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CON
PK
DKS
THE
COMMON SCHOOL READER,
CONSISTING OF a
CONCISE SYNOPSIS OF THE ELEMENTARY
PRINCIPLES OF ENUNCIATION
AND A SELECTION OF
DESIGNED FOR^^ftfusToF SCHOOLS
IN THE BRITISH PROVINCES.
B Y J. S. S A B I N S.
SilKJRBROOKE :
I'llINTKD BY J. S. WAL:'0N.
184 3.
Entered according to Act of Provincial Legislature,
in the year 1843, by J. S. Sabins, in the Clerk's Office
of the Court of King's Bench, Tor the District of Saint
Francis.
T->S5
PREFACE.
The addition of another to the number of School
books already in use would be of no advantage unless
It contained some very essential improvements. That
the character of our elementary books is susceptible
of this, there can be no doubt ; and that the condition
of education would be much improved, thereby, ja
equally obvious,— Among the different brunches of edu-
cation, taught, or pretended to be taught in our Schools,
there is, perhaps, no one upon which more time is ex-
pended, or less proficiency generally attained, than in
reading. This may be the result of various causes, but,
apparently, no one contributes more to the education of
a bad reader than the unsuitableness of the matter con-
tained in our primary reading books. However syste-
matic and judicious may be the instruction which a pu-
pil receives, if he is compelled to read that which ho
does not understand, or which does not interest as well
as instruct, his manner will he either mechanical or mo-
notonous. To obviate this, it is necessary that the sub-
ject to be read should he suited to the capacity and in-
telligence of the reader. If the pupil thoroughlv un-
derstands what he is reading, and has not pre -iously ac-
quired habits injurious to a good delivery, lie will sel-
dom fail to read well.
As an assistance in the n>rmation of correct habits of
enunciation, a synopsis of its leading principles are
given which should he carefully studied, and the pupil
fihould be refercd to them whenever occasion requires
Ill
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37
• 39
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Hroffiu. /ijf
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65i
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}
X.
CONTENTS.
^
Influence of habits,
The Bishop and his birds,
Wishing to see a miracle,
Mother, Home and Heaven,
"It is I, be not afraid,"
Conversation,
Good Company,
Life in Siberia,
Aversion subdued,
A noble deed,
Stormiui; of Ciudad Rodrii£o
The honest son,
A Touching Incident,
The Runaways Return,
Etiects of Slander,
Reading,
Vicissitude,
Cheerfulness,
Inquisitiveness,
Value of the Bible,
Folly and Wickedness of War,
Ascent to Vesuvius,
Self Education,
Possibilities,
•G<.xid Advice,
At Home and Abroad,
Avoid bad Habits,
The Discontented Pendulum,
The end of Great Men,
The Historian's Reflections, -
The Apprentice's Library, -
' Education, - - . .
The Righteous never forsaken,
The Nubility of Labor, -
The Two Robbers,
Rural Life in England,
Hints to the Studious,
Misfortunes, « - -
Riches of a poor Barber, -
Young
Young Ladies Book
l^elf Go^
Human *
Honor,
My Mot!
Capital,
Charactc
A Prairi
Form at i;
The Far
Money v
Acquain
Our Th(
Opinion,
Happiuc
Humilit;
Indolen(
Just too
Effects (
Respect
The Be;
Aoecdot
Hallowe
Who is
I love tl:
"Only r
Kind\^
Belshaz
Dovvnf;i
Waterh
The Sa
Marco '.
ToTra
Destrut
That y(
Whys!
Seasons
CONTENTS.
ZI.
Page.
- 60
61
- 64
66
■ ^" n
691
71j
79
83
m\
92
lUO
lOlf
10,';
lOb
IJd
ir2
no
1-21
i2<)
l.M-5
ly;
Mil
141
<h
Self Government,
Human Slavery, . _ -
Honor,
My Mother's Grave,
iCapital, - - Apprentices
Character of Wilberforce,
A Prairie on Fire, _ - -
Formation of Character,
The Farmer and the Soldier,
Money will not pay all debts,
Acqiiaintances, - - - -
Our ThoucrhtH, . » _
Opinion, - - . - «
Happiness, - . - -
Humility, - _ - _
Indolence, - - _ -
Just too L'lte, - - - -
Effects of Atheism,
Respect duo to all Men,
The Beauty and the Beggar,
Anecdote of Sir Mathevv Hale,
POETRY.
Pa^e.
Sat, Cour. 190
- 191
- E. R. 193
- 195
Companion. 197
Gillette. 200
203
- 205
210
Pardey. 216
219
- 222
225
- 236
239
- 240
241
- 245
246
- 247
255
Elallowed be Thy Name,
Who is my Neighbor,
i love the Spring, • -
"Only This Once," -
Kind Words,
Belshazzar, . - -
Downfall of Pcland,
Waterloo, - - .
The Sailor's Funeral, -
Marco Bczzaris,
To Tranquility,
Destruction of Scrrccharib, -
That ye through his poverty might be rich,
Why should the Spirit ci Mortal be pioud,
Seasons of Prayer, - „ - -
Mrs. S}gour?ici/.
Croly.
ComphfU.
Byron.
Sigdurncy.
Mi
rs^.
Halhck.
Coh ridge.
Jh/rcn.
32
33
42
44
45
46
74
77
95
97
107
114
125
127
148
xu.
CONTENTS.
Hymn of Nature,
The Philosopher's Scales,
Passing Away,
Thoughts of Heaven,
Thy Will be done,
Victoria opening Parliament,
The Coral Insect,
The Herald,
The Rainbow, - - -
To an Eagle, - * -
Treasures of the Deep,
Religion, - - - .
The Enquiry, - - .
The Swarming of the Bees, -
Homes of England, -
Riches and Poverty Contrasted,
Jane Taylor.
Miss Jdosbury.
Mary Howit.
Mrs. Weston.
Mrs. tSigovrney.
Mrs. iSigourney.
• Conrad.
Pollock.
Page.
' 150
162
164
165
178
180
183
184
186 j
207 I
209
230
231
283
235
253
p^t.
»
150
yhr.
162
mry.
164
owit.
165
ston.
178
-ney.
180
•ney.
183
184
rad.
186
207
209
290
231
233
235
^mlc.
252
RULES
FOR THE REGULATION AND MANAGEMENT
OF THE VOICE.
In reading forth^ bcnetft of others, two objects should
be kept in view. Firat, prnprUty ; second, force of
expression. In respect to both of these points, the chief
aim of the reader should be, to be natural.
To assist in tAe regulation and management of the
voice, azid to aid in teaching the pupil Iww to be nat-
ural, the elements of reading will be arranged m the fol-
lowing order, namely : Loudness, Time, Tone, Artic-
ulation, Accent, Emphnsis, Pause, Inflection, Modula-
iion, md Suggestions for reading Poetry.
I. LOUDNESS.
The first object of the reader, who would be intelligible
to others, is to be heard. The public speaker, in deter-
mining the (piantity of voice necessary for the occasion,
fixes his eye upon some one at the farthest extremity of
the room, and gives his utterance a strength and full-
ness, adequate to the distance. This rule is equally -p..
plicable to reading. Although sentiment and style of
composition often require a variation in the loudness of
the voice, yet this should be the basis of delivery.
An insipid flatness and languor in pronunciation, is a
very general fault, especially among children, and jTiuch
care and attention is necessary to remove it. A zood
voice is, to a certain extent, the gift of nature, but .t ma-
ll ^
'1
I
11
RULES AND SUl.GIlSIiONn.
be ini})roved mucli hy art nud titlcntitni. When it in
too si>tt, or weak, particular can; should be taken that.
ill increasing the a^nount of voice, the tone is not raised
above its natural key. This is a tVe(iuent error. The pu-
pil, when called upon to " read louder," only raises the
key of his voice, without giving it any ndditional strength
The consequence of tlm is, that unnatin-al anddisagrec-
ble tone we often hear n* the school room, and the
fix'ug of habits of reading ;u;d speaking, which are too
often found among older memi>ers ol society.
II. TIME. r
This term, as used by grammariinis, has reference only
to the duration of the vowel sound, in ihe pronunciation
of syl.ables. It here includes not only this, hut also
rapidity, or rate of utterance. It is obvi.uis to every
one that the sound of a in hnfc, is longer thanui hat ; of
c in mctr, than ni 7ii(t. In this case, time is cohtined to
tliQ duration of sound. But something more is necpssary
to be observed in readinor. The length of syllables sluiuld
not only be considered carefully, but the timr of the sui-
pcnsimi of voice bitwan :>ijllahlis. It is chieily the dif-
ference in this respect that produces the different le-
gie^s of rajjidity among readers and speakers.
A hurried, jerking utterance, is fatal to good reading,
and much care is to be used, especially with young pu-
pils, tha! their pronuncin^ion is not too fast. The o})-
posite fault should also be guarthid against, toj)Tevent a
ib-awbn^r, ^i^ilIJii-'h habit of reading. This is. if possibh;
move disagreeable tlum the fault first mentioned.
Time is intimately connected with loudness, Whei-
it is neccs.'sary to be heard at a distance, the ^-trenirth ■■■■*
the voici- (•^ not only increased, but the fjound of the vov
t?U is prolonged.
Vlieii it 1.1
;ikeu that,
not raised
. Tiic pu-
ri'.ii^es the
il slreiigtii
;1 (lisai!;rec-
, au<l the.
ich arc too
reiice only
munciatioii
, \)iit also
IS to every
I in hat ; of
cohtined to
is necessary
d)l('s sh(^uld
' of tin SUi-
Ay the dif-
iflercnt le-
lod readinir
1 young pu-
;. Tlie o})-
to })Tevent i
if pobsihh;
ncd.
:'ss, W'hti-
f-'trenffth ■■■■'
lof the vo\v
I:
f'
■a
■fe
Rri.F.S AND Sir CESTIONS.
HI. TONE.
15
AltliouirJi every voice has a natural key, peculiar to
asclf, yet it may be sutliciently correct to say, that lone
.'idiiiits of three variations. The natural, which is used
in common ccmversation, the hifrh, and the low key. The
iirst should he a;;sumed as the basis of delivery, being
the one whicli admits of the greatest variety. In a
spirited ;uid animaled address, the liigh key is used:
tiie low, when reading a grave or patlieiic sentence.
Tone, as w( 11 as h^ulness and time, is governed
much by the sense. In order, therefore, to read in a
pro]>er manner, it is necessary that tlie pupi! should be
w(>ll actjuainted Mith the subject. Unless this is first
nttended to, it will be; impossible to adopt tones suita-
ble for its e\i)ression. Carefully reading the exercise
a few times in silence, will obviate the difficulty and
s'liable the reader to })roriounce each word in its proper
tone.
IV. ARTiri'L.VTION.
Articulation is the modification of the voice, effected
by the organs of speech, in the formation of syllables
;iiul words. The action of the vocal organs is chiefly
<'-ordined to the utterance of the consonant sounds. De-
fective articulation may be attributed to three causes :
first, bad organs; .second, words difficult to utter, and
lU'nd, (I had if.<c of <rii')(l orirans. Tlie last iy far the
most common, and the easiest to remedy.
When any real organic d(-fect exists, such as a con-
nision of the lip, a loss of teeth, or any natural iinped-
mieut ; study and ])ractice may improve, l>ut it seldom
'Mil irely remedies a bad articulation.
Hilt most of the irregularities in i)ronMnciation, which
[ . < i
V'k
■4
4
1
#9
'liiil
itiU
t
Ifj
RULES AXU tsLliOKSTlONS.
are so oftun found, are the eirocts ofniiotlior cause — /uihtt
An analysis of sounds, and a classificalion of such
combinations as are most ditlicult. to uiier, wi>uld he
tlevotinfv too mucli space in a work like tliis. Therefore
nfew exa;nples only will be jrivcn.
1. When a word of five, or inoru syllables, has the ac^
cent remote, or near the first or last ; as in the word^
au^Aoritatively, /ormidaideness, in/'c/pretatively, inef-
fervcsci/>//ity, &c.
2. When there is an immediate fluccessiou of similar
sounds, as :
'* Uj) tlie //iuh /all Ac Aeaves a //ui:!;e round stone."
" Set.ims Sonaw's .sadness charmed from its despair."
3. When the sound is continued from one word to
another, articulation is not only indistinct, but the sen«<io
is often perverted, as:
I never heard of such an ocean.
I never hoard of such a /jotion.
There was apro.^pect of sucees.'^ on either hand
There was a prospect of success on /?either hand.
4. When the rate of utterance is too rapid, there ia a
liability c^f cuttinir short the vowel sounds in unaccented
.syllables, as in the words, prevent, detach, protest: prc^-
nounced pr'vcnt d'tach pr'tesi, &c.
> V. ACCENT.
Words of more syllables than one are pronounced with
accent : that is, a certain stress of voice, is laid uj)on
<ine, which is called the accented syllable.
The accent o( wtirds is establisht>d by custom, and
IS usually learned from exercises i
■ipe
nso"
risHJer sli
vr svllabji
♦•rroneoii:
A ehai
rncnninir,
: ( (Tfand, i
ted.) roi/t]
KiiijdKi
paiticular
'f/^>j»r()V(Ml,
*;n'a.'-e, bi
Hnipha:
arc especi
• . of stress,
It perforn
word, and
of wliat is
Emphib
timent: a
I 'rion of tin
forcible i
I previously
of each s(
the einphr
vjT.'iaticui
qiiently but little need be said upon the subject here. The
iJiM'.s AM) si;(;f;F,STi()NS'.
It'
render should ho careful, however, to i)hic( .11 its proj)-
er sylhihle, as nothing is more fatal togooii rejuling than
• ■rroneoiis accont.
A <'hanire of aecent, in some words, cliancrcs their
menninir, as in /'///(rnst, (the name of a month.) iui^^ust
(rrraiid, magnificent;) compart, (closely and firmly uni-
ted,) ro/wjiact, (an agreement,) &c.
iMiijjlKisis sometimes changes the accented syllabie,
paiticularly in antithetic sentences, as : the one was
f/ppnncd, while the other was ^proved. Our cares in-
i.-n'ise, but our pleasures (/reroute.
VI. KMI'ir.VSK^.
Kni[»hasis, is 11 dii?tinctiv(! utterance of words, which
are o.«pecially significant, with such a (h\gree, and kind
of stress, n.s conveys their meaning in the best manner.
It performs, in a sontenco, nearly wliat accent does in a
word, and points out, by expression, the precise m(>aning
of wliat is read or spoken.
EmphiLsis is governed by the laws of emotion, and sen-
timent: and its principal use, is in the forcihk r/prc''
sion of(/i.(wir/tf. In order to acquire habits of just and
forcible emphasis, but little more is necessary, than
previously to Uudy ihv. construction, ami meaning
of each sentence, and then adopt, as nc^arly aj5 possible,
the emphasis with which words arcdisringuislied in con-
ver.'iati(\ii.
'if this nde is strictly rolK)we,d. there will be but
little dai»ger of error, either in the stressor inflection of
wi>r(ls,
nd
'4
■^ til
m
t»1
1
> o
IS
ttULnS AN!) ->r;(:s;!->:'ri(»NH'.
1^
Hi'
1:-1
M
Pauses, til- : iisnonsions ot'voice, arc nsod rMtlior to dls-
\hi<misli seincn€es, or f) follow emi)ii:itic words. Tlio
fir.' ;ir(; cailod ^-nnlcntiid, and the last ernpliatic pauses.
SciitGiitiai pauses aredcsiirnatcd l>y certain character?,
known as " marks ol" Punctuation." The\ are sever; in
numi)er,naiiie!y : Tlio conin»a,( , ) scnncol*)n,( : ) colon,
( ) period, ( . ) interroLration,( ? ) exclamation, ( ! ) ojid
the da:^l! ( — /
A minute de.scription of these characters is nnnec^v^-
s:u'Y here, a^ thev are all found in Uie spelling? hy^^k, or
fframinar
lus iniporu.iit, hr,svever, that they .should be well un-
drrslom! b} every reiMier, as without them a proper divis-
ion of sentences cahhoi easily he made. The duration of
these pau.,es is nwt arbitrary, and may be varied as the
nature of the subject, and circumstances of the reader,
shall reijuire.
EiuDhali^: p^iuscs, are those slight suspensions of the
voice, tint fol!>w the articulation of emphatic words.
The.se assisv, not only in giving the word its proper
t;n-ce, by distintraishing it from others in the sentence,
but allow tune f>r the hearer to fix its true meaning in
The mind. Tli ' impnrtaiicc, thci-efore, of (.vbscrvivvg
tljr.ve pauses is oLviou.^.
viu l.M Li:eTK)\.
Inllection is a change of t<»nr, effected during a con-
tmuauc^n of sound , or m other words, a bending of
the voice,
.Ili'Ciions. tiie nifinii.f ' ) and the fall-
'!1;ere are two n.iU'Ciions, tne riijing,! ;
mu
( ") Dh. PouTiui g
<^ives four; the two above iKuncd,
cr to (lis-
s. Tiie
c jjauses.
luracter?,
seven in
: ) colon,
(!) ojk!
niinoce—
.' well tiii-
)[)er divi;-'-
Liralion of
ied us the
le reader,
oils of the
ic words.
its proper
sentence, |
teaninif in
(.vbscrvivvo
m;y a con-
)eiuling of
id the fall-
ve iKunc'i,
ni-LSS AND SLiU-LyriOXg,
10
the monot:>no tmI circiiiTillnM. But to give tiieterm, in-
flection, its proper siL''isirication, it api/cars otiierwisc.
The monotone is no iuilextion,consiHtiniT in a'contiruin^
tioii <;f the same sonnd, and the circunitlex is the, ri^ina'
and fallinLT combined.
AkhouLrli the iiitlections vary in intcn.sity, yet by
iisinfr the same precaution, and toUowing the direction^;
suoire.^lcd under the licad oi" cniphasiii and pause, but
little diiricnlty will be lonnd in giving each hifiected
syiialde its proper slide.
For the assistajice of the pupil, tiie lollowiDg rules arc
subjoined :
1. The direct question* has the rising elide, as :
Has tlie mail arrived I Did you sfU3 him ? Will you
go 1 Have you road ?
2. Tlie pause of suspense, denoting the cense uip
finished, re<piircs the rising inflection. In this case it b
usually less intense than in the one just mentioned, ais :
" If iny lords, I have any abilities, and I am sensi-
ble they are but small ; if,' by speaking often, I have
acquired any merit, as a speaker, if I have derived any
knowledge 'from the study of the liberal arts, which
have ever been my delight, Archia^ Li&inius, may
justly claim the fruit of all."
" Shall Milo, then, be suppt^ed, on the very day of
t^leetion,— a (hiy for which he had so long wished, and
ijn[)atiently expected, to present himself before that
au^rust assembly of the centuries, having his hands
statned with blo6d, publicly ackuowledgmg, and pro-
daiming his guilt?"
There are, however, some exceptions to this rule,, in
which the sense demands infle^.-oTi opposite to the
aeneral rule, as :
t
i
■ \
4:1
• The direct qufstioti admits of the answo", yes, or no ; the ifi-
direct does not.
if!'
•io
l;i I. lis AM) SI i.(il.srin,\s.
•«tiii|>;nt;,
1 1 ■•>,,„„.„„„ ,,,„, ,s.o,.i;,trs will. I.„I .s,...,..,.,,
'i"«-snoi l...ro.„r a v.ll;,iM. lu- ,.s ,„ <l;,.,ir,.r of |„s,„<r 1,,^
rliaracicr,
'''•>""'•• tl"' u.'r.I W/Am/ will, il„- ris„„r unhviiuu
U'oiil.l uuUcAU tha, il... y„,i..;^r ,„a„ „n,,.i uA villan, i.,'
nr«lrr (<> I.,- r<-s|n'i-M!)I.",
•'I I'atlios. „r .M.u.tioM. frnuu'i.lly iiicliiU's (he; vnwv U>
tli(' risiiin slide.
•''Vv.N.'.ii airr.Miru loryo.ir rlul.hcn. l-v voiir InvMi-r
your rou„tnM,v>our own v.rl.us. I.v ("lu- uu^vsty o(
«'<« KoM.an ro„un..uu..am,; hy all that .s saru^l a.ul
^'"'I'^t '•< ;l.'.'.r (oyou. ,|,.|,vrraun.iclu..l l»r,ur,> iV.mp
UTuh\s(>rv<'(l, iiiiitr<n()lv('(l injiirv ."
1- Tlir ^.u•a^.^^^ or ....miiiativi' oas.. .ii,l(.,n.i„U>r,t
•'•''-•'^^^''•I'Hutohrr. Alary ••--.••Sir. IjHvraMvvihat
Hum art a prophet.
:». 'rh.Tisu.^rslul,. isomimotijvnsr.l at the last pans,-
savo ,nMMn a s.M,t.Mu-r, Tht.s ... to rr„.lrr thr .a.lor.co
orh.lI..,-. .U- ihrvo.ro. attl... oh,s<> of tlu> sr,,s... ,,,.^0
•ll.'^.JlOt.
'* 'l'l'<' "'i.Hn- lon.s to he of ai-c^ ihcu t,. hv a n.nu .^
i>UM!..\s.s, t.lu'a to i.,ak,« up a., e.stato. tlu'i. to retire'."
♦' ''» •n.tithrt.r sc.toi.ct'.s uh(M. hofh trrm.s of the
•>ntith(r.,s ar,- e.xprosse.i. the toni.e.r taki'H th,. r..sin.
aiiil t-he lattiT tJie talli.io i.it|,H-tion.
uio;.
(mi
"Thf uiclv.Mi js ,inve„ away u. hi.s w ickf.inft^- .
tho riiiht.^oiLs hath hope m hi>< (le;\th."
*;"«»«m-x ua.stJ,euTeatrstj:e.,.usi V.ruJ ('he hetu.
;rr(ist; inthe one. we luosf adm.r.Mho nu'iu . .tUhooU.cu
»»»«' ^v.\rk. lloinei lu.rrics us with ocuu.i.arul.ti.r ,„^
pot.iosKv ; V.rg.l iea.ls „.. with attractive n.iijesty''^-
"Talojit ,<p.-uer. fun. s skill 'nh^nfi. weight , taci
, i • >« i
HULLS AND 81'UfiCS I Ii>.\a!.
tl
Osillir |u!<
illcftiiiii,
lil.iiii III
r Iiiv«' W'.i
Mjrsfy of
n'«l. and
I't* tVolP
:ivv that
St |)au>i'
;ult'Mc<\
\ more
inuu ixi
rt
\ '»
of tlu-
rusino,
^' , l»ui
l>cttia
i . taci
Ls momouti'iin. Talent kiituvj^ what to do , tact know?
lunv t') doit, Tali'iit inaki'S a man rcspoctaiilo ; ta«'t
makes liini respocti'-d. Talent is \ve;iltli : tact is rcidy
nit>noy'."
7. When two direct ijiiestioris, expretisinL; oppo^i-
/.ion of iiuMuiii^jf, are coimected hy or, the iiillectioii:* are
the s.iiM(> as tlie last, ns:
Will you i^W)f or stt\y ? Hid ht^ net ui.-ely '. or im-
wisely' ? I^'> you read correctly' f (tr incorrectly" '
S. When opposition is not expressed, they lH)th have
the risin::^ slide, as :
*' Canst tlu)ti hind an unicorn with hisl»;!;iil lu the tiix-
r(nv ? or will he harrow after the(> ? Wiltthon trust him
I)(n'ause he is gri'at ! or wilt thou h'ave thy lal>i>r to
luni V
1). When ncjj^iltitin is opposed to atlirmation, the f(>rine.r
bns the risiuiT, and the latter the t'allinu' slide.
" This is no titne for a tribunal ot' justice, hut for show-
mi: niercv' ; not for accusation, hut for plulanthro[)y' : not
for trial, hut for pardon ; not for sentenee and execti-
tion. hut tor compassion and kindness.'"
\0. If atrirination precmles neii;;:tion, tiie mllt'ctionj*
i\iQ reversei^, as in this example ;
" You w. TO paid t<> t"iu;ht for Alexajulor ; :iot to rad ,'^t
him."
11. Tiie mdiroct (picstivui is [iroiKMinced uith th(>
falling inllection.
Why this chauiTe in your nppeaxance ? When did he
arrive .'.
12. Tiie answers to both the direct and indirect (ine»-
tion, have the lallini^ inflection.
Will you ride ? iNo: Have y«iu heard the news? YOs
When shall you rctiirn ' Tomorr(.">\v ' Whom do yon
5ci^ ! James.
mi
i.
l'
'r^M^H
v'%^^H
i
^«i
'9
il
*' '^H
*
OCT
nrLEH AND SIK.GKSTIOXJJ.
lo. W..r(ls of c(.mmrmdinir,exhortinLr,reprehen(lin.^
mvokina de..,>uncin<r, oxchnminir, &,,,, u.unllvtnke th^
t^iliiii- mllection. The.e ni.-iy bo known l,y the cxcla^
mation point, whicli usiwilly toHovvs them.
14. Theropetitiori of words rnarkcul by a stroncr env-
phasisjiius the falling inflection. ^..
When we speak to a person at n, distance, by pro
"ouncmcr his name, wc usually do it with the risincr slide
but if we repeat it, the falling' is ni^ed, as :
(n, the l.dlniLr IS sometimes ui^ed, as:
Do you hear ?_Do you hear? This, however, depeud.
much upon circumstnnces. ^
14.^ The final pause usually takes the fallincr slide
rhehn.slnngof the sense is, in most cases, marked in
a lulling ot the voice. But the pupil should endeavor u.
avoid a uniform depression at the close of sentenc^-s, a^
such a habit is far from being agreeable.
IX. MODULATION,
An unbroken s-ucc «sion of similar .sounds, however
melodious, cannot fail to fatigue and disgust the hearer
Kven the mellow tones of the harp, if repeated without
variation, soon become unplensant :M<mot(mv, in reaxU
mg and speaking, is not h-s olfensive to the ear, than in
music.
A want of variety in tone, as well as emphasis, pauses
Alc. IS iatal to good reading. But in trving to avoid
this iault, there is a liability offallingintoanotherhal.it
which, It possible, is m,.re disagreeable than the first'
-I his IS a kind of ..../.,,»/,,,/ ,,,,;,^^^ j^ ^^j^j^j^ the voice,
independent of sense, ri.ses an<l fails to a certain dc<rvoe
at regular periods. "^
T/u nadw s/,o^,/dcnrkavor fn adopt such f ones as an
vt)ice
\'i\ii
prebend in<:,
'illy take the
f the cxcla-
strong erih
,ce, by pro
mug slide :
19 repeat-
er, depeutlb-
filing slide
marked h\
:>ndeavor t4>
itences, a^
5*, however
the hearer,
ed withont
ly, in rea/l-
ir, than in
is, pauses,
? to avoi/i
tlier habit,
the first.
the voice,
in <legret.\
ncs as an
UULKS \Nn SUOr.K-TlONS.
2;i
i
v^^fd ill ri)nv()\<atii)n, and ptrmit thr voice to bcguvirned
entirely bij ^(ntimvnt and anotion
X. su(;(;kstio\s roil ni:Ar»iN<i roETUv
TJie rules and «ugrrestions, which have already been
jri veil lor reading prose, are generally applicable to
poetry; although it.s peculiar character requires a lullei
utterance «>r the vowel j^ounds, and a nirrc elevated and
llouinii uiauner of enunciation.
The principal dilhculty in reading p<K'try, which iy not
general to both prose and verso, is the ohscrvafiwn of its
/mu.^f^. These are of three kinds : the pauses which mark
the sense — the end ol' the Hue; and thecesural pause
Tilt; first occur, nnd are treated in the same mannet
;t.s in prose ; the second are slight sus|)ensions of tln'
voice, used to indicate the cU)se oi' the line : and the
third, are pauses thrown into the line after the 4th, 5th,
OtJi, or 7th syllable, according to ilie metre of the verse
The observance of tiiese pauses nuist not be aIlowe<f
u> interfere with the sense ; consequently their introduc-
tion depends nuich upon circumstances. To illustrate
this, read the following examples :
*' His form was fair|| his cheek w;i3 health;
IJis word a bond|| his purse vi;ls wealth."
ilerethe cesural pause comes nfttr tlie fourth Fvlhibk',
and its observance does not, in afiy manner, interfere
with the sense. But in this stanza ;
''Death speaks — ah, readjier, d(jf<ttlh)U hear ^
Hast thou no lurkljing cause 1x> fear?"
althougii the measure of the verse is tlie stuiie, yctthc
-.ntfoduction tif the pause is a jjidpabk; absnirdity.
To become a good reader of poetry, requires mnclj
?tudy nnd delicacy of taste, and it is ind'^-d an accom-
In
A
r i
Ul
1"
4
is'
4
%
m
t^f
1
•24
RULES AXfJ SUGGESTIONS.
pl.'shrnent fit which bui few ever arrive; although the
real ditficuities attached to the art, are fewer than many
iriKiirine. For the benefit of the pupil, the following
directions trc jjiven :
1. When the sens'e is dignified, and accompanied
with emotions of reverence, sublimity, and awe ; it should
be read with but little inflection — approaching a mono-
tone.
" lie said, and on the rampart-height arrayed
His trusty wariors, few, but undismayed !
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
StUl as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm."
2. A tender or plaintive i^ubject, usually inclines the
voice to a rising inflection, as :
".'Art thou, mv GREGonr, forever fl6d?
2\p.d am I left to unavailing woe?
When fortune's storms assail t''is weary head,
Where cares long since have shed untimely sn6w,
Ah now for comfort whither shall I 50!"
3. Neither accent nor emphasis should be changed
irom its proper syllalde or word for* the.^sake of metrical
harmony. Such a habit not only injures the spirit of
poetry, but gives it an aflx'cted sing-song tone, which is
peculiarly unpleasant to the ear. For example, read a
ferse from "The Nightingale and Glow-worm," by Cow-
per, accenting the syllables in Italics :
*' The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent —
' Did you admire my lamp, ' (juoth he,
' As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wong,
As much as I to «'poil your song."
I
R
5.
:l
W'fJl
hough the
than many
follouing
THE
\m
in
lompanied
; it Bhoulil
g a mono-
rayed
form,
orm."
clines the
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
ead,
Ij i^uOw,
changed
' metrical
spirit of
which is
e, read a
by Cow-
K-VERt'I^ES.
CHAPTER 1.
The Choice.
1. "1 shall not study any longer," exclaimed Alberi.
v,arelessly throwing down his book, and overthrowing
liis ciiair, as he rose from the table. "My father has
given me i)€rmission to choose for myself, and I will no
longer pore over these musty books.''
2. " What has discouraged you?" inquired Edmund,
looking up, with anxiety, from the work which they had'
been diligently examining. '"Tis all studv, studv
ytudy," said the other. " I'm sick of it. Tin sick oj
attendmg to one thing;" aiid he left the room, without
giving his companion tiuip to expostulate.
J3. Edmund ccmtiinuMi in his course of study, and about
a week after, he heard mat his friend was engaged in the
employment of an euauent merchant, and was^delinhicd
with his' new business. ^
4. A year had not rolled away, when merchandize was
more wearisome than books, and Albert had returned
fiome to assist his father in the more bumble labors < S
'-'1 the tarm.
Tj. But when Edmund was about to graduate frtin col-
lege his former associate waited upon him, and detailed
>ii glowing colors, the magnificeiit prospects of wealth
■:r.
i f
i 6^'
j» I.
4
in- " I
'i«i
o>i Mi»\ Ni tioui i:i Mil i;
and ijt iiiiih'iii wjuili .iwaih'tl liim. iii .1 Lm: iiHiiit \ , 111
\\iii('li III- w ti:< iiImmK to I'th'.i.M riii-< l.tlll'l hl|->llM'>-.
« llll'll llllll Kill Ol ill)- l-DlMlIn, ,'l|ll I '.lltllllllll l<i>t -^i^lil ol
In ' li Ii'IkI Ii>i iii.iiin \ * ui
(> III 1 1. 1(1, llllll ■><! I, III I III iiir.iliW lilK , III I III .ilih I III,-
X.iiifil (l.M'K, iilitl l>\ li'lUiMiH- jtri ^|-\ t-|;iin r, iimIi, • li-p
l>\ 'It-li. Illllll III- ll.'tl i-^I.lltllslici Ills I ciHil 111, 11 |'il|i';MII
II. >; ailti ^l.ll>tlll\ >>r I'li.ii iirlri , .iiitl In- iii>\\ - il lu in ird
liinl I'.^lrt-iucd, iiiiioii.' ilir |iiiI>.'cn »>I In- ii.iluc l.nu!
7 A nil Ml!.' I lu- imimMii-i ■, w !i.< w ii r oiir (la\ II nil IhIim r
llllll , \> a--' «>iii , w It li w lio'i- .i|»|M-.ii aiH I- lir \\ .1-. jMi I iriil.i! 1\
inti'irstiMl Tlu- ii.imr, li«>\\i-\ri, w a^^ iiiikiiowii t»i litiii
ami lu' Mi|>|ii«---M-(l aii\ laiilui »iimo--ih , wlnlr In- ai
ti'U»l«-»l to (III- ili>» liai^<' ol 111-, oliiii.il iliil\ riir (-IIIII.
(i ! whuhtlu |ti i-.oii(-i w a•^ .11 1 ai('iu-«l. \\ 1- loiycn ami
the (It »'viiii'>lai»tt'^ ol tin- »• i>i- ili'\ t-lojttil a loii^^ tiaiii o'
t! ! ('ijllhivmt'', and \irioi|N IM a« I n-(->.
7 A'- llif til il |»i oi'ov'tlt'd, II w a^ a->«t-i I aiiu'd iImI tiii
t>(VrndcM had, at dillru-nl liirr~>. pa>>t-d iindi-i \ iiioii-
aitiiurs, tuilil It w a^ mow douUttui w liiili ot lu'lit tx-lon^M-d
to hmi Aiiioiii; otli«-i>, I'aliiiuiui ai la>i i<-ioi;in.'(-d
dial «»l ill-- I'M Int-iid , AwA hi^ rv-rliiii',> *'oiii|M-ll«-tl li.m to
ii\ It! llllll -I'll' ol' ill tail\ |>ii-t(-\i to ad|i>nrii the coiiii
S 111 tin- r\i'iiiii!-, !>'- waited ii|>oii Ailifil, and dit-w
tu>ui llllll llu- lii>loi> o\' lii> jilr It wa>oii<- ol" iiiaiiv
fhatujt-s. jioi immai !v(-d l'\ dailvri liiu's, and all w«ii
tJUicd to llu- lal li |'n\ili-.':i ot ol»m»Mii>> lo fhaii!;t' lii^
tMiijdoMiit-iii, wiu-n<'\(-r it i'l-vatiu'. li'r a tmir, dtsayrtM-;,-
l>;<' lo liu.i Till' i,;uilt\ tiKiii a]>i>t\ut'«i ilt't-piv iTiiUi-iit
t'oi lu> »'. 101, and tliotioh .<tMH«-iu-r«i m roiiisi- ot lav*
w «.s >oon lilniatt-d !'\ tin- t'\(-tti>ni,s t»r lus tl ii-liu
1^ r»u( d i> ' lit' w a> litt d lot 110 toivulai- iMnploviiu-iit ,
U.; Ill' hid not viMiiuiiu-d •^iitru-u-iul\ loii^' ill am ti> l't'»
fv-mt' 'I {Mv^"u-UMii . and ill ln> t>>,tal,>lis\u-d hal'its x-t-incd
to cof,si'*(\ •: ' j>ri-|>.n»- linn lor tiMiiptattou, so that lir
soi>n j<;^ u- I 'tto Ins r« •rnn-i jnartn-rs; and illnsCatt'd.
h\ hi-- t'M-^vi d>u' litr, ;•, ul nion- pitiahu- eml, \\\c fata!
t'onsoviiu';u-rs o\ elioo--! n^';, not that wlin-li is e\jUHinMit.
but tint \\ Inch is ai;n-(- i\Ac
I (
<- iinidi
I'l W III
1 I
1 |*-'ihi|
l>i'\ on
• >
I
III ' lUi
I l..-i«-d
I *a' till-
I l;li- wi
d '''"' "'
if s|»,.||, 1
la-l hi'
ho\\ r\ I
■riii- i
\olllli.
'^ " I. t
ll'vull'
Ins «-li
w ho h
till' oil
hnn ti'
I rill- II
I'll' .;t'
liis tall
iMiildn
lu re 1
N on Iv
sironm
<'d -ki
otluT.
(v '
Irik'-ir ■>
$
1^-
nciu \ , It.
I l»ll->lllt
.lll!l< I III,
IX'll, lip
I. I If. 'I II
I . Il< III Hii
lilllil
I It'll I'l'liM I
II III III. 1< l\
ui lo hiiii
nil' lir ;ii
riir iTIIii.
jyw . .nil'
!«; It .1111 «•?
• I lliil till
•I \ II loll
I hrl.MiiM'il
ri'>>i;n[.'i-u
\vi\ li.m l»»
r i'lMii I
illlll illfw
ot iii:iii\
»1 ill! \\v\f
liaiij^t' 111-
y j'rij!i!'ii'
Sf .it , .1 .1
till
♦liniMtMK
anv ti> be-
its M'rmi'il
> (h:(i he
llnsl'attNl,
, \\w I'aia'
1,3
r»»MM(i\ SI lin.ti lirXUIK. '27
BSiiiiBiiii;; %nrr ^(|nii*r4'l*i.
I ( >Mf itl' llir lili'vl \ .liii.ii.ic |i;|i>iN .>r llli' i.S iha; I'l
r .iii|»liMlli!.^ i'\i r\ nihil rl;iklli;. Tile liiiliI .il ills.sijiat l«ll,
I'l wliifli |iiMM>ns ,.r I ilnil nihil ijitjiijoc, ami >«t wliicli
|»«'l!ia|»-. llirv ail' iihitf piiMir lliaii olliciv, is dc^tnichvr
liivoiiil w ii.il r.ni riMiliU he iinaniliri!
'.' \ III. I II who Ills josi I he |>it\\ iM i>r |>ioscriiliii«.f a l;isl\,
ill ..loiiii'iil il< iiinrli\ iv I'lMic, or It IS Imtoiiu' niniiii-
(•riril \>illi ililliriill \ , Ii;!n rrijiicfii Ills iiiiliij into a stIltC
*i (III' most l.iiiiruf ililr .nnl wrrlrlinl iiiilirt-illl V. His
l;li' will itii'v iial>lv l>r iMir orsjiiciis ami |>alrln's.
■ I. Till* t•lHlS(•|ollv||('•^s of imt lia\iii«i |»i'rsr\ iTcil to ihc
■•ail ol'aiiv MMi'lf uiiilcnaUiii;'. u ill Ikiiil!,' •»N«'r liiiii likt* a
-|>i-!l, .mil will piraiv.'r all Ins riuTorirs ; ami lu> will at
I 1-1 ln'lii'M'. ili.ii liowcMi r.iir m.i\ l>r Ills [trosju'ft.s, ami
li.M\,'\c:' rra.Mltli' lii^ phm.^, h,. is talnl iir\rr to sii(MT«'tl.
I 111" ii iImI i'\' fmi^I.ini; oiinlit lo Im> toniu'tl m rariy
\i'iitli
1 Some ytMvs a^o, a i;t'ullt'Hiaii \isiliii;.r in a certain
|t|;\i-i\ l>ri-auu« sli^liiiv ;uMniainle«l with a .Mr. Alsop who
ii'Milcil ilicic. IJeiiio (li'siioiis ol' know mo nu>r<' ahonf
Ins «'haia(tff. he in;tilr im|niiit's of aiioihrr litMilh'iiiaii,
\\h>< hill known hnu lioin his chililhooil. " Why," s.iid
t!n' oilu>r. "as to Mr Also|«, perhaps I »'aii best (lesfiihi*
Inm fo \oii hy relatiii.' ,in aiiee«lo|e of his vonlhrni tla\s."
riie \mpinei was \erv aitentive to hear the story, ami
I'le i^tMilleni.in procefMJed llnis : —
.'». " When .loliii Alsop was ahoiit liih-en vears ohi,
his l.ilher .in. I another mm wt-re eiioaoeil one dav in
1miiI.Iiii.> ihailuMw lo.;; tene(\ which lhj< lirst s(<nlers
hire used lo lu.ike when lliev cleared tip new land.
Noll know they weiild lav om> \tMv laro'e loir on the
eronml tor a ronmlaiieii; iIkmi put down what th«>v call-
ed -kuls. ,M. droll np another larire h>. .o ju- upon the
t>. This rollmor np was hard work, ami reipiired all
l1>,<'ir sire.Mufh, am! m>ed(>d to he done verv canfiouslv.
tl
ill
ti
ff t;
i 'HI
28
COMMON SeHO«L READER.
IT?' I"-
' I'll
R!HI
!u;
m
i>
lest the log sh.Hild slip, or roll back upon them and kill
them. The two men were rolling up a very heavy locr
with their handspikes, and John's business was to clap
under a block on the skid, to keep the log ^afe, while
his father should renew his hold with ins handspike..
7 Having given a good lilt, and tugging with all his
might, the father called out to his son, "There Johnnv
put under your block (luick." John started very nim-
bly a yard or two, and snatched up his block, when
suddenly the loud chirp of a squirrel struck his ear
Quick as lightning he threw down his block and ran off
to cast sto'<es at the scjuirrel, and attempt to kill him'
leaving his father and the other man to hold the log till
he came^back, or let it roll back and endanger their
lives. There, sir, you have an idea of the character of
John Aslop, though it is thirty years since that tran«xic-
tion; for /if.' /m.s hcfu running after squirrels ever since."
8. This story is no doubt amusing to children ; let it
also be instructive. Let us see whether they undersiiand
It well. Is jt possible the gentleman could mean that
John Alsop had literally spent all his time for thirty
years in chasing and stoning squirrels ? Certainly not.
Nor did he mean that this had been his principal busi-
ness for one month or one week. He only meant that
John Alsop's c(mduct since, had generally been very
siinilar to that which has l)ccn related.
1). He had not been steady to his business, or reijular
in his purposes and habits. He would begin some^new
enterprise, and pursue it diligently for a '^little while;
then he would suddenly drop it, and eagerly engage iii
some amusement, or some visionary project of business,
which nobody else expected would ever come to any
thing. In his youth, j)lay and thoughtless company
took offhih attention from work and from school. No-
body calle<l him a bad or a vicious bov, but every ])()dy
knew he was fickle, easily drawn awav, and far iiom
being diligent, industrious and persevering.
10. When he was a young man he could !.ot fix apon
any employment, but tried one a little whih', ihen anoth-
er. One advised him this way, and anoiher that way,
^/
Hud hd
family,
busy ea
He livei
old and
moss."
he was
a depul
jirst lea
11. I
some pi
thing e
would b
course,
deal of
family p
neglecti
and ncg
very mii
squirrel
12. ]>
from Jt
attmtioi
in labor
ox in in;
Jiiiish it
next, an
atteutio
13. I
lies, or
ising 01
examine
iug ill 6
die witl
form ha
relation
aaid of
that rui
COMMON srilOOL READER,
29
m and kill
lieavy log
vas to clap
safe, while
flspike.
vith all his
re Johrinv,
very nim-
)ck, when
:> his ear.
ud ran off,
o kill him,
the log till
iger their
laracter of
It traii«ac-
vcr since."
ren ; let it
uider.si5aii(l
mean that
for thirty
tainly not.
cipal busi-
neant that
been vcri/
or regular
some new
;Ie while ;
engage in
f l)usiness,
me to any
c(mi{)any
ool. No-
very body
. fur ijfom
U fix apon
Mm anoth-
that way,
d
nnd he followed every body's advice. When he had a
fiiMiily, and found it necessary to exert himself, he was
busy early and late; but it was to very little purpose.
He lived in a great many different places, and it is an
old and true proverb, tliat a ''rolling stone gathers no
tnoss." He very often changed his employment. Now
he was a farmer, then a trader, then a post-rider, then
a deputy sheriff, then a mechanic of some sort, without
first learning tiie art.
11. He would just begin to do a snug business in
some pursuit, when he would hear or think of some-
thing else; and before any body would know it, he
would be scam2)f;nnff after the squirrel. He made, of
course, many foolish bargains, lost or threw away, a great
deal of his hard earned money, and always kept his
family poor. The education of his children has been
neglected. They are growing up in habits of idleness
and negligence. People say they resemble their father
very much, and they fear they will be no better than '
squirrel hunters all their days.
12. Now, let all children and youth take warning
from John AIsop. Let them accjuire the habit o^fxtd
attention to wJut they are doing. If they are employed
in labor, or study, or hearing the instruction of .mother,
or in innocent play, let them attend to it at the time, and
finish it, and then think seriously what they have to do
next, and then go and do that other thing with the same
attention and diligence,
13. Let them never leave important business for tri-
lles, or take up with a project as a very good and prom-
ising one, until they have inquired all about it, and
examined it well. Let them be diligent and persever-
ing hi every lawful undertaking of life, and "not med-
dle with those who are given to change/' t>o let them
form habits which will make them respectable in all the
relations and situations of life. And may it never be
aaid of one oi our readers, tliut he or she is a pfr«ou
that runs after squirrels.
C 2
.^1
■ H-
^ ' ^
,1
i'
.1^
"ll
!Wi
1'^
■'if:!;
•^0' COMMON Sf'IIOOL READEK.
CHAPTER HI.
The BiWe.
1 . A nation ni"ist be truly blessed, if it were govcrnetl
by no other laws ihan those of this blessed book; it is
so complete that nothiu<r can be added or taken from it -
It contains every thin<r needful t(» be done; it alTords a
f'opy for a kmir, and rule for a subject; it <rives instruc-
tion and counsel to a senate, authority and direction to
a mii<ristra(c ; it cautions a witness, requires an impartial
.jury, and furnishes a judge with his sentence ; it sets the
Imsband as lord of the household, and the wife as mis-
tress of the table; tells him how to rule, and her how to
manage.
2. it entails lumor to parents, and enjoins obedience
upon children ; it prescribes and limits the sway of
s.nevpiirns, the rule of the ruler, and the authority of
the master ; commands the subject to honor, ami the
MMvant to obey ; and promises the protection of it« au-
thor to all who walk by its rules. It gives directions for
wcddmgs, and ihr burials ; it promises tbod and rainient,
and limits the use of both; it points out a faithful and
eUTnid guiu-dian to the dej)arting husbnud and father;
tolls him with whom to leave his fatherless children, and"
ill whom his widow is to trust; and j)romises a father to
tlie former, and a husband to the latter.
.'{. Jt teaches a man jiow ho ought to set his jjonso in
order, and how to make liis will ; it api)oints a dowrv
for the widow, and entails. a right for the Wrst born:
and shows hinv the younger branches shall be 1(>R. It
(lefiMidsthe right of all, and reveals vengeance to the de-
frauder, ovc^rreacher, and oj)pressor. It is tlu; first book
and the oldest book in the world. It contains tlu'
elioicest matter, gives the best instructions, atul niWmh
the gr(>;it(>st |)leasure and satisfaction that ever were re-
vealed. It contains the best laws, and profoundest'mys-
l< ries, that ever were }){Mined.
■1 It brings the best tidings, and affords the best
comforts to the inquiring and disconsulute. It exhibits
COMMON SCHOOL READER
ail
? governed
>ook ; it is
11 from it
t alTords a
cs instruc-
irection lo
1 impartial
it sets the
fe as mis-
lev how to
obedience
3 sway of
thority ol'
', and the,
of it,s au-
sctionsfor
I raiment,
itlifiil and
id father ;
idren, and
L father to
! IioiiHO in
s a dowr)
rst born :
3 left. It
to the de-
irst book,
tnins the
id afford?-
• were rc-
de.st'my.s-
the best
I exhibits
life and immortality, and shoWH the waf (o CTcrlastiiaijT
glory. It is a brief recital of all that is to come, h
settles all matters in debate, resolves all doubts, and
cases the mind and conscience of all their .scrupleai. It
reveals the only livin«if and true God, and shows the way
to him ; and sets aside all other {[(ods, and tkv ribes the?
ranity of them, and of all that put their trust in them.
CIIAPTEIl IV.
A Colli ra^t.
1. In onr earliest years, the wronrr and gixx! we tixt,
mark iis for more mature ajre. Were this more deeg>ly
impressed u\)on our minds, how dilferently we should
act even in our smallest concerns.
Look at that school-boy, who with every deceitful net,
cheats his teacher ; in play with liis school-mates, by
unfair means, wins the game; speaks to another's ivtirt,
timt himself niny be promoted ; borrow.s and never re-
turns : is ever dissatisiie<l with his place; discontented
with every thing around him ; makes himself, and every
one with Nvhom he associates, unh;ippy.
'2. lie leaves his school and seeks employment. We
hear of him first tryitig one thing, and then nnother.
'Phis en\plover funis him dishonest, that one ciuiciot trust
his word. This on(^ has not given him so high a place as
he deserves, that one is too strict; .so thiit he stays ]jut
a little wliiii! in one placed — is always chauging. At the
auc of manhood he tries for himself, and still the snuK^
traits of character mark all his dealings in life. Ln-
stendy and wav(!riug, he leaves one thing for another,
till lik(^ a wav(; of the ocean, he dashes upon a rock and
is ))roken.
Jl. Now turn and look at him, who, in every [M)ssiblu
way, pleases his instructor, and deals justly with his
srliool-fellows. lie loves his book and loves his play ;
is content, and every body loves him. WhyTUecause
he controls his angry |)assions, and endeavors to make
every one happy. As he seeks cniployuiciit among the
' iSt
!
t'?l
Bl!|
iU
! J
m
'. I,
, :li
m
r(nmos scirooL nriAnRit
busy woil.l »t .s hi« (lell.hi faiH.rufiv to perform th
tusks aliottcMl lu.n ; lio grains tlu« comi.lorice and rrtocrn
til tl.oHo ul... em|)l«»y hi,,,; a.xl, wIkmi he becomes him-
«^H tlie eniploytM-, is kind and irn.tle to those under his
care. Ho, |,ke a rock in the midst of tlic sea, stands
aiike hmi when the anjrry waves dash upon him, or tlie
CHJm waters move peacefully aloncr.
4 O.I redcTtinir, ^e see tliat the actions of onr
youtldul days characterize us in years of n.anhood.
Ulu'M we do wr.M.^r, and sutler correction, althomrh i(
may seem hard at the time to bear, yet it is to f(»rm in
ris r.irhf and correct liahits. The pain we now experi-
la.cc, will ,„vp..re us for f.iture happiness. Instead of
heniLT d.spk'ased, ^^o shouhl he ffratcful to those wlio so
fcmdly ;r,vo M« timely reproof, and constantly strive to
make us usefnl and ajrreeable.
CHAPTER V.
I&:itliowec9 hv Thy I^ame*
.1. List to the dreamy tonjriie tliat dwells,
In ripplinj/ wave or siiiliint^ tree-
Co, barken to the old church hells,
The whistlinir hird, the whizzing bee,
Interpret rinrht, and ye will find"
Tis 'power and glory' they i)roclairn :
The chimes, creatures, waters, wind,
All publish " HaJlowed be Tliy name!"
2. The pilgrim journeys till he bleeds,
To gain the altar of his sires ;
1 he hermit pores above his beads.
With zeal that never wanes nor tires ;
COMMON SCnOOL READER,
33
'rforrn th
u(l r.«t(H>in
onies hiin-
umlcr his
oa, stands
ini, or tlie
UM of OUT
inaiihood.
ilthoujjh it
to lorni in
t)\v experi-
Instead of
se wlu) so
' strive to
But holiest rite or longest prayer
Tl>at soul can yield or wisdom frame,
What better import can it bear
Than, " Father ! hallowed be Thy name!"
3. The savajrc, kuoeling to the sun,
To give his thanks or ask a boon;
The raj)tures of the idiot one
Who laughs to see the clear round moon ;
The saint, well taught in Christian lore ;
The Moslem, prostrate at his tlanic —
All worship, wonder, and adore ;
All end in " Hallowed be Thy name."
t, Whate'er may be man's faith or creed,
Those precious words comi)rise it still ;
We trace them on the blooming mead.
We hear them in the ilowiug rill ;
One chorus hails the Great Supreme;
Each varied breathing is the same.
The strairis may ditler ; but the Tjir.Mi:
Is, "Father! hallowed be Thy name!"
4
(tji
CHAPTER VI.
Ibo Im iity rVcL^liVoor?
1. Thy neighbor f li is he whom thou
Hast i)ower to aid and bless —
Whose achinsi heart and burning brow
Thy soothing hand may press.
2. Thy neighbor? 'T is the fainting poor,
Whose eye with want is dim —
I
'd
mm
iU
<'<»M-M()\ s('nV»y)i, RrAr)i:n.
Whom Imnrror sonds frorn door lo door-
(i<> flioii ;i|.(l succor him.
•J. 'I'hy Moiirl.lH.r .' •'[' is tl.;,t ucary m;in,
Whose years ar<' af their hrim—
IJeiit low with sickness, care and pain-
Cio tliou and comfort him.
i- 'IMiy neiiild.or? "I' is the lieart heroft
<>t every earl hi v wm :
Widow and «)r()lian helpless left
^»" tlion and shelter them.
>'>. Where'er tiion meet'st a hnman Inrm
liC.^s lavonred than thine own,
lv(MnendKr 't is thy neiirhhor worm,
Tiiy hrother or thy son.
^'. Oh, pass not, pass not iieedless-Jty ;
l'erlia])s i.h.lf canst redeenv
'I'ho breakincr heart from misory
(^o, share thy h,t with him.
KibB« of li9li'iii|u>a*:iiice.
I. (Nndd all the forms of evil, pro.luced by intern-
.HTance, come npon ns, in one horrid array, U wonid
Mpp:d the nation, ami pnt an end to ti.etrallic in ardent .^
-pints 11 m every dwellniir, built by bh.od, thestone.-
-.t^-lslunddntterthecr^^^^ |
t., fhc extur s. and the beam on., of the tind.er .honhl I
<^('ho them back, wl
ul
)o
i«) wonid Ixiild such a I
uonM dwell in it ? What if
louse, and
m every j)art of the
<■o:^i.Mt)^• !S» iiooi. kladiji.
3d
Mwciliiiix, iVoiii the C('II;ir iipwiird.-;, tlin»iior|i ;ill tlic luills
jiiiifl cliiuiilxTs, bahljliiiirs anil (Contentions were licard
<lay ini<l nitrlit t
•J. What it' tlic (Mild hluod ow/cd out and stood in
<iroi>-^ nj)on tlic walls, and i)y prrtcrnatural I'.rt all tlic
irliastlv sknils and Ixijics rd" tlu' victims destroyed l)v
int('ni|)('iance slioidd stand npon the walls, in horrid
.'Cnlptnre within and uithont the hiiildinn', — who would
read it .' — What it' at eventide, at niidniirht, th(^ airv
r(»rins of men, destroyed by intemperaiiee, were dimly
seen haiintiniv (he (listillerie■^ and -tores, wher(> thev ro
ceived their bane — lollowinL'' the track of tin* vessel
eniraifed in the connnerce — walking upon the water —
fUitini; athwart tiu; deck, and sendmo- up from the jiold
within and the waves wiiliout, t^roaiis, and loiul janitnts,
and wailinirs ? Who would atteni] ^uch stores — who
would iiavi<xate such vessels ?
']. Oh, were the sky over our IkmuIs, one orrent whi^r
p'MiuL'' nailery, hrinixino- down about us all the lamenta-
tion and W(» winch intemperance creates, and the iirir!
earth one soiior»»us medium oi" souml, brinirinir up
around us from beneath, the wailinos of the danmed,
whom the commerce in ardent spirits had sent thither ! —
these trememlous realities, assailinn" (»iir senses, would
iiiMirorate our conscience, and give decision to our
purposes (d" reformation.
4. But these evils are as real as if the stone did cry
out of the wall ;nid the beam answered it! — as if dav
and nioflit waitings //vr/ heard in every part of thedwell-
iIl^^ and blood and skeletoms urri' seen on every wall ! —
as real as if the ghostly forms ol de[)arte(i victims
tlitted a!)(^ut the ship as she jjassed over the billows, and
showed tliemsflves nightly about the distilleries, and
"\vitli un(rarthly voices screamed in our ear.s their loud
lament. They are as real as if the sky over our heads
collected and \iroMght down upon us all tlu; notes of
sorrow in the land, and the fnm eartli should open apas-
sage tor the waitings of despair to come up t'roin be-
neath.
im
u
'4
m
I wi;i
m
COMMON SniOOL READtn.
CHAPTER VIII.
IloiBe^fly the Blest Policy.
that 1
I- A farmer called on Enrl V
field adj
lis crop of wheat had hr
itzwilliairi to represent 1
<^ii seriously injured, in
. onnnrr a certain wood uhere his lu unds' had
during the wn.ter, frequently met to 1 ^
that the young wjieat had be
that
((
that
in
W
some parts he could not hope- |
t'll, my friend," said his Lordsl
'•"It- He stated
■en so cut up and destroyed
)r any produce.
we 1
III).
J
h
'iive frequently met in tln.t field, and tl
ave done considerahl
an est
yon.
fim aware
lat we
iniate of the loss you hav
'^ The farmer re])lied, that
e Hijnry ; and if urn can procure
e sustained, I will
repay
consideration and kindnes.s, he had
assist him in estimating the d
that as tl
anticipating his Lordsl
lip's
requested a friend to
II n
„. ,, '^'.ir<% and ihev thoucrht
as the crop seemed quite destroyed, fifty dolhrs
wouh not inore than repay him. The Ear inne a eW
gaye nm the money. As tlie Jn.rvest, hZre^
proacluul, the wheat grew, and in those parts of he fiX
that were trampled, the corn was the ^trLngeJt^nlT S
JoZ^oJ"^^ ^7'' '^'"' '" ^^" ^'"^'^^^''P' ^-^I toeing
P 1 : V • •'"' '''''''' "'>^ ^^'*^^^ respecting the
field of wheat adjonimg such a wood" ='
I e instantly recollected the circumstances.-- Well
anu, ne crop, s most promising: and 1 haye therefore
l)rought the hfty dollars back again." ^^^retoie
4. -Ah!" exclaimed the ^Tneral)le Earl ''this is
what lidce-tlns is what ought to be between\na^^^^^^
n'^kTm/hir"'''''^ '"'" conyersation with the farmer.
a^King him some questions about his family— how minv
children lie had, &c. His Lurd.hip then w^nt h2
1, Di
in need
benefitt<
throwin,
and res[
ed to 1(
their ai
and thej
realities
They sc
^ ways of
I wreck.
2. Hf
of year^
learn, tl
intereste
over for
been tai
noyiciat
and will
enjoy me
witiiout
3. Le
and intc
COMMON SCHOOL HEADER.
37
to represent
"jureti, in a
loiinds had,
Jle stated
1 destroyed,
produce.
I am aware
iud that we
•an procure
[ wijj repay
Lordship's
a friend to
ey thought
fty dollars
iiniediately
wever, ap-
^f tJie field
t and most
and beinj;r
►ecting tJie
— " Weil,
^muneratc
'^'"Stained
■ ut up the
therefore
, "this is
man and
e ftirmer,
ow many
VGiit intc^
nnotlier room, and returninrr, presented the farmer a
check for one hundred dollars.
5. " Take care of this, and when your eldest son is
of age, present it to him, and tell the occasion that pro-
duced it."
We know not which most to adjnire. the benevolence
or the wisdom displayed by this illustrious man ; for
whde doing a noble act of generosity, he was handina
down a lesson of mtegrity to another generation. "^
CHAPTER IX.
A f nllle^^s Ailvicc to lii» Son.
1. Dear Son— At no time of life, do we stand more
in need of paternal counsels, or are more likely to be
benefitted l)y them, than at the period when we are
throwing off the boy, and arc about to assume the cares
and responsibilities of manhood. Youth arc accustom-
ed to look only upon the bright side of the picture •
their anticipations are sanguine; their hopes ardent '
and they need to be brought often to consider the sober
realities of life, to check their unreasonable aspirations
1 hey see not the sands and l)reakers which beirird the
ways of life, and upon which veiy many are early shio-
wreck. They need the experienced pilot. '
2. Having served in this capacity for a score or t^vo
ot years, in the school of experience, where all may
learn, though all do .ot learn to profit, and being deeply
interested in your future welfare, I propose to make
over for your use, some of the lessons which I have
been taught in the school where you are yet but a
noviciate. They constitute capital, if put to good use
and will be sure to make good returns, in the multiplied
enjoyments of life. These will be given as they occur
witliout regard to arrangement. '
3. Learn early to depend on yourself Your physical
and intellectual powers must be your main dependence
Uii i
\i
H
t ,
*IS
11
,11
38
COMMON SCHOOL RCADEB.
IV ;:!
for fame ajiri fortune, The ground has been fitted for
the seed. Your liiuids have been taught to labor ; your
mind to reflect. You must be tlie hii.sbandman ; you
must sow the seed, and nurture the phmts; and the re-
ward of tlie harvest will depiMid upon your personal dili-
gence and good management. Jf you sow tares, you
cannot reap wheat ; if you sow idleness, you will reap
poverty; lor however abundant tl>e i)iji ntal beciuest, few
can retain wealth, who have never been accustomed to
earn it.
4. Beware of extremes — the two often meet — and by
following the one too far, we often insensibly slide into
the other. Thus, j)rudence may run into parsimony
patriotism into peculation : sell-respect, into pride ; and
temperance in our habits, into intemperance in our par-
tialities, prejudices and passions. While you claim and
exercise, as the high prerogatives of a freeman, the free
expression of your political and religious opinions, and
the right of disposing of your time and property in any
way, that shall not infringe upon the rights of others,
nor compromit the peace and good order of society,
fail not to respect the same rights in your neighbor,
whom education or association may have imbued with
()|)inions ditfering from your own.
5. Reform others by your example : for you can never
make a sincere proselyte, in religion, politics or morala,
t)r even in the arts of labor, by coercion. You may com-
pel men to become hypocrites, sycophants and servik
imitators, but you do A at the expense of the feeling>
that dignify our nature — at the expense of piety, patriot-
ism and self-respect. Be moderate 'u all things — in
ymir pleasures as well as in your toils : in your opinions
and in your passions. Past experience should teacli
vou, tiiat your opiiiions may honestly change ; and how-
ever lonii vou mav have cherished wrong ones, or obsti-
ntitely defended them, to renounce error, when palpable,
will shed lustre upon your character. As it is human
to err, so it is magnanimous to confess and renounc
on?'s faults.
(1. Fnterineddle not ofliciously in the affuirs o^ others
COMMON SCHOOL RKAOER.
59
en fitted for
ubor ; your
(lm;ui ; you
and the re-
ersonal dili-
ttires, you
lu will reap
)e(iuest, few
iustoiiicd tu
*ct — and hv
y i>lide into
parsimony .
pride ; and
in our par-
u claim and
an, tlie free
)inions, and
)erty in any
s of others,
of society,
r neiiihbor,
mlAied with
»u can never
s or niorali).
u mav com-
and b^ervilc
he feelings
ety, patriot-
thiniTs — in
ur opinions
lould teacli
; and how-
es, or ob.sti-
;n palpable ,
it iis human
i renounc*
» of others
Your own concerns will demand all your care. Those
who busy themselves with other people's business, sel-
<lom do justice to their own. Seek for enjoyments in
tlie domestic circle, and make home agreeable to all
;u-ound. This is your duty, as well as your interest.
Seek rather to be good, than great ; for few can be great,
though all may be good ; and count the approbation of
your own conscience, above the a])plause of the multi-
tude. Act in secret as you would in public : as though
vour motives were scanned by those around you : and
you will seldom do wrong.
CHAPTER X.
Be Cometh ill g^.
1. It is the duty of every one, to take some part as ai<
actor on the stage of life. Some seem to think they
can vegetate, as it were, without being any thing in par-
ticular. Man was not made to rust out his life. It is
expected (hat he should " act well his part." He must
be something. He has a work to perform, which it is
his duty to attend to. We are not placed here to grow
up, pass through the various stages of life, and then die,
without having done any thing for the benefit of the
hunum race.
•2. It is a principle in the creed of the Mohammedans,
that every one should have a trade. Few Christian doc-
trines coidd be better than that. Is a man to be brought
up in idleness ? Is he to live upon the wealth which
!iis ancestors have acquired by hard labor and frugal in- •
dustry ? Is he placed here to pass through life like an
automaton ? Has he nothing to perform as a citizen of
the world ? Does he owe nothing to his country, as an
inhabitant ?
3. A man, who does nothing, is a mere cipher. He
does not fulfil the obligations for which he was sent into
the world, and when he dies, he has not finished the
work which was given him to do. He is a mere blank
i A
!i . h
i,Uv
'V^
' I
< 1
'A
. 4.U!
10
COMMON SCHOOL READKR.
■ III;
ni creation. Some are born mih riches and honors upon
I.e.r heads. But does it follow that they have nothin^r
to do .n their career throu<rh life? There are certain
duties lor every one to perform. Be something. Do not
live like a hermit, and die unregretted.
4. See that youii<r man; no matter what are his cir-
cumstances, if he has no pariicuhir business to pursue
ho will never accomplish much. Perhaps he h.is a
la her abundantly able to support him. Perhaps that
lather has labored hard to obtain a competence, which
IS sulhcient for his sons to live in idleness. Can they -o
abroad to the world, with any degree of self-ccHupiacen-
cy, sqiiaTidering away the money, which their lathers
have earned by hard labor ? No ! No one, who has the
proper feelinas of a citizen, who wishes to be rnnked
among the useful members of society, would Jive such a
r>. Br something: do not be a drone. You may relv
upon your present possessions, or on your future pros-
pects, but those riches may fly away, or other hopes may
l)e blighted, and if you have no place of your own in
hIoV"'' w'.'? '"^"' you find your path beset ^ith
thorn... What may come upon you, ere you are aware
ot It, and having no pn)fessi(m, you find yourself in any
thing but an enviable condition. It is therefore im-
portant that you should he somethinxr. Do not denend
ociice. i rust to your own exertions
(). Be Something. Pursue that vocation for which
you are h!,ted by nature; pursue it faithfully and dili-
^ ^^outly. You have a part to act, and the honor in per-
Jorinnig that part depends upon yourself. It is sicken-
ing t., one, to see a parcel of idle boys, hangincr round
a latuer, spending the money which he has^ earned by
'1^ HHlustry, without attempting to do anythino- for
Homselve.. Be so.nthing, should be their motto.
Everyone IS capable of learning some *' nrt trad- or
'nystcrv,' and can earn a competence for himVolf '
/ ii^^ ^.hoiild be somttking, md not bring dowu the
w,
COMMON SCHOOL IICADBR.
4J
nors upon
c nothiiKT
re certain
r. Do not
"e his cir-
o pursue,
he has a
■haps that
:c. which
u they go
)iii]jlacen-
ir tathers
o has the
»o ranked
le such a
may rely
ure pros-
jpes may
' own, in
!.sct with
re aware
if in any
'fore im-
t dejiend
ch often
St confi-
r which
and dili-
r in per-
'' sicken-
g round
irned by
ing for
motto,
rade, or
df.
)wu the
I
ffray hairs of his father with sorrow to the grave He
should learn to depend upon himself. Idle boys, living
upon a parent, without any profession, or without any
employment, are illy qualified for good members of so-
ciety. And we regret to say, it is toe often the case,
that it is the parent's fault that they are thus brought
up. They tdiovild be taught io be something ; to know
how to provide for themselves, in case of necessity, to
act well their part, and they will reap the honor which
therein lies.
CHAPTER XL
The Boy of Bagclat.
1. There are many persons who regard every species
of labor as an evil. Children are often unhappy, because
they must study, in order to acquire knowledge ; and
men and women sometimes complain, because they
must sow before they can reap. To all such persons I
would tell the following allegory, which may suggest the
lesson that industry is a blessing, and indolence a curse.
2. There was once, in the city of Bagdat, a little boy,
who was poor, and obliged to earn his daily bread, by
rearing flowers in a small garden. As the price of flow-
ers, in" that luxuriant climate, is extremely low, he was
compelled to be very industrious, in order to obtam
necessary food and clothing. But still he had good health,
and he ate his coarse meal with high relish and satisfac-
tion.
3. But this was not his greatest pleasure ; his flowers
were a perpetual source of enjoyment. They were his
flowers; he planted them, /ic watered them, pruned and
nurtured them. Besides all this, they were the source of
his livelihood. They gave him bread, shelter and rai-
ment. He therefore loved them as if they were his com-
panions. He saw them spring out of the ground, with
C2
v., 1
*)ki.
1 4
n|
:
. '%
4Z
m
I! :
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
pleasure ; he watched the budding leaves and unfbldina
flowers, with delight. '^
4. But at length, discontent sprung up in his mind
and in the evening of a hot day, he sat down in his
garden and began to niurinur.
"I wish," said he, "that flowers would plant, and
prune, and water themselves. 1 am tired of this in-
cessant toil. Would that some good genius would step
m, and brmg me flowers already made, so that I nii(rht
be saved all this trouble !" "=
5. Scarcely had he uttered this thought, when a
beautiful bemg in bright colors stood before him, and
said—" You called me, boy ; what do vou desire V'
" I am weary of my employment," said the bov " I
live by cultivating flowers. I ani obliged to toil, dav by
day, with unceasing industry, and I am only able to" ob-
tain my daily bread. If I mistake not, you are a kind
and powerful genius, who can give me flowers if vou
will, and save me all his toil."
6. " Here !" said the genius, holding forth a beautiful
tan of feathers, "take this; wave it over the earth in
your flower-pots, and the brightest blossoms of Cashmere
will spring up at your bidding !" Saying this, the spirit
<ieparted. ^
7. The boy received the charmed fan with crrcat d^-
delight, and waved it over one of his flower-pots A
bud immediately shot up through the soil, gradually un-
lolded itself, and m a few minutes a beautiful moss-rose
blooming and fragrant, stood before him ! I need not
describe the transport of the little gardener. He found
his charmed f;m, to be just the thing he liad desired,
lie had now no labor to perform ; a ihw sweeps of his.
i m brought him all the flowers he needed. He there-
lore spent his time in luxurious indolence.
H. Things went on very well for a fortnight. But now
a dilTereut kind of weariness began to creep over him
Ills appetite, too, fniled by degrees, ;ind lie no lomrcr
enjoyed his meals. He losi, his interest, likewise, in The
flowers. He saw no beauty in their bloom ; their verv
COMMON SCHOOL READER,
4r?
unfbldino-
his mind,
vn in his
hint, and
r this in-
ould st(,'{)
; I might
wlien a
liim, and
re?"
)oy. *'I
1, day hy
>]e to ob-
c a kind
rs if you
beautiful
earth in
ash mere
he spirit
:reat dc-
>ots. A
lalJy un-
)ss-rose,
iced not
e found
desired.
s" of his.
e there •
hit now
er him.
' loufrcr
, in the
•ir verv
odor l)ccame sickening. The poor boy was iinhap})y,
and again began to 'iuirinur.
0. " I wish,'' said he, "the genius would come back,
and take away this foolish fan."
in a moment, the bright being was standing by hi?
side.
" Here," said the boy, handing forth the fan ; " take-
back the charm you gave me ! Forgive me, sweet genius ;
I was mistaken. The weariness of indolence, is far
worse tiian the weariness of industry. 1 loved the flow-
ers which were produced by my own skill and care;
but things which cost notliing, are worth nothing. Take
back the charm, and leave n'le to that humble happiness
which my own industry can secure, but which your po-
tent s];ell would chase away.'
CHAPTER xir.
ft love the Spring.
I . I love the blest Spring ; and who shall dare
To chide me for loving its soft, pure air ?
For it comes from heaven with a mandate bright..
To free the cold earth from its winter's night.
'I 'T is nature's morning ; and wlio shall dare
To chide me for loving her beauties rare ?
My heart leaps out, with each bright green thing.
That starts into life, at the voice of Spring.
3. 'T is earth's bridal hour ; and who shall dare
To chide me for wishing her joy to share ?
For loving the gems, and the jewels bright,
She's spread o'er her bosom, to greet our sight.
;,!
Ji
4. Tis
the birth-time' of (lowers ; and wlio iliall dar^^
til •
fell!;
" ■*•
*^ f'OMMON SrnoOL HEADER,
To cliide me for lovin.ir tlic hriaht hues they wear
!• or courting the odors they joyounly fling,
When they'r funned by the wand'ring zephyr's wing.
■"»• T is a type of heaven ; and none shall dare
1 o elude n,e for striving to enter there,
Where frosts never come, nor winter winds si.h
<> or the loved and the beautiful, born but to die
,j:,i|!iil[
' ; 1
CHAPTER XIII.
\ Exodus x. 17.
1- '' Onh/ f/u's ourc^'^Vhe wine-cnp .lowed
^ ^ All sparkling with its ruby ray, '
The Bacchanalian M-elcome flowed,
And folly made the revel gay.
'I Then he, so long, so deeply warned,
^ The sway of conscience rashly spurned
1 1 IS promise of repentance scorned,
And coward-like to vice returned.
'*^ " O/A/3, f/a, onrrv'^The tale is told.
He wddly (juaffed the poisonous tide:
With more than Esau's madness sold
The birth-right of his soul-and died,
4. I do not say that breath forsook
The clay, and left its pulses dead
im reason in her empire shook
And all the light of life was fled.
.u
lyr's wing,
are
(h siffh
t to (lie.
COMMON SCHOOL RRADER,
-5. A:^aiii his eyes the landscape viewed,
His limbs airain their hurdeu bore,
And vears their wonted course renewed.
But hope and peace returned no more.
0. And angcl-eyes with pity wept,
Vvlien lie, whom virtue Cain wonld save,
Ilis sacred vow so falsely kept,
And stranfjelv sounrht a drunkard's o-ravo.
7. '•' Onlif this, nncf y — Beware, — beware ! —
Gaze not up(»i th(! bhisliiiii»- wiiio :
Repel temptation's syren snare.
And j)rayerlul seek fur strcivi(th dLvino.
4/
o
.m
I ti
>..«ii
CTT AFTER XTV
1. Would thou a wrmderer reclaim,
A wild and reckless spirit ti'ine —
Check tlie warm ilow of vouthful blood,
And lead a lost one bacfk to God ?
Pause, if thy spirit's wrath i)e sti^d,
Speak not to liini a i)i!tcr u'ord ;
Speak not — that bitter v.ord may bo
The stamp that seals his destiny.
*2. If widely he has gone astray.
And dark excess has marked his way.,
'T is pitiful — but yet, aware
Reform nmst come from kindly care,
Forbid thy [)arlinir li})s to move,
Rut in thofrenlle tones of love;
•v-l
Ui
COMMON SCIiOUL IlEAJJEI',
Hi
Though s:idly his yotin^r heart hath erred'
Hi)eak not to liim one bitter word.
'I The loworincr frown he will not f>car,
The vcnoni'd cliidings will not hear ;
The ardent will not brook
'JMie stinging tooth of sharp rebuke,
Thou wouldn't not goad the restless 'j^teed
To calm his fire or clieck his speed
Then let no angry to*nes be heardr—
^peak not to him one bitter word.
4. Go kindly to him— make him feel,
? Your heart yearns deeply for his weal '
Tell him the dangers thick that lay
• Around hij< wildly devious way,
So shalt thou win him, call him back
From i)leasure's smooth, seductive track.
And warnings thou hast mildly givei .
■Mtiy guide the wanderer up to Hejiv^-n.
11^
CHAPTER XV.
I. Hour of an Empire's overthrow !
^ ^ The Princes from the feast were gone ;
The Idol flame was burning low;
'T was midnight upon Babylon.
t!. That night the feast was wild and high ;
That night was Sion's gold jjr-fnned •'
The seal was set to blasphemy ;
'I'lie luat deep cup of wrath was drained.
.|;i
COMMON SCHOOL READKR. 47
^y 'Mid jewelled roof and silken pall,
Belsh.'izzar on his couch was flung;
A l)urt»t of thunder filled the hall —
He heard — hut 't was no mortal tongue :—
4. " King of the East, the trumpet calls,
That calls thee to a tyrant's grave ;
A curse is on thy palace walls —
A curse is on thy guardian ware :
;>. •' A surge is in Euprates' bed,
That never filled its bed before ;
A surge, that, ere the morn be red,
Shall load with death its liaughty shore.
a. " Behold a tide of Persian steel !
A torrent of the Median car :
Like tlanie their gory banners wheel ;
Rise, Kincr, and arm thee for the war I"'*
7. Belshazzar gazed; the voice was past —
The lofty chamber filled with gloom ;
But echoed on the sudden blast
The rushing of a mighty plum^e.
8. lie listened ; all again was still ;
He heard no chariot's iron claug ;
He heard the fountain's gushing rill,
The breeze that through the roses sang.
y. He vslept ; in sleep wild murmurs came ;
A visioned splendour fired the sky ;
He heard Bclshazzar's taunted name ;
He heard again the Prophet cry—
10. ^' Sleep, Sultan ! 'T is tliy final sleep :
Or wake, or sleep, the guilty dies.
*
'i»|i
■'I
I
H l:i
48
COMMON- iHllOHL UilADLR.
•T'
I I
The vvroiigK of tlioso who watch and weei)
Aroujid thee, and thy nation rise."
H. He started; ^niid the battle's yell,
He saw the Persian rushing on';
He saw the flames around liim j^well :
Thou'rt asJie« ! King of Babvlon
•I
!. li
■If
CHAPTER XVI.
Tliere h a Gotu
1. Go out beneatii the arched lienven in nhmV- uu
^md gJocun, and .ay ,f you can, "There i ^ G<^ "
ronounce tlua dread bJa.phe.n , an<i each st^r a ove
^M\ reprove you ior your unbroken darkness of imel
cct--every vo;ce that floats uj.or. the ni.ht wi 1 " [
!>ewad your utter hopc.h>ssness and desj)alr. '
^cZ\}^\^n'"^^'''^--^h'^''''' HnroJled that blue
.1 '• r'"'" "''"" ''' ^'''^^' Ircntispiece t]i(> Ivnhll
^^unn^s on,,,,,,dity? Who fasllioned this gr ^
e.ir h-u,th 1 sperpetuni rolling waters and it. evpan'e
o. island and ma.u? Who settled the found ion of
-he mo,u.t,-uns ? Who p;ned the he- , ons w il Sds
and attuned, andd bauners of storn.s, the v, e oS
aniifl^s;!--^^::;;;^'^^'^^
abode annd the fon-sts that ever echo to tl mS "'
of her n^oan? Who, n.ade thee, oh Man v hh Z
perfect elegance of intellect and form ^Jwho ,n- e
herald t the Hrst bcs.ut.tul flashes of the nforning?
nr^lJl^^r^:':; -f ^^'.'-^ ^y^-^etry of smews and
. , ■ . •'^^''" reguliir flouniLr of blood? The '
h\
e and darinir
irre
-Prcssi-
passions ol uinoition and of love ? And
COMMON SCFHJOL RKADKIi.
).)H >
49
yet the thunders of heaven and the waters of earth are
calmed .'—Are thcfe no floods, that man is not swept
under a dehiae ? They remain, hut the 1)gw of recon-
ciliatjon liantrs out, ahove and heneath them.
5. And it were better that the limitle.'^s waters and
the strong mountains were convulsed and commin.rlcd
together— it were better that the very .stars were con-
flagrated by fire, or shrou(h'd in eternal gloom, than
that one soul should be lost, while Mercy kneels and
pleads for it beneath the Altar of intercession.
.<»
%
■SftI
r.i
flight's pro-
no God!''
star above
'S of ijitel-
winds, will
1 that blue
1h' legible
this green
« expanse
ndation of
th clouds,
e of thun-
and lurk,
^ the tem-
'd trancjuil
linstrelsy
with thy
ho made
ig and a
norning?
lows and
'reprcssi-
J ? And
CHAPTER XVII.
Iiitellcetiml and j^Ioral l^lclgicafion
CoiBlra^iledfi.
1. Intellectual education, in its antithesis to moi tl
education, is as the miner to the smelter of ores. The
one seeks the quarry, rends the strata, and finds the
coarse gray metal, that has slumbered for thousmids of
years ui the eudjraces of the stones : the other causes
the pure gold to flow out in a ductile mass of richness
and splendor, disconnected from the dross, imd fit for
the crown of an Empire.
2. The one is the Pioneer, that explores and runs the
l)oundaries of a country, fixing upon the sites of its cities,
and stretching its map across its rivers and mountains :
the other is the husbandman, who enriches the soil witii
the waving harvests of plenty. The one is the advan-
ced guard, commencing and bringing on the skirmish :
then, perhaps, retreating; the other'is the heavy column
ot battle, that shall not wave under its heaviest tiumder,
or break into cimfusion before its most fearful avalanches!
0. The one is the wliite capped surge, running brok-
en, and confusedly, before the chariots of the st(^.rm :
the other is the mountain wave, which j)ulsates from the
bottom of the sea, rolling onward, strunoer and strono-er,
D
* It
^M
.50
COMMON SfllOOL READER.
'I "i
until It becomes a wall of power, that the di?k of God'j
invention, the sand-beach alone, caif withstand. The
one is the Hash, the smoke, and tiie voice of the cannon •
the other its noiseless messenger, that bears more than
the wrath of the thunderbolt on its wing. The one is
the chill winter, with its lustered snow-wreaths its
icicles, pendant in Odin's halls in his northern palaces
Its flashing, keen-eyed siars, but with its desolation and
Its chill : the other is the verdunt spring, with the breath
ot flowers, and the song of birds, bearing on its green
bosom the hope of the year, and the i)romise of plenty
4. The one is the war of tlie elements, trampling
down the green fields, and bearing destruction, and ter-
ror in its desolating course : the other is the sweet calm
of nature, the beauty and the glory of the heavens, and
the earth, reposing in perfect security— like an infant
on Its mother's bosom, and drinking at the fountains of
pleasure and happiness. The one is the Earth —the
other is the Heaven, of the soul.
CHAPTER XVHI.
Chapiter lor Yoioig Ma^n.
5 I know a man who is very rich now, thoucrh he
wa^ very poor when he was a bov. He said his itither
faught him never lo play, till all his w«)rk for the day was
iunshod, and never to spend money, untd he had earned
it. it he had but half an hour's work to do in a day
Jio was taught to do that the first thing, and to do it in
fialt an hour. /Vftor this was done he could play and
my young friends jcnow ho could play with a great deal
more pleasure, than he could if he liad the thoucrht of
ms unhi.ishod work still on his mind. He says he^earlv
tormod the habit of doing every thing in its Jeason and
U soon became porfbctly easy i'or liinrto do so. It 'is to
this habit that he owes his present prosperity, I am
COMM* N SCHOOL HEADER.
/i(
k of Gocl'j
and. The
le cannon :
more tlian
The one is
re;iths, its
n palaces,
)l;ition and
the breath
I its green
of plenty.
trampling
II, and ter-
iwcet calm
ivens, and
an infant
untains of
arth, — the
liough he
!iis father
; day was
d earned
in a day,
) do it in
lay; and
reat deal
ought of
he early
ison, and
It is to
'. I am
very happy to add, that he delights to do good with his
riches.
'2. Young men, be industrious. If you are prodigal
of time — are indifferent as to what use you make of "^it,
you will contract bad habits, <>f which it will be no easy
matter to rid yourselves. It is weU to look forward to
t|'<- tutiire, and mark the evils arising from a lazy, idle
lite. Think of the time when you will begin to act for
yourselves in the more trying scenes of after years
think what v/ili be your character and reputation then,
if you now waste your days in trifles and follies.
•5. Cut if industry is stamped upon your characters,
great will be your enjoyment. You will not only be
respected and loved, but you will never lack for employ-
ment. In one pursuit or another, you will be constantly
engaged, and of course prove to be useful men. On
the other hand, if you contract bad h:'bits — dislike the
jdea of constant employment — you will begin by degrees?
i) bo ai:s,itis!ied with your business, and continually
wish for >5ome chaiige.
■i. You will often be led to say, ':' My occupation ik
an unpleasant one, in which I shall never be able to ac-
complish much." With such feelings, you will be dis-
satisfied with every thing about your' business, and
ardently desire to make some change, which you will
conjecture to be for the best. You will always conv
plain. Nothing will seem to go right. Your mind will
be {illed with unpleasant thoughts, and periect hatred to
your business will ensue— and the thought of spending
all your days about such an employment,— oh ! it is hor*^
nble. It cannot be endured; and, in an unguarded
hour, you will burst the fetter that seems to bind you—
and what will be the result? Instead of feeling that
happy state of mind which you contemplated, uiiiiappy
tiioughts will distress you, and you will regret the step
you have taken, which, unless retraced, may prove your
ruin. ' ^
o. Now all tliis arises from triHing causes: a little
dissatisfaction may make you tlilatory— you will asso-
ciate with idle companions, and work yourselves into
n
r
■
1
■'4
V''l9
!^w
(
1
> ♦
i
COMMOxV SCHOOL READKR.
I
,iiif:;i!
III!
the boliof ili.it you, of all others, are under the severest
restraints. Contiiiuo to nurture this feclinir, iuid it ])ro-
duces all th;it dissat' action which is the prolific source
ol" .sorrow and misery. Me industrious then, whatever
may be your callinir or i)roiession, and you will reap tiie
idorious rewards in a life ol' uselulne.ss and hapi)inei!s.
CIIAl'TEll XIX.
«
1. A man wislied todruin anuirshypooi in hiso-arden,
and very impriid(Mitly tin-ued the water under tiuMencc.
into his neiirhbor's irardon. The man, whose riulus
were thus invaded, was a Christian, lie said nothm<r,
but employed a man to dirr a trencli, and i)rovide lor
tlie renu)Vid of the water, lie greeted his neicrhhor, as
he daily met him, with liis accustomed cordiidity, and
was more careful tluui ever to set him the exnnip'le of
integrity, am! hioh-minded generosity. Whether the
man, who wasguilty of this meanness, ever felt ashamed
of Jiis c(mduct, we cannot tell, but this we know, that
the luirmony, that existed between the two families, re-
mained U!!iiiterrupted; and they lived, side by side,
year after year, iti perfect peace.
'2. Said another one, who lived near by, and wit-
nessed this transaction — " It is an outrage which I would
not tolerate. I would build a strong dam by the side
of my fence, and drive the water back again up(m him."
This is the spirit of the world. Let us see how this
plan would have worked. In the first place, it would
have enraged the individual, thus frustrated, in his sordid
undertaking. And the niore fully conscious .le was,
that he was in the wrong, the more would his malicrnity
have been excited. ^
a We cnn better bear the injuries, which others in-
flict upon us, ihan the consciousness, that it is our own
dishonourable conduct which has involved us in difli-
* cultie
rneasii
I oppos
I wJiicli
i 4. 1
t in nil
I have I
I "IS wel
L'Xtillg
tr.iin (
pensiv
I he pri
the severest
iuid it ])r()-
)litic source
I, whatever
till reap the
Jia|)|)iiie!S8.
his o-arden,
r the I'ciicc,
lose riuhts
id riothiiio-,
)rovide lor
[■icjldjor, as
liality, and
^xanipJe of
lethcr tlio
It ashamed
viiow, tliat
II lilies, re-
; by side,
and wit-
'li I woidd
y the side
pon him."
: how tliis
, it woidd
liis sordid
i lie was,
malignity
others in-
s our own
IS in difli-
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
culties. He immediately would have adopted retaliatt)ry
measures, and either have thrust his bar throuirh tjie
opj)osin(r wall, or have contrived some other scheme by
which he might annoy his adversary.
1. Provocations and retaliations .vould have ensued
in rapid succession. A family {c\u\ would probably
have been at once enkindled, extemling to the cliildren
as well as to the [)areuts, which might never .have been
extinguished. Innnediately there would have ensued a
train ()l" petty annoyances, leading eventually to an ex-
pensive law suit, and end)ittering years of life.
5. As it was, the Christian governed his conduct by
Hie jirinciples of the gosi)el. JIc submitted to the wrong,
;!!id j)r()l)ably by submitting to it in the spirit which
Ciu-i^tianity enjoins, converted the event into a blessino-
to himself, his fanuly, and his neighbors. The occur"^
rt'iice was torgiven, and in a few davs forirotten : and
iheiiuuilies lived years, side by side, ia frien"lship. pro-.
jXTuy, and perfect i)eace. Is" it not better to follow the
idvice God gives, than to surremler ourselves to the
dominion of our passions .'
CHAPTER XX.
\cver «ay ^'l casi't do it."
1. What a volume of human misery is unfolded i.t
mat short sentence ! VVhat mighty elTorts of undeveloped
genms are chained by this conclusion of despondencv,
'.vhen a barrier chances to inter[)ose the ojiward prooress
'>fthe will, and sometimes of mere human volition!
What domestic unhappiuess — what downward marche-',
"f the otherwise worthy, toward the gloomv and solitary
abodes of poverty— what anxious solicitude that tills the
''i-east of the dependent wife — what arduous wrestling
niththo demon of dpspMJr-^M'hat -social wretchedness—
'•vh;it national evils are all denicte?! in the -pirit cf thjt
expression !
D '2
it
i
■ ii]
I ! .
J. i-l
■p.
Hi
' ■•? I
,■ <: i
■ ^ f:
m
all
54
COMMON SCHOOL RF.ADKR.
2. It is the language only of tlio self-vvretchod — the
determination of the weak and imbecile. It is tiie voice
of the moral coward, who, standin;r upon the shore of
some desolate island, in the stormy ocean of life, and
looking out upon the billows, strewn with the wrecks of
earthly grandeur and human happiness, is so blinded by
fear that he cannot see the gleam of hope that flickers
amid the surrounding gloom.
3. It is the articulated feelings of the traveller of the
desert, who, having gained an eminence, sees nolhin*r
but a barren plain before him, thirst parching his tongue^
and weariness subduing his strength. But shall he lie
down without hope? Nay, lethini press forward, make
but one effort, and a green oasis will meet his vision, a
cool stream will bubble up from some unforeseen foun-
tain, and he will reach his journey's end, crowned with
the rich reward of persevernnce.
4. It is easy to see that he, who relies upon self ex-
ertion, has not one chance, but a hundred chances. Let
a stoic arise, who shall reveal the resources of man, and
tell them they are not leaning willows, but can and must
datach themselves ; that with the exercises of self-trust,
new powers shall appear ; that man is the word made
flesh, born to shed healing to the nations ; that he should
be ashamed of our compassion ; and that the moment
he acts for himself, tossing the laws, the books, idolatries,
and customs, out of the window, we pity him no more,
but thank and revere him — and that teacher shall restore
the life of man to spleudcr, and make his name dear to
all history.
CHAPTER XXI.
Npeak ill a-f no Man.
l. There are many persons in the world who are in
the habit of speaking lightly or contemptuously of their
neighbors, and soma who do not scruple to treat those
I
who ar
n\) thei
alhidin
nothini
biting ;
ing, be
lowshij
good.
2. Il
times f
to soci(
ineanin
general
situatio
others
discovc
some o
3. Il
ox am in
'§ withou
I any fan
I subject
be bett
of whi
selves,
and th(
would
human
commi
awaits
4. I
their C
let thei
wish tc
the sur
certain
neath :
COMMON SCIIOOt READER.
OO-
?tchod — the
is tlie voice
lie shore of
of life, and
e wrecks of
i blinded by
luit flickers
reller of the
lea nothing
liis tongue.
sliall he he
^v.'ird, make
lis vision, a
eseen foun-
owned with
pen self ex-
ances. Let
3f man, and
m and must
f self-trust,
word made
It he should
^le moment
, idolatries,
II no more,
hall restore
ime dear to
• 1.1 »:
who are in
sly of their
treat those
I
who are absent with the greatest disrespect, by showino-
n\) their faults to those who are present, without ever
alludin^T to any good qualities they possess. There is
nothing so detestable in society, as this habit of back-
biting ; it often produces the greatest bitterness of feel-
ing, between those who ought to live in peace and fel-
lowship towards each other, and it never . does any
good.
2. Ft generally arises from a selfish feeling, but some-
times from thoughtlessness : in either case it is injurious
to society, and ought to be condejnn(>(l by every well
meaning and sensible person. Selfish persons have
generally such an appreciation of themselves, and the
situation they hold in society, that they are apt to speak ol'
others with contempt, and are even h;'ppv when they
discover the least fault ( however trivial it may be ) in
some of their neighbors or acquaintances.
8. Instead of which, it would be as well for them to
examine their own conduct, to see whether they arc*
without fault, and ask themselves whether they would like
auy fault or foible, of which they might be guilty, to be the
subject of conversation among their neighbors. It would
be better, if they were to consider the noble destiny,
of which all mankind partake in cc.mmon with them-
selves, both as respects the great moral end of this life,
and the more sublime prospect of the future — if they
would remember the great fellowshij) of our common
humanity; the social end, which, as part of a greni
community, we are all working to attain, and which
awaits us at the close of our brief existence.
4. Let them reflect upon these things, and not offend
their Creator by injuring their fellow creatures; rather
let them judge others with tenderness, as they would
wish to be judged, putting aside the weeds that cover
the surface of the characters of their neighbors, to as-
certain the depth and sweetness of the clear water be-
neath it.
■ h.i 1
■ { ■ :
^ J
ri
tM
,ii
f
*
i
'M^
, ^
'
, .u
'I, I
i..\c
P 1!
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
CHAPTER XXII.
He wa*s a €la«s-Miate oJ* iiiinc.
1. How often is heard the remark, "Oh ve^ I rp,
HKMHber m.n; ho Mas a ch^s-mate of n,ine"-:a„d tli^
u.ua]> foliows^oine coiic.«e, graphic sentence, aning
< bird, s-eycvu wot ,he wlu.Je character ; and thoni
It KS .some in.es a caricature, it niore Ire.iuently bear."a
cio.se anaJooy to truth. ^
2. -(JJi yes, I i-enieinber him : he was in the law-ofhce
»t ; ile co.dd i.ot drmk a ffJa.s.s of wine without
becoming excued, and it was the amusen.ent cHu!
companions t„ imhic<> liim to take the first <rhis. tliat
<.l»ey iniont sec lh<> operation of it." " '
=J. ^^d a gentleman to a Iriend, "Did vou know
, '' ".■' ^^^ -studied at C, and went to' tJie west
^v..e^o, i)our tellow, in a iv^v montlis he died. He wa>
a ..iperioryoungman, 1 believe-n.uch depended on by
hi. 1 unily-pcssessed a good nniid, was very ambitions
and proinis.. ,a,r l.r worldly advancemeni and pros-
ami \u> head hiid h)w m the grave."
-1. "Ah yes I remember^him; but h't memory be
sden , and partial iViends imagine or believe ail that i
<d.ghthU respectn.g 1dm : yet, 1 ren.ember that W^^^
»'> '^'<'";"- to the kmd relatives, who doafed on him 1
^^''Zo ''? '71 "-^^-^-- ^>i" - am>ctionate |
tdth 1 ueie .soon laughed to scorn, thrmighthe influence
o t lose to whom he ) ielded, because fiS thought t i^i
.J^^'^W. ; and so, accor.ling to the world's%ode o
etiquette, they were; made so, however, by their rela.
t ve po.s,tion in socic-ty through tluur friends, and not
From ndierent qualities, in themselves, which cat aloe
constitute true gentlemen. "
Jiipel by an affectation of superiority, which is never
manifested by the truly wise: and' throuoh hi. olv,,
vanity he was <M,/,^ duped, ami became tlu^ scorn; de-
nMon,an.i laughing-stock of his lai.c fricuds, ami the
1. I 1
barons ]
ino.st ex
over bel
luiratioi
coimiiai
river ; i
tleiuent;
gorgeou
and bell
domes ;
<'euce ci
mcludii
fisiug a
golden 1
COMMOX SCHOOL READER,
i)i
4
H'
nine.
h yes, I re-
" — and tliei)
dice, giving
'ind though
■ntJy bears u
lie la\v-of]ict-
iiie without
IH'llt of Ills
•t ghiss, that
you know
to tlie west,
'\. He was
'iided on hy
andjjtiouh!,
and })ro,s-
d Ijy death,
memory bt
all that is
liat ]ie was
m liijn. 1
I (Feet ion ate
e inlhience
iiglit tiieni
s code of
their rela-
', and not
can alone
?ia>f{( , and
I is never
hi.s own
.^corn, de-
i, and the
sorrow and pity of those who were estiniahio, and whose
friendship lie might have cultivated with honor and ad-
vantage."
(>. Are i/ou in school ? are you in college ? or do yon
anticipate, <it some future f)eri()d, becoming a member
of such an institution I What in after years, what at
thii present time, can your associates say of their class-
mate ? In the day school ; in the public school ; in the
Sabbath school, what do t/ou do for your class, and for
those around you ?
7. Your exam[)le, if it is ap{)ropriate ; your diligent
attention to your studies; your perfect recitations ; your
respect to your teachers ; your politeness to your school-
fellows ; your readiness to oblige where it is right, and
vour decision ii. saving no where it would be \vl{(!.\<;.
Jiiark your character as a class-mate, and will be con-
r)nct(>(l with every rememberaiice of you, t!u-oiioh life.
' 1!
CHAPTER XXHf.
rtlM
IV I'LVvimui,
I. I had thought of the Kremlin, as the rude and bar-
barous palace of the Czars: but J found it one of the
most extraordinary, beautiful and magniticent objects I
ever beheld. J raiubled over it several times, with ad-
miration, without attempting to cwmpvehend it all. Its
commamling situation on the banks of tlu^ iMoskwa
river; its high and venerable walls; its numerous bat-
tlements, towers, and stee[)les; its magnificent and
gorgeous palaces; its cathedrals, churches, monasteries,
and belfries, with their gilded, co))pered and tin-plated
domes; its mixture of barbarism and decay, magnifi-
cence and ruins; its strong contrast of architecture,
mcliuliug the Tartarian, Hin(h)o and (Jothic : and,
I fisiug above all, the lofty tower of Ivan Veliki, with its
''i.^
M
i> *
•!
^liii
I
golden ball, rollecting the un with da/zliuor brill
lancv,
58
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
'II 'li
III "ll.
u
dtogether exhibited a beauty, grandeur, and mnrmifi.
cencc, strange and indescribable. "
2. The Kremlin is "the heart" and ''sacred place" of
Moscow ; once the old fortress of the Tartars, and now
the centre of the modern city. It is nearly trian.ul.-Lr
m form, enclosed by a high brick wall, painted white
and nearly two mdes in extent, aild is in itself a citv'
It has live gates, at four cf which there are hi<rh watch-
towers The fifth is "Our Saviour's," or die Holv
Oate, through whose awe-commanding ])c.rtals no male
not even the Kmperor and autocrat of all the Russia.'
can pass except with uncovered head and bended bodv'
Bareheaded 1 entered by thi. gate, and passed on to ;,
iioble esplanade, commanding one of the most interest-
iiur views <d Moscow, and having in front the ran<re of
palaces of the czars. '^
'J. 1 shall not attempt to describe these palace*; T\w\
are a combuiation of every variety of taste, and everv
varietv of architcH'ture, Grecian, Gothic, Italian, Tartar"
and I indoo, rude and fanciful, grotes(,ue, gorgeous'
magni icent, and beautiful. Tb.e churches, monasteries'
arsenals, museums, and public buildings, ;,re erected
with no attempt at regularity of design, and in the same
wild conl.ision of architecture. There are no re<rnlai
« roets, but three open places, or s(iuares, and abunchmce
ol room tor carriages and foot-passengers, with which
in summer afternoon, it is always throixred
4 I entered the Cathedral of the Assumption, tl.o
most sphmdu church in Moscow. Jt was founded in
I.32.>. and rebuilt m 1472. It is loaded with gorcreou'^
and extravagant ornaments. The icanastos, or sJ^een,
which divides the sanctuary from the body of the church
i.s in many parts c.wered witii plates of 'solid silver and
gold richly and finely wrought. On tlu^ walls are paint-
ed the images of more than 2,300 saints, some at full
length, and some of a colossal size, and the whole in-
terior seems illuminated with gold.
5. Froui the centre of the r")of is suspended a crovvD
ol massive silver, with forty-eight chandeliers, all in a
«iugle piece, and weighing nearly 3000 pounds. Close
i by ia an
devotees
[Christiai
before M
';! enough t(
ngaiu.
(i. Th^
first of ti
three bel
more tha
is, peril aj
7. An(
I largest a.'
height is
I thickness
of the cl;
[once sixt^
Mnglish, ;
'|.r3()5,00(]
H. Besi
j musical ii
[the larges
'f^ixteen fei
I three feet
0. The
I siana. O
riage.^. '1
first of w!
Czars, an(
in which t
projected 1
Kremlin u
miles, and
hcen comp
probably Ii
^^ tliG sevi
vm
COM.NfON SCHOOL READER,
59
md mngiiifi.
■Of! place" of
ii's, and now
y trianoular
lilted white,
Itself a city.
liiL^li watch-
>r the Holy
ids no male,
lie Russi;^',
ondcd body,
ssed on to ;i
ost interest-
he range of
aces. Thci
, and every
an, Tartar,
, gorgeous,
lonasterio.
ire erected
11 the same
no regular
abundance
vith uhicli.
iption, till'
founded in
li gorgeous
or screen,
iie ehurcli,
silver and
i are paint-
'lue at full
whole in-
by i.^ an odddooking church, constantly thronged with
devotees; a humble structure, said to be tlfe oldest
ChrLstian church in Moscow. It was built in the desert
before Moscow was thought of, and its walls are stronc^
enough to last till the gorgeous city shall become a desert
inrjijn.
agaui
b. The tower of Ivan Veliki, or John the Great, the
lirst o tne Czars, is 270 feet high, and contains thirty-
three bells, the smallest weighing 7000, and the larcr/st
more than 1-14,000 pounds English. From its top ttro
IS, perhai)s, the hncst })anoramic view in the world.
7. Another well-known object is the areat bell the
largest and the wonder of the world. Its^perpendicular
iieight IS uvcuty-one feet four inches, and the extreme
tluckness ot the metal, twenty-three inches. The length
M>1 the clapper is fourteen leet, the greatest circumfer-
I once sixty leet lour inches, its weight 400,000 nounds
*r!Jprt\a'" 't^ ^^'^t has been estimated at mo^e than
:.Ub5,0()0 sterling.
I a Besides the great bell, there is another noi.y
I musical instrument, namely, the great gun, liko the bell
I the largest m the world, being a 4,320 pounder It is
pixteen teet long, and the diameter of its calibre nearly
' 'firee leet. ^
0. The treasury contains the heirlooms of the Rus-
nans. On the lir^t th,or are the ancient imperial car-
^ nages^ 1 he be/ ctagr is a gallery of fiv(^ parts, in tho
n-^t ot which are the portraits of all the l.-:m{)erors and
^ /.ars, .and their wives, in the exact costume of the times
i:i which they lived ; in another, is a model of a palace
nn>,ected by the l-lmpress Catherine, to unite the whole
Ivrenilm under one roof, having a circumference of two
'■Hies, and m;ike of it (,ne magnificent palace : if it had
'"encomnleted according to thepbm, this palace would
'^ >'d)ly have surpassed the temple of Solumon, or any
the seven womlers of the world.
^ ' '«»|ii
r.7'
'ft*
1:1
t 'if
f i
|i M
'.; r
Il t
lll,i
60 COMMON- S( IIOOL HEADER.
CIJAPTKR XXIV.
f iifliioii€c or liabit!^.
1. Tho vvliole character iruiy ho said to be cornpre-
heiided in the term hahits ; ho that it is not «o far iroiii
being true, that "man is a b.mdlc of liabits." SuppoM
you were compelled to wear an iron collar about your
neck throuLdi Jife, or a chain upon your ankle; would
it not be a burden everyday and hour of your existence!
You rise in the luorniuir a prisoner to your chain ; you
lie down at night, weary with the burden ; and you
jrroau the more <ieeply, as you reflect that there is iio
shakino; it oiT. But even this w(.uld be no more in-
toh'rable to bear than many of the hal)its of men ; nor
would it be more difhcidt to be shaken off.
2. Habits are /easily formed — especially such as arc
bad : and \,hat to-day seems to be a small affair, will
soon U'Conie fixed, ami hold you with the strength of ;i
cable. That same cable, you will recollect, is formed
by spiuniu(r and tv.isting one thread at a time; but,
when (Mice comi)lete(I, the proudest ship turus her head
towards it, and acknowledges her subjection to ib
pouer.
•). Habilsof some kind will be formed by every stu-
dent, lie will have a j)articiilar cotn-se iji which hi:-
tiiue. his euiplouuents, his thoughts and feeliugs, will
run. (iood or [)ad, these habits soon become a part of |
hims(>lf, and a kind of second nature. Who does not '
know, that llie old man, who has occupied a particular
corner «>f the old fire-place, in the old house, for si.Kty
years, may be rendered wretched by a change? Who
has not read of the relea.^^e of the aged prisoiie, of the
Hastile, who entreated that he might again return to his
gloomy (huigeon, because his habits, tliere fornuMl, were
jso strong, that liis miture threatened to sink under the
uttemj)t to break them up ? \
4. You will probably find no nuui of forty, who has t
not habits which he laiuents ; which mar his usefulness',
but which are so interwoven with his very bein*', that
■fej
COMMON SCHOOL HEADER.
61
:'Ni
be compre*
«o fur i'roin
" Suppose
• about your
ikle ; would
r existence!
clniin ; you
1 ; and you
there is no
lo more in-
f men ; nor
such as arc
afl'air, will
rength of ;i
t, is foniKMl
time; but,
IS her head
tion to ib
f every stu-
which lii^
'lings, will
le a part ot
lo does not
I particular
e, for sixty
iige ? Who
one, of the
^turn to hi?
rmed, were
under the
y, who ha^
usefulness'.
)eing, that
he rannot break through them, at least he has not the
courage to try. 1 am expecting you will form habits.
Indeed, 1 wish you to do so. lie must be a poor char-
acter iiideed who lives so extempore as not to liave habits
of Ills own. liut what 1 wish, is, that you form those
habits which are correct, and such as will every day and
hour add to your happiness and usefulness. If a man
were to be told that he must use the axe, which he now
selects, through life, would he not be careful in selecting
one of t!ie right proportions and temper? If told that
lie nmst wear the same clothi (r, through life, would he
not 1)0 anxious, as to the (piamy and kind? But these
ill the cases supposed, would be of no more importance
than is the selection of habits in which the soul shall
;:ct. Vou might ;vs well place the body in a strait-jacket,
and expect it to perform, with ease, and comfort, and
pronii)tiiess, the various duties of the body, as to throw
the soul into the habits of some men, and then expect
it will accomplish anything great or good.
T). Do not lear to undertake to form n?iy habit which
is desiral)le ; for it f(fn be ibrmed, and that with more
ease than you may at first suppose. Let the same thing,
or the ^amc duty, return at the same time, every day\
and it will suon beeome pleasant. No matter if it be
irksome at first ; but how irksome soever it may be, only
let it return ])eriodically, every day, and tha't without
any interruption for a time, audit will become a positive
pleasure. In this way all our habits are formed. The
student, wlio can with ease now sit down, and hold his
mind down to his studies nine or ten hours a day, would
find the labourer, or the man accustomed to active
habits, sinking under it, should he attempt to do the
same thinof.
G. I have seen a man sit down at the table, spread
with luxury, and eat his sailor's biscuit with relish, and
without a desire for any other fijod. His health had
compelled him thus to live, till it had become a pleasant
iiabit of diet. Previous to this, however, he had been
rather noted for being an epicure. «' I once attended
» prisoner," says an excellent man, " of some distinc-
\,r
^%%
i
if
1
vi
.J
kl^l
>' 1
'I'll
M
62
COMMON SCHOOL IICADEU.
|i
Vi
tioii, in one of the prisons of the metropolis ill of;.
typhus lever, wliose apartments were gl(;om\ in the ex-
treme, and surroujided witli Jiorrors : yet tiiis j>riy( nc
assured me afterwards, that, upon iiib relea^e. hv (jui;-
ted them with a de«rree of rehictaM<-e; ni.fi.m had re-
conciled him tothetwiliirht, admiiKdilirouLfii the thick-
burred grate, to the lilthy s])()ts and patch(^s of hi^
plastered walls, to the iiardness of his bod, v.wd even u
conlinement."
CHAPTER XXV,
]. A worthy bishop, who died hnely ;;t Katisid;,
had for his arms two tieldfares, with the jiiottc — " Arr
not two sparrows sold for a farthinir ?'' This stranirc
coat of arms had often excited attention, ami nianv
persons had wished to know its orioin, as it Avas«roiier,
ally reported that the bishop had cliosen it for iiimsell':
and tliat it bore reference to some event in his earlv
life. One day an intimate friend asked him its menii-
nin-, and the bii^liop replied by relating the following
L'tory : — ^ ^
'l. Fifty or sixty years ago, a little boy resided at it
village near Dillengen, on the banks of the Dnnnhe.
Mi.-, parents were very poor, and, almost as soon ns the
hoy could walk, he was sent into the woods to pick up
yticks for fuel. AVhen he grew older, his father taught
iiirri to pick the juniper berries, and carry them to a
ne!ghi)oring distiller, who wanted them for makiii(r
hollands. Day by day the poor boy went to his task!
and on his ro.id, he passed by the open windows of the
village' school, where he saw the schoolmaster, teaching
a number of boys, of about the same age as himself
Wv looked at these boys with feelings almost of ^iwy,
3o earnestly did he long to be among them.
di. ile knew it was in vain to ask his father to send
in in to
iiiouey
tlie will
j)er be I
-cliooln
(lay, wh
the hov.-
traj), au
Jiiiii tiia
and thai
'Iclighte
often sei
wood, u
Ui) douh
4. Tl
of his 1
, die grea
Ml the !
^ 'le took
irrived ;
!k'<''ii set
tlieiii if
Mio ueirii
I L^ained a
■'I '[CW W(
■ tlie trap,
Ui(!iii as
o. " I
iniisier ;
' make pre
'0 vou, a
i '' I wo
I ^aid the
I ^ J he s
I f>re liiin,
I that reac
ire a ver
-dee moii
as 1 caini
a'
If, ill of a
in the e.\-
!!s ]>ris( iicr
M'. lie ({Mit-
'HI luid rc-
1 tlio tiiick-
h(^s ot' ills
ncl c-vcn t(
Kji!i.>"i ( j;,
tc— " Arr
lis .strnnirc
tiiid niniiy
w ;is 2 oner-
)r iiiiDsolf:
1 hi^ (';irJy
its rncnii-
ibJlowiiig
Hided at ii
Dnniihc.
»on ns tlie
pick up
ler taught
fiein to a
• iiiakiMg
hi.s tar^k,
rts of tllf
teaching-
himself.
of envy,
r to send
CO.niMOX SCHOOL READER.
63
him to school, for he knew that liis parents had no
money to pay the schoolmaster: and Jie often passed
the whole day thinking, wliile lie was gatherino- Ids juni-
per berries, what he could {)ossibly' do to please the
schoolmaster, in the hope of getting some lessons. One
(lay, when he was walking sadly along, he saw two of
the hoys, belonging to the :-choc)l, trying to set a bird-
trap, and he asked one what it was for. The boy told
iiiiii that the schoolnia.sLer was ver\ foad of tiekifares
aii(l that they were setting the trap to catch some. This
<leliglited the poor boy. lor lie recollected that he had
often seen a great numoer of these birds in the juniper
uood, where they came to eat the berries, and 'he had
!i ) doubt but he could catch some.
i. The next day the little boy borrowed an old basket
of his mother, ai'd when he went to the wood, he had
'ho great delight to catch two fieldfares, lie put them
Ml the basket, and, tying ;,!i old handkerchief over it,
'le took them to the schoolmaster's house. Just as he
irrived at the door, he saw the two little boys who liad
!>('Oii netting the traj), and with some alarm he asked
tlieni d' they had cauglu any birds. They answered in
'he negative; and the boy, his heart beating with joy,
gained admittance into the -choolmaster's presence. In
I (cw words he told how he had seen the boys, setting
tiie trap, and how he had caught the birds," to bring
'lieiii as a present to the master.
o. "A present, my good boy!'' cried the school-
inaster ; "you do not look as if you could afford to
i'lake [)rcsents. Tell me vo;ir price, and I will pay it
'') you, and thank you besides."
" I woidd rather give them to you, sir, if vou please "
^-■U(l the boy. • . >
The schoolmaster looked at the boy as he stood be-
'"!•(" him, will) i)are head and teet, an{l ragged trowsers
'lilt reached only hali-way down his naked legs. "You
"•e a very singidar boy!"'said he: "but if you will not
'ikc money, you must tell me what 1 can do lor you ;
Y I <'''innot accept your present wit'- :it doing some-
'liiig for it in return 1> there anything I can do for you'"'
i-rt t
. if-
m
. aiJ-4
; !ii|f ; '
'M
^m
1
1
4
.^^^1
'^H
"J
■
t 'J^
■
G4
COMMON SCHOOL RF.ADEK.
0. "Oh, yes!" s;iid tho boy, trcinblin^r with delijrht;
"you can do for me wliat 1 shoiihl lik(! hett(>r tlian any-
thing^ else." " What is tliat ?" rskedtiie schoolmaster,
smiling. " Teach me to read," cried the boy, falling on
his knees; "oh, dear, kind sir, teach me to read."
7. The schoolmaster complied. The boy came to
him, at all his leisure hours, and learnt so rnpidly, that
the schoolmaster recommended him to a nobleman who
resided in the neighbourhood. This gentleman, who
was as noble in his mind as in his birth, piitronised the
poor boy, and sent him to school :it Ratisbon. Tho
boy profited by his opportiniities, and when he rose, as
he soon did, to wealth and honors, he adopted two field-
fares as his arms."
" What do you mean V cried the bishop's friend.
"I mean," returned the bishop, with a smile, "that
the poor boy was myself."
llKl
III
CHAPTER XXVT.
Wi '^ins to sec a ilBiracIc.
1. One day in the Spring, Solomon, then a youth,
sat under the palm trees, in the garden of the king, his
father, with his eyes fixed on the gr<mnd, absorbed in
thought. Nathan, his i)receptor, went uj) to him,
said, " Why sittest thou thus musing under the pa
trees?"
2. The youth raised his head, and answered, "Nathan,
I am exceedingly desirous to behold a miracle." "A
wish," said the prophet, with a smile, " which I enter-
tained myself in my juvenile years" — " and was it grant-
ed V hastily asked the prince.
3. "A man of God," answered Nathan, "came to
me, bringing in his hand a pomegranjite seed. Observe, :
said ho, what the seed will turn t^). lie thereupon nKulo. |
with his finger, a hole in the earth, and put the seed into
(1.
.itli delight;
;(>r than aiiy-
^hoolniastrr,
>y, tailing oil |
read."
oy ciunc to
rapidly, that
blenian who
Llonian, who
troiiiscd the
sl).)ii. The
lie rose, as
id two field-
s I'riend.
•mile, " that
en a youth,
le king, his
absorbed in
;o
liini,
and
n- the palm
1, "Nathan,
aele." " :\
ich I enter-
^'Ks it irraii'c
came to
. Observe, ;
1. i
ujjon mauc, j
le seed into \
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
t)5
the hole, and covered it. Scarcely had he drawn back
his hand, when the earth parted, and I saw two small
loaves shoot forth; but, no sooner had J perceived
them, than the leaves separated, and from between them
arose a round stem, covered with bark, and the stem
hcciune every moment hiirher and thicker.
4. The man of (iod thereuj)on said to me — "Be-
hold!" And, while 1 observed, seven shoots issued
from the stem, like the seven branches on the candle-
stick of the altar, f was astonished ; but the man of
(iod motioned to me, and connnanded me to be silent,
and to attend.
'). "Behold," said he, *'iiew creations will soon
make their appearance." He thereupon brought water,
in the hollow of his hand, from the stream which flowed
past, and lo ! all the branches were covered with green
leaves, so that a cooling shade was thrown around us,
together with a delicious odor.
(1. " Whence," exclaimed I, "is this perfume, and
this refreshing shade?" " Seest thou not," said the man
of God, " the scarlet blossoms shooting forth from among
the green leaves, and hanging down in clusters?" 1
was about to answer, when a gentle breeze agitated the
leaves, and strewed the blossoms around us, as the Jiu-
tunm blast scatters the withered foliage. No sooner
had the blossoms fallen, than the red i)omegranates ap-
peared, suspended among the leaves, like the almonds
on the staff" of Aaron. The man of God then left me
in profound amizement.
7. Nathan ceased speaking. " What is the name of
the God-like man?" asked Solomon, hastily. "Doth
he yet live ?" " Where doth he dwell ?" " Son of Da-
vid," replied Nathan, " I have related to thee a vision."
H. When Solomon heard these words, he was troub-
led in his heart, and said, " llow canst thou deceive
me thus?" " I have not deceived thee, son of Jesse,"
rejoined Nathan. " Behold, in thy father's garden thou
mayst sec all 1 have related to thee= Doth n.ot tlie
siiine thing take place with every pouH.'granate, and with
the other trees?" " Yes," said Solomon, " but imper-
ff
♦ ■•!
■I /■
],!
• j I
66
• oMMoN SCHOOL in:.\i>r.R.
ceptihly and in :i lon<r linio." TIhmi iVall
Is it, tlicroforr, {ho J
CSS a (Ininc wor
fir:*
lan nnswcrod
k, I)
, Dccjiiise It
takes |)l!ico silently and insonsibly .' Study nature and
lior ()|)orati()ns — then wilt tlion easily Ixdieve tliose of ;i
higher jxm-er, ami not lonir for miracles, wrono-lit h\ ji
Ininian liand."'
cHAPriyii xxvTi.
.1loliiei% Jloiiie iimi Uviwvn.
1. It lias hr.cn said hy some one, that our laniruaae
contains no sweeter Mords than ''Mother, Home, and
I leaven ;" hut he that as it may, it is certain that lew,
if any, other words can call up so many tender thoniihts,
or hrino; to our recollection so many hojxvs and ])leasures.
as do these: indcd, there is nonoht that is connectid
with thoin but is joyous and comlortino- : and well is it
that memory, in its backward lliirht, can lind somethiui:
j^ieasant to dwell on, and that, in nianhood, wecan^lind
one comiection free from the noise and bustle of busi-
ness, while- in the latter, hoi)e can be ever buoyant and
fidl.
*i. IVTotlier, — who can forirot the name, or even mcii-
iie:i it but with a faltering tonjrue ! It was she who
watched over us when but frail, weak and helpless crea-
tures. It was on her bosom we laid, (M'e we could lisj)
her miMio, or make known our wants. It was she who
carefidly led us alono- childhood's s!ipi)erv ways, and
C(.ndncted us safe throuoh our youthlu! days, and to her
we f;iin would n-o jor advice and counsel,^ even thouirh
advanced in years, or settled in life. Her atTection and
lo\e for us c!iano(> not. 'i'bey cannot l)e removed or
shaken. They cannot be chilled or weakened, — an(i
thouuh many beconu> estrauned and distant, she never ,
does, even though w(« uniy have wandered far from the j
iKith Oi reel!! mi.', and travelled lonjjf in forbidden wavs^ \
I
She nc
pravcri
:j. I
shelter
tliose \
yjtronir
joys an
those v
burden
is noun
how fa:
the sc(!
we tun
cxclain
4. II
luirdeii
that tlu
to belui
pain — i
caHed t
tear tri
last, loi
ion, an
this w(
ijrieve 1
world,
and so
it is to
en cam
1. Till
time m(
cor.fMON sciiooi, RKAnr-R.
fir
11 nnswcrod ;
hccjiiise if
' nature ;iii(l
(' those of u
roiiLMit i)v i!
['Bl.
ir liiniruaire
Home, and
111 that lew,
T thoii(ilits,
(I j)leasuros.
i eoiiiiected
d well is it
I soinethiiii:
\vec;ui«iind
le of i)U!si-
Lioyaiit and
even nien-
is she wild
Inless crca-
! couhl lisj)
;is «he who
ways, and
and to lier
-en ihonirli
fection and
enioved or
ned, — and
she never
• freni tlic
Ulen wavt^
r -
She never for<Tets her olIspritiLS i"»<J ^vhih' life hists her
prayers ascend in their h(di;!it". ^
'i. Ilonir,— 'tis there we repose when weary, and iind
nheher when perj)lexe(l l»y cares. There we nieet witli
those we Jove, and to whom we are honnd by ties rti*
f^tronir its life. Those wdth whom we have niii»(^ded in
joys and sorrows — in pleasure's and pains — and f Inn arc
those who are ever ready to advise and console, wlieu
hurch'iied hy sorrow, or overtaken hy sickness, — and it
is nonnlit to us how sinniy the skies oi" otiier climes —
how fair the citi(>s of other nations — or how majestic
the sc(!n(;ry of other countries — for. as if hy instinct,
we turn a fond and Jitijrerin'^r hudc to heme, andean ltn.t
exclaim, in the heautilid words of the sonf —
" He it ever so luunhle,
TluM-e is no place like home."
4. Heaven, — at the thounht oi. this, the mind becomes
ltiird(>iied : not that it is an unwelcoiiie theme: — not
that there is any thiiiit- repulsive in it ; but. beiuo- so u.Hid
to behold so numy chaniies — so nnu^h of sickness and
pain — so much of sorrow jmkI misery, — and .so often
called to i)art with those W(^ love, and li^el tiie burnin<r
tear trickle down oiu- cheek, at the utterance of the
last, lonn; farewell — that the thoiiLrlit (d' Heaven, re-un-
ion, and perfect happiness, uiakes us dissatisfied with
this world, and the thinos thereof, and causes us to
i,'rieve tiiat we so lonij sojourn in such a barren, de:^rt
world, wJiere >ve are surrounded by so imich trouble,
and so many dilliculties ; but amid them all, how sweet
it is to remember that " earth has no sorrow that lleuv-
cii cannot cure.'
ciiArTi:R XX vm.
^'U i*^ I, he not afi^asil.'^
1. There is not a passacre nuA-e emphatic, and at the same
time more cheering and comforting t,o the.-dllicted soul.
I'- if
•I
m
-.1
Nj
: ii
«iS
COMMON SniOOI. HEAHER.
't
<m\\
thun this. In the hour of trini, ulieii tlie clouds of ad-
vorsity (hirkcii our ,,a« and tlicro appears not one rav
ol i<jht to u„„l(, our steps; wi.en the tempest roars
and death, that <rrnn tyrant, stares us in the face, then
It IS that this suhinne and soothiuLr passage comes with
all Us lorce, and cahns the trouhled soul of man.
'2. What a blessiuiT tlu>s(! words of comfort liave been
to nianknni, ever since; tiiev were uttered by our Sav-
iour ! The chjid, wiuM. in the (hirk, hears a footstep an-
proach, its little heart heats faster, hut the mother's
voice lalls upon the ear— "it is J, he not afraid," and
all IS peace in the infant's hosoin. Oh ! is it not heau-
titul to contemplate the child's reliance on its mother'
l)ut inhnitely more so to see the youn^r, leaniiiir with the
fcwune reliance, on the bosom of their Saviour '
'I And when sickness comes, with its witherin^r
bliiiut, ami the mother sits beside the cradle of her idoC
izcd child, wntchincr f„r the last breath, vet hopino-
praymjr, (<,},! such prayers as that a.ronized niothj;
pours torth, none but those who have suliered can
know,) that God will hear, and spare her child. Sud-
tlenly it <rnsps, it breathes once more, and all is over—
and that wretched mother sits almost distracted In
Ijor despair she cries, "My child! my child! who has
taken it irom me— ,vas it not mine own ?" But u jiaht
breaks in upon her, and a voice whispers— "Thy clnld
IS not dead, but sleepeth ; it is I, be not afraid."
4. Aaain we kneel beside the death-bed of the loved
<ine, and erer and mum, a shade of doubt and anxiety
passes over the pale face, as the shadow of death falls
upon it— and like the mariner, tossed upon the ocean
wave, without compass or a ffuidin<T star, so is the lov-
ed one, until we rouse the scattered senses by whisper-
mg the blessed assurance of our Saviour, ''Thoucrh you
pass through the valley and the shadow of deatli yet
wiU I not leave thee; it is I, be not afraid." '
5. And we have the satisfaction of knowinn- it i^ all-
sufhcient^ The eye brightens-there is hope beyond the
ffrave. 1 he immortal part has wiu'-r^ ' "
vm-yed its w
ay to the
spirit-land. Oh ! may I ever call to mind these words
i
clouds of ad-
not one ray
n^K'st roars,
le face, then
comes with
mail,
't liave been
hy our Sav-
l"o()tste[) ap-
lie motlier's
il'riiid," and
it not beau-
its mother!
nir witli tlie
ir !
i M'itlieriiKr
of lier idol-
'et hopincr,
^^d mother
ilfered can
hihl. Siul-
11 is over —
racted. In
1 ! wlio has
i3ut a liaht
'Tiiy child
id."
f the loved
lid anxiety
death falls
the ocean
is tlie lov-
'y whisper-
hough you
death, yet
11^ it is ail-
beyond the
^vay to the-
2se words
I
fO.MMON 3CJIOOL iinAnr.R.
60
of our blessed Saviour, " Jt is I, Ixi not afraid ;" and I
J think I may bear the ills of life, and the approach (.f
'^ death, without a murmur.
CHAPTER XX [X.
Convei'MsilioBi.
1. The bee has the art of extractino- honey from every
tlower which contains it, even from sonie which are not
a little nauseous or j)oisonous. it lias also been said
that the conversation of every individu:d, whatever may
he the condition of his mind or circuuistances, may Ui
made a means of improvement. Jlow bap|)v wouhf k
l)P, then, if man possessed the .'^kill of the' bee, and
kne\r how to extract the good, and reject the liad or
useless !
'2. Something on this subject is indeed, known. TherQ
are rules, by the observance of which, we may derive
much valuable information from the conversation ot those
among whom we live, even thougii it should relate to
the most ordinary subjects and concerns. Aud t»;)t only
so, we may often devi.se means to cluin'^r the conversa-
tion, cither directly, by gradually introducing other
topics of discourse, or indirectly, by patient attempts to
enlarge, and improve, and elevate tlie jniuds of our a«.NO-
ciates.
IJ. Every individual has excellencies ; and almost every
i)erson, however ignorant, has thought upon sonu' one
subject more than many,— perhaps 'ww.s^ tuliors. Sonte
excel ifi the knowledge of husbandry, .Home in garden-
ing, some in mechanics, or manufactures, some in
mathematics, and so on. In all your conversation, then,
it will be; well to ascertain, as nearly as you can, wliereir^
the skill and excellence of an individilal lies, and i)ut
lum upon his favorite subject. Nor is this <liflirult.
Every one will, of his own accord, fall to talking on his
favorite topic, if you will follow, and not attempt to Inui
him.
■ Mf
/'(J
imk
70
rOMMON SCHOOL RKADKR.
I '
4 Escept ,„ ,1 fo,v ,.,,re c,„sos, every .,„e «islies to I«
ore, ,.,„, Hcek t„ i,„,„.ove, i„ the groate.," p„ssibleX
. a ■ „. thrown v,.u will sulfer a co,n|,„„i,m „, ,„| e V,s
H. r co„r.e, ,ml ' out of tl„. .l„„„la„cc of his heart ' lo
.« mouth speak.' Jiy this ,„ea„s vou ,„ay eaX c
lee the wonl, au,l <.xcell<.„ce of .nVrv oue yo. ,ne ,
v,th; a„,l he able to put it together lor you.C u e
upon luture occasions. j "' ^mn use,
e,l'''n'I''"il?.!',"'.',""" "''J'^'="""» t"tlie views here present-
^'1, .ii<, that they cncouraKe dissiniulatio.,. lint this
'l'*'^ »", .-ippear to ,„e to he the Tact. In suirerin •?
.orson lor th,. space of a siu.le conversation t I "fhe
l.ero ol the crcl,., we .lo not of „,.cessitv cone e le °
'" '-" ■'">■ .'" "IK'" happens that von are thrown
Ui h, ,o ol ,h,. crele yourself, for Ihev will not listen to
y.an,l per aps wall n,,, un,lerstan,l your ,ern,.s
'I'q '!»■ I , however, thi'te appear to he others in the
conipauy whose object, lik<. your own, is inu.r. ve e
yon nnsht e..po..e y -self to th,. inst .-.hariie o f ei nl'
-; j s houhl yon r,.fuse to converse npo,? vot.r of
will' ,m?'''',""rr'i" ''""""■'•' '"" ^"'■'" I'i"' "«t. You
"iiiu'th ',','"'" "''« I-'""'- 1"^ it. a.<i be able to
ffMO inn. the l,,,.ier answer. If von onlv "ive hun an
opponuuny he u,ay say ,e,hin, which Fou'have „!
IT even,' " .'■'•■1''^"" »■ ';" .vou ,li,l not fully tnulerstau.l,
<u- eie Muenlion .something wl,i<.h vou ,11,1 not ,..xp,.et
casion .llT ""' ."""'■'''"^'1'' "ill. whom you may .io
vo. i ■ 1 '"ll" 7 """""• '■'•'"" "■'"'■■'" '•omersation
fV,",, , ' '"'""•'' '''•'■'"' •'">■ l"'"'''» at all. Such arc
1, ''V"",""'"!""' '"• "'"'■■•'""• '" ^'"^""^ l"'";""K<'.
, V I, ,". ; f '" "'",'"" '"""■ l'"l""l<^^'''<"'«s of .urrivi?,.
ineMtably snlier m iK^aring ihem, vou put vour own
re|.nt,t,on at hazard. • A ,nun is km™,, by th,f e^.p",;
l>anv.
i
'■ wishes to i)c
g. U] there-
possible do-
■j; wJiom yon
>n to take Jijs
Ills heart,' let
ly easily col-
ic you meet
)iii own use^
lere present-
". But this
sufleriuir ^
11, to be tho
concede liis
he. useful to
are thrown
y becoming
lot listen to
ir terms, ji'
Hiers in tlio
provenient,
!;e of being
your own
t the (jfood
out. You
be able to
le him an
11 have not
inler.stand,
t e\i)ect.
niav oe-
iiversation
Such are
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
71
uiu-ua^^e.
1;
' derivmir
you must
'our :)wn
company
Ih' keep..;' take care therefore how you frequent the
company of the swear^'r or the sensualist. Avoid too
the known liar, for similar reasons. ' '
^ H. If you s|)eak in company, it is not only juodest but
; Mise to speak late; lor by this means, you will be able
I U> r(m( er your conversation more acceptable, and to I
weiirh, beforehand, the in.portance of what you utter-
J.nd you will be less liaide to violate the irood old rule'
' think twice before you speak once,' Let your words
, be as few as will express the sense which vou wish to
i convey, especially when stran<rers, or niJn of much
orearer experience than yourself; are present ; and above
all, be careful that what vou sav be strictly true
(». ])o not suffer your feelings u\ betray vou into too <rreut
earnestness, or vohemence; and never' be overbeaHncr
Avoid triMmpliin,<r over an anta.ironist, even thouah vo"u
iiii-ht reasonably do so. Y.m irain nothincr. 6,, \he
contrary, you often confirm him in his erroneous opin-
;<)n.s. At least, y„u prejudice him ajrainst yourself
/.iniinermaii insists that we should suffer' an antaironist
lt> grt the victory <,ver us occasi«mally, in order to rai^e
iiKs respect for himself All Jinrssc of this kind, how-
ever, as Christians, 1 think it better to avoid.
CIIAPTEli XXX.
inood Coiiiimiiy.
I " Be sure, Fredrick, always keep good company "
jvas the final adn.oniti(m of Mr, Lofty, on <lisinissinV
his son to the university. '^
" I entreat you, Henry, alwav?? to choose fr(mi com-
pany, said Mr. Manly, on i)anin(r with hi« son to an
apprenticeship in a nei(rhborin<r town.
But it was impossible for tw'o persons to mean more
udferently by the same words.
2. In Mr. Lofty's idea, good company was that of
P<^r»ons superior to ourselves in rank and abrtunc. By
*r * 'i.
M
f ^
J'
%(';
'^ <(>>!M^)\ SriiOOL RIIADEK.
tlii.s jilone |,(. (.stlniiiled it; and the dogm's of coiiiiian.
w)ii, bolter iiiid l)<'.s(, were made exactly tc» correspoi,,!
to .sncli a scal(!. Tims, if an esquire was ^;w>^/ company
a baronet was hittn-, and a lord, b(<t nf all, provided
that be was not a luxir lor«l, for in tbat case a ricli (.cii.
tieinan niiolit Jk- at l(>ast as go,,,!. Fo,- as, accordiiu.- 1„
Mr. l.ofiys nw.xim, ilie great purpose, for wliicb com-
|)anM)ns were (o beebosen, was to advance a young iiiaii
in tbe world, by ibeir credit and interest ; tbose wereto
be j)r( ferred wlio atlorded tiie best prosj)ects in tbis re-
SjH'Ct.
X Mr. Manley, on tbe otiier band, understoiul l,v
i^ood company, tbat wbicb was improving to ibe morals
and understanding; and by tiie /;r.s/, tliat wbicb, to ;,
bigb degree of tbesc (pialities, added true juditencss ol
manners. As .superior advantages in education, to a
certani j)onit, accompany superiority of conditioji, Ik
wisbed bis .^ui to prefer, as companions, tbose wIk.h
•situation in life bad atforded tbem tbe o])portunity ct
being well educated; but be was far from desirino- iuiii
to sbun connections witb wortb and talents, wberevn
be sbould find tbem.
i. Mr. Lolty bad an utter aversion to low conipaiiv,
i)y wbicii be meant inferiors, peoi)le of no fasbion ami
lignre, sbabby fellows, wbom nobody knows.
^ Mr. ALaiily equaly disliked low comi)any, understand-
ing by it. persons of mean liabits and vulgar converpii-
tion,
A gr(Mt part of Mr. Manlv's good company was Mr
Lolty's low company : arul not a few of Mr. Loltv's
very best coni}»any were Mr. Mauley's very worst. '
Kacb of tbe sons understood his fatliei'a ineaniii^',
Jind tollowed bis advice.
r>. Fredrick, from the time of hi?; entrance at tht;
Lniversity, commenced, what is called, a Tuft-hunter,
from tbe tuft in the cap, worn by young noblemen
He took pains to insinuate ium^clf into tlic good graces
of all tbe young men of high fasbion in the college, and
became a constant con.panion in their schemes of frolia
aiid dissipation, They treated liini with an insoleiii
rise,
t).
cs of coiiijinii-
tc» COllCspoiid
(///, j)rovi(l('(|
.so a rich ocu-
, accordiiimd
• wliidi coni-
a youiio- iiKiii
those were to
cts in this re-
iiidcrstood 1)\
to tllO lilOlillb
t which, to a
l>olit('iie.<s ol'
iicatioii, to ;i
.•ondition, Ik
those whd.s
l)p(trtii!iity of
(h'sirii)u- him
ts, u'hcrc'voi
JAV company,
fashion and
s.
un(h>rstan(l-
ar con versa-
any was Mr
Mr. l.ofty's
/ worst.
's i)>eaniijg,
■ance at thv.
ruft-huntcr,
f noblemen
good jrracos
colJege, and j
nes of froha (
an insolent
COMMON SCHOOL RRADFR.
73
iHmiliarity, often bordering upon contempt : but, follow-
mtr another inaxini of his father's *' one must stoop to
rise, ' lie took it all in good part.
0. lie totally neglected study, as unnecessary, and
i'Hl(r.l inconMst(>nt with his plan, lie spent a (rreat
(leal ol money, with which his father, finding that it
went in good company, at first supplied him freely In
(ime however, his ex|)enses auiountcd to so much, that
I Mr. Lohy, who kept good comjiany too, found it difficult
lo answer his demand.s. A cxHjsiderable sum that he
lost at play with ojie of his noble friends, increased the
(lilliculty, [f it were not paid, the disgrace, of not hav-
ing discharged a debt of honor, would lo.se him all the
lavor he had accpiired ; )et the money could not be
raised without greatly embarrassing his father's affair.s.
7. In the mid.st o\' this perolexity, Mr. Lofty died,
leaving behind him a large family, and very little proper-
fv. Frederick came uj) to town, and soon dissii)ated, in
iTood co!iij)any, the scanty portion tiiat came to his share
Ilavnig neither industry, knowledge, nor reputation, he
»vas then obliged to become an Immble dependent on
the great, fiattering all their follies, and ministerinrr to
their vices, treated by them with mortifying neglect, and
e<|iiiilly desj)ised and detested by the rest of the world.
>'. Henry, in the mean time, entered with spirit into
the )usmess of his new profession, and employed his
leisure in cultivating an acquaintance with a few select
Inemls. 'I'heso were p..rtly young men in a situation
similar to his own, partly persons already settled in life
iHit all distinguished by propriety of conduct, and im-
proved understandings. From all of them he learned
soinethmg valuable ; but he was more particularly in-
debted to two of them, who were in a station of life in-
ferior to that of the rest.
i>. One was a watchmaker, an excellent mechanic and
tolerable mathematician, and well . cquainted with the
construction and use of all the instruments employed in
''xpcrnncntal philosophy,. The oth.er w.ns •? youn^^- dnnr-
gii^t, who had a good knowledge of chemistry and fre-
qiiontly employed himself in chemical operations antl
t
el
^M
-mU
74
COMMON SCIiOOl, RLAIiEPw
Ill
in
jW
fi
I flit V
.^M'en^,e,lL.. Both of tl.om were m^n o^ mtv (loceiu
manners, and took a pleasure in connnnnicatinc the '
kiiowledge to sncli ■,, slumed a ta^tc lor sin.il.r Sv-die^
lienr>MTequentJy visited the.n, and derived imicJ, use-
tul iniornnui,,,! Ire,,, their instruction^-, Ibr wliieh he
ever expressed great thankr.iluess
^flTectnally preserved Inn, i\oiu tl,e error "of V( ,.tii •„.>
•e passed Ins thne xvith c,-ed,t and satislactio,,: i'u- iu d
he same nnslertin.e v,hh Frederick, just as he u.;
Hddr to ccne out u,to tlie ^vorU\, (,f j,,,ii,fr }.is jatlier
'H-n whou, tl,e support of the ia,udv ciuciird'pe :
i>"t nahe character he had estahJisheci, -.uul t],e u^^ i"
*'dge he had =^,uired, he ,o,n.i a,. eheot,ud r!.:u;;r
n. Une oi h.-s yo,n,^r fViends p,T.])osed to liim a
|>artnersh,p,ua,Hanuihctu,e he lid ust set u a
connderahJe expe,>se, requi,-],.. il,. hi. share on v th
:^Z f ""''^^ "''^^ '"''^^'''y- Henrv accep.ed
the offe , andinadesucligood use of the ski!] 'in i^echa-
Zv^^u : """'■^' '-^ '"^ ^^^•'^'^''•^^^'' ^'^^'^ ^- -^->^'-
n.au) nnproven,entsintotJ,e inanuiVcic ry, and renCere.i
-t a very profitable concern, lie iive.I ^prosper u an i
.-^pendent, and ,-etained in n,anlu. . 'all ^the Irie '
♦ Uip> (^1 Ins yonti!. .
CHAPTER XXXi
Oii: sacred Truth! tiiy trimnp], ceased a while
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile '
U i,cn leagued Oppression poured to northern wars
Her ulnsk-eredpajndours a.nd her fierce hus';ar-
Waved her dread standard to the l,reeze of morn
;';^"led her h ud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn
I lijnuitnous horror brooded o'er her van
IVesaging wrr:th to Poland— and to man '
^er\• (locwii
f';itii]g their
iii;.'!' .'■tv.dit!--,
1 JlillcJl usc-
r wliicli Jif
(1 o.v;;nij)i(s
V( iitii, ill,,!
11- iiclii.il
Ji.s lie \v;!h
• }.is Uiiher.
<lf pcridcd ;
the kijowi-
lesourcp.
to hint a
'<'t up lit a
e <;-ii!y the
y accej)te<J
ill mec.]);i-
iiitrcicluccd
il rcndercii
pei-dus ;iT((J
tiie Iricwd^
'j
while,
siniJe,
rn wars
5-.'irs.
morn,
pet horn
COMMON SCHOOL RF,ADi:il.
'I Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed,
Wide o'er the field.s fi waste of niin laid,
Oh \ ifeavea ! he cried, my bleeding country save !~
Is there no hand <m high to shield the brave?
Yol, thc.ugh destruction sweep these lovely plains,
Kis(>, ibliow-men ! our country yet remain.s !
By that dread name, we v.ave the sword en hin-li :
And swear for her to live !— with licr to die ! "
il". s u(i, and on the r uiipurt-heights arrayed
llis tr;isty warriors, few, but undismayed :
{"'irm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form.
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as tlio storin ;
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fiv.
Revenge, or dfnt.h,— the watch-word and rojfly :
TluMi p-;ded the notcA, -unnipotent to charm,
And tile l;)ud t'.)C;:iu tolled their last alarm !
'.-. Til vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few !
l''roni rank to rank your volleyed thunder Hev/ :
Oh ! bloodies t{)icture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, v/lthout u crime :
Found not a generous friend, a pitying fee,
Strength in her arms, ni)r mercy in her woe !
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the ^•huttered spear.
Closed her brigiit eye, imd curbed her high career !
{lope, for a season, bade the world farewell.
And Freedom shrieked— is Kosciusko fell.
•I. The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there.
'J'umultuous murder shook the midnight air
On Prague's proud arch tlu; Hres of ruin glow, "
Ills bhx)d-dye(r waters murmuring fir below ;
The storm prevails,— the rampart yields away,
Jiursts the wild cry of horror and tlismay !
ii>
/I
' e
1
^1
T(i
.11*
II
m
,' 4
COMMON SCHOOL IlEADEU.
r>.
Hark ! as the mouldering piles with thunder Ihil
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call !
Earth shook— red meteors flashed along the sky
And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry !
Oil! righteous He.ven ! ere Freedom found a grave
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save '
Where was thine arn,, O Vengeance ! where thy rod
1 hat smote the foes of Sion and of God ;
That crushed proud Amnion, when his iron car
Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar ?
Where w;k. the storm that slumhered till the host
Of blood-stained Pharoah left their tremhling coa.c
1 hen bade th,' deep in wild commotion flow,
And heaved an ocean on their march below ?
<>. Departed spirits of the mighty dead !
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled '
Friends of the world ; restore, your swords to man,
1* Jglit m his sacred cause, and lead the van !
Vet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone,
And make her arm puissant as your own '
Oh ! once again to freedom's cause return
The patriot Tell-the Bruce of Cannockburn !
r. Yes ! thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see
1 hat man iiath yet a soul—and dare be free '
A little while, along thy saddening plains,
The starless night of Desolation reigns :
Truth shall restore the light by Nature given,
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heami f
Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled
Her name, her naUire, withered from the world '
%
indor Ihil,
call !
: the sky,
: cry !
niu(] a grave,
el
here thy rod.
i;
roil car
1 afar ?
the host
bliiig coi\si .
iow,
()\V (
s to man,
in!
Ijurn !
1 see
36!
en,
!aven I
3d,
orld !
COMMON SCHOOL READER. 77
CHAPTER XXXII.
IVaterloo.
I. There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ;
A thousand hearts beat happily, and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eye^ which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell ;
But hush I hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising
knell !
'2. Did ye not hear it ? No : 't was but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ;
On with the dance I let joy be unconhned ;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure
meet.
To chase the glowing hours with flyino- feet—
But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ;
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before !
Arm ! — arm ! it is, — it is the cannon's opening roar !
•}. Within a windowed niche of that high hall
Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear
That sound the hrst amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with death's prophetic car ;
And when they smiled because he deemed it near,
His heart more truly knew that i)eal too well
Which stretched his father on a blood v bier
And roused the vengeance blood alone would quell
He rushed into the field, and, foremost licx]
1 ^: ■
■:f-;ii:
t
bf «l
♦ '
F 2
't3'
tell
'" COMMON SCHOOL READEn.
4. Ah ! then and there was hurryiiiir t.) imd fro,
And (ratherin:^ tears, and treinblino-s ot distress,
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour airo
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness :
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sigh.
Which ne'er might be repeated ; wlio could gulss
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,*
Since upon nights so sweet, such uwiiil mom ' >ul(i
rise ?
o. And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed,
The mustering squadron, and tlic clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ;
And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar ;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ;
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb,
Or whispering, with white lips—" The foe ! Thci
come, they come !"
a. Ami wild and high the - Cameron's gatherina'
^c.^^- !
The; wir-notc of Lociiiel, which Albyn's hills
Hivo hoard, and heard, too, i.ve her Saxon fl)es;-
llow m the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
^'uvage and shrill ! But. with the breath which'lilk
'l^heir inountiin-pipo, so fill the mountaineers
W ith the fierce native daring Mhich instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years,
And Evan's, Donald's f-une ring,; i„ each clJnsm^in'ii
ears 1
imd fro,
)l distress,
ur ;i(r()
el in ess :
us press
liokilicr sicrlis
could guess
d eyes,
morn )ul(i
: the
steed
terinof
car,
speeci
J
ar;
Ur ;
urn
• star ;
r durn
b>
foe!
Thci
gathering'
I's hills
xon foes ;—
1 thrills,
nhich lil}^
lineers
stilsj
irs,
clansm^n'i!
♦COMMON SCHOOL nKADER.
70
S
T. And Ardennes waves ahove thein jier green leaven.
Dewy, with nature's tear-(lro])s, as they pass,
(irieviiig, if uught iiinnimate e'er irrieves,
Over the unreturning brave, — ;das !
Kre evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow,
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valor rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall liiouldrr c»)ld and
low.
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay.
The midnight brought the signid sound ui' strifu.
The morn the marshalling in ;u-iiis, the day
Rattle's magnificently stern array !
Ths thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent ,
The earth is covered thick with other ciav,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent.
Rider and horse,— friend, foe,— in one red burial
blent !
CHAPTER XXXliJ,
-. Lire fiBi Watocrits.
L To form a just conception of life on the banks of
Kolyma, says M. Von Wrangle, one must have spent
?<ome tune with the inhabitants. One nmst have seen
them m their winter dwellings and in their summer
kila^ran^ ; one nmst have shot down their rapid streams
m the light canoe, must have climbed mountains and
rocks With them, or dashed in their light dog-drawn
I'ledges through the most piercing cold over tlie bound-
lesd tundra ; one must, in short, have become one of
%
I
80
rOMMON SCiroOL READER.
tlHMiisolves. Such was our life durinjr the three years
U'o^ spent heri'. We lived with them, (Iressed like then,
J<'d uM their dried lish, and «liared with them the hardl
ships and privahon.. in.MparaNe from the climate and
tliy lre,,nent want, even of food, wliicli it briinrs alon^r
with It. ^ e
'2. Let us heirin with the sprin^r. The fishery f„ni,-
tlicir most important i)ursuit ; indeed the very existeiu
<>| the wli.,le population dep. uds upon it. The locality
ol JNislmey-Kolymsk, however, is unfavourable, and the
inhahitants are ohh^red to migrate, at this' season, to more
«iiita!.|e parts of the river. As s.xm. as the winter ceasf.
they accordm<r|y ahamhm their dwellings, in starch oi
some onvenient spot, where they forthwith co istruct n
fw/a-oN, or light summer hut, and immediately coni-
mence their hostilities upon the piscatorv tribe.
?J. Most of the Nishney-Kolymskites have recrulai
country-houses of this description at the iiDuths ot' the
several creeks and rivulets, which they bcirin to visit n
April in order to prepare for the campaiir,,. |„ ^y
nuddle ol May, when the merchants arrive from the fair
*)t O.strownoye, on their return to Yakoutsk, the wliele
l)oi)ulatiou abandons the little place, leavin.r the whole
town to the giKM-dianship of one Cossack s.mtinel ami
perhaps one or two old women, whom age prevents from
joiimiir III the ireneral pursuit.
4. Spriiiir is th(>most tryin<r season of the whole yeflr
I he store colh-cted durin<r the .summer and autumn ha.<
usually been consumed for some time : the fish do not
always make their appearance immediately, and the doffs
exhausted by their winter's, w.>rk and yet more bv tk
severe last to which they have for some' time beeirsub-
jected,are too feeble to allow their masters to avail them-
selves of the fiast, ( a slicrht crust of ice upon the siir-
tacc ol the snow, ) to catch a few elk . and wild rein-
deer.
5. Famine then appears in its most horrible fonn.
Crowds ot Tunirusians and Yiikaheers come tlockinff
Hito the liussiau villaires, in search of some subsistence!
1 ale and ghost-like they stagger about, and greedily
devour
fJoiK^s,
.short, t
ed into
uiithrift
thetnsel
<ler, sto
these fa
year of
(). Ti
iiient, u
<'\pense
<'iiliance
avail the
though 1
not payi
crui ati(
which n
traeted j
periods (
iiig .sprii
the seen
it would
jcription
7. It
arrives,
fheir ap|
descripti
spring, ai
end. ' Ol
or run, n
as many ;
8. hi
comes (ir(
nient to
to pi\»vi(l
luisfortun
enough t(
masses of
^li(»als. ar
COMMON s(;nooL ri.ader.
J^I
? tliree years
L'd Jike them,
em the hard-
climate, and
biiuiTs alonir
fishery form
TV existeiu
Tlie locahfv
il»le, and till;
i-^on, to more
inter cea.sfs.
ill Nf areh ol
I CO istruct a
Jiately com-
ihe.
ave re(ruliir
inths of the
II to visit II
::n. In the
rom tlie fair
., the wliolt
.<^ the whole
L'ntinel, and
events from
whole jeflr
intunm lia.^
Hsh do not
id the (lofffi,
lore hv the
' l)een sub-
avail tlieiii-
n the siir-
wild rein-
•ible form,
e f]o<!:inff
ji)sisteiice.
d orreedil?
devour every species <.f irarhaire that falls in their way
Bonos, skins, and thonirs of l-athcr, evervthin^, in
.short, (liat tlie stomach will receive, is eajrerly coirvert-
i'd into food. But small is the ;elief they"' find ; for the
unthnfty towiis-peoi le are by this time almost as ill olf,
tJiemsolves, and livincr uptm the scantv remnant of fod^
der, stored up for the use of Jie doers, s(» that many of
these taithhil and valuable animals perish nearly every
year of hnnerer. '
<). There is a storehouse established by ijie crovern-
meiit, where rye-flour is sold to (>verv comer: but tlu-
expense of conveying it, Ihmi so eiioVinous a distance
enhances the jirice to such a de^rree that lew are able t-^
avail themselves of the facility thus afforded thorn. Al-
thoiiirh the additi<mal acc(mii)dation is irianted tlieiiiOf
not payinir before autumn, still there -are not many who
cfiii afford to ajve twenty rubles f)r a pood of "flour
whuh moreover ha • often been damisred duriu'r the pro-'
fracted journoy it has had to perfornT. Three of these
periods of lioiror did I witness, <lurinir three succeed-
iii<( sprinirs, and even now I shudder wIumi J reflect on
the scenes of sufl[erin<rs which I beludd, and of which'
It would be utterly impossible for me to attempt a de-
■'crij)tion.
" It IS just when famine is at its worst that relief
^rn\<^<. Suddenly, ccmntless sw.-.rms of birds make
f ic'ir appearance. Swans, <reese, ducks, and several
descriptions of snipes. These are the first heralds of
spriiior, and, at their cominir, Imncrer and want are at an
end. Old and yoiinir, men and women, all that can walk
or run, now rush out with nis, bows, uiid sticks, to kill
^s inany they may.
i^- hi June the ice breaks up, u profusion of fisb
amies crowding into the river, and all liands are in moveJ^
ment to avail themselves of the short season of arac^ "^
to provide a store for the coming year. But here a ne\r
"Hstortune often assails them. The stream is not stron<r
♦^iioiiirh to float away with sufficient rapidity the nnahi/
ma.ssesof ,ce. These accumulate in the iiarrous^arMl
'loals, and the water, arr-sted in its curse, 4 cktv
.til
tSff
*»
■hi
8*^
COMMON SCHOOL RKADER.
'li^ I
overflows the whoio of tlio low country, and, if the in-
h;il»t:iiits arc not quick enouali in drivinjr their horses t(
rlio hills, the poor animals are infallihiy Tost.
1). In the sunniier or" \S'2i we had such an inundatiwi
r.t \isJuiey-lvolyni.sk, v.iiich came upon us so suddenlv
that we had only just time to take refuirc, with a few J
our most indispensable a'tich^s, upon the Hat roofs of our
huts, where wc were forced to remain for uj)wards of a
week, 'j'he uater rushed with fearful ra[)idity between
the houses, and the whole place looked like a litth; arclii-
peLiiroof house-top..;, amonir which the inhabitants were
inernly rownijr about in their canoes, payinjr one another
h-iendly visits and catchino- fish.
H). i\)oi(> or less, these iiunidations occur every vear
and, when the waters subside, the main fishery with" nets
beirnis. Fish form the chief food of i„an and dog, aiic
ior the yearly consumption of the hundred fimilies'tlmt
comi)osethe little comnmnity of Nishney-Koi vmsk, ;ii
least three millions of herrinnr>^ are re(iuired' Mm
other kinds of fish are cPULdit at" this time, anion^r whicli
IS the Xr/ma, a larije description oj' salmon-trout, biii
the first fish are irenerally thin, and are mostly converted
nito ifukhala for the doas ; that is to sav^ cut open
cJeane<l, and dried in the air. The i/uLola \^ distinguish^
ed from the yukhala merely by the selection of a better
knid of fish, and by greater care in the preparation.
II. The proper season for bird-huntinL^ is when the
animals are moulting, when, having lost their feathers,
they are unable to fly. Large (h'tachments are then'
sent oir from the fishing-stations, and numbers of swans
and geese are killed with guns, bows, and sticks. The
produce of this chase is said to have diminished greatly
of late years. Formerly it was no unusual thing for the
.§> hunters to bring home several thousands of gees'e in one
day, whereas now they are content if they dm catch ai
many during the whole season.
12. While the men are fishing and hunting, the women
make the best use of the interval of line weather, to
collect the scanty harvest which the vegetable kingdom
yields them, in the shape of a few berries and aromatis
iT'iiety, I
women \
II) the oj
•laiice, a
!:J. T
i(i:r coJ!!
f •: ifiditioi
|tii)c u'liilf
%\\'^ unvcu
' iln' .'^ubt
\m\\i 'A
mu the ni
uitlioiit t
^I'lieir pro
Brifon
Brook by <
Arburij
B. Isl
A. Far
miles otf,
hood.
B. J ai
to him ?
A. O,
first place
that, you 1
'» T
li. 1 UIl
A. He
COMMON S( IIOOI, riF.ADEn,
f^^
imd, if the in-
their horses tc
St.
an inundaticji
IS so suddenlv
with a few of
lat rool's ot'our
upwards of a
lidity between
; a little arclii-
lahitants were
g one another
II r every year,
hery with nets
and dog, imc
I la in dies tlmt
-Koiynisk, ;ii
lired. Main
among wliicii
Jon-trout, l)ii;
tly converted
y, cut open,
s distintjuish-
in of a better
^'paration.
is when the
leir feathers,
its are then
jers of swaiis
sticks. The
ished greatly
thing for tlit
geese in oiiti
3 an catch aj
f, the women
weather, to
ble kingdom
lud aroni'itia
nrrbf. Tiie guthering in of the berries is a ,se:i'^cn ci
:T:iiety, liko the vintage in southern climes. The vonnr
w..inen w:mder abont in large parties, spending the niirJu'^
111 the open air, and amusing themselves witii soii'r'.ind
•lance, and other inn^K-cnt diversions.* '"
!:). The berries, liirmselves, ;:re preserved bv pour-
uir n.lrl water ov,>r thet:., .nd freezing them, ni which
^;.nid!tion li:-v lor!.. om> ri" tho lavcnrite dainties dunn-
]i ttfc Whiter. iJesides the berries, thev collect at this timJ
|l^^;//r^■;,7^.v;.•.^ a mc:dy ro->t, f.und in large (uiantitie. ui
III." Hioterriinnan ^trre-honses of the field-mice Th-
}ouu!r ^nrls api,-; •• lo have a peculiar tact in discover-
inirthemag./.inesMf these bttle notable animals, whme
Hithoiitthe least remorse, thev plunder of the fruits c!'
jMieif pr(»vident !!i«iii':rrv.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A n n A M A.
Scr.xr.— /I J^oa.'i in the Counfry.
Akiu-hv — nrLFouf>, ipalkincT.
Bflford. PiiAv '.vho is the present possessor of the
Brook by est rite ? ^
Arbun/. A mnn of tlie name <>f Goodwin.
B. Is he a good ne;<rhbour to von ?
A. Far from it: and \ wish he liad settled a hundred
miles otf, rather than come here to spoil our nei-hbour-
liood. "
B. J am sorry to iiear that, but what is vour obiection
t^ linn ? -J
A. O, there if-' notiiing in which we agree, in tiw
first place, he is quite of the other side in politics : and
tH you know, is enough to prevent all intimacy.
^-i. I am not entirely of that opinion ;— but what else ?
4. He is no sportsman, and refuses to join in our assc-
kt i
^'Hl
a
:i
;.
i
' J
1;:'
f ^
i ■
ti
VUMMitS SCHOOL REAUKfJ
} I
M
J
i,,
I*
III*
Hi
a
■
'i ' ,'
•i " 1,
K' ! I r
ci.'itioii for protecting the gjune. Neitlier does lie clioosc
\o l)(! a meinbcr olnny ofour clubs.
Ji. Has ho been asked ?
/I. 1 don't know that lie has directly, l)ut he niiirht ci\.
.sily ])rop()sc himself if he lik(>d it. Biit he is of a close
unsociabh; temper, and, 1 believe, very niggardly.
Ji. How has he shown it ?
A. His style of living is not e(jual to his fortune ; and
I have heard of several instances of his attention to petty
economy.
Ji. Perhaps he spen«is his money in charity.
A. IVot he, J daresay. It was but last week that a
poor fellow, who had lost his all by afire, went to liim
wilii a sul)scrii)ti(.n-paper, in which were the names of ;il!
the gentlemen in the neighbourhood ; and all the answer
lie got, was, that he would consider of it.
JS. And did he consider .'
-I. 1 don't know, but I suppose it was oidy an exciisv
Then his j)redecessor had a park well stocked with deer,
and used to make liberal presents of venison to all his
neighbours. IJut this frugal gentleman has sold them nil
off, and got a fK)ck of sheep instead.
/i. I don't see nnich harm in that, now mutton is .v*-
dear.
.1. To be sure he has a right to do as he pleases with
his i)ark, but that is not the way to be beloved, you know.
As to n\yself; I have reason to think ho bears ine partic-
ular ill-wil*
Ji. 'I'hen he is much in the wrong, for \ be!ie\t yon
are as free from ill-M ill to others as any man living. But
how has lie shown it: pray ?
A. In twenty instaiu-,es. He had a horse upon .sale
the other day to which I took a liking, and bid money for
it. As soon as he found I was about it, he sent it off to
a fair on the other side of the county. My wife, yoti
know, is passioiuitely fond of cultivating Hovvcrs. Rid-
ing lately by his grounds, she observed something new,
mid took a great longing for a root or cutting of it. Mv
gardener mentioned her wish to his, (contrary, I own, to
my inclination,) and he told his master : but instead of
ohligin;
the pla
cy belli
;ui(l vva.'
ti|)iin hi
liapj)en.
tiiy civil
Hie, (ne
In short
and I w
n. j\
the coiu
is your |i
;i.s if he
A. A
Richard
(I need yc
made up
A. I .-
last, it di
n. It
what Mr,
took tiuK
very nexi
very pan
iny neigh
t<'r, he t(
a i^ood cl
Kindly ta
<'ossity of
ho gave r
for fdty p
A. Fil
R. Ye
gfiin; am
learn of 1
/i. A 1]
. -..^rpip
IS he clioosc
e iiiight on-
i of" ;i close
(IJy.
rtiiiic ; and
ion to pettv
■ cek that a
tt'iit to liiiii
i.inios ol'alj
tlie unswcr
an exciisv.
I with (Irer,
1 to all lib
hi tliciu all
iitton is ftf'
k'asos with
you knoM.
me partic-
elievt yoii
ing. But
upon .sale
money for
nt it off to
wile, yon
:^r.'^. Rid-
liing new,
L)f it. My
, I own, to
instead of
COMMON SCHOOL HEADER.
85
(•hligin<r her, he told the gardener on no account to touch
Mh" p -Hit. A Jittle while ago I tm-ned off a man for sau-
cy behavior ; but as he had lived many years with me
and ^vn^ a very useful servant, J n.eant to take him again
upon hi,. submis.sion, which 1 did not doubt would soon
happen instead of that he goes and offers himself to
tiiy civd neighbour, who, without deigning to apply to
mt', (neu lor a character, entertains him immediatjy.
lii short, he has not the least of a gentleman about him
ati(l I would give any thing to be well rid of him.
n. Nothing, to be sure, can be more unpleasant in
tli(> country than a bad neighbour, and I am concerned it
iH your lot to have one. J3ut there is a nun, who seems
ius li ho wanted to sj)eak with you,
..,,.., [-^ countrymnn nppruaches.
.1. Ah ! It IS the poor fellow that was burnt out. Well
Kichar.l, how go you on- what has the subscription pro^
(iiiced you '[
Uuliard Thank your honour, my losses are nearly all
made up. ■'
A. [ ani very glad of that; but when I saw the paper
fast, It did not reach half-way.
U It did not, Sir ; but you may remember asking me
^liat Mr. Goodwin had done for me, and I told you he
took tune to consider of it. Well, Sir-I found that the
very next day he had been at our town, and had made
very particular nupiiry about me and my losses air.ona
iny neighbours. When I called upon him, a few days al"
t<^r, he told me he was very glad to find that I bore 'such
a good character, and that the gentlemen round had so
Jvuidly taken up my case ; and he \vould prevent the ne-
<H'ssity cd my going any farther for relief Upon which
ho gave me, God bless him ! a draught upon his banker
tor lilty pounds.
A. Fifty pounds !
«.in' ^^"^'^ ^if— it has made me quite my own man h-
S\;nllser ''""" ^"'"^ '" ^"'"^'^^ ' ''''' '-''' ^"^
>«. A noble gifi, mdeed ! I never could have thought
.14 '
! •/
/
f '■
'!i".l
P
!■' I
.,:j.I
'M
if 1 1 '
■
>f 'ml
SG
COMMON aciiooL rf:ader.
it. Well, Riciiard, I rejoice nt your (rood fortune, f
am .sure ymi are niucii obliged to Mr. (uoduin.
R. fndeed I am, Sir, arl to all my jrood frieiul;;. —
God bless you ! Sir,
[(■
-r/'r.N' on.
li- Nicrcrarduess, at lea.'^t, is not this man's loible,
»t-)
A. No. — I was mistaken in tliat point. I wrtjuaed
him, and I am sorry for it. IJut what a pity it is thiil
men of real jrenerosity shoidd not be amiable in liieir
manners, and as ready tt» oblioe in trifles as in matters
oi consequence.
B. True — 'tis a pity when that is really the case.
A. How much less an exerlion it would have been,
to have shown some civility about a horse or a (iov.er-
root !
B. A-propos of dowers, there is your gardner carry-r
ing a large one in a pot.
Entir Gardner.
A. Now, James, what have you got there?
• Gard. A llower, Sir, for Madam, from Mr. Gmidwin's
A. How did you come by it?
G. His gardener, Sir, sent me word to come for it,
We should have had it before, but Mr. Goodwin though;
it would not move safely.
A 1 hope he has got more of them.
G. He has only a seedling or two. Sir, but hearing
that Madam took a liking to it, he was resolved to peml
it hor. and a <-hoice thing it is ! 1 have a note for Mad-
am, in my pocket.
.4. Well, go on. . [Exit ffardiur.
II. Methinks tliis does not look like deficiency in ci-
vility.
.1. No — it is a very polite action — T ran't deny it,
fln<l 1 :3m \w\c\\ obli(.r(Ml to iiim for it. Perhaps, indeed.
he may fed lu^ owes me a little amends.
/?. Possi!)ly. — It shows he can feel, however.
.4. It does. Ha! there's Yorkshire Tom coming with
a siring of horses from the fair. I'll ptep up and spenk
to mm Now, Tom ! how have horses gviXM al Murkci
:
A
ncss-
COMMON SCHOOL IlF-ADER.
fe7
■j, » I
%
■ I-
■rtuiio. f
in.
(riciul!;. —
[(moc^ on,
wrt)ii(re»l
it is thill
L' in tlieir
n niuttcr.H
[■: case.
live been,
a (iov. fr-
ier carry-^
oodwin'^
Tie for it,
1 thoiigiit
hearins;;
[\ to pcnd
lor Mad-
ff or (bier,
icy in ci-
I (Irny it,
!, indeed.
ling with
rui sponk
Markoi
Tom. Dear cnouirli, your honour !
vl. Mow innch more did you get for Mr (joodwin't
marc than 1 offered liiin ?
'J\ Ah, Sir ! that was not a thing for your riding,
and tliat Mr Goodwin well knew. You never saw such
a vicious toad. 8he had like to have killed tlie groom
two or three times. So, 1 was ordered to olfer her to
the mail-coach [)eoi)le, and get what 1 could from them.
I might have sold her better if Mr Goodwin would have
let me, for she was as tine a creature to look at as needs
be, and quite sound.
A. And was that the true reason, Tom, why the
mure was not sohi to mo. ?
T. It was, indeed, Sir.
.1. Then I am highly ojdiged to Mr. Goodwin. {Tom
.'■a/rs on.) This was handsome behaviour indeed !
B. Yes, 1 think it was somewhat more than polite-
ness — it was real goodness of heart.
i It was. I find \ must alter my opinion of Mr.
(ioodwin, and I do it willi pleasure. But, after all, lii^
voiiduft, with res))eet to my servant, is somewhat iin^r
countable.
li. 1 see reason to think so well of him in the main,
that I am inclined to hope he will be accjuilted in this
luatt'T too.
A. 'J'here the fellow is; I wonder if he has my old
livery on yet.
[.yrd npproac/ics, and pulb off' hh hat
.V. Sir, I was coming to your honor.
-1. What can you have to say to me now, Ned ?
iV. To ask pardon. Sir, for my misbehaviour, and beg
you to take iik; back again.
-1. What — have you so soon parted with your new
master ?
.V. Mr. Goodwin never was my master. Sir. He on-
ly kept me in his house till 1 could make it up with you
again ; for he said lie was sure you was too honorable
a j,'entleman to turn off an old servant without good
reason, and he lioped you would admit my excuse after
your anger was over.
4. liid he sav ull that?
M
<'
f*
88
COMMON SrHOOL RFIADRR.
(■*■ ;
.r;1 l- ^'IB
.V. Yes, Sir ; and he advised me not to delay aiir
longer to ask your pardon.
A, Well— <ro to my house, and I will talk with yon
on my return.
B. Now, my Iriend, what do you think of this?
A. I think more than J can well exi)ress. It will he
a lesson to me never to make hasty conclusions airain.
B. Why, indeed, to have concluded that such a man
had notlunjr of the gentleman about him, uuist have
been rather hasty.
A. I acknowledge it. But it is the mistoi.une ot"
those reserved characters that thev are so lo.i.r j,, mak-
uig themselves known ; thoutrii uiieii tiiev are known
they olten prove the most truly estimable/ I niii afraid!
even now, that I must be content with esteemin.r him at
a distance. ""
B. Why so ? •
A. You know [ am of an open sociable disj)osition.
B. Perhaps he is so, too.
t/1. If he were, surely we shoidd have been better
nuainted before this fiiue.
B. It may have been preiu<lice, rather th:ui temper,
that has kept you asuinler.
A. Possibly so. That vile spirit of parfv Ims such ;.
sway m the country, that men, of tlu> luost fiberal disix)-
sitions, can hardly in-, themselves from its inllnence. It
poisons all the kindi.ess of society ;— and vouder comes
an instnnco of its elFects.
B. Who is he I
A. A poor schoolmaster with a larirc familv in the
next market-town, who has lost all his scholars by his
activity on our side in the last election. I li(>artily\visli
It was in my power to dosomethinir for hijn : for he is n
very honest man, fhoMirli rather too warm.
JNow, Mr. Penman, how go things with you .'
P. I thank you. Sir, they have g(„u^ p.lorlv'cnotnrh
but I ho|)e they are in the way to mend. ' ^
/I. i am glad to hear it — but how?
P. W
I believe
A. A)
liniuls of
P. hi
to give n:
c it'll t to
A. Mr
P. 1 V
of his o\\
ask in (T hi
should be
and as 1
would try
tioned tlu
the trusle
1 cou'd h
me to dii
Indeed, I
than Mr (
A. Yo
Mr. Pen'
vou ?
P. Qu
affairs in
thfit (lilfer
a distance
aiontiop.ii
of beiii'T
teein for [
casion to
1 confess,
been sue!
.1. We
P. Yoi
A. (A)
B. Wl
Atlar uU ]
r i
3\:
It -4'
COMMON SCUOOL HEADER. $Q
P. Why, Sir, the free-school of Stoke is vacant, and
I believe 1 am likely to get it.
.1. Aye !— J wonder at that. 1 thought it was mth«
hands of tlie otiier jjurty.
/*. his, Sir; but Mr. Goodwin has been so kind ai
to give me a reconnnendation, and his interest is sufli-
cient to carry it.
A. Mr. Goodwin ! you surprise mc.
J\ ] w:!.s nuich ."surprised too, Sir. He sent for mc
<.f Ins own accord, {f.n- J .sliould never have thought of
a^kmg him for a favor,) and told me he was sorry a man
should be injured in ids profession on account of party,
aiid^asl could not live comfortably where I was, he
uoiild try to settle nre in a better place. So he meu-
noned the vacancy of Stoke, and oH'ered me letters to
the trustees. 1 was never so atiected in my life, Sir
1 cou'd hardly speak to return him thanks, lie kepi
i'.ie to dinner, and treated me with the greatest respect.
Indeed, [ believe there is not a kinder man breathing
thiui Mr Goodwin.
.1. Vou have the best reason in the world to say so
Mr. Penman. What ! did he converse familiarly with
you ?
P. Quite so, Sir. We talked a great deal about partj-
alliursm this neighbourhood, and lie lamented much
tlmt dillerences of this kind should keep worthy men at
a distance from each other. 1 took the liberty, Sir, of
montioidng your name, lie said he had not the'lionour
ot bemg accpiainted with you, but he iiad a sincere es-
teem for your character, and should be glad of any oc-
casion to cultivate a friendship with you.' For my part,
I confess, to my shame, I did not think there could havJ
biien such a man on that side.
-l. Well — gooil morning I
P. Your most o!)edient,. Sir. yj^. ^,„f ^
A (After wm^: r.ilcno) V :no, my friend, let us <ro
n Whither?
A. C;j.u you doubt it? —to Mr. Goodwin'n, to be sure!
At.er all 1 hue heard, caa I t^y.iriX u moment wiihuut
-f.;;i
i^'-X
■4 m
\i
1%
^'■il-.il ^
90
COMMON SCHOOL IlKADKIl.
acknovyledgiiig the injustice I have done him, and bojr.
ging his friendship ?
B. I shall be happy, I am sure, to accompany you on
that errand. But who is to introduce us ?
A. O, what are form and ceremony in a case like
this ? Come — come.
B. Most willingly.
ii i n
II, ■■?!
i 1
CHAPTER XXXV.
A i&oMe Deed.
1. There is no cause to doubt the truth of the storv
which I am liow about to relate. Judge Glanvilie wa-
the possessor of tUo fair estate of Kilworthy, near Tav-
istock, in Devonshire. This estate he intended to set-
tie on his ehlest son Francis, who was to bear the hon-
ors of ills house, and convey them, unsullied, to hi^
posterity ; but Francis disap})ointed his hopes. He prov-
ed idle and vicious, and, like the prodigal in the Gospel.
would leave his father's house to live among the low and
wicked.
2. Seeing there was no prospect of his amendment,
the Judg(> settled his estate on his younger son John
Francis, on his father's death, finding that the threats,
which had been occasionally hehl out to induce him to
reforui liis wild career, were fully executed, was over-
come witli grief and dismay. He was the elder born,
the n;ifiir;il inheritor of the estate -, and he, like EsJiii,
had sold his j»irth-right for dishonor.
15. 'I'his reiledion, and the thought tlint his father hnd
died in too just anger towards him, so wrought upon his
mind, i:i which there lay hidden strong, though hitherto
perverted feelings, that he became nuilancholy. Riot
could no lunger soothe the pangs of conscience, and
when, like the prodigal, all was gone, instead of givin<r
himself up to despiu - he wisely returned to God as to
COMMON SCHOOL READEU,
01
,111 oflTeiided, an only fatlier, hi?? eartlily parent i)eing a-
like removed from his sorrows and his repentance.
4. Good resohition^ arc the jruides to virtue, but p>rac-
ticc is the putli ; and that must be followed with an un-
wearied step. Francis, liavinir once set his loot in the
rii,dit way, did not turn back ; and so steadily did he ad-
vance in his progress, tliat wh;it his father could never do
with him, wliilst the spendthril't entertained the expecta-
tion of being his heir, he did for hitns(>If when he w.ih
but little better than au outcast from his early home.
5. His life became completely chaiioed. Theyouno;-
cr brother. Sir John, wishing to prove him before he
gave him better countenance, left him to himself until
he felt convinced that his br(;ther's penitence was as last-
m(T as it was sincere; he then invited hiiu to be pres-
ent at a feast that he proposed to make for his friends in
the halls of Kihvorthy. The bancpiet wiis set f(!rth with
all the liberal hospitality of the times; and tin; guests,
■i.ssonible;!, w{>,rc mimerims and honorable. Sir .Ivhn
t )()k his brother by the hand, seated him at the table,
and after many dishes had been served, ordered i^ne that
was covered, to be set Ixifore Francis, aud then, with a
clieerfal countenance, he bade him raise the cover.
0. Francis did so, and all were surpri.-^ed on seeing
that the dish contained nothing but written oarchments;
whereupon Sir John Glanville, wishing his fri.-nds to
know the respect in which he now held his re; tntant
brother, and at the same time, with the true generosity
which seeks to lighten the o!)]igation which it centers,
told Francis, aud those who were assend)leil, that what
he now did was only the act that he felt assured would
have been performed by his f ither, could he have lived
to witness tiu^ happy chaug(^ which they all knew had
taken jdace in Francis; therefore, as iii honor bound,
hej"reely restored to him the whole estate.
7. The scone that followed may be readily imagined ;
the 'Most that was found," fell on^his brother's neck and
wept aloud ; ami if there was ono heart in that assem-
bly tint rejoicfwl ,n(ire thati the rest, it was the heart of
Ihe generous, the noble, the just brother, who novk most
I
-^n f
i-M
02
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
truly felt tlie force of these words of the Lord of life
'* It is more blcsrfed to give tlimi to receive."
'., ,1
CHAPTKR XXXVI.
The St(>riBBiiii; of ^;iiidad Kodri^'^o.
i. Whiitever the levity of the previous moment, the
scene before \u< u')\v repressed it cfrectiiallv. The deep
tonod hell of the cathedral tolled seven, * and scarcely
were its notes dyinir away in the distance, when the
march of the colunms was heard, stealing along the
ground. A low, murmuring wliisj)er ran along tlie ad-
ranccd files of the forlorn hope; stocks were loosed,
packs and knapsacks thrown to the ground ; each man
prcissed his c;ip more firmly (h)wn upon his brow, and,
with lip compressed and steadfast eye, waited fo'r tli«
word to move.
2. It came at last: the word "march!" passed in
whispers from rank to rank, and the dark mass moved
im. What a moment was that, as we advanced to tliu
foot of the breach ! The consciousness that, atthesa-ie
ia.stant, from dilferent points of that vast plain, similar
panics were moving on; the feeling that, at a word, the
Hanse of the artillery, and the (lash of steel would spring
from that dense cloud, and death and carnage in every
shai)e our imagination can conceive, be dealt on all
aides. The hurried, fitful thought of home ; the years
long past, compressed into one minute's space; the last
adieu to all we have loved, mingling with the muttered
praver to heaven, while, high above all, the deep per-
vading sense that earth has no temptation strong enough
to turn us from that path whose ending must be a sep-
nlchre.
;i. Each heart was too full for words. Wc followed
iK)iselessly along the turf, the dark figure of <^ur leader
guiding us through the gloom. On arnving at the ditch,
i^ie party with thu ladders moved to the front. Already
Lord of life
COMMON SCHOOL RBABfER.
m
^ome hay packs were thrown in, and tlic forlorn hope
sprang forward.
4. All was still and silent as the grave. " Quietly,
my men — quietly!" said M'Kinnon ; " don't press."—
Srarccly had he spoken, when a musket, whose charge,
(Oiitrary to orders, had not heen drawn, went off; The
uhiz/ing bullet could not have struck the wall, when
siiddeidy a bright flame broke froni the ramparts, and
^!i()t ui)wards towards the sky. For an instant the whole
MTiie before us was bright as noon-day. On one side,
(h(! (lark ranks and glistening bayonets oi' the eneinv;
on the other, the red uniform of the British coluiims:
comix-ossed like some solid wall, as tliev stretched alonrr
the plain. ' ~
5. A deafening roll of musketry from the extreme riirht,
announced that the third division was already in action i
while the loud cry of our leader, as he sprang into the
friMich, summoned us to the charge. The leading sec-
tions, not waiting for the ladders, jumped down, others
Iprcssed rapidly behind theuj, wlicn a loud runiblinnr
thunder crept along the earth, a hissinL^ crackliuLMioise
tollowcd, and from the dark ditch; a' forked nnd livit^i
lightning burst like the flame from a volcano, aiid ti
"line exj)loded.
(). Hundreds of shells and grenades, scattered along
the ground, were ignited at the same moment; the air
T^irklcd with the whizzing fuses; the nmsketrv j)lied
jiicessantly from the walls, ;md every man of the lending
• company of the stormers was blown to pieces. While
|this (Iroadtul catastrophe was enacting belore our eyes,
Ithe dijierent assaults were made on all sides ; the whole
fortress seemed girt around with tire. From every part
arose the yells of trium{)h and the shouts of the assail-
fjiiits. As for us, we stood upon the verge of the ditch
I'rejuhless, hesitating and horror-struck. A sudden
'iykncss succeeded the bright glare;, but from the midst
''I the gloom the agonizing cries of the wounded and
<lynig, rent our very hearts.
Mak
e way there! make way! here comes Mack-
if's party !" cried an olhcer in front, and as ho
sn
'oko
• *
;. If
.f * 'iJ
!♦
tOMMO.I SCHOOL READRR,
rK
the forlorn hope of iho eiitrlity-riglith came forward m J
run ; jiiinj)iiijr rocklos.sly into tlu> ditch, they uiatle b
ward the hrcacli; the siipportiiijf divisiion of liie storiii|
OYH (rave one iiisj)irin<r < licor, and sj)ran«r after tlii'iii.
'V\w rnsli was trein( ndous; for scarcely liatl we readied
the crnnddiiiir ruins ol" tlie rampart, wlien the vast CdlJ
tunn, pressinjr on like some niiglity torrent, hore down
uj)on onr rear.
H. Now conunenced ascene to wliich nothing, 1 ever
before conceived of war, couhl in any de«iree conii»aro:
tlie whole ground, covered with comhustThU-s of evtrvl
destructive contrivance, was rent op( n with a crash;
tlie huge niasses of masonry lu>unded mto the air likcl
tlnngs of no weight ; the ringing clangor of the iroj
howitzers, the crackling of the fuses, the Ida/ing .spljiii,
cTs, tlui shouts of defiance, the more than savage velli
of thosse in whose ranks alone the dead and the dviiif
were numhered, made up a mass of sights and soiiiuis
JiJmost maddening with their excitement. On westrui:-!
gled; the nmtilated hodies of the leading fdes .iliiidM
tilling up the way.
1). By this tinu' the third division had joined us, a
tlie crush of our thickening ranks was dreadful; evwi
moment some \.ell known leader fell d<'ud or mortalli
wounded, and his place was supplied by some gallai..
fellow, who, springing from the leading files, ^v(nilj|
scarcely have uttered Ins cheer of encouragement, ereliei
himseli' was laid low. iMany a voice, with whose iiott-
J was familiar, would break upon my ear, in tones
heroic daring, and the next moment burst ft^rth iiial
death-cry. For above an hour the frightful cariiai:t)|
continued, fresh troops continually advancing, but scarce.
ly a foot of groniid was made ; the earth belched forili
it.s volcanic tires; and that terrible barrier did no ]iiaii|
pass. In turn the bravest and boldest would leap into
the whizzing Hame, and tlie taunting cheers of the en-
emy triumphed in derision at tlie ellbrt.
10. '^Stormera, to the Iront ! only the bayonet ! triifil
to nothing but the bayonet !" cried u voice whose "!•
most cheerful accents, now contrasted btranjjelv wiili
Itiio .if'alli no
!,irn hope of
all the ollict
inon pressed
rv crashed u
the British,
hounded like
the ramparts !
vision, who, !
upon the Han
11. Theg
and bravely I
the combat.
li»r mercy ; it
de?'pair. At
Imidcst thund
concpiered wt
mairaziii' - ha
streaked with
the dying.
12. 'Hie ai
Killed, paralv
tion before th(
arms; the ji
">vou tided com
burst of \cn£ei
on the foe : ti
the bayonets
Ilodriiro wag \
1
The chip's
Came forth
Far from tl
With melai
COMMON' Hcnooi, REAnnR,
m
r inortalii
hiif .i(>iitli notes arouml, and Gnrvvood, who Ivd tlio for-
j],irn li >j)C of tht itty-secoiHl, bounded ii to tlie chasm ;
lal! the ollicers .s|»r;»iiir hiiijultanooiisly dter iiirn ; thr
liniMi pnvsscd mat y ii ; u roll of witherii / nuiskct-
ry crashed ir-uu thciu ; a turious .sh rtplitMl to it.
The British, spriiitrinir over the dead and the dyintr,
bounded like hlood lioiinds on tlu ir prey. Moanwhik^
the ramparts trembled benea he iranij) of the light di-
vision, who, liavincT forced the lessor brcacli, came down
upon the Hank of the French.
II. The garrison, however, tliickened their numbers.
hnd bravely held their grt)ini(l. Man to man, was now
|thecond)at. iVo cry for (piarter. No 'plicatinj^r lo<>k
I'lT mercy ; it was the death struggle oi vengeafice and
idospair. At tliis instant, an exj)losion, louder than tb<p
I'Mulost thunder, shook the sky; the con<iuGring and ilie
conquered were alike the victims : for out' ol the great
mai,Mziu' < had b(>en ignited by a shell ; tiie blat '-: iioke,
j streaked with a luni^ llanie, hung above the dead and
tho flying.
V2. The artillery an the murilerous musketry were
ftilled, paralyzed, as it were, by the ruin an«l devasta-
tion l)efore them : both sides stood leaning upon their
arms; {he |>ause was but momentary; the cries of
•vounded conu'ades called uj)on their he -ts. A fierce
burst of vengeance rent the air; the Hrii h closed up-
,onthefi»e: for one instant they were met: the next,
Uhe bayonets gleamed upon tiio ramparts, and Ciuda(J
Ilodriiro was won
CHAPTER XXXVri.
The bailor's Funeral.
The ship's bell tolled, and slowly o'er the deck
Came forth the summoned crew. — Bold, hardy meu.
Far from their native skies, stood silent there,
With melancholy browg. — From a low «loud
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96
COMMON SCII©OL READER,
<•>
That o'er the hi)rizoii hovered, came the threat
Of distant, muttered thunder. Broken waves
Heaved up their sharp white helmets o'er the expanse
Of ocean, which in hrooding stillnct^s Jay '
Like some vindictive king, who meditates
On hwirded wrongs, or wakes the wrathful war.
The ship's bell tolled !— And Jo, a youthful form
Which oft Had bcldly dared the slippery shrouds
At midnight's watch, was as a burden laid
Down at his comrade's feet.— Mournful they gazed
Upon his hollow ciieek, and some there were
Who, in that bitter hour, remembered well
The parting blessing of his hoary sire,
And the fond tears that o'er his mother's cheek
Went coursing down, when his gay, happy voice
Left its farewell. '
'^' But one who nearest stood
To that pale, shrouded corse, remembered more:--
Of a white cottage with its shaven lawn
And blossomed hedge, and of a fair-haired girl
Who at her lattice, veiled with woodbine, watched
His last, far step, and then turned back to weep.
And close, that comrade, in his faithful breast
Hid a bright chestnut lock, which the dead youth
Had severed with a cold and trembling hand
In life's extremity, and bade him bear,
With broken words of love's last eloquence
To his blest Mary.— Now that chosen friend
Bowed low his sun-burnt face, and like a child
Sobbed in deep sorrow,
*' But there came a tone,
Cleaj ai the breaking morn o'er ttormr ieaft—
COMMON SCHOOL READER. 97
"/ am the Resurrection !" — Every heart
Suppressed its grief, and every eye was raised.
There stood the chaplain, his uncovered brow,
Unmariied by earthly passion, while his voice,
Rich as the balm from plants of paradise,
Poured the Eternal's message o'er the souls
Of dying men. It was a li6ly hour !
There lay the wreck of manly beauty, here
Bent mourning friendship, while supporting faith
Cast her strong anchor, where ^lo wrathful surge
Might overwhelm, nor mortal foe invade.
5. There was a plunge !-— The riven sea complained :
Death^ from her briny bosom, took his own.
The troubled fountains of the deep lift up
Their subterranean portals, and he went
Down to the floor of ocean, 'mid the beds
Of brave and beautiful ones. Yet to my smil,
'Mid all the funeral pomp, with which this e.a th
Indulgeth her dead sons, was nouwht so sad
Sublime or sorrowful, as the mute sea,
Opening her mouth to whelm that sailor youtli.
H
B. If
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
iVIarco Bozzarii^.
He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site ol
the ancient PlutiKa, AugMst 20, 1823, and expired in the moment
«t victory. His last words were—" To die for liberty is a pleasure
■»iia not a pain." j* ^ i :
i. At midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in supliance bent,
H
* —1 ~-\
■
k: •
ys
COMMON SCHOOL READEK.
Should tremble ;it his power;
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror ;
In dreams, his song of triumph heard ;
Then wore his monr.rch's sio-uet rino- —
Then pressed that monarch's throne,— a king
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden's garden bird.
1. An hour passed on— the Turk awoke ;
That bright dream was hits last ;
He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek,
*' To arms ! they come : the Greek ! the Greek
Hg woke— to die 'midst flame and smoke.
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke.
And death-shot falling thick and fast
As lightenings from the mountain cloud ;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band ; —
" Strike — till the last armed foe expires,
Strike — for your altars and your fires,
Strike — for the green graves of your sires,
God — and your native land !"
They fought, like brave men, long and weii,,
They piled that ground with Moslem slain.
They conquered- but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.
ffi.s few surviving conn-ads saw
His smile, when rung their proud hurrah.
And the red held 'was won;
Then saw in death his eyelids close
Camly, as to a night's repose,
, Like flowers at set of sun.
COMMON- SCHOOL READER.
4. Cornn lo the bridal chamber, Death !
Come to the mother, when she feels
For the first time, her first-born's breath ;—
Come when the blessed seals
Which close the pestilence, are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke ;— '
Come in Consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake's shock, the ocean's Jtorrn ;^
Come when the heart beats high and warm'.
With banquet-song, and dance, and wine'-
And thou art terrible : the tear.
The groan, the knqli, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear
Of agony, are thine.
5. But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the Oa le for the free.
Thy voice sounds like a propaet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris ! with the storied brave,
Greece nurtured in her glory's time.
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.
We tell thy doom without a sigh ;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame'n--
One of the few, the inunortal names,
That were not bora to die.
99
mW
m
100
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
The lioiie§t Hon,
1. A grocer of the city of Smyrna liad a son, who,
with the help of the little learning the country could
afford, rose to the post of Nuib, or deputy of the Cac'i ;
and as such visited the markets, and inspected the
weights and measures of all retail dealers. One day, as
this officer was going his rounds, the neighbors, who
knew enough of his father's character to suspect tliat
he might stand in need of the caution, advised him to
remove his weights ; but the old cheat, trusting to his
relationship to the inspector, laughed ;it their advice.
i). The Naib, on coming to his shop, coolly said to
him, *' Good man, fetch out your weights, that we may
examine them." Instead of obeying, the grocer en-
deavored to evade the order with a laugh ; but was
soon convinced that his son was serious, by his order-
ing the officers to search his shop. — The instruments of
his fraud were soon discovered ; and after an impartial
examination, openly condemned and broken to pieces.
He was also sentenced to a fine of fifty piastres, and to
receive a bastinado of as many blows on the soles of his
feet.
3. After this had been effected on the spot, the Naib,
leaping from his horse, threw himself at the feet o*' his
father, and watering them with his tears, thus addi .^.sed
him : " Father, I have discharged my duty to my God,
my sovereign, "and my country, as well as to the station
I hold ; permit me now, by respect and submission, to
acquit the debt I owe a parent. Justice is blind ; it is
the power of God on earth ; it has no regard to the ties
of kindred. God and our neighbors' rights are above
the ties of nature : you had offended against the laws
of justice; you deserved this punishment, but I am
sorry it was your fate to receive it from me. My con-
science would not suffer me to act otherwise. Behave
better for the future ; and instead of censuring me, pity
my being reduced to so cruel a necessity."
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
101
4. So extraordinary an act of justice gained him the
acclamation and praise of the whole city; and a report
of It being made to the Sublime Porte, the Sultan ad-
vanced the Naib to the post of Cadi, and he soon after
rose to the dignity of Mufti.
CHAPTER XL.
A totiehiiig^ Incident.
1. An inhabitant of the canton of Schweitz came one
day to his neighbor, Gaspard, who was at work in the
meadow, and said to him, ** My friend, you know that
we are at variance about this piece of ground. I have
apphe-J to the judge, because neither you nor I are
suHiciently learned to know which of us is in the riaht
therefore we must appear before him to-morrow." "^ '
2. "Frantz," answered Gaspard, "you see that I
have mowed the whole of the meadow. I must o-ather
the hay to-morrow: I cannot go." ''What h\o be
done ?" resumed the other ; " how can I disappoint the
judge, who has fixed upon to-morrow to decide the
question ? Besides, I think it necessary to know to
whom the ground really belongs, before gatheriiio- the
crop." °
3. They had thus disputed for some time, when Gas-
pard seized Frantz's hand, and exclaimed, "I'll tell you
what, my friend : go to Schweitz alone, explain to the
judge your reasons and mine ; argue on both sides • why
need I go thither ?" "Agreed," saidFrantz ; " since you
trust me with the management of this business, depend
upon It I shall act for tiie best."
4. The affair beinsf thus settled, Frantz set off next
day for town, explained his reasons, and argued pro and
con with all his might. As soon as. the verdict was
given, he hastened back to his neighbor. " I coao-rat-
ulute you, friend Gaspard," cried lie, as soon as iio'^pre-
ceived him ; " the meadow is yours, and I am "lad this
business is at an end." ^
U I
>'?
rll
.-• if
.til
m
102
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
5. From that day, ( says tlie Swiss Chronicle, from
which this anecdote is extracted,) the two peasants lived
in perfect friendship. No country has presented the
simplicity of ancient time like Switzerland ; the man-
ners of the golden age are still to be seen in many an
Alpine valley. Attached to the customs of their an-
cestors, these mountaineers deem it a crime to deviate
from them. Improvements among such men are slowly
progressive ; but their virtues stand unshaken, and be-
come the certain inheritance of their posterity.
CHAPTER XLI.
The Runaif ay'<<i Return.
1. Well ! here am I, after my night's walk, once
more in the village where I was born. The sun is up
now, and shining brightly. Things appear the same,
aad yet different. How is it ? There was a big tree
used to stand at that corner ; and where is Carver's
cottage ?
2. Three days ago, I landed at Portsmouth. It was
on my birt)i-day. For ten long years have I been
sailing about on the sea, and wandering about on the
land. How things come over me ! I am a man now ;
but for all tliat.I could sit down and cry like a child,
S. It seems but as yesterday since I ran away from
home. It was the worst day's work that I ever did. I
got up in the morning at sun-rise, while my father and
my mother were asleep. Many and many a time had I
been unkind t > my dear mother and undutiful to my
father, and the day before he had told me how wrong I
was. He spoke kindly and in sorrow, but my pride
would not bear it. i th'Miglit I would leave home.
4. My father couohed as I crept along by his door,
and I ti!ou|ht that I heard my mother speak to him;
so I aVj'jd a m .):nent wth mv littb bundle in mv hand.
Lii'l
COMMOJ, SCHOOL KEiDER.
lOi
lioMinjT my breath. He cou.Thed a<r-,i„ ri
n>e; fort; is cH.^S'kted n" """'' "'^ '-" '-'<"'
tnew what it was ; she had b e, kn ?ti ' '"""""': '
garters to jrive ,„o o„ „,y birth-dav ' '"? , " '"""• "^'
eiie.ied the door of her ii,7i„ ^' ' "'""^'' l^ck, op-
l-t ...y tears fell o" tl b ""ch^h:'' ?", i"'"'"' =" '- ' ^
would wake her H,,||- M;,. , , 'f ' "'"' ' "■'•>» aOaid it
«. Juntas I ..e,,,/; CO t?^;- g^"P,^J ''"»„ .tair..
'I«l "liove my he' d ? h t ,""''' ""= «''-^«i"en; rat-
.aothor. S,LX J.^"^ Z,:i'\'l'"" '^■''■' -'^
«l>e cned out aiiud .o n.e! Th c n ' '"" ""■'''''■
cars ever s „ce ; ay ! i„ ,„y very d ern s ™"° '" '"?
'■ As I hurried awav I fcli , "'"" '
'vlien he hadmurdered his b other '"T".' T ^''•' ^'^'
ther and my sister hid 1,1 , ^^ ^''^''"' '"y mo-
keeu u„ki,/d to t ;„ a ,d h L •"' /." '"" ' l'"' ' '""I
if I was .nurderiu J"!,;," ,'/; ''^■^""g"'om thus, I fdt a.
was robbing the.n of tlteir neace r ""' ' "''*''" ' ^
"»'.. them, that the world c^uld not n^f '""''"« """
jet on I went, ""' "'"''« "1> '" tiiem ;
clinibThem:" xZ'b-rd':":::!';" ''^y "'" >^'-" I -ed to
"ees by the chureh 1 To, "f Ifh'e?,"'"^' '^^ ^^^'' ''"■
same birds! There's a shiTr;,, "^^ ""^^ "" "»
-erhome. I Writ:?K~n:'ho: J ^
r'S4t7t:d^
h)"''; mymo tleris m VT"' '" ""e bed-room wi„.
cry ! th/t cry '!!!. °' '""'""S "^'^' °f « ""w. That
'--^-gro„.inthi3man:;:ir!h:!-:r;':;irw!.i
'«k»
I'M
|.
■I',
'■J~M
•If
104
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
aiul my inotlior and my sister never Htuffcd tliat hat
tlin>u<rli tlic broken pane.
12. i will rap at the door.— Nobody stirs.— All
is as silent as tiie ^^rave. I will peep in at tiie win-
dow. It is an empty honse ; that is dear. Ten long
years! How could "l expect it to be otherwise ! I can
)xMr hard work, and hunger and thirst; but I cannot
bear this !
l:J. The rose bush is in hlossom as it was when!
ran away ; and the woodbine is as fresh as ever, run-
ning up to the window that my mother opened to call af-
ter me. 1 could call after her now, loud enough to be
heard a mile, if I thought she would hear me.
It is of no use stojiping here ;— 1 will cross the churcii-
yard, and see if the clerk lives where he did ; but lie
would not know me. My cheek was like the rose when
I went away ; but the sun has made it of another col-
or. This is a new gate. IIow narrow tlie path is be-
tween the graves ! it used to be wider, at least I thoufrjit
so ; no nuitter ! The old sun-dial I see is standing there
yet.
15. The last time I was in that church, my father
was with me; and the text was, *'My son, hear the in-
struction of thy father, and forsake not the law of tliv
mother." O, what a curse do we bring upon us when
we despise God's holy word !
16. My uncle lies under the yew tree there, and lie
liad a grave-stone. Here it is. It is written all over
now, quite to the bottom : ''In Mniwnj of Jlinnplmjil
Haycrofty But what is the name under? '' WalUr
Ilaycroftr My father ! my father ! and " Jinr?/ /»V
wife.'' O, my mother ! and are you both gone ? God'^
hand is heavy upon me! I feel it in my heart and soul j
17. And there is another name yet, and it is frcslilj
cut, " Esther Hay croft, their daughter, aged 24." M)
father ! my mother ! and my sister ! Why did not tliej
aea swallow me up when I was wrecked ? I deserved i!
What is the world to me now 1 I feel, bitterly feel, tlif
sin of disobedience ; the words come home to me now:
" The eye tiiat mocketh at liis father, and despiseth to
ffcd that hat
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
105
obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it
out, and the young eagles shall eat it."
« Km
CIIAPTKll XLII.
VlttccU of blander.
1. A melancholy instance of the cruelty of the cir-
culation of ev il reports, occurred a few years since in
Vw^u"^ ^^r'^r^^ ^^'^""^' man/whom Isha
cal Will.ani Murphy, the son of a wealthy, conspicuous
and old nihahitant of the cty, contracted an intimacy'
rlV ^wT ^^^ ^^'-^Ptivating manners and depraved
morals. Wdliam, young, mexperienced, and unsuspi-
cious, was Hattered with the attention of this man and
was betrayed by him, into many follies and sins. '
-. ills tather was immersed in business, his only sis>
ter was constantly in the gay world, and none of Will-
iam s family stispected the dangers into which he was
led. nor did he know the amount of them, until his bad
intimate, (friend I will not call him,) was detected cheat-
ulUV'tT^ 'f'^'- ""'"'^ ^"^^'■-^^^ ''' "^^^«' ^"»d ^v'as ob.
liged to fly from the city.
S. William had been tempted, by this man, to the
pming table ; he had sullered heavy losses there and
been led into other wrong doings. The knowledge of
all this came like a thunderbolt upon his family Thev
were overwhelmed with mortification and grief Will-
iam shut himself up in his room.
. 4 The Murphys were distinguished people ; nothincr
in the city was talked of so much as the disgrace o1'
William Murphy Every thing he had done, and much
norse acts, that he had not done, were told and retold
and every idle word brought to the Murphy's, by people
calling themselves " particular friends." ^ ' ^^ ""^'^
5. Mr. Somebody heard Mr. Somebody else, who was
no7w?"j"'*v wV'" ^h^^'y'' '""y '^''' '^'^y should
not wonder if Wdliam had sometning to do vvith the
ift
aiii
IOC
rOMMON SCHOOL READER.
forflrcries. The next person, through whose hancis the
report passed, said William had actually received the
money, got by the forgery, and paid his gaming debu
with it.
♦). Oh, could those persons, who thus talked over t\m
calamities and disgrace of the son of their friend, as
they would have discussed common news, have looked
into the house of the wretched Murphy's ! Could thej
hare seen thi; father, pacing up and down his spacioui
apartments, his heart filled with grief and disappoint,
ment at the disgrace of his own son — could they
have seen the mother rise from her sleepless pillow with
a sunken eye and fluttering heart — could they have seen
the domestics, removing, again and again, the untouched
dishes from tables, uselessly spread— and, above all,
could ihcy have followed the sister to the room of thai
poor young mm, and seen him, the picture of remorse
and misery, while she hung over him, trying in vain to
convince him that the faults were not irretrievable, that
the storm would pass over, and his father would again
look upon him with kindness ! Think you, if they had
•een all this, (and with the eye of true sympathy they
might have seen it,) they could, by aggravating evil ro
\K)ns, have multiplied and sharj)enc(i the arrows that
were piercing the bosoms of of this unhappy family?
Had they, by a generous effort of the imagiiiation, for
one moment put themselves in the Murphy's places,—
had they imitated Him who, without sin, was touched
with the feeling of our infirmities, they would have been
silent, or uttered only words of kindness. But, alas!
they carelessly cast stones which were to inflict death.
7. One of the two or three friends, who had brought
in the flying reports, called on Mr. Murphy the second
evening after the disclosure, and told him, as received
facts, the rumors about the forgery. The moment the
visiter had departed, Mr. Murphy went, for the first time,
to William's apartment, repeated what he had just
heard, and demanded, in a voice almost suffocated with
emotion, a disclosure of the whole truth.
S, Th® poor young man had fasted for forty-eight
COMMON SCHOOL READLK.
107
hours; 10 was wonk and confused. The >si,rht (,f 1,,.
fjither, the ancruish .>r his disordered counteruuice and
I he a,iger nashing ir,,,,, hi, eye, deprived hi.n of all use
of Ins niuid. He made no atteinpt to explain the cir'
cumstance. alleged against hini.-Kasilv as it was he
did not see liow ho could extricate hiuiself from susni-
0. Ilis^ faculties were suspended. He merely feeldr
asserted h.s nniocence. This was afterwards proved he-
youd all question and many circumstances came to
hgli that alleviated the s,ns he had committed, hut, alas '
00 la e for the victim of evil reports. The mornin.
after this interview with his father, he was found dead
uins hed An empty laudanum vial was heside hi«
Pi! -w Iruly, '- there is life and death in the ton^ne '
11). 1 trust, my youncv fneuds, this story mav awaken
your attention to the suhject of evil reports, it may be
rare that such fatal injury is inllicted, as in the inst/nce
luive related ; but if they do no other harm, they cer-
tainly harm yourselves. ^
CHAPTER XLHL
I. Tranquility ! thou better name
Than all the family of Fume !
Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age
To low intrigue or factious rage :
l^or oh ! dear cliild of thoughtful Truth,
To tliee I gave my early youth.
And left the bark, and blessed the steadfast shore
l^re yet the tempest rose, and scared me with its roar
2. Who late and lingering seeks thy shrme.
On him but seldom, power divine,
Thy spirit rests. Satiety
IDS
COMMON SCHOOL JiEAlJKR
And Slotii, poor counterfeits of thee,
Mock the tried worldlino-. J die Hope
And (lire Jiemenibrnnce interlope;
To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind ;
'The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks beliind.
•J. Hut me thy gentle liand will lead
At morning through th' accustomed mead ;
And in the sultry summer's heat
Will build me up a mossy seat !
And when the gust of Autumn crowds,
And breaks the busy mooidight clouds,
Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attiuit
i-iglit as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding moon
4. The feeling heart, the searching soul,
To thee J de<licate the whole!
And while within myself I trace
The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with herjni^ eye, I scan
The present works of present man—
A wild and dreamlike trade of blood and guile,
'l\)(> foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile !
Ml* ( t|]
CIlAPTEIl XLIV
llteailliig.
1. To read well, is to possess a most useful and
iigretable qualilicatu)n ; and though readincr is the ear-
liest commenced branch ol' our education, few acquire
that degree of proficiency in it which is attainable.-
l erhaps this partly arises from injudicious tuition in ear-
y life, but clnefly, we incline to believe, from seif-nea-
lect in more mature years. For the latter, we can oi-
ler no remedy ; for if any be ignorant of the great use
•^ ■.t:' *i
it useful and
COMMON SCnOOL READER.
109
'*h ''m
readniiT, and the constant and careful practice, which
.one W.1 acquire or preserve excellence in this iccom-
ph^hinea the.r early education has been to so little
L r/.L ;»' ""''T" '^''' "^ ^"'-^^^ '^y ^^o'^^d -^"«e them
to betake themselves to study.
2. But to our young readers, who ;vish to improve
vtr lil '' '"\' '"' T^^"^' ""Provement and amusLent
v are diligently and, we trust, not quite unsuccessfully
laboring, some hints towards correcting erroneous, and
acquiring judicious habits of reading, Tvill perhaps not
ba uiKK^ceptable, more especially asThey will be Trief
M .s u'ords Jar Inm ; consequently, unless yof
1 understand a composition, you cannot possibly
read it, even tolerably. ^ ^
4. The first point then to be attended to, is to put
yourself ,n possession of the author's sense, and also of
us peculiar turn of expression, and general tone of think-
ing lor unless you have secured this possession, noth-
ing but mere chance can enable you so to modulate
our oice, and place your emphasis, as to convey to
\^!^'" the meaning of /,i^, ^v hose r,ords you are
5. Bearing in mind what reading is, be careful to
7nrZr "";' •^^"^^' ""''' ^'^ ^«^^p-^ ^^^ --do'
PC k ;;;': "i ''" """^ ^'^^ ^^ ^^"^ ^^ -^^^^ you would
peak uords of your own, expressive of the same feel-
•ngs upon the same subject.
in mni'"''" ''^'j^''''"' '•''' '•' "^'^^ «f punctuation, and
uZlT.7Tr' '^ r" S-^^ to each stop pre'cise-
ly the pause which it technically represents, you will
.leanTs?;"? r"''" '^^ ^'"^'^^ ^^ >-- uuLr, ^o
.onto^e.,.,,,of your author, a judicious considera-
to proper pauses and cor-
'i nioiHuatiou of tone
J: ^" '■^'^^''^g' P''^>-ti<^»iarIy when thc^ compos
"fits of long iientences, you ehould take adv
ition con-
nntage of
.,' !
i! t
llO
COMMON SCHOOL UEADF.ll.
every pause, however short, to inlmle a suUicient supply
of air to furnisli you vyitli breath to proceed to the nexi
pause ; and you should carefully practise the act of
taking these inspirations skiifully, avoiding any evident
and audible exertions for that purpose.
8. Reading being essentially an imitative faculty, you
will undoubtedly derive much benefit from attendinir to
the reading of a skilful teacher. Much, however, uum
depend upon your own attention and perseverance; .-iiid
you nmst be careful to derive instruction from others,
rather hi the general principles of reading, than in their
particular application to practice ; because every one
has a peculiar manner and peculiar tones, and "those
which are very graceful in one person, would be equally
ungraceful in another.
9. Assiduous practice, careful observation, and a con-
stant recollection of what we now reiterate, that in read-
ing a work, you are spcakhi^ the author s ivor(/s for
him, will give you such a proficiency in this imporfiint
and delightful art, as will be highly creditable to vour-
self, and etpially gratifying to your friends and associ-
ates.
CHAPTER XLV.
Ill I
!. In every department of nature, and in all the works
<>f art, we perceive a constant succession of growth and
«iccay, of formation and destruction. Nothing is per-
manent ; nothing is constant but vicissitude.
2. The warm breezes of' spring dis.solve the snows of
winter, clothe the fields with spring grass and blusl.ing
r(»ses, c;nd restcire to tlie groves their gr^een, glossy foliagt^
and their warbling birds. Soon the frosts of autumn
tinge the forests witli red and vellow rusd scattf^r its t-cnr
kaves on the gale, and where the robin lately sung.
COMMON SCHOOL RKADER,
ill
nmidst vviiisperiug leave., the bleak, north wii . whistles
tliroucrh naked !)ranclies.
S. Night follows day, and day gives place to night.
1 no heat and splendour oi noon yield to the cool breeze
|ui<l the so iter tnits of evening. The setting sun paints
to suninuts ot the distant mountains, and the edges of
the purple douds with streaks of glittering gold; and
in.r.it followmg, obliterates his work. Again day ap-
proaches, and the modest stars tremble, and shrink, and
retire troin the sun's ardent gaze.
^ 4. Plants spring up from the seed, they bloom, thev
|)ear Iruit, tney decay, they mingle with the earth and
ecoine nourishment for others. The oak, once a slen-
<er plant becoines a wide spreading tree, a shelter for
locks ana herds ; and then, transformed to planks and
l)e;mH it encounters the winds and waves of every sea
Jiiia at last lies u wreck on a foreign shore. '
5 Soiuotiuu«s the face of a colmtry is changed ; and
what was lately a gloomy forest, inhabited only by prow-
ling beasts and savage men, becomes the abode of civil-
ization, and wealth, and refinc.nent. Again the pop-
uous country becomes desolat. , and the busy and beau-
t' >ii city becomes a silent and sliapeless mass of ruins
11.0 once splon.hd palace is now overgrown with moss
'^■M ivy, and tho ualls that once resounded with the har-
angues of wisdom and elotiuence, now sleep in silence,
or echo (mly the owlet's scream.
G. A smnll b;ni(l ot robbers, associated for mutual de-
'^nce and assjstiu.ce, become a powerful nation, and the
coiuiuorors ot i iio Nvorld. Power procures them wealth,
H wealth, introducing luxury, renders them effeminate
■Hi con,e(iuoutlyan easy prey to nations less refined
)nt hardier and more warlike. These follow the same
outuie, and g.v,'. place to others. The land of Pompey
and Ca,sar, and Vir-jl aiul Cicero, is noVv the land of
opera singers and puppet shows. l.]ngland, once too
\ve.ikto do end her own little island, now "rules the
^v.ives, and possesses territories ''on which the sun nev-
er sets.
•».i
-4,
Great changes frequently occur in the character of
112
COMMON SCHOOL READBR.
individuals. The son, whose prudence and virtue prom-
ised to cheer and support the declining years of his pa-
rents, at length abandons himself to vice, and "brings
do.m their gray hairs with sorrow to the grave." He,
whose youthful heart always sympathised with distress,
who was always ready to share his last dollar with the
deserving needy, can at length hear with apathy the
cries of the orphan, while thousands lie useless in hi*
chest.
8. Great and frequent changes occur in the circum-
stances of families. The father possesses a large cstiUe,
the son, bred in affluence, and neither taught nor ex-
perienced in the principles of economy, becomes poor;
while the grandson, by his father's example, and his own
experience, taught the value of money, and the care and
industry, necessary for its acquisition and preservation,
becomes rich.
9. We see, likewise, great reverses in the circumstan-
ces of individuals. The child of poverty and obscurity,
climbs to the highest seats of wealth and honor ; and he,
whom thousands had flattered, and millions obeyed, lan-
guishes in prison, or bleeds on the scaffold. An obscure
adventurer ascends the throne of.a mighty empire, and
armies march at his command ; then, hurled from his
«eat, and banished from his home, he pines a prisoner on
a lone rock in the ocean. "But yesterday he might
have stood against the world, now, none so poor to do
him reverence."
CHAPTER XLVI.
€liccrliihic§!S.
1. " The two great ornaments of virtue, which show
her in the most advantageous views, and make her
altogether lovely, are cheerfulness and good nature.
These generally go together, as a man cannot be agrea-
ble to others who is not easy within himself. They are
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
113
both very requisite m a virtuous mind, to keep out
melancholy from the many serious thoughts it is enaaged
in, and to hinder its natural hatred of vice from'sour-
mg into severity and censoriousness.
•2. If virtue is of this amiable nature, what can we
hink of tnose vyho can look upon it with an eye of
hatred and ill-will, or can suffer their aversion for a party
to blot out all the merit of the person who is engaged
'"' •Ar^"u"'?\>^ excessively stupid, as well as
uncharitable, who believes that there is no virtue but on
his own side, and that there are not men as honest as
himself who may differ from him in political principles
.1 Men may oppose one another in some particulars but
ought not to carry their hatred to those qualities which
are of so amiable a nature in themselves, and have
uothmg to do with the points in dispute. Men of virtue
though of different interest, ought to consider them-
selves as more nearly united with one another, than
with the vicious part of mankind, who embark with
them in the same civil concerns. We should bear the
same love towards a man of honor who is a livino- an-
tagonist, which Tully tells us ev/ery one naturally^does
to an enemy that is dead. In short, we should esteem
friend '" ^ ^''^' """^ ''^^"'' '^'"'^ '^"""^^ in a
4. I speak this with an eye to those cruel treatments
which men of all sides are apt to give the characters of
those who do not agree with them. How many per-
sons of undoubted probity and exemplary virtue, on
either side, are blackened and defamed ! How many
men of honour exposed to obloquy and reproach ! Thosi
tiierefore who arc either the instruments or abettors in
such infernal dealings, ought to be looked upon as per-
sons who make use of religion to promote their cause
not ot their cause to proinote rv.VKn.m."
5. How true is all this ! and how" large a share of
mess.
11 iini pcKsiuvc ualuipp ^
•soiice ol" the di.^position linro c ii forced V --What
ab
'>er of th
'■'i'iUoui. v.htch cause universal
Hi
y en
roin the
mem-
or wh'tt por^j(;n in any of the
I
■!>
?\\'soc;otio!T, cannot
Pm
. i'l 4
f '
'Hi
114
COMMON SCHOOL RE*JER,
n !
ceive, that to cultivate a gentle and conciliatory spi/it,
is to give a guar;),ntee for half the possible pleasure of
life? There arc very few minds so dull, or hearts »o
cold, or tempers so sullen, that they cannot be won into
the reciprocity of a kind and calm bearing.
0. And even where the gen-^rous effort may fail, there
is the (piiet and sure reward of an easy conscience-
There are indeed no memories more pleasant than those
of earnest and constant efforts to be at peace with all
whom necessity may make our companions ; to feel
that we have studied their pioper tastes and borne with
their humours. A cheerful heart is sunshine, at least
to its possessor, and very rare are the ungrateful tem-
peraments which cannot reflect its light.
CHAPTER XLVII.
The Be^tructioii ol* ^cniiaclierilb).
1. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold :
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the gea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
'2 Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is ureen.
That host with their banners at sunset were seen :
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
Th;u host on the morrow lay withered and strowii.
;J. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chilJ,.
And tlieir hearts but cnce heaved, and for ever grev
'still !
4. And there Iny the stted with his no.nrll all wide,
. But through il there rolled not the breath of his pride :
COMMON SCHOOL RBADER.
115
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beatins: surf.
,). And there lay the rider, distorted and i)ale,
With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ;
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unlilown.
0. And the widows of Ashur are loud in tiieir wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of iJaal ; '
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword.
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !
CHAPTER XLVIII.
1. About twenty years ago, there lived asinaular old
gentleman in the Hall among the Elm Trees. '" He was
about three sccu-e years of age, very rich, and somewhat
odd m his habits ; but for generosity and benevolence he
had no equal. No poor cottage stood in need of com-
forts winch he was not ready to supply ; no sick man or
woman languished for want of his assistance ; nor even
a beggar, unless a known imposter, went empty handed
troni tlic hall.
2 Now it happened that the old gentleman wanted a
boy to wait on him at table, and to attend him in dilfer-
ent ways, for he was very fond of young peoj)le. But
as much as he liked the society of the^-!mnl, he had
a great aversion to that curiosity in which too many peo-
|)ie are too apt to indulge. He used to say, 'The boy
hat will peep into a drawer will be tempted to take some-
tiling out of It: and, he who will steal a penny, i„ hi*
jouth, will steal a j)ound in his manhood.' This disuo-
sUum to repress evil, as well as to encourage good con-
^iuct, formed apart of his character, for though of «heer.
'• ,» *f s
I '^;
k 3'
♦ I
^11
• <u
116
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
ful temper, and not given to severity, he would not pass
over a fault, till it was acknowledged or repented of.
3. No sooner was it known that he was in want of a
servant, than several applications were made for the sit-
uation ; but he determined not to engage any till he had
m some way ascertained that he did not possess a curi-
ous, prying disposition.
4. It was Monday morning that seven lads, dressed in
their Sunday clothes, with bright and happy faces, made
their appearance at the Hall, each of them desirous to
obtain the situation they applied for. Now, the old gen-
tleman, being of a singular disposition, had prepared a
room in such a way that he might easily know if any of
the young people, who applied to be his servant, were
given to meddle unnecessarily with things around them.
or to peep into cupboards and drawers. He took care
that the lads, who were then at Elm Tree Hall, should be
shown into his room one after another.
5. At first, James Turner was sent into the room, and
told that he would have to wait a little ; so James sat
down on a chair noar the door. For some time he was
rery quiet, and looked about him ; but there seemed to
be so many curious things in the room, that at last he
got up to peep at them. On the table was placed a dish-
cover, and James wanted sadly to knov/ what was under
It, but he felt afraid to lift it up. But habits are strong
things, and James was of a curious disposition ; he could
not withstand the temptation of taking one peep ; so h
lifted up the cover.
0. This turned out to be a sad affair ; for under the
dish-cover was a heap of light feathers ; part of the feath-
ers, drawn up by the current of air, flew around the
room, and James in his fright, putting down the cover
hastily, puffed the rest of them off the table. What was
to be done ? James began quickly to pick up the feath-
ers, one by one, but the old gentleman, who was in the
adjoining room, hearing a scuffle, and guessing the cause,
entered the room, to the consternation of James Turner,
who was very soon dismisged, as a boy who had not prin-
ciple enough to resist even the slightest temptation.
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
ir
T. When the room was once more arranged, Thomas
Hawker was placed there until such time °is he should
be sent for. No sooner was he left to himself, than his
attention was attracted hy a plate of iine, ripe 'cherries.
Now Thomas was uncommonly fond of cherries. And
he thouirht it would be impossible to miss one amonrr go
many. He looke J, and lonired, and looked, for some tune;
and just as he had got olf his seat to take one, he luMird,'
as he thought, a foot, coming to the door ; but no, it was
a false alarm. 'J'akiug fresh courage, he went and took
a very fine cherry, for he was determined to take hut one,
and put it in his mouth. It was excellent ; and he then
persuaded himself that he ran no risk in taking another:
tins he did, and hastily popped it into his mouth.
8. Now the old gentleman had placed a few small
cherries at the top of the others, filled with Cayenne pep-
per ; one of these, Thomas had unfortunately taken, and
It niade his mouth smart and burn most intolerably.
The old gentleman heard him cou(rhing. ;ind knew terv
well what was the matter. The boy who would take
what did not belong to him, if no more than a cherry, was
not the boy for him. Thomas Hawker was sent 'about
his business, without delay, with his mouth almost ashct
as il he had put a burning coal into it.
1). William Baker was next introduced into the room
and leit to himself; but he had not been in the room tw«
minutes, before he began to move from one place to an-
other. Having looked around the room, he noticed a
drawer to the table, and made up his mind to peep there-
in; but no sooner did he lay hold on the drawer knob,
than he set a large bell ringing, which was concealed
under the table.
10. The old gentleman immediately answered the
cinnmons, and entered the room. Wilfiam was so star-
tled at the sudden ringing of the bell, that all liis impu-
dence could not support him ; he looked as if ouv- might
knock him down with a feather. The old gentleman
isked hini if he rang the bell because he wanted any-
''"ng. Willara was much confused, and tried to exeus*
.P*J|;
n
•» •
1M|
> , 1 1 ?f
IKS
t O.MMOX SCHOOL IIF.ADKU.
'¥'
himself, Imt aJI to no j)ur|)()se, for it did not prevent his
l)ein»T ordered off tiie premises.
J J. Siimnel Jones was then shown into the room by
;in ohl steward ; and being of h cnrious disposition, he
touched nothinjr, but only looked at thijigs about him
At last h(> sHw that a closet door was u little open, nnd
thmking that it woidd !)e impossible for any one to know
that he had oj)ened it a little more, he very cautiousiv
opened it an inch farther, looked down at the bottom of
the door, that it might not catch again-l anything iind
niJike a noise. Now had he looked ut the top, instead
ol the bottom, it might have been better for him, for at
the top of the door was fastened a plug v. hich hlled the
hole of a small barrel of shot.
1-2. He ventured to open the door, one inch, thoD
another, till the plug being pulled out of the barrel, the
leaden shot begin to pour out, at a strong rate ; at the
bottom of the ch)set was placed a pan ; and the shot, fall-
ing upon this pan, made such a clatter that Samuel was
half frightened out of his senses. The old gentleman
came into the room to iu(|uire what was the matter, and
there he found Samuel nearly as pale a, a sheet. Samuel
was soon dismissed.
13. It now came to the turn of TIenrv Roberts te he
put into the room. The other boys had betn sent to
their homes, in ditferent ways, and'no one knew the ex-
perience of the others who had been in the room of trial,
On the table stood a small round box, with a screw top
to it, and Harry, thinking it contained somethiiiir ciiii-
ons, could not be easy without unscrewing it ; but no
.so(mer did he (h) this, than out pounccd'^an artilicial
snake, full a yard long, and fell upon his arm.— He start-
ed back and uttered a scream whicii brought the (dd
gentleman to his elbow. There stood Harry with the
bottom of the box in one hand, the top in the other, and
the stii^ke on the Hoor. ' Come, come,' said the (dd
gentleman, handing him out of the room, 'one snake is
(piite enough to have in the hcmse at a time ; therefere
the sooner you are gone the better :' with that he dis-
missed him without waiting a moment for his renlv.
roM.MON SCHOOL reader.
119
14. RoI,ert Bell i,ext entered the room, and, beincr left
nlone, soon conunenced iunusing liinhself by lookincr at
the cuno.sities around him. Robert was not only curious
and [nymg, but dishonest ; and observin<r the key
^v;i.s leltmthe drawer ot a book-case, he "stepped on
tiptoe m that direction ; but the moment he touched Hie
icey, u Inch had a wire iMstoned to it, that communica-
ted \mh an electric machine, Robert received such a
ihock as he was not likely to fororet. No sooner did he
MifFiciently recover himself to walk, than he was told to
.eavethe house, and leave other people to lock and un-
lock their own drawers.
15. The last boy was John Grove : imd thouffh he
«;as lett in the room, full twenty minutes, he never du-
niirr the time, stirred from his chflir. J„hn had his'eyes
laiis head as well as others, but he had more intecrr'itv
Hi his heart: neither the dish-cover, the cherries the
'Inmer-knob, the closet-door, the round box, nor the key
tempted hnii to rise from his seat ; and the consequence
was that m halt nn hour, he was enaaged in the service
ot the old orentlemnn at Elm Tree Hall.
John Grove followed his master to his orrave, and re-
ceived a large legacy for his upright conJuct in his ser-
'ice.
H
CHAPTER XLIX.
Value or the Bible.
1. In every generation, and wherever the liaht of
itevelation has shone, men of all ranks, conditions and
tatesot mind have found in this volume, a correspond-
I'lit tor every movement towards the better, felt in their
.e.|rts ihe needy sAu\ lias found supply— the feeble a
eip; the sorrowful a comfort, yea, be the recipiency the
I ast which can consist with moral life, there is an an-
•w-enng grace ready to enter.
'^' The Bible has been found a spiritual world—
[QO
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
..J
w<
i
jipiritual, yet at the Rame time outward and common (f>
aJl. Vou 111 orio place, I iiianother, all nicn, somewhere
and at Kome time, meet with an avS.surance tliat the hope?
and fears, tlie thou^rhts and yearninirs, wliicli i)ro(U'((l
Jroin or tend to a riajjt spirit in us, are not <lreain? or
(leeting sintrularities, not voice:> lieard in sleep, or
spectres which the eye sufl'ers, not perceives,— as if on
some (hirk nicrht, a pilgrim, suddenly beholding a brirrln
star, moving before him, Khonid stoj) in fear and per-
plexity.
3. But lo, traveller after traveller passes by him, and
rach, being questioned as to whither he is going, makes
an answer, *' I am following my guiding star." The
pilgrim <]uickens his own steps and passes onward in
confidence. More confident still will he be, if, by the
way-side, he should lind, here and there, ancient nioiiu-
ments, each with its votive lamp, and on each the name
of some former pilgrim, and a record that there he had
first seen or first begun to follow the benignant star!
4. Not otherwise is it with the varied contents of the
Sacred Volume. The hungry have found food, the
thirsty a living spring, the feeble a stall', and the victo-
rious wayfarer, songs of welcome and strains of music:
and as lon<r as each man asks, on acroimt of his tcants,
and asks irliat he. wants, no man will discover aught a-
miss or dcjicient in the. vast and many chambered store-
house—Goad and holy men, and the best and wisest of
mankind, the kingly spirit of history, enthroned in the
hearts of mighty nations, have borne witness to its in-
fluences, have declared it lo be beyond comparigr') tb(
moit perfect ingtrument, the only adequate or^^rx
huiwaiiitT.
COMMON SCHOOL READKR.
12i
CHAPTER L.
'B l{c Tolly aiBc] wicliedeiess er War.
4
tt.j'
Hi
COMMON SCHOOL Rr.ADER.
w
h< 'i
cle of c;\gcr politicinns h;ne met to c( n^riatulnle each
either ( n ji piece of j^roed luws just arrived. Kvtry eye
a{);;rk!os uitlulelitrlU; every \eice is rai^d in iiiim uiic-
ing the li jipy event.
(i. And \vli;ii iis llio craif^e ».!" nil tlii.s j(.y? and frr
whnt !iie < nr windtws illnniinr1((], Ix niireH kindled,
Mis rung, and fersts < < lel)r;;(rd ? We luive li;;d a ?i-c-
cossinl en<T-igenie].t. We li;;ve lell a li:« nFi-nr! < f mo
oneniy de;:<i ( ji ihv fiehl < 1' bMlIe, : nd < jdy liine linndml
of rnr e( nntrurci'.. ( hannirig news ! it wai? a n)eri(.iis
battle! I'm l'eliiey(n oive a!«(M'iC' }< nr r.ptuiri,,
pau?e a wliile : and cmsider, (hat to every ( ne ef the-o
nineteen Imndrrd, life wa.-^ no l(^?s suret' tl):;n it is to
yon; tliPt t'> tiio f sr uroater part t.f them lliere prob-
ably were wiver., f;ilhers. nuniers, Hi\i^, dnnolitrrt^, fci.s-
tcrF, hrelh<Ms ;;nd friend*, .'dj cA wluni ; re at this mr-
ment l^ewniiinrr that event \vl\ich (;cc;-..sirn;i ye.ur fccli*h
Aiid brutal triumph.
li-m
V
CH/VPTKR LI.
i. On the eveninji fnlhnving rur arrival at Nr.plcf, Ji
i.'ty (f ns id elV (Ml n visit to Vesuvius. It wiss a
tr;^:ujril, * ! ndlesjs bahny ni^ht. The stars 5;!irne sweet-
ly, viiiil the lull liMHii loekeil like smie hnelier and li;ip-
pier f pheiv', ilentincr threnrrh fields <if eth(>r, ai\d slird-
du'i^' it?; \y<\"0 ('tlido-enre en a dark hut not nncrateful
wor!il.-v!ur erMiehin.ui tci k flu^ sfr(M't that lieH alcntr
thi^, quay, :•- that we hiul the city en (^ir left and tlio
hiycnnu- ri'dit. The vast c;;p<i'tnl ef Senthern Italy
WA.'^ l:k(^ a ,'ii mr repifino; after the lahenrs ef the day.
"2. The orcf:>-i< iial rr.ltlinjr ef a earriage ever a finrc.th
pivoiPeiif, the irvi] ( f a Kf litrry jir('e;.-trirn, the clial-
k-.nge ei' a rentr) . rr thr f;en^rr ef a hcatnian, %vrrc the
only gonmis th; t hv( ko iho siillnCFSfif the Ik ur. The
eJool of inconlight playing cm the rippind eurfaco oi'tho
COMMON SCHOOL RLADEK.
138
water, and ariion;^ the rigiri„^r of the ships that crowded
(he hirb nir ari:l rosiiwr on the sombre and inussive
edi IOCS t!i It iuu^ i tho stress of Naples, and the dome.
and spires tint «h K)t up above them, was like those asK
cribed t.) th.i w iu;l of same Arabian nncrician. How
8,)lcnii., h.w sa,.thin.r, is the contemplatuni of such u
.ceiic at Slid. a.i hour !-inseusibiiity itself could scurc'e-
lyl)eh;)l(l It with )ut emotion.
;J. The (list incc! from Naplos to Ilesina is five milee
but the country seats on tlie road are so frecnient, that
you scarcely appear to h ive issued from the city at all in
iravdin. a K.ery little wlule we passed a l.m.p burn*
in<( before the .mage of the Vir<ri„, at which our .ruide
ami coachman w(uil(l cross themselves most devoutlf
horn Iles.na to the foot of the cone, which the visiter
tiH t;) asceml on foot, the distance is about three milea.
he path, dur.n r the first part of our ride, lay through
the v.ney irds that yield the celebrated wuie culled
Lac/iri/DUf, (^irUti.
I these vineyards, whicii are rich and flourishing at
tncbase oi Vesuvius, become less and less so, till thev
I't enirth entirely disappear. 'I'hey are succeeded by a
ht e stmted shru!)bery, which, in its turn, gives place
to the utter and eternal desolation that reigns on the
Jrow ol the volcano, and whose empire is not disturbed
Dy the^ teeblest ellort of animated nature. The latter
Pijrt ol our ril. c widucte-.l us through vast fields of lava
pi ejl together in such a manner as to present the wild-'
ostein igmibleoutlmes,
/>• Having at length reached the foot of the cone, we
d.smou.|te(l, and began to ascend the stc epest and
11' t d.thcult pirtol the mountain. We commenced
»U . gre;,t spirit, but soon had occasion to repent our
fash rapi, ity, for, before reaching the sumit, we felt the
;;■'" oi.the strength we had foolishly thrown away at
the begmn.g. The ridge whicl. smVounds the crater
St view of
'PI
!h
nucrior filled us with astoiushment and
C. Wo looked d
awe.
own into an immense,
ions
frightful aulf
horn Whose bottom and dides millions of little columoi'
«ltl#i
M
')•' i. I n
• *» !
124
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
of smoko were issuing, and in whose centre rose an in-
oer mound, which threw up, at short uiiervals, ilanics,
volumes, of wlute smoke, pumice stones, and nieltod
lava, with a sound simdir to thiit of tluinder. The
world can scared; contain a prospect of more dreary
and sublime desoiation.
7. ''Nature," says the author of Connna, " is hi-re
no more in relation with man, lie can no more be-
lieve himself her lord, fr she escapes from his tyranny
by means of deatli." Althounih the guide-book caution's
visiters against tlie " ambiti( us -.md mcst daiigcrcusnuid-
ness" of de'.Ncending into the crater, warning them
against trusting to the apparent calm of the volcaiio, we
were rash enough to disregard the advice, and veiiturf'
dov/n. It is two thousand feet deep, and can be de-
scended only in one place.
8. The surf ice of the crater consists of layers cf
lava, brokeji and thrown up by the force of the intorniil
fire^, as we sometimes see ice along the margin ef cair
rivers. These hrcs are const:mtly working up, so that,
in some places, we trod on almcst red-hot lava, and in
others, the smell of sulj)hur was so strong, that we were
well nigh sufTjcated. All this notwithstandii/g, we pro-
ceeded over t!ie d uigerous soil, till we reached tlio in-
ner mound, which we had the still greater temerity to
descend also. Here we had a view of what may ht
termed the inner crater consisting of one j)rincipal
mouth, and two smaller ones, from which smoke, flnrnc.
und liquid lava have l)eeil issuing for eighteen hundred
years.
9. VVc approached so near the fearful abyss, that we
could distinctly see the boiling, red-hot lava in its bow-
els, and with a single lenp might have gained thiit ini-
mortrditv at Vesuvius, which the mad poet Empedoclcs
did at ^tnn,
Id. The sun had risen while we v/ere in these lower
regions, and, on re-ascending, the view from the sutnmi'
of the nv>untain was. indoerl p, r^dief t:> the feelings oc-
casioned by those scenes of desolate and dreary sublimity
which alone meet the eye in that abode of death. Tk
COUMON SCHOOL READER.
186
Bay of Naples, with its f liry islands and ita winding,
village-crowned coast; ti>e sweep of the ocean; the
quean-like city, with its innamcrable domes aud spires,
glitterin;r in the clear aunlight of morning ; the Phle-
giaean Fields, the fiblcd I) ittlc-ground of gods, and th«
I'av'ourite haunt of the Muses ; the Canipagna Felice,
th:it classic valley, covered with the richest vineyarus in
the world, aud g ly with a thousand villaoes ; and, finally,
the distant Appcninos, iifiHig their majestic summits to
the clouds, all lay spread cut before us like some en-
chanted scene, believed to exist only in imagination, and
to be seen alone on the pa^es of romance. What an
accumulation of beauties 1 The world can scarcely ccn»
tain such another prosperu. Well may the Neapolitan!
b2 proud of what nature hj^s tl( n3 for their country.
Nowhere else h is sha scattered her charma with such
iairish prodigality.
CHAPTER LII.
*That ye, tlaB-orj^^ga PJs gjovei'tj'j might
1. 'Tis summer, mid ilie fervid mid day sun
Pours forth his scorching rays, in Judea's wild
And barren dej^crt; where no coclinn- brcezo
Revives the f lintl;! v spirit, and no tree
Invite3th2 wcxry iiMvc'lur v) rest
Beneiih its s'lolter. Whitlier, in this hour,
Gccth thu lonely man ? V/!iy might he net
H ive tarried till the coming night had ceded
The burniti'/ ;jin..!s? ilui \c ry t^eps are turned
Towards l>jtl\ ny ; f.r t'.iare cue uh. m ho Icvea
l3 sleapiii J in t'.ie grave, v.h>.] lie m, kes hulo
o'xtliC l!;a siMcs' l;c .n^, ;.ud ij cdi ilrih
L*.\3:iJ tj i;:b vr- a.i,
■V
T
iv
. fiii.
H
•a
1 it
Ik-
I _
? ?
«',
4 4'
126
9.
COMMON SCHOOL ttEADER.
Low in the glowing we«t
The sun is sinking now, and twilicrht cornea
In all its calm and gentle loveliness,
To bleas the restless world. The weary now
May seek their quiet homes, and there forget
The cares and sorrows which the day-light brin|»
* But he aits down,
Weary and faint with hunger, by the way.
His followers gather round, to share with him
A piece of bread, and water from the spring.
^' The midnight wind
Blows fiercely o'er the waves of Galilee.
' Dark clouds are gathering fast ; and loud and deep
The thunder answers to the dashing surge.
The bird sinks to its nest ; — the wandering bcait
Seeks shelter from the blast; but he alone
Walks by the troubled lake ; and on his head,
Unsheltered from its fury, bursts the storm.
Why seeks he not his home? Why seeks he net
Rest with the loved (yies who would gather round
Hi^n in their fondness, and would gladly mak«
His pillowed bed ?
5k ' Alas ! birds hare their nesti,
The wandering beast his lair ; but he hath not
A place to rest his head ! 'Tis his to taste
Of every woo which mingles in the cup
Of human wrctchcdriCsp, — to be::r tlic scrrn
And insults of llie w( rid, upon whcse decdf
Of dark and fearful guilt, he pours the light
Of heavenly triith. Death p(-isonrtli the cup,
Y'M Hr .shrinks nc;! to (irain the biuerest dregs
COMMON SCHOOL READKR. Itf
^- Such was the lot he choM,
Freely and fearlessly, to bear for us,
That through his poverty we might be rich
In never-failing treasures : By his death
To open wide the ^ates of endless bliss —
To triumph o'er th ' frrave, and to disclose
A healing fountain where the sick may find
Health and immortal vicrour.
7. Awake ! awake my soul, to son^s of praise I
In lofty anthems sing the love of Him
Who hath redeemed us I Love unsearchable,
InefT-ible, and boundless ; which doth make
Us kings and priests to God. The heirs of Hiw,
Whose empire is the boundless universe, —
Before whose throne the flaming seraphim
Bow down and veil their faces.
9. In vain, alas ! I seek an earthly strain,
Worthy the sacred theme. I'll bow me down
In silent adora'.ion, till the hour
When my freed spirit shall ascend to join
The countless millions, who with ceaaelesa tc^og*,
Worship before Him,
■#
n
M
CHAPTER LIII.
Why should Ihe Spirit of Mortal he
Prosid ?
i. Oh, why should the spirit of mortil be proud T
Like a fast fleeting meteor, a fist-llyin j cloud —
A iiash of iho lightning, a break oi' liie vvav*,
He passes from life to his rest in the grave.
^
, Ml
1'29
COMMON SCHOOL HRADER.
'M*'
2. The Icnvcsof the oak and (ho willow shall fade^—
lie scattered ;ir<;iiii(l aiui timotlicr he laid.
The yoiniir and the <dd, aiui &,c hnv and the lii<jh
Shall inouliler t » dii:H, and t(»«rethcr shall lie.
3. The iiand of the k.n ; that ;i soeptre hath b(^rnc —
'I'he hrow of the priest that a nnlre hath worn —
The eye ef the s i.t,^ -ml the heart <d' the brave,
Arc ludden and lust in the depth oi' the grave.
4. The maid on whf^tjo cheek, on whose brow, in whcm
eye,
Shone beauty and pleasnre ; her triiniiphs arc by,
And the ineniorv of those who beloved her and
* praised,
Are alike IVoni th.c minds cf the livin<T erased.
6. The peasant wIk^sc ht u-as to sow and to reap,
The herdsman who climhed with liis goats to th«
sleep —
The be:r;;:ar who w.mdered in scnrch of bis brc-id,
Have Cuicd away lil-.c the orass that wc tread.
6. The paint thit etij^yed th.e conmiunirn of heaven—
Tiic sinner tii it d .rrd t.) rrmam nnO;r'>'iven —
Ti\e wiee and l^io i;-; j.-.h— the nuihy a!;d just,
Have quiolly mimded ih.eir l.( tus in the dust.
7. Wc are the !<:;ii;c thin";st!i'f our fnlhcrs have been—
We see the hwv.c si-hi;; th t < ur r,;ther.>A have seen—
Wc drink the s.m e ttream, :nd we (eel tlie san^.e tun,
And we run the l<;.i:;o ccuitc thwt tur aibers have
run.
8. The thou„-hl3 wo u;o l!;;!:!. :r5;T rf^ they tco wculd
think ;
COMMON MCIIOOK Rr.Ar)i:R.
129
Troin iho <]e;illi we nrc KhrinUinfr tVoni, thcv too would
sliiiiik —
To the life we nrc. diMgiiii^ lo they U)o wouM clHig,
But it .speeds iVdiii the eiirtli like ;i bird vu its wiuj^.
9, Yes, )i'.']»e and despondence, ;uid jdeasnre ;)nd paiu
Are mingied together like sunshine and rr.in —
Auti the smile ;uid the ti;ar, and the sonir and the
dirire,
Still lolK)w e?.ch other like burge up :n suri^c.
no. 'Tis tht^ wiidv of an eye— 'i is thv) drauiiht of s
breath —
Fri)ni the biossoni of youth to thop:;ien(?ss of death —
I'Vom the Ljihlcd silooti to the bier and t!ie shroud —
Oh, why .should the spirit vi' mortil'j be proud f
'W n
Ml
ciiai»tl:r liv
1. The fi^llowin;^ extract froin .'i{)riv'it? letter, writtea
witli no view to publioatiiMi, from the "learned Black-
snnth," siiewslhe inan;u!r in which !ie i:iad(; lusreniark-
aMe att liinneats, and tiiay \:c. i f .sc'vic; to oilier rainds
in siniihir eircunistances.
2. "1 was the yiMinircst of many brctliren, antl my pa-
rents were poor. My means <if eiluc;;lien were limited
t.) the udvantanes cX a district seh' ( 1 : and th.'^so ii<rii'm
vvv're circutnscribed by tny f!thcr'.s death, which depriveri
mo at the a<.re of fifteen, of thoi^e ^xanty op[!ortunitie»
which I had prcM'i )nsly enjoyed.
'}. A few mi>nths after his do:,va?e, I aj)prenticcd my-
self to u bhicksiTulh iii my native villacre. Thither I car-
ried an indomitable taste f(ir readinif, which I had pro-
viously ac(]Mired through the medium of the Society 1*-
f { ^
]m
[if ^
Pi
< 1
i; If
'*^ roMMON acnooL reader,
brary--^al] the historical works in wiiicli, I had rt that
tune perused. At the c.\[).raticn a little nirre than half
my apprenticeship, I sutklcnl.v c(-nceivecl the idea of
«tiidyiu„r Litiii. Th;-(»u4h the usbist;;nce of n.> elder
l;r(.tliei\ \vk» h u! hinu-^elt' ;ic<iiiirea u celle^ri^te educution
I completed my Virgil during the eveunigb of one win-'
tcr.
4. After some time deveted to Cicero and u few ether
Latin authors, I ct mmenced the (jreelc. At this time it
was necessary thut 1 should dev<.te every hour of day-
lii^hl and a p.irt c-f the evenin^• to the duties of my ;in.
pre:yucephip. Still I carried iny Greek (arainmar in my
hit, and oficti found a moment, when 1 was heatinct soino
I:ir...^e irc.-n, when I could place my bo(-k open heiCre me
a:;ain:n the chimney c-f my ior':e and go through with
tupfo,t,pt:i:<^ tapti, nnperceived by my fellow "^iiipren-
liceM, and ta my contusion of fice, with a detrimental
eir.ict to my charge in the fire.
5. At evening I ?;it myself down, unassisted and alone
to the Iliad of Homer, twenty books of which measured
n\j progress in that I mguago during the evenimrs of
iinuther winter. I next turned to the modern lan<ai"<r(-s^
and was much grntified to learn that my knowledge oi'
the L'ltiii furnished mo with u key to the literature of
most of the modern languages of Europe.
6. This circumstance gave a now impulse to the do
•ire of acquainting myself with the philosophy, deriva-
tion, ami allinity of the different European tongues. I
couhi not be rocouciled to limit invself ia these" investi-
gation?^ to a few hours, after the arduous labors of the
day. I tlieref )re I lid down my hammer, and went to New
Haven, where I recited to native teacher.s in French,
Spanish, Germ.in and Italian.
7. I returned at the expiration of two years to the
forge, brin:ring with me such books in those lanfrun.res
as I could procure. When 1 had read these "^books
through, I commenced the Hebrew, with an awkward
desire of eximining .another field; and by assiduous
ttpplieation I wns enabled in a few weeks to read this
language with such facility that I allotted to myselt as »
COMMON SCnOOL nEADKIU
131
task to read two chiptcrs in the Hebrew Bible before
breikfijit awry inf>rn!ii'^— tliis, ;ind nn licur ?.t noon, bo-
iniTthe only linic tint 1 could devote myself durinrr the
(l.iy. After becoininrr soniuwhitt funilliar with this Jun-
gmcfo, I looked tiroiiiid me for the meaiif of initiuting
myself into the lield of orientirU literature, and to ra/
(ificp reirret and ooiicern, I fomid mypro;,rrcss in this dn
reclion iKMJood up by the wrnt cf letjiMMie lxcK>.
8. 1 imn 'viiitcly bejjui t,"> devise nieui.s of obviating
fhir, obptucle ; and after nimy plans. 1 c( ncluded to .seek
!: place as some sailer bound lo Eurcpe, thinkinc; in this
wiy to have an oportnnity rf c(d!ectni<r, at the different
pnrts,sin'h works in the modern ami criential languajjes
13 1 found necessary for this objeet.
9. I lefi th(! t>>r(Te anfl my native place, to carry this
plan into execution. I traveled on foot ti Bcston, a
dwfance of mere than a huu'.lred miles, to lind a vess<:'l
bound to I<"!ir; pe. Tnthis I was disappointed ; and whilo
r'jvolvino; iu n.y mind v.dnt steps to take, r.ccidentallj
!i2irdof the American A!iti(iinrian Society, and fcnniij
Iiere, to my iniiniteiTrntificaii'in, such a coHectinn of an-
cient, ;nodern, and oriential laniniages, as I never con-
ceived to be collected in one place ; and, sir, you may
imagine with whit sentimentsof gratitude I was affected,
whan, up')!i evincinrf a dosire to examine aomc of ihe.?o
rich and rare, works, I v/is kindly invited to an unlimi-
'crl participation in all the benefits tf thig neble institu-
tion.
10. Availin;r myself of the kindness of the Directors,
I spent about three hou s a day in the hall, which, with
fin hour at noon, and about three in the cveninir, mako
ap the portion of the day which 1 appropriated to niy
ft idies, the rest bein:^ occupied in arduous manual labor'
TlirouTh thfi ficilitics afforded by this institution, I hare
been able to odd 5?o much to my previous acquaintanco
with the ancient, modern, and oriental laniruages, as to
1)3 able to read upwards o^ fifty of thoin xvith mor9 pr
ik^
\n i
'+ ♦
««2i4i laci
lity
11'
pi
ti
*"^ COMMON SCHOOL READER.
CHAPTER LV.
"If thou canst. t)ciii vo, ni! (hii;gs an; j-'^sKiuU; to Jiiia that beliivtith. '
I. " The word Iir.prssihlo is net I": ' nc};," t-aid Na-
pol;>r;n t-) the Duke of Vicenza ; .-nd at tJ:e tiri.e k
said it, — he li:ul mi ctUoi-cd riinsccw — his career of un-
checked ;-:iicce.-^y iiii;Tiit huve c:i;one i'liv U> make hiiiij^clfu
bcll.-ver in his own pn position. Tiie in;periKl Victor
v.'e'i kiu)\v IJKit a j)crstU:.sion ol" its trulh, an:ciin- the pa-
pie who t/trn so l)ljiidly wori^hi|.ped him, v.cuhi r.lnuii
make it true. In the cnrecr c/l" discovery, ;'ir.( njT the
conquerors of science, the si;:r.e doctriiie"hi:s prcducct!
efiects quite as brdliant, and inere enduring, than am
t!;nt Ikivc resulted from these " imperial seaf^ of t-lau^lK
ter.
'2. Often have we fcen the (r.ith tliat " hcficth .-iii
thnigr." bcc( n;e the cnccuraKc r under rcper.tcd faliuref,
and the .stnmil.ir.t to Jahcnry which have trMiiinr.icd.'
t'Slc.r many (f;;\T, in cvit ri( us eucco^s ; and tix uoh wedc
net moan to adi pt the maxim in its fuli c?(cnt, ;.'nd ii-
fCYt that impc^Mbiiity is net to be ilund In the philcbc-
plucal dictu nary, y^it we have wilneef rd t:o iViany vie-
tories-— we ]u:ve so ci'ten written '-Kc pins ultra" aitur
charts cf di?crvery, md then iccn^i me held adventurer
carry Ids re^errrbes iar bcyri;d ( i.r ahsigncd bcuiidarv.
that while we admit its existence, we caunrt attempt i-
fix its pesitiin, but niust ciar-s it am.cnv tluFc bcdies ct
'-vvhcse place we know < idy that l{:oy are n* t nearer ditiii
a certain number rf miUu n lea^Tues, at the som^e time
being quite irrncrant wlietlur they are net seme huudreJ
times iinther. *
3. As years clrprr. — as knewlcdirc increase:-:-— the
point when iiupessibdity cenmiences a[;pears jnere dis-
tant, and eur trust in the inlirute i-ratp ef luminn in-
tellect, cur confidence in cur {xiwers cf discovery, our
pride in present possessions, and < ur hopes ct^ future ac-
quisitions, become more unbcuuded. We have passed
COMMON SCHOOL RBADER.
133
hut biiliLVcth. '
that period when to be incredulous was to be learned •
among a haJf-eniightened race only can that dogma be
received : the extremes meet ; the destitution and the
perfection of knowledge are alike confiding and liberal
4. It is an imperfect creed which engenders ascetics
and encourages persecution. The ignorant worshipper
raises his altar to " the unknown god ;" the inspired
teacher warns us that we "judge not." It is semi-bar-
barism that is subject to narrow-minded prejudice • it is
the "little learning" that fosters conceit and increduli-
ty. 1 he savage has the most unlimited faith in moral
powers, m his acknowledged ignorance of their true ex-
tent : he believes in giants and in magic— in words that
control the elements, and in sinews that can remove the
mountain :— the man of science comes back almost to
the same confidence in human power to produce such
results.
5. The first chemists, unacquainted with the methods
of analysis, or with the composition of those substances
upon which they operated, were misled continually by
deceptive appearances; yet, still holding fast their faith in
the mystery, still believing in the possibility of ob-
taining their long-sought elixir, they laboured on, undis-
mayed, m spite of disappointment, and even of danger
when a false religion was arrayed against a false science'
and anathemas were pronounced on the possessors of
the " phdosopher's stone."
6. We owe them many thanks ; they stumbled, in the
dark, upon discoveries from which the world has reaped '
more benefit than any that could have sprung from the
doubtful influence of their desired object if they had
attained It; but without some such stimulant as that
attoroed by the hopes of obtaining boundless wealth and
length of days, they would not have worked at all
7. In like manner, it was the fillacious speculations
of astrology, it was the craving desire felt by humanity
10 penetrate the mysteries of futurity,— the fond belief
ihat, on the aspects and motions of ihp planet" our
late depends, and by them could be predicted— that first
gave interest to the study of astronomy. Tliese im
ih
I
134
COMON SCHOOL HEADER.
mi *g
ft , •
r'^>
pulses first induced man to number the stars, to track
the motions of the pianet;*, to record eclipses, which
have proved the best guides to modern chronologists in
fixing the dates of long-past events, and to observe phe-
nomena from which we have deduced tliu uniformity of
the Earth's rotation, and the inequalities of the lunar
orbit. In short, here also we owe to the ignorance
and the credulity of past generations, th;it any fouiida-
tions were laid of that science, which evinces, more than
any other, at once, the powers of imm and his insicrniti-
cance.
8. A wiser people were not so liberal ; the super-
stitious men of Athens accused Anaxiniiinder of at-
tempting to bind their gods by inunutahle laws ; an im-
piety for which their sentence, rendered merciful onlv
by the interposition of Pericles, condenied him and his
family to perpetual exile. When light began 'again to
dawn in Europe, after the long night of the dark agen,
persecution rose with it, and the bigotetl cruel tv that
imprisoned, but could not subdue Roger Bacon ; that
pursued Galileo to the end of his life ; and that induced
the more tiyiid Copernicus to withhold, for years, the
publication of his grand, but then supposed to be danger-
ous trutlis, — furnishes but additional proof hc)w intoler-
ant, imperfect knowledge will render its possess(>rs.
9. To those daring spirits who laboured on, unsub-
dued by the dilliculties and undaunted at the perils that
impeded their course, how great a venerati(m is due!
The leaders of a forlorn hope, they paused not to con-
sider tlie obstacles which obstructed their progress, but
struggled fearlessly torwar<l, stimulated by the bright
looks of that truth which the world could not see, and
which tiiemselves saw, as yet, but dimly in the distance,
till at length " that surest touchstone of desert, success'^
rewarded their exertions, and mankind, henceforth,
r;jnke«l aniong the best of their benefactors and instruc-
tor.-:, those whom they had stigmatised as visionaries and
in.idmen.
10. Tlieir successors are still upon the earth; — men,
f.'> whom nothing i^ liopeless, nor (inyihing incredible
COMMON SCHOOL KADER.
135
moti, who perpot.uilly enlarge tlie dominion (»f possibility
and teach us how distant is tlie limit of the attainable '
and thoiijrji their dangers and difficulties are less than
those ot their predecessors,— though monks can no
longer threaten them with dungeons, and much of the
iiiechanical drudgery of science is found, done to their
hands— neither in brilliancy nor in usefulness will their
ac.lnevements he surpassed by those of any period of
which history has preserved the record.
If . •I'm
.*;
CHAPTER LVl,
^-rood Advice.
I. Dr.Mt Brsi.Roi):— You will be surprised, perhaps
at receiving a letter liom me ; but if the end is answered
tor u Inch It IS written, I shall not think my time mis-
^Fnt. V our father, (who seems to entertain a very
liivorable opinion of your prudence, and I hope you
mom It,) in one or two of his letters to me, speaks of the
ilifhculty ho IS under to make you remittances.
'2. W1ieth(!r this arises from the scantiness of his
liinds, or the extensiveness of your demands, is a matter
I'i conjecture with me. I hope it is not in the latter
liecaiise common prudence, and every other considera-
tion winch ought to have weight in a reflecting mind
are opposed to your requiriim more than his eonve'iiience'
:ui(l a regard to his other ffliildren, will enable him to
pay; and because he holds up no idea in the letter
uhicii would support me in the conclusion.
•^ Vet, when I take a view of the inexperience ,ol
youth, the temptations and vices of cities, and the dis-
tresses to which our Virginia gentlemen are driven by
an accumulation of taxes and the want of a market J
am almost inclined to ascribe it in part to both. There-
tore, i\H a friend, I give you the following advice.
4 Let the object which carried you to Philadelphia
^e always before your eyes. Remember that it is not
|»';!'.
!3G
t'OMMON SCHOOL IlKAOKK.
llic mere dudjf of i\\v. law, but to hecomc nniunit m
the proleasioii of it, that is to yirld honor and profit.
The first wan yt)ur choioi^ ; l(>t the si'rond l)o your ambi-
tion. Dissipation m iiiconipatihio witli hotli ; the com-
pany, in which you will iin|>rovc most, will be least ex-
to
d \vi [
pensive
suppose tliat you will, or think it ritrlit tluit you should,
alwayH be in company with »>enalors and Philosophers ;
but of the juvenile Icmd, let me advisi; you to be choice.
5. It is easy to make ac«piaintances, but very dillicull
to shake tlnMu olV, liowcvtM- irksome and unprolitabli'
tlicy are found, alter we have once connnitted ourselves
to tlicni. The indiscretions which, v(My often, they in-
vohintarilf leail om: intt>, prove equally distressing aiul
dingraceful.
G. Be ctuirteous to all, but intimate with few; and
let those few be W(>ll tri(Ml before von iri^t- them v«iiir
confuieuce. True frendship iw a |)lant of slow jjrnmtli.
and must uuderoo and withstand tlu> shocks oi' adversity,
before it is entitled to tlu' aj)pellation.
7. JjCt your heart feel for the alllictions antl distresses
of every tuie, and let'your hand giv«\ in proportion to
your purvse ; rememlxM'ii ir always the estimation of tlio
widow's mite ; but tli;it it is not every^one who askctli.
deserves cliarity ; all, however, are worthy of inquir}.
or the deservino- niay sniVer.
8. Do not conceive that line clothes make fine nu'ii,
any more than liiu* feathers nndie tine birds. A plain,
genteel dress, is more admired, ami obtains niore credit
than hu'e and embrt)idery, m the eyes of the judicious
and sensible.
{}. The last thlnsx which I shall mention is first in im-
p«|f tance ; and that is to .vvt)n) <i.\.MiX(j. This is a vice
which is productive oi' every possible evil ; etpially in-
jurious to the morals and he;dth of its votaries. It is
the child of avarice, the brother of iniquity, and the
father of mischief! It has been the ruin of many worthy
families, tlie loss of nianv a niau's humir, and the cause
of suicide.
10. To all those who enter the lists, it is equally
COMMON SrilOOL HEADER.
137
(asriri.itinfr. Tho siicc-sHful j^rjuucster pushes IiIh good
lorimif till It is ovr. taken by a roverHC. Tho losinir
iruuH'stcr, III hope.s of retrieving puHt niisfortuiies, goes
on Irom had to worse, till grown desperate, he pusheH at
every thing and loses his all. Jn a word, few gain by
fills abominable practice, while tiiousandH ure injured
II. I'crliaps you will say "my conduct lius anticipa-
tnl (he advice," and " not one of these ca.ses applies to
me " I shall be heartily glad if it is so. Jt will add not a
little to my happiness to find those to whom I am so
iKNiriy connected, pursuing the right walk of life. It
will be the sure road to my favor, and to those honors
m.l places of i)rofi{, which their country can bcHtow, an
merit rarely go(\s unrewarded.
I am, dear Bushrod, your afiectiouate uncle,
CiKOIlGli WasIIINOTON.
' 'i
ifc . d
,W
CUAVTVM I.VII.
\i Home, aiifl abroad.
1. Julia Clifford had just placed her books upon the
table, and was about commencing the study of her
I'rench lesson, when her little sister entered the room
and said, "Sister Julia, will ycm please to fasten niv
(ress'r "O dear!" said Jul,a, "J am .sure 1 shall be
Ijlad when 1 don't have children to dress ; do come here "
riio little girl walked Unv$nh her si.ster with a timid
air, and stoo<I near her. " Do .stand nearer,— J should
tlimk you supposed 1 could |^ach lialf a mile," said
•luha, m a still nu.re peevish tone, at the same time
{giving Khza's dress a sudden jerk, which nearly thrf'w
tlu! httle girl down. Siie at last finislie<l dressing her
ulter many complaints of hooks unfastening as soon a^
sne had fastened them. Klizj. no sooner saw her daily
m-mca over, than with hasty step, she ran down stairs
t^>l)id her sick mother good morning.
'I Julia again wealed her.self at her books, and hfKi
1j im I
iSti
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
learned about a half a page, ( for being a very good
French scholar, it took her but a short time to learn her
lessons,) when her sister Ellen entered with her comb
and brush in her hand, and her dress hanging over her
arm. ** O mercy !" said Julia, drawing a deep sigh, "I
was in hopes I should hav^ a minute's peace, and a rconi
to myself, but it's always just so ; I no sooner sit down
to study, or to do any thing else, than the whole family
are after me ; some wanting one tiling, and some another ;
and now Miss Ellen, I should like to know what pn
want." '• Why," said Ellen, with an ill-suppresi^e{l
laugh, " I should think old Polly had come," (a well-
known shrew in the neighboring village where' they spent
their summers,) " for "^I have been dreaming that she
was here, and was scolding and storming all day long.''
3. '■! wish you would keep your thoughts ;tlid your
dreams to yourself; 1 am sure I don't know who want?
to hear them," muttered Julia, in an under tone. "0!''
said Ellen, " I had forgotton that you asked me what 1
wished you to do : I want you to do just wliat you always
do ; t(» wash my face, brush my hair, and fasten my
dress; you know it never takes you more than ten
minutes."
4. " Ten minutes !" said Julia ; *' I am sure I don t
know who has ten minutes to spare." She then rose
liastily from her seat, but, on the way to the wash-stand,
she struck her foot against the rocker of a chair wliicli
i,ui!;bt to have berMi set in its proper {)lace. This only
inci-eased her anger, and taking up the pitcher she
poured the water into the bc^vl with ^vich violence that
it spattc'-ed the wall, and nearly covered the beautiful
French wash-stand, whi^p her father had given her hut
a few months bef(n-e, and which until now she had kept
as bright as eve* Sh(> at last succeeded in washing
Elicn'rface, ; nd in brushing her beautiful curls; but it
was not until ti-.e little gir! liad shed many tears, ami
liud said many times, " Please don't pull (piite so hard.'
5. euum the 1 reakfast bell rung, and she hastened to
meet lier fatlicr and bid him good niorning. At tlir
table sh'i was kind to her brothers and sisters, and talk-
n;» ■' '-'1
COMMON SCHOOL KEAUKU.
iJiO
0(1 of the weatlier and the times : but still u keen ob-
server might have perceived the lingering traces of the
recent storm.
0. After breakfast, she prepared her sister for scliool,
and a little before nine, left the house for her own school
room. Among her companions, she was kind and af-
fectionate, and all loved and admired her. After she
returned liome she was sulky and disobliging to all the
younger members of the family ; but her father no
sooner entered the parlor than the cloud inmiediately
dispersed, and she was as pleasant as a kind and affec-
tionate father could have desired ; for she was more
afraid of his displeasure than of any thing else in the
world. The rest of the day passed very nmch in the
<ame manner.
7. After tea, she dressed for a juvenile party. IJer
form was naturally light and graceful, and her face
beautiful ; and being dressed in a very becoming man-
ner, she looked uncommonly well. As she entered the
room, all eyes were fixed upon her, and many person*
were heard to say, " Did you ever see a more beaul'lful
creature '.'" During the evening she was lively, gay, and
animated; she talked and laughed with all her accpuiin-
tance, and there was many a young Indy, who, as she
stood alone and unnoticed, said within herself, "O that
I could be as cheerful and jdeasant as Julia Clifford !"
8. And now, reader, is not this the case with niany a
young lady beside the one just described? Are ther(
not many others, who arc very pleasant and lively in
company, and even in the school room, whom wc should
find on enteriag the domestic circle, where, above all
other places, they should be MM and cheerful, to be a^
peevish and disobliging as was
luliaClirtbrd?
t
%:
r' M
140
COMMON SCHOOL UEADER.
CHAPTER LVIII.
at^
Avoid bad habits.
1. Bad habits are not easily relinquished ; they are
^icquircd without any difficulty ; and, unhappily, they
who have contracted them, seldom perceive their evil /u
as to endeavor to overcome them ; for they steal insensi-
bly upon one, and having effectually acquired possession,
they 'maintain their hold, and are not driven off without
a firm re^cjlution, and great exertion.
•2. Bad habits are more general than might be sup.
posed. There are few places without them, and few
persons altogether free from them, from the palace to
the cottage, from the church to the school ! Some, in-
deed, arc more injurious in their tendency than others,
which ill comparison are harmless.
»}. Bad habits are often seen in different families;
«ucli as behaving rudely at table : talking incessant])',
to the great annoyance of parents and visitors : staying
on an errand, so that it cannot be ascertained at what
time the child or servant will return. This last pro-
duces great vexation, and «ften great inconvenience.
Some children have the great fault of contradicting and
even of correcting their i)arents and elders in conver-
sation. Young persons should recollect that they know
but little, and that their observation and experience must
of course be very limited. — Speaking impertinently to
servants is a disgusting habit, and indicates a haughty
and peevish temper.
4. My young friend, ^osa, is a lively, pleasant, in-
dustrious, good tempe^^girl ; but she has contracted
the habit of rising late. Her excuse is, that she can
make up the time^lost in the morning, by sitting up late
at night ; not considering that late hours are very in-
jurious to the health, and that the physical and mental
powers must be, in some degree, relaxed by the labors
and exercises of the day. I "hare reasoned with her on
lac suojecl ; nnu vvnilc she admits all the benefits to be
derived from early rising, she has not yet corrected the
habit,
•ni, and few
COMMON SCHOOL READKR.
Ul
<%
') Thomas Spendthriit, at an earJy age, discovered a
«irong inclination to extravagance; his kind parent>^
supplied him liberally with pocket money, which he
spent as soon as it came, in the purchase of things ol'
no value, and which he either j)roke or gave away, as
soon as he had them. The same propensity adhered to
him m manhood ; and he at length became a bankrupt
and was compelled to hll a very inferior station as a
servant; m which character he continued till old age
reduced him to the necessity of applying lor parochuii
relief. Henry Saveall, on tlie contrary, with very small
means, by a strict and Ir.udable economy, purchased
some valuable books, api)lied himself to reading, ixnd by
itidtisirious habits, rose to eminence, acquired a compe'-
tent fortune, which he employed in doing good, and died
esteemed aud respected. '
(). Tbere is no habit more injin-ious thnn that ofirossip-
ing; that is, of listening eagerly to the conunon reports
of the day, prying into the ct)iicerns of others, and re-
tiuling the information, from house to house, with ad-
ditions and embellishments. To commit a secret to
such persons is to employ a town-crier, lor they ar*-
p'ire to publish it to the first individual they meet. 'This
bad and dangerous habit chiellv belongs to those idle
persons who have no business ol their own to attend to.
».;i
■*v3l
CHAPTER LIX.
The difiicoiiteutc^ Peiitliiliiin,
1. An old clock that had stood for fifty years m a
farmer's kitchen, without giving its owner any cause of
coiiplaint, early one summer's mornhig, before the
l^iiinily was stirring, suddenly stopped, (rpon this, the
•'lal-plate, ( if we may credit the fable,) changed coun-
tenance with, ainrm ; the hands made a vnin effort t(t
contmue their course; the wheels remained motionless
^vith surprise ; the weights hung speechless ; each mem-
i:i
142
COMMON SCHOOL READER,
l>or felt disposed to l;iy the blame on the others. At
leiifrth the dial instituted a tbrnial inquiry as to the cause
<>r the stagnation, when iiands, wheels, and weights,
uith one voice, protestcul their innocence.
•J. Hut now a taint tick was heard below from the
pendulum, who thus spoke: — "1 confess myself to be
the sole cause of the stoppage ! ai^d I am willincr, for
the geueral satisfaction, to assij ■, reasons. The
truth is, that I am tired of ticking.' pon hearing this,
the old clock became so enraged, that it wjis on the
very })()i»it of strikin^r.
'I. " Liizy wire !" exclaimed the dial plate, holding up
its hands. " Very good !" rejdied the pendulum, " it ii*
vastly easy for i/uu, Mistress Dial, who have always, as
every bcdy knows, set yourself up above me, — it is vastly
easy for i/oif, T c^v, to accuse other jjcople of laziness'
V<.u, who have hnd nothing to do all the days of your
life, but to stare people in the face, and to amuse your-
f^elf with watching all that goes on in the kitchen ! Think,
f beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for
life, in this dark closet, and to wag backwards and for-
wards, year after year, as i do."
4. " As to that," said the dial, " is there not a win-
dow in your house, on purpose for you to look through V
" For all that," resumed the pendulum, " it is very dark
here ; and, although there is a wind w, I dare not stop,
even for an instant, to look out at it. Besides, I am
really tired of my way of life ; and if you wish, I'll tell
you liow I took this disgust at my employment. I hap-
pened this morning to be calculating how many times I
should have to tick in thji.course of only the next twenty-
tour hours; perhaps some of you, above there, can give
me the exact sum."
o. The minute hand being (juick at figures, presently
replied, " Eighty-six thousand four hundred times."
•' Exactly so," replied the pendulum. " Well, I appeal
to you all, if the very tiiought of this was not enough to
fatigue one ; and when I began to multiply the strokes
of one day, by those of months and years, really it 13
no wonder if I felt discouraged at tlie prospect ; 3o,
COMMON SCHOOL RKADER.
143
h.^
lifter a great deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I
to myself, I'll stop."
6. The dial could scarcely keep its countenance du-
ring this harrangr.e ; but resuming its gravity, thus re-
plied : Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished
that such a useful, mdustrious person as yourself, should
have been overcome by this sudden thought It is true
you have done fi great deal of work in your time • ^
have we all, and are likely to do ; which, akhoucrh it miiv
iitiguc us to think of, the question is, whether it wi'l
tatigue us to do. Would you now do me the favour to
give about half a dozen strokes to illustrate my arrrn.
ment ?" -^ "^
7. The pendulum complied, and ticked six times in
Its usual pace. " Now," resumed the dial, " niay I bf>
sJlowed to niquire, if that exertion was at all iati^uim:
•T disagreeable to
you
. ", , . - INot in the least," replied
the pendulum, " it is not of six strokes that I complain
Bor of sixty, but of miUiona."
8. -Very good," replied the dial; - but recollect
that though you may think of a million strokes in an
instant, you are required to vxccutti but one ; and that
however otten you may hereafter have to swincr, a mo-
ment will always be given to you to swino- in " •< 'pbat
c<>ns,deration staggers me, I confess," said the pendulum
iiien 1 hope, resumed the dial-plate, " we shall all
immediately return to our duty ; for the maids will lio
in bed untd late if we stand idling thus."
9. Upon this the weights, who had never been ac-
cused of light conduct, used all their influence in urff-
ing to proceed ; when, as with one consent, the wheels
fegan to turn, the hands began to move, the pendulum
^egan to swing, and to its credit, ticked as loud as ever-
wnue a red beam of the rising sun streamed throuah
»iiolem the kitchen, shining full upon the dial plate it
brightened up, as if nothing had been the matter. '
^^ When the farmer cam^e down to breakfast that morn-
ing, upon looking at the clock, he declared that hi»
'^atcli had gained half an hour in the night.
^^■■r
;lil ;.
IM
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
CHAPTER LX
'I
fl'
Oepciicl upon your oun Exertions.
1. Tills is an excellent principle for the working and
trading classes of the community to adopt, but the true
philosophy of it is scarcely understood. — Notwithstand-
ing the njany ties which connect a man with society, he
nevertheless has imprinted on his forehead the original
<loom, that he nmst be chiefly dependant on his own
•'xertions and labor for suj)j)ort.
'2. It is an incontrovertible fact, founded upon general
experience, that where a man trusts to his own exer-
tions in life, he generally succeeds, if not in amassing a
fortune, at least, in obtaining a comfortable living. On
the other hand, he who depends upon others for his suc-
cess in life, often Hnds himsell" wofully disappointed.
Nothing gives so good an assurance of well-doing as the
personal activity of a man, daily exerted for his own
interest.
|{. But should the same individual find himself sud-
denly offered a patronage likely to enrich him, or fall
into the iieritage, or supposed lieritage of some antiqua-
ted claim to property, which he thinks it necessary to
prosecute, — it is ten to one, that he ceases to be indus-
trious from that moment, and is finally ruined. The
only true way to make a happy progress in this world,
is to go on in a steady and persevering puwsuit of one
good object, neither turning to the right or the left, but
making our business our pleasure as much as possible,
till we find ourslves at the goal of our wishes, with a
fortune almost unconsciously in our possession.
4. Humanity, kindred, friendship, have their claims
upon us, which we should always consider and look
upon with good and proper feelings ; but not injure
ourselves by giving too freely to relieve the wants of
others ; we should be just, kind, and affable to all ; nnd
endeavor to instil into the minds of others, the same
spirit of industry and perseverance that animates us, en-
joining them always to remember that success in life i«
tOMMo : SCHOOL ukadek.
14^
V4 i
iiiurc
/ fLiian.f ior d&feistaacc upon others.
if
IS own exer-
1- ^^^4'P^^"i"^' tociist my eves urw.r. v.,. • •
^i':'.-!)- times bcCuro, Imt nevoT <li,i ,h . . '*'"'"=
^r..s,. i„ ,,.y l,„.so,„, a, , ,v , ,i d I l "? "'"f "°"
■ModuT worM i„ coiKiuc- -set a r ,1 """ '""
'" u «e.,c of debauche,;' "^ "" '"''• ''""' J^''^
t"" '- m„ht the .rnZ 'oFtht ■ It '''T.'r '"*''"«■
-"I »tr.|.ped three bu.hels o „„ de 'n f.f f " T'^'"
i'ors of her sla.i,Witer,„i i • ?""""' ""S^ from the fin-
'-".i.t,o,. ,ut;£::: , X'';,,-;'x'': "« ver,
''iffiy untod his nunc f,. ff . ^y "KJSc who once exiih-
"' ^ iorei^m Ld "'^"^'^'"«^"f'<-"ntod and unuepr.
;:.^«'!:::d^edt t;;;?Lt:r^"7^ 'f< ^^^-^^-^
''^»" of his f<)e,s aftei'h- v.n r n ''^';'' ''^ ^'*"^' ^'^^^
^^^•^•^^ ^'^ had on ear h w-^ "^ ^ t '" '''''^^^ '^^^ ^^^^y
^'- he con J.^;!;; r, --1^' — -e<I ^V
I''a^<-', the ;itt
*^^ject of his anibitiou".
ainjiKMit «>r M-]
Jich had been t.^
tiui ut the ver ',
en the greater i
li
ONAl-AIITK, U'ho«e
in and
J'i'-' JiincR
.LC n
p.Ti;ices
IKi
COMMON SCHOOL READKK.
')h(7ed, after having filiod the enrtli witli tlie terror of
his name, alter havinir (lehj<;eil Kur(,pe witji tears and
hhiod, and ch)the(i r' j world in sackclotli, closed liih
(lays in K>nely banislnnent, ahnest literally exiled i'roni
the world, yet where he CDuld sometimes see his coun-
try's banner waving o'er the deep, but wiiich would not,
nor could not bring him aid.
ih Thus, those lour men, who from the peculiar situii-
non of their jxirtrjiits, heenuMl to stand as representa-
tives of all those whom the world calls " great ;" — thcisc
ibur, who severally made the earth tremble to its centre,
severally died, one by iiitoxication, the second l)y suicide,
the third by assas.sinalion, and the last in lonely exile'
"' How arc the nnghtv fallen."'
iiM
CHAPTER LXIL
The lli!!$toriau'K Kcflcctioiifx.
J. Through the long period of five thousand ye<ir.\
the eye of the historian wanders among innunierabit
millions, and describes people, nations, and languiigp\
who were oiu;e active in the busy scenes of time, but
are now reaping the retributions of eternity. The great
nations, which enjoyed universal empire, are now silent
jn the dust. And, as objects subtend a less a.igle in
proportion to their distance, so a century, buried deep
in the vale of anti(iuity, appears but as an hour, and
the duration of a nation but as a day.
'I. In the morning, its infancy is weak; and its chiet
lelence is in its ol)scurity or insignificance, or in tht
weakness ol' others. It gathers strength by adversity,
ind :~.t length ac(juires a vigorous youth. At mid-day
it acquir(>s a strong and lofty attitude ; it basks, for
an hour, in the beams of prosperity, and drinks deeptiie
inebriatniL^ draughts of luxury and pleasure. And now
Its beauty fades ; its strength decays ; its glory perishes:
and the declining day hastens a night of storms, antS
«'(udi«, Tiud everlasting darkiie
^ss
COMMON SCHOOL HEADER.
147
I'
1
-I The nations of men re.sieinl)]e the perpetuallv
roWiuir and conflictnifr waves of the ocean. If a hiJh.w
rises hi(rh, it is bnt to sink as low ; h' it dash its neiirj,.
I)()rni(r hilh)w, It is but to he dashed in its turn • if it
niire and fba.n, it is hut to exhaust itself tlie sooner ■ it
It roll traiKjuilly on the bosom of the deep it is but to
sink iorever by its own gravity. Jt is thus with all na-
tions, with all human institutions, and with all the
noblest inventions and works of art.
4. And, alas ! the ravages of time, thonah rapid and
resistless, are too slow to satisfy the furious racre of
restless mortals ! They must share the empire of de
str.iction. To them, the work of death is most pleasant -
and to cultivate the art of killing and destroying has
boon their chief pride and glory, in all age/, though
u'hile employed in that dreadful work, they sink in
destruction themselves.
r> Unhappy children of men ! When will you learii
to know and prize your true interest.' When will
you be convinced of that, than which nothincr is ,„ore
certain, that war adds infinitely to the number and
weightof your calamities? that it fills the world with
misery, and clothes all nature in mournincr ? tint it
covers your souls wuh crimson, inexpiable\ruilt 'and
Iniugs upon you the wrath und curse of Heaven 'f '
(i. Is there to be no change in this tragic, this dire-
t'll scene ot blood and slaughter ? Shall brotherly Jove
and cordial affection, never become universal, and peace
never wave her white banner throughout the earth '/ Is
t.'ere no durable institution, founded on virtue ' and
permanent as the eternal rules of justice ? Is the're no
firm ground of hope ? no rock, on which truth Pnd
reason may build a fabric that shall never fall '
7. Yes, there is a kingdom ; its foundations were laid
of old ; Its King is the God of heaven ; its law is per-
ectJove; its dommions are wide, for they extend to
he wise and virtuous in all worlds; all its subjects are
sate, for they are defende'' b" ^ i.v,:^},.,. p_ "^ ^^^
, J — lic.t^.m .. L.J ^iiinignty ruvver : and
lliey shal rise to eternal prosperity and glory, when all
earthly kn.gdoms shall vanish like a shadow » a dr^m
J4r<
fO-MON SCHOOL Ri; ADi.r,
H
(JUAPTKR LXIII.
1. To pray(?r ! to pravor ! — for the morniiifr br(*ak>.
And Efirtlj in l»or Maker's smile awakes.
His lijjlit is on all, below and alKnr, —
The liijht (^f frjadncss, and life, and love.
Oh ! then, on tlie breath of this early air,
Send upward the incense of jLTateful iirayer
2. To prayer ! — for the gloricnis .sun is <;jone,
And the uatherinfr darkness of ni^ht comes on
Tiike a curtain from God'.^ kind liand it llows,
To shade the couch wliere his children repose.
Then kneel, while the watchinir stars are brifiht,
And give y(Mir la.st thoughts to the Guardian of niola.
{\. To prayer ! — for the day that God has blest
Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest.
It speaks of Creation's early bloom,
Tt .«^peaks of the I'rince wlio burst the tomb.
Then summon tlie spirit's exalted powers,
And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours,
4. There are smiles and tears in the mother's cvr^.
For her new-born infant beside her lies.
Oh! hour of bliss! when the lieart o'erfl<Uvs
With rapttire a mother only knows :
liCt it gush forth in words of fervent prayer :
Let it swell up to Heaven for her precious care.
5. There are smiles and tears in that gathering bMiid,
Where the heart is pledged with the treinbliug luuid.
What trvinn; thouahts in lier bosom swell,
COMMON SCHOOL READER. Ui)
As tlie l)ride bids parents and home farewell !
Kneel down by the side of the fearful fair,
And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer.
li Kneel down by the dying sinner's side,
And pray Ibr his soul, through Him who died.
Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow : —
Oil ! what are earth and its pleasures now ?
And what shall assuage his dark despair,
But the penitent cry of humble prayer l
: Kneel down at the couch of departing faith,
And hear the last words the believer saith.
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends ;
There is peace in his eye, that upward bends :
There is peace in his calm, confiding air •
I'or his last thoughts are God's,— his last word.v,
prayer.
V The voice of prayer at the sable bier !
A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.
It commends the spirit to God who gave :
It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave :
It points to the glory where He shall reign
Who whispered, '' Thy brother shall rise again."
1 9. The voice of prayer in the world of bliss !—
But ghulder, purer, than, rose from this.
The ransomed shout to their glorious King,
Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing :
But a sinless and joyous song they raise,
And their voice of prayer is eternal praise.
10. Awake ! awake ! and gird on thy strength,
To join that holy band at length.
M 2
J'!' ~i
§ 'Mi
I-
150
COMMON SCHOOL READKR.
iJifflig
To Him, who unceasing love displays,
Whom the powers of nature unceasingly praise,
To Him thy heart and thy hours be given ;
For a life of prayer is the life of Heaven.
h yj
CHAPTER LXIV.
Hymn of I^aturc.
God of the earth's extended plains I
The dark green fields contented lie ;
The mountains rise like holy towers,
Where man might commune with the sky
The tall cliff challenges the storm
That lowers upon the vale below.
Where shaded fountains send their streauia,
With joyous music in their flow.
God of the dark and heaving deep !
The waves lie sleeping on the sands.
Till the tierce trumpet of the storm
Hath summoned up their thundering bands
Then the white sails are dashed like foam,
Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas.
Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale
Serenely breathes, " depart in peace."
3. God of the forest's solemn shade !
The grandeur of the lonely tree
That wrestles singly with the gale,
Lifls up admiring eyes to thee .
o
15
--» ^ «>.In<.*<<« Cow tViAir otann
Ul lUUiv iliajcsj.iv lai luvj ,-v«..-^,
When, side by side, their ranks ih«y form.
COMMON SCHOOL REAIinn.
To wave on high th^ir plumea of green,
And fight their battles with the storm.
4. God of the light and viewless air !
Where summer breezes sweetly flow,
Or, gathering in their angry might,
The fierce and wintry tempests blow :
All — from the evening's plaintive sight,
That hardly lifts the drooping flower,
To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry
Breathe forth the language of thy power.
5. God of the fair and open sky !
How gloriously above us springs
The tented dome of heavenly blue,
Suspended on the rainbow's rings !
Each brilliant star that sparkles through.
Each gilded cloud that wanders free
In evening's purple radiance, gives
The beauty of its praise to the(;.
6. God of the rolling orbs above !
Thy name is written clearly bright
fn the warm day's unvarying blaze,
Or evening's golden shower of liirhi :
Por every fire that fronts the sun,
And every spark that walks alone
Around the utmost verge of heaven,
Were kindled at thy burning threne,
7. God of the world ! the hour must come.
And nature's self to dust return ;
Her crumbling altars must decay ;
Her incense firea shall cease to burn ;
1^1
•J
I
!.>i
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
i%
But still her grand and lovely scenes
Have made man's warmest praises flow ;
For hearts grow holier as they trace
The beauty of the world below.
CHAPTER LXV.
The Ai>prentice's JJbrary.
1. Why Frank ; where did you get all these books I
One, two, three,— but I'll not count them,— where did
you get the money to buy them all ? Why, I have ten
dolhus a year more than you have, yet, I have to send
to lather almost every month for more money. Are
they yours, or did you borrow them ?
'i Here is Gibbon's Rome, — Plutarch's Lives ;— who
was Plutarch '?— How many lives had he ? What arc
these all about ?— Milton, Dryden, Cowper, Shakspeare,
Bacon, Locke, Pollock, Goldsmith and all the other
.Smiths in creation, besides those in America. Now
come, let me light my Havana and take a smoke while
you explain to me how you manage to scrape together,
with only forty dollars a year, a library almost as large
as the Parsons.
:l Sitting down in the proffered chair, and lighting
his Havana, Edward Saunders placed his feet upon lii.s
friend's clean desk, and seemed really to be waiting for
a detailed account of the modus ojH'rcmdi by which ;in
apprentice could acquire, honestly, such a collection of
valuable books. Nor did Francis Wilson hesitate to
gratify his curiosity. Both of the young men were in
The middle of their apprenticeship, and the most cordial
intimacy had subsisted between them from their youth.
4. Edward was deficient in nothing so much as that
economy so necessary for an apprentice in expending his
small annuity ; and Francis hit upon a very successful
method of administering to his young friend a salutary
i^5son upc
an appren
the cultiv;
>i. rA
f'xplain to
your won(
voii a few
<('(! you ai
vou buy, ;
«. " (),
ticipating
practice ;
!o snuoke
any thing
7. "Si
nniT it do'
h(! were
ucek, at
«iim of si
«!i|ipn<:o yi
Francis.
S, -N«
rallier star
I buy — ap
not amoui
!:!! much a
^p^iid.s for
'''ranci^!, )
liquor, — r
lack ecou
!). " Ni
li^s," s.iid
tlip items,
•lif^ precisi
' ninc-pon
'"^nts per i
I'Hir cents,
fnirtean d
10. No,
Jt *■
..r
rOMMON SCHOOL E.ADLK.
ir,;5
f
.>?son upon this subject, while he explained how even
in apprentice conid acquire a taste and the means for
[he. cultivation of his intellect.
i'i. " Edward," said he, taking up his pencil, *' I will
■xplain to you in figures, what seems to h:\\v excited
vdiir wonder, if you will jx^rmit nie, by the way, to ask
vou a few (juestions, in order to solve the probieni. J.
^'(; you are very fond of smoking ; how manv cigars dt>
v(Hi buy, a week ?"
G. " (), none of any account," replied Edward, an-
ticipating some unpleasant strictures upon his favorite
practice ; " after working all day, it is reidly a comfort
losinoke one genuine Hamma ; it does not amount to
anything; I only smoke six in the course of the whol^i
7. " Six Havanas per week," repeated Francis, put-
tinir it down upon paper, with as much ftirnudiiy as if
h(! were registering the data of a problem; ""^•^x n
week, at two cents apiece, amount to the very triflin^'
'iiiri of six dollars and twenty-four cents per annum. I
«!ippn?e you spend atrijle at'the fruit shops," continued
Franc if^.
K ''Nothing worth mentioning," replied Kdwnrd,
r-ulier startled at the aggregate of such little items ; "all
I hay — apples, nuts, raisins, hgy, t)riiMges, <^.c., does
not amount to nine-pence a week; why, that i^; not lialt
li? much as Tom Williams, the goldsmith's apprentice,
^p^nd-j for mint-ju!eps in half that time, aiul besides,
Francis, you knou- f never taste n drop of anv kind <if
liquor, — not even wine. You certriiiilv can't think I
lack economy, Frank V
!>. '' Nine-])ence a week for nuts, rasins. oranges, and
I'vS" said Francis in a low, serious tone, prondunclnr
tlip items, one by one, as he wrott; them down, with nil
I'tf^ precision and gravity of a clerk in a country Htore ;
" nine-pence n week amounts to seven dollars and eighty
'';nts j)er annum, which,added to six dollars and twenty-
I'Hir cents, spent for cigars, makes the /;v7m?.^'- sum of
'Hirteen dollars and four cents, for one \e;ir.
10, \
)w, Kd'.v.ird, s<'e wiiaf I hn
■(^ oi
;in
cd 1
or
jiiht
» ' ''*?']
1^
COMMON SCHOOL READKR.
this Slim. " Here," i^aid he, taking down several neati;
hound voluHie.s of the North American Review, and a
handful of those of the Knickerbocker; "1 iiave bouidn
all those for a less sum than you have j)aid for cigars,
nuts 6oc., during the last year. And as for these other
hooks which you see here in my hook-case, 1 will tell
you how 1 have obtained th m, and how any other ap-
prentice can do the same, with only thirty-six dollars u
year, too.
II. You know our masters are very industrious and
steady men ; and are attentive to their business, and like
fo see their workmen so. They prefer also to see them
with a book ni their hands, when they have done their
work, rather tiiau to be lounirinnf about at the taverll^i
or in vicious comj)any. So when my master saw that I
liked to read, every chance I got, and spend all the
money 1 could spare for books, he olfered to give me
nine-j)ence an hour for all the time I would work from
twelve o'clock till one.
\'2. And that is the way, Edward, that I have bought
all these books, wliich you thviHiiht I had borrowed",
begged, or stolen. I work every fjoon-time half an hour,
and earn enough every fortnight to buy one of these
l><)oks — Milton's Paradise Lost, for instance. To be
sure, they are not bound in calf, nor are they gilt-edged ;
but tiiey contain the same matter as if they were, and
that is enough for me."
Vi. When Edward Saunders had listened to this very
interesting explanation of his uncle's apprentice, and
had cast his eye over all the tine books in his little
library, he arose* suddenly at the very last words of Fran-
cis, and, opening the little chamber window, took out
his last liali-dozen cigars, which were to constitute his
week's stock of comfort, and without saying a word,
tos.sed them into the garden. A new fire of animation
lit up his eye, as he left the room, turning only at the
*loor to say, " III try it, Frank !"
niew, and u
COMMON SCHOOL READER. 155
CHAPTER LXVI.
Education.
I. Tlie culture of the hum;iii mind luis ever been
considered Jis one of the most impoitsmt concerns of so-
ciety. Hence education, which has for its object, the
improvement of the intellectual powers, is a subject
uhich demands the serious attention and the most liberal
>\i\)\-iort of every individual in the conununity.
•I A parent, who is sensible that his child is a ration-
i;l beinir, endowed with facuk^.s susceptible of a hi(rh
(leirrce of cidtivation, and is likewise conscious that the
happiness of the children would, in a great degree, be
promoted by the im})rovement of those powers^ would
iiamrally bestow much attention to the subject.
;{. Accordingly we find, that from the earliest ages of
iliu world, wherever the nieans of education have\een
• iijoycd, few have neglected to avail themselves of its
:Mlv.;uitages. The Greeks and the Romans, among whom
uore produced such prodigies of excellence in everv
kind of writing, and in every department of civil and
imlitiiry life, were remarkably attentive to the education
"f their children ; insomuch that they began their edu-
cation almost with their birth.
'). In Sparta children were taken from their parents.
It a very early period of their age, and educated at the
I'libhc expense ; and a celebrated Roman writer advised
'Ikiso parents who destined their children for j)ublic
^poakers, to choose nurses for them, who had a 'rood
proiumciation. '^
•>. At the present dny we find no less attention paid
'" this momentous subject : although the modes of edu-
' iition, adopted by the moderns, differ in many respects,
iroiii those which were i)ractised in ancient times. The
^trictness of dicipline which prevailed among the S])ar.
■^'is, the Romans and the Greeks, has giveirplace to a
^"ilder regimen ; but whether this very strictness, coup-
lhI ;is it was with methodical instruction, had not a bene-
If .
m
P
rf ; :. (»;
It
lli
ioC
<nyi:,lOS SCHOOL RliADKU
ficial iciuleiu} , it a question uliich ib not }el fully de-
ciilt'd.
(5. liui lu)\v(nt'r tin? ancients and the inotlerns mii\
tlitl'er in their ujudes of diciplino and instruction, ihi'
.subject of educiLtion it.self ha^ received froni all nati(»iK>.,
and in all aires;, much attention. Even thesaviiire tukts
tMr'; to in.^truct his child in hunting, fishing, and iIkn.
branches of knowhulge which are necessary for him.
7. Frc^ni the ]>rouiotion of this important ^ubject,tLt
-reate.-t benefits havi' been derived. The kno\vleti(;i
uc juired by one portion oi' the world has been transimt-
led to ancllxM-, \vithout distinction of distance or di\i.rM-
ty of age. The circle of human enjoyments lias been
enlarged, and a uide held has been cpened, where tlir
highe.'-t haj)pi!iess of which our nature is suscej)tibli\
:nay be- enj*>yed, independently t)f the common sorroui
and misfortunes of life. The eidarjied and enlightened
wews it gives of the world, justly entitle it to nuicii
uttenlion ; and go very far to supply those inipcrfec-
;l<)us which every one, without it, mu.^t necet.sarily fid
vS' L>ut uoihing will sho\<' the advantajresof education
ill a stronger light, than a contrast with the disadvan-
tages v\luch arise fr<un the want of it. A person who
has been well educated, has the mind and body socul-
livaie<l and iiujiroved, that any natural defects arc u-
in«\ed, aiitl the l)eauticsof both placed in so fine alighi,
Jhat tliey strike us with double force; while one who
has eiijo\cd no such advantage has all his natural ui.-
perfectirns remaining ; and to tlicse are added arti,ficiai
ones', arising from bad habits.
U. 'IMie former, engages the attcnti(.n of thote with
vvlu ni lie converses, by the go.t,d sense ho shows en
<'very sul.»ject, and the agreeable manner in winch hi
fhows it. The other disgusts every company wliich Ik.'
•"nters, either by his total silence and stupidity, er bv
the ignorance and impertinence of his obscrvaticiis.
The one raist-s himself to the; notice of his .supericr.s
Jind advances himself to a higher rank in life. The
other is obliged to act an inferior part amonir his cqualii
m fortune, and is sometimes forced to seek shelter fur his
ignorance among the lowest orders cf mankind.
COMMON SCHOOL READEK.
167
10. From these considerations, we must rank the
cause of education among the vital interests of man-
kind. To extinguish it, would produce a darkness in
ihe moral world, like that which the annihilation of ttiQ
sun would cause in the material ; while every effort that
is made to advance and promote it, is like removing a
cloud from the sky, and giving free passage to the light
" which freely lighteth all things.''
CHAPTER LXVII.
The Kig:liteou.«^ never fbr§aken.
1. It was Saturday night, and the widow of the Pine
i'oitage sat by her b/azing fagots, with her five tattered
children a', her side, endeav(;ring, by listening to the
artlessncss of their prattle, to dissipate the heavy aloom
that pressed upon her mind. For a year, her own feeble
hands had provided for her helpless family, for she hud
no supporter : she thought of no friend in all the wide
unfriendly world around. '
2. But that mysterious Providence, the wisdom of
whose ways arc above human comprehension, had visited
her with wasting sickness, and her little means had be-
come exhausted. It was now, too, mid-winter, and the
jriow lay heavy and deep through all the surrounding
forests, while storms still seemed gathering in the
heavens, and the driving wind roared amidst the bound-
>ng pines, and rocked her puny mansion.
3. The last herring smoked upon the coals before her
It was the only article of food she posses.scd, and no
wonder her forlorn, desolate state brought up in her Icire
besom all the anxieties of a mother, w hen she looked
upon her children ; and no wonder, forlorn as fche was
" she suffered the heart swellings of despair to rise'
even though she knew that he, whcpe promise is to the
oroei ]s word.
v'lA
■^'^r i.inu H.J 111
c crpnan, cannot
Providence had many years before taken from iier
N '
ik
I
-i*» tj
158
COMMON SCHOOL REAI)£R.
wf^ — -
9^^^
her eldest son, who went from his forest-home, to try his
fortune on the high seas, since which she had heard no
note or tidinjTS of hini ; and in latter time, had, by the hand
of death, deprived her of the companion and staff of
her earthly pilgrimage, in the person of her husband.
Yet to this hour she liad been upborne ; she had not
only been able to provide for her little Hock, but had
never lost an opportunity of ministering to the wanU
of the miserable and destitute.
5. The indolent may well bear with poverty, while
the ability to gain sustenance remains. The individual
who has but his own wants to supply, may suffer with
fortitude the winter of want ; his affecti( iis are not
wounded, his heart not wrung. The most desolate iii
populous cities may hope, for charity has not cjuite
closed her hand and heart, and shut her eyes on misery,
6. But the industrious mother of \iclpless and depend-
ing children — fur from the reach (;t human charity, has
none of these to console her. And such an one waa
tho widow of the Pine cottnge ; but as she bent over
the fire, and took up the last scanty renmant of food,
U> spread before her children, her t^pirit seemed to
brighten up, ^^ by some sudden and mysterious impulse,
and Cowper's beautiful lines came uncalled across her
mind ; —
" Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust hirn for his grace ;
Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face."
T, T);e smoked herring was scarcely laid upon the
table, when a gentle r.-^p ;it the door, and a loud barking
fif the i\vs:, nttnctcd tb.c attention of the finnily. The
children Hew to (pen it, and a wc;iry traveller, in tat-
tered gnrments, :uul rppiirently in indifferent health,
rmtered and begged a lodging, Lnd a meuthiul of food;
said lie, " it is now twcnty-fcur hcury since I tasted
kead."
^ The widow's heart bled finew hb under a
ffcfch
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
169
^*'«#i :-l
•omplicatioii ©f distress ; for her sympathies lingered
not around her fireside. She hesitated not even now ;
rest and a share of all she had, she proffered to the stran-
ger. " We shall not be forsaken ;" said she, " or suffer
deeper for an act of charity."
9. The traveler drew near the board — but when he
saw the scanty fare, he raised his eyes towards Heave*
with astonishment,—" and is this all your store ?" said
he—" and a sliare of this do you offer to one you know
not ? then never saw 1 chantij before ! but madam,"
faid he, continuing, "do you not wrong your children
by giving a part of your last mouthfufto a stranger ?"
"Ah," said the poor widow, and the tear drops gushed'
into her eyes as she said it, " I have a borj, a darlings
m, somewhere on the foce of the wide world, unless
Heaven hns taken him away, and I only act towards you,
as I would that others should act towards him.
10. God, who sent manna from heaven can provide
for us as he did for Isreal— and how should I this night
offend him, if my son should be a wanderer, destitute^'aB
you, and he should have provided for him a home, evcB
poor as this — were I to turn you unrelieved away !"
11. The widow i^m\Q.(\, and the stranger, springing
from his seat, clasped her in his arms — " God indeed
lias provided your son a home — and has given him wealth
to reward the goodness of his benefactress— my mother 1
i»li my mother !"
12. Tt was her long lost son ; returned to her bosom
from the Indies. He had chosen that disguise that he
might the more completely surprise his Ifamily ; and
never was surprise more perfect, or followed by a sweet-
Pf cup of joy.
13. That humble residence in the forest was ex-
clianged for one comfortable, and indeed beautiful, in
t'le valley, and the widow lived long with her dutifiiJ
p, in the enjoyment of worldly plenty, and in the de-
'',?htful employments of virtue, and at this day the
passer-by is pointed to the willow that spreads its branch-
is
r,*i -fiii
» •
- uuui-w iiCr
grave.
'ffi
a 1 ^"
--:^;^ -
100 COMMON SCHOOL RKADKR.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
The JVobility of l^abor.
I. How many natural ties are there between even thf
humblest scene of labor, and the noblest affections of
humanity ! i» this view, the employment of mere natural
•trength'is ennobled. There is a central point in every
man's life around which all his toils and cares revolve.
It is that spot which is consecrated by the names of wife,
and children, and home. A secret, an almost impercep-
tible influence from that spot, which is like no other on
earth, steals into the breast of the virtuous laboringwnan,
and strengthens every weary step of his toil.
* 2. Every blow that is struck in the workshop and the
field, finds an echo in that holy shrine of his affections.
If he who fights to protect his home, rises to the point
of heroic virtue ; no less m;\y he who Mors, his life
long, to provide for that home. Peace be within Uioso
domestic walls, and prosperity beneath those huniblo
roofs !
3. But should it be otherwise ; should the time ever
come, when the invader's step approaches to touch those
sacred thresholds, I see in the labors that are taken lor
them, that wounds will be taken for them too; I see,
in every honest workman around me, a hero.
4. So material, do I deem this point— the true nobility
of labor, I merin— that I would dwell upon it, a moment
longer, and in a larger view. Why, then, in the great
Bcale of things, is labor ordained for us? Easily, had
it so pleased the great Ordainer, might it have been dis-
pensed with. The world itself might have been a
Tiiffhty machinery for the production of all that man
•vants. The motion of the globe upon its axis, might
have been the power to move that world of machinery.
5. Ten thousand wheels, within wheels, might have
been at work ; ten thousand processes, more curious
and complicated than man can devise, might have been
going forward wiiliout man's aid ; houses might have
risen like an exhalation,
COMMON SCHOOL RKADER.
161
With the sound
Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet,
Bailt like ;i temple ;
jrorgeoMs furniture might liave been placed in them, and
soft couches and luxurious haiujuets, spread by hands
unseen ; an<l man, clothed with fabrics of nature's wcav-
iii;r, richer thaii imperial pride, might have been sent to
disport himself into these Elysian palaces.
(). " I'^air scene !" 1 imagine you are saying ; " fortu-
nate for us, had it been the scene ordained for human
iil'o !" But where then, tell me, had been human energy,
perseverance, patience, virtue, heroism ? Cut off with
one ^low from the world ; and mankind had sunk to a
crowd, nay, fir beneath a crowd of Asiatic voluptuaries.
No, it had not been fortunate. Better that the earth"'
be given to man as a dark mass, wherein to labor. Bet-
ter that rude and unsightly materials be provided in the
oro4)('d and forest, for him to fashion into splendor and
beauty.
7. Better, I say, not because of that splendor and beau-
ty, but because the. ftd^rmttin^ tlmn, is bdtir than the
tldnrr.< thamsrlvrs ; because exertion is nobler than cn-
joyiTu>nt; because the laborer is greater, and more
Horihy of honor than the idler. Labor is heaven':*
groat orrlinaiice for human improvement. Let not that
^reat ordinance be broken down. What do I say ? li
''' broken down ; and it has hern broken down f')r ages.
Let it Ihei be built up again; here, if any where" on
these sh:)res of a new world, of a new civilization.
8. Rut h'>w, 1 miy be asked, is it broken down? Do
noi iticM t')il ? They do indeed t )il, but they too gen-
erally do it because they must. Many subniit to it aa,
in some sort, a degrading necessity ; and they desire
iitHliin r SI) much on earth as to escape from it. They ful-
fil! the greit I iw of labor in the httar, but break it in
ipiril ; fuliii it witli the jnuscl, hut break it with the
mind.
9. To somp field of labor, mental or manual, every
idler should fasten as a chosen and " "
N
o
rated theatre of
<<*•» I
''i
I
mf
168
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
improvements ; but so is he not impelled to do under thft
teachings of our imperfect civilization. On the comrary,
he sits down, fohls his hands, and blesses himsell m his
idleness. This way of thinking is the heritage ol the
absurd and unjust feudal system ; under which serfs
labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and
feastinff. It is time that this opprobrium of toil were
done away.
10. Ashamed to toil, art thou ? Ashamed of thy
dingy work shop and dusty labor-field ; of thy hard hand,
scarred with services more honorable than that of war;
of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which
mother nature has embroidered, amidst sun and rain,
amidst fire and steam, her own heraldic honors ? As^^am-
ed of these tokens and titles, and envious of the flaunt-
in(r robes of imbecile idleness and vanity ? It is treason
lo'nature ! Toil, I repeat it,— ^oiV, cither of the braxn
of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood,
the only true nobility.
h'^
I '■M
CHAPTER LXIX.
The Philosopher's Scales.
1. A monk, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er,
In the depth of his cell, with its stone-covered floor.
Resigning to thought his chimerical brain,
He farmed the contrivance we now shall explain.
In youth 'twas projected, but years stole away,
And ere 't was complete he was wrinkled and gray ;
But success is secure, unless energy fails,
Aivl at len gth he produced The Philosopher's Scah
2. What m'.rc iha/ ? you usk : you shall presently see,
These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea;
(\ .,.^ ff.,r g,ich properties wondrous had they^
COMMON SCHOOL RfiAOfiR.
I0S
That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they could
weigh ;
Togetlier with articles small and immense,
From mountains or planets, to atoms of sense.
Nought was there so hulky but there it could lay.
And nought so ethereal, but there it would stay ;
And nought so reluctant, but in it must go —
All which some examples more clearly will t^ho^r.
3. The first thing he weighed was the head of Voltaire.
Which retained all the wit that had ever been there ;
As a weight, he threw in the torn scraps of a leaf.
Containing the prayer of the penitent thief,
When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell.
As to bound like a ball on the roof of his cell.
4. One time he put in Alexander the Great,
And a garment that Dorcas had made, for a weight :.
And thoufTh clad in armor from sandals to crown.
The hero rose up, and the garment went down,
5. A long row of alms-houses, amply endowed
By a well-esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud,
Next loaded one scale, while the other was pressed
By those mites the poor widow threw into tlie chest ;
Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce,
And down, down the farthing's worth came with a
bounce.
C. Again he performed an experiment rare ;
A monk, with austerities bleeding and bare,
Climbed into his scale — in the other was laid
The heart of our Howard, now partly decayed ;
When he found, with surprise, that the whole of hi»
brother
m\
:|i|
I- ^
«*
mm-y-,^
104
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
Weighed less by some pjundj thm this bit of th«
otlior.
7. By otlier expiM-iinents, (no matter' how,)
He foiUK] that ten cliariotsweiglied less than a plough,
A sword, with gilt trappings, rose up in the scale,
Though balanced by (-nly a tenpenny nail.
A shield and a helmet, a buckler and spear
Weighed less than a widow's uncrystallized tear.
f». Yet not n^ountains of silver and gold would suffice
One pearl to outweigh; 'twas the pearl of great
price.
Last of all, the wliole world was bowl'd in at the ffratc
With the soul of a !;eggar to serve for a weight;
When the scnle with the soul so mightily fell,
That it jerked the philosopher out of his cell.
111 •
ft)
CIIAPTEll LXX.
1. I asked the stars, in the pomp of night,
Gilding its blackness with crowns of liiiht,
Bright with beauty, and girt with power,
Whether eternity vv'cre not their dower ;
And dirge-like music stole from their .spheres,
, Bearing this message to mortal cars : —
2. •' We have no light that hath not been given;
We have no strength but shall soon be riven;
We have no power whereiti man may trust :
Like him are we things of time and dust;
And the lc;roiid we blazon with beam and ray,
And the song t>f our silence is, — ' Passinfr away.'
COMMON SCHOOL ttRADER.
165
5,
t '-We shall lade in our beauty, the fair and bright,
Like lamps that have served for a festal night ;
We shall fall from our spheres, the old and strong. ■
Like rose-leaves, swept by the breeze along ;
The worshipped as gods in the olden day, °
We shall be like a vain dream— 'Passing away. '
. From the stars of heaven, and the flowers of earth.
From the pagents of power, and the voice of mirth,
From the mists of morn on the mountain's brow.
From chiidliood's song, and afTection's vow,—
From all, save that o'er which the soul bears f-v, r.
Breathes but one record—" Passing away."
" Passing away," sing the breeze and rill,
As they sweep in their course by vale and hill :
Through the varying scene of each earthly ciinu\
'T is the lesson of nature, the voice of time ;
And man at last, like his father (rrav
V\ rites m his own dust—*' Passing away. "
CHAPTER LXXL
1 houghfiii or IBcaveifi.
I. Thoughts of heaven ! they come when low
The summer-eve's breeze doth faintly blow :
When the mighty sea shines clear, unstirred
By the wavering tide, or dipping biid :
They come in the rush of the surging storm,
When the blackening waves rear their giant form-
When o'er the dark rocks curl the breakers white,
And the terrible lightnings rend the nijrht—
When the noble shin hatl
With the tempest's m
h vainlv striven
ight, come thoughts of hftuv
.i-i
c«.
I
^■|f;:
. ■:;;! .J-
im
COMMON SCIIor RKADKR-
l >
'2. They come where man doth not intrude,
In the untracked forest's solitude ;
In the stilhiess of the gray rocks' heiglit,
Whence the lonoly eagle takes his flight ;
On peaks, where lie the eternal snows ;
In the suu-briglit isle, 'mid its rich repose ;
In the healthy glen, by the dark, clear lake,
• Where the fair swan sails from her silent brake ;
Where nature reigns in her deepest rest,
Pure thoughts of heaven come unrepresseiL
3. They come as we gaze on the midnight sky,
When the star-gennned vault looks dark and high.
And the soul, on the wins:s of thought sublime,
Soars on the dim world and the bounds of time,
Till the mental eye becomes unsealed,
And the mystery of being in light revealed :
They rise in the gothic chapel dim,
When slowly bursts forth the holy hymn.
And the orn-nn's rich tones swell full and high,
Till the roof peals back the melody.
4. Thoughts of heaven ! from his joy beguiled,
They come to the bright-eyed, sinless child ;
To the man of age, in his dim decay,
Bringing hope his youth has not borne away ;
To the wo-smit soul in its dark distress,
As llowers spring up in the wildernesa ;
And in silent chiunbers of the dead,
When the mourner goes with soundless lr*ad,;
For as the day-beams freely fall.
Pure thoughts of heaven arc sent lo all.
eOMMON SCHOOL EADER, j67
CHAPTER LXIV.
TSie two ISohlici'si.
nnf.SE.^Alcxandcr the Great in his tent. Guards. A
man with a Jicrce countenance, chained and fettend,
brought before him.
Alex. What, art tlioii the Thracinn Robber, of whose
exploits I have hourd so much ?
Rob. I am a Thracian and a soldier.
A. A soldier ?— a thiol", a plunderer, an assassin !
the pest of the country ! I could iionor thy courage, but
I must detest and punish thy crimes.
R. What have I done, of which yon can complain ?
.4. Hast thou not set at deliin.e my authority ; vio-
lated the public peace, and passed thy life in injurino-
the persons and properties of tliy fellow-subjects ?
R. .Alexander ! I am your captive — 1 must hear
what yoti please to say, and endure what you })loase to
inflict. But my soul is unconcpiered ; and if 1 reply at
all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man.
.4. Speak freely. Far bo it froin me to take the
■'.dvantago of my power to silence those ^ with wliom I
^^\2,\\ to converse !
R. I must then answer your question by anotiier.
How have you passed your life ?
A. J.iko a hero. Ask Fame, and she will tell you.
Amoiiir tlio {)ravo, I have been tlie bravest : among
sovereigns, the noblest : among conquerers, the mi(Thti-
ost. ^ ^
R- And does not fame speak of me, too ? Wan
there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band!
Was there ever — but 1 acorn to boast. You yourself
l^now that I have not been easily subdued.
A. Still what are you but a robber — a base dishon-
est robber ?
-■■• Aiiu what is a conqueror? Have not you, too,
bout the earth; like an evil genius, blasting the
its of peace and industry : — plundering, ravaging,
i:
I
fiiir
Wm-
ics
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
killing; without law, without justice, merely to gratify
an insatiable lust for dominion 1 All that I have done
lo a single district, with a hundred followers, you havo
done to*whole nations with a hundred thousand. If I
havo stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and
princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have deso-
lated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities of the
earth. What is then tlie difference, but that, as you
were born a king, and I a private man, you have been
able to become a mighter robber than II
A. But if 1 have taken like a king, I have given like
u king. If I have subverted empires, 1 have founded
frreater. I have cherished arts, conuuerce, and philoiso-
phy.
li. : 1. too, have freely given to the poor, what I took
from the rich. I have established order and discipline
among the most ferocious of mankind ; and have stretch-
ed out my protecting arm over tiie oppressed. I know
indeed, little of the philolsophy you talk of; but I k^
lieve neither you nor 1 shall ever repay to the world the
mischiefs we have done it.
A. Leave me — Take ott' his chains, and use him
well {Ent rohbcr.) — Are we then so much alike?—
Alexander to a robber ? — Let me reflect. —
CHAPTER LXXII,
Rural Liic in irn^lniid.
L The taste of the English in the cultivation of the
'land, and in what is termed landscape gardening, is un-
rivalled. Nothing can be more imposing than their
park scenery. But what most delights me is the crea-
tive talent with which the English decorate the unosten-
tatious abodes of middle life. The rudest habitation,
the most ttriproriiisi!!"^ otkI scanty portion of land* in the
hands of an Englishman of taste, b'eccmes a little para-
dise The residence of people of fortune and refin©-
ment in t
elegance
class.
2. The
narrow s
The trim
flower-be
ed UD aor;
the lattice
provident
its drearii
chv er the
taste, flov
the lowes
poets sin
cottage o
3. The
classes, h;
ler. I d€
glish gem
which ch
they ex hi
ness of f
am inclin
open air,
reations o
4. The
rural occ
country,
be mono
but it is
and pahu
h does n^
rather in
ed quiet,
cottage is
winding,
eye is del
«capes of
5. Th(
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
ie9
*^. r
to gratify
have done
, you have
and. If I
kings and
have de6(>
ies of the
at, as you
have been
! given like
le founded
nd philoBO-
vhat I took
discipline
ive stretch-
1, I know
; but I bt'-
e world tho
id use him
h alike?—
tion of the
ling, is un-
than their
s the crea-
iic uncsten-
habitation,
land J in the
• little para-
and Tc6iaer
ment in the country, has diffused a degree of taste and
elegance in rural economy, that descends to the lowest
class.
2. The very laborer, with his thatched cottage and
narrow slip of ground, attends to their embellishment.
The trim iiedge, the grass plat before the door, the little
flower-bed bordered with a ynug box, the woodbine train-
ed up against the wall, and h;inging its blossoms about
the lattice ; the pot of flowers in the window ; the holly,
providentially planted about the house to cheat winter of
its dreariness, and throw in a gleam of green summer to
ch. er the fireside ; all these bespeak the influence of
taste, flowing down from high sources, and pervading
the lowest level of the public mind. If ever lover, at
poets sing, delights to visit a cottage, it must be the
cottage of an Eiiglish peasant.
3. The proneness to rural life, among the higher
classes, has had a salutary effect upon the national charac^
ler. I do not know a finer race of men than the E»-
glish gentlemen. Instead of the softness and effeminacy
which characterize the men of rank in some countries,
they exhibit a union of elegance and strength, a robust^
ness of frame, and freshness of complexion, which I
am inclined to attribute to their living so much in th^
open air, and pursuing so eagerly the invigorating rec-
reations of the country.
4. The effect of this devotion of elegant minds to
rural occupations, has been wonderful on the face cf the
country. A great part of the island is level, and wculd
be monotonous, were it not for the charms of culture;
but it is studded and gemmed, as it were, with castle*
and palaces, and embroidered with parks end gardens.
It does not abound in grand and sublime prospects, but
rather in little home ticcnes of rural repose and shelter-
ed quiet. Every antique farm-house and mess-grown
cottage is a picture ; and as the roads are continually
winding, and tlie view shut in by groves and hedges, the
eye is delighted by n confiiv.iol succession cf sinaL* land-
«capes of captivating lovliness.
5. The great charm, however, of Englisli scenery is
-v.»|if:
170
COMMON srilOOI. UKADP.n
if
* I.
rl.p moral feelings that seems to pervade it. Tt ih as.«.o.
riatcd in the inind with i(U>as of order, oi (luiet, oi cahr,
and settled principles, of hoary usage, and reverend
custom. ,, , 1
6 It is a pleasincr si<Ti)t, on a Sunday mornnig, wlioi.
the bell is sending Its sober melody across ihe qui.«l
lields to behold the peasantry in their best tinery, wit.i
ruddy faces, and modest cheerfulness, thronama imnqinl-
Iv alon<r the areen lanes to church ; and it is also plea.-
imT to sec them in the eveniiiirs, cratherins abc.ut their cot-
taSe doors, and appearino- to exult in the humble comtort-s
ami embellishments which their own hands have spread
around them. , . , . ,.
7 It is this sweet home-feeluiir, tins settled repose oi
affection in the d .mestic sceue, that is, alter all, lh.>
parent of the steadiest virtues and purest enjoyments,
'' Oh friendly to the best pursuits of man,
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace,
Domestic life in rural pleasures passed 1"
CHAPTER LXXIII.
UlnU to the Studious.
I /vnoWff/A'-r is not necessarily w'/5</om. Anadmi-
rable poet has thus instructively marked the difference
between them —
' Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one,
Have oft-times no connexion. Knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men.
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge, ii rude unprofitable mass,
The mere materials with which wisdom builda,
Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place,
Docs but encuinbcr whom it Pccms to enrich.
Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much.
Wisdom i» humble that he know* no more.'
»'O.MMO.\ SCHOOL RKADER.
171
w^ «! ■ I.
Hut some arc, re.aly to s.iy : ' Well now, after ail
Jliuse cautions, wliat should we he advised to read V
rhose ([uestious ui-iy i)e answered very generally.
i. llfiad what will niuke vou well ac([uainted with
vour own country ; — its divisions, — its natural produc-
iious, — its arts, — its coninierce. Ac(|uire a hahit of
observin(r every thino- that you have to do with. VVIier*-
(loos this come frt)ni ? How is this made? When was
this invented ? Where did this ^n-ow ? llow came this
to be thought of? Ask for books that will teach you
these things. You will soon l)e convinced tiiat ' it re-
^liiircs to know a good deal in order to understand u
little.'
;i liejid the history of your own country. Begin
with some sliort outline, to give yuu a general view.
Then till it up, by reading those parts on which more
pjirticidar iuforin;ttion may seem desirable. Living as
\vc do, through the kind provitlence of God, under u
tree constitution, it is the duty of man to get some clenr
information respecting that constitution, the general
ritrhtof voting for the choice of members of J'arliament
iiiidves it an especial obligation that you should inform
yourselves as to what you ought to do, that you may
not fail in your duty to your.seives, your children, your
country, and your Cod.
4. The history of our own country is a niost instruc-
tive history. The history of the graduid rise of the
men of our own station in society, from grovelling
slavery uj) to the n()ble independence of free-born Brit-
ons, is a glorious chai)ter in the annals of human nature.
No Englishman ought to be wholly ignorant of this
point.
5. No man who is liable to be called to act as a peace-
olHcer, a jury.man, a witness in a court of law, or the
elector of legislators, or a jieiitioiu'r to Parliament,
ought to be ignorant of the several duties implied. No
enlightened statesman wishes to keep you in ignorance
oil these points. Such a man considers the institutions
of our own country to be institutions of intrinsic worth,
I'ouiuied on the rock of righteoui^ principles.
-■■■.^
in
173
COMMON 8CI100I. READER.
6. He is desirous that the people should perceive how
intimately their own well-being depends on the stability
of the state, thus making themselves wise to obedience.
It was with reference to these very matters that an able
writer of a past age, when our ccmstitution had not at-
tained its present defined form, said, * Ignorance is rude,
censorious, je:dous, obstinate, and proud : these being
exactly tlie ingredients of which disobedience is made;
while obedience proceeds from ample consideration, of
which knowledge consists.'
7. Read the outlines of general history, and extend
your knowledge by reading more particularly those parts
which are of the greatest interest. Not to know the
leading facts of history, is childish ignorance. But, the
facts being known, we are to exercise our own minds on
them ; and not to give them up to be altered or com-
mented upon, to support the favorite opinions of any in-
dividual.
8. Make yourselves acquainted with the general /flf/s
of science, v/ith the wonderous laws by which the
Ahnightv governs all that surrounds us; and -with the
endless illustrations of these laws, in the world and all
its parts. You will find here a rich and boundless varie-
ty of instruction and entertainment. But here, as in
reading history, keep to the farts.
9. All that is real is worth knowing. Be not led by
speculations, by mere guesses. Many are bewildered
by these. But Paley's maxim may be safely recommen-
ded, as the best guide in all such cases, that ' true forti-
tude of understanding consists ii: not suffering what we
do know, to be disturbed by what we do not know.' To
which we may add the wise sentiment of another writer,
that, ' in the present world, the Almighty intends to
proportion our knowledge to our wants, and not to our
pride.'
10. The facts of natural history will afford abundant
matter of agreeible and useful knowledjie. The plants,
the animals, the minerals, the soils, of your own coun-
try and of other countries ; the changes of the seasons;
the state of the atmosphere; the make and compositioa
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
173
of all that surrounds you, duly obserred, and made the
subject ot reading, of conversation, fof relkction, will
at (Mice store your mind, and raise your ideas of the
wisdom and goodness of linn, who, it will soon be per-
ceivedj^ made all things 'by number, weight, 'and
11. The study of your own frame, your bodily make
and constut.on, may be made an object at once of in-
erest,ol mstruction, and of benefit. Early may you
be brought to perceive, in the very constitution of your
•ma bod.es, much of your duty as enjoined by Him who
tonned you such as you are. Temperance, self-govern-
ment, moderation, avoidance of all abuse of the body
are written in the very make of the body itself And 'it'
wil hence plainly appear, that xvhen our Maker says
a stain Irom a 1 intemperance, from all impurity, k('
does but say, ' Do thyself no harm.'
1-2. Acquaint yourselves with the inventions and im-
provements of modern art, and especially with all those
^iHch relate more particularly to the improvement oi"
mir own occupations. A little reflection will show
vou how much is to be learned as to these
l:i. Even a man who eats his daily bread bv the
nest labour of his own hands, can now adopt what a
I'lte admirable writer on natural philosophy has thu.
suggested :-' There are ships cro.Ling the \eas in all
ections, to bring me what is useful from all parts oi'
't earth. In China men are gathering the tea-leaf for
!"«. In America they are planting cotton for me.
14. In the West India islands thev are preparing my
yr and my coffee. At home |)owerful steam-engines
re spinning and weaving for me, and makino- cutlery
irme, and ptimpmg the mines to supply me with coals.
' write a letter there is a mail ready'to carry it for
!!!'' ^^^!'/^est, north, or soutli, at home or abroad, by
^•ly and by niirhi. ' ^
lirii
i >. I
iiy
_by
liave rai'.;o:ul.s, canals, bridges, and ships, to
my tuel. 1 have editors and nrinters to inform
">e of what is goi..., _ ...,, .,„ ,,,^
^*>olJs, the wonder of all wonders, that
inters
worl
ng on over ail the world. I have 1
r.f oil I .1 - .; \
O 2
, that carry me to all
V-'fl
L: :.ii
i;
174
COMMON SCUOOL READER.
''I ,
places and to all tiirc^?', nnd oii!il)Ie me to canverflo with
many of tho wis^f,; niii the best of men, both of my
own aore, and of all past ajres.'
IG. It is a yubjoct of honest conirratnhuion to men of
your situation in life, that to the hii)ours of such as your-
self, — to their inventive j)o\vers in innnherless in!>t;inces,
and to their powers of cxecntio?i ii\ ali, — the national
greatness in the progress of arts is chielly owin;r.
17 Read poetry ; for, as iniairination is the com-
mon j)rt)perty of man, belontrintr equ;illy to all ranks, no
valid reason can be eiven, why its pleasures should bo
denied to any. It has pleased Him, from whose Spirit
the sacred writings came, to present to us cont.iderablc
portions of them in tlie most vivid style of poetry. This
delightful art, thus consecrated, should, iu^wever, l)c
used for no purpose but to instruct, to elevate, and fa
soothe the soul of man. It has been lamentably pervert-
ed to far other purposes, to abuse the mind witli false
and dangerous sentiments, to debase and to inilame.
18. Read poetry, therefore, with icscrve and caution
' It is a luxury, and not a necessary : and hence a little
of superior growth, may well content us,' as a sensible
writer has remarked, lie wh.o begins hii? poetic read-
ing with the delightfti! pages of Thomson, which relied
the image of that Nature their author so warnily loved;
of Cowpcr. who he;ird every where ' the loud hosaiuiah
pent ircm all Gtul's wcnks;' of Milton, who, with the
most vigor* us genius, and the most fearless ind(peii-
dence of natural disposition, soared beyond the bounds
of time and sp:'.ce, with the cxpre-vs design of ' justilji-
ing the way^ ( f Gcd to man ;' — he who thus begins his
pcetic readinir, v ;!! have acquired a taste that will not
easily descend to vitiate itself with wlrit is mean in com-
position, or ]>o}lutl;ig in tendency.
19. Read the evi<lences of revealed rclioion. It is
no secret, thnt, among some j>vetenders to knowledge,
there is a cherislieil disbelief of the divine autr.ority of
the Holy Script'.: !T;^. On this peint I will make only
two observati* ns — llia.t no man can deserve the charac-
ter of an honest man, who rejects the Holy S':ripture»
*** ;
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
u
17^
without having attentively reiicl the collected proofs of
their divine authority ;— and thumo adopt the maxim
ol a poet,
' Wliat none cnn jmu^r a forgery, 7nni/ be true;
What none but bad men wish exploded, must/
J: ). Should any young man be ready to say—' Thii
will he too much for mo-I cnii never f ,<r at this rate '
~we have two answers ready. First, ySu need do no
more than you have tune and indinntion to do- but
whut ever yo.i t.ko in hand, .stick to it. Secondly' thai
there is no way to knowledge of any kind, withoul tak-
mo- pains. ^^
•^1. The pleasure, however, of success, will amnlf
reward industry. Strenuous, continued exertion will
corr.->c and streu;^! !)eu the montal pow(n-s. Let modesty
h'on.l.ty, and a deq> seuM' of the highest. dutie8 and
obhgations, .cc^mpiuy this; :md th. individual thui
occupied, will be under that training, which ensured
he largest measure of true hapines. here, with nrogreai.
towards a nobler state of existence.
#HAPTE!l LXXIV,
1. We find m-m, place.' m a worhl, where he has bv
no niea: the disp..al ct (lu^ ev.uts that h: pen cl
l^mitics sometimes befall the worthiest and the best
wluchit isnotin their power to prevent, and xvlwm
nothing Ks left them, but to acknowledge, and to sutT
-tt. the high hand of Heaven. Frc,m such visitation.
01 trial many good and wise reasons can be assicrned
which the present subject leads me not to .h.r,... ^ '
Ji f"\f''""S»>/^'*^^^^' unavoidable calamities make a
par ,>et they make not a diief part of the vexatu sand
rows that distress human life. A multitude ot evil*
b^set u. for the source of which we must lock to ajl
• : 4
t
:;-||
.;>;||
Ais^
):e
COMMON SCHOOL UKAUKR.
otiier qiiirtrr. — No sooner has any tiling in the health,
or in the circninstanccs of man, gone cross to their
Nvish, than they begin to talk of tin' nne(jui;l distribution
of the L^ood tliiniis of this life: they envy the condition
v\' others; they rejjine at their own lot, and i'ret against
the Ktder of the world.
'I. Kull of these seiitinients, one man pines under a
broken <:onstitution. IJut let us ask him, whether he
can, fairly and honestly, ;issign no cause for this, but
the unknown decree of heaven '? Has he duly valued
the blessing of health, and always observed the rules of
virtue and sobriety ? J las he been moderate in his life,
and temperate in all his pleasures? If now he is only
paying the })rice of his former, perhaps his forgotten in-
dulgences, has he any title to complain, as if he were
sutlering unjustly ?
4. Were we to survey the chambers of sickness and
distress, we should often fnid them i)eopled with tiie
victnns of intemperance and sensuality, and with the
r.hildren of vice, indolence and sloth. Anions the
thousands who languish there, we should lind the pnv
portion of innocent suilerers to be small. We should
see faded youtli, premature old age, and the prospect of
an untimely grave, to be the portion of nndtitudes, who,
in one way or other, have brought those evils on them-
selves ; wliile yet the.se mysteries of vice and folly have
the assurance t*) arraign the hard fate of man, and to
" iret against the Lord."
ii. But you, perhai)s, complain of hardships of an-
other kind : of the injustice of the world ; of the poverty
which you suffer, and the discouragements under which
you labor : t)f the crosses and disappointments, of which
your life has been doomed to be full. — Before you give
too much scope to your discontent, let me desire you to
refl'-Ct im])artially upon your past train of life.
(I. Have not sloth, or pride, or ill temper, or sinful
passions, misled you often from the path of sound and
wise Conduct ? I lave you not been wanting to yourselves
in improving those opportunities which Providence of-
fered you. for bettering and advancing your state'? If
M
COMMON SCHOOL READER. ITT
rZ^'^ ?^''" '" *"'!"'"" >■""*■ ^"'"^^ or your taste,
m the gra .fications of indolence or pleasure, can you
omp a.u because others, iu preference to you. have ob-
ained those advantages which naturally belong to useful
lab()urs, and honorable pursuits?
7 Have not the consequences of some false step in-
you pursued you thorugh mucii of your life tainted
perhaps your characters, uivolved you in embarrassments
or sunk you into neglect ?-lt is an old saying that
w3 '"j;V '^^ ^'- .-tf - or his own fortuLin the
world It .s certain, that the world seldom turns wholly
gamst a man unless through his own fault. " Relicr,on
IS, ni general, '• profitable unto all thinas "
temnp; '?'.' ^'"'pnce, and industry, joined with good
empor, and prudence, have ever been found the surest
road to prosperity ; and where men fail of attainin.. ,t,
^d^'V 1 r'^'u ■' ^''' ^^^^"^^ ^^^'"^? '- their hav.
ing devKi ed trom that road, than to their having en-
^r f d, forfeit the reputation of probity. Some, bj bo
inj too open are accounted to fail in prudence. Others
by^bemg hckle and ciiangeablc, are distrusted by all '
- I he case commonly is. that men seek to ascribe
ttieir disappointments to any cause rather than their
own mrsconduct ; and when they can devise no other
ausc they ay them to the charge of Providence. Their
oly leads them into vices ; their vices into misfortune;
and m Uieir misfortunes they - murmur against Provil
InllL-'^''''^ are doubly unjust towards their Creator,
n leir prosperity, they are apt to ascribe their success
their ow-ii diligence, rather than to his l>]es..ing : and
1 heir adversity, they impute their distresses^o hi»
P ovidence, not to their own misbehaviour. Whereas,
t'le truth IS the very reverse of this. - Every aood and
very perfect gift, cometh from above;" and'of evU ^nd
11.
When, from the condition of individuals, we look
, ..^.„ u„t t^viuuiuou oi inai
abroad to the public state of the world
we meet with
I
I7K
COMMON SCHOOL RKADKR.
jii',U
iriorc proofs of the (ruth of this .-isscrtion. We sen irreiit
societies of nicii, torn in j)i('C(>s by intestine disseutions,
tiuniihs, ;ni(l civil coiniiiotioiis. We see iiiiifhty iirniics
LfoiiiU forth, ill formidiibk' array, aiijainst eacli other, tu
<'over the earth with hhxul, and to fill the air with the
cries of wi(h)ws and orplians. Sad evils these are, to
which this miserahU^ w»)rhl is exposed.
\'2. IJut are th(>se eVils, I beseecli you, to he imputed
to (rod I Was it lie who sent forth slaiiirhteriiiir ariiuci*
into the field, or who tilled tlu; p(!aceful city with niasu-
cres and blood I Ar(> these miseries any other than the
bitter fruit of men's violent and disorderly ])assiuiis?
Ar(^ they not clearly to be traced to the ambition, and
vices ol" princes, to the (juarrels of the <^reat and to
the iturbulence of the ))eople I — Let us lay them entirely
out of the acu'.onni, in tlui.king of Providence; and let
us think only oi' the " looiishness of man."
M5. Did man control his passions, and lorm his con-
duct acccrdino' to the dictates of wisdom, huiuaiiity,
and virtue, the earth w'ould no Iono;er he desolatcMl by
cruelty : and hunuui societies would live in order, har-
mony, and j)eace. in those scenes of mischief and
violence which fill the world, let man behold, with bliaino,
the picture of his vices, his ignorance, and folly, hct
him be humbled by \\\v mortifying vi(>w of his own
perverse!iess : but let n(?t his " heart fret against the
Lord."
Si ..-I-'.
ClIAPrKIl LXXV.
Tliy ivill hv iloiie.
L Thy will bo done ! Ikwv hard a thing to say
When sicknuss ushers in death's dreary knell,
When eyes that sparkled bright and gay,
Wander around with dimly conscious ray,
To some familiar face, to bill farewell !
COMMOiH K(;H0()L liKADKR,
179
•], Til y will he done ! the fait
<^riii(r hpsdeny
A ))assn(re to the tones as yet unheard ;
The so!) convulsed, the raised and swinnning eyr-
Seem as ..ppealinir to their (iod on hijrh
For power to hreathe tiie yet imperfect word.
{. Orphan ! who watehest hy the silent tond),
Where those who irave thy life all coldly sleep;
Or thou who sittest in thy desolate honui,
Call
intr to those heloved who'cainiot coi
ne
And thinking o'er thy loneliness, dust weej)
1 Widow ! who nmsest over hy-gone years
Of lil
Wl
(', and love
11(
and 1
ia|>j)iness with him
10 sharcMl thy joys and sorrows, hojxis and fears
Who now rat left to shed unnoticed te
ars.
Till thy fair cheek is
wan, and eyes grow dim
•>. Husband ! who dreaniest of thy L'entlc wife
And still in fancy sec'st her rosy smile
Rriohteriing a world of hitterness and strife ;
WIk) I
rom the lonely future of thy lift
Turnest. in dreariness, to weep the while!
•>, Motlier ! whose prayers could not avail to save
Ilim whom thou lovedst most, thy hluc-eyed boy
Who, with a hitter agony dost rave
To the wild winds that fan his early grave,
And dashedst from thy lips the cup of joy !
And thou, not widowed, yet bereaved one,
'rVho, buried in thy tearless, imite despair,
toamest a desert world alone — aL
one
*' seek him out who from thine eye is goin*.
':wce able to believe he is not there !
^1
i -^
Ail
f.
■ ('■■;,"
Kfii
^i,
180
COMMON SCHOOL READRK.
8. Mourners! who linirer in a world of wo,
E;icli howiusT neatli liis separate load of grief.
Turn from the ssileiit toinb, kneeling low
Before that throne at which tiie angels bow.
Invoke a God of mercy for relief!
9. Pray that ye too may journey, when yer die.
To that far world where hlei^.sed souls are gone,
And, through the jrathering sob of agony,
Raise, with a voice resigned, the hund)le crj,
" Father — Creator — Lord — thy will be done I"
CHAPTIvR LXXVI.
Victoria oiH^iiiii^ the Farliament
of flS-ll.
I. There was a scene of pomp.
The ancient hall,
Where Briton's highest in their wisdom met,
Showed proud array cf neble and of peer,
Prelale and judge, each in his litting rrbes
Of rank ami power. And beauty lent her charms,
For, with plumed brows, the island peeretfcs
Bore themselves nobly. Distant realms were there
In embassy, from the far, jewelled East,
To that which greeidy meets tlie setting sun,
My own young native land.
1. Long was the pause
Of expectation. Then the cannon spake,
The trumpets Hc^nirished bravely, and the throw
Of old Plantogenei, that stood so firm,
<:(*MM()N .sfllOOL lliiAUCK.
l^{
ii
\
Wl.ile y(..:,r.s, ,,.(1 bla.ls, and curtluiuakc-shork.
dissoJvoil
Thelinkc<l<iynaslyor many dinios,
Took in its uoldc.u arms a i'air younl Ibrin
iiieU.lyonhekinu,|onis. With doar eve
And .(.UMM.Iy .rac(>, .entle, yet selUpo.^c.s^d
^iHMnet.i.er.xedga.eoi- the earnest thron.'
;Vann,n.r her elose. And . I remembered uS
1 was said tliat tears o'.'rilowed her eheek
VVI.eu «umnu>ned (irst. l-or curen of state, to vn-ld
Her .rjrlhood's joys.
In Jier fair liand she liehl
A .-('roll, and, with a elear and silver tone
Ol wondrous mehulv,«h'scanted free
Of n>rd.n clinu-s, uhere Albion's ships hn,I borne
HuMr thun.lers, and of those whoduelt at peace
n prosperous co.nn.erce, and of son.e wlu> frowned
Jfi latent anger, marinnrinir notes of war
IJntd the Britisli lion cleared his brow
To meditate between tiieni, with a branch
or ohvv m his paw.
* 'Twas stranjre to me,
I o hear .<, youn<r a creature speak so well
And eloquent of nations, and their rights.
1 heir equal balance, and their politics
Which we, m our republic, think that none
Can con.prehend , save grave and bearded n.e.
ler words wcMit wandering wide o'er all the earth
or so her sphere required. But ther« was «till "
oomething she said not, though all closely twmecJ.
With her heart s inmost core
One littl
Yes, there
WhiGh
e word, imbe.ddcd in her soul,
yet (*he uttered not.
wa« out.
IH'*
COMMON' SCIIO )L REAI)!!f!.-
Fo;irriil in chartrc
Had beciitlio licet iiio- ycur.
When liiyt she sliiod
ike
In thiH ;mjTust Ui-seuibly, to c(>mv<
The power of purliuiiieiit, tlie crt)vvn :uh>rne(
i
A niai
den'
hrovv
hut now ihnl vow had [jJisj^ed
VVhicli Deiilh ahme can l)r('ak, and a new .siuil
Canieioilh t«» witness it.
A
lid l)y the seed
Of those most s
tronjr atfections, ilropped by Heaven
In a rich soil, I knew there was a uerm
That fain would have «lis(dosed itself in sound,
If unsupprest. Thnuiih her transport nt br( w
X could discern that word, dose wrapped in love,
And dearer thi'.n all lv<.\al paiieantry.
6. Thy h(ih<\ yonng mother ! Thy sweet, first horu
bal)e :
That was the word.
And yet she spake it not,
But rose, and leanino on her consort's arm,
Passed forth. And, as the gorgeous car of stute,
By noble coursers borne exullinoly,
Drt w near, the people's acclamations rose
»,* u(\, and re'ech(>.ed widel} to the sky.
Lt no may their loyalty and love be thine,
Daunhter v\' many kings !— and tluu the right
Of |)eaMant as oi' prince nuuntain, and heed
The cry of lowl; poverty, as one
Who must account to Cod !
ry So, unto Ilim,
From many a (piiet fireside of thy realm,
At the still hour of ))rayer thy name shall rise,
Blent with that ntmie which thou didst leave unsaid,
And blessin*
which shall last when sceptics fall,
And crowns are dust, be tenderly invoked
On the young
Sovcreij'n and her cradled bale.
COMMON SCHOOL llEAOKR. IK{
CHAMTKtl LXXVII.
1. Toil on ! toil on ! yo ephemeral tr.iin,
Wlu) build in the tossin^r and treacherous Uiuin ;
Toil on, lor the vvisdnu of man ye mock
VV ith your sand-based structures and domes of rock ;
Your coluiims the fithondess fountains lave.
And your arches spring up through the crested wavi>.
Ye 're a puny race, thus to boldly rear
A fabric so vast, in a realm so drear.
t Ye bind the deep with your secret zone,
The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone ;
Fresh wreaths from the coral pavements s{)ring,
Like \\n\ terraced pride of Assyria's king ;
The turf Jooks green where the breakers rolled.
O'er the whirlpool, ripens the rind of gold ;
The; sea-snatched isle is the home of men,
And mountains exult where the wave hath been.
■i Rut why do ye plant 'neath the billows dark
The wrecking n^ei' for the gallant bark ?
There are snares enough on the tented field,
'Mid the blossomed sweats that the valleys yield :
There are serpents to coil ere the flowers are up.
There 's a poison-drop in man's purest cup,
There are foes that watch tor his cradle-breath,
And why need ye sow the IIo'hIs with death ?
4. With mouldering bones the ieep is white,
From the ice-clad pole to the tropics bright ;
The mermaid hath twisted her lingers cold,
^Vith the mesh of the sea-boy's curls of gold,
COMMON SCHOOL RKADKR.
And the o-ods of ocean have frowned to see
The mariner's bed 'mid their halls of glee.
Ilath earth no graves, that ye thus nmst spread
The boundless sea with the thronging dead?
r?. Ye build ! yo, build ! but ye enter not in ;
Like the tribes wlioni the desert devoured in their aiu,
From the land of promise, ye fade and die,
Kre its verdure gleams forth on your wearied eye,
As the cloud-crowned pyramids' founders sleep,
iVoteless and lost in oblivion deep;
Ye sluuiher unmarked 'mid the desolate main,
Vyiiile the wonder and pride of your works remain.
CHAPTini LXXVIIT.
TIae lEi-raSd.
I. Light to the world ! and a Herald went forth,
Connnissioned by Heaven to compass the earth ,
He sped o'er the mountains, he traversed the seas.
Unchanged as the rock, untired as the breeze ;
The sand-withered deserts in safety he passed,
Nor trembled at robber, nor shrunk from the blast :
Where'er rose man's dwelling 'mid sunshine or snow^.
On his errand of mercy, unfaltering he goes.
•2. The slave hears his tidings, and smiles in his chain.
The lost son he sends to his Father again, —
No cell ia too narrow for him to find room,
He .seeks the pale felon ere borne to his doom,
Like the angel of Hope, by his side will he stay,
ARd sootiio his dee}) anguish, and teach him to pray
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
186
—The worn and the weary on him may repose,
And he brings to the mourner a balm for her woea!
3. All ages, all stations, to him are the same,
Ho flatters no party, he bows to no name,
But truth, to the hi<rhest or humblest, he brings;
In the tent of the warrior, the palace of kingi, '
This Herald will enter unawed and alone.
And sin in the hovel, or sin on the throne,
VVill feci the rebuke of his he:irt-searching eye,
Consuming its pleasures like fire from the"sky. '
•J On, on, in his course, like a heaven-kindled star 1
And his light is diffused o'er the islands afar ;
Their idols are smitten, their alters o'erthrown,
And to the poor heathen this Herald is known ;
The temple of Bud ha now yields to his power, '
Time-hallowed pagodas, like reeds of an hour'
Are rocked to their tall by the breath of his prayer.
As the name of Jehovah he publishes there.
5 No barrier can stay him, no might can withstand,
The world at his feet, and the heavens in hif? baud ;
All climates he '11 visit, all languages speak,
All minds he 'II enlighten, all manloles break ;
His sceptre of wisdom the nations shall sway,
As ocean's vast waters the moonbeams obey,
And by him attracted, man's nature shall rise
1'»il the anthem of earth joins the song of the ekios
I • —Ask ye his name to remember in prnyer 1
Go, go to the Bible and ponder it there :
The Bible ! the Bible ! what Herald so pure.
With |)recepts so holy and promises so sure |
-eJiavah's own servant, commissioned to win
P 2
186
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
By the love of the Savior, transgreasors from mn ;
Thou wonder, — thou treasure,— O, wliothat has heard
Thy voice can forget thee?— thou life-giving Word !
CHAPTER LXXIX.
The Rainbow.
4
'■• What does the Rainbow's beauteous arch declare ?
That Justice still erics strilce, and Mercy spare."
1. All nature lay in sleep ; no zephyrs stirred
Its sweet repose. The trees were motionless ;
E'en the fair flow' ret hung its beauteous lie ad,
And gently closed its varied colored leaves.
The waters, like a mighty mirror, lay
Extended wide : scarcely a ruiile stirred
Their glossy siirface ; and the sun's bright ray
Pierced their transparent bosom, clear and bnglif
■i The scene was changed ; the elements awoke,
Grown strong by their late slumber, and burst forth
In all the wildness of their conmion nature.
The winds spread forth their pinions and rushed on
Laying fair Nature's gifts in sadness low.
The slender saplings bowed their graceful heads,
And yielded to the blast. The giant oak,
The pride of this our land, emblem of strength,
Of grandeur, and of might, low, blighted lay,
llenmant of what it once had been.
'.) The heavens rolled sternly on in frowning fonu?,
Throwing their darkened shadows far below,
Upon the [rroamng ai^l deep heaving earth.
* ; i
COMMON SCHOOL READEK,
187
rem sin ;
hat iias heard
iving Word !
declare ?
pare
J5
red
mless ;
I head,
ves.
I
) ht ray
iiid bright
awoke,
1 burst forth
ure.
lid rushed on
\.v.
fill Iteads,
ak ,
strength,
cd lay,
ling form?,
below,
arth.
The sea, roused up and lashed witli whitening fourn^r
The rocky shores, reflecting far and wide
The lightning's vivid flasii ; while here and there
The hills and i^alcs sent back, in echoes wild,
The thunder's roar. The heavens poured, strtaniing
down.
In torrents wild, their waters o'er the earth.
•1- The storm had ])ast. All nature j^honc
In bright, redoubled s])londor. Earth, air and ocean,
Refreshed bv heaven's delighti'ul showers, breathed
forth
Ilis wisdom,. strength and love, in sweetest strains'
The bird sung sweetly from the chestnut's bough,
Sparkling with dewy gems, and the sweet tlovv'ret
Breath(id its rich perfume on the air around.
The heavens spread forth their canopy of blue,
And the bright sun cast forth its healing rays
O'er hill, and plain, and sea.
"i- But ahove all,
Surpassing all in splendor and in grace,
The Bow of God, the emblem of his love,
Stretched o'er the blue, ethereal dome of heaven,
Its streaks of varied light ; in modesty,
[u beauty, in rich magnificence it lay,
V, right emblem of that glorious, matchless love,
To us poor sinful mortals of the dust,
Which none but God can tell, none hut God give
'"> Methinks it spoke in peaceful, heavenly strains.
More than the heart of man can e'er conceive
Methinks it breathed of love, a love too holy
And God-like for this poor and sinful world.
Aye, ofazinfr on its lines of matchless arace
'^: I
■,\'\
183
COMMON SCHOOL KIHADER.
I felt far more tliiin mdrlnl ; in that bow
I saw the iiiMiie of a (mkI in wlioin
I Jived, ;:jid innved, and liiul my being loo.
7. A sifMiet 1 behold, in wisdom iijiven
T») sinners low, th ii ne'er ajfain he'll strike
With justice due, his disobedient lloek.
Methiidvs in th:;t broad isreh of varietl hue,
Minjijlinfjf its tints so sweetly, s(» divine,
It breathed of jnstiie, n(d)leness, aiul lovo,
Combined in tl;;'.t alI-gU»rious centre — God.
I ( HAl'TlUl LXXX.
1. In the city of liath, during' the last eentni , , lived
a barber, who made a i)racliee of followinii his ordinary
occupatiiui on the liord's d;iy. As be was |)nrsnin<jr his
mornin.'i's en>j)loyment, lu> hapened to look into scunc
place of worship, just as the minister was ^^iving out his
text, " Uemember the sabbath day, to keej) it holy."
'2. lie listened lonii; enouirji to be convinced thai ho
was constantly breakinijr (he laws ol" (Jed and n)an, ()y
phaviuir and dressiniJt his customers on the L<.rd's day.
He became uneasy, and went with a heavy heart to his
eabbatb task. At,len,(rth he took ctnu'age, and cpened his
mind to the minister, who advised him to give up sab-
bath dressinnr, and wc^rship (led.
;J. lie replied, benfsjfary wiudd be the conte(jnence. Ho
had a llonrisbiuir trade, but it wc.uld almt st lie lest At
length, after nnuiy a sleei)less niiiht spent in weeping
and prayin»i:, h(^ was deternuiied to cast all his care upon
God, as the more he reflected the more his duty became
apparent.
4. He discontinued sabl)ath (ircssinjr, went constantly
%* *
rOMMfW JiCUOoL KltADlit,
18tt
iry, lived
ordinary
s\iiii<j[ iiis
itO JSOIIIC
g out Ilis
iu.Iy."
1 tiiai lio
man, ()y
rd's (lay.
art to Ins
[XMiod hid
up sub-
rnco
loi^t
Ho
At
I weeping
:arc upon
y became
lonstiintly
ind oarly to tlu^ public serviee.'^ of roliiiicm, and Hoor*
enjoyed that s.r faction of mind which is one of tin; re-
wards of doinjruur duty, and that peai • ol" (mm! which
the worM can n( ihcr jrive nor iak«' ;iway, 'Vhc consc-
qiuMices he torcs;iw actually lolhn' I Mis genteel
ni^loiners I It hini, :uid lie was nickii. uned ii I'urilau or
Mrlliodisl. lie was obiijrcd to ;jive up his lasliionablo
»li()p, nnd in the course ol" ^ ars became so r(;duc«'<l, asi
t!) take a cellar under the ).,.irket-hoUHe, and shavi! the
conunon |)et*p|(>.
">. OiH'. Saturday ev(uin<,r, between liirhl and ;' irk, a
strauL^n-r from oni> of tli* <-,oaclics, askinii- for a barber,
was directed by the ostler, to the cellar npposile. Com-
mit in hastily, he recpiesU'd to be sh;i [uickly, while
they changed hors(>s, u.^i liv did nut likr lo violate the
Sdhhntli This was touchinjj; the barber on a f'uder
(•liord. — lie burst into Wwva — asketl the slraunfer to lend
liini a b dr-j)enny to buy a (handle, ay it was ft I' dit
ciiouir. lo shave biin with .safely.
i\. Ue did so, revo'vin<r in his ujind the extreme
poverty to which fhei 'or mm must be reduced. When
(fliaved, he said, "'I iuu-e nmst be somethinj^^ extraordi-
nary in your history, which I have not now time to luMf.
Ib.'re i- half a crown for you. When I return, 1 will
call and investijxat(^ vour case.
7. Wh.it is your nanu ? " " William lieed," xaitl th(,-
•i^tonished barber. " William Keed !" e. hoed th« ytran-
iier ; *• William lleed ; by your dialect your are frwrn
the west ?" " Ves, sir ! from Kin<rston, ui-ar 'J'aunton !"'
"William Reed, from Kino;ston, near Taunton ! What
wa.s your father's name ?" "Thonuis." " Had he any
brother ?" " Yes, sir, one after whom I was named ; but
ho went lo the fndicN, and as we never beard from him,
we supi)osed him to be dead."
f^. " Come alonjx, follow me," said the .strancrer, " I
am ijoinjr to se(» a person who says his name is VVilliam
Reed, of Kingston, near Taunton. Come and confront
him. If you prove to be indeed he who you say you
VPj 1 have glorious new.s for vou, Your uncle \n d^ad^
I ' '' !
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190
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
and hns left an immense fortune, which I will put you
in possession <,f, when ;ill leiriii doubts arc removed."
(). They went by the coach — saw the pretended Will-
iam Reed, and proved liini to be an iniposter. The
stranger, who was a pious attorney, was soon legally
satiKsfied of the barber's identity, and told him that he
had advertised him in vain.
10. Providence had now thrown him in his way, in a
most extraordinary manner, and he had much pleasure
in transfering a great many thou-and pounds to r\ worthy
man — the rightful heir of the property. Thus was man's
extremity God's opportunity. Had the poor barber
possessed one half-penny, or even had credit for a candle,
he might have renjained unknown for years ; but he
trusted God, who never said, *' Seek ye my face in
vain."
CHAPTER LXXXI.
S^ell-ljJ overimieiit.
J. Man then is free ; he has the power to seek happi-
ness in his own way. He enters upon existence and
sets forward in the path of life. But as he passes along,
a thousand tempters beset him. Pleasure comes to beck-
on him away, offering him pleasant flowers, and unfold-
ing beautiful prospects in the distance. Wealth seeks
to make him her votary, by disclosing her magic power
ever men and things. Ainbiti<m vvoos him with dreams
of glory. Indolence essays to soften and seduce him to
Jier influence.
2. Love, envy, malice, revenge, jealousy, and other
busy spirits, assail him with their various arts. And
man is free to yield to these temptations, if he will ; or
he has the power to resist them, if he will. God has
surrendered hinr to his own discretion, makinir him re-
sponsdue, however, for the use and the abuse of the
Jiberty bestowed upon him.
will put you
•emoved."
ended Will-
oster. The
soon legally
him that he
lis way, in a
ch pleasure
to r\ worthy
IS was man's
poor barber
tor a candle,
lars ; but he
my face in
seek happi-
dstence and
asses along,
Ties to beck-
and unf'old-
f^ealth seeks
lagic power
vith dreams
[luce him to
, and other
arts. And
he will ; or
. God has
in<T him re-
buse of the
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
191
3. If a person mounts a high-spirited horse, it is im-
portant that he should be able 1o control him, otherwise
he may be dashed in pieces. If an engineer undertakes
to conduct a loc/)motive, it is necessary that he should
be able to guide or check the punting engine at his
pleasure, else his own life, and the lives of otherr,, may
be sacrificed. But it is fstill more indispensable that an
individual, who is entrusted with the cure of himself,
should be able to goor.ni himself.
4. This might seem a \ery easy task ; but it is one
of the most ditiictdt that we are called upon to perform.
History shows us that some of the greatest men have
failed in it. Alexander could conquer the legions of
Persia, but he could not conquer his passions. Ca3sar
triumphed in a hundred battles, but he fell a victim to
the desire of being a king. Bonaparte vanquished near-
ly the whole of Kurope, but lie coula not vancpiish his
own ambition. And in humble life, nearer home, in
our own every-day aff'iirs, most of us are t)ften drawn
aside from the pith of duty and discreticm, because we
cannot resist some temptation, or overcome some preju-
dice.
CHAPTER LXXXII.
lluiii:aii ^^lavery.
1. History presents to the eye of reason and humani'
ly the shocking spectacle of an extensive system of
slavery existing among the nations of antiquity. We
have, in a general view of the social system of Rome,
under the republican and iinperiiil governments, seen
the rigorous treatment of slaves in the early ages, and
contemplated with pleasure the amelioration'' of their
condition in the latter times of the republic, and under
the gorernment of the enqierors.
2. This happy change in the conditicm of slavery pro-
<ieeded from a variety of causes ; and the establishment
ii)2
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
of Christianity at length added its benign influence k*
soft II the condition ot" those unfortunate mortals, who
were placed in that abject and depressed state.
3. The Christian religion was, indeed, peculiarly
calculated to produce this hai)py effect. By teaching
that the slave and his master must appear without dis-
tinction before the tribunal of tke impartial Judge of all
mankind, it held out to the former a strong hiducement
to a {)aticnt acquiescence in his condition, while it in-
spired the latter with sentiments of humanity and bt-
nevolcjice towards those whom Providence had thus
placed under his authority.
4. And although the system of Slavery was not abso-
lutely abolished on the establishment of Christianity, its
hardships were considerably mhigated : for eertainlv
no Christian, who was worthy of the name, could Irea
his slavf with unprovoked cruelty, or unnecessary rigor,
5. The subversion of the empire by the northern
nations, by reducing slaves and their masters, for the
most part, to the same state of vassalage, under the I'tu-
<lal system, in a great measure annihilated the system
of absolute personal slavery, as it had existed among
the Romans. The Turks, and other nations, who fcub-
verted the empire of the Caliphs, again introduced the
Roman custom of condemning to slavery iheir prisoners
of war ; and the same system was, by way of retaliation,
adopted by the crusaders.
G. After the enthusiastic frenzy of the religious wars
had sul)si<led, in proportion as the minds of men bi-
came more enlightened, as religion became better un-
derstood, and better practised, and as the advancement
of connnerce and civilization diffused wealth among
the people, the system of slavery gradually disappeared,
and the feudal system was, by a concurrence of causes,
at last abolished in several ();irts ol" Europe.
7. It is, however, a melancholy circumstance, that
the extinction of slavery in Europe was so soon follow-
ed by its establislunent in America. We have seen
that vfirious causes concurred, in such a manner, ai
fferdcred the effect inevitable. In this life, fcril ie hi-
COMMON SCHOOL READEIt.
193
variably mixed with good, and we, finite creatures, are
ikjI able to comprelicnd the designs of a Providence,
infinitely wise in permitting those scenes of misery
which the world so abiuuhmtly displays.
8. Slavery is a bitter cup, ?'id we sec what multitudes
of mankind have been compelled to drink it, which
naturally gives rise to this question, — What right can be
claimed by man, in his fellow creature ? To Christians,
this is a (piestion of the most serious importance, which
they ought to endeavor to answer to their own con-
sciences, as they believe that it must one day be answer-
ed before the tribunal of the eternal Judge, whose in-
tegrity nothing can bribe, whose omniscience no cun-
niiig can elude, and whose omnipotence no power can
resist.
■¥ m
CHAPTER LXXXIII.
1. The true honor of man arises not from some of
ihose splendid actions and abilities, which excite hiiih
admiration. Cou.age and provv'cr-s, military renown,
signal victories and c®n([uests, may render the name of
a man famous, without rendering iiis character truly
honorable.
2. To many brave men, to many heroes, renowned
;n story, we look up with wonder. " Their exploits are
recorded. Their praises are sung. They stand, as on
an eminence, above the rest of mnnkind. Their emi-
nence, nevertheless, may not be of that sort, before
which we bow with inward esteem and rcsjiect. Some-
thing more is wanted for that purpose, than the conquer-
ing arm, and the intrepid mind.
JJ. The laurels of the warrior must at all times be
dyed in blood, and bedewed with the tears of the widow
and the orphan. But if they have been stained by ra-
pine and inhumanity; if sordid avarice has marked his
m n
.i« ■ ,(
\\)\
COMMON S( imoi, lil.ADKIt.
character; or low and jrross sensuality has deiiraded Iih
life; tlie ^rent hero sinks into a little man. What, al
a distanc(\ i)r «mi a superiicial view, we admired, heeonic*^
mean, i)erhai)s odious, when we examine it more closely
It is like the Colossal statue, whose immense M/e struck
the spectator with astonisnuMit ; but when nearly view-
ed, It appears dispro|)ortione<l,nnshni)e.ly, and rude.
4. Ohservutions oi" the sam(> kind may ho ajiplied tt,
all tlu> rei)ut..'.ion derived from civil accomplishmculs .
iVoru thereliiuM! politics of the statesnum, or the literarv
etlorts of iirnius and erudition. These hesttiw, an..
Within cert';iiii hound.s ouuht, to bestow, emnuMice and
(iisfinction on men. 'J'hey di.M'over talents winch iv.
themselves are shininir; and which become hii>hly valu-
able, when (■mi>loved inadvanciuuthe uot <l of m.'mkiud.
Hence, they frcMjCMitly <,five rise to fame. I5ui a ilistuic-
tiou is made between fnne and true honor.
r> The statesman, the orator, or the v>^<vi, may h.
iauH.us while vet the num hin;self is far lr( ui beiiiL^
honored. We "envy his abilities. Wc wish to riva',
them IJut we would not choose to be classed with liiiii
who possesses them. Instances of this sort are too ol!-
on found in every record of anci(Mit or modern history
6 From all this it follows, that in order to disceni
where man's true honor lies, we must look, not to any
;>dventitious circumstances or fortune; not to any siu-
ale sparkliiur (piality; but to the vvliole ol what lorin^
a man ; what entitles him, as such, to rank lu<rh among
that class (d' beiu.jrs to which he belongs ; in a word, \vi
must look to the mind and the soul.
7 A mind superior to fear, to selfish interest and cor-
ruplion: a n>ind governed by the principles of uniionii
rectitude and intejrritv ; the same in prosperity ami ad-
versiiv: which no'bribe can seduce, nor terror overawe
neither by pleasure melted into elVemnuicy, nor by di^-
rres,. sunk into dejecticm : suchis the mind which lornib
the distinction and eminence of man.
,^ One who, in no situatic^i of life, is either asliani-
M;i or afraid of discharjrinir his duty, and acting h.spre-
nor y-yf u lib firmncss and constancy; true to the Oou
roMMON SCHOOL RFADEU.
lao
wlioin lie \vorslii|)s, and truoto tiic, f;iith in wliicli lie pri)-
tbsscs to believe: lull of ritVectioii to liis hretlireii ol
mankind; raitliliil to his friends, jreneroiis to his ene-
!iii(>s, warm with (•(>iii[)assion to tlie unli^rt.inate ; self-
dcnyino- to little private interests and pleasures, but zeal-
ous for pul)lic inter(!st and h ipj)in(!ss ; niaiLrnanimonw,
without bcinir |)r<»ud : humble, without beiu^- in(;au :
jast, without Ixmuit harsh , simple in his maimers, but
laaiily in his fe(!liii(rs: on whose word we can entirely
rely; wiiose eounten nice never (hu'cives us ; whose pro-
fessions of kindness are the elfusions of his heart: one,
III line, wliMjii, independently of any views of advan-
i!i<re, we should choose for a superior, could trust in as
:i friend, and could love as a brotlu^r — this is the man,
Aliom, in (Hjr hear^, above all others, we do, we must
buuor.
CllAPTKll LXXXIV.
illy iflolhcr's <nr;iYe.
i. It was thirteen years since my mother's dcalli,
nheii after a lonir absence from my nativ(! village, J
Mood bnside the sacred mound beneath which I li.ul seen
'i'.' Hiried. Since that mournful period, a (r re at change
liiiv. come over me. My childish years had passed away,
;ui(l with them my youthful character.
'I. The world was altered too ; and as I stood at my
iiiotlKT's (rrave, I could hardly realize that 1 was the
^:iiiie thou(i;htless, happy creature, whose cheeks she so
(•ften kissed in an excess of tcMulerncss. But the varied
t'veiits of thirteen years had not effaced the remem-
brance of that mother's smile. It seemed as if J had seen
f'iT but yesterday, — as if the blest sound of her well re-
'iioiiibered voice was in my ear.
•i. The gay dreams of my intancy and childhood
\vere brought hack so distinctly to my mind, that liad it
I'l^t been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed
M-:^
n
'■?i
l,|y!-
195 COMMON SCHOOL READER,
would have been gentle and refreshing. The circum-
stance niav seem a triilinrr one— but the thoucrhts-ot it
now pains" my heart, and 1. relate it, that those children
who have parents to love them, may learn to value them
as they ouo'ht.
4. My mother had been ill along time, and I had bc-
eomeso accustomed to her pah^ face and weak. voice.
that I was not frightened at them, as children usiiully
are At first, it is true, I sobbed violently ; but when,
day after day , I returned from school, and found hex the
same, I began to believe she would always be spared to
me ; 'but they told me she would die.
5 One day when 1 had lost inv place in the class, and
done my work wrong side outward, I came home dis-
couraged, and fretful ;— I went to my mother's chamix-r.
She w''as paler than usual, but she met me with the samo
aftectionate smile that always welcomed my rottini.
Alas ! when I look back, through the lapse ot thirteen
years, I think my heart must have been stone, not to
have melted by it. • i i • i
G She requested me to go down stairs, and bring liei
acrlass of water ;— I pettishly asked why she did not
caTl a domestic to do it. With a look of mild reproach
which I shall never forget if I live to be a hundre.l
yeavs old, she said ' and will not my daughter bring a
Mass of water, for her poor, sick mother]'.
"^ 7. 1 went and brought her the water, but I did not
do it kindly. Instead of smiling and kissing her, as
was wont to do, I set the glass down very quickly and
left the room: After playing a short time, I went to
bed without bidding my mother good night ; but when
alone in mv room, in darkness and silence, I remember-
ed how pale, she looked, and how her voice trembled
when sh.c s:i'd, ' Will not my daughter bring a glass ot
water for her poor sick mother 1' I could not sleep.
8. I stole into her chamber to ask forgiveness. She
had'sunk into an easy slumber, and thcy.told me I nin?t.
not waken her. I did not tell any one what trouble:
me, but stole back to my bed, resolved to rise early jn
the' morning, and tell her how sorry I was lor my con-
duct.
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
197
9. The sun was shiniiiir l)rioflitIy wlien I awoke, and
iiurryiiig on ruy clothes, 1 hastened to iny mother's cham-
ber. She was dead ! she never spoke more — never
muled upon me again — and when I touched the hand
tliiit used to rest upon my head in blessing, it was so
odd that it made me start. 1 bowed down by lier side, and
fobbed in t!ie bitterness of my heart. I thouglit then
! wished I might die, and be buried with her ; and, old
;is 1 now am, 1 would give worlds, were they mine to
:ive, could my mother but have lived to tell me she for-
gave my childish ingratitude. But I cannot call her
back ; and when I .stand by her grave, and whenever I
think of her manifold kindness, the memory of that
reproachful look she gave me, will bite like a serpent
;i!id sting like an adder.
CHAPTER LXXXV.
Capital.
1. Ah! but he has no capital to begin with! Very
often, very often, we hear this said : and uttered in such
Piteous tones, that we are, in such cases, almost tenii)ted
»ask, what extraordinary and melanclioly destitution
iocs this young man, who is thus compnssionnlcd, bibor
mder, or what singular calamity has befallen him, that
m is thus held up as the victim of juisfortune?
'2. He has ordinary talents and capacity for labor ; he
has health and strength; he has acipiirecl, or is in the
v.ay of acquiring, a respcctnble and good trade : he is
:u»t the slave of any bad habits; and above all things,
liis character is good, and ho has lived without reproach.
But because he has no mnnivd capital, you choose to
|)ity him : now I entreat you, reserve your compassion
tor some more worthy object.
;J. He does not demand your pity half so much as your
congratulation. He is much more an object of envy
thmof pity. " But he has no capital." Now what is
il 2 '
m
tJ
*l.
I
IDS
COMMON SCIKXH. UF-AI)EK.
(•a
ill
llMf-
pital I \n rcsiuM't, t*> lra(l(\ or the Imsuioss of nci\
•T wealth, capital is the iiu>aiis or iiislrmiicut <)f aciiin-
Illation, and is <r(Mi('rally ai)i>li(Ml to flu-
nv\ or proiicrlv on hand, not riM|niriMl to Uv ronsnni-
hut which wc cuii use or
riition and accnm
luo
vd lor iinincdiatc s\i1)sis1(mic('
api
ily lor tlu> pnrposcsof htMrcuni
<r more
1. 1
n an a^ncn
imral view, land whirh wc may rondor
productive hy cnltivation, or
the seed which wo cast in-
to the «rro>ind, and which, under favorahle circiMnstan-
nd cidtnre, wdl n\nlli[)ly aiui
ces of sitnation, season, a
retnrn to ns very o
lUMi ainindred «>r a thonsand Tohi, is
cap I
ital.
1
n a conunercia
the wants of iniiiu
vest in sjfoods oi' ai
possession, ui
can se
I view, capital is j)roperty boyoiid
diate sihsistence, which yon can in-
{ich^s of trade, and hold ihein in your
itil nndi'r lavorahle circnnistances, you
II or oxchaniA-e, :;nd n^alize the prolits ot'snch ad
fare, ('apital, in short, is money
ven
re;KM"veti
on
hand.
or tile
l)r>)'ii.;
o
r lormer labor, and specnlation, or
trade, which von can iist>
lor olhiM- and I'nrther i)nrpoM'
of trade and ac -nmu
latiou, and he aide to wait itr. re-
turn'-
(i. But tiier^
mm
ai'v.iev
'iVerv means oi a
■.cnie.ii
1 at ion should l)e i'(n\-
ideVcnl as s;, iniu-h capital. TluMe is another airent in
tre.le ol" eijual power, as a mea!i> (
m i.jc
and that is ir
i(
)[' accmnuiation, a*;
///. This is ot'teti even far bettor
tl\ VI :' m aiu
d
capi!
This will (Miable von, a;
it, t > c.i;n n ill
were
.1 ihe m;mied capital ei" otlier men, as \\ it
t for vonr beneiit nid theirs:
vini(' own. Tim t> use i
ani wiiere it. i;
•ha leter, wh'.'di form the only jnst ami sn
ionm
hit ion
o
iT'l.
:^m*C
ti I a,
lit.-
nivi
me!v
ti'Kf'i, honor, hidit.-^h-i/, Jri,-i^(i
lith
■<.('■
I
miccju
n'opru
■>(
V as the instrument oi accninui:i'
ilu^ lieape;] up tiieiisaads wiiicli lay iii the
co:
fevs of t!io mc:st alihient.
8. Every tl!iu;r in relation to matter? o
f trade
an<
I tho
pur.-<u
its of wcaltl-., wiiici: u^ a meir.
of
;ic.
;uii!'at;'t:on.
M cap
can b(
en, tl
that li
(lers li
\). I
hie hit
lias h:
carelii
It).
Itirnis
IIK
trade
pats
tar II
11.
th(>re
DOV
red
.vecnri
tent h
h oih(>r capital besides land er 9 pn
>pe
th<
away
other
his »)\
cissiti
lar as vou on^Iit to desire ■ v
n iro
posse
based a>)on tiie substantial ipialitiesof ■ biisini
!;fi^^ — it may be used wilheiiiial ■ wre
iradin
c.itDil
tia:^
camio
h:-id
COMMON .SCHOOL KEADEli.
ii^J
:a(]i\ :in<l the
cv^uiiiuliuion.
i-^ r.apit.il. ^ No\y lot us sec, tluMi, witli what |)r()j)riet> it
yoimur man of wlioin uc liavo spok-
ranco into life,
(Mil In* said of tlii
ffi, tlioiijrij ho has iio money at his cnl
that hu has no capital ; or rather, let us see wiiat re
(iers him an ohject ot' comnassion.
1). lie lias vonth, health'and ahilitv. Tl
hie him to lahor, and lal)(>r will
command its rcvvar(
has habits of iVnirality, which will lead him to expend
(■arehdly, and lay n|) the sin-plns waires of labor ,_that
IK, the sinplns Ix'yomI his immediati' i
It), lie has till' elements of
lecessitw^s.
a jroorl ednciition
i'lirnishes him the nuN'nsof ae(|uirinij; more knowled<re
" lunvled-re is always power, lie h:;s an art^.r
I I
an<
irnd(
ant
1 tl
ni' M'i\n\t-
of actjni-
ied to the
e ciinsuMi-
iun use or
nay render
ivo cast iii-
ircunistaii-
nltiplv aiu!
nd foUl, h
rty beyond
on can iii-
em in your
ances, yeu
of such ad-
uid, or the
■niation, or
er pnri)o^('?
wait itt' re-
des land or
jld bo con-
er airent in
nulation, a«!
Ml far bettor
;ht to desiri'
men, as if it
1 ; nd theirs:
(pialitios of
^Moundation | ly, In extromely ha/arduous to his e'//7//k II
Mlwithetiual ■ Hro and l>aukniptey. The passion for spectllat
f aocninuhi- ■ lradin«jf, and o.xtraordinavy ijfains, to which tl
; in ihe co'"
n-
icsc all ena-
i. Jl<
this
lis irivos Inm an immense advanfatie, and
puts it in his j)ower t(^ apply his labor and faculties with
tar more advaiUane Mid profit than he ooiild without it.
11. H(> is not the slave of any bad li;i!)its; his (rains
therefore are not ins(Misibly creepinir away froinliini.
Al)ovo all, lie has (rood charaeler; this will jrive him
credit. Habits of indiisiry, frugality, ;:nd exactness, will
serairo, establisii, and increase his credit to all the ex-
f^ive him tiie (-(iminand (d"the
[)ital
toiit he sjiould desiri
Ml
d
IS c
nital
-ca
property of otliers. All this, then,
of l!i(' best kind. A |)iirely moniiul c;;])ital may pass
away from him by a thousand C(Milin;vencies ; but this
other capital, wliicli I call a moral, rap'itai, is under
his own control, secure from all the fluctu;it
ions
Hid
VI-
cissitudes of tr:,ide and business, inid luver can be tak
on frtan him witiieait his own consent.
S'3. For a youu'r man to be placed at once in tl
possession o'{ a larire iiumicd cnpHal at his sottinjx out
business, thoujrh it may be hiirhiv jTratilVimr to T
le
in
Us rr//j/.
lave known
ion. over-
u^y are ex-
ihe col- I I'it'jd by the posj^cssion t)f a iarjre mtmied capital at set
tin x out, leads men into a thousand risks, which thev
cannot e:ic>nin(or with >ut extreme ])eril. On the other
ire and caution, which small
ij;:.-id tho^e habits of c
'200
COMMON SCHOOL RKADHR.
i> "I
means, and ifrtidup.l and niodcratc earnings beget, arc a
hiire toiindntion of incr'Nifse ami security.
Hi. liiirgc; means and extensive speculations, where
tlie possessor has !uid no lessons in a luin)l)ler sphere,
nor been compelled \>y an early and stern necessity to
proceed uith the greatest caution, almost inevitably lead
to habits of wasteful expenditure. " Many estates arc
Fpent in the getting." Wealth ;md accumulatioji de-
peml as much u|)on saving as upon gaining.
11. To say of a young man, therejore, coming into
life with health, strength, capacity for labor, a good ed-
ucation, a useful and respectable trade, habits of so-
briety and frugality, and above ',di, a good and imsullied
cliaracter, that he has no capital, is a gross al)surdity
ami error.
!5. lie has the best of all cji])ital, — a moral ca])ital,
the noblest of all power, — moral power: he has tlio
most cert;lin means of hcmest and honorable ;iccumul;i-
tion and ibrtune, and may he sure, under circmmstanccs
ordinarily propitious, to rise to that ccmpetencey of in-
lluence, respect, and general conJidence, and tliat han-
orable measure of we^dHi and independence, which
should fidly satisfy a reasonable and virtuous ambition.
ClIAPTKil LXXXVI.
C'harai'tcr ol* Wilfocrlbrce.
I. The latter part of the eighteenth century forms <i
tlistinct epoch in the history of the world. — Whether
considered in relation to the magnitude and importance
of its events, or the greatness and glory of its chief ac-
tors, it is fraught with a powerful interest, and awakes
the liighest admiration. Events the most extraordinary,
and ciiaracters the most illustrious, stamp that age as
one of the most important in the annals of time.
"2. Daring its general advancement, in w^hatcver could
contribute to raise and adorn the human character, the
»5^i4i^--*~-
COMMON SCHOOL HEADER.
201
mil IT into
«'auso of siinoriiiiT ImiDnnity was not overlooiied. Nu-
merous and povvertiiJ wore; tliu champions wlio contend-
fid eurnestly lor 1I1.3 rights of man ; and tliouj^h nu-t by
:i lornndahle array of ()|)|)ositi(.n, ihey won many signa'i
victories, and gently ameliorated the' condition of'our
race.
iJ. But among thi.s illustrious asscniblage of philan-
thropist-^, there was (me who st(>;)d pre-eminent. Sur-
veying our world with an eye of philanthropy, lie beheld
one portiim of the globe overshadowed j)y' the darkest
gloom and wrapped in wretchedness. He saw one eu-
tn-e (piarter of the world devoted to the avarice and
cupidity of all ChrislcMidoni, and ^c(mrged bv one of the
direst woes that ever disfressed the human (;imily.
4. He lool- d liround upon his own country and saw
It stained and deeply im})iicated in this work of blood :
he looked abrond to other lands, and beheld the sutler-
ings of the captive :— his heart was touched, his symj)a-
ttiies were moved, jiis determination was formed' He
r(>solve(I forthwith to con^ecr;ite his powers to the iioblo
work of redeeming a continent from rapine and blocd-
.^hed, and cleansing his country jV(>iu implicated guilt.
5. He arose in the puw(#ot' his moving ehsijuence
and put forth his mighty energies. He embraced the
pillars which supported this huge i)ile of inicpiity, and
the vast structure tottered and crumbled. Self-interest
took alarm, a fierce and formidable (ypposition arose, ruid
the council-chumber rang with alternate bursts of im-
passioned and thrilling ehxpience. Long and doubtliil
was the conflict: calm and resfilute was^tho onset, hot
and foaming the resistance.
0. With a resolution undaunted, a courage undismnv-
e;l, and a benevolence uidaltering, he persev(;red, despit--^
of persecution and obloquy, for twenty years, until,, with
the aid of kindred spirits, he succeeded in exciting
the abhorrence of a n;ition against the odious custom,
and washed froju his country's vestments the red stains
of pollution. This man was Wilbcrforce ; that conti-
nent was Africa.
7. Fn the character of this noble man we have exhibited .
- ,1
i
ilii
i;v,ti
iiinj
COMMON nriiooL ukaih.k.
tlip l<>vlic?1 niid suhlmirsl tr;iifs. 'I'riic mdcpiMKlcncf ,
hiirli iii«>r;i! t'oiira:^', incoiriiptibic virlMt> ; — the I'licultie^
of li's niiiul, and the viiiiic ol" his lirart ^rcm to have
rivall(Ml cn<'h oiIkm" : and ImiIIi slicd their Mciidcd iiillii-
(MH'cs upon the mitral worhl, irradialini'; and vivilyinir it.
a.s the >un and ^htt\\(M>; the physical.
i*^. How oiorious and radiant was Itis career ! lie was
n hriii'ht star .-iinid tliat ralaw in which shcne Pitt, I"\)X,
liurk(\ Sheridan, and Ciianninii;, UeiMiiiii'ji; with a steady
!iistr( . and r<'!lectii'ii,' npeii this diud; world, the lijjlii
.;'.nd Inve of Heaven.
\). " iH'ili wa? his Iniiie : lor senates oft liave heard
^\'ilh woiul(M- lli:;1 harnionious elntp.K-iu'e ;
/\ud injuried .MVica had canaht, tlu- word —
Her (diaiiis '-ad hurst Ix'neath its inlhience :
.And her dark son^ now learn to breathe the naiiic
or him who thoni'dil ol" them, when suidv in yuilt
and shame."'
A-iJ.&:
10. Rnt alas! the nreatvYc'i"'^ to wiiicii a Wiibcrforcc
d(>vot(>d the vi^or of his nays, ronniins yet unfinished.
'J'he. unlortnuati' race, for wliicdi he pleaded so htno- and
<do(!Uenllv, is still misiM-ahU^ and hleediii'.r. Alrica is
now we(>pinD; and discousehito, lor licr children arc in
oaptivitv and sioh l"or delivcrtnH'C,
I I. !!er sorrows are still too o;r(>at lor humanity. »Siic
IS plund'.M'ed and wo-woin ; and thouoh li(>r (rreal advo-
cate and henclactor has ^'one down to the grave — liiough
Wilherlorcc i.s dead, tiiajiks to (iod, his •^oirit lives, and
is still inspiring the brtNistsot' men, — it l)nrns ;uid},Mow3
in the besoms of. thons'ands m l'liiro[)c and America,
and the piu-e llauio will wax int(Misi'r, and hiujier, uiul
broailer, until slavery shall W iu> more. ,
1"^. His voice comes " tlndllintj: to our liearts"' from
ib.e j^ruvo. inspiriiiif ns uitii fresh hopes, innl cheeriiin
us onward to victory. His lirinht example of nnu'tyr-
like devotion to truth, ami diirnilied forbearanc(i under
WUirfvoil;.
-.'?;'^ ■
III to (lave
i(!(mI iiillii-
ivifyiiiif it.
•! lit- was
Pitt, Tox.
li ;i st(';i(lv
, flic li"'lu
VC ]\(
urd
lu'c ;
(1
i('ii('(
k •
the
naiiH
ik in
nnilt
' ill)er(()rce
inlinislicd.
L) loiio- and
i\lVica ii^
rcii art' in
mity. Slir
ffcal advd-
L> — tllOllifll
lives', and
i!ll(l;,f|(>W3
AiiK'iica,
iiiher, and
irts'" from
I chcoriiisj,
»r niartyr-
ic'(i uiuler
("OAIMON SCIIOOI, ur.ADHK
203
provor/itioii, is Ix^'orf; us for iniitfltiori. f^cl. tlwi follow-
iiil( sciitiiMfMit 1)(.' no less a|)i)lical)lo to ourselves than to
him :
" Wilhcrlni-cc, thy zeal Cr man Ix'low
Was more th in earth horn h.ve (>!' Imm;in kind :
And souls that kindUvl in thv hinnino- mIow.
FeU'luas the Saviour's siuili'/ht, ( n the mind."
CIFAPTKIl J.XXXVir.
.'i 'Pvinrh' OSS l-'lrr.
1. While, some (d" our jiarty were (lijniiin; into the
sand near the ed^c <A' the stream, with tiie hoj.e oflinn--
lUlj water more !V(!.di, and ethers ',\ere enjoyinu; the lii.\-
iiry !d" a halh, ;i Iniid report, a.s of a eaiuetn, was heard
HI ihe (lireclion oi' the e-inip, and a dark smoke wa:;j .■■eefi
snddenly to rise
2. "An Indian .'ittar.k !" was the starllinn' crv on ail
sides, and inslantl)' we i'.oiimumced hnndlin-i on our
olothe.>, .'uid l)ridiino; our horse.-.;. One hv on(\ a:' IHst
a.H we eoiihi <jc\ ready, w ■ started idl' lor what we sup-
(•■.),-e<| :i sc(Mie (d' en'iai;rement,
li. As we neared t!ie eiimidnp; <Treiinfl, it he^nmc
I'vident that the prairi(> v::]^^ on lire in all directio/i:.
When within a mile ot' Ihe ;-teep deedivilv which cut off
the j)r;iij-io ahove Ironi the valley, the dark llaines were
soen llashiiio- amoii'i the dry eeda.rs, aiui a dense v<dnmo
nt the black ,-<moke arisiii^.j; ubove all, ;^ave n painliil sub-
limity to the scene.
'1. On ;i])pr()achin!T nearer, we were met by :-oine of
our comi)anions. 'j'liey stated that the lii<di nrass of
the prairie had cauifht lire l\v accident, that many ot'tlic
wairnous had been consumed, iiiiil innomj!; tliem the com-
missioner's, which contained not only our tnmks, but a
'>ir,<:je mimber of cartrid'^re,-'. The explosion of ihote
"'VC had luifctiiken for the report of our camion.
,fil
^Mi
o
204
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
IT tf^m . :
5. We dashed ahead with the hope of rendering
some assistance to our companions, but before we could
rcacli the place of the steep and rugged hill, the fire
was rushing down with fearful rapidity, leaping nnd
flashing across the gullies, and roaring in the deep and
yawning chasms with the wild and appalling tones of a
tornado.
G. Ever and anon, as the llnmes would strike the dry
andcriiggy tops of the ceda''s, a report as of a musket
would be heard, and in such quick succession did these
reports follow each other, that I can liktn them to nc-
ihing save the irregular discharge of infantry.
7. The wind wn.s blowing fresh t>om the west when
the prairie first caught, carrying the llamewith a rapid-
ity astonishing, over the very ground on which we had
travelled' during the day. The wind lulled with the set-
ting of the sun, and now .the fire began to spread slowly
in other directions.
8. The passage by which we descended was futcfi"
by the (Itirnes, and night fcund (,ur party still in the
valley, unable to find any nearer rente to the hind above,
Our situation was a dangerous one too ; for had the
wind sprung up, and veered into the east, with such n
velocity did the llnnies tprcad, we should have found
much difficulty in cscnping.
9. About nine o'clock I was fortunate enough to
meet with seme of our men, who directed me to a pas-
sage up the ascent. It sh(;u]d be remarked here, thui
cur party who liad started fr( m the river by this time,
were scattered in every direction, each man endeavor-
ing to find his way to f'lw ciniip by his own road.
10. Fortunately the fire luid been checked in a vves^t-
ern direction by the peculiar formatitn of the giound
and by the wind.
Worn down by fatigue, hunger, and almost choked
with thirst, I laid down upon the blackened ground thai
night, but it was long heicre sleep visited my eyelids.
11. A broad &lieet of ilnme, miles in width, could still
be seen in the cast, lighting up the heavens with a
bright glow, while the subdued, jet deep rear cf th«
rendering
:e we could
11, the fire
saping nnd
le deep and
r tones of a
•ike the dry
.f a nuit^kel
;ii did llu'fcc
lie 111 to nc-
r
; west when
vitii a rapid-
iiich vvc had
vith the sct-
)read slowly
Wcis rut eff
still ill the
! 1;iih1 above,
for had the
with fcuch n
hs.ve Ibuiid
! enoujih to
me (o a pas-
d here, ihui
)y this time,
11 eiideavcr-
road.
?d in <i weFt-
the guuiid
nest choked
srcuiid that
ly evelids.
1, ^"^"..1,1 .till
vcns with ii
rear cf th«
u
COMMON' SCHOOL READER.
sr
element was plainly heard as it sped on, with wings
lightening, across the prairies. In the valley far below
us the flames were flashing and leaping about among
the dry cedars, resembling a magnificent display oOxth-
works the combination forming a scene of grandeur
and sublimity it is impossible to describe.
CHAPTER LXXXVIII.
Formation or Character.
1. To the acquisition of extensive knowledge, iace»«
sant application and industry are necessary. Nothing
great or good has ever been achieved without them Be
wil ing, then, to labor ; be not satisfied with superfi-
cial attainments, and to accustom youself to habits of
accurate and thorough investigation. Explore the foun-
dations and first principles of every science.
2. It is observed by Locke, that there are fundamen-
tal truths that lie at the bottom— the b.Lsis upon which
a great many others rest—and in which they have their
consistency ; there are teeming truths, rich in stores
with which they furnish the mind; and like the lights
of heaven, are not only beautifrl and interesting in
themselves, but give light and evidence to ether thinsre
that, without them, could not be tcen or known
a Theie are the truths with which we should endea-
vour to enrich our minds. Be select in your reading-
become familiar with the writings cf the greu master
spirits of the world, who will enrich your minds with
profound, enlarged and exalted views ; and who, while
they form you to habits of just and noble thinking, will
also teach you to cherish purr and gcn( rous feelimrs
4. If you would make thoise thorough acquisition*
you must guard against the 'mmod. r Je induVrrnce .f
your passions, and the Koduclions .; . /,, ccrrpa.ucn
A hfe of dissipation and plersure •"•^ dc^'h to ^rner'
excellence. A bodv invi^rcrarcd Vy h:hmf u^n^
-■.'«»■
206
COMMON SCHOOL HEADER.
ance and self-denial, and v. mind undisturbed by unhc-
ly passions, serene ;ind cheeriul in consciour; rectitude,
are most powerful auxiliaries in tbe pursuit cf science.
5. It will bo equally i)ni)ort;int for you to gnard against
aelf-sufiicicncy and vanity. This temper ih. ; n effectual
barrier to hiirh intellectual imprcAemcnts. Frequently
reflect upon the small extent and imperlectim <,f y< ur
Jittainincnts; on the vast regiens of science that are ytt
unexplored by you ; on th.e hidden stcres of leMiiiuf;
which are C( ntaiued in the ten i!k iu>;uid brrlv;:. U;;.i. }( u
have never read or tieen, cr cf which you have not evou
lieard.
C. Rcircujber, too, the lofty atti.in.n'cnt.s that hove
been m.ade by some profound scholars bctli of modern
and ancient days. Iwoald recemniend you to ret;d, in
early life, a few well selected bjci^ra-phies of men who
were distinguisl'.ed for generid kniw ledge. Ke;;d the
lives of Demosthenes, of Newton, of Locke, of Utile,
of Ilallor, of Doddridge, of Johnson, and of .^uch ac-
com})li^lied and illustrious scholars.
7. Observe tlie ardent attachment and intense industry
with which ihe.y cultivated science, and tlie a.-^t', i:i^h-
ing acquiremeiits which they made — tlu~ir high valua-
tion cf tin'.e, and careful improvement cf it, — compare
your rsttainments and habits with theirs — not to rcpese
in sluggi; U despondency, — but to r<mse yourself from
apathy and sloth, to a noble emulation of rising tci an
equality with them.
8. It wiis by no secret magic that these mighty schol-
ars attained to distitiction and fame, — it was by patient,
persevering, untiring industry. If the eloquence of Dc-
mosthercs shock with its thunder the thrcne of Philip,
and ruled the fierce democracy of Athens; and if the
vehement dennnciations, and powerful appeals of Cice-
ro, dvo.xe Catiline iVcnj the Senate house, and iniideCa-
Kir trcndjle, it v. as by th.e priviitc studies and profound
mei]it!iti< ns ci' the clc-et,— their minds having heen in-
:;j!,| (ixt>;;uHod and cnric}i(d ai-d ennobled,
with diversified Knowledge, lofty sentiments, and gener-
4>ih^ ieeling.
COMMON scnooi, Ul:ADrR.
20';
theeigles soaied t„ the vory Ijouiidaries of cre;ition ■
. hc«,,la„K-.. ,l,,.hav. thnt govern the unive™ ""i
'r m , "," "'" "'"'" "'" "'"'''•■ '« ^^'^ '»•''«" «■
i.ilu.trj thitgavct,, thc,),i,u„is of l,i,s ,„i,„| ,h„, „iaor
wh,ch ev„tcrt an..i «ustni„c,l him at so lofty a hei.h?
thill,., I f'' '"""f";' '"'' '"'1'^""' ""^ ''"'•f^'ies.
hitl,,,<l l^>r age:* .etlh,,l „„ t|„. i.^,,,,,,, j,,,^,,
!.ave fr.e.l the .cMe„cos of the tnincl fro„, the i„tH ca; e"
™d ., n ,3t,es ol the .chool., it was „ot n.erely by tfc
,-.'r,e. „ ;V""' S™"'^','"" ^'y 'leoi., patient, and r.,
peitoil nir'clitRti';}i ;'JHJ study.
11. ir Burko ch-n-nu-I lislenincr senates by the mas-
cu nu. . rcMgth .-ul hrHliancy of hi. thoughts^L-if M^n^
fied and our own Ifannlton illumined "the bar by tht
^ endor o( the.r h^ .nnn, and eh.,ence,-if Hall' J^
i : V^'?f ""'"^^ ^!""'" '^''' f^^'^f^'t ""'"^^'•t«l truths in
thur loit.eststra.n8,~it ^va8 not only because they rank-
1^.1 among the first scholars, but also amon. the rno.t a-
tiesrili^f" ''^' ''^'- .^^^>'»template the character of
l.r L rT"' men-,m,t:,te their nultistry, their ea-
ger love ol learning, and the zeal with which they pur-
sued It,— and yon may equal them.
■.■it
CHAPTER LXXXIX.
To iin Dug-Ic.
J Oh, bird of the mountain, who soareth away
To the cliir of the desert, storm-beaten and gray
Where thy desolate eyrie looks over the clond,
And thy ravenous younglings are screaming alouo,
i hou beatest the sunbeams with pinions of lighi,-
Oh, bird of the mountain, how joyous thy flight. '
208
COMMON SCUOOL READER.
•2. Thou hast been where the winds and the waters rave,
And the shark, like a spectre, glares out from tlie
wave,
Where the dolphin is roV'injr his ominous form,
And the clouds gather black in the van of the storm,
Where the shouting gales o'er tliewild .vaves sweep,
And thy cry mingled in with the voice of the deep.
3. Thou art come from the craig of tlie gloomy shore,
That shook with its surges and bowed to its roar ;
Thou hast dashed through the breakers, and clutched
thy prey,
And hast torn from their grapple thy tribute away ;
Oh, king of the mountain and king ol the Pood,
Thou art bearing it home to thy famishing brood.
4. Thy plumage is ruffled, and rended, and worn,
By the rude hill-blast, and the sea-winds torn.
And thy crownless brow looks bare and gray,—
'T was the fretting rock and the tossing spray ;
Yet thou bearest on to thine ancient rest
With a sweeping wing and a tameless breast
5. And up and afar is thy steady flight,
Where the low fir clings to the dizzy height,
O'er the trackless ice and the vapors curled
Round the rifted rocks of a primal world ;
* Thou art lost in the depths of the mountain gloom,-
Thou art screaming now in thy cloudy home '.
6. There are voices deep in thy solitude,
The savage gust and the leaping flood ;
Thou canst look on the hociry hill-tops round;
' With the snows of long-gone ages crowned ;
But the world and its dwellings beneath thee he.
» ■ '2U
— j'Ur
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
Far, from the ken of thy gloomy eye.
209
Oil, bird oi' the wilderness ! bleak and lone
Is the stormy crest' of thy mountain throne !
And the pleasant vallies are far away
Where the wild-flowers bloom and the sweet winds
play;
Thou may'st struggle on in the pride of power,
But the happy heart has a humbler bower.
CHAPTER XC.
The Treaisiires of the Deep.
i. What hid'st thou in thy treasure caves and cells,
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main ?
Pale, glistening pearls, and rainbow-colored shells.
Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain.
Keep, thy riches, melancholy sea,
We ask not such from thee !
2, Yet more — the depths have more. What wealtli
untold
Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies !
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal argosies.
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main,
Earth claims not these again !
3. Yet more — the depths have more. Thy waves haTC
roli'd
Above th6 cities oi' a world gone by.
Sand hath tilled up the ftdacesof old —
Sea weed o'crgrown the hulls of revelry,
11^2
I
210
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
5.
Dash o'er them, ocean, in thy scornful play,
Man yields them to decay !
Yet more — the billows and the depths have more.
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast —
They hear not novi' the booming waters roar —
The battle-thunder will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave —
Give back the true and brave !
Give back the lost and lovely — those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long —
The prayer went up through midnight's breathl^s?
gloom,
And the vain yearning wove 'midst festal song.
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrowii—
But all is not thine own !
C. To thee the love of woman hath gone down —
Dark flow tliy tides o'er manhood's noble head.
O'er youth's bright locks and beauty's flowery crown
Yet must thou hear a voice — Restore the dead.
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee—
Restore the dead, ihou sea!
CHAPTER XCl.
The Fariiser mul lite ^"ohlier, •
I. Boys are apt to form very ridiculous notions re-
garding the splendour vjkI dclifrhts of a L-oldier"H life,
which, instead of being one of happiness, as they imag-
ine, i:?, perhaps, the nicst miserable in the wcrld. While
the youth of sicnius and industry is rising in the pursuit.
COMMON KCnOOL READER,
211
of his poaceftil and honorable occupations, how oftrn
IS his th(.nahtless early companion, who has embraced tlio
career of a soldier's life, spending his best years in tlio
hstlessness of an unidea'd range of duty, becoming old
in doing nothing, and only preparinrr for hinitelf -nost
likely a painlul conclusion to a valueless existence'
Boys who are not aware of tlie sufrerin<rs which often
accompany the soldier's career, may pos"sibly profit bv
the perusal of the following little story, written by Mrs'
Sigourney, an American authoress :—
2. [t was a cold evening in winter. A lamp cast its
cheerful ray from the window of a small farm-house in
one of the villages of New England. A fire was burn-
ing bright y on the hearth, and two brothers sat near it
Several school books lay by them on the table from
which they had been studying their lessons for the next
day.
3. Their parents had retired to rest, and tlie hvxn
were conversing earnestly. The youngest, who was a-
bout thirteen, snid, "John, I mean to be a soldier "
Why so, James?" "I have been reading the life of
Alexander of Macedon, and also a good deal about Na-
poleon Bonaparte. I think they were the crrerde^ men
that ever lived. There is nothing in this world like the
glory of the warrior."
4. -It does not seem to me glorious, to do so much
harm. 1 o destroy multitudes of innocent men, and to
make such mourning in families, and so mucli poverty
and misery m the world, is more cruel than crloriou*; "
"Oh, but then, John, to bo so honored, ^wl to have
!^o many .soldiers under your command, and the fame of
such mighty victories-what glory is there to be com-
pared with this V
5. "James, our good minister told us in his sermon
last Sunday, that the md of life wa, the test of it, ^ood-
ness. Now, Alexander, that vou call the crr<^nt «rot intox
Jcatcd, and died like a madman ; and Nnpolein was im-
prisoned on a desolate island, like a chained wild beast
lor all the World to gaze and wonder at. It was as nel
212
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
cessary that he should be confined, as that a ferocious
monster should be put in a catre.''
6. "John your ideas are very limited. You are not
capable of admiring heroes. You are just fit to be a
farmer. I dare say that to break a pair of steers is your
highest ambition, and to spend your days in ploughing
and reaping would be glory enough for you."
The voice of their father was now heard, calling,
"Boys, 20 to bed." So ended their conversation for
that nirrlit.
7. Fifteen year.s passed away, and the same season a-
gain returned. From the same window, a bright lamp
gleamed, and on the same hearth was a cheerful fire.
The building seemed unaltered, but among its inmates
there were changes. The parents who had then retired
to rest, had now laid down in the deeper sleep of the
grave. They were pious, and among the little circle of
their native village, their memory was held in sweet re-
membrance.
8. In the same chairs which they used to occupy, were
seated their eldest son and his wife. A babe lay in the cra-
dle, and two other little ones breathed sweetly from their
trundle-bed, in the quiet sleep of childhood.
A blast with snow came against the casement. "I
always think," said John, "a great deal about my poor
brother at this season of the year, and especially in stor-
my ni<rhts. But it is now so many years since we have
heard from him, and his way of life exposed him to so
much danger, that 1 fear we have strong reason to be-
lieve him dead." "What a pity," replied the wife, "that
he woul.i be a soldier !"
9. A faint knocking was heard at the door. It was
opened, and a man entered wearily, and leaning upon
crutches. His clothes were thin and tattered, and his
countenance haggard. They reached him a chair, and
he sank into it. He gazed earnestly on each of their fa-
ces, then on the sleeping cliildren ; aiid then on every
article of furniture, as on some recollected friend.
Stretching out his withered arms, he said, in a tone
scarcely audible--"Brother— brother 1" The sound of
feroc
ions
m are not
t to be a
ers is your
ploughing
i, calling,
sation for
5 season a-
right lamp
2ertul tire.
ts inmates
len retired
^ep of the
e circle of
sweet rc-
Dupy, were
in the cra-
from their
liient. "I
t my poor
illy in stor-
e we have
him to so
on to be-
wife, "that
•. It was
ning upon
, and his
chair, and
of their fa-
on every
ed friend,
in a tone
^ sound of
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
213
that Toice opened the tender remembrances of many
years. They hastened to welcome the wanderer, and to
mingle their tears with his. "Brother, sister, I have
come home to you to die."
10, He was too much exhausted to[converse, and they
exerted themselves to prepare him fittinir nourishment,,
to make him comfortable for the iiiijht. The next morn-
iiig he was unable to rise. They sat by his bed, and
soothed his worn heart with kindness, and told him the
simple narrative of all that had befallen them in their
quiet abode.
11. "Among all my troubles," said he, "and I have
had many, none has so bowed me down, as my sin in
leaving home, without the knowledge of my parents, to
become a soldier, when I knew it was against their will.
I have felt the nain of wounds, but there is notliin(r like
the sting of conscience. When I have lain perishing
with hunger, and parching with thirst, a prisoner in the
enemy's hands, the image of my home, and of my in-
gratitude, would be with me, when I lay down, and when
I rose up.
V2. I would think I saw my mother bending tenderly
over me, as she used to do when I had only a headache ;
and mv father with the Bible in his hand, out of which
he read to us in the evening, before his prayc^r ; but
when I have stretched out my hands to say, 'Father, 1
am no more worthy to be called thy son,' I would awake,,,
and it was all a dream. But there would be the mem-
ory -of my disobedience ; and how bitterly have I wept
to think that the child of so many peaceful precepts had
become a man of blood !"
IJJ. His brother hastened to assure him of the per-
fect forgiveness of his parents, and that daily and night-
ly he was mentioned in their supplications as iheir loved,
and absent, and erring one.
As his strength permitted, he told them the story ot
his vvanderincjs and his sufferings. He had been in bat-
ties by sea and land. He had heard the deep ocean echo.,
with the thunders of war, and seen the earth drink in lh«
m
ju imbtfliiMJft
214
COMMON SCHOOL RFCADKR.
«tran;ire, red ?<l»n\vor, i'roi,\ nirmirled Jind pnli)it;itiu.fr l)os-
<->ms. ]le h;id stood in liic iiiiiVtial iisls of KuropJ, ;in,l
jeoparded his lii'p i'-n- a, foroinn power ; ;iiid ho liad pur-
siiod in liis ouii land iho hunted Jndim, liviiiij at inid-
Tiifdit I'roni his (laniin.r hni. llo had «.rono w'ithlhc hrav-
OKt, where danHiors lIiicivvMicd, and h;!0 sonoiit in ovcrv
place- f.;Miio <y\i>Yy oi" w .r, hul had oidy lo'und misery.
14. "Thati^dory which dazzled me in niy days df
hoyiii.od, and whicli I :-npp.;.^ed was always the reward n[
tlie bravo, continu dly olinled me. It is reserved for the
surccsplid leaders r,i'";;rii:ies. They alone are the lie-
roos, while the poor soldiers, by whose toil the victorirn
nre won, endure (lie lnrds!!ip,'ihat (Others may reap tin;
fame. Yet how liijht is all the boasted rrlory which wns
ever obtnined by tl;e greatest commander conij)are(l witii
tho'gord that lie ilrfeits, and the sorrow that he inilicts,
in order to obtain il !
15. S )moti!n.-s wiion we were ready for a batde,
and just before we ruslied into it, I have felt a fearful
Rhuddcrin^% an inexpressil)le horror at the thon^rju of
butchcrinL' my fellow-rrcalurcs. But in the heat of con-
test, sncli feeiinixy vanished, and the madness and des-
peration c{ a demon |)(\sses.^ed me. 1 cared neither for
heaven ur.r hell.
10. You, who dwell in the nudst of the iniluenccs
of mercy, and siirink to frive pain even to an animal,
can hardly i:iiaifine what liardness of he;;rt comes with
the life of a soldier. Deeds of (Tuelty are alwavs be-
fore him. an<l b.e heeds neither the sulferinrrs "of the
starving- infant nor the irroans of its dyiiiir mother.
IT. Of my own varieties of pain, f will not speak.
Yet when 1 have biin on the field of battle, and unabb
to move from amonir the feet of tram})Iing liorses, when
my wounds stiflened in the chilly night-air, and no man
cared for my soul, I have thou(Tht it ^no more than jiiPt,
eince my own bond had dealt the same violence to V.th-
er.s, perhaps iafhci^i even keener anguisb than that
which was appo>i{^v;' to le.
18. Biit the V
tost evil of a .soldier's life
C iS IVM
T.ay .su.st
iiid mad<
of every
this hard
ibold and
(lod gran
I am .suiii
VJ. II
>kill aiid
lieulth.
^'ius ars v
"IJrotli
[inace. I
5i:rved G'.
merciful
[:!i'cce, an
Ul). liu
|l!ul Stopp
I iuivc take
!!iit 1 hav
I hive, and
pot imagii
Iniaiice of
iJl. Jle
strides.
I'Vst little
I his sickm
Si,<tor, bn
'The bless
J upon your
/^:; So sayi
%; ..:^ in t
■a the sob
the hardship to which he is exposed, or the vround.s ho
COMMON SCHOOL KKADEH,
Sir,
may siLstiin, hilt the tiinwith which ho is surrounded
iiid uiiide fiiMiiliar. Oaths, imprecations, and contt^inpl
of ovory lliiuir sacred, -iro ihe {.Icnionts of his trade In
this har.hMic.l earce:-, tliou-rli ( exerted Jnv:^ei^t. appear
ibohland courairei.us, u\y heart eenstaiitly' uiis^rave me.
(iod trrant that ii may he purilied hy reftentance, before
lam summoned to ihe dread har of jiidoinent." '
11). His friends llittcred thenisolves, Uiat hy medical
>kill and nnrsiuiT, lie m'ujl.l eveniuallv he restored to
linuith. JJut he said, "]t can never he.' My vital encr-
Mi'.s ars \vast(uh"
"JJrother," he would say, *'y(ni have- heeii a man of
p(!ace. In the (puet occupations of hushandrv, you have
siirved God, and loved your neitrhijcur. You have been
niercifid to the animal creation. You hive taken the
:!t'Oci', and saved the sheep alive.
i-M). !5ut I have wantonly defaced the imaire of God
ind stopped that hreat'i which I never can resU)re You
iuivc taken the honey, and preserved the lahourina bee.
Iliit I have destroyed man and his habitation, hurned the
hive, and sjjilled the honey on t.'ie jrround. You can-
lotimao-ine how hitter is uou' my sorrow for the perfor-
niiiice of s(U'h alx niinatio?is."
•21. He decliiud rajiidly. Death came on with hastv
'tridos. Layiu'T his cohi hajul upon the head vi' the ef-
ii(st Htt!(! hoy, who had been much around his bed in
b sickness, he said, "Dear Jolm, never be a soldier.
.%tor, brother, you have been as anjrels of mercy tome.
The hlessinir of tlicGed of peace abide with you, and
upon your Itousp."
vSa >iiyiuir, he expired. Such was the concluding
^'cae ;n the liib of a bein^r who had fojidly anticipated
a the soldier's career nothing hut splendour and uufad-
'ag glory.
I -1
■i
I
:16 COMMON S(;ilOt)L RKADEU.
ciiAvrKii xcii.
Ifloiiey will nol pay all Debts*
1. Y<niii<r Sqiiir.' llcrvey and liis Traclicr, Mr. F(
ri-
lon. were a'xuil lo iiumiit tlicir Ikh^ch, lor a vu
let
irous/li
the Park. (Jcornc, a liauuhty hul of IburUHMi, alter .^ciii-
tiui'/iiKMlie appoaraiice n»"tlie aniiiuils ibr a iiioineiit, ;i(l-
drossed the arooin in an aiiory tone.
What <l() you mean, Brown, by hringriiiir the
this s'lovenlv iiianiur f Look at the.^e hits;
o
horses out ui
Sir, — 1 am half iuelined to make you ujo hack and pohi-li
them ft)r tlie next hour."'
a "Why, master Gcorore," returned tlie man, rr-
ppectf\illy, "they do lul leek asl)rip.htas usual, but, Sir,
you kncuv we canu' hi nie fr« m Tonii in tiie rain, Intt
lust uii^lit, ami tlie lu use is so full (>f e< mpauy that I liavu
bern too busy to attent' lo thiiiirs as usual."
4. " No idle exenses, Sir, if ycui ctninot attend to
your duty better, i will speak to Papa,— 1 luive nctiietKii
of allowiu<rsueh idleness
1 have lived with your P
)a. Master Geerue, tl-j^e fivi' years, and I'm ; iiro lie
knows me for n L'oed bervaut'
aid Brown, rather r'ul-
fled.
I want none of your impudence, Sir, go
about
your business; and mind — never brinor a lu rse to tin
loor 111 this style roam
tyi
P(( r \U( V. n c;;st a sort c
.ippeulliiiif <_rlaiice at the Precc pti r, who hvd jeekcdcn
silence, and wc nt his way. (Jet rjjc ;'t;;rte(i bis lier!-e in
to a canter. — " Not so fa^t, (n>( r<ie,'' s ii
1 have semetbin^r to say fo ( i
Well,
d Mr. Fcntcn.
Sir, what is
it?" *• Pray, George, v. hat must yt ur terv ant, Brown,
think of youC
f). "Think of me? Sir, indeed, that is a strange
Hut it is worth y( ur cciisideriiru n ; h
question."
wound his le(din£rs and s< ur his temp.er, l.ecaiisf
little bits of steel are ret as briiiht ;.» tlev iiiijz
hy
tllOi^e
Now I can imagine he thinks you art a li;'i>h
fpcling boy."
7. The young Squire colored. " Sir, he negic
hthc?
.1 nn-
nni
cted lii»
R
P'
:% ;
COMMON SCHOOL READER,
217
i
ebts»
cr, Mr. Fcri''
ride tlirouifh
1)., alter scni-
iiiomeiit, ;i(l-
hriiicriiiif the
at tlu't^e hits;
ck an(l})()lisli
lie m;in, rr-
siial, but, Sir, I
lie rain, Iritt
ny that I havu
I) "
lot attend tc
lave noiiolidii
vvitliyeurPii-
1 I'fii sure lie
II, rather rul-
Sir, go about
hi rse to the
viibi a sort el
I I( (kedrn in
(i liis heri-e iii-
i Mr. Fen till.
, J^ir, uhal is
rvant, Brown.
is a Kfrnngc
leratidi; why
-eraiise tlios-e
ley iiii<rlit be?
uu>h and iiH'
neglected lii»
work ; let him think what he pleases, it is a matter of
perfect indidcrence to inc." " But, George, it should
not be a matter of indiftcrencc to you ; let me tell you
that it is not only your duty, but your i?)t(rcst to culti-
vate the good will and kindly feelings, even of your
</room, if he is, as J am certain, a faitliful, honest, and
deservnur man. Is he not so?"
H. " Why, I believe that he is," said George, reluc-
luntly ; " but that is no reason why J should put up
with his ne>^dect." " Certainly our duties, whatever
they may be, sliould not be neglected ; but tell me,
(ieorge, at what hour did you rise this morning?" —
" Rise this morning, Mr. Fenton ? — why about ten o'-
clock, I suppose ; — but what of that ?" " Your studies
.^uirered iti conse({uence ; so you will perceive that you
have neglected i/onr duty."
'J. "' Mr Fenton, I do not see what that has to do
with my groom." ** Keep your temper, Master George,
1 have more (piestions to ask ; what was your excuse
for rising so late ? Was it not because you were so fa-
ti<rtjcd with your long ride yesterday.'" " Yes, Sir.
What then ?"
IP. " Brown attended yon and came home, drenched
v/ith the rain, and was, doubtless, hard at work for scv>
eral hours afterwards." *• 1 can't say, — I suppose he
w IS." '* Now, to my knowledge, he was again busy
this morning at five o'clock ; how should you have liked
that?"
II. *' Not at all, of course, — but what have I to do
with all this ? He must rise when his work requires it
—He is a servant." *' Yes, Gecrne, and he is a man,
equally liable as yourself, to be fatigued, with labor, and
equally desirous of rest afterwards. Now judge of
others by yourself; had yen bcstcwed that attention to
the subject which you ought, ycu wculd net have qx k-
eu as you did just now, to a man wlio toils, early and
Ute, for your convenience and comf( rt."
ly. " Well, Sir, suppose that he dees labor for me ;
he is fed and lodged, and well paid besides." "Very
true, but he has an undoubled riirht to kind Ireatinent
1;. m
I
1i>^
COMMON scn(u>i, ni:vi)i-:t.
rr
.Tnd if y«*)ii '.rivr hini ill iisnjTO, your food <;r your wn^r*<
will not win lil,s ^rood will, airt'cli ii, or .'-yinpiitiiy "
'■ Myninnthv ! \o\\ )ii;tk(! iiic laii^h, iMr. I't-iittni. rciiilv 1
"... *
can «ii>priis(' with it."
V4. " Y(~u nrc niist;iKc'. 8;.-," -;;ij<l !\ir. Fcntrn, \v;th
some seventy «>1 ii'.;iiiii(M'. — " Tlu' rich nnd proud :xv
hut, iitllc \urvr i!u!(>r..Mid(MU nt" Jhcir iclltnis than the
}5oor. V/e :dl uvvd tlic ; yi^.piithy ;iiid ;u>^ii tuiicf < 1 ( ur
iioirihhors ; noiu^ arc so liinh iis to ho :d)<)V(> it ; luiiic .^o
low as to be nruihln to ailord it, The rich i!i;iii is oitoii
placed ill rircii:iist;inccs avIk -.c tlic .-«v\i({s ([' attiiclicd
dependants or domestics ;'riMn\ ahiahle. Of tin.-- wc
have nnnn r<uis ii;st;;n<-es. Hy (he l)\<\ this ri'mnids mr.
thatlJrown \v;slhe man who, at th.e rii-k of hi;^ Ht(,
stoi)jHMl the )i(Miifs wliich were rnniiin!! aAvav with vciir
Mamiiia, ;nid prevt'jiled, V4<ry pct^:-.!i»]y, iatai ('oiisecpii'ii-
cCs."
M. " l^it In- uat^ \v(>ll rewarded icr it, ."^ir. Papn aavr
him a ten pt.nnd ;:< te wlu^n he .c^ot lictnc." " Did he
think of a rew;nd at, (h(> time '^ [No! llninanitv. aiKithc
respect and allectitMi he Iclt for his fthi-ler's laiiMh. ;;t-
inan^d him. TrlvC iliis li r nrnntod, (u'<:i< o, tliai /,'/( '.v.v
Kill ?tof (ininll yrrvin:', cr pov (i(!('ih{$. l\(.w la't_,
tluDO's mioht liappiMi to yi n in wlncl; iir nni.'ht lie iMl
t'V do vc.n ;er\ic('. ^( in' tniknu! }!;,r«l;iu'ss jnst now \>,
\n n';y ojdnion. iii t l;i'< ly to dis];( ,-o him \o oive it."
^1). ■' Till- hcpe oi a toward w( nld make men. of lus
S'^rt, dt> anv lhiii<'. 'i'lu- h.wer el:;s:cs -ne a nitrcenary
.SC{,
■" 'V\\c \ovr will aiw:'ys apiaar .^-o to tho.-e who thiidi
vumt'y fill ])('!/ (.l7 f'll^fs," said ;)'r. Fentin, " to these
who feel conscions of j^ossosiiio- no eliiimvS to respect
aiid def( rence hnt their i-tatic ii < r their W rtnne, y( iir
viown may appear plaiisihh*. Jlnt bewares (j(or^e. of fl
disposition to des})ise yt in- init ri( rs. T,o( k arennd yoii
and reflect that yon owe (ncry thinn to the labor of
others, that ycai ar(> e>.(>mpt jia m the necessity oi' eithoi
ineiiUil or bodily lalior for yoiiv brc-ad.
10. Instead id' h;nb(irin<r a fecdimr of ovetborTaiicc,
ex wntcnipt, be liunibly thankful for ease and plenty.
COMMON SCHOOL RKADKR.
239
your ■\va^r(^
."-yjiipiitiiv ."
uui, rciiilv \
''(•mm, u;;h
i ])r(>U(l :rv
ws tluiii the
lUilCf (\ ( ui
it ; iM;iit' <o
!i;ia is (li'foii
<'.t" nttiiclu'i;
or llii.- \\c
r<'miJl(is 111;;
(;»' liit^ lite,
ly with \(;iir
". P;ipn a.ivr
" " l)i(i he
riity. ;iii(i thr
' iainih-. ;;c-
', t)i;ii /iKJUv
ii'lit ho iibic
jti>t now i^,
y/\\v it. "
Dion, of his
:; iiU'rcenaTy
V who thiiili
!, " to tlusr
s to rcspci't
( rfiinc, y( iir
>"( or^o. oi B
;i It'll mi )oii
the labor ot'
ity of cithoi
•(.'iborTniicc,
and plenty .
•iiid check your pride \>y rcmomlxriiifr tlio v/ords of tho
little llyinii you were tau^^riit wlicii a child. Have yuu
d(is('rved uiore than of hers, ' Tliat God iiath iriven you
more V It will he >.\('il to rcfiUMnhcr also thai, alter all.
the rich mau is but a sLi'ward, — that he onirht not to
live for hiin8(df alone, — IiutidrcHls are entployed in pr( -
ciiriui:;- the means to supply his spleiulor, and'lhe means-:
and leisure he is prlvileired to possess, should be de-
voted to the assistance ;>f those ulio iibor inr his wanti?,
wait Uj)on his wishes, .md minister to his iurvuries,
17. (ieor!4« looked serions. " ] ii,iv(; done wroMjr.
Mr. Feiiton, I will nivc Urown a crown-[)iece by wav
ot repariiii(»n. ^' ]),) n-) s',i:;!i thin<jr, (Jrmri^fe, ;l word to
<;\press your reirr(^t for havinii; becjii so hasty, will be far
more pr»>per ; and now that our lecture is over ue will
fjive our horses iIk* rein."
IS My you!i:x readers, be careful to remember what
is due to ethers, especi.dly to those whose c<uulition if
l)and)le and dependent, and remember als'.) Mr. Feuton'*--
;nuxini, " Money will not pay all ilebta."
OHAPTMIl \C:in
I. One of the most important concerns of youiit;
peoph^ is, their m Mi;t<.i:(Mneiit in respect to what are
called 7Vc(|u;!i:it;uu:es. To have miiny friends in desira-
ble, in a world where men a.re ;renera!ly thrown no
much upon their own resources. IJijt there is a dia-
tinction between the friendship of a (u^rtain lunnber of
respectable persons, who are only ready to exert them-
selves for us when calhMl upon, and the acipiaintance of
.'i circle of contem[)oraries, who are [)erpetually forcinir
thiMiiselves upon our conijjany for tluMiiere purpo»?e of
mutual junusemenl.
''i. Takiun; the words in their usual
siu;nification,
yomig man oucrht to wish for many frienda, but few ac-
! i
him
«20
COMMON SCHOOL RI2ADEU.
■•« ?\
: ik'T
(;■■•'
quaintances. There is something in the countenance
of a companion that cheers and supports the frailty of
human nature. One can speak and act more boldly
with a friend by his side, than when alone. But it is
the good fortune of men of strong character, and it
ought to be the object of every one, to act well and
boldly by himself
3. One thing young people may be assured of, almost
all the irreat services which enlijjhtened men have done
for their race were performed alone. There was but
one man, not two, at the discovery of the compass, of
the Copernican system, of the logaritlmis, and of the
principle of vaccination. To descend to lesser things,
ask any man who has risen in worldly fortune, from
small beufinninirs to great wealth and honor, how he
'3 O ~ ^ ' ^
contrived to do so, and you will lind that he carvetl it
all out for himself with his own hand.
4. He will, in all probability, inform you that he iiiif^
reached the honorable station in society which he now
maintains, chiefly by narrowing the circle of hisi^rhatc
acquaintance J, and extending that of his jmblic relations ;
most likely adding, that had he on all occasions consul-
ted the persons with whom he happened to be acquaint-
ed, as to his designs, he would, by every calculation,
have been still in the yame obscure insignificant situation
he once was. Tiie truth is, it is only when alone that
we have the ability to concentrate our minds upon any
object ; and it is only when things are done with the full
force of (me mind, qualified for the purpose, that they
are H'^ie well.
5. It is the misfortune of young people, before they
become fully engaged in the relations of life and busi-
ness, that they look too much to acquaintances for en-
couragement, and make the amusement which they can
furnish too indispensable. The tender mind of youth is
reluctant or unable to stand alone ; it needs to be oiie
of a class.
0. Hence, the hours which ought to be spent in the
acquisition of that general knowledge which is so usetnl
m after life, and which cari only be acquired in tho
COMMON SCHOOL UKADER.
OOl
•untenance
e frailty of
ore boldly
But it is
ter, and it
t well and
I of, almost
have done
re was but
:ompass, of
and of the
ser things,
tune, from
r, how ho
i carved it
that he hn?
ch he now
his 2>r hate
c reiatiom ;
ni^ consul-
e acquaini-
lalculation,
ni situation
alone that
s upcn any
ith the lull
, that they
before they
; and busi-
ices for en-
;h they can
of youth is
s to be one
pent in the
is so useful
ired in, the
vacant days of youth, are thrown away in the most in-
glorious i)ursuits; for accpiaintances are seldom the
companions of study, or the auxiliaries of business, but
isuiess,
most generally the associates of a debauch, the fellow-
Hutterers upon the Mall, the companion-hounds in the
chase of em[)ty pleasure.
7. It is amazing how much a youth can endure the
com])any of his principal a( .^naintancr. Virgil's ex-
pression, " tecum ronstnnorr reiui," is realized in his
case ; for he veritably appears as if he could spend his
whole life in the society of the treasured individual. At
the approach of that person, every other matter is cast
aside : the njost important business seems nothino- in
contrast with the interchange of a smile or a jest with
this duplicate of himself
H. The injunctions of the most valuable relations —
even of father and mother — are scattered to the winds,
if they are at variance with the counsels or conduct of
this j)recious person, whom, after all, he perhaps met
only last week at a club. The i)ower of an ac(piain-
tance of this kind, for good or evil, over the mind of
his friend, is so very great that it may well give some
concern to those who are really interested in"the pros-
pects of youth. But every eUort to redeem a victim
from the fascination will be in vain, unless his natural
or habitual goodness be shocked by the further e\i)osure
of his ac<iu'.iiutance's charaf'ter.
9. The only safe-guard, therelore, against this mighty
evil, is prevfoiisli/ to accustom youth to (h'])en(l niiich
upon themselves, and to endeavour to infuse into them
a sufficient degree of moral excellence to be a protec-
tion to them against the worst vices which accpjaintan-
ces may attempt to impart to them.
10. There is a possibility, however, that the uccpiaiiU-
ance may be no worse tliiin ITh lellow, >md yet the two
will do that together which lh(^y couhl not'df) .'-ingly.
Virtue is, unon the whole, a thing of .solitude: vice is
n creature of the crowd. The individuil will not dare to
bo wicked, for the respojisibiiity whi'-ji b.c knovr? nuist
be concentrated upon himself; while the co?Mpanv, leel-
S 2
;. :;■ 't,'
?f-!
•J^
COMMON SCHOOL HKADFn.
h'
Sfi-iS*
iiifT that a dividcMi rospoiis^ihility is h;M<IIy any riripousK
biiity at all, is under no such constraint.
II. 'IMioro is nincli odilication lo the heart o( liie
ihouorluless and wicked in the participation ol" compan-
ions ; and oven in lar<re associ;itions of honourable uieit
for liononrahle purposes, there is oIUmi wanliui: thai, t'uie
lone of feelinjT which o;ov(M-ns the conduct o!" perhaps
each in<livi(hial in the fraternity. Thus, an excessive
inchdijence in the company of acipiaintauces is to l)e
iivoided.even wher(» they are not inferior in ni«^ral wortli
to ourselves.
['2. There is an easy kind of morality, min-h in vooiir
nmonir n irrcat body »)f peojile, that " what otlurs do «y
UMV do," as if hii«;her standards had not heen handed
down by Hod himself, frtun heaven, or constructed m the
course of iiuu\ by the wise and pure amonir nuMi. Tins
mor;dity conu^s stron<rlv into play amonjj; youth in tlieir
inlercoin-.se with cot(Muporaries : and as it is always-
rather on a declluiu!!; than an advaucinj: scale, it se*m
leads theiu a oreat way down the paths <d' vice.
V,). It will be foumi, in ociwral, that a cousulerahif
dei»ro<" oi' absluuMice from this iuduh:;ence is recpnred,
even ti) sv'cure the n\ost (ndiuary deor«'e of success in
lift?. Uut if oriMt tliiuos be aimed at. if W(> wish to s-ar-
prw,,- our frliows by many (l<>";rees, and to render oiti-
t(e!vcs honouraldy (•otispicuous amouir men, we must
abjure actpi nut uices, ahuost entirely. We uuist, for
that purpose, withdraw t>urselves from all t(>mptatioii tc i<
idle niu! futile auuisenuMit — we must, to use th(> wnrdii
ofjurrcHl poet " shun deliidils, and live laboric^us davi-.
cnArri-:ii xciv
i . There is neihiiu.': w hicii makes so fj;reat a (htrercnif^
v...t,,.,j^e!) eue fnar>. I'.nd another, as the pracuce ot caliri
a?ui Hcricus llunkiniT. To those wiio have been uua^-
'art o( tlic
A' comp.iii-
iirahU' iiu'it
iiv thai, fmc
o!" perhaps
I (ixccssivc
[^s is to !)('
iioral vNortli
■h in vomir
th(Ts do irc
iHMi hamh'd
ucti'd in \\w
n(Mi. This
nth in tlu'ir
is always
alo, it noon
ir«\
onsiih'raiiif
is itMpiircd,
f stioccss in
wish to s'.ii-
rcnch'r oiii-
n, we imisl
V nuis(, tor
Muptatiuii t(i
(' the wiirdii
irious davi-.
: a dillVrcn^'f^
Ijce of cahri
' been uuav-
rOMMON S<:iIOOI. EADIIK
0O1
customed U> it, (here is recpiired at lirsl an ofTort , \mt
It IS entir( ly in iheir own power to re|)cat this elli.rt
they will, and w/nn th«y wdl.
i It l)(»c-onies every day easier hy persevfr<Mie<' and
haliit — and the habit so ac.tpiired exerts a material in-
(luen.-e np<Mi their condition as responsihle and iininortal
hrinurs. JM that u,,.;,| pr,„.,.s,s, thereture, in which (-(.ii-
sisls tlu; healthy condition ol" any man. as a moral lM«in(r.
tiiere is a most important s|(>p, of which he must l»ec(»n-*
MMons as an evcrcis.^ ,,r his own mind. V,,ii j'cel tjiat
you have luM-e a power, however lilll(> yoii may attend to
t!ie exercise of it.
'i. You can direct your thonaJMs to any snl)j(>ct yon
[dei.'^e; yon <';m conliiit! them to objects "which are bc-
for.' yon at the time, or occurrencrs" which have passed
diiniiLr the day— or you can s.'iid them back to events^
which toolc phice many years airo. You can direct
them (o persoii.s whom you are in the habit oC meetimr,
Irom day today, or to tho.se ujio are separated Imm you
i>y thousands of miles.
1. Vou can plac(> before yon p(>rsons who lived, and
rvenis which occurred Iminr before you came into Cxi.s-
(ence, and you cm antic.ipale and re,di/.e events which
an; not likely to <»ccur until you have ce,is(!d to exi-f.
Study these wondrous pr<H'ess(>N ef ihe mind ; observe
what |)oweryou have over them, and what cons(Mpi(. noes
of elernal importanc(; ninst arise from exer<-,isin<r tlu'in
ari;^rht. ""
.">. If you can thus think of any subject you ple;ise.
why r.m you not think of (,'od— ,".|" ins power, ids vvis-'
doin, his holiness, his justice;— of his law wliicli he ha.«<
written in your heart, and in his r(;vealed word? VVlif
<'aunot you think of, and r(>ali/e tlu; period when yoii
'hall li(! down in the jrrave ; and that IrenuMidous mo-
iiUMit when all that are in their irraves ishall hear the
voice of the Sou of (Jod, and they thai, hear shall live,
and shall ari.se to judirmcit .' Suclitrutlis as these, duly
considered, or thoii^rht id", could ii,)r, f.iil, „nder d'ivine
ialUi(!iice, to e'cercist! a j>owerlu! ellect luu^u all our
'>;d)it3 of thinking luid actinjr in this life.
f
- i
\l
■II
; m
'"Id I
if
fill
m
o.>i
roMMON SCHOOL READEB.
!m>
CHAPTER XCV.
Bleiicvolcuce of tlie I>city.
1. It issayitin: nmcli rt)r tho boiiovolenco of ^io<l, to
v;iv, fliiit a siiiulc world, or a siiiirle s\>U'in, is not ciioutiili
for it tiiat it uwvA iiave llic spread of a miirhlior roiiioii,
(.11 w iiich it may pour lorlli a tide oi' oxuboraiicy tliroiiuji
out all its provinces — that as iar as our virion can carry
us, it has strewed immensity with tlie lloalinn- recepta-
cles of life, ami has stretched over eacii of them the
fi-aruiture of sucli a sky, as mantles our own habitation
—ami that, even from distances which are ia.r beyc^iid
the reach of human eye, the sonjrs oi" o-ratitude ami
praise may now be arisinsr to tho one God, wlio sils sur-
rounded by the regards of his one great and universal
family.
•2. lNow it is saying inuch for tlie benevolence of (iod,
to say, that it sends iorth tliese wide and <listant emana-
tionsOver the surface of u territory so ami)le — that tlic
world we inhabit, lying imbedded as it does, amidst ^o
Huich surrounding greatness, shrinks into a point that
lo the universal eye might appear to be almost \n\\w.T-
ceptible
;?, But does it not add to the i)ower and to tlic per-
fection (^.f tliis universal eye, that at tl\e very monieiu
it is taking a comprehensive survey of the vast, it can
fasten a steady and undistractcd attention on each mi-
nute and separate portion of it ; that at the very moment
it is lookincr at all worlds, it can look most pointedly and
most intelligently to each of them ; that at the very
moment it sweeps the field of innnensity, it can settle
all the earnestness of its regards upon every distinct
hand-breadth of that field; that at the very moment at
which it embraces the totality of existence, it can send
a most thorough and penetrating inspection into each
of its details, and into every one of its endless diversi-
lies ?
4 You cannot fail to perceive how much this adds tu
COMMON 9CU00L UEADEU.
225
lot eiU)Utj;h
icr roiiioii;
:*.y tliioiinli
I o;iii carry
lil' rcccpta-
llu'in llic
hal)itali(>ii
i\\v boyciid
tiliide niid
lo silK mr-
I universal
CO oi'dlod,
lilt einaiia-
• — that tlic
, aiuidst •<(•>
point tliat
ost iin'])(;r-
c) the pcr-
■y nioiiieiU
,'ast, it can
ri each mi-
ry inoiiirnt
iiitedly and
t the very
can settle
ry distinct
moment at
t can send
into eacli
ess diversi-
liis adds to
the power of the nil-seeing eye. Tell me, then, if it do
not add as much perfection to the henevolence 'of (lod,
that whde it is expatiating over the vast tield of created
thnigs, there is not one portion of the Held overlooked
by It; that while it scatters blessiuLrs over tli(> whole of
an mtinite range, it causes them to descend int(r a shower
ot plenty on every separate habitation ; that while his
arm is underneath and round about all w.^rlds, he en-
ters within the j)recincts of every one of them, and
gives a care and a tenderness to each individual of 'their
teeming i)oj)ulation.
.">. Oh ! dt)os not the God, who is said to be love
5hed over this attribute of his, its fme.^t illustration '
when, while he sits in the highest heaven, and pours out
Ins lulness on the whole subordinate domain ui' nature
and ot Providence, he bows a i)itving rejiard on the
very humblest of his children, and" sends his reviving
si)irit into every heart, and cheers bv his j.resence every
home, and provides for the wants of every family, anil
watches every sick-bed, .and listens to the «U)mj)laints of
every sufferer; and while, by his wondrous mind, the
weight of universal government is borne, oh '. is I't not
more wondrous and more excellent still, that he feels
k)r every sorrow, and has an ear open to every prayer '
CHAPTER XCVI.
OpiBGBOfil.
1. I remember, when J was a youth like yourselve.r
that nothing astonished me more'than the variety of op-
posite opinions which seemed to prevail upon all subjects,
both in this and other countries. It was what I could
not comprehend, for as the asserter of each opinion de-
clared that he alone was right in his theory, I could not
understand how all could be right, if all differed less
or more from each other.
ii. I believe that this, generally speaking, forma ©no
I'-i' '
iS-
226
eOMMON srnoOl, Jlf-ADKll.
m ■.j^
-m;
of the diilicullies lyin^r in the way of youth, which un-
fortiHiutoly no inhlructor ovor thinks it worth hi.s whili;
to c'xphiin, so th;;t, upi.ii ;i thoiK-^aiul iiiipi^rlunt jh'HiIs
the hewildi'i-etl b,>y •::ro\vsui) in t( i;.l igiu:r:iuce, or uhut
is worse, full of iutVilcraiit V'^'j^'^'i''^'^^' '">j><>'i^"^" ^" '"^
proapccls in lif..',ur to the society of v.liicli he lieco-iiics
auu'inber. i ho\n\ yt u will not tr.ke il aiiiiss if 1 otler
vou a few W(nls of cdvi-jo on this subject.
',1 liCl IIS, in tl;o first place, consider what is niei.nl l)\
opinion. It is u l)e!ie'--:i c* nviciii n of the senses cr
the .niderslandiiu- ; nevertheless, it is a ihini'; obviously
depending- on times, circuiusti.nces, ae.d bodily ten'pera-
nients. It inav arise from over-hasty (■(.nclusi(!ns, and
may be allected by the in'.p.vdses of pas;^i( n. Tiie fonnii-
tiui'i o;f aa opinion is o'flen exceedmoly deceptive.
1. When we ni:ike ui> r,ur eaimis, as it is called, upon
any given sui.'ject, \\c, ::vc inc.li:ied to believe thrt :'l;
opiuu>ns (d" an Opposite char'iclcr have been, and are,
erroneous. Wt^ :n-e rpt lo< l:iun;h at every body's opinimi
but our own. All this betrays a deficiency «d" sol>er ri-
ilection, :ni ionoranee of lhi> history and facnlties^oi
mankind, and a winitof knowledoe i.f the world. The
people of every country possess t, pinions fav(Uirable to
their nwii fashions, cust(\ms, laws, ind Jiciigion, and un-
favourable to those of other nati'.ns.
5. A love (d" one's own eoi;i:'ry \}= certainly a C( m-
mendable feelinu", but it should be a love arisinir frein rs-
amination :n:d convietic n, not from prejodiee. Tb-.
Hindoo worships tlu- river Ganj;cs. V/c, by <Mir ediic;>
tion, know that this is nonsense. The bigoted hut coo-
Kcientious Turk will iro to death upon it, that Mahonici
was a true proi)het. HV, by our superior inteHi<rcnce
and reading, kn(nv that Mahomet was a vile imposter.
('). The people who lived in oe.r own country a hun-
dred years ago were of belief that certain old women,
whom they termed witches, could, by supernatural pow-
ers, rais(> "tempests at sea and hmd, and malevolently in-
terrupt the ccurse of human atVairs. The people who
possessed this belief wore perfectly conscientious in their
which un-
i hi.s whih;
anl jx-itils
:e, or uh.'il
"urns to his
»s if 1 tiller
ir nu;. til \)\
' y-v.iv.-V-'s tr
.>; ohvi()Il^^ly
ily U'lrpcra-
isitJiiH, and
Tiic roriiia-
ptive.
isiHcd, upon
'vc thrt Ai
II, and ;!rc,
ly's ( [)iiii(iii
«.r ^ol)(-r rt-
!";;{• iilties ol
vorhl. The
ivv(!Ui-;ible t<>
iuU, t'lul UM"
lunly a c(ir.-
-illir iVclll CN-
KdK'O,
Thr
>(li
II
y (Hir cdiic;:-
jted but (H n-
int Mahonici
int('Hi<i;cnoc
lo imposit'i".
imirv a iuui-
I (1(1 women,
•natural pow-
l(-volently in-
pe('plo who
iilious in their
COMMON SCHOOL RKAOKR.
237
opinion; yet ./,. know that tin. opinitm was a an.ss al^
.ur(hty |r. know that our ancestors bclic/ed in an
nnporfsibility.
^11(1 pl,„,c. 1 lie ..pinu.n tlnit is supp.^snl l„ bo ri.rlu
". ..no c„,„lry is ,vn,ns i„ ,,„„|„,,, ■^v|„„ ,^ ^-]
sKlorcd t,. 1,0 a r,j;l,t .pi„i,„.. i„ Asia, is ,h.,„„|,t wr.me
m |.,„r„po. ^V I, a ,. ,|,.o,„o,l , ,■„„,•« n,„l pr^i.cv.orVh?
"■I;'-I '" lint:,,,,, ,,s rorko,,,.! ,i„ a,,„„,|i ' i„ p ™J
?o„. ,„ „no ,|,.,r,ct of co„„t,}-, i.s l„ :,|.c,l „p„„ „ |,
ZTTu' ' ;"^'-='— 'l-t tl.e whole! world ,
....,.,d t:. l,o , ,-,,,.n.,l, ;,s „. wr,-e, will, ;, v:u-,<,u- of ,.„)„.
|on. ,,,,., ..!,.,dc. n, opi.i,„„, ,.;,,, ^.e .„vo,s,r,l.d col u .
In wli,.Mi,-.,iin!.-ios;i,-i;d,"pmtcd ii, ;Mi,:m
■-:. <>i'""i,, f l,:,vos,id, i.-< also <!o|,c,ido„t on toinnora-
a.ui cl,olci-,c ,„.„ ,|,.o:, „.,t ,hi„U i„ ,,4,,; j,,^ ^^ '^.
'''";"•'•"">■.'" ^«'mo tl.in.s fro,,, :, ,„;,„ „),„ i/s,,,]'", ,
u"dor „„st,„ ,,,,„os o,- p..,,.,ty. Ho slr„„.vlv oonstilutod
s tho pri„ciplo w]i,c!, gover„s opi„i„n, ilwi ,„ost „,on
|,vo ,■,.,«.;, '•.•,ll..r t;,.i;.opi„io„s, o„,„a„y point,, i„
.l,o,r pn,o,<.ss ,J,ro„.;h li,;, Tl..y f..',,, ,i„\'pi„i„, ,
•'""'• *' f',";''. ",' "'■^"1'™"', li.ey .lop.,1 ',nd form
mature- „„d ,1,., oth.:-,- they ,noo':fv into s„n,otl„n..- c "
<i^ Old ao-c comes u[);.)i tiiorii. "^ '
0. What ({(K-s all tin. wondcriu! conlrariotv of ( nin-
.on teach ns ^ >-'-(• wo soe that (.pinion is depcit
on tho locality (.1 our hirt!,, ,>„ th, ,., j,, ,,,,;,,, \^.^ jf^^^
on tho conditi.m m which wo may ciiar:o.> to he placed'
and(,n l1u3 pliysical (p.alitic^s of ,mr lu.hos, have we
thereioro no power over opinion? ]\I„si wo be its .lave?
Iheseare (pio.t.ons of a «ol(Mnn character, and thev
must 1)0 answered soherly. ^
10. Tho contrariety of opinion existing in times and
Peaces teaches ns, ni the first place, fnnnilif,;, which is
Ui. toundation ot many },eavenlv virtues. Jt shows us
tUat the opinions which we may form, particularly on
li
a*
roMMON wrnooL Rr.ADER
abstra.-t snbiocts. iniiy l.o^.il.Iy luithor he llu- immt ror-
rorl iH.r Ml.-" most rndunn^r. IVmIi:iih whrit wc have
takni 111) and rh. ri.sli.d .is ..ur v.\mu\ou in:.> alter nil he «
<ieh.si..M. In l.Mii.in- a Usm.u ..l' huinihly ami (hstnisi
<»f our own slyl.- o\ \\uukuv^, we ar(« ii.iprrssed with :i
teiidrr re.-ar.lVor thr opinions orolliors -opuuons which
most hkoTv havo boon lakon np <ui .Miuinds eipially eon-
seuntioMs with oiir ou n.
II. Ahhonnh upimon is commonly (h'peiuhMil on tlu'J'c
rontiii'MMit cin imisiances which 1 ha\r nn(i«-t«l it e;m-
Mol hc'allowed ihal we have no power over it. We have
11 a power over its lormatioii, lo a.cilain i'Xtcnt, ami
" ,t ismv pres.-nt o!.|eet to : how how tins power c:ii.
he exrrted m nd.M "to enahle ns the Letter to hill.l
the dnlM's o( life. The re;.sen why o|Mnion is ^u
illusory in its nature, is, that mankind have ever heen
excessively careless in the a<l. ption ol' llu ir opinions.
\2 Tltey are m the hahit ori)ickinj.r up random ide:i«,
xvhieh th<«v m.Mihl into an opini« n ; and alter liavin^
ma(le up then- minds en what, they tlnnk it is tlicv
will listen to n..(>\i>lanat..,ii of t'.ie opinions ot ethers
Their ohstmacv. their sell-eonceit, their selt-interc.^t.
their wish t.^ "plea-e the party to which lluy hae
attaehed themselves, imlnce them to held last to
their ori.final *.pinien, until time or experience, m u 1
likelihood, wear it down, and its absurdity ih secrclh
pressed upon their notice. l'>ut even alter its ah^urt My
iHdi<elo:ed, they are sometimes ashamed to say tlic)
have allei-ed it; "and so, perhaps, they have one (pim«>.
whirl! they keep locked up in their hesem, and anotJui
which they hrm^r into daily use, and lleurish lelort-
•company. , ,
rx It is your duty as aoed members ol society, anu
with a view to self-respect, to ho very cautieiis m the
formation, and, mest ( T all, in the J/>% (d yeur epi-
nions. Mr.iiy excellent men, on am- in.r at middle lite.
have deei>ly recrretcd that they should have hcedUt^Fly
niihjis.hed iheir'iMirlv :ind hastv-fermed < pinions m yeuth.
They had reasoned, as they theuoht, seundly, but it w;.«
witkmt a liDOwledgeoi" the wcrld, or itb history, l "^
Tbtt
II
ir>.
»|>MAI(»N SCIhUM, iti;Ai»i;it
0\»()
now |»ncciv<' lli.if (Im'it vvjis soinclliiiiK uliicli rhcy liad
not liikni into acroiml wlini ilicy hi.mIc up ihcir iiiiii(|,s,
:iii<l it is |)riii<i|»;illy uifli the view <.!' jxcvc' hn^ you
Iroin l-illiii^r iiiio sii.ircs ol lliis niifiirc lli.it J novv ;mI-
<lr('ss you.
II. While yet iimlcr llic tr.iiiiin^ «»1' p.ircnts, (rii;ir-
liMtis, ;iri(l tcHln'is, it is y«.iir <liily (<» rcci ivc witircon-
lidnicc ihc instnMfioii.s |.y uliich it ih .itlciiiidcH to cii-
li;!:lilrn your minds, ;iri(l lo jxii yon in fhc u.iy of vvfll-
<lniM;^r I'll! (licM- Irirnds ol yonr yontli will j»rol»;il>ly
icll y<»n tli.it ulicii y<»ii |>;is.s IVoni nntlcr their on.irdi.-in-
^hi|) into the .iciive scenes ol" Jiti', yon I.eeorne a respon.
-d>le l>eni<r, respo.isihle .dike to human and divine laws,
ind that yon nnisl now think lor yoiii.s(dr.
ir>. At this critieal p(!ri«»d of your existence, y<'ii
liavf! every cjiam-r' ol" eoniinir in <-ontac,t with th(» idle,
the dissi|»ated, the frivolous, who will try t«» make you
■Miitra'-e erroneous opinions, an<l who will possildy pnl
tile most misehievons hook.s into your hands for perusal.
Do mit he led away l>y siieh inachinationH ; neither he
(iis'Mayed hy the numhor of wits (»r profane; jesterH who
limy assail you. Do your duty nianfnily. lii order that
you may attain a <'orrert opinion on the ^rreat dehatcahle
uhjects that you will hear ninir in your ears lhrou/:rh
lile, he-jrin a course of r(!adin(r those (rood and authorila-
live works which intelliirent friends will recornnurnd to
your notice. Take; (wery opportunity of cuItivatiiMr
yonr understandin(r, of eidar<rin<r your ideas, of haiiislil
in<r prejudice's.
Ml. I would recommend you, in p;irticular, t(» .study
not only the history, hut ihr. i;tnii/s of the [leople ainoncr
whom you live. History is too fre(|nenlly only a m^.
ricsof relations of hattles, and trash of that nature;
!ii(l ill order to arrive at a correct kiiowled^re <,f the in-
titiitions, the usiirc^s, and the ycniiis or character cf na-
'ions, you will re(piiro to think Uwj and coolJy.
17. I.ook always at the dillereiit sides of a"(pie.stion ;
lor you must reniemher that there are many waysof tell-
:IIL^ a StOI
Ty. In i)ro[)ortion as yon advance in your pri-
ttc .studies, and norpi ire a knowlodne of the pr.s':iona
T
*i
^1^
^%iU
m
I; U
550
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
and conduct of mankind, you will, mere and mere, bp. ft-
ble to form a correct opinicn. There k one thing vhich
you will learn with surprise iVc an this kind of experi-
ence, and that is, that many, tlunioh holding difiereut
opinions, are driving towards tlie same end.
18. They have only ditVered upon trifles, and perhaps
fought about mere words. Tiiis is one of the strange
weaknesses of the human race, into which you will tind it
difficult to avoid falling. The more that you learn, thr
more will you see cause to entertain a liberal view oi
the opinions of others. It is the exercise of this liber-
ality of mind which forms a distinguishing trail in man-
19. By the constitution, every one is allowed pertect,
freedom of opinion, a gilt above all price, which it is
eur duty not to prostitute or abuse. Let us form our
<>^)iuiona on solid grounds of conviction — let us cherish
these opinions to the adornment of our lives — and Ictus
»o maintain a due regard for the epinicns of otherfc\thst
we show forth, in our feelings and actions, tliut mobt wx-
eeUent of all virtues— chauity.
CHAPTER XCVII.
1
1 Rei,igion's? all. Pescending from its Fire
To wretched man, the goddess in her left
Holds out this world, and in her right, the next
RclifTion ! the sole voucher man is man:
Supporter sole of man above himself.
? Religion! providence! Jin afler state (
Hore is firm footing ; here is sclid rock ;
I'his can aupport us; all is sea Lcsjiucs
,; !.-£
rOMMON SCHOOL RhAOKR. ^1
F5inks UFider us ; bostorriis, and then dcvourB.
His huul the <rood miin fastens on the skiea,
And bid:^ earth roll, nor feel her idle whirl.
3. iieligion ! thou tlic soul of happiness ;
And gro.'uiing Calvary ot thee ! There shine
The noble truths ; tliere stron«(est motives sing !
Can love allure u« ? or can terror awe ?
He weeps ! — the falling drop puts out the sun ;
He sighs — tlie sigh earth's deep foundation shak«'-y.
4. If, in his love, so terrible, what then
His wrath inflamed ? his tenderness on fire?
Can prayer, can praise avert it? — Thou, my <dl '
My theme ! my inspiration ! and niy crown !
My strength in age! my rise in low estate!
My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth ! my world !
My light in darkness ! and my life in death?
My boast through time! bliss through eternity !
Eternity too short to speak thy praise,
Or fathom thy profound of love to man I
CHAPTER XCVHI.
The Ii^aiqiiiry.
i. Toll mc, O mother I when I grow old,
Will my hair, which my sisters say i.s like gold.
Grow gray, like the old man's, weak and poor,
Who asked for alms at our pillared door?
Will I look as sad, will I speak as slow,
As he, when he told ua his tale of woe ?
Will my hands then shake, and my eyes be dim?
Tell me, O mother! will I grow like him?
232
COMMON SCHOOL KEADEIl.
m
I
'£„.' fa! \.d^sm- iX'f
2. He said — but I knew not what he meant —
Tliat his aged heart with sorrow was rent.
He spoke of the grave as a place of rest,
Where the weary sleep in peace, and are blest ;
And he told how his kindred there were laid,
And the friends with whom in his youth he played
And tears from the eyes of the old man fell,
And my sisters wept as they heard his tale !
3. He spoke of a home, where, in childhood's glee.
He chased from the wild flowers the singing bee ;
And followed afar, with a heart as light
As its sparkling wings the butterfly's flight ;
Arid pulled young flowers, where they grew 'ne:i»'
the beams
Of the sun's fair light by his own blue streams ;—
Yet he left all these through the earth to roam !
Why, O mother ! did he leave his home ?"
4. Calm thy young thoughts, my own fair child I
The fancies of youth and age are beguiled ; —
Though pale grow thy cheeks, and thy hair turn gra)
Time cannot steal the soul's youth away !
There's a land of whic"! thou hast heard me speak.
Where age never wrinkles the dweller's cheek ;
But in joy they live, fair boy, like thee—
It was there ihe old man longed to be !
5. For he knew that those with whom he had played,
In his heart's young joy, neath their cottage shade—
Whose love he shared, when their songs and mirth
Britrhtened the gloom of this sinful earth —
Whose names from our world had passed away,
As flowers in the breath of an autumn day —
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
5133
• V,
(lest ;
id,
J played
s glee,
ig bee ;
t;
rew 'iieath
Sims ; —
3am !
Ml
turn gray
ne speak,
leek ;
played,
re shade —
Liid mirtl\
iway.
He knew that they with all suffering done,
Encircled the throne of the Holy One I
Though ours be a pillared and lofty home,
Where want with his pale train may never come,
Oh ! scorn not the poor, with the scorner's jest,
Who seek in the shade of our hall to rest ;
For He who hath made them poor may soon
Darken the sky of our glowing noon.
And leave us with woe, in the world's bleak wild I
Oh ! soften the griefs of the poor, my child !
CHAPTER XCIX.
The Swarming of the Bees.
1. They are come, they are come ; yet what brings tbein
here.
With smoke around, and with walls so near ?
Yet there they cling to the golden wand
As there were no sunnier garden beyond.
The garden is filled with their drowsy hum !
Oh where is a hive, for the bees are come !
5. Whence they have wandered I cannot tell,
But I dream me a dream of some lonely dell,
Where violets thick 'mid the green grass sprung,
Like a purple cloak by a monarch flung.
Our garden now fills with their drowsy hum !
Oh where is a hive, for the bees are come I
3. Had they grown weary of roses in bloom.
Or the long falling wreaths of the vellow-h&ireJ
broom !
T 2
'ii if! !
1
iiS4
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
Or the seringa's pale orange-touched flowers
Of the gardens afar, that they wander to ours !
How pleasant it is with their drowsy hum !
Oh where is a hive, for the hees are couie !
4. Our garden is somewhat pah^ and lone,
And the walls are high with ivy o'ergrown ;
And the dust of the city lies dark on the rose,
And the lily is almost afraid to unclose.
Yet welcome the sound of their drowsy hum !
Oh where is a hive, for the bees are come !
il The vapors of London float over our head,
Yet athwart them the showers and the sunshine arc
shed ;
And cheerful the light of morning falls
O'er the almond tree and the ivied walls.
Sweet sounds around it the drowsy hum !
Oh where is a hive, for the bees are come !
7. We have shrubs that have flourished the summer
through —
The jessaniitie hanging like the pearls (m the dew,
The fusia that droops, like the curls of a bride —
Bells of corul, with Syrian purple inside.
They'll grow more fair, with that drowsy hum :
Oh where is a hive, for the bees are come !
7. Tlie sun-flower's golden round shall yield
Its shining store for the harvest field ; '
We'll plant wild thyme with the April rain,
And feed them till t!ion on the sugar-cane.
Welcome, welcome, their drowsy hum !
Oh where is a liive, for the bees are conu' !
COMMON HCMOOL K£ADEK.
CHAPTER C.
The Hornet ol* Englaiicf .
1. The stately Homes of England,
How beautiful they .stand !
Amidst their tall ancestral treey,
O'er all the pleasant land.
The deer across their greensward hound
Through shade and sunny gleam,
And the swan glides past them with a H)und
Of t:ome rejoicing stream,
2. The merry Homes of England !
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet, in the ruddy light !
There woman's voice Hows forth in son<r.
Or childhood's tale is told,
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.
3. The blessed Homes of Englai 1 !
How softly on their bowers
Is laid the holy quietness,
That breathes from Sabbath-hours !
i^olemn, yet sweet, the church bell's chinn"
Floats through their woods at morn ;
All other sounds, in that still time,
Of breeze and leaf are born.
4. The Cottage Homes of England !
By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks
And round the hamlet-fanes.
f, *
I
236
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
Through glowing orchards forth they poep,
Each from its nook of leaves,
And fearless there they lowly sleep,
As the Wird beneath their eaves.
The free, fair Homes of England f
Long, long, in hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof be rearea
To guard each hallowed wall ;
And green forever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit lo?e«
Its country and its God !
5.
m
CHAPTER CI,
1. What is earthly happiness ? that phantom of which
we hear so much, and see so little ; whose promises are
constantly given and constantly broken, but as constant-
ly believed ; that cheats us with the sound instead of
the substance, and with the blossom instead f the fruit.
2. Like Juno, she is a goddess in pursuit, but a cloud
in possession ; deified by those who cannot enjoy her,
and despised by those who can. Anticipation is her
herald, but Disappointment is her companion ; the first
addresses itself to our imagination, that would believe,
but the latter to our experience that must.
3. Happiness, that grand mistress of the ceremonies
in the dance of life, impels us through all its mazes and
meanderings, but leads none of us by the same route.
Aristippus pursued her in pleasure, Socrates in wisdom,
and Epicurus in both : she received the attention of
each, but befitowed her endearments on neither; al-
ep,
n of which
omises are
s constant-
instead of
f the fruit.
3ut a cloud
enjoy her,
ion is her
; the first
'd believe,
ceremonies
mazes and
ime route,
in wisdom,
tention of
either; al-
COMMON SCHOOL RKADKR.
though, like some other gallants, they all boasted of
more favors than they had received.
4. Warned by their failure, the stoic adopted a most
paradoxical mode of preferring his suit : he thought, by
slandering, to woo her ; by shunning, to win her ; and
proudly presumed that, by tleeting her, she would turn
and follow him.
5. She is deceitfufas the calm that precedes the hurri-
cane, smooth as the water on the verae of the cataract,
and beautiful as the rainbow, that smiling daughter of
the storm ; but, like the image in the desert, she tanta-
lizes us v/ith a delusion that distance creates, and that
contiguity destroys.
6. Yet when unsought, she is often found, and when
unexpected, often obtained : while those who seek for
her the most diligently, fail the most, because they seek
iier where she is not. Anthony sought her in love ;
Brutus in glory ; Caesar in dominion ; — the first found
disgrace, the second disgust, the last ingratitude, and
each destruction.
7. To some she is more kind, but not less cruel : she
hands them her cup, and they drink even to stupefac-
tion, until they doubt whether they are men with Pliilip,
or dream that they are gods with Alexander. On some
she smiles, as <m NapoIe(m, with an aspect more be-
witching than an Italian sun ; but it is only to make her
frown the more terrible, and by one short caress, to em-
bitter the pangs of separation.
8. Yet is she, by universal homage and consent, a
queen ; and the passitms are the vassal lords that crowd
iier court, await her mandate, aiul move at her control.
But, like other mighty soverei T[ns, she is so surrounded
by her envoys, her officers, and her ministers of state,
that it is extremely difficult to be admitted to her pre-
sence-chamber, or to have any immediate connnunica-
lion with herself.
9. Ambition, Avarice, Love, Revenge, all these seek
Iier, and her alone ; alas ! they are neither presented to
her, )ior will she come to them. She des^uatches, how-
rf
i"'l
M
[ ll! '
■;iJ:
I
III
i
23S
COMMON SCHOOL READF.R.
ever, her envoys unto ihuin — nifan anil poor repreaeu-
tatives of tlioir (jut'iMi.
10. To Anihi* ion, slio sends powi^r; to Aviirirc, vvoalth;
to Love, joalonsy ; to Uevenivc, remorse; — alas! wliat
are these, Init so many other names lor vexation or dis-
appointment. Neither is slic to he won hy llatteri(^s (t
by bribes : she is U> lie gained by wa^nng war against
lior cncinits, mnch sooner than by paying any particnhir
court to herself. 'Those that eonijuer her a(lv(>rsaries,
will hnd that they need not go to her, for she will conic
to tliem.
11. N( ne bid so high for her as kings ; few are more
willing, noiu' more abh' to purchase her alliance at the
fullest price;. Hut she has no more respect for kings
iluin for their subjects : she mocks them, indeed, with
the empty show of a visit, by sentling to their palaces all
her eijuipage, her pon\i), and her train ; but she coJiu^'
uot herself
i'). What detains her? She is traveling incognito to
keep a i)rivate assignation with Contentment, and to par-
take of a leti-u-tetr, and a dinner of herbs in a cottage.
Hear, then, mighty ipieen ! what sovereigns i^eldoni hear,
the words of soberness and truth. 1 neither despise
thee too little, nor desire thee too much ; for tlu)u wield-
est an earthly sc(>ptre, and thy gifts cannot exceed thy
dominion.
13. Like other potentates, thou also art a creature of
circumstances, and an ephemeris of time. Like other
potentates, thou also, when stripped of thy auxiliaries,
art no longer competent even to thine own subsistence;
nay, thou canst not even stand by thyself Unsupported
by' Content on the t)ne hand, and by Health on the oth-
er, thou, an unwieldy and bloated pageant, fullest to the
ground.
■■•«» JS&i
■it J
repreaea-
co, wealth;
lias! whiit
ion or (Ii8-
lallorics or
/ar aoiiinst
particular
(Ivorsaries,
: will conic
w are more
nice at the
t for kings
leed, with
palaces all
siic conu!?
icoijnito to
and to par-
1 a cottage.
eldoni hear,
lor detq)iHe
thou wieM-
exceed thy
creature of
Like other
auxiliaries,
aibtiistence;
iisupported
on the olh-
allest to the
i
I
COMMON SCHOOL READER,
CHAPTER CII.
IliiiBiilily.
239
#
1. Humility i» the state of mind, of all others, moet
suited to our present nature: nor ouirhl it ever ' to l>e
confounded with low (jualities, or want of spirit; for it
»s the ellect (d'just relleclion, and amiable feelings,
ft IS a disposition of the soul which keeps the eye and'
ear open to truth, ami the heart penetrated with senti-
ments, best calculated to lead us to the .source of nil
happiness and wischuii.
2. Every (pialitj^ which leads us frcmi this virtue, tendt
to inflate the heart, and takes Irom the mind that just-
ness of perception which we possess when we know our
own level. Humility is a virtue which stands opposed
to vanity ; it courts reiirement, searches for truth, and
leads the mind to llie paths of wisdom and piety.
a As vanity will tarnish the brightest talents, humili-
ty wdl give dignity to inleri(,r natures, and avert many
temptations to error. It is the result of just thinkin.r,
which strengthens the mind against the delusions of seff-
love, by keej)iiig before us the constant remembrance of
our dependouccon the Almighty, and the laws of nature,
which limit our present existence, and make our hap-
pmess and every faculty so unstable, that we are not
sure of any thing for a moment.
4. Though humility is a virtue which ought to charac-
ten/e this uncertain state of humanity, it belongs, per-
haps, stM I more to wonu;n than to men; for ;is 'their
path in life is noiseless, and seldom admits the intrusions
of ambition, they may find more leisure for that rellec-
live wisdom, which will render them grateful to the
Supreme, lor the blessings bestowed on them, instead of
arrogating a i>uj)j)osed merit.
5. This disposition, by softening the mind, will ren-
der it truly amiable ; for it will make it consider sur-
rounding objects too justly, to be soured by the contin-
gencies of life. Characters possessing this wise modes-
ty, will be unshaken by empty praise and vague preju-
240
COMMON SCHOOL IlKAOHR.
dices ; but will gallier useful trut))s, aud store them in
tl|^r hearts. And while their pride is subdued, by the
increase of kuowled<re, the .vill feel the consolalion of
hope, founded on confuience in God.
5.
ciLvrrEii cm.
ViitioJlciice.
I. One of the gr(;atest obstacles in the road to excel-
lence, is indolence. I have known young men whu
would reason finely on the value of time, and the ne-
cessity vS rising early and improving every moment of
it. Yet 1 have'known these same uqnring young men
to lie dozing, an hour or two in the morning, after tlic
wants of nature had been reasonably, and more than
reasonably gratifiecl. You can no more rouse them,
with all their hue argumeTits, than you can a log, There
they lie, completely enciiained by indolence.
ii. I have known others continually complain of ihr
shortness of tiiiie ; that they had no time for business,
no time for study,' &c. Yet they would lavish hours in
yawning at a public house, or hesitathig whether they
had better go to thf; theatre or not ; or whether they
had bett(>r got up, or indulge in ' a little more slumber.'
Such people wear the most galling chains, and as Ioiil:
as they continue to wear them tliere is no reasonuig
with tiiem. ' , • , ir
3. An indolent person is scarcely human ; he is hall
(juadruped, and of the most stupid species too. He
may have good intentions of discharging a duty, while
that duty Is at a dist.Tuce ; but let it approach, let him
view the'titile of action as near, and down go his har..Is
in languor. He /^j///.s perhaps; but he unwWh in the
next breath. .
X. What is to be done with such a man, especially it
he is a young one \ He is absolutely good for nothing.
Business tires him ; reading fatigues him ; the public
n
COMMON SCHOOL £AD£Ii.
'24i
e them in
ed, by tlie
sol alien of
1(1 to excrl-
iricii wliu
iiid the lie
nionient of
young men
T, after the
more than
mae thciii.
>ir. Tliere
(lain of the
r business,
sli hours in
lether they
licther they
e slumber.'
md as long
reasoniiipj
aorvice interferes with his pleasures, or restrains his^
freedom. His life must be passed on a bed of down.
5. If he is employed, momeuts are as hours to him —
if he is amused, hours are as moments. In general, \m
whole time eludt»s him, he lets it glide unheeded, like
water under a bridge. Ask him what he has done with
his morning, — he cannot tell you ; for he has lived with-
out rellection, and almost without knowing whether he
lie has lived at all.
0. The indolent man sleeps as long as it is possible
for him to sleep, dresses slowly, amuses himself in con-
versation with the first person that calli: upon him, and
loiters about till dinner. Or if he engages in any em-
ployment, howev<ir important, he leaves it the moment
an opportunity of talking occurs.
7. At lengtti diiiner is served up ; and, after lounging
at the table a long time, the evening will probably be
spent, as unprofitably as the morning : and this, it may
be, is 7, no unfair specimen of his ^hole life. And is
such a wretch, for it is improper to call him a man, —
good for anything ? What is he good for ?
t. How can any rational being be willing to spend
the precious gift of life in a manner so worthless, and
so much beneath the dignity of human nature ? When
he is about stepping into the grave, how can he review
the past with any degree of satisfaction ? What is his
history, whether recorded here or there, — in goldeis
letters, or on the plainest slab — but, ' he was born' ami
"' he died !'
; he is half
s too. He
duty, while
ch, let him
o his bar. -Is
/ills in the
jspecially if
"or nothing.
the public
CHAPTEll CiV.
Jfni^t too fiatt*. ^
I. it was a lovely evening m July v.iien 1 ua;? wi.iiv-
iugon the pier which stretches far out into the v.ater^
■jf a foreign sea-port town ; I had taken my pai-rr-ge foi
England in a vessel which was to sail th-Tt night ; and
it2
COMMON SCHOOL RKADKR.
1 was conteinplatinir, tor the. last lime, the ^ceiuiyof
.1 stranuo land. H( lore me was a broad and a beautiful
rivor jiist uiiuirlinor with the ocean ; an<l beyond it, about
rive or six juiles distant, were ])ict»irey(iue hills, mount-
ing, as it were, iVoni it8 bonouj, and surroundiui; a pret-
ty little town.
'2 Ou the right was the blue sea, sleejjing calmly u;
tw rveninif sun; ami as J lo«>ked on it, 1 lilted up my
heart to liim who " stilleth the noise of its wa\es," h.
bring me safely acr»)ss it to my home. On my lelt I
rould discern, "for many miles, the winding of the noble
>trea)n which waslies in its course many ct'lebraled cit-
ies, some o\' which I had lately visited : and behind nic
jay the connuercial town, in which I hud been stayiiij;
for. a day or two, with its pleasant suburb, rising to the
top of a well-wtioded ridge.
'.i. The busy hum froni its crowded docks and ware-
houses just reached my ear, as I paced slowly and soli-
tuily along: and^ thought of the indefatigable indus-
try of the men of this world, who " rise up early, ami
iato take rest, and eat the bread of carefulness," to gain
those things which perish in tlic using. I could iici
survey that prospect without a melancholy feeling.—
beautiful as it was, the laml was a moral desert.
1 Superstition, or a supreme contempt for all forin.s
of relinion, ha<l supplanted in it the pure worship of the
one triune (uul; and I had that very day witnessed a
scene, which, though connuon enough there, would as-
5nr;Hlly startle and disgust any one who had lived only
m cur own favored country. I meditated on the time
when the truth should universally prevail, and the knowi-
edvrc of the Lord fill the earth as the waters cover the
»e I ; I prayed that his kingdom might speedily be es-
tablished.
". Wldle I was thus uuising, the sun was set, and u
VMS neceHary forme to go back to my inn, and prepare
my lugpaoefor departure. This was soon done; and at
the appointed hour I went on board the vessel, a steani-
p.ickct, which was lying close to the quay, and was to
net otr ])rccisely at 11 o'clock at night. After a little
^nlnli?, the bustle of passengers embarking had subsiu-
"d
;i boautifnl
iii(i it, al)(>ut
ills, mount-
ii \nv\-
lll«r
<r cnliiily ii)
ilU'd up my
WJIM'S," to
I my Iclt I
of llio m>l)l('
cl)iaU'tl <'ii-
1 behind nu
leen t-iayinj^
rii^ing to tlu
H and vvarc-
ly and soll-
rablo induH-
p early, and
2SS," to gain
I could net
y feeling.—
ert.
"or all forms
Drsliip of tlio
witnessed a
i, would as-
il lived only
on the time
d the know!-
s cover the
^edily be es-
3 set, and it
and prepare
lone; and at
sel, a steam-
, and was to
\fter a little
had subside
COMMON SCirooi, UKADKU.
*J4;;
5'd ; tht^ oHirers belonging to tlu; jK)ri were gone on
shore; the. clock froiri th(! nearest church had tolled th*-
hour; and the engineer was just waiting the ca|)tain '^
signal ; when suddenly high words were lieard in tin
<'abin.
<j. A young man from one of the botch was therf,
unking a dtMnand uj)oii a passenger, which the latter
e.onsidered unjust; the youth, liowev(!r, refused to fore-
go his claim. And now th(5 vessel bell was rung, and
the captain called, " You nuist go on shore — f am go-
ujg." lie did not obey the call. The captain then vo-
ciferated, " You will be too late, if you stay a miiuite
longer: [ shall carry yoti to I'ingland." fie still dfduy-
ed ; till at last the signal was givciu, and the vessel prti-
ceeded on her way.
7. Then, at the (irst feeling of the motion, the youth
rushed up from below, and was springing from the deck
towards the (piay, now several teet froui us, but was sav-
ed by the strong grasp of the captain froni what nuif-t
have been c(>rtain destruction. " You see you would
not mind me when \ called you," said he ; " and now
it is impo:^sible to stop : you nuist go with us to Eng-
land."
8. The poor lad ( be looked hardly seventeen ) stood
for a moment stupidly ga/ing on the fast receding shore ;
then staggering to a seat upon the deck, exclaimined,
that he was ruined — for he should lose the situation on
which his livelihood depended ; and covering his fac,e
with both his hands, he burst into tears.
9. The stars were shining in the cloudless heavens ;
and two or three of the passengers remained with me
on deck to contemplate the glorious scene, and to vvatcli
the bright sparkles of the waves which with a long lu-
minous line marked our track, and the now only twink-
ling light which showed us the port we had left : and
we talked of what we had seen, and recounted our ad-
ventures in regions far away ; we spoke also of our
own England, for our hearts yearned towards our be-
loved country, and we were glad when we thought thai
we should soon see it again.
i I
;'H'
Ii
iit
COMMON SCIIOOI REAOKIl.
IP
M f '
5#
1r *'
^* I
■ if.
10. Wo had, indeed, been wandorijij^r through a lovely
land; still it was not — and no liaveller, as he journeys,
r.an \w\\> fcdinir this — it was not our home. But, as we
walked up and down, the sohs of the poor lad, brought
with us against his will, fell njjon our ears: and I could
not help contrasting his sorrow with our joy. I was
surprized thai his grief was so excessive ; and I
■}topj)e<l once or twice to ask him why it was so ? He
woidd be carried saf(>ly home in a little time ; and sure-
ly his einjdoyer might be ])revaile(l ui)on to receive him
again into his service — O no, he said, his j)lace could
not be left unfilled a single (lay ; ami besides, it would
be thought that \\v. had run away, and therefore some
one else wouhl be liired immediately.
IJ. "But,'' I told him, "yon \\ill get some other em-
ployment. Have you no frieiuls to exert themselves for
you ?" " No," replied he ; " all my friends are dead : no-
body will care for me: and I shall be sure to starve."
•'Then why were you so silly as to stay here when you
were repeatedly told to go ashore?" " I did not think,"
said he, with a fresh burst oi" tears, "that he really meant
it : J thought he woidd have waited a minute longer ■
\ was oidy jii^i too late."
12. My questions could then do nogoo<i: and there-
fore I soon left him, and retired to my berth ; but even
ihere, T. still heard, at intervals, the ebullitions of his
grief, mingled with the rush of the waters: and I was
furnished with a subject ol" meditation xwi unprofitable.
Here was a reastmable being, who had risked his i)ros-
pects in life, for a |)altry ])iece of money, to which I be-
lieve he had wo right. Tie woidd be carried to a foreign
country, where he had no friend or acjiiiaintance, and
several days must elajtse befor. he could get back, and
even then he would find himself deprived of that on
which his bread depended.
I:J. Let no man persuade himself that a Uilh' time
can be of but little conse(|ueiu;e. A few moments may
m
ake the widest dillerence in his condition
If h
were drowning in the ocean, and a rope were held out to
him, aniiiitant's delay, in seizing it, in all probability.
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
245
would be instant death. Were liis habitation in ilame.-^
around hini, tiio .shortest delay in escaping, might bury
liim in the l)urning ruins.
14. If, instead of fleeing for his life, he thinks there
will be time to save a valued treasure, he will .see, it is
likely, just when he is preparing to escape, the last out-
let closed, the last staircase falling. lie is only^.s^ too
late ; but his momentary delay has been to him destruc-
tion.
CHAPTER CV.
ru^
The effects or Atheisiu.
1. Few men suspect, perhaps no man comprehends
the extent of the support given by religion to every vir-
tue No man, perhaps, is aware, how much our moral
and social sentiments are fed from this fountain ; how
powerless conscience would become, without the belief
of a God ; how i)alsied would be human benevolence
were there not the sense of a higher benevolence ul
quicken and sustain it; how suddenly the whole social
iabriG would (piake, and with what a fearful crash it
would sink into endless ruin, were the idea of a «uj)reme
Being, of accountableness, and of a future life, to br
utterly erased from every mind.
2. Once let men thoroughly believe that they are tli<^
work and support of chance; that no superior intolli-
gence concerns itself in human affairs ; that all their
improrements perish after death ; that the weak have
no guardian, and the injured no avenger ; that there is
no recompense for sacrifices to uprightness and the
public good ; that an oath is not heard in heaven ; that
secret crimes have no witness but the perj)etrator ; that
Imman existence has no purpose, and human virtue no
unfailing fl-ieud : that thi.s brief life is everything to us.
extinction
men thormtfrldii abandon religion ; and who can
rr o
i
i^:'!l
I
u
ooir
i4(l
eojiMON SCHOOL i'.l;.\i)ku
■IH
ceive or describe the extent of the liesolaiion Aviiicii
would r< How.
3. We ht)pe, perliiips, tlirit human laws and natural
sympatliy would hold society together. As reasonably
nii(rht we believe, that were the sun <|uenched in the
heavens, otn- torches would ilhiiuinate, and our tires
.juicluMi and fertilize the creation. What is there in
human nature to awaken respect and tenderness, if man
be the unprotected insect of a day I And what is he
more, if atheism be true ? Erase all thouirht and fear
of God from a community, and sellisluu'ss and sensuali-
ty would absorb the whole man.
" 4. App(<tite, knovviuLT no restraint, and poverty and
sutVerinor, h:iviu<>; no soliice or hope, would tr..inple in
scorn on the restraints of human laws. Virtue, duly,
principle, would be mocked and spurned as unmeaninij;
sounds. A sordid self-interest woidd supplant every
other feelini;; and man would become, in fact, what
the theory of atheism declares him to be — a conipanion
for brutes.
i
t'^^
I
CHAPTER CVl.
Hie a'c.«^iHM'.t daae lo all men.
1. Eet thf.-e, whose riches have purchased for then?
the pair(' i,f knowledge, regard with respect the native
powers v.f them to whc^e eyes it has never been un-
rolled. Th(^ day labourer, and the professor ()f science,
behiUL'; naluraliy to the sauu; order of intelligences.
'.l Circumstancch- and situation have made all the
dlfierciices between them. The understanding of one
ha:i betui U\\\ in walk whither it would : that of the
other has been shut up, and deprived of the liberry of
r;ingi;!g l!u« fields of knowhMlge. S»)ciety has condenm-
ed It to the (luuj:e('.u of ignorauce, and then desjtiscd it
ibr bi'ing i:i the dnr
Ti
ii,'ie !i;nc
:{'\\ nut
Ititudes that would have ud-
■-i
COMMON SCHOOL UKAKKH.
247
every
what
(led to tlie suui, or liavtM^nhellished tlio loniiof fiuinan
knowledge, if tlieir youth had been taught the rudinieiittf,
and their lite allowed them leisure to prosecute tlie pur-
suit of it. The attention, that would have been crown-
ed with splendid success in the encpiiry after truth, has
all been expended in the search alter bread.
4. The curiosity, that would have ()euetrated to th(
secrets of nature, explored the recesses of mind, and
compassed the records of time, has been choked by the
careaj of want. The fancy, that would have glowed
with a iieat divine, and uiadi; a brilliant addition to the
blazing thoughts a.ml hiiriiJng words of the' poetical
world, has been chilled and frozen by the. cold winds oi
poverty.
5. Many an oii", wlio cannot read wliat others wrote.
Iiad the knowledge < f elegant letters been given him,
would himself lu'.vc writt(Mi, what ag's might read with
delight, lie that ])loughs the ground, hud lie studied
the heavens, miglit hav<! understood die stars iss well a.-
he understands the soil. Many a sage has lain hid in
the savage, and many a slave was madp to be an emperor
0. Blood, says the pride of life, is more honorable
than money. Indignant noI)ility looks down upcm un-
titled opulence. This sentiment pu^lunl a little farther,
leads to the j)oint I am i)ursaing. Mind is the nobletit
i)art of the man ; and of mind, virtue is the noblest di^•
tlnction.
7. Honest man, in th(^ ear of wisdom, is a grander
uanie, is a more iiigh-sounding title, than peer of tlu
realm, or prince; of the blood. According to the eternal
jules of celestial precedency, in the innnortai heraldry ol
nature and of heaven, virtue takes the place of all tlnngs.
It is the nobility of angnds ! It is the majesty of Cod •
CIlAPTEll CVIL
Tiie J{eni&^y amd lite llc^gai*.
I. Not long since, in passing through one of otu'priu'
'ipal siiuures, I observed an elegantly dressed young \,v
#( 1
-yi\
5-48
COMMON SCHOOL kEADfiR.
|i «
djr, of the iincst loriii ;iii(l Ibaturos, descend from a car-
riaiTo, ill order to enter a niercer'.s shop. As slie «teiv
pcd, like a queen acroiis the pavement, an intirni old llv
male beggar, whose liirnre denoted almost the last stago
of \\reti:hedness, co'nrtcseyed to her for an alms,
2. The nohhvh)okinur beauty passed oh, without no-
licinir the petitioner, who sh)wiy turned away, with thai
patient and unolfended look whicJi the; li; ')it of sulfcrin-r
and (hniial usually give;, and pursued her halting and toil-
some walk. Thouirh my eye did not rest above a mo-
ment on this little scene, the contrast of the two funircs
struck nie very forcibly, and! could not help following
It out into all the circumstances in which the beautv
and th(> l»e:,m;u- might be sui)pose(l to diller.
JJ. First, there was tiic d; lightful consciousness in the
one, of possessing a person which procured a perpetual
iucens(!of praise and homage, and was likely to obtain
for her a place in life even more elevated than that in
xvhich she had hitherto existed ; while, in th* other, tlie
extern:d ligure, bowed down by age, <llsease, and appa-
rently natural decrepitude, clothed in rags, and unpleas-
iug to all who looked on it, was only a source of pain
and humiliation, ins{)iring no other hope in her who
dragged it along, than that of its being «oon shoveled
into some mean, but not unwelcome grave.
4. In one j>arty, there was the elevating sense of high
connection witli those pure and lofty feelings whicli,
however apt to be tainted with fastidiousness and pride,'
are, alter all, the most enviable result of a perfect ex-
emption from ignoble cares ; while in the other therft
could only be, at the best, a mortification of all senso
of personal dignity, and a d( >i)airing resignation to ev-
ery contumely and cnery sorrow.
5. The one probably went home to a sjjlendid man-
5ion, in which she could connnand, from obsequious me-
nials, every luxury that she could desire; the other
would probably hide, but not terminate, her daily dis-
tress in a hovel destitute of all comfort, where, hud-
«lling her shriveled form into a blanket, she would at-
i^v,\
pt 10 ^lecj) away the appetite she could not gratify .
M,
COMMON SCHOOL KKjIWKK.
24d
6. On au';?'viu;^r to a now day of triumph and [»l(!as-
mo, tli(! dolilxM-ation.s of the hcaiity would he as to what
new or revived spk'udor she shouhj adorn herself with —
what rohe of |)ric(>, what h'lc.e, wliat tritiket — she would
jJondiT well, and choose
ate
hiKhnn; a re!:!alerneiit in
the very di!!iculties :iiid troid)les which caprice wouhi
connect with her morning- einph^ynient.
S. The i)eo<r;ir, on revivinir from sleep, which she
herself, wonders hiis not j)rov(Ml her death, and disijell-
j?i(r the additional feehleness which sleej) itself seems al
first to leave, would liHve to weio-Ji rafi- vj^ainst rasr, anc!
<kd>ate with herself (he thickjiess to wiuch she should
p;!tch herself up with ihein.
1>. I?ut it is not in ;rcneral circumstances alone, that
erence would he found. In every i)articnlar of
lit!
a (
lorm,
thou,'^-ht, dress, liahus and association
(1
u) everv
out<roniir and nicoiniuir: m every point of worldly cir-
custances and destiny; they would ^]\i\vr. Not!iin<f
could h(^ pronounced to he conniion totlieni hid, the hu-
in
an tyjie, and the hope of an ultintatc^ exislenc
vvincii no such dnteriMuu' s
lall h
c coirni/.ahle
10. At a iirstview of such contrasts in the condit
tf human heii
in
ion;
iL^s, we are apt lo tax natur(< or {()rtu'n?
ith partiality; hut, on coii\'^ideration, the chai7,fe i.-^
found to he less just than it al fir^t a
w
ppear( (i
N
louht the hen;!.!;ar seems to enjoy a very snndl portion of
that kind of happiness which the heinitv derives A
external circumstances; slie h;
om
s a l»o(iv distressed witn
a
oold, disease, and infirmity ; a lionu?, (if she have
heme,) which yields no ])ersonal solace: and tnste.-^
no share of that admiration, nor indiiloes in anv of tho;se
reihied sentiments, which o;iv( ndish to the existence o^
hor
opposite
I I. Ifer Irame, lUM-erthele
is capahle of its
own
luimhle enjoyments, which the very raritv of their oc-
cfu'rence, renders only more aixreeehle. [Jer house can
in some measure <rive shelter, and her clothes wannth :
slu' ohtains the primary hencfits «d' the chief necessa~
I'ies. Siif has also to reflect tlnit. in the coii->(^ of na-
I.,, !
l\\
lir
'.150
COMMON SCHOOL READKR.
,ij -.
H
'J
{ -
iV\
Hire, slic conld not, at her time of life, expect the nnmc
I'njoynients as the yi)iiii<r and gay.
1'^. Tliose enjoyments she, in some measure, had
when she was herself yonn^, and now tliey must he re-
signed to others. Jiut nature, in putting those enjoy-
ments into the remote perspective memory hasi^als<»
taken away the desire tor tiiem, and tlie power oi" ex-
periencing them. The ohi never wish to he again young,
lor they do not feel within tliem that which makes youth
ha})pv — keen sensations and active racullios. To many,
therefore, of lier (k>liciencies, indilVerence kindly recon-
cih>s iier.
i:». Again, it must he remembered, that early lia))it3
have at once inur(Ml her to the want of many condbrts,
and rendered her igjioraiJt of their existence. Were a
person, who liad «)nce known allhience and comfort, re-
duced to her condition,' every new circumstance would
be contrasted with the ohJ, and «ill its bitterness he felt.
14. The most of those wiio speculate upon the state
of the poor, judge of it with regar«l to what they would
them.selves feel if it were unexpectedly to become thrir
own lot. It is no doubt suHiciently miserable in many
instances; but it is nevertheless a very ditlerent thin^f
in the eyes of the poor, from what it is in those of tiie
rich.
14. And different as the beauty and the beggar may
seem, in every external circumstance, in how much arc
they similar ! Gay and radiant as the youthful figure may
appear — however noble tiie face, however delicate, ele-
vated, and refnied — what is it but the same frame a?
that of the beggar, at a dillcrent stage of existence?
Those eyes that seemed fence<l with their own light-
nings, could not a moment dim them I — those cheeks,
tinted with the loveliest of the lines of earth, could not
a moment pale them? — that step, proud and gentle nf*
the fawn's, could not a moment render it lame and halt
as that of the cripple, or lay it in everlasting torpor?
l(). T») every one of the natural ordinances, which
have inflicted physical misery upon the poor mendicant,
f.liis splendid foriu is also liable, and of many of them it
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
2^>1
, lllC filXlWC
s'.iro, luul
lust he rc-
)sc cnjoy-
' hasi^also
vor of ex-
aiii yoiiii^,
ikos yoiitli
To many,
ully recoii-
arly lKi))its
coiiilbrts.
. Wer«? a
oinlort, IT-
lice would
ess be felt.
1 the state
they would
come their
le in many
■rent {\un^
lose ot" the
e<]j<rar may
V much are
fitrure uKiy
'.licate, ele-
?. frame a?
existence 1
own li^fht-
DSC ciieeks,
1, could not
:1 irentle ^f*
ne and halt
r torj)or I
ices, wliicli
mendicant,
of them it
may ere low^ he the victim. By the same aliment it is
.supported-hy the same distempers it may he hhisted
Leave out ot view hut that thin exterior membrane in
which beauty resides, and there is one fell malady wliich
nnght exuna.ush even this grand point of diilcrcnce—
the one possesses no native (jualitics in which the other
IS dehc.ent, or for which she can claim exemption from
the s ightest Visitation of ill to which the other is ex-
[)osed.
17 And who, under the stronaost impression tliat
hoauty and station can make, could take it upon him to
l>redict that these advantafxes shall hnur remain with
K>.r present possessor? Take tlu> commencement of
he bemrur s existence, and the termination of the beau-
ty s, and |.erliai)s the difference will not be found very
f^rrent Nor can any carefulness, any labour, any exer-
tion of cultivated intellect, ensure >,o her who is, fbr tlie
present, the mo.t endowed with the c;ifts of nature and
fortune, that one of these shall be hers for one day more
or that sue shall herself continue, for that little space of
tune, to be at all. ^
IS. Touched by the instability of mortal affairs, srcrs
have thought they saw, beneath' the splendor of sucii
Jorms, the presage of early misery and death ; but the
very impossibi ity of thus anticipating fate, is the true
humiliation of human greatness.-It may be the fortune
of this elegant form to flourish for many years after the
mendicant has chKsed lier earthly woes /but it is also
possible that another week may see her (if life be wealth)
m a condition beyond c(mception, poorer than any ever
oxperienced by tlie beggar-prostrated in that du.t
which the beggar is still allowed to tread— a worm be-
neath the foot of her, on whom sfie will now hardly deicrn
to look. •' *=
19. Such are the communities of destiny whicli it
may be legitimate to trace on earth. Beyond this lower
spliere 1 do not look, not only because it'were i)resump.
tuous to do so, but because earth's af*.pirl(>n^s mu'^t th"r"
be nothing. Earth, however, may have its ..geishas
■M well as heaven ; and in the language of compliment,
V 'V
'Zit'Z
COMMON H<;iUM>l, KiiADEK.
.-such uii rpillicl ini<,rlit. have hcon hcslovvtxl uju.n thv
h)iu-ly hvw^ wht) shai* d in ralhiio- lorth (hose rriiiarky
'2(1. Shi'uaiiUMl (he iiio.sl, luccssary t)l" all ihc ck •
jucntsol' (his ciiaraclcr ; she waiilcd charily. Tlic Ik -
.^tovval of th«> iiiorc.st initc, nay, of oik; kind ami com-
passionate ^rlaifce. upon the hunilile ohject who stood
hctore her in such strou^r apparent eoulrast, would have
given \wr <i»e <'nviahle lilie. I5ul Ihe *•>(' that hudu'd te
»iec heaven meet the earth in oohh-n sympathy, saw only
<ine cloud pass another, and nlory was iorleitcd tor ujur-
?hi|jg.
,f*<
k
i CIIAPTKII CVIIl.
UioliVN anil roieriy i:«iilraHted.
1 Another feature in thi' ways of (iod.
That wondrous seenuul, and made some men complasti,
Was tlie unequal ^rilt of worldly things.
Great was the dillerc—e indeed of men
Externally, from he<,mar to the prince,
The hiohest take, and lowest — and conceive
The. scale between.
^i. A noble of the earth,
Une of Its' great, in splendid mansion dwelt;
Was robed in silk and gold ; and every day
Fared sumptuously ; was titled, honored, sorviMj\
Thousands his nod awaitetl, aiul his will
For law received : wliole provinces his march
Attended, ami his chariot drew; or on
Their shoulders bori; ah)ft the precious man.
And
Millions, abased, fell [^rostraK' a.t his feet ;
il lions more thundered adoring praise
As far as eye could reach, he called the lanti
;r«:
uj»ut« tliv
! rt'iii;irkt<
II (hf i-k
'I'lic l.c-
:iii(l com-
vIh) t<tO(»(l
toiiid have
looked 1(1
■, s:i\v only
I for u tar-
ltd.
complain,
v
I
;rvh'<J
ch
t
It;.
COMMON N( IIOOI, IlKAIiKR. 253
FIiH own, and addcMJ yearly to his ficIdH.
liike trees that of th<^ Hoil took healthy root,
He <rrew on every side;, and lovver<'d on hijrh,
And over half a nation .shadowin<r wide.
He spread his ani[>!(! hoiijrliH ; air, earth, and sea ;
Natnre entire, tlu; l)rnt(i, and rational,
To please him minist(;red, and vied among
Themselves, who most slionid his desires prevent,
Watehinir tlu^ movinff of his risin(r thoughts
Attentively, and hastening to fulfd.
His palace rose and kissed the jror<reous clouds :
Streams hent their music to his will ; trees sprung,
The native wastes put on luxuriant rohes ;
And j)lains of happy c<tttageH cast out
Their tenants and hecame a huntinir-field.
Before him bowed the distant isl(!«, with fruits
And spices rare; the south her treasures brought
The east and west sent ; and the frigid north
Came with her oflerings of glossy furs.
Musicians soothed his ear with airs select.
Beauty held out her arms ; and every maii
Of cunning skill, and curiojis device,
And endless multiti.Jea of liveried wijrhtH.
Ills pleasure waited with obaecjuious look.
And when the wants of nature were supplied,
And common-place cxtravaganc-es filled,
Beyond their asking; and capri((MtseIf,
In its zig-zag appetites, gorged lull, —
The man, new wants, and new expenses planned
11 t. Nor planned alone : wise, learned, sober men
Of cogitation deep, took up his case
And planned for liim xw.v^ niodea of folly mU
lU
COMMON S( UOOL RKADER.
C'ontrived new wishes, wants, and wondrous mcai;«
Of spending with dcspr.tcii ; yet after all,
Jlis fields extended still, his riches grew,
And what seemed splendor infinite, increased.
So lavishly upon a single man
Old Providence his bounties daily shower.
7. Turn now thy eye, and look on poverty !
liOok on the lowest of her raogod sons !
We find him by the way, sitting in 'msI;
He has no bread to eat, no tongue to ask ;
No limbs to walk ; no home, no house, no friend
S. Observe his goblin cheek ; his wretched eye :
See how his hand, if any hand he has,
Involuntary opens, and trembles forth,
As comes the traveller's foot : and hear his sroai.
[{is long and lamentable groan, announce
The want that gnaws within : severely now,
Tiie sun schorches and burns his old bald head ;
Tiie forest now glues him io the chilly earth ;
On him hail, rain, and tempest, rudely beat ;
And all the winds of heaven in jocular mood,
Sport with his withered rags^ that tossed about
Display liis nakedness to passers by,
\»d grievously burlesque the human form.
0!)serve him yet more narrowly : his Iimb«,
With palsy shaken, about him blasted lie ;
And all his flesh is full of putrid sores,
And noisome wounds, his bones of racking puina.
Strange retimu! to wait a lord of earth !
10 It seems as Nature, in some surly mood,
After debate and musing long, had tried,
How vile and miserable a thiuir her hand
Ccn\i\ fabricate, then made tlud meairre msn.
I
("oMMON s.'HooL ui:ai>i:u.
A sight so full of perfect misery,
That ]):isscngers their f;ices turned away,
And liasted to be gone ; and delicate
And tend^i women took another path.
J I. This great disparity of outward things
Taught many les.sons ; but this (aught in chief.
Though learned by few : that God no value set.
That man should none, on goods of worldly kind.
On transitory, frail, extcrmd things,
Of fnlgratury, ever changing .'ort.
And further taught, that in the soul alone.
The thinking, reasonable, willijig soul,
God placed the total excellence of man;
And meant him evermorf; to seek it there.
U$lf
CHAPTER CIX.
AiicccIol<i3 or Njii' TlatBicw Hale.
1. A gentleman of ccnsidcrable independence m
Engluiid had two som3, the eldest of whom caused him
much anxiety from hi;; dissipated character and conduct
the young man, himself, tired of restraint, asked permis-
sion of his tather t(» go to some foreign clime, which
was readily granted, and a sum (vf money advanced liiiii
for that purpose,
'2. lid had not, however, h^ng left home, before tht
ship li(> was on bonrd i>f was takc:n by the Algerinep,
and conseqently he wr.s taken a prisoner to Algiers.'
where he remained a considerable number of years,
without the least opportunity offering of his sending or
bearing from home : at length, however, he fortunatel
effected
most .._
he arrived at the village where he drew his first brftath
lis escape, and returned to his native land, al-
3stitute of clothing, and entirely pennyless : vv'hen
•156
COMMON SCHOOL RKADKR.
^1
in answor to liis first inquiry, he was informed that his
fiithor Ii:ul l)0(;n (lead many years, and his younger
brother in full posscvssion of the estates; on this infor-
mation he proceeded inunediately to his brother's house,
where, on his arrival, he stated who ho was, and re-
counted liis misfortunes.
3. lie was at first received with evident tokens of
aurprize ; but what was his astonishment, after his broth-
er liad a little recovered himself, to find that the younger
brother was determined to treat him as an impostor, and
ordered him to quit the hcmse, for that he had u number
of witnesses to prove the death of the elder brother
abroad.
4. BeinjT thus received, he returned to the village, but
met with no success, as those who would have been
likely to give him assistance, were either dead, or gone
away ; in this predicament he succeeded in finding an
attorney at a little di.stance, to whom he related the cir-
cumstances exactly as they stood, and re(iuested his ad-
vice.
5. The attorney, seeing the desperate state in which
the affair stood, undertook to advocate his cause, on
condition that if he proved successful, he should be paid
a thousand pounds ; if the coptary, he should demand
nothing. This proi)osal was readily agreed to.
G. It sh«)uld be remarked that at this time, bribery
and corruption were at such a pitch, that it was no un-
common circumstance for judge and jury, in short, the
whole court, to be perverted on one side or the other ;
the attorney naturally concluded, this being the case,
that the elder brother stood but an indifferent chance,
although he himself had no doubt of the validity of his
claim.
6. He therefore proceeded immediately to London,
and laid the case before Sir Matthew Hale, then Lord
Chief Justice of the King's Bench, a character no less
conspicuous for his abilities, than for his unshaken in-
tegrity and strict regard to justice. Sir Mathew heard
the relation of the circumstances with patience, and dc-
I
COMMON srnooi. rkadek.
2«7
•ired the. lawyer to go on with tho ro.jrular proccsa of
law, and leave the rest to him.
7. Thus matters rested until the day of trial came on ;
A few days previous to which, Sir Matiiew left home,
and travelled till he came within a short distance of the
town where the matter was to be decided, when, pat»-
in<r a miller's house, he directed his coachman to stop,
while he alighted from his carriage and went into tho
house. After saluting the miller, he told him he had a
re(juest to make, which he hoped would he complied
with, which was, to exchange clothes with him, and
allow him to leave his carriage there until he returned,
(in a day or two.)
8. The miller at first thought Sir Matthew was jok-
ing ; hut on being convinced to the contrary, he wouU
fain have fetched his best suit ; but no, Sir Mathew
would have none but the working dress the miller had
on. The exchange was soon elfected, and Sir Mathew,
equipped with the miller's clothes, hat and wig, proceed-
ed on foot the followinjj mornin<r.
9. Understanding the trial between the two brothers
was to take place that day, he went early to the yard of
the court hall, without having had communication with
any one on the subject. By mixing in the crowd, ho
soon had an opportunity of having the elder brother
pointed out to him.
10. lie soon after accosted him with, 'Well, friend,
how is your case like to go on ?' *I do not know, (repli-
ed he,) but E am afraid but badly, for J have every rea-
son to suppose that both judge and jury are deeply brib-
ed ; and for myself, having nothing but the justice of
my cause to depend on, unsupj)orted by the property
which my brother can command, I have but faint hopet
of succeedintr.'
11. He then recounted to the supposed miller the whole
of his tale, and finished by informing him of the agree-
ment he had made with his lawyer ; although Sir Math-
ew was in possession of the principal part of the circum-
stances, yet the ingenuous relation he had now heard^
left no doubt in his mind of his being the person he rep-
or.Q
COMMON SCHOOL READER.
I ';
r"
rpsentcd liimself n'tid C(uisc([uciitly heir to the estate in
qncptioii.
\2. k^ir iMathow, hcinjT detoriiiii'.eil to act iictMirdiiiLrly,
begrred vi' ihe elder brother ii«:t to be low t^pirited on
the subject, 'fcr (snid lie) perlin[)s it iiiiiy be in my pow-
er to be of >'ervice to you — i don't know that it will, be-
inp-, as you Foe, but a jxior miller, but I will do what I
cnii : ii" you will l:;llo\v U'v advice, it can do you no
harm, and may be «.!' use to you.' The elder brother
williiiirlv cau'dit at auv thinij that mijrlit ijive the least
prospect c>!' success, and readily j)romise(l to adopt any
re:i,soual)!o plan he miidit p/ropose.
l'«. 'Weil, thou,' said the pretended miller, 'when the
nan\!'3 of the jury are called over, (\o you object to one of
tiuMU, no nia.tler whom : the jndire will ])erh:ij)s ask you
what your objections are : let your reply be, I object to
hiiii by tlu^ ri<r!iis ol' an Isnidishman, \vithont givino- my
reasons why ; you will then, i)erhaps, be asked whom
you would wish to have in the room of the one you have
objc(!ted It): should that 1)(> the case, I will take care to
be ifi the way : you can look rftuiul and carelessly men-
tion me. If 1 am en^,paue!led, althouoh J cannot [)rom-
ise, yet I entertain great hopes of beiuij useful to you.
14. The elder brother promised to follow these direc-
Kians, and shortly after the trial came (in, when the names
of the jury were cillino- ovor, the elder brother, as he
had 1
)een instructed, '-.bjcc
tod t
o one o
f ll
lent.
And
j)ray,' said the judge, in an authoritative tone, ' wliy do
you object to that <jentleman as a juryman V ' 1 object
to him, my lord, by the rights of ;ui Englishman, with-
out givino- uiy reas(Mis why,
And wlioui, said the
fif . . ' f
judge, ' do sou wish to have in the room of that gentle-
man r ' I would wish to have an honest man, my lord,
no mntter who,' looking round, ' suppose yon nnller be
called.' ' Very well/ said his lordship, ' let the miller
be sworn.'
15. lie was accordingly called down from the gallery,
where he had been standing in view of the elder brotli-
t.T, and empanolliMl m itli th(» rest of the jury, lie had
uxji been long in the box, when ho observed u little man
COMMON SCHOOL RKAnER.
259
very l>usy with the jury, and presently lie came to him
and slipped five ouincas into his hand, intiinnting it was
a present from the youii»er brother; and after *his de-
parture tlu> miiler discovered, on inquiry of his neigh-
bors, that each of thorn had received donhle that suni^
16. lie now turned his whole attention to the trial
'.vhich appeared to lean decidedly in favor of the young-
er brother ; the witnesses havincr sworn, i)oiiit blank, to
the death and burial of the older brother. His lord-
ship pr()ce(>dod to suui up the evidences,— but without
takmtr notice of several pal[)abl(! contradictions', which
had t;^kea place between the yoiinirer brother and his
witnesses,
17. After having perfidiously expatiated on the evi-
dence in iavor of the voanirer brother, he concluded ;
and the jury, being (|nesiioned in the usual manner if
they were all agreed, the foreman was about to reply
nolexpecnng any opposition ; when the miller stepped
forward, calling out, 'Nc. my lord, we are not r/Z/airreed "
' And pray, said his lordship, ' what olnections have you
old dusty wi<T ?■ -^ '
IH. 'I have many objections, my lord: in the first
place, all th(>se gentlemen ol" the jury have received ten
broad pieces of gold, from the younger brother, amd I
have received but five.'
19. He then proceeded to point out the contradictory
evidence which had been adduced, in such a strain of
ehnpiencc, that the court was lost in astonishment- the
judge at len<rth, unable longer to contain himself called
out with vehemence, ' Who arc you ?— where do you
Gome from ? — what is your name V
'20, To which interrogatorie^s the miller rei)lied • I
come from Westminster hall-^my name is Matthew
Hale— I am Lord Chief Justice of the Court of Kin.r's
Uonch; and feeling, as I do, a thorough conviction ^of
your unvvorthiness to hold so hiirh a judicial situation
troiTi having observed your inicpiitous and partial pro-
ceedings this day. I coirniamJ you to coinc down from
that tribunal which yoi have so much disgraced: audi
^"11 try this cause iriyaelf '
900
COMMON flCROOL READEK.
21. Sir Mathew then ascended the bench in the mill-
er's wig, &c. — had a new jury empanelled — reexamin-
ed aJl the witnesses, proved them to have been suborned ;
and circumstances being completely turned, the case
was unhesitatingly decided in fayor of the elder broth-
er's rights.
ihe mili-
examin-
borned ;
he case
T broth-