdrew, covered with confusion. 26. The Litany. Sub'tle, cunning. Se-pul'chral, relating to the tomb. To Lurk, to lie in wait. Lit'a-ny, a solemn form of prayer. Read this lesson slowly and pronounce the consonants distinctly. 1. "D Y thy birth and early years ; ■L^ By thy human griefs and fears ; By thy fasting and distress. In the lonely wilderness ; By thy victory, in the hour Of the subtle tempter's power — Jesus 1 look with pitying eye, Hear our solemn litany 4 T4 THE SOUBTtt RXADEB. i^i I 2. By the sympathy that wept O'er the gpnve where Lazams slept ; By thy bitter tears that flowed Over Salem's lost abode ; By the troubled sigli tiiat to!d • Treason lurk'd witLi^i thy foM— Jesos 1 look with pityiog ej e, Henr our solemn litaiiy , 8. By thine hour of iula despair ; By tbine agony of prayer ; By the purple robe of scorn ; By thy woonds, thy crown of thorn. Cross and paiMcn, pimgs d crii^is; By thy perfect, sacrifice — Jesos I look with pitying eye, Hear our solemn litany. 4 By thy d$ep expuring groan ; By the seaPd gepolchral stone ; By thy triumph o^er the grave ; By thy power from death to save— Wghty God ! ascended Lord I To thy throne in heaven restored ; • Prince and Saviour ! hear tlit C(j Of our solemn litany. 27. The Sign of the Cboss. -X Dis-ci'PLE, a follower, a leam- I er Mys'te-ry, something unex- plamed. Cow'abd-icb, habitual timid ity. Chest, the breast. Ih-fort'anT) momentous. Do not say petfeuion tm frpfenion ; htn or htan tot bttn (bin) ; ttof faith for their faUh; an uecompUth finr and aeeompiUhi with the rirfwicf ^ the moi toty for vfUh the auiitanee . Ex-pan'sion, the state of being expanded or stretched out. Cease'less, without a »*op ol pause. 1. mHROUGH the mould and through the clay^ J- Through the com and through the hay, By the mar^ of the lake, O'er the river, through the brake, O'er the bleak and dreary moor, On we hie with screech and roar I Splashing! flashing I Crashing t dashing I 2. Over ridges, Gullies, bridges ! By the bubbling rill, And mill- Highways, byways, Hollow hai— BONO or TBB BiOLBOAD. Jamping — ^bnmping-— Booking — ^roaring Like forty thonsand gi&nti scoring t By the lonely hut and mansion, By the ocean's wide expansion — Where the factory chimneys smoke, Where the foundry bellows croak — Dash along I Slash along 1 Crash along t Flash along I On ! on I with a jump, And a bump, And a roll ! Hies the fire-fiend to its destined goal I S. Over moor and over bog. On we fly with ceaseless jog } Every instant something new, No sooner seen than lost to view ; Now a tarem — ^now a steeple — Now a crowd of gaping people— Now a hollow — ^now a ridge — Now a crossway — now a bridge- Grumble, stumble, Bumble, tumble — Church and steeple, GafHug people — Quick as thought are lost to view 1 Every thing that eye can survey, Turns hurly-burly, topsy-turvy ! Each passenger h thiimp'd and shaken, As physic is whea to be taken. 4. By the foundry, past the forge. Through the plain, and mountain gorge. Where cathedral rears its head, Where repO80 the sUent dead 1 80 TBI rOUIUIT Il!SADEB. Monuments amid t: /^ gitws Flit lilce Hpectres as you pu^s I If to hail a friend inclined — Whisk I whirr! kar-swash! — he's left behind I Rumble, tumble, all the day, Thus we pass the hours away. 30. ViCTORINUS. PRO-Fi'oiEN-cy, advancement, improvement gained. Bhet'o-ric, the science of ora- tory. Ex-As'pER-ATE, to vex, to pro» voke. Ad-min ' is-TER - ED, managed, supplied. Do not say pemouneed for pronounced; perfemon for profeukn ; reipee for the sandy qf the place, for respect for the aandUy qf theplAtce. VICTORINUS, a celebrated orator, had been professor of rhetoric at Rome ; he had passed his life in the study of the liberal sciences, and had attained a great proficiency in all of them. He had read, examined, and explained almost all the writings of the ancient philosophers, and had had the honor of instructing all the most distinguished of the Roman senators. 2. He had, in fine, followed his profession so successfully, that a statue had been erected to his honor in a public square of Rome, a distinction then considered the highest that man could attain. Yet he was still a pagan, an adorer of idols ; and not only that,, but he employed all his eloquence in per* suading others to adore them as he did. 3. What extraordinary grace did it require to touch and convert such a heart 1 Behold the means which God employed in doing so. Victorinus began to read the Holy Scriptures, and having for some time applied himself to that study, to- gether with other books that explained the Christian religion, he said one day to St. Simplician : " I have something to tell yon which will interest you very much : I am a Christian" — flOIOBDIUI. 81 1 '^ I do not believe a word of it,'' replied the Saint, "nor Blian I believe you, until I see yon in the church where the faithAil aro wont to assemble." 4. " What then," exclaimed Victorinns, " is it only within the inclosure of four walls that one is a Christian?" So it went on for some time, as often as Victorinus protested that he was a Christian, Simplician made hun the same reply, and the other always put it off with a laugh and a Jest. 5. The truth was, that he feared to exasperate his pagan friends, as their anger and opposition would be sure to crush him, if once called forth, and this risk he could not bring hhn- self to incur. 6. But after a time courage and generosity were given him from above because of his close application to the study of religion, and the docility with which he opened his heart to its truths, and he became convinced that it would be an enormous crime to blush for believing the mysteries of Jesus Christ, while appearing to glory in the sacrilegious superstitions of paganism. 7. No sooner did he obtain this conviction than he hastened to tell St. Simplician, at a time, too, when that holy man was least expecting him : "Let us go to the church," said he, " I am resolved to sJum myself a Christian, nor content myself longer with being one in heart." Sunplician, transported with joy, immediately took him to the church, and had his name entered on the list of those who demanded baptism. 8. All the city of Rome was struck with admiration and astonishment ; and the hearts of the faithM were filled with joy, because of the celebrity and high reputation of that great man. At length the happy day arrived when he was to make his profession of faith, in order to be baptized. 9. It was then the custom in the Roman church to inak^ this profession in a regular formula of words vfhich the cate; chumen learned by heart, and pronounced aloud before all th^ people. The priests, through respect, would have waived tbia custom, and permitted Victorinus to make his professimi in private, a privilege which was sometimes granted to tiniid per*^ sons ; but Victorinus declined, declaring that he would pro* i hi 82 THE FOURTH BEADEB. claim aloud, in presence of the whole assembly, his belief in those doctrines which were to gnide him to endless happiness. 10. No sooner had he appeared in the tribnne than a sadden transport of joy seized all hearts, and his name was echoed aloud from mouth to mouth, and although each one restrained his joyful emotion through respect for the sanctity of the place and the sacrament about to be administered, yet all around was heard the murmured exclamation : It is Victoriniis ! It is Victorinus ! 11. But every sound was speedily hushed, in order to per- mit him to speak ; whereupon, he with holy fervor, repeated in a clear, distinct voice, his belief in the truths which form the basis of our faith. WilUngly would the people have taken him and carried him around in triumph, for every heart over- flowed with the joy of beholding him a Christian. 12. This splendid conversion had great consequences, and when St. Augustine was informed of it by St. Simplician, he acknowledged that he felt strongly moved to follow the exam- ple of Victorinus ; this intention he soon after carried into execution under the ministry of St. Ambrose, to whom St. Simplician had been a father from his baptism. 31. GuABDiAN Angels. Sub-ser'vi-ent, serviceable. j Em'a-nat-ino, issuing, or flow Way'ward, unruly, perverse. | ing from. Do not say moUa for moulds. 1. s. OH 1 he may brave life's dangers, In hope and not in dread, Whose mother's prayers are lighting A halo round his head. For wheresoe'er he wander, Through this cold world and dark, 'There wbite-wing'jd angels follow, To guard life's wayward bark. Go, let the scoffer call it A shadow and a dream, OUABDIAN ANGELS. 88 Those meek, subservient spirits, Are nearer than we deem. Think not they visit only The bright, enraptured eye, Of some pure sainted martyr. Prepared and glad to die ; i;^ ^- I Or that the poet's fancy. Or the painter's magic skill, Creates a dream of beauty. And moulds a work at will. . ''I ! il ! , V 84 THE FOURTH BEAD^B. 8. They live, they wander round ni^ Soft resting on the cloud, Although to human vision, The sight be disallow'd. They are to the Almighty What rays are to the sun, An emanating essence, From the great supernal One. 4. They bend for prayers to listen, They weep to witness crimes, They watch for holy moments. Good thoughts, repentant tunes ; They cheer the meek and humble^ They heal the broken heart, They teach the wavering spirit From earthly ties to part. 6. Unseen they dwell among us, As when they watch below. In spiritual anguish. The sepulchre of woe. And when we pray, though feeble Our orisons may be, They then are our companions, Who pray eternally. -V 32. The Resubbection op the ; ody. Moul'der, to rot. Es-tab'lish-ed, fixed. Re-sus'ci-tate, to bring to life. Om-nip'o^ence, unlimited pow- er. Im-pas'si-ble. not subject to suffering. In-con-ceiv'a-ble, not to be conceived. Cor-rup'tion, decay. Give its proper sound. Do not say cotua^lation for comotdion; t'ffetkar for together ; t' create for to areate. IT is an article of faith that our body shall one day rise again. All men shall die, and they shall rise again with the same bodies they had in this life. The body, laid in the earth, shall TBE BESUBBEOnON OF THE BODY. 85 go through the process of cormption, and moulder into dnst ; but what changes soever it may have undergone, its ashes shall one day be gathered together and reanimated by the breath of God. Life is but a dream, and death a sleep ; but the resurrection will be the beginning of a life which shall never end. 2. "The day will come," said Jesus Christ, "when all who are in the grave shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and they who have done good works, shall rise and live forever ; but they who have done evil shall rise to be condemned." "In a moment," says St. Paul, "in the twinklmg of an eye, at the sound of the last trumpet, the dead shaU arise to die no more." 3. That resurrection shall be general ; all shall arise, the great and the small, the just and the wicked, they who have Uved before us from the beginning of the world, they who aro now on the earth, they who shall come after us, all shall die, and rise again at the last day with the same bodies tbey had in this life. 4. It is God who will work this prodigy by his Omnipotence. As he has drawn all things from nothing by his will alone, so shall he with as much ease, gather together our scattered members, and reunite them with our souls. It is not more difficult for the Almighty to reanimate our bodies than it was for him to create them. Nay, we have under our eyes, every year, a figure of this r -rTection. 6. Are not ihe trees, as it were, dead during thie winter, and do they not appear to resuscitate in the spring ? The grain and other seed which is cast into the earth, decays there- in, only to come ^^ rfch again fairer than at first : it is the same with our body ; which, like a seed, is laid in the earth for a season, to come forth again full of lifo. 6. The bodies of the just shall not then be solid, heavy, and corruptible, as they now are ; but they shall shine like the sun, and shall be free from all sorts of pain and inconvenience, full of strength and agility, such as was the body of our Lord «ifter his resurrection. t. The just, who are his children, siwctified by his grace, THB VOUBTH BEADEB. united and made one with him by &itb, shall also rise like unto himself ; Jesus Christ shall transform their mean and abject bodies, and render them like unto his own — ^glorious and impassible. 8. The body, which has had its share in the good done by the soul while they were joined together, shall be a sharer also in its happiness. The wicked shall, indeed, rise again, but their bodies shall have none of these glorious qualities ; they shall arise, but only to be given up to torments endless in their duration, and inconceivable in their greatness. 9. "All the multitudt of those who sleep in the dust of the earth," says one of the prophets, "shall awake, some for life eternal, and others for endless ignominy and disgrace." What a spectacle shall then meet our eyes I what sentiments will arise in our hearts, when we hear the sound of the trum- pet, and when that dreadful voice shall echo over the earth, "Arise, ye dead 1 and come to judgment I" — when we shall see all manjiind assemble, without any other distinction than that made by their own works 1 10. In the reign of Aitiocli o, the seven young Machabees and their mother generously sufiFered the most cruel torments rather than violate the law of God, because they hoped in the resurrection. The first had his tongue cut out and the skin torn off his head, and he being still alive he was cast into a caldron over a huge fire. The second, when expu"ing, said to the king : "You now put us to death ; but the Ruler of the world shall one day raise us up to life everlasting." 11. The third said with confidence : "I have received these memberi from Heaven, but I now hold them as nothing in defence of the laws of God, because I hope that they shall be one day restored to me." The fourth spoke in these terms : " It is better for us to be slain for obeymg God, than to pre- serve our lives by disobejring him ; we hope that in the resur- rection, God will render glorious these bodies which we re- ceived from him." 12. The others manifested similar courage and fortitude. Nevertheless, the youngest still remained ; and Antiochus tried to shake his purpos« by caresses and the hope of reward ; he A 8T0BT OT A MONK. m also sent him to his mother, hopiug tiiat she would peraaadj him to sacrifice to the idols 13. But that geuerous mother said to her son : " Look up to heaven I raise thine eyes to God, who hath created all things, and thou shalt not fear these torments, but will follow thy brethren to death 1 " Antiochus, more than ever enraged, poi'.red out all his wrath on tbd boy, and caused the mother to undergo the same torments as her sons. ' . 33. A Stobt of a Monk. Monk, a member of a religious • community of men. Clois'ter, a convent or mon- astery inhabited by nuns or monks. Ab'bot, the head of a commu- nity of monks. Stu'di-ous, given to books or learning. Chron'i-cle, to record, to write down. Oru'ci-fix, an image of our Saviour's body fastened to a cross. i a 1 MANY years ago, there dwelt in a cloister a monk named Urban, who was remarkable for an earnest and devout frame of mind beyond his fellows, and was therefore Intrusted «nth the key of the convent library. He was a M I TBB VOTTBTH HTB^n »B. carefhl gnardian of its contents, and, besides, a studious reader of its learned and sacred volomes. One day he read in the Epistles of St. Peter the words, "One day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day ;" and this saying seemed impossible in his eyes, so that he i^nt many an honr in musing OTcr it. 2. Then one morning it happened that the monk descended ftom the library into the cloister garden, and there he saw a little bird perched On the bongh of a tree, singing sweetly, like a nightmgule. The bird did not move as the monk approached her, till he came quite close, and then she flew to another bough, and again another, as the monk pursued her. Still singing the same sweet song, the nightingale flew on ; and the monk, en- tranced by the sound, followed her out of the garden into the wide world. 3. At last he stopped, and turned back to the cloister ; but every thing seemed changed to hun. Every thing had become larger, more beautiful, and older, — the buildings, the garden ;. and in the place of the low,' humble cloister church, a lofty siioster with three towers reared its head to the sky. This seemed very strange to the monk, indeed marvellous ; but he walked on to the cloister gate and timidly rang the bell. A porter entirely unknown to him answered his summons, and drew back in amazement when he saw the monk. 4. The latter went^ in, and wandered through the church, gazing with astonishment on memorial stones which he never remembered to have seen before. Presently the brethren of the cloister entered the church ; bat all retreated when they saw the strange figure of the monk. The abbot only (but not his abbot) stopped, and stretching a crucifix before him, ex- claimed, " In the name of Christ, who -art thou, spirit or mor- tal ? Awi what dost thou seek here, coming from the dead among us, the living ? " 5. The monk, trembling and tottering like an old man, cast his eyes to the ground, and for the first time became aware that a long silvery beard descended from his chin over his girdle, to which was still suspended the key of the library. To the monks around the stranger seemed some marvellous iSi. TBI SIUTOBT SOHOLAB* M appeurance ; and, with a mixtnre of awe and admiration, they leid him to the chair of the abbot. There he gave to a young monk the key of the library, who opened it, and broaght out a chronicle wherein it was written, that three hundred years ago the monk Urban had disappeared, and no one knew whither he had gone. 6. "Ah, bird of the forest, was it then thy song?^' said the monk Urban, with a sigh, "t followed thee for scarce three minutes, listening to thy notes, and yet three hundred years have passed away I Thou hast sung to me the song of eter- nity which I could never before learn. Now I know it ; and, dust myself, I pray to God kneeling in the dust." With these words he sank to the ground, and his spirit ascended to heaven. but 34. The Diiatoby Scholab. and To Lm'oER, to delay, to be dil- atory. To Pro^test', to declare. Satch'el. % little bag used by schoolboys. At'las, a book of maps. Pronounce distinctly. Do not say breakin for breaking ; nothin for nothing ; playm for playing. 1. AH ! where is my hat? it is taken away, v/ And my shoestrings are all in a knot 1 I cau o LM a thing where it should be to4ay. Though I've hunted in every spot. 2. My slate and my pencil nowhere can be found, Though I placed them as safe as could be ; While my books and my maps are all scattered around, And hop about just like a flea. !'l 3. Do, Rachel, just look for my atlas up^jtairs ; My Yirgil is somewhere there, too j Ajid, sisi;er, brush down these troublesome hairs,-— And, brother, just fasten my shoe. 90 THE FOURTH BBAOEB. And, mother, beg father to write an excuse ; But stop — he will only say "No," And go on with a smile and keep reading the newi^ While every thing bothers me so. 5. My satchel is heavy and ready to fall ; This old pop-gun is breaking my map ; I'll have nothing to do with the pop-gun or ball,- There's no playing for such a poor chap I 6. The town-clock will strike in a minute, I fear ; Then away to the foot I must sink : — There, look at my history, tumbled down here ! And mj algebra cover'd with ink 1 35. Spanish EvENiNa Htmn. Wea'ry, tired, fatigued. Watch-fire, a fire used as a signal Sound the aspirated h. Do not say sailor zim for scalor^a hymn ; from in tor from his; founiun sealing for fount unseaUng, 1. Tl/TOTHBR I now let prayer and music, •i-'J- Meet in love on earth and sea I Now, sweet mother ! may the weary, Turn from this cold world to the« 1 OBBIffr BTXLLINO Tllf TBUTPBifrT. 3. From tLe wide and restless watera, Hear the sailar'a hymn arise ; From big watch-fire 'mid the momitaioi^ Lo I to thee the shepherd cries 1 3. Yet, ^hm thus fall hearts find voice^ If o'erburden'd souls there be, Dark and silent in their anguish, Aid those captives, set them free t 4. Touch them, every fount unsealing, Where the frozen tears lie deep ; Thou, the mother of ail sorrows. Aid, oh I aid to pray and weep 1 U ignaL ifrom 86. Christ Sttluno the Tempest. "But the ehip was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves ; for the wind was contrary." — MaUhew xiv, 24. BiL-'Lows, waves. { Right'b-ous, just, upright. Breath'less, out of breath. I Man'dates, commands. Q Pronounce each wwd distinctly. Dv. not say roUm 'igh m' dark for rcUmg high and dark. 1. Tj^BAR was within the tossing bark, -*- When stormy winds grew loud ; And waves came rolling high and dark, And the tall mast was bow'd. 2. And men stood breathless in their dread, And baffled in their skill — But One was there, who rose and said Tothe wUdsea, "Be still!" 3. And the wind ceased — ^it ceased ! — ^that word Pass'd through the gloomy sky ; The troubled billows knew their Lord, And sank beneath his eye. 9d THE FOURTH BEADEB. i iSi . I I i SI In •3 4. Aod sinmber settled on the deep, And silence on the blast, As when the righteous fall a.sleep, When deatlr.i lierce throes are p&st. 6. Thon that didst rule the angry horn*, And tame the tempest's mood — Oh ! send thy sjiirit forth in power, O'er our dark soul brood 1 6. Thou that didst bow .ue billow's pride I Thy mandates to fulfil — Speak, speak, to passion's raging tide, Speak and say — " Peace, be still !" 87. Holiday Ohildren. Christ'mas, the day our Sa- viour was born. Mu-se'um, a collection of cu- riosities. CoAx'iNG-LY, flatteringly. Scutch'eon, the ground on •^ which a coat of arms is painted. ONE of the most pleasing sights at this festive season, is the group of boys and girls returned from school. Go where you will, a cluster of their joyous, chubby laces presents them- selves to our notice. In the streets, or elsewhere, our elbows are constantly assailed by some eager urchin whose eyes just peep beneath to get a nearer view. i>. I am more delighted in watching the vivacious workings of their ingenuous countenances at these Christmas shows, than at the sights themselves. 3. From the first joyous huzzas, and loud-blown horns which announce their arrival, to the faint attempts at similar mirth on their return, I am interested in these youngsters. 4. Observe the Ime of chaises with their swarm-like loads horrymg t« tender and exulting parents, the sickly to be cher' HOLIDAT CHILDREN. 98 ished, the strong to be amused ; in a few mornings you shall see them, new clothes, warm gloves, gathering around their mother at every toy-shop, claiming the promised bat, hoop, top, or marbles /^mark her kind smile at their ecstasies ; her prudent shako of the head at their numerous demands ; her gradual yielding as they coaxingly drag her in ; her paticnccu with their whims and clamor while they turn and toss over the playthings, as now a sword, and now a hoop is their choice, and, liV heir elders, the possession of one bauble d.'e«! but make t' '» f« r another. 6. Viev ler, his pet little girl by the haUv), hL* boys walkiu; . whom his proud eye rests, while am- bitious views >ui u iT his mmd for them, and make him but half attentive to their repeated inquiries ; while at the museum or the picture-gallery, his explanations are interrupted by the rapture of discovering that his children are already well ao- quamted with the different subjects exhibited. 6. At no season of the year are their holidays so replete With pleasures ; the expected Christmas-box from grand-papa and grand-mamma ; plum-puddiug and snap-dragon, with biindman's buff and forfeits ; perhaps to witness a juvenile play rehearsed and ranted; galantee-show and drawing for twelfth-cake \ besides Christmas gambols in abundance, new and old. t. Even the poor charity-boy at this season feels a transient glow of cheerfulness, as with pale blue face, frost-nipped hands, and thin, scant clothes, from door to door he tunidly displays the nnblotted scutcheon of his graphic talents, and feels that the pence bestowed are his oton, and that for once in his life be may taste the often-desu-ed tart, or spm a top which no one can snatch from him in capricious tyranny. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) Wa f // V. 1.0 1.1 11.25 1^121 125 >tt Ui 12.2 i^ 12.0 US IE Hiotographic Sciences Corporalion 23 WIST MAIN STNIT WIUTIR,N.Y. MSM (716)172-4303 «* ^^^ 4^*^ ^j^ ^ n <^ .*i PART SECOND A WOED TO TEACHEBS. Wb have deemed it best to discontinue the spelling and defining lessons at the commencement of the articles, but we cannot too strongly recommend all teachers to devote a por- tion of every day to the orthography and definition of a certain number of words contained in the reading lesson, Let the pnpils spell and explain the words at the head of each lesson before commencmg to read. After the lesson is over, let the teacher direct them to close their books, and spell and define every word he may select. It may, then, be asked : how are children to learn the meaning of the words ? We answer, by being accustomed to give in their ovm lan- guage, their ovm ideas of every unusual or impohant word which occurs in their reading lesson ; the teacher of course correcting them when wrong, and explaining, when necessary, the proper meaning of the term in question ; or referring them for this informatuHi to their dictionaries, which should always be at hand for this their le^timate use.* Questions on the subject of the lesson should also be care* fully continued. THB DRBAM OF THE OBUSADEB. 96 1. The Dbeam of the Cbt7sadeb. >,.■ 96 IBB FOURTH READBR. 8. That cry went forth throngh Europe's realmi^ From one end to the other ; The call was like the thunder's voice^ That nought on earth can smother. 4. And France's fairest chiyalrj Did mount at that loud call ; From Normandy unto Provence, None tarried in his hall. 5. Some came from the fast-flowing Loire And others from the Rhone, And some whose castles were upon The banks of the Garonne. 6. One common badge they all do wear, A proud and holy crest, A blood-red cross, emblazon'd bright On each left arm and breast. t. Then: banner is that blood-red cross^ Upraised as for a sign, And animating aU the host With thoughts of Palestine. 8. And day by day they fought their w«^ Still onwards from the sea, And charged upon the Infidel With dauntless constancy. 9. And 'mid that host of noble knights Who from their homes had gone. There was not one more worthy than Anselm of BlbeauponL TBI DMBiX OF TBI OKinADIB. fl 2. The Dbeam or the Obxtbadebt— oon^tnuedL 1. One early morn, the san as yet Was scarcely in the sky, He begg'd the priest to shrive him then, And make him fit to die. 9. He wish'd to take the sacrament As soon as he was shriven, That he might dare to meet his Qod With hopes to be foigiven. 8. Now all did marvel at his words, For he was fresh and well ; And why he de^n'd that he shonltl dh^ No mprtal man could telL 4. Bnt good Sir Anselm with grave miLn Thus spake—" My race is ran 1 Ere yonder sun shall set again, life's journey will be done. 6. My friend, Ingolram of St. Pol, Who fell at Ma'ra's fight» And whom we all lamented so^ Fve seen in the past night. 6. This ver}' night he camo to me, And stood beside my bed ; Twas not a dream — I was awake. And heard each word he said. t. I asked him, ' Whither comest thoi^ And why so bright and fair t For thou wert kill'd at Maara^ And we interred thee thert/ 8. He was 80 bright and beantifid, And mild each placid featirt ; THE FOUBIH BEADEIU He wai not like a mortal maa, Sfat some ai^lic creature. 9. He answer'd me, 'I am so fiiur, And beantlfal and bright, Because my dwellii^ shineth so With allHPMplendent light 10. And this to me my God hath girea^ Because I served him well ; For layii^ down my life for him Agidnst the InfidcL 11. And it hath been revealed to me^ Th^t m^ a dwellm^^lace, Bnt brighter eitill, awaiteth thee, Through Qod's great soTereign grace. ii. And I am come to bring to thee 9heee tidings glad and sweet ; Thy dwelling it is wondrous fair— To morrow there we meet I ' " 18. Again Ihey went to fight their waj Still onwards from the sea ; They diarged upon the Infidel With wonted constant^. 14. The PaynuB men adTance agaii^ To drive them to the sea, Bnt on them rushed the rednsross men With all their chivalry. 16. And when the day^ hard strife was o'la; The sun went down apace. The good ^ Ansehn he was missed . At his aecustomM place. . 16; They soi^ht him oa the battte>field^ lliey found him Imidst the dead : V Bt 6. We call God our Father, for so ha? Christ instructed us to do. God is indeed our father by creation, nnce he has given us life, and formed us to his own inuige ; he is still more our father by the grace of our baptism, seeing that in Bap- tism he adopted us as his children in Christ Jesus. " Con- eider," says the Apostle St. John, "what love the Father has had for us. Knee he would have us called his children, and ' really be so!" "Because ye are children," adds St. Paul, "God has sent into your hearts the spirit of his Son, cry- ing 'ifyfb<^ My Father!*" Oh, name full of sweet- ness and delight 1 What love, what gratitude, and what cot^ fidence should it excite in your heart I 1. If it be true that God is your Father, can you fear that ' your prayer will be rejected when yon remind him of a name by which he takes pleasure in hearing us address hhn ? What LIOEND Of TBI ISVAMT J18U8. m does he not grant to a child who prays to him, after he has recei?ed him into the number of his dUldren by a grace which preceded his prayers and desires. /-' 8. Fear only that by your disobedience yon may render yourself nnworthy to be cdled the child of God ; that alone can obstruct the flow of his grace and the effect of your prayers. Each of us says, when addressing God: "Our Father *' and not My Father, because having all the same Father, and expectmg firom him the same inheritance, we are not only to pray for ourselves, but for all the faithful, who are our brethren. By that we understand that it is not in our own name we pray, but in that of Jesus Christ, and in union with the whole body of his Ohurch, whose members we are. 9. We add : " Who art in heaven,^ for although God is everywhere in his immendty, we nevertheless consider heaven as the throne of his glory ; it is m heaven that he puts forth all his magnificence, and reveals himself fully to his elect without the shadow of a cloud to obscure his brightness. It is to heaven that we ourselves are called ; heaven is our country, and the inheritance destined for us by our Father. When we kneel, then, in prayer, let us raise our thoughts and our desires to heaven ; let us unite with the sodety of blessed spirits, and excite in our hearts the hope and the desire of possessing God. 4. Legend of the Infaiit Jesus. 1. pOME, children, all whose joy it. is v-^ To serve at holy mass. And hear what once, in days of faith, In England came to pass 1 9. It chAuced a priest was journeying Through dark and gloomy wood, And there, where few came passing by, A lonely chapel stood. in Tfem Kowifi nAon. 8. He itay'd hli ftet, thtt pOgrim prieHy HiB morning man to mj, And pat the sacred Testmente on. Wbidi near the altar lay. 4. Bnt who shall serve the holy maai For all is silent here ? He kneels, and there in patience waiti The peasant's hoar of prayer. ^ 6. When lo ! a child of wondroos grace, Before the altar stealvy And down beside thelbwlQr^prieet, The infant beaaty kneels. n He serres the mass ; his Toice is sweety like #stant moac low^^ ;^:'u With AgwdlA, eye and ready hand, And footfall hgsh'd, and slow^^^^ t t. " Et Terbom caro factum est.'' He^l^ till he hears, I d 'a. Then taming he to Mary's shrine^ elu^^'^ In i^oEy disappears. So roond the altar, children dear, Press gladly in Qod's name, Fot once to serve at holy mass^ The In&nt Jesos came. 5. The DoNoTHmoft THB I)(k»Nothings are a very nameroas family : s(»ne mem^ ^ bers of it ate foond in all parts of the conntry ; and there are vary few schools in which some of them ure mi in atS^d^ p j ance as pnpOL. They are known by their ^if and listleesft^n^no/UA*'' vteps, tiidrllSml^ appearance, and tiie want ol ammation and m f.rf ^. ittii i^iioratiRMi interest b their flusei. Tbej do not do taj thin work or pUy, with a hearty good-will. a. Their hair isAt^^ be in disorder ; their hands and fhces are not always clean ; their clothes look as if they had been halTjpat on. They are always in a hnrry, and yet always Mhurahaqd. They are sometimes absent from school, and often, iar^ ; bnt for every neglect of dnty they always hare some sort fA an excuse. 8. A g^l of this family gets np hi the momfaig late, dresses herself in a hnrry, and comes down^tahrs a little ont ^ hnmw from the feeling that she has begnn the day i^ng. The family breal(fast is over, and she is obliged to take hers alone ; which does not i&pt^a^e her 1^^^ She knows that she has a French lesson to learn before school ; bnt she Is attracted «Mi,:^ by a new pictnr»book which had been brooght home the dwr^r— before for one of her little brothers^ and she takes it np, mS^^^ ing only to look oyer the {Stores. Bnt she becomes interest- ed in the storMnrns over one leaf after another, and at hut nine o'clock sufl^estiefore she is aware of it 4. She hnddles on her shawl and bonnet, and hastens to school as fast as possible ; bnt she is late in spite of her hnrry, and is marked for tardkess. It takes h« some tune to get seated at her desk, and to recover from the heat and florry of coming to school so fkst She at first proposes to learn the French lesson, which she onght to have done at home ; bnt aft«r studying a few moments, she finds some leaves misrii^ from her dictionary. She tries to borrow one firom a neigln bor, bnt in vain ; so she becomes discouraged, and tiiinks dio will do a few sums in arithmetic. /. . 5. So she takes ont her slate, and beg^ to wadi it ; i|)end* ing much more time m this jft^^t^lss than Is necessary. She tries a sum and cannot do it, and thinks it the fault (tf the pencil So she proceeds to sharpen that with great delibera- tion, makingeverybody around her imeasy with the disagree- able, ^ra^ sound. When this operation is over, she looks at the clodc, and sees that it will soon be time to recite in geography, of whk^ she has not learned any thing. 6. She puts up her slate, pencil, and arithmetic, and takes 104 oat iMUMgnphy and Attta. B7 the time theee are opened and ij^la before her, she hean a band of mgiio Jn the atreet. Her seat ia near the window, and she wanes tome preciooa minntea in looking at the soldiers as they pass by. 8he has hardly made any progress in her study of geography when she is called np to recite. She knows very little of her lesson, gives wrong answers to the qnestions pat to her, and gets a bad mark. t. Soon after this, the class in French to which she belongs goes np to recite. This lesson she has only half learned, and she blunders sadly when called apon to answer. She goes back to her desk in an anbappy state of inind, and takes up her arithmetic once more. But she feels dissatisfied with herself, and cannot fix her attention upon her task. She comes to the conclusion that she haa got a headache, which is a very com- mon excuse with her, and that she cannot study. So she puts a cover upon one of her books, and wiites a note to one of her young friends about gohig to a concert ; and when this is over the bell for dismissal rings. 8. And this half day may be taken as a fair sample of the whole school-life of Miss Do-Nothmg. It is a long succession of lessons half leained, of sums half done, of blotted copy- books, of absences and tardinesses, of wasted hours and neg- lected opportnnities. Most of the annoyance which teachers suffer in the discharge of their duties, comes from boys and l^ls of this family. They have two seemingly opponte traits : UtiBf are always idle and yet always restless. They move about on their seats, and lean npon their desks b a great Variety of postores. They talk with their fingers ; and keep up a constant whispering and buzzing with their lips, which disturbs scholars and teachers alike. 9. The boys are very expert in catching flies, and moulding pieces of paper into the shape of boats or cocked hats. They draw figures upon their slates, and scribble upon the fly-leaves ^ of their books. In sunmier they are aflBicted with a constant thirst, and in winter their feet and hands are always cold. Both boys and girls are apt to be troubled with drowdness hi the daytime ; and yet they are very reluctant to go to bed S t] 1 tl ii a a U tl a 1 U Vr BIAUMI THE nkVOEnOL OW JAIBUI. 101 wbeo fhe proper boor comei. Thej w fbnd of Uying the firalt of their own indolence upon the weather ; they would haye learned their leeeon if it had not been so hot, bo K>ld, or 10 rainy. 10. There is one remarkable pecniiarity about this family : erery boy and girl that chooses can leave it, and join the Do* Somethings ; the members of which are always glad to wel- come deserters from the Do-Nethings. The boys and girls of the Do-Something family are always busy, always cheerftil; working heartily when tiiey work, and [daying heartily when they play. They are neat in their appearance, and punctual in attendance upon school ; erery thing is done in proper order, and yet nothing is harried } they are the Joy of their parents, and the delight of their teachers. 11. My young friends into whose hands tUs iMok may fall, to which of these two ftuniliee do you belong ? Remember that the useiUness and happiness of your whole Uves depends vpoa the answer to this question. No one can be truly happy who is not useftil ; and no one can be usefhl who is idle^ care* less^ and negligent. 6., Hhaukg thb DinamvB of Jaibitb. 1. "^^sS^uSf^^jej^ the coming eye i: Stole dmSl^ihettteoe^ and the dying girl Felt it npon her forehead, ^e Jiad lain'^^**^**' Siooe the hot noontide in a ol^Ei^ii trance — ^o^ Her thin, palejbgers clasped wi!fiin the hand Of the £^fi-h£o£en Buler, and her breast/^**^*^-"^ Like^edead in^|JU|9i white and motionless. "* S. The sSfSowofafl^lay onhei And,^as it stSn^^Vith the ™,k'niMr wuid, The oark lias lifted from her langmd eyes, . And herlsf^Eirfingers moved, and heavily L^i*^*^**^ She tpm'd upon her P^^^^w^^Hewas there-^ The same loved tireless l^l!{$^, and she look'd Into his face until her aght grew dim < e^ft^AAHfi/K- ■ 1 1 106 THE F0X7BTB HffiAPEB. tf h ■u. \L^ Witluthe fas^fidUngtears ; and, with a sigh^^^ Of trmmon^ wea^n^ murmuring his name, She' gently /H'^whis hand upon her lips, J-^-*^ And kiss'd it as she wept. The old man sunk -^/'■^ Upon his knees, and in the draperyt.^^?<^'»-^-<- ' Of the rich curtains buried up his face ; And when the twilight fell, the sflken folds/ ^ .^<-«-» u*^^H^,: ~ Stirr'd with his prayer, but the ^ght hand he held Had ceased its pressure — and he could not hear, In the dead, utter silence, that a breaxli Came through her nostrils— and her temples gave To his nice touch no pi^e— and, at her mouth, He held the lightest c^tnat on her^ieck Lay with a mockinjrbeauty, and his gaze c/^^CU^ »~^^ Ached with its dealoQr stillness. tid/i^ , BEALma THE DAUQBIEB OF JAIBUS. 10? * » * * * « 8. All was stQl. The echoing vestibiile gave back the slide /*«— Of their loose sandals, and the arrowy beam Of moonlight, slanting to the marble floor, Lay like a spell of silence in the rooms, As Jaims led them on. With hushing steps He trod the winding stair ; bat e'er he toach'd The lachet, from within a whisper came, " Trouble the Master not— /or she is dead /" And his faint hand fell nerreless at his side, And his steps folter'd, and his broken voice Choked in its utterance ; — ^bnt a gentle hand Was laid upon his arm, and in his ear ^ilie Savionr's voice sank thrillingly and low* *' i8%e 18 not dead—biU de^h." 4 Like a form Of matchlets seolptiire in her deep she lay—- The linen vesture folded on her breast, And over it her white transparent handa^ The blood still rosy in their taperfi^ nallai A line of pearl ran through her parted lips^ And in her nostriki sphitually thin, The breathing carve was moi^^gly like fife; And round beneath the faintly-tinted skin Ran the light branches of the azure veins ; And on her cheek the jet lash overlay, Matching the arches penciFd on her broW. 6. Her hair had been unbound, and foiling loose Upon her pillow, hid her small round ears In curls of glossy blackness, and about Her polish'd neck, scarce touching it, they hong Like airy shadows floating as they slept. TVas heavenly beautifiil. The Saviour raised Her hand from off her bosom, and spread out The snowy fingers in his palm, and said, "Maiden/ Ariae I"-— ^Oid suddenly a flueb 108 THB fOUBTH mBAPTCB. Shot o'er her forehead, and along her lips And through her cheek the rallied color ran; And the still ontline of her graceful form Stih^d in the linen vesture ; and she clasp'd The Saviour's hand, and fixing her dark eyes Full on his beaming countenance — ^abosi 1 7. St. Philip Nem and the Youth. S T. Philip Neri, Met readings r in Rome' say, streets one day : young^ And being ever To give jovmgfo(^ a iSlSer ISSm^ mind/^<^-*^-t He fell into dmc^Sra? with him ; and thusAA^vm^ The dialogue they held comes down to us. St. Tell me what brings yon, gentle youth, to Bomef Y. To make myself a scholar, sir, I come. St. And, when you are one, what do you mtend?^(.v*^ Y. Why, t^oS^or^ngbt I know, I may be made a bishop. St. Be it so — What then? Y. Why, cardmaPs a high degree— And yet my lot it possibly may be. iSS(. Suppose it was, what then ? Y. Why, who can say Bnt I've a chance of being pope one day ? St. Well, having worn the mitre and red hat, And ^^e crown, what follows after that ? Y. ssay, there is nothing further, to be sure Upon this earth that wishing can procure ; When Fve enjoy'd a dignity so high, As long as Qod shall please, then, I most dit. \ CXXNEEBMAXIOll. 109 Bt. Whf>' muat yon die, fond youth 7 and at the best Bat wiflh, I hope, and may he all the rest 1 Take my aa?lee— whatever may betide, ^j^'ii-^-^**— i— For that which most be, first of all provide y^<.'^^<-^-'-r Then think of that which may be, and indeed. When well prepared, who knows what may succeed 7 But you may be, as you are pleased to hope, Priest, canon, bishop, cardinal, and pope. ^' 8. GONFIBMATION. OUR young readers have learned from theur little catechism, that confirmation is the sacrament by which they are ele- vated to the dignity of soldiers of Jesus Christ ; that, as by baptism they were made children of God, so by confirmation their names are inscribed in the army of the faithful followers of our divine Lord, and they receive strength to battle against sin, the world, and the devil, which they had so solemnly re- nounced at the baptismal font. 2. Confirmation is conferred by a bishop, who first imposes his hands on those to be confirmed, invoking upon them the Holy Ghost, with his sevenfold gifts ; he then signs the fore- head of each with chrism in the form of the cross, saying at the same time : " I sign thee with the sign of the cross ; I confirm thee with the chrism of salvation, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." 3. The bishop concludes the ceremony by giving the person confirmed a slight blow on the cheek, to signify that as fol- lowers of Jesus Christ, we must bear trials and persecutions for his sake. 4. The chrism used in confirmation, is an ointment made of the oil of cloves and balm. The oil signifies the effect of this holy sacrament, namely, spiritual strength and purity of hearty and preservation from the rust of sin ; and the sweetness of balm, the odor of a good and virtuous life. 6. Confirmation can only be received once, hence it is a iS^ no THE lOUBTH BIABEKt great misfortmie not to Feceiye it with the proper cUsporitiona Formerly it was the cnstom to confirm children immediately after baptism, but now it is generally delayed nntil after they have made their first commonion. It is not a sacrament abso- lutely necessary for salvation, but it would be a grieyous sin to omit receiving it through contempt or neglect. 6. Children ought to look forward with a lon^ng desire to ffae moment when they shall have the happiness to receive this holy sacrament, and daily ask of Almighty God the grace to receive it worthily, and as often resolve to live up to the obli- gations it imposes, when they shall have received it. 9. ButDS IN SUMMEB. How pleasfint the life of a bird must be^ F]jitti|;)g^ about in,eaph leafy tree ; In theaea .« t» hand the fire ai^ ^hat was mteiided ' ?9 nt <■:;• tylively figure of.nmi yno w&rMierwara^ ,m a^em the mount of Calvary T^SieS with a cross, on vl^Sn^^as to consummate the great work of our redemption. As they were going on, Isaac asked his father where tjje^yjctim was? The question was too interesting not to awJEi^en all the tenderness of a father's loye hi soph circumstances : Abraham dissembled: the secret reehngs of his heart, and with a manly firmness an- swered, that God would ^ovide the victim. **fri^^*"'-iiHM-AA.u4^ 5. Being come to the appointed spot, he erecte^ an, altar, and laid the wood in order upon it ; then having umhd and sed his son Isaac thereon,^ he took up the 'sword, and fccKed out his hand tojstfS^*' iTie firm obedionce of the father, and the humble submission of the son, were all that God required of them. An angel at that moment was dis-'^^'^^^'^ patched to stop the father's arm. and to assure him that God was satisfied with the reaamess of his obedience. The angel called aloud on Abraham ; Abraham answered the voice, and saw a ram with hisTiorns entangled amid looking round saw a rain* with his'Tibrnseritangle'd amid the Drambles, which he took and ofiered as a holocaust for his son. 6. This history, which is so mysterious, and in almost every circumstance so resembling the stations of our Saviour's pas- sion, is, according to the holy fathers, an instruction for all parents to consult the will and implore the aid of God, before HOHENUNDEN. 123 liope, rmed rly in ently e the ?ixed third d his bh his JSUg- e and tiilLa rfc ^ as to ' were The erness ? ' mbled:^' "^ !8S au- altar, id and I, and of the 1 that IS dis-y- ,t God augcl e, and id the lis son. ; every 's pas- for all before they presume to ^^pose of their children. Noth^ig less than the eternal wSlMe of their souls, and the service of Almighty God, ought to guide thehr attention, and regulate their con- duct in this respect. ..;^..y^/.^^,u^ ^v^j^ 7. Saint Chrysostom illore at large deplores the misfortune of those parents who, notwithstanding their Christian profes- sion, sacrifice then* ^^^^f^^^- ^ ^•'^ ^ Abraham did, but to Satan, either Jby engaging them in the pursuits of a vain world, or by Ifrawtnguiem from the practice of a virtuous life. " Abraham is the only one," says he, " who consecrates his son to God, while thousands of others turn theu* children over to the devil ; and- the joys we feel in seemg some few; take a Christian care of their little ones, is presently sii^fessedwith grf« at the sight. of those greater numbers, who totally neglect that duty, and by the example they give, deserve to . be considered rather as parricides, than the parents of their children.^ ti*^ 13. HOBEKLINDEN. 1. /^N Linden, when the sun was low, V/ AH bloodless lay the untrodden snow j And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. S. But Linden saw another sight. When the drum beat at dead of night Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. S. By torch and trumpet fast array'd. Each horseman drew his battle-blade ; And furious every charger neigh'd To join the dreadful revelry. 4. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rosh'd the steed to battle driven, iU THE FOURTH llEADEB. And louder than the bolts of heaven Far flash'd the red artillery. 5. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stain'd snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow . Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 6. "lis morn ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, roUmg don, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. t. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory or the grave I Wave, Munich 1 all thy banners wave. And charge with all thy chivahry t 8. Few, few shall part where many meet I The snow shall be their winding sheet ; And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 14 Language of Elowebs. GOOD news ! joyful news 1" cried the happy voice of AHce Telford, running in with a huge bunch of roses in her hand. "Come, Cattie 1 come, Honor ! we are to go to help Sister Theresa in the sacristy, — oh, I do so love that I The great candlesticks are out, and the new branches, and such a lovely veil for the tabernacle I I was peeping in with one eye, after I had helped to clean the chapel, and Father Ash- urst said 'Come here with me; I see what you want;' aod he went into the nuns' sacristy, and told Sister Theresa there was a poor beggar outside who wanted to speak to her ; and when she came out, he did so laugh 1 and then Sister Theresa told me to fetch all the girls to help to dress the sanctuary." LANOUAOE 07 FLOWEBS. 126 2. She vas still speaking, wlien all the children began to run here and there, to gather up theu* flowers, yases, aud strings ; but the lay sister, who was dammg stockings at the table, quietly collected her work into her basket, and with a few calm and controlling words stilled the excitement, and soon reducing the scattered elements mto order, a quiet pro- gressive movement was effected towards the convent. t 8. They foimd Lucy Ward and Magdalen in the nuns' sao< risty. The former was silently arranging a large basket of exquisite hot-house flowers in tall fauy-like white vases ; and as the sacristan glanced at those which were finished, she could not but marvel at the faultless taste which guided the labor, and breathe a fervent prayer for the soul that seemed marked out by God for some special grace. 4. "You love flowers, Lucy?" "Do I not love them, sister ?" replied Lucy ; "I dream of them at night, — I should like to die looking at them." " Which do you love best ?" " I never could quite tell. They speak such different words ; but all that they say makes music." "True. Is that why you love them t!!?y 5. " Yes, sister ; I get very tired of hearing people talk, b:at I am never tired of the silent words of my dear flowers. They say so much." " What do they seem to say to you this evening ? " "They all seem to whisper something new," replied Lucy, thoughtfully, and as if to herself. "Look at these white camellias, and side by side with them these blood-red ones. They seem to me to mean so much, but I cannot read it. Canyon, sister?" 6. "Yes," replied the nun, gently. "The sight of that pure white and blood-red reminds us always of the Sacred Heart of Jesus that was pierced for us. Look, here are the blood and water that flowed out for us. They speak the sweetest music to our hearts." t. "That is beautiftil 1" said Lucy, hanging on the Words ; " and you understand the flowers too. Everybody has always laughed at me if I spoke about it, except Matthew.: Dear / 126 THE rOURT? HEADEB. fli Matthew — he never laughs at me bnt he shakes his hea 1. 15. Homeward Bound. OH I when the hour to meet again Creeps on — and, speeding o'er the sea, My heart takes up its lengthen'd chain, And, link by link, draws nearer thee — When land is hail'd, and from the shore, Comes off the blessed breath of home, With fragrance from my mother's door, Of flowers forgotten when I com©— , 138 THB FOUBTH READER. When port is gain'd, and, slowly n«w. The old familiar paths are pass'd. And, entering — ^unconscious how — I gaze upon thy face at last, And run to thee, all faint and weak, And feel thy tears upon my cheek. %, Oh I if my heart break not with joy, The light of heaven will fairer seem ; . And I shall grow ouce more a boy : And, mother I — ^'twill be like a dream, That we were parted thus for years — And once that we have dried our tears, How will the days seem long and bright— To meet thee always with the mom. And hear thy blessing every night — Thy "dearest," thy "first-born 1" And be no more, as now, in a strange land forlorn f 16. Lucys Death. y HOW is Lucy?" asked Mildred of Cattie, as she loftly entered the children's class-room on the morning of the eve of the Octave of the Assumption ; " have yon bum h Cattie?" " Oh, yes, I have been with Magdalen to talk Ui her, and to say our office," replied Cattie ; " Magdalen thinks she will die very soon, but I cannot believe it. Oh, she does look so bright and beautiful — -just like an angel I " 2. "That's why I think she's going to die,'' replied Mag. dalen, who now followed Cattie into the room with her office* book in her hand. " Lucy looks much too 'beautiful to live ; I mean not commonly beautiful, but she has such a vxmderful look. Her eyes seem as if they had seen our Blessed Lady already ; and she smiles every now and then to herself, as if the angels were talking to her." 8. "So they do, and our Lord, too I am snre," added I XUOX 8 DKA.TH. 1S9 Cattle ; "for she said when nobody was speaking, 'Yes, that is ipiite trae— yes, dear Lord ; ' jost as if our Lord were sitting by the coach. Oh, I hope we may go again soon fX see hcrl" 4. " Sister Xavier said we might sit up part of to-night," replied Magdalen ; " we four are to take it in turns, and I am so glad we may. But now we must go into school, for the bell is just going to ring." 5. The said bell accordingly did ring before Gattie had finished washing her hands ; and the half-sad, half-rejoicing group iu the class-room was dispersed by its well-known sound. Wc shall vake the opportunity of walking up to the convent, and into the cool infirmary dormitory, where Lucy lay upon a large couch, with dear Sister Xavier by her side. 6. The doimtory was long and high, and refreshingly shaded by outside awnings from the scorching sun, so that the breeze? blew in cool and fragrant over the garden and from the sea jeyond. The turfy downs outside the walls looked now green and bright, and now shadowy, as the clouds flew over them ; and beyond, the castle-crowned hill, and distant, picturesque old town, the chalk cliffs washed by the waves, the far-off fleet of fishing-boats, and the wild everlasting sea, — could all be seen by Lucy, as in some lovely Italian landscape, exquisitely painted. i. But though at times her eyes were fixed upon the blue sky ot bluer sea, her thoughts were not of them. Beantiful as was the world without, — ^the ^^'Orious "earth-rind" of the external works of God,— -there were far lovelier visions floating before the eyes of the pure and loving soul that was bidding earthly beauty farewell for her eternal home. 8. For now, mdeed, Lucy was dying. The longing desire of heaven, and the face of her Incarnate God, had so fretted the frail body, which already inherited the most rapid form of decline, that thread after thread of the delicate frame had snapped, or, as it were, been consumed by the ardent fire within. 9. A careless observer might have been even now deceived ; but to a practised eye, the alabaster temples, the starting azure vems. the bright cheek and lip6,/and the deep, glitteiing «• ! .miO ind blows over them. They are going up and up, ^ach a g'orions place .... and they take me with them .... but where I cannot see There is one there who sits like a king, but I cannot see his face ; he says it is not time."/:'. . . 12. Two sisters at the moment came softly into the dormi> to'^, one of whom whispered something to Sister Xavier ; the other was Mother Regis, the novice-mistress, whom Lucy had always greatly loved, y But now she did uM. perceive her ; and as they quietly sat down behind the couch, she again spoke : 18. " And now, I think, it would be time, if Father Ashursl were to come and bring me my last food. V I think if he were here, I could beg him so much that he could not leave me be- hind. Dear Sister Xavier, will you ask Father Asharst to come now?" ^ 14. "He is coming, my child,*' repHed the sister, softly rising and bending over her ; " but, Lucy, you promised to be very good and patient." >- "Yes, sister, I was wrocg. Indeed I will be good. I will wait ; but every moment seems a year. I cannot think how you can be always so patient When you see those shapes)^ and see his face so often, and hear his voice. Now I see tiiem going up again. 15. " Oh, how many, many thousands, with their hands to* LUOY*B DEATH. 181 gether, and their long, long wingi, and their snow-white robes I Aud there are more, more, with bare heads, and crimson crosses on tlieir breasts, and bright armor, and cloalcs all washed in the blood of One. Oh, let me go with them I Show me thy face, and let me live I " 16. Sister Xavior rose and glided away; bat she soon re- turned with a religious, at the sight of whom the sisters rose, and removed further from Lucy's couch. It was the Mother Superior, who quietly took her place beside Lucy's pillow, and wiped the death-drops that now stood thickly on her trans- parent brow. "Reverend mother,'^ said the child, catching hold of her hand, and kissing it with joyftil respect, " where am I ? " Then immediately she relapsed into her former dreamy state. 17. "There is one sittingjiw his side. She is coming soon for me, for her hands are spread out towards me. Mary I Mother I Mary, lead me to Jesus I . . . . Gome quickly, dear Jesus ; I am very tured of waiting. Oh, l^t me,, see thee I Thou art sweeter than honey and the n6neycomJi>.'^ Thou art calling me to be crowned on the mountains. How ^oggJ^J^^. 1 cried to thee to coqie. !...." Lucy sank back,'^^i£^pngOBF * the pillow ; her oreaEIT coming thick and thicker from her laboring breast, while the '^ops ftoqd pn her forehead like rain. Her eyes opened, and their/^^Chs seemed deeper than ever. " Food I food I" she g9^P^4i "the end is coming." 18. At that moment the ^mr^ sound of aws^m^W was heard commg along the corridors. It was borne so faintly at first, that the sisters did not observe it ; but the first sound was enough for the ear of the listener. To ^ler it was the "cry of the voice'' of the Beloved. She Jprang up from the pillows, clasped her hands together, and pa^ at the door of the dormitory with her whole soul in her eyes. 19. Sister Xavier immediately percpiving that the blessed sacrament was approaching, went out with Mother Regis to meet it. The little altar had been freshly prepared by the infirmarian with large bouquets of flowers, and was now lifted by the other sister to the foot of Lucy's conch, at a little dis- tance from it. Nearer and nearer came the bell The acdytee 182 THB FOXntTR BEADEB. entered, two and two, with lighted candles ; then all the liii- ten ; and laitly came Father Ashont, in snrplice, veil, and stole, bearing the blessed sacrament in the ciborium, from the chapel. The "children of Mary'' i^ole in behind. 20. Lucy's glorious eyes were u^aJHed to the Sacred Host, andjixe^ with such adoring love as Oiled the witnesses with an awnii joy. " Jesus," she said, and the clear tones of her young Toice sounded through the breathless stillness like the Toice of an angel. — "Jesus, my food, my strength, my life, come to my tmretiy soul. Now I see thy face. It is enough ; I come into thy precious, precious wounds VJ^ijjAuM4. 21. She received the bread of life, the strength and help for her last journey, and immediately sank back on .the pj'^^''-; Her hands were clasped ; her deep eyes fixed : a origi^t, h*e^v-^ enly smile flitted across her face. "Jesus, O Jesus 1 now I see thee I Jesus, Mary, come 1" . ,',„„yJkJ' 22. The long, level rays of the evening ran jtre^^^ednpon the couch, ^^^^J^^j^'^^^''^ face^an^ Pfn^^fk^s of hair, the smile yet m^ingTihe lips yetilpral^the hands still gently clasped upon the breast. Tlie pilg^m was gone on her way refreshed ; the wanderer was at home. 17. AUTOBIOORAPHY OF A BoSK. ON a fine morning in June, I opened my eyes for the first tune on as lovely a scene as could be imagined. I was in the heart of a most beautiful garden filled with flowers. Fuchsias, geraniums, jasmines, tulips, and lilies were my com- panions. I saw them all wide awake, and smiling through the dew upon their bright lids in joyous greeting to the morning sun. A gentle breeze would sometimes wander by, ^od then the tears of rejoicing would fall upon the delicate buules of grass at our feet. 2. The dew mode the robes of my neighbors as bright as if covered with diamonds, so that I cast a look upon my own pink vesture, to see if I were likewise adorned with the same I ▲UTOBiooairaY or a 188 ^. glory. Ah I ))oiPid mj bead to iMpect flifaelf, a few drops of the ciyBtal wat«ir, roudenadd at ntghUkll, fell upon tlio gratn at my feet, uud frum this 1 kjarned that I wu8 indeed giftt<(J with as beautiful gems as were those around mo. 8. Lot me describe to you one of the little community of which I was a meml)er — a sister rooe-bud growing at my side. It is true that she had not opened her glowing heart to the Aresh breezes and to the sunshine, as I had done, but the beauty and firagrance thus concealed were so sweetly promised, that I am fiora nothing could be more lovely. ' ^^^ ,<, -. 4. §preamng tenderly, her calyx held her heart Dursting with the wealthy of its owQ beauty, le^t the i^ooing 'winds should call^ortn^her fragrance ^rematurelTy ; and two eister baby roeg-buds rested their little heads ahnost upon her cheeky Pretty iwmvthese baby rose-buds ! The tell-tale zephyr told me that they would be as beautiful as the one I am now do* scribing, when she, poor thing, had faded away. 6,. Now, you SCO, my hear^J^t toHted fiorrow ; for here* 'io^ I had not heard of oecay or death ; and the emotion arbu»B^ by this thought agitated me so ^io|^j7*|jM^ ^7 ^^^' diamonds were almost a\l/^a^, like worthier buCoIra, to the ground. This joy, this sunshine, this fragrance, this beauty, was bom to fade— or rather we flowers, who Iofo all these, and treasure them in our hearts, we must fade, and so the joy, and fragrance, and beauty must die. But my beantifiil sister was lovely enough to be immortal — and I shut my heart against the story of the ze^y^ determined not to believe in clouds till clouds should ov^nSlow me. /a/oM^ 6. The bright green leaves spread their glittering palms to c^^ the sunshine tor the fair creature t]^y were so proud "Encircle, d,nd every motion of thejp^^gt^fiTOin brought a fl< of smiles to the face of my p^'l^ess sister. ^ JI. ^A beautiful creature, endowed with wings, and with a ^rOat colored like the rainbow, only with nu^ more soft, played about her like an embodied breeze ; now a^rSHlg^ with a motion that made it invisiblp, up into the aur, and in a mo. ment mymg, with a musical^^^wings, around my rose- jiigbbor, and making her sonny vestnre tremble with tha /-tW'i / •C iv ; 134 happy THE FOURTH BEADBB. emotions of hdr heart ; then, with^kisses and caressefl on my sister's stamle^ brow, the wonSenunpreature was lost iu the air above me, and I think that the hummiuglBirdmust . have gone to a place where there is no death. I think it is with the breath of these beautiful beings that the rainbow is colored, and with their brightness that the stars are lighted. 8. I saw strange, large beings, with power in every motion, bending over us, and afterwards learned that they were called men. They held dominion oyer us, and though some scorned our gentle natures, they who were pure and good among them were very tender to us, and could not bear to see us wounded. 9. At noon of my first day, wh'en the shadow of the moun- tain-ash waving over onr heads completely hid me from the sun, for which kindness I was deeply grateful, as the rays, so cheering in the morning, were almost scorching now, one of the daughters of men, robed in white, came and kneeled beside me, and laid her pure cheek close to mine, and then with her eyes she talked to me. 10. "Rose," said she, "beautiful rose, thou art an emblem of my blessed mother," and here a dew more pure and sweet than the drops I had sacrificed in the morning at the thought of death and decay, floated along the dark fringes of her lids, and I could not hear the voice from her eyes until those peer- less gems had fallen upon my bosouL Then it seemed to me that I could hear and see things more wonderful than were ever given to rose before to hear and see. 11. "Beautiful rose! "she continued, "lift thy royal head, and look eastward; thou beholdest there a building most sacred to our hearts, for it contains the King of Heaven — the Creator of the world — ^the Author of my being and of thine. Lovely flower, ages andag^s ago, longer ago than thou or I can think to measure, in the glorious country beyond the stars —in heaven — where stands the eternal throne of our King, a beautiful angel, a being of power and light, rebelled against \ his God, and was cast out of his holy home forever. Then the world was created. 12. " It was made as perfect and delightful as our Heavenly Father could frame it, and there was neither sin, nor tears, AUTOBIOaSlAFHT OF A BOSS. 135 nor death, nor sorrow there. In this garden of Qod was man first created. He was formed holy, sinless, and pure, but free as was the bright angel who, with his brethren, chose to ques- tion the power of the Omnipotent. The name of this angel was Lucifer, and his dominion was established in ouicr dark- ness, far away from the eternal fountain of all light. 13. "Beautiful rose," said the maiden, "thou who art nur- tured by, and wouldst die but for the light, thou canst not conceive of this outer darkness — but it exists, and the fallen angels seek to blacken the universe with its gloom. The first of mankind, who were to enjoy eternal light so long as they were obedient to God, were discovered by the prince of dark- ness, and he took the form of a reptile, and tempted them to doubt the truth of the Almighty Father. They believed his subtle words and fell, and were banished firom the garden 88 Lucifer had been banished from heaven." a 18. Autobiography of a Kobe — continued. SWEET rose, I dare not tell thee the wretchedness this disobedience brought upon man. There came sickness, and sorrow, and sighing— there came hatred, crime, and death. Our Heavenly Father saw this wretchedness ; saw the triumph of Lucifer and his rebel army, and he so loved the world that he sent his only begotten Son upon earth to be a man — ^to suffer poverty, to suffer temptation, to suffer ignommy and death — that thus man might be saved from eternal death. 2. "This God, incarnate in humanity, was bom of a spotless virgin — spotless and perfect as thou art, O Rose, and thus art thou in thy beauty her emblem, just as one little fleeting sun- beam is a type of the innumerable hosts of suns and worlds that revolve in the heavens. 3. "This God-man, whose name was Jesas, was slain cruelly by those whom he came to save. He died on the cross ; but before he left the world, he gave to man his body and blood, bis divine humanity, as food to nourish his souL By thia 136 THE FOlteTH' HltHHIB. Ill'; \.i ■'■' means he nnites himself to ns, and we who loTe him delight to offer what is richest and dearest in return for his unbounded love ; for by his death he has snatched us from the power of the prince of darkness, and in exchange has given us a joint inheritance with him La heaven, where there is no death or decay." 4. The white-robed daughter of men ceafied speaking, or qrather her gentle eyes, that told this all to me, were turned away eastward, to where the dome of the palace, where dwelt the King of kings, gUttered calmly in the sun. 5. She looked long and lovingly ; and the dew, so priceless and sweet, flowed in two pearly streams down her fair face ; and I came near worshipping her, because so great tenderness seized my heart as thus I gazed upon her. But the speaking eyes turned once more, and said, " What shall tve offer ?" Up from the inmost depths of my heart swelled the fragrant drops that the twilight had stored there. " What shall / offer ? " I repeated ; " I who am so poor in treasure ; I who have nothing but my beauty, my freshness, and my unsullied purity ? 6. "What can I offer to God for his generous love to thy race, beautiful maiden ? He gave the life of a Man-Ood. Oh, bear me to his presence 1 I can do no more than give mysdf to him ! Take me, then, dear maiden — ^I would lie at his feet. . Mayha{]i he may accept the odor of my sacrifice, and bear me in his bosom, where there is no decay or death i Hasten, for his love draws me, and I would tarry here no longer 1" T. The young lover of Jesus severed me gently from my companions, and clasping me to her heart, bore me to the feet of her Saviour. As we passed forward to the sanctuary, she made the sign of the cross — ^because Jesus died upon the cross — ^by passing her hand from her forehead to her breast, and then from shoulder to shoulder ; but before she did this, she dipped the tips of her fingers in holy water, and some of it fell upon me, and I experienced sensations I had never before imagined. 8. As I rested there at the foot of the altar, it seemed to me that more life came to me from those simple drops than had ever been bestowed by the heaviest shower or gentlest ram before. The maiden now bent over me, and her eyes wert AUTOBIC iBAFHI OF A BOSE. 137 fixed tenderly upon me, and again her voice whispered to m; spirit: 9. " O humble, gentle, innocent rose," said she ; " thou who art so soon to pass away, let me learn from thy devotion, and freely give to my God all that he has so freely bestowed upon me; however little, however much, sweet rose, thou hast taught me to offer all as the just due of my Creator I " Then her white hand veiled her eyes, and her bosom heaved, and, in one great tear that fell upon me, I saw her beautiful soul mir- rored. I saw what I had never dreamed of before. 10. Lucifer, the fallen angel, was striving to lure this noble being to disobedience, that she might be driven from the par- adise of her Bedeemer's love. This was why the tears fell ; this was why her bosom heaved. < Then T saw an angel of light with his powerful wings sweep through the air, and the rays from his glorious brow dazzled the eye of the prince of dajrkness, and he reeled away from the presence of the weeping' daughter of earth. 11. Oh 1 then what an ocean of sweetness flowed over that tempted soul, and bore her unresisting to the eternal fountain of all sweetness. She pressed her cheek once more to mine in honor of the mother of her Saviour, and music issued from her lips, low and soft as the voice of a night-bu'd. ^ 12. " Thou gavest thy life to God, dear flower, unquestion- ing. 'Thou hadst no assurance of immortality in return. Ip the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, I bless thee, beautiful flower, for I have learned of thee a lesson that, by the grace of God, will earn for me life eternal. Be my witness, humble Bose ! be my witness, angela hovering near me ! I give my life, my love, my being through all timcii to thee, my bleeding, suffering, patient Jesus I Hold me to my pledge, dear Saviour, by the might of thy tenderness, and let me never swerve from the integriiy of my purpose, bound this day unth my heart to thy dear cross!" 13. Night fell over us both, and I slept with the sweet mur- mur of that voice still vibrating the chambers of my soul 'IL'hrough the season of my freshness, I daily caught the incense of this maiden's devotion arising before the altar ; and, by a ill 138 THE FOURTH BEADBB* seeming chance, after my leaves had withered and faded, I was concealed from the sight of the sacristan, and even for months lay happily at the feet of the Redeemer of the world. Thus I witnessed the formal consecration of this maiden to the will of her chosen one. 14. She was arrayed in white, and her brow was crowned with buds f^om the rose-tree that gave me burth. She knew not that I beheld her then, bat I felt that my image had never faded from her heart. The pure folds of her snowy veil fell over her shoulders like the plumage of wings at rest ; and I remembered the angel who had put to flight the prince of dark- ness, and I was sure he was near her ; for her face had become like his,, and I think it was because he was so constantly at her side, and because she loved him so. I think she was the earthly mirror of the heavenly being who protected her from danger, and that her face and bearing reflected his beanty and grace, as the tear-drop that fell upon me from her eyes re- flected her soul at that moment. 15. I never saw this maiden more ; but I think her angel will lead her to heaven. Yesterday, as I lay here, a little wilted remnant of a rose, the sacristan raised me in her fingers, and supposing me to be a particle of incense that had fallen, she placed me in the censer. Thus, when the benediction of this evening is pronounced, I shall have fulfilled my mission^ and shall ascend upon the gentle clouds that then will 'over- shadow the tabernacle of the Most High. 19. WiNTEB. assnm rpHE scenes around us have assumed a new and dhilling ap- uAU\ dhhlino' pearance. The trees are sn"<5rn of their foliage, the hedges are laid bare, the fields and favorite walks have lost their charms, and the garden, now that it yietJJs offers no fruits the garden, now that it yields no perfumes and its, is, like a friend in adversity, forsaken. The tuneful tribefj are dumb, the cattle no longer play in the mead- "He sendeth abroad his ice-like •WB, the north wind blows. WUiTKB. 139 I tor Id. the ^ morsels: who can stand before his cold?'' We rush in for shelter. 2. But winter is not without its uses. It aids the system , of life and vegetation I it kills the %^' of mfection ; it r^tn^ the blood ; it strengthens the nerves ; it braces the whole frame. Snow is a warm covering for the grass ; and, while it defends the tender blaSes from nipping frosts, it also nourishes th^ir growth. When the snow thaw&_it becomes, a genial , TinoS'iture to the soil into which it^mks; and^us the glebef ' * is replenishcd^ith nutriment to produce the ^wm. of spring and the D^un^of autumn. 3. Winter has also its pleasures. I love to heai the roar- mg of the wind ; I love to see the figures which the frost has painted on the glass ; I love to watch the TC^r^St with his slender legs, standing at the window, and knocking with his wiTto ask for the cMnoi which fall from the table. Is it not pleasant to view a ISnusdape whitened with snow ? To gaze upon the trees and hedges dressed in such Ipar^ling lustre ? To behoIJ the rising sun laboring to pierce the morning fog, and gradually causing objects to emerge from it by little and little, and appear in their own forms ; while the mist rolls up the side of the hill and is seen no more ? 140 THE FOUBTH. READER. 4. Winter is a reason in which we bhoald feel gratit^de for our^comforts. How much more temperate is oar climate than that of many other countries I Think of those who live within the polar circle, dispersed, exposed to beasts of prey, their poor huts furnishing only wretched refuge ! They endure months of perpetual night, and by the absence of heat almost absolute barrenness reigns around. But we have houses to shelter us, and clothes to cover us, and fires to warm, us, and beds to comfort ns, and provisions to nourish us. How be- coming, in our circumstances, is gratitude to God 1 ^ 5. This season calls upon us to exercise benevolence. While we are eiyoying every comfort which the tenderness of ProvL dence can afford, let us think of the indip^nt and the misera- ble. Let us think of those whose poor hovels and shattered panes cannot screen them from the piercing cold. Let us thmk of the old and the infirm, of the sick and the diseased. Oh, let "the blessing of them that are ready to perish come upon us.'' Who would not deny himself superfluities, and something more, that his bounty may visit "the fatherless and the widows in their affliction.'' 6. This season is instructive as an emblem. Here is the picture of thy life : thy flowery spring, thy summer strength, thy sober autumn, are all hastening into winter. Decay and death will soon, very soon, lay all waste 1 What provision hast thou made for the evil day ? Hast thoa been laying op treasure in heaven ? hast thou been laboring for t,hat wealth which endureth unto everlasting life 1 7. Soon spring will dawn again upon us with its beauty and its songs. And "we, according to his promise, look for new heavens and a new earth wherein dweUeth righteousness." No winter there ; but we shall flourish in perpetual spring, in end* less youth, in everlasting life I THE SNOW. in for 20. The Sitow. 1. npHE snc 7 I the snow I 'tis a pleasant thing J- To watch it falling, faUing Down upon eaiith with noiseless wing As at some spirit's calling ; Each flake is a fairy parachute, From teeming clouds let down ; And earth is still, and air is mute, As frost's enchanted zone. / 3. The snow I the snow I — ^behold the trees Their fingery boughs stretch out, The blossoms of the sky to seize, As they duck and dive about ; The bare hills plead for a covering, And, ere the gray twilight, Around their shodders broad shall cling An arctic cloak of white. 142 THE FOUBTH READER- 8. The snow 1 the snow 1 — ala^ 1 to in« It speaks of far-off days, When a boyish skater, mingling free Amid the merry maze ; Methinks I see the broad ice still, And my nerves all jangling feel, Blinding with tones of voices shrill The ring of the slider's heel. 4. The snow 1 the snow ! — soon dusky night Drew his murky curtains round Low earth, while a star of lustre bright Peep'd from the blue profound. Yet what cared we for darkening lea, Or warning bell remote ? With shout and cry we scudded by. And found the bliss we sought. 6. The snow I the snow 1 — 'twas ours to W8g% How oft, a mimic war, Each white ball tossing in wild rage. That left a gorgeous scar ; While doublets dark were powder'd o*er Till darkness none could find, And valorous chiefs had wounds before, And caitiff chiefe behmd. 6. The snow I the snow 1 — ^I see him yet, That piled-up giant grun, To startle horse and traveller set, With Titan girth bf limb. We hoped, oh, ice-ribb'd Winter bright t Thy sceptre could have screen'd him : But traitor Thaw stole forth by ni^t. And cruelly guillotined him ! , T. The snow 1 the snow I — ^Lo ! Eve reveals Her starr'd map to the moon. USES OF WATER. And o'er hnsh'd earth a radiance steak More bland than that of noon ; The fur-robed genii of the Pole Dance o'er 'vlt mountains white, Chain up the billows as they roll, And peafi the caves with light. 6. The snow I the snow 1 — It brings to mind A thousand happy things ; And but one sad one — ^'tis to find Too sure that Time hath wings ! Oh, ever sweet is sight or sound, . That tells of long ago, And I gaze around with thoughts profonsd. Upon the falling snow. 148 21. Uses op "Water. HOW common, and yet how beautiful and how pure, is a drop of water I See it, as it issues from the rock to sup- ply the spring and the stream below. See how its meander- ings through the plains, and its torrente over the clifTs, add to the richness and the beauty of the mhasct^. Look into a factory standing by a waterfall, in which every drop is faithful to perform its part, and hear the groaning and rust> ling of the wheels, the clattering of shuttles, and the buzz of spindles, which, under the direction of their fair attendants, are supplying myriads of fair purchasers with fabrics from the cotton-plant, the sheep, and the silkworm. 2. Is any one so stupid as not to admire the splendor of the rainbow, or so ignorant as not to know that it is pro- duced by drops of water, as they break away from the clouds which had confined them, and are making a quick visit to our earth to renew its verdure and increase its animation ? How useful is the gentle dew, in its nightly visits, to allay the scorching heat of a summer's sun I 3. And the aatnmn's firoet, how beautifolly it bedecki tht 14^ THB lOCBTH BXADEB. ! trees, the shimbB, tnd the graes : though it stripe them of their summer's yerdnre, and warns them that they must soon re* ceive the buffeting^ of the winter's tempest 1 This is but water, which has given up its transparency for its beautiful whiteness and its elegant crystals. The snow, too, — what is that but these same pure drops, thrown into crystals by win- ter's icy hand ? and does not the first summer's sun return them to the same limpid drops ? 4. The majestic river, and the boundless ocean, — what are they 7 Are they not made of drops of water ? How the river steadily pursues its course firom the mountain's top, down the declivity, over the cliff, and through the plain, tak- ing with it every thing in its course 1 How many mighty ships does the ocean float upon its bosom ! How many fishes sport in its waters 1 How does it form a lodging-place for the Amazon, the Mississippi, the Danube, the Rhine, the Gan- ges, the Lena, and the Hoang Ho ! 5. How piercing are these pure limpid drops 1 How do they find their way mto the depths of the earth, and even the solid rock I How many thousand streams, hidden from our view by mountain masses, are steadily pursuing their courses deef from the surface which forms our standing-place for a few short days I In the air, too, how it difEhses itself I Where can a particle of air be found, which does not contam an atom of water ? 6. How much would a famishing man give for a few of these pore limpid drops of water 1 And where do we use it in our daily sustenance ? or rather, where do we not use it ? Which portion of the food that we have taken during our lives, did not contain it ? What part of our body, which lunb, which organ, is not moistened with this same faithful servant ? How is our blood, that free liquid, to circulate through our vems without it ? 7. How gladly does the faithful horse, or the patient ox^ in his toilsome jomney, arrive at the water's brink 1 And ths faithful dog, patiently following his master's track, — how eagerly does he lap the water from the clear fountain he meets in his way I TBI Dins OBUBnAR TO BIB BOULi U5 / 8. WhoM heart ought not to oferflow with gratitiide to the abundant Girer of this pnre liquid, which his own hand has deposited in the deep, and difliised through the floating air and the fx>lid earth ? Is it the farmer, whose fields, by the gentle dew and the abundant rain, bring forth fatness ? Is it the mechanic, whose saw, lathe, spindle, and shuttle are moved by this faithful servant ? / 9. Is it the merchant, on his return fVom the noise and thtf perplexities of business, to the table of his family, richly sup- plied with the varieties and the luxuries of the four quarters of the globe, produced by the abundant rain, and transported across the mighty but yielding ocean? 10. Is it the physician, on his administering to his patient some gentle beverage, or a more active healer of the disease which threatens ? Is it the priest, whose profession it is to make others feel — and that by feeling himself, that the slight- est favor and the richest blessing are from the same source, and from the same abundant and constant Oiver ? Who, that still has a glass of water and a crumb of breadj is not niif gr.iteM to complafai ? The BnNO Ohbistian to ms Soxrib t. TTITAL spark of heavenly flame, • Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame I IVemblmg, hoping, lingering, flymg, Oh, the pain, the bliss of dying I Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life. Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister Spirit, come away ; What is this absorbs me quite ? Steals my senses, shuts my sights Drowns my spirits, draws my l»efttb t Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? 7 I 146 TBS FOUBTH BBADKB. 8. The world recedes ; it disappears t Heaven opens on my eyes I my ears With sounds seraphic ring. Lend, lend your wings ; I mount, I fly I O Grave I where is thy victory I O Death I where is thy stuig I 22. Flioht into Eoypt. HEROD was impatient for the sages' return from Bethle* hem, till finding they had slighted the charge he gave them, and were gone home another way, he was hurried into a transport of anger, which deluged the country with innocent blood. By an act, the most inhuman that ever was done by the worst of tyrants, he has shown the world what his inten- tion was, when he so carefully questioned the sages, and so strictly ordered them to bring back an account of the child they were in quest of. 2. But God, who laughs at man's presumptnoqs folly, A- Icntly defer.ted the tyrant's malice, and made his bloody cruelty instrumental to the glory of the innocent. An angel in the night informed Joseph of the murderous design that Herod had upon the child's life, and admonished him to save both him and the mother by a speedy flight into Egypt. Joseph in this instance is a perfect model of that prompt obedience which every Christian owes to the commands of God. He was commanded to rise that moment, to leave his' native country, and fly off with the child and his mother, not towards the a»f^ or to any friendly nation, but into Egypt, amidst the \tkimn pus and natural enemies of the Jewish people. X 3. The tender amed to requure every comfort that his own private dw-^Bfr ce^K have afforded. But that sleader comfort was to ue given up ; it was dark nig^t, and no ILIOBT ntrO BOTFT. U7 to be lost in making prorision for a long and laborious Journey. , The faithful guardian of the Word Incaniato ro8e upon the flrst notice that was given him, punctually fulfilled every tittle of the order, took the child and his mother, and set off for Egypt, uncertain when, or whether he should ever, return or not. Tlie love he bore to Jesus, the desire he had of serving him to the extent of his power, softened every hardship, and made him forget the labors of an unlooked-for banishment. 4. The divine Jesus might have rendered himself invisible, or by a visible exertion of his power might have disarmed Herod, as he did Pharaoh in ancient times ; but he choose to fly, for the encouragement of those who were afterwards to suffer banishment for his sake ; by his own example he Would instruct his followers, that in the heat of persecution they may laudably fly to save their lives, in hopes of some future good. 5. Herod began to rage with all the violence that jealousy, heightened by disappointment, could inspire. With a cruelty that would have shocked the most savage barbarian, he gave orders for every male child that had been born within the two last years, in and about Bethlehem, to be killed. To such barbarous shifts was the ambitious monarch driven by his politics I An innocent babe, he knew not who, made him tremble upon hi«K throne ; he tried his utmost skill to find him out, he drencKed the country with innocent blood to make sure of his def««c%ion, he filled the air w'th the shrieks and lamen- tations ot' disconsolate mothers, that he might draw out the enjoynwat of a crown to a somewhat greater length. 6. But uo honors purchased by such crimes could give any real enjoyment. His cruelty heaped confusion upon himself, while it opened the gate of happiness to those who felt its stroke : nor could it rage beyond the bounds that God had set it ; amidst the thousands of slaughtered innocents, He ftlone escaped, who alone was aimed at. 1 No malicious efforts of the wicked can ever frustrate the decrees of God ; their hatred or their love become, as he ideases to direct, the instruments of his holy designs; the titele world, combined with all the powers of darkness, can 148 THIS 20XTBTB BBASEB* . never stop the ezecation of whi^t an omnipotent Providence has once decreed. 8. If once assnred of the divine will, we hava bat to follow it without fear : if in the station of our daty we have any thing to suffer, we suffer for justice' sake. Herod's cruelty became the glory of the innocents : his sword could hurt their bodies only ; their souls were sanctified by the effusion of their blood ; their memory through every age is celebrated on earth ; they reign eternally with God in heaven. 23. The Fbeed Bibd. I p BTURN, return, my bird I -C« I have dress'd thy ci^ with Qowen, Tw lovely as a violet bank ^^ In the heart of forest bowers. 8. "I am free, I am free, — ^I return no more I The weary time of the cage is o'er I Through the rolling clouds I can soar on high. The sky is around me— the blue bright sky I 8. "The hills lie beneath me, spread far and clear. With their glowing heath-flowers and bounding deeri I see the waves flash on the sunny shore — I am free, I am free, — I return no more I" TBE FREED BIBD. im denco follow thing scame bodies tlood; 1 they (OVtf 4. Alas, alas, my bird I Why seek'st thoa to be free 7 Wert thou not blest in thy little bower, When thy song breathed nought but gleef 5. " Did my song of summer breathe nought but glee 7 Did the voice of the captive seem sweet to thee 7 Oh I hadst thou known its deep meaning well, - It had tiales of a burning heart to telL 6. From a dream of the forest that music sprang Through its notes the peal of a torrent rang ; And its dying fall, when it soothed thee best^ Sighed for wild flowers and a leafy nest" 7. Was it with thee thus, my bird? Yet tiiine eye flash'd clear and bright? I have seen the glance of the sadden joy In its quick and dewy light. 8. " It flash'd with the fire of a tameless race, With the soul of the wild wood, my native pl&ee I With the spirit that panted through heaven to 8oap-« Woo me not back — I return no more ! 9. " My home is high, amidst rocking trees, My kindred things are the star and breeze^ And the fount unchecked in its lonely play, And the odors that wander afar — away I* 10 Farewell, farewell, thou bird 1 I have call'd on spunts gone, And it may be they joy like thee to pait^ Like thee that wert all my own. II. " If they were captives, and phied like me^ Though love might calm them, they joy^d to be free ; They sprang from the earth with a burst of power, To the strength of their wmgs, to their triumph's boar. rt5 150 THE FOUBTH BBABEB. 12. "Call them not back when the chain is riTen, When the way of the pinion is all through heaven. Farewell 1 With my song through the clouds I soar, I pierce the blue skies — I am earth's no more I" 24 Beheading of St. John. ALTHOUGH the doctrine of our blessed Saviour was so pure in its principles, so conformable to reason, so con- firmed by mirsu;les, and so pleasing in its promises of eternal ^ibraced it. A general skepticism and hard- ness of heart 'preysSm in the cities of Judea, and in no city more than in that of Nazareth. 2 It was natural to imagine that the Nazarenes would have thought themselves in some sort honored by the mmeof one who had lived and grown up amongthem, and that they would have cheriphg^ him as^emost^BmaBfe of their citi- zens. Their bSfiavior waSjltowever, the very opposite. They had seen and conversed with him from his youth ; they knew no learning that he had acquired ; in his person they discovered nothing that set him above the common leveff' in his mother and relations they beheld no title that made him superior to the poorer class of the people. 3. To his doctrine, therefore, they would give no credit, nor would they allow his miracles which they had not seen. The great reputation which Jesus had acquired among others made them jealous, and their jealousy grew into a violent hatred against him. ^^*>^' 4. They laid hands upon him, and led him to the steefi point of the rock pn wW^ their town was built, with an inten- tion to throw him headlong down. But the hour for Jesus to die ^!0§ 9<^^.£^ come, and no human malice could advance it. , He^'ui^^aout of their hands, and walked away through the midst of them. a ^ lM 6. This peryerw incri^uUty of the Nazarenes nikdered^ Jesus from working any miracleB among them, excepting thcrcure of OBOOLMHON OF ST. JOHN. 151 lome of their sick, which he did by Imposmg his hands upon them. On his return from Nftzareth, he was informed of John the Baptist's death. ^, 6. A short tune before this St. John had been mt into prison on account of\the. reprimand he gave to King Herod, for his incestuous conneclion with Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip. Herodias had often solicited the king to have him put. to death, and the king as often refused to' consent, C not -oply from a principle of esteem for the holy man, but like- f"''^ wise^from a fear of th^roople's resentment, for they considered the Baptist as a wmcj^rral^rojihei^ Y. But HerodV imprudence bem^ed hun soon after to com- itedhkbirthday with great enTOT^oment was prepared, mit the bloody aee3'. He celebrai pomp and splendor; a grand em and the chief men of Galilee were invited to attend ; the daughter of Herodias was introduced before the company, and desired to dance. , ._ f . The manner of her pmormance so pleased the king, that \^A a^liiyjpromised upon c«itff to give whatsoever she should ask, !]^(^h it were half his kingdom. The girl immediately left the toom to consult her mother what she should ask. " Go and ask for the head of John the Baptist,'' replied the adulteress. o tibat heavenly kingdom, where the blessed know no change and fear no decay. ■I. 25. Satubdat Ajtebnoon. 1. T LOTE to look on a scene like this, •i- Of wild and careless play, And persuade myself that I am not old, And my locks are not yet gray ; For it stirs the blood in an old man's hearty And makes his pulses fly, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, And the light of a pleasant eye. 2. I have walk'd the world for fourscore years : And they say that I am old, That my heart is ripe for the reaper Death, And my years are well-nigh told. It is very true ; it is very true ; I'm old, and "I 'bide my time :" But my heart will leap at a scene like thiS; And I half renew my prime. BATtBDAT AFTERNOON. 8. Play on, play on ; I am with you there, In the midst of yoftr merry ring ; I can feel the thrill of the daring jump. And the rush of the breathless swing. 168 I hide with you in the fragrant hay, And I whoop the smother'd call, And my feet slip up on the seedy floor. And I care not for the fall. 4. I am willing to die when my time shall come, And I shall be glad to go ; 164 THE FODBTH HEADER. For the world at best is a weary place, And my pulse is getting low ; Bat the grave is dark, and the heart will fail In treading its gloomy way ; And it wiles my heart from its dreariness, To see the young so gay. 1/ V 26. IiEABNINa Am) AOOOMFLISHMENTS NOT INCONSISTENT WITH Good HousEEEEPiNa. [JExjflanaiory JVote.— Mr. Benny tells this story; Maroella is Mr. Benny's wife ; Clara is tlieir daughter. Justin and Laura are Mr. and Mrs. Hubert, wlio have just come on a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Benny, and Mary is their daughter. Aunt Bobert is the aunt of Mr. and Mrs. Benny.] M ART has AceQ^panied her parents ; her first appearance . . gives a jrauiM^ impression. She is small, thin, and very daUow : almost ngly. Laura and Justin presented her to me withouta word, and during the first two days, I took scarcely any not^of her ; but the other morning, I heard her con- y^rsinff.m German with her fotWj^d I know that she is Mqnaml^ with the English and Sj^nm languages. 2. MarceUa obliged her to seat herself at ^epiano,; and we soon perceived that she has already far out^^ped her mother. She has also learned all that can be taught to one of her age, of geography, ,and natiural and political history. Clara is in a state of bewilderment at such an amount of learning, and I am still more surprised at so much modesty. 3. The latter, however, does not soften Aunt Robert ; who, when she was informed of the number of Mary's acquirements, only shook her head. Aunt Robert's prejudices, on that point, are not to be (Dvercbme. She is suspicions, i^^ost to hostility, of all those who are, what she styles, learned women. According to her, literary studies are perfectly iucompatiblQ . with household duties. No one can understand orthography LBABIIQIO AMD AOOOMPLISHMEMTS. 165 Hu gU/t.'C**'*^ and backstitch too, or speak any other, language but our mother tongue, and sapenntend a roast. 4. " Oh, yes ! I have seen your little prodigies before," she said to Marcella, yesterday, "who talk about revolutions in China with their stockmgs in holes ; who read poetry, and yet • cannot mid^istand the receipt, of a pudding ; who will describe' with accuracy me costume of the African savage, and do not know how to'^m a cap ! do not talk to me of such women, my dear gurl ; the very best they are good for, is to be lodge- keepers to t^e flreuch Academy." 6. N(^witns^nding these strong prejudices, she treats Mary like everybody else ; that is to say, with her usual rude, fa- miliar kindoiess ; for Aunt Robert compares herself to a thorny gooi^^^^ l^ush : to get at the finiit, people must not mind a few scratches. 6. For the rest, these peculiarities do not seem to disturb tl^young girl in the least: she laughs at the old lady's w*^is7and is the first to o£fer to carry her bag, or fetch her a footstool. I have reason to believe the good aunt is very fond of her. "After all," she said, the other day, "there really is good in the child, and it is not her fault if she has been taught more grammar than cookery.'fc^<^'*-^'-e- 7. Consequently, she has been very anxious to make her feel the inconveniences of her education. Yesterday she in- vited us to dine with the Huberts at her house, and beg] Mary to come early and assist her in her preparations. D spite the ironical mamier in which the latter invitation was given, it was accepted. e^^w 8. Aunt Robert was determined to dfiplay before the eyes of the little blue-stocking all the splendor of her house-keep- ing royalty ; andM^ found her enveloped in a large apron with an ample mbjner sleeves turned up above her elbows, busy making a favorite dish. ^9. Now in the opinion of the best judges, this dish was the pwQQ^ of l^ory in Aunt Roberts' cutmary art. She bl^oBe^ to Mary to approach, and after explaining to h^JJiie particular merits and difficulties of her dish, pro* ceeded with her cookery. 166 THS VOCBTH RBftDBB. 10. "Yon see, my AeHx,** miziiig, in her motheify waj, moral precepts and practical explanations, " one of the chief duties of a woman is to make the most of every thing. — (Keep the whites of the eggs for another occasion.) — Life is made for sometliing more than learning to conjugate the rerbs I ujcUk, or I taUs; to assure to those around us health and comfort — (don't put in too much lemon juice); — ^When one makes it a principle to be useful — (the crust is beginning to rise), — it is sufficient to keep peace and a good consciences^ (we^^ the^hole into a moidd), — and we live happily — (in the DntclGroyen).'|^v ^^^^^1. Mary smilingly looked on, not a little bewildered by the 00^ mixture of philosophy and cookery ; and this time, alas I the first most certainly injured the second ; for a thing unheard of before, just when Aunt Robert, being of ofMon that it was dcgi& enough, witii serene confidence opened the oven>^' door, inten(3^g to cu^ay before her pupil's eyes her i^itmg pyramid, she found nothing but a crumbled ruin blackened by the fire 1 12. The disappointment was the greater, because complete- ly unexpected. Besides, dinneMime was drawing near, and the dish would have taken more time to make again than she could spare . 27. liEABNiNa AND AooomplishMeKts— con^tni