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 tv fliaw o iyp ed by Wm. Sutherland, Montreal. 
 
 LJ I 'l I 11 1 . /, 
 
 -nr 1 •• ^ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 It will bo observed, that the first four Sections of tho 
 Third Book consist of a series of Lessons on similar su})- 
 jects; but should Teachers consider the arrangement not 
 sufficiently varied to keep up the interest of the Pupils, 
 they can cause the Lessons to be read in such order, as 
 they may deem best fitted for that purpose. To assist 
 them in doii^ so, a different arrangement has been adopted 
 in the Table of Contents, from that in the book itself; and 
 where variety is the object, it may be easily attained by 
 taking a lesson from each class of subjects in rotation^ 
 It ifl recommended, that the Pupils be made to commit 
 the best pieces of poetry to memory j and that they be 
 taught to read and repeat them with due attention to pro- 
 nunciation, accent, and emphasis. Colunms of words, 
 divided into syllables, have been continued, as in the 
 Second Book of Lessons, to assist children in learning to 
 pronounce the words, and as exercises in spelling. A 
 Lesson containing all the Parts of Speech has also been 
 pven, to prepare tlie Pupils for the use of a Grammar, 
 and in some measure to make up for the want of it to 
 those, who may have no opportunity of being taught from 
 from one. There has also been added a Lesson contain- 
 ing the principal English Prefixes and Affixes employed 
 in the formation of words ; which Teachers are recom- 
 mended to usd according to the subjoined example. The 
 
r" 
 
 ■»» 
 
 PKBFAtlT. 
 
 first four Lessons In Geography are designed to be taught 
 according to the directions prefixed to the Second Book. 
 If Teachers think that it will he of advantage to exercise 
 tlieir Pupils, according to the method prescribed in the 
 Lessons on the Part-j of Sju^cch, and on the Prefixes 
 and Affixes, at on earlier stage of their progress 
 than these Lessons are here given, they can causie 
 them to be learned, either whun the Book is commen- 
 ced, or at any other period, which they may deem most 
 convenient and proper. Attention is particularly requested 
 to the Lesson on Glass, in the first Section ; which has 
 been taken, with a few alterations, from Lessons on 
 Objects, according to the system of Pestalozzi, and is in- 
 tended to show how the Master ought to make his Pupils 
 familiar with the general and distinguishing properties of 
 all material substances. To teach this system with 
 eflect, they are ic commended to provide themselves with 
 specimens of all the inanimate objects mentioned in the 
 Lessons, and with drawings of all the animuls. They 
 will also find, that the same system of teaching may be 
 very advantageoii**ly applied, to impress on the minds of 
 children the contents of des(5riptive Lessons, on any sub- 
 ject, by causing them to repeat in order each particular 
 of tlie information conveyed in such Lessons. Lest it 
 sliould be thought that the Lessons in the Third Book 
 increase in difficulty too rapidly, it may be necessary to 
 expain, that it is expected that the Pupils, while they are 
 leaf jng this Book, will abo be made to read the Scrip- 
 ture LoBsonfi recx)mmei ded bv the Commissioners. ^ ; 
 
 .-:^A-, ,-ji 
 
 •ihr- 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 I.-FABLES. 
 
 IN PROSE. p 
 
 The Fox and the Go; t ------ -•»-- • 6 
 
 The Lion and the Mouse -------- 9 
 
 The Wolf and the Lamb --------. 19 
 
 The Stag drinking- -----•••-• 24 
 
 The Swallow and other Birds ------- 46 
 
 The Two Bees J)odsley 177 
 
 IN VERSE. 
 
 The Bears and the Bees ------ Merrick 18 
 
 The Hare and many Friends ----- Gay 25 
 
 The Nightingale and the Glow-worm - - Cowper 88 
 
 The Butterllv and the Snail ----- Gay 64 
 
 The Boy and the Rainbow ----- WUkie 178 
 
 The Chameleon -*.------ Merrid 206 
 
 n.-NATURAL HISTORY. 
 
 The Fox ------- Thomson^s Lesson* 8 
 
 The Lion ------------- 7 
 
 The Tiger ----- Bigland 10 
 
 The Bear ------- Thomson's Lessons 13 
 
 The Wolf -- 17 
 
 The Park ------------- 22 
 
 The Rein-Deer - Trimmer 27 
 
Vi CONTEN'IS- 
 
 rago 
 
 Tlie Do-r 29 
 
 Tlip Nh^litins'ale Goldsmith 36 
 
 The ria:eon or Dove ---------- 39 
 
 The Swallow 42 
 
 The Salmon - • - Ilislory of Wonderful Fishes 47 
 
 The CoJ Tnmmer 49 
 
 The Butterfly I^'^d, 63 
 
 fJlass -------- Lessons on Objects 1 
 
 Metals -------- Evenings at Home 97 
 
 Cold If^id. 99 
 
 Silver Und. 105 
 
 Quicksilver Und. 108 
 
 Topper ibid, 110 
 
 Iron ---. --------- Ibid. 114 
 
 Lead Ibid. 118 
 
 Tin Ibid. 121 
 
 I 
 
 ril.-RELIGIOUS AND MORAL LESSONS. 
 
 IN PROSK. 
 
 l^lrth of Isaac, anil Expulsion of Ishmael - - - 66 
 
 Trial of Abraham's Faith 68 
 
 Death of Sarah and Abraham ------- 60 
 
 Jacob and Esau ----------- 63 
 
 History of Joseph ----------- 69 
 
 Continuation of the History of Joseph - - - - 71 
 
 Conclusion of the History of Joseph ----- 77 
 
 History of Moses ----------- 80 
 
 Deliverance of the Israelite}! ------- 82 
 
 The Law --- gfi 
 
 The Folly of Pride ------ Guardian 179 
 
 The Pious Sons ----- jsi 
 
 Self-Denial --------- Jane Taylor 1S5 
 
 *■" ' IS VERSE. 
 
 Against Quarrelling and Fighting ------ jo 
 
 A Prayer ----------^ Logan 89 
 

 Tikgo 
 
 - 
 
 29 
 
 nith 
 
 36 
 
 - 
 
 39 
 
 - 
 
 42 
 
 thes 
 
 47 
 
 Tier 
 
 49 
 
 nd. 
 
 53 
 
 'cts 
 
 1 
 
 >me 
 
 97 
 
 nd. 
 
 99 
 
 nd. 
 
 105 
 
 lid. 
 
 108 
 
 nd. 
 
 110 
 
 id. 
 
 114 
 
 id. 
 
 118 
 
 id. 
 
 121 
 
 CONTEXTS. "- i 
 
 The Finding of Moses Graham 90 
 
 The First-born of Egypt 91 
 
 A Hebrew Melody ------- Moore 93 
 
 Hymn of the Hebrew Maid Scott 94 
 
 Protection and Guidance supplicated Montgomery 95 
 
 Spread of the Gospel -------- Heher 135 
 
 The Death of the Just ------ Edmeston 174 
 
 On a Watch ..-- Carter 176 
 
 The Sluggard Wattt 190 
 
 My Father's at the Helm 192 
 
 Human Frailty -------- Cowptr 196 
 
 ■ ^ , ', . ,:.'■; 
 
 IV.--GEOGRAPHY. . , ' ' 
 
 Europe ---------•-•-• 182 
 
 Asia ------------ Douglai 136 
 
 Africa -------------- 141 
 
 America ---------- JDouglat 147 
 
 Peak Cavern, Derbyshire ----- Clarke ISO 
 
 Visit to a Newcastle Coal-pit - - - Wakefield 152 
 
 Fingal's Cave, Isle of Staffa - - - - , Ibid, 155 
 
 The Giant's Causeway Clarke 168 
 
 The Lake of KiUarney J6W. 160 
 
 V.-MISCELLANEOUS LESSONS. [Z^^f. 
 
 ■ ."f.V.i f 
 
 IN PROSE. 
 
 Money ----------»^** 125 
 
 Exchanges ------------- 127 
 
 Commerce ------------- 128 
 
 Coin 130 
 
 The I arts of Speech --- -164 
 
 Prefixes and Affixes ---------- 165 
 
 The Mask of Nature ------ BarbatUd 168 
 
 The Whistle Franklin 174 
 
 The Dervis 191 
 
 Whang, the MiUer Ooldmith 193 
 
• 
 
 Vlll . . NTE.NTk . 
 
 ThtLoit Camel - - . - 196 
 
 Travellers' Wonden - - - - EverAru;* at Hom$ 199 
 
 True Heroism Itnd, 207 
 
 African Hospitality Park's Travels 211 
 
 Adventure of Mungo Park Ibid. 215 
 
 $olon and Crcesus 220 
 
 IN VLRSE. 
 
 The Pet Lamb JrordawortU 20 
 
 The Laplander 29 
 
 The Harper Campbell 35 
 
 To the Cuckoo -------- Logan 4G 
 
 The Sea Mrs. Howitt 61 
 
 The Birds Hcmans J39 
 
 To a Dying Infant Anon, 143 
 
 Birds of Passage -------- Hemans 149 
 
 The Homes of England Ibid. 154 
 
 Sootland --------- James Gray 157 
 
 lines sent to the Irish Harp Society - Miss Balfour 162 
 
 Day J a Pastoral ------- Cunningham 170 
 
 The Common Lot ------ Montgomery 182 
 
 The Orphan Boy - Opie 185 
 
 The Spectacles 193 
 
 The Good alone afe Great ... - - Beattie 210 
 
 Love of Country -- Scott 218 
 
 Venes supposed to be written by Alexander 
 
 Selkirk 
 Sbe Battle of Blenheim 
 
 851 .. .. - .. -. 
 oec -..-...„. 
 ^dr - 
 
 Cowper 217 
 Southey 292 
 
 
 A\»«s.i:'i>J\A> 
 
 hlhO 
 
 - ■ .. ;■. - I .-..f'l* 
 
 «>■ 
 

 fAi* 
 
 • 
 
 190 
 
 m$ 
 
 199 
 
 rid. 
 
 207 
 
 ;€/« 
 
 211 
 
 nd. 
 
 215 
 
 - 1 
 
 220 
 
 rtU 
 
 20 
 
 - 
 
 29 
 
 bell 
 
 35 
 
 i^an 
 
 46 
 
 mtt 
 
 51 
 
 ans 
 
 139 
 
 ion. 
 
 143 
 
 \ans 
 
 149 
 
 bid. 
 
 154 
 
 rray 
 
 157 
 
 vur 
 
 162 
 
 170 
 
 lery 
 
 182 
 
 Ipie 
 
 185 
 
 - 
 
 193 
 
 ittie 
 
 210 
 
 cott 
 
 218 
 
 yper 
 
 217 
 
 then 
 
 292 
 
 
 .Vni 
 
 
 .)/•.:! 
 
 
 niKi'.} 
 
 
 ■ut,D 
 
 
 'mIT 
 
 1 ' ' • . 
 
 Un'i 
 
 
 '-:}1'- 
 
 r;VV 
 
 -riT 
 
 • **i.i 
 
 9rtX 
 
 i 
 
 ..jvr 
 
 THIRD BOOK. 
 
 tfoni-bin-ed 
 
 u-nite 
 
 ex«po-sure 
 
 iii-tense 
 
 dis-cov-er-cd 
 
 Syr-i-a 
 
 ka-li 
 
 vit-ri-fied 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 LESSON I. 
 
 GLASS 
 
 fur-nished cal-dn-ed 
 
 reg-u-lar-ly fiuf-fi-cient 
 
 man-u-fac-tur»ed op-e-ra-tion 
 
 Si-don 
 
 cel-e-brat-ed 
 
 fur-na-cea 
 
 pre pare 
 
 an*neal 
 
 tube 
 ad-hercfl 
 in-tend-ed 
 grad-u«al-]y 
 im-me-di-ate ly. 
 
 Glass is made of sand or flint and the ashes of 
 certain planti, which are made to melt and unite by 
 exposure to intense heat. It is said to have been dis« 
 eovered by some merchants, who were driven by stress 
 of weather on the coast of Syria. They had lighted a 
 fire on the shore with a plant called kali ; and the sand, 
 mixing with the ashes, was vitrified by the heat. Thii 
 furnished the merchants with the hint for the making of 
 glass, wiiich was first regulariy manufactured at Sidon, 
 in Syria. England is now much celebrated for its glass. 
 
 There are three sort of furnaces used in making glass , 
 one, to prepare the/n^, a second, to work the glas>s, and 
 a third, to anneal it. Afier the ashes and snnd are pro* 
 j)erly mixed, they are put into the first (iirnace, where 
 they are burned or calcined for a sufiicient time, and be 
 
I • 
 
 f omc what is called frii. This being afterwards boiled 
 in pots or cnicihlcs of pipe- clay in the second furnace, 
 is fit for the operation of blowing, which is done with a 
 hollow tube of iron about three feet and a half long, to 
 which the melted matter adheres, and by means of which 
 it is blown and wliirled into the intended shape. The 
 annealing furnace is used for cooling the glass very grad- 
 ually ; for if it be exposed to the cold oir immediately after 
 being blown, it will fall into a thousand pieces, as if 
 struck by a hammer. 
 
 Teacher. Now, in this piece of glass, which I hold 
 in my hand, what qualities do you observe ? What can 
 you J: f^y that it is? 
 
 Pupil. It is bright. 
 
 T. Feel it, and tell me what it is ? 
 
 P. It is cold. ' • 
 
 T. ' Feel it again, and compare it with the piece of 
 sponge that is tied to your slate, and then tell me what 
 you perceive in the glass 1 
 
 P. It is smooth ; it is hard. 
 
 T, What other glass is there in the room t 
 ' P. The windows. 
 . T. Look out at the window, and tell me what you lee I 
 
 P. [see the garden. 
 - T. When I close the shutter, what do you obsenr© T 
 . P. I cannot see anything. 
 , T. Why cannot you see any thing 1 . .' ^ 
 
 P. I cannot see through the shutters. 
 
 T. What difference do you observe betweea iho 
 shutters and the glass ? .. •. 
 
 P. I i an not see through the shutters^ but I can see 
 /through the glass, f- , ,,; .,,,, .. ...^^ 
 
 >,<• 
 
 1 t'".'U';i 
 
 'i-3 il' 
 
 V"" 
 
 '•(I 
 
T. Can you tell me any word that will express the 
 quality which you observe in the glass ? 
 P. No. 
 
 T. I w'll tell you, then ; pay attention thai you may 
 recollect it. It is Iransparent. What do you now un- 
 derstand when I tell you that a substance is transparent 7 
 P. That you can see through it. 
 T. You are right. Try and recollect something that 
 |3 transparent ? 
 P. Water. 
 
 T. If I were to let this glass fall, or you were t« 
 tlirow a ball at the window, what would be the conse- 
 quence? 
 P. The glass would be broken. It is brittle.^ 
 T. If I used the shutter in the same way, what wouM 
 be the consequence 1 
 
 P* It would not break. 
 , T. If I gave it a heavy blow with a very hard Bub- 
 ilance, what would happen ? 
 P. It would then break. 
 T. Would you therefore call the wood brittle ? 
 P. No. 
 
 T. What substances then do you call brittle I 
 P. Those that are easily broken. 
 
 ',;: ! 
 
 LESSON II. 
 
 •i.. 'i>-»- 
 
 qtt^dru-ped 
 
 muz-zle 
 
 e-rect 
 
 THE POX. 
 
 strat-a-gcmj 
 char-ac ter 
 prov-erb 
 
 ^=yf ■ 
 
 vino-yard 
 PhiMs-tineg , „ » 
 Her-od 
 

 re-si -den ce 
 
 crev-ice 
 
 de-struct-ive 
 
 nox-i-ou3 
 
 con-sti-tute 
 
 con-ti-nent 
 
 fre^quenl-ly 
 
 pie-ci-pice 
 
 for-tu-nale 
 
 dis-co-ver 
 
 Rey-nard 
 
 Scrip-tur<» 
 
 te-trarch 
 
 Gal-i-lee 
 
 craf-ti-nes8 
 
 aMu'sion 
 
 des-'li-tute- 
 
 5ra-ti-!'Tilo 
 
 p - 
 
 Kf' ' 
 
 ! I 
 
 ill 
 
 u 
 
 The fox is a quadruped of the dog kind. This animal 
 is found in almost every quarter of the world. His coU 
 our is brown ; he has a sharp muzzle ; his ears are erect 
 and pointed ; and his tail is straight, and bushy, and 
 tipped with white. His usual residence is a den or largo 
 burrow, formed under the surface of the ground, or in 
 tome deep crevice of a rock. This he seldom leaves 
 till the evening ; and then he prowls about the woods and 
 fields for food, till the morning. He feeds on hares, rab« 
 bits, poultry, feaVhered game, moles, rats, and mice) 
 and he is known to be very fond of fruit. He runs dowa 
 hares and rabbits by pursuing them like a slow-hound. 
 His voice is a sort of yelping bark. 
 
 Although the fox is very destructive to poultry and 
 game, and sometimes takes the liberty of carrying ©ff o« 
 devouring a lamb, he is of service to mankind, by des- 
 troying many kinds of noxious animals. His skin con- 
 stitutes a soft and warm fur, which, in many parts of 
 Europe, is used for muifs and tippets, for the lining of 
 winter garments, and for robes of state. In some partt 
 of the continent, his flesh is eaten as food. 
 
 In many countries, and in a special manner in England, 
 hunting the fox is a favourite field-sport. Gentlemen on 
 horseback hunt him with slow-hounds ; and he has been 
 known to run fifty miles, and after all to save his life, by 
 
 li- 
 
nrcaring out the dogs as well as the horses and hiuit»- 
 tticn. r 
 
 His various stratagems for obtaining prey and avoidi«^ 
 his enemies, have justly procured for him the character 
 of cunning ; so that " as cunning or crafty as a fox" has 
 gi'own into a proverl). Many instances of his having 
 this quality in great perfection are related. A fox had 
 been frequently chased, and always escaped by appeanng 
 to go over a precipice ; and it commonly happened, that 
 eeveral of the dogs, in the eagerness of pursuit, went after 
 him and were killed. At last, on exploring the place, the 
 huntsmen were so fortunate as to discover, that the fox 
 had. his den just under the brow of the precipice, and 
 that by laying hold of a strong twig that grew beside it, 
 with his teeth, he had the art. of swinging himself into the 
 hole ; out of which, however, he was able to scramble 
 at any time without danger. But human skill baffles the 
 cunning of the fox. The huntsmen cut off the twig, and 
 next time Reynard was pursued, he ran to catch it aa 
 formerly, trusting that it was still there ; but, of course, ha 
 missfid his aim, and, tumbling down among the rocks, 
 was mangled almost as much as if he ha-^ been torn to 
 pieces by the dogs. <.-..•-» 
 
 The fox is mentioned in Scripture. Sampson emplo}^ 
 ed three hundred foxes to burn the vineyards and corn^- 
 fields of the Philistines. Herod, the tetrarch of Gali^ 
 lee, who beheaded John the Baptist, was called a fox 
 by Christ on account of his craftiness. And our Savi- 
 our makes an affecting allusion to this animal, when he 
 Bays, " The foxes have holes, and the birds of the an 
 have nests, but the Son of Man has not where to lay h« 
 head." 
 
 THoMSON^e Lessoks. . 
 
i: 
 
 M : 
 
 LESSON III 
 
 THE FOX AND THE GOAT. 
 
 sul-try 
 
 Ue^scri-ed 
 
 de-scend-ed 
 
 8uf-fi-ciently 
 
 al-lay-ed 
 
 ex-pe'di-ents 
 
 mutu-al-ly 
 
 pro-pos-ed 
 
 re»ject*ed 
 
 con-fi-dent 
 
 ex-lri-cale 
 
 dif-Ii-cul-ty 
 
 pos^ture 
 
 as-sist-ance 
 
 ha-zard 
 
 ad-vice 
 
 ven-lure 
 
 can-si-der-ed 
 
 i- 
 
 A foK and a goat, (ravening together on a very sultry 
 day, found themselves exceedingly thirsty, when, looking 
 round the country, in order to discover a place where 
 they might meet with water, they at length descried a 
 clear spring at the bottom of a pit. They both eagerly' 
 descended ; and having sufficiently allayed their thirst, it 
 was high time to consider how they should get out. 
 Many expedients for this purpose were mutually propos- 
 ed and rejected. At last, the crafty fox cried out with 
 great joy, A thought has just entered my mind, which I 
 am conhdcnt will extricate us out of our difficulty. Bo 
 youj said he to tlie goat, only rear yourself upon your 
 liinder leg<, and rest your fore-feet against the side of the 
 pit : in this posture I will climb up to your head, whence 
 I shall be able wiih a spring to reaeh the top ; and when 
 I am once there, you are sensible it will be very easy for 
 me to pull you out by the horns. The simple goat liked 
 the proposal well, and immediately placed himself as 
 directed ; by means of which the fox, without much dif- 
 ficulty, gained the top. And now, said the goat, give me 
 the assistance you proposed. Thou old fool, replied the 
 fox, hadst thou but half as much wit as beard, thou 
 wonldfit nrver have believed* thai 1 would hazard my^ 
 
own life to save thine. However, 1 will leave tnee witli 
 a piece of advice, which may be of service to thee here- 
 after, if thou shouldst have the good fortune to make thy 
 escape. J^ever venture into a pit aguhiy bcfort thox 
 hast well considsied how to get out of it. 
 
 LESSON IV. 
 
 ad-vaii-ces 
 
 tawn-y 
 
 ma-jes-lic 
 
 ir-ri-ia-tion 
 
 pe-cu-liar 
 
 lustre 
 
 for-ini-Ja-ble 
 
 ap-pear- unco 
 
 as-pect 
 
 ter-ri-fic 
 
 gran-dcur 
 
 dcs cribc 
 
 THE LION. 
 
 rc-seni-bies , , 
 
 thun-der 
 
 com-pell-cd 
 
 ex-trenic 
 
 dc-ters 
 
 rc-coursse 
 
 artifice 
 
 pro-di-gi-uus 
 
 ani-bush 
 
 o])-por-tu-ni-ty 
 
 cour-age 
 
 ap-proacli-es 
 
 hab-i-ia-tioii 
 
 ti-mid-i-ty 
 
 di-min-iah-ed 
 
 ac-quaiiit-cd 
 
 for-ti-tude 
 
 licigh-Lciir-hcod 
 
 dis-po-gi-tlon 
 
 cd-u-ca-tloii 
 
 chas-lise 
 
 dan-ge-roua 
 
 pro-voke 
 
 se-cu-ri-ty 
 
 The length of the largest lion is between eight and nine 
 feet 5 his tail id about four, and his height is about four 
 feet and a half. He has a long and thick mane, 
 which grows longer and thicker as he advances in years. 
 The hair of the rest of his body is short and smooth, of a 
 tawny colour, but whitish on the belly. The female is 
 about one-fourth part less than the male, and without llie 
 mane. The form of the lion is strikingly bold and majes- 
 lie. Hi:i large and shaggy mane, which he can erect at 
 jjiici... ure J hi.- hu;;e eye brows j his round and fiery eye- 
 

 balls which, upon the least irritation, beciu iw giow wiin 
 peculiar lustre ; together with the formidable appearance 
 of his teeth; g[ve him an aspect of terrific grandeur, 
 which it is difficult, if not impossible, to describe. His 
 roaring is loud and dreadful ; when heard in the night, it 
 resembles distant thunder. His cry of anger is much 
 louder and shriller. 
 
 The lion seldom attacks any animal openly, except 
 when compelled by extreme hunger, in which case, no 
 danger deters him. But, as most animals endeavour to 
 avoid him, he is obliged to have recourse to artifice, and 
 ♦ake his prey by surprise. For this purpose he crouches 
 Jn his belly, in some thicket, where he watches till his 
 ])rey comes forward ; and then, with one prodigious 
 lE^iring, he leaps upon it from a distance of fifteen or twen • 
 ty feet, and genera Jly seizes it at the first bound. Should 
 he happen to miss his object, he gives up the pursuit, and 
 returns to the place of his ambush, with a measured step, 
 and tlicre lies in wait for another opportunity. His lurk- 
 ing place is generally near a spring or a river, that he 
 may lay hold of tlie animals which come thither to quen 
 di their thirst. 
 
 It is observed of the lion, that his courage diminishes, 
 Mill his caution and timidity are greater, as he approaches 
 tlie habitalions of men. Being ac(jnniiited with the power 
 of Uieir anns, he lo.^cs his natural f(;rtitude to such a de- 
 gree, as to be terrified at the sound of the human voice. 
 He has been known to fly before women, and ever 
 diildren, and sufler himself to be driven away by them, 
 from his lui'king place in the neighbourhood of villages. 
 His disposition is such as to admit of a cerlaiR degree of 
 education j and it is a well-known fact, that the keepers 
 of wild Ije^nst sfreauentlv play with hhn, pull out hjf 
 
hngac, hold him by the teeth, and even chastise hiai 
 iritliout cause. It is dangerous, however, to provoke him 
 (00 far, or to depend upon his temper with too much se- 
 curity. The lion is found in Asia, and in the hotteit 
 parts of Africa. 
 
 In Scripture this animal is sometimes spoken of as an 
 emblem of strength. Jacob compared his son Judah to 
 a lion, to denote the future courage and power of his tribe. 
 The devil is said to go about like " a "- iring lion seeking 
 whom he may devour," And Jesus Jhrist is styled the 
 •* Lion of the tribe of Judah," because he subdues the 
 enemies of hi.i church and people. 
 
 LESSON V. 
 
 ae-ci-dent 
 in -no-cent 
 fright-en-ed 
 i-ma-gin-ing 
 dem-en-cy 
 
 THE LION AND THE MOUSE. 
 
 bcn-e-fac*tor 
 
 re-pair-ing 
 
 de-liv-er-ing 
 
 pre-serv-er 
 
 con-vin-ced 
 
 at-tri-bute 
 
 en-trcat-ed 
 
 il-lus-tri-ous 
 
 in-sig-nixfi-cant 
 
 gen-e-rous-ly 
 
 . A lion, by accident, laid his paw upon a poor inno- 
 cent mouse. The frightened little creature, imagmmg 
 ■lie was just going to be devoured, begged hard for her 
 tifa, urged tliat clemency was the fairest attribute of 
 (lower, and earnestly entreated his majesty not to stain his 
 filustrious claws with the blood of so insignificant an 
 animal ; upon which tlie lion very generously set her at 
 Bberty. It hapjiened a few days afterwards, that the 
 ion, ranging for his prey, fell into the toils of the hunter. 
 The mouse heard his roarings, knew the voice of her 
 benefactor, and immediately repairing to his assistanftti 
 f&ftwW in pieces tba tneabes of the net» and. hf deliver- 
 
10 
 
 mg her preserver, convinced him, that iherc is no crea» 
 ture so much below anolfitr^ but may have it in hts power 
 to return a good office. 
 
 LESSON VI. 
 
 THE TIGER. 
 
 fteau-ti-ful 
 
 ra-pa-ci-ou3 
 
 do-8truct-ive 
 
 in-8a-ti-a>ble 
 
 tat is-fi-ed 
 
 sa-ti-at-^d 
 
 Blaug^i-ter 
 
 bap-pi-Iy 
 
 ^e»ci*e3 
 
 eli-iQates 
 
 e-spc-ci-al-1^ 
 
 coin-p!clc-Iy 
 
 re-sem-blcs 
 
 min-i-a-turc 
 
 dif fer-ence 
 
 mot -lied 
 
 pan-thcr 
 
 leop-ard 
 
 or-na-mciit-ed 
 
 dread-ing 
 
 op-po-si-tion 
 
 vic-tim 
 
 fc-ro-ci-oun ' 
 
 c-las-li-ci-ty' 
 
 in-crc-di-blo 
 
 a-gtl-i-ty 
 
 biif-fa-lo 
 
 el-e pliant 
 
 rhi-no-ce-ros 
 
 fii-ri-ous • 
 
 oc-ca-yion-aMy 
 
 al-te-ra-tion 
 
 di3-po-si-tion 
 
 The tiger is one of the most beamirul, but, at the samd 
 time, one of the mof-t rapacious and deijtructive of the 
 whole animal race. It has an insatiable thirst after 
 blood, and, even whew satisfied with food, \s not satiated 
 with slaughter. Happily for the rest of the animal race, 
 as well as for mankind, tliis deslructivo quidruped is not 
 very common, nor the species very widely diffused, being 
 confined to the warm climates of the east, especially 
 India and Siam. It generally grows to a larger size than 
 he largest mastiff dog, and its fom so completely resem- 
 lAes Jiat of a cat, as almost to induce us to consider the 
 latter as a tiger in miniature. The most striking differ- 
 ,i«ice which is observed between the tiger and tlio other 
 
11 
 
 animals of the cat kind, consists in the different marks on 
 thesk'i. Tiic panther, the leopard, &c,, arc spotted, 
 but the tiger is ornamented with long streaks quite across 
 the body, inr lead of spots. The ground colour, on thoso 
 of the most beautiful kind, is yellow, very deep on the 
 back, but growing ligliter towards the belly, when it sof- 
 tens to white, as also on the throat and the inside of the 
 legs. The bars which cross the body from the back to 
 the belly, are of the most beautiful black, and the skin 
 altogether is so extremely fine and glossy, that it is much 
 esteemed, and sold at a high price in all the eastern coun- 
 tries, especially China. The tiger is said by some to pre- 
 fer human flesh to that of any other animal ; and it is 
 certain, that it docs net, like many other beasts of prey, 
 shun the presence of man ; and, far from dreading his 
 opposition, frequently seizes him as his victim. These 
 ferocious animals seldom pursue their prey, but lie in 
 ambush, and bound upon it with a surprising elasticity, 
 and from a distance ahno^rt incredible* The strength, as 
 well as the agility of this animal, is wonderful : it carries 
 off a deer with the greatest ease, and will even carry off 
 a buffalo. It attacks all kinds of animals, except the ele- 
 phant and rhinoceros. Furious combats sometimes hippen 
 between the tiger and the lion, m which both occasional- 
 ly perish. The ferocity of the tiger can never be wholly 
 subdued : for neither geatleness nor restraint makes any 
 alteration in its disposition* 
 
 BlGLANP. 
 
v.t; 
 
 1-2 
 LESSON VII. 
 
 AGAINST QUARRELLING AND FlUH TING. 
 
 Let (logs delight to bnrk and bite, 
 For God hath made tli-3m so ; 
 
 Let bears and hons grnwl and fight, 
 For 'tis tJieir nature too. 
 
 But, children, you should never let 
 
 Such angry passions rise ; 
 Your little hands were never made 
 
 To tear each othersieyeB. 
 
 V 
 
 Let love through all your actions nin. 
 
 And all your words be mild ; 
 Live like the blessed Virgin's Son, 
 
 That sweet and lovely child. 
 
 His soul was gentle as a lamb, 
 
 And as his stature grew, 
 He grew in favour both with man. 
 
 And God, his Father, too. 
 
 • 
 
 Now, Lord of all, he reigns above, 
 And from his heavenly throne, 
 
 He sees what children dwelt in lov^ 
 And marks them for his own. 
 
18 
 
 LESSON Via. 
 
 TII£ BEAR. 
 
 prom-i-ncnt 
 
 CJey-Ion 
 
 Kor-way 
 
 ve-ge-ia-ble 
 
 wea-sel 
 
 cx-cel-lent 
 
 awk-ward 
 
 for-mi-da-ble 
 
 ad-rer-sa-ry 
 
 io-li-taTy 
 
 un-fre-quent-ed 
 
 moun-tain-ous 
 
 pre-ci-pi-ces 
 
 tor-pid-i-ty 
 
 ac-coin»plish-mcnt rhe!l-ma-ti8m 
 in-flic tion Kam-tschat-ka 
 
 dis-cour-aged 
 
 em-ploy-ment 
 
 in-hab-i-tant3 
 
 sa-vour-y 
 
 de-U-ca-cy 
 
 Rus-si-a 
 
 im-pe-n-al 
 
 ex-por-ted 
 
 cov-er-tures 
 
 ward-robe 
 
 Pe-ters-biirgh 
 
 Mos-cow 
 
 in-tes-tines 
 
 Sol-o-mon . 
 
 in-so-lent-ly 
 
 pro-fane-l^ 
 
 E-li-sha 
 
 per-mit-ted 
 
 en-coun-ter 
 
 Go-H-ath 
 
 il-lus-trate 
 
 peace-a-ble 
 
 I-sa-iah 
 
 pie-dict-ed 
 
 The common bear is a heavy looking quadnipeo, of a 
 £rge size, and covered witn shaggy hair. It has a 
 prominent snout, a short tail, and treads on the whola 
 iole of the foot. It is a native of nearly all Uie noithern 
 ^irts of Asia and Europe, and is said to be found in Cey- 
 lon and other Indian islands, and also in some parts c^ 
 Africa and America. In northern climates it is of a browa 
 eolour ; in other parts it is black ; in No*^vay it is foumi 
 grey and even white. The black bear confines itself al- 
 most entirely to vegetable food ; but the brown frequenty 
 attacks Iambs, kids, and even cattle, and sucks their 
 blood, like the weasel. Bears are fond of honey, and 
 often seek for it in trees, of which Chey are excellerti 
 climbers, in spite of their awkwarfV appearance. Tl4# 
 tear is not naturally a fierce animal i but it becozoer 
 
M 
 
 1 
 
 very formidable adversary when attacked* or whendeprir- 
 ed of its young. 
 
 In its habits tliis animal is savage aud Bolltary. It 
 citlicr resides in the hollow of a tree, or some unfrequent- 
 ed wood, or takes up its abode in ibofcO mountainous 
 precipices that are so diflicult of acccs.i to the human 
 foot. In these lonely retreats, it passes several months in 
 winter in a slntc of torpidity, without motion or sense, and 
 never quits them till it is compelled by hunger to search 
 for a fresh supply of food. 
 
 r Although the bear is of a surly dispo, ition, yet, when 
 taken young, it submits in a certain degree to be lamed ; 
 and by being taught to erect itself on its hinder leg.^ moves 
 about to the sound of music, in a clumry a^^•k\vard kind 
 of dance. Cut no humane psrcon could have any plea 
 sure in looking at dancing bears, if ihcy con-;idcred, tha^ 
 in making them learn this acconnpIis,linicnt, the greatetl 
 cruelty is practised, such "as selling tlio poor creatures 
 on plates of hot iron. All such inflictions of suficring 
 for the sake of mere amusement should i:e diticouraged. 
 
 In some parlri of the world, hunting bears is the chief 
 employment of the inhabitants ; and in eveiy countiy in 
 which they are found, it is a matter of importance 
 on account of their value. The flesh of the bear is 
 reckoned a savoiyy and excellent kind of food, somewhat 
 resembling pork. The paws are considered a delicacy 
 in Russia, even at the imperial table. The hams are 
 salted, dried and exported to other parts of Europe.— 
 The flesh of young bears is as much esteemed in some 
 places of Russia, as that of lambs is with us. Bears* 
 lluns are made into beds, covertures, caps, and gloves. 
 Of an coarse furs, these furnish the most valuable; and 
 when good, a light and black beaf s skin is one of the 
 
15 
 
 most comfortable, and also one of tlie most costly articles 
 in the winter wardrobe ol^'ivat men at IVtorsburgb and 
 Moscow. In Britain bears' ^Uinr^ are ii:<Ovl for bamnr.cr- 
 clotlis for carriage?, pi^tol-bol.^toi'.J, and other purposes of 
 that nature. For those articler, such uh harness for car- 
 riage*, which re([uire stronL'' leaihor. tliat made from bear 
 skins is much in request. Th^ fat of bear j is used for 
 ihcumatism and similar conijjlaiiit:!. The Russians uso 
 it with their food, and it is ihou-dit as good as the best 
 olive oil. An oil prepared from it ha^ been employed as 
 a means of making hair gi'ow. In Kaiiitschatka, the 
 intestines of the bear, when properly scraped and cleanoil, 
 arc worn by the females as marks, to protect the fairness 
 of their complexions from the blackening inlluenco of the 
 sun when it is reflected from the snow. They are also 
 used instead of glass^ for windows. And the shoulder 
 blade bones of the animals are converted into sickles for the 
 cutting of grass. ^ 
 
 , The bear is often mentioned in Scripture. Solomon 
 speaks of a " fool in his foiiy" as more to be dreaded 
 than " a bear robbed of her whelp,>." It was two she- 
 h ears out of the wood, that tore forty-two of the little 
 children, who insolently and profanely mocked Elisha, 
 one of God's prophets. David pleaded for being permitted 
 to encounter Goliath the giant, because he had slain " a 
 Jion and a bear," that had " taken a lamb out of his 
 flock." And to illustrate the peaceable nature of Christ's 
 kingdom, the prophet Isaiah has predicted, that the time 
 is coming, when " the cow and the bear shall feed ; their 
 young ones shall lie down together." 
 
 Thomson's Lessons, 
 
•"■r- 
 
 LESSON IX. 
 
 THE BEARS AND BEES. 
 
 As two young bears, in wanton mood, 
 Forth issuing from a neighb'ring wood, 
 Came where th' industrious bees had stored 
 In artful cells their luscious hoard ; 
 O'erjoyed they seized, with eager haste, 
 Luxurious on the rich repast. 
 Alarm'd at this, the little crew 
 About their ears vindictive flew; 
 The beasts, unable to sustain 
 The unequal combat, quit the plain 
 Half blind with rage, and mad with pain, 
 Their native shelter they regain j .^ 
 There sit, and now discreeter grown, 
 Too late their rashness they bemoan ; 
 And this by dear experience gain — 
 That pleasure's ever bought with pain* 
 So when the gilded baits of vice 
 Are placed before our longing eyes, 
 With greedy haste we snatch our fill^ 
 And swallow down the latent ill ; 
 But when experience opes our ejm. 
 Away the fancied pleasure flies ; ' 
 It flies, but oh ! too late we find 
 It learet a real sting behind 
 

 17 
 LESSON X. 
 
 THE WOLP. 
 
 • 
 
 fx-ter-nal 
 
 pop-u-la-tion" 
 
 (le-ject-ed 
 
 in-ter nal 
 
 ex-ten- sion 
 
 re-peat-ed 
 
 slruc-ture 
 
 a-gri-cul-ture 
 
 aJ-lud-ed 
 
 pro-pen-si -ties 
 
 nuis-ance 
 
 vi-o-lent 
 
 de-test-ed 
 
 ex-tir-pal-ed 
 
 fe-ro-ci 0U9 
 
 u-ni-ver-sal-Iy 
 
 fe-ro-ci-ty 
 
 Ben-ja-min 
 
 de-vas-ta-tion 
 
 in-tro-duc tion 
 
 san-gui-na-iy 
 
 re-sist-ance 
 
 o-be-di-ent 
 
 trans-form -od 
 
 o-ver-pow-er-ed 
 
 in-ca-pa-ble 
 
 trac-ta-ble 
 
 in-ces-sant 
 
 at-tach-ment 
 
 as-so-ci-alo 
 
 ra-pa-ci-tjr 
 
 Swit-zer-land 
 
 per -se- cute 
 
 ■-^■' r- 
 
 '" • r. 
 
 frvf-i . . . _ 
 
 The wolf, in its external form and internal stnicture, 
 exactly resembles the dog tribe, but possesr^ess none of its 
 agreeable dispositions or useful propensities. It has, ao- 
 cordingly, in all ages, been much detested, and univer- 
 sally considered as one of the most savage enemies of 
 mankind that exists in the animal creation. In countries 
 where wolves are numerous, whole droves come down 
 from the mountains, or out of the woods, and join in 
 genera] devastation. They attack the sheep-fold, and 
 enter villages, and carry off sheep, lambs, hogs, calves, 
 and even dogs. The horse and the ox, the only tame 
 animals that make any resistance to these destroyers, aro 
 frequently overpowered by their nnnil)ers and their inc-e*- 
 Bant attacks. Even man himself, on these occasions, 
 falls a victim to their rapacity. Their ravages ara 
 nJways most terrible in winter, when the cold is most 
 severe, the snow in the greatest quantity on the ground, 
 and food most difficult to be procured. Wolves ram 
 
18 
 
 
 fbund, with some variety, in most countries of the Old 
 and New Continents j but their numbers are very much 
 diminished in Europe, in consequence of the increase of 
 population, and the extension ot agriculture. At one 
 time tliey were an exceedingly great nuisance in Britain, 
 and, at a still later period, in Ireland j but in both coun- 
 tries are now completely extirpated. 
 
 Notwithstanding the ferocity of their nature, wolves 
 have been tamed. The natives of North America, 
 before the introduction of dogs, employed them in hunting, 
 and made them quite obedient to command. And in the 
 East, they are trained to dance, and play a variety of 
 tricks J but they are almost always found to be wholly 
 incapable of attachment, and, as they advance in life, 
 commonly contrive to escooe to their native woods. 
 There have been some instances, indeed, of wolves having 
 been tamed to an uncommon degree by kindness a nd 
 humanity., A lady in Svvitzeriand had a tame woif, 
 which seemed to have as much attachment to its mistress 
 as a spaniel. She had occasion to leave home for a few 
 weeks j the wolf evinced the greatest distress after hei 
 departui'e, and at first refused to take food. During the 
 whole time she was absent, he remained much dejected ; 
 and on her retm'n, as soon as he heard her footsteps, he 
 bounded into the room in an ecstasy of delight. Spring- 
 ing up, he placed a paw on each of her shoulders, but 
 the next moment fell backwards and instantly expired. 
 
 The wolf is repeatedly alluded to in Scripture. Per- 
 sons of crafty, violent, and ferocious tempers are compared 
 to it J as when it is said in Gen. xlix. 27, that '« Benja- 
 min shall ravin as a wolf," it means that the tribe of 
 Benjamin shall De fierce and wariike. Whtn our 
 JSaviour says, <- T sond you forth as «heep ia tlic midst at 
 
19 
 
 wolves," he intimates that his disciples, peaceable and 
 gentle, would be surrounded by wicked men, who would 
 thirst for their blood, and endeavour to destroy thenu 
 He also likens false prophets or teachers to ravenous 
 wolves in sheep's clothing ; denoting, that though they 
 appeared and professed to be harmles?, yet they had no 
 other view than to make a prey of those whom they pre* 
 tended to instruct. And the prophet Isaiah, when 
 predicting the peaceful times of the Gospel, inentions that 
 the wolf shall dwell with the lamb : that is, men of fierce 
 and sanguinary dii?positions will be so transformed and 
 changed by the religion of Chrltt, as to become gentle 
 and tractable, and associate quietly with those, whom, 
 otherwise, they would have been iiiclined lo persecute. 
 
 ■4 
 
 LESSON XI. 
 
 THE WOLF AND THE LAMB. 
 
 ac-ci-t]en-t;il-ly 
 
 qiiench ing 
 
 ri-vu-let 
 
 mia-chiev-o«s 
 
 quar-rel 
 
 fierce-ly 
 
 dis-lurb 
 
 be-seecli 
 
 cur-rent 
 
 dis-con cert-ed 
 
 ac-cu-sa-tion 
 
 slan-der-er 
 
 im-pos-si-ble> 
 
 re-la-tions 
 
 in-no-cei)t 
 
 de-ter-min'Cd 
 
 ex-cuse 
 
 pal-li-ate 
 
 A wolf and a lamb were accidentally quenching tli<?ir 
 thirst together at the same rivule'. The wolf stood to- 
 wards the head of the stream, and the lamb at some di»- 
 lance below. The mischievous beast, resolved on a 
 *juarrel, fiercely demands, How dare you disturb the 
 water which I am di inking 1 The poor lamb all tremb- 
 ling replies, How, 1 beseech you, can that possibly lx> thD 
 
'^ 
 
 80 
 
 aa»e*j^ since the current sets from you to mc ? Discow 
 certed by the force of truth, he changes the accusation. 
 Six months ago, says he, you vilely slandered me. 
 Impo«^ib]c, returned the lamb, for I was not then born. 
 No matter, it was your father then, or some of your 
 relations ; and, immediately seizing the innocent lamb, 
 he tore him to pieces. He, who is determined to commii 
 m bad action f mill seldom be at a loss for a pretence. 
 
 LESSON XI r. 
 
 THE PET LAMB. 
 
 
 The dew was falling fast, the 
 
 I heard a voice ; it said, " Drink, pretty creature, drink !" 
 
 And looking o'er the hedge, before me, I espied, 
 
 A snow-while mountam lamb, with a maiden at its skto* 
 
 No other sheep was near, the lamb was all alone. 
 And by a slender cord was tether'd to a stone : 
 With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, 
 While to the mountain lamb she gave its evening meaU 
 
 Tlie lovely little maiden was a child of l^cauty rare ; 
 I watch'd them with delight ; they were a guileless pair* 
 And now with empty can, the maiden turned away, 
 But ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps did she stay. 
 
 * What ails thee, young one ?" said she ; " Why pull m 
 
 at thy cord ? 
 Is it not well with thee ? well both for l>ed and lioard t 
 Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be : 
 Me^t, little young one, rest, what isH that aileth the© T , 
 
21 
 
 Discon- 
 
 cusation. 
 ;red me. 
 len born. 
 ! of your 
 snt lamb, 
 to commii 
 mce. 
 
 mis. 
 
 re, drink P 
 
 (1, 
 
 at its sidSt 
 
 me, 
 
 • 
 
 m kneel, 
 ing mealb 
 
 rare ; 
 fleless pair* 
 away, 
 sbe stay. 
 
 f/hy pull m 
 
 What is it tnou wouldat seek ? Hast thou forgot the day. 
 
 When my father found tliee first in places far away T 
 
 Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert own'd by 
 
 none, 
 And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone. 
 
 * 
 
 He took thee in his arms, and in pity l^rought thee home ; 
 A blessed day for thee ! then whither wouldst thou roam I 
 A iaithful nurse then hast : the dam that did thee yean, 
 Upon the mountain tops, no kinder could have been. 
 
 Alas ! the mountain tops which look so green and fair ;— 
 I've heaxd of fearful winds and darkness that come there : 
 The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, 
 When they are angry, raar like lions for their prey. 
 
 Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky ; 
 He will not come to thee ; our cottage is hard by. 
 Night and day thou art safe as living thing can be : 
 Be l;]^ppy, then^ and rest; what is't that aileth thcel 
 
 WORDSWO&TA. . 
 
 al lK>aTd t 
 in be: 
 |i the© ! 
 
22 
 
 LESSON xni. 
 
 en-clo sure 
 
 sur-round-ed 
 
 prin-ci-pal 
 
 roe-buck 
 
 grace-ful 
 
 air-y 
 
 am-ple 
 
 d-e-gant 
 
 del-i-cate 
 
 aat-is-fi-ed 
 
 ru mi-na-tion 
 
 THE PARK. 
 
 dlf-fi-cul-ty 
 
 at-tcnd -ea 
 
 hic-cup 
 
 ex-treme-ly 
 
 a-cute 
 
 sing-u-lar 
 
 ro-buist 
 
 a-muse-ment 
 
 lux-u-ry 
 
 fa-vour-ite 
 
 re-treat 
 
 ia-ga-ci-ou8 
 
 re-tra-cing 
 
 ti-mid 
 
 jus-ti-fi-ed 
 
 per se-cute 
 
 baf-fle 
 
 en-dow ed 
 
 fleet-ness 
 
 prom-i-nent 
 
 frol-ick-some 
 
 As-a-hel 
 
 A park is a large enclosure, surrounded with a high 
 wall, and stocked with various kinds of game, especially 
 beasts of chase. The principal of these are deer and 
 hares. There are three species of deer, which run wild, 
 or are kept in parks, in the British islands : the stag^ hari 
 or red deer j the fallow deer ; and the roebuck. The 
 stag or hart is a peaceful and .harmless animal. His 
 graceful form, his airy motion, and the ample branches 
 that adorn rather than defend his head, added to his size, 
 stength, and swiftness, render him one of the most ele- 
 gant, if not one of the most useful quadrupeds. He is 
 very delicate in the choice of his fobd, ' which consisti 
 partly of grass, and partly of the young branches anc 
 ahoote of trees. When satisfied with eating, he retiree U 
 «>me covert or thicket to chew the cud ; bui his rumina 
 tion is performed with greater difficulty than that rf ily 
 cow 01 sheep, and is attended with a sort of hiccun dur 
 fttg.the whole time it continues. His senses of smell axx 
 
33 
 
 U8 
 
 d 
 
 id 
 I 
 
 ent 
 ome 
 
 ith a high 
 especialij 
 re deer and 
 K run wild, 
 le stagf hart 
 ,uck. The 
 dmal* Hii 
 e branches 
 to his size, 
 le most ele- 
 sds. He is 
 ich consisti 
 anches anc 
 he retireo w 
 his rumina 
 that rf Cf 
 hiccun dur 
 of smell anc 
 
 hearing are extremely acute. It is singular that tlie stag 
 fe himself one of the numerous enemies of the fawn, and 
 diat the female is obliged to exert all her art to protiscther 
 young from him. 
 
 The fallow deer is smaller and less robust than the stag, 
 and has broad inrsiead of round branching horns, which, 
 like all male cjuailrupe<ls of the same tribe, it renews 
 every year. Fallow-daer are seldom found wild, being 
 generally bred in parks, and kept for the amusement and 
 luxury of the great. They have a great dislike to the red 
 deer, with which they will neither breed, nor herd in the 
 same place. They also frequently quarrel among them- 
 selves for some favourite spot of pasture ground, and 
 f'vided into two parties, headed by the oldest and strongest 
 deer of the flock, attack each other in the most perfect 
 order, and even renew the combat for several days, tiU 
 Ihe weaker party is forced to retreat. 
 
 The roebuck is the smallest of the British deer, and is 
 
 now almost extinct in these islands ; the few that are left 
 
 being chiefly confined to the Scottish highlands. It is 
 
 exceedingly fleet, and scarcely less sagacious. Its mode 
 
 of eluding pursuit, proves it to be far more cunning than 
 
 the stag : for instead of continuing its flight straight for- 
 
 waid, it confounds the scent by retracing its own track, 
 
 and then making a great bound to one side j after which 
 
 t lies flat and mot'onless till the dogs and men pass bv. 
 
 1 he roebucks do not herd in flocks, like the rest of the 
 
 leer kind, but live in families, each male with his favourite 
 
 emale and her young. 
 
 The hare is a very timid animal ; and its feai-s ore 
 almost justified by the number of its enemies. Dogs^, 
 cats, weasels, birds of prey, and, last and worst, mankind- 
 persecute it without pitv. But, in some degree to bafSt 
 
r 
 
 M 
 
 • 
 
 Us foofli, nature has endowed it with great fleetness, and a 
 good share of sagacity. Its muscles are strong, without 
 fat, and formed for swiftness ; it has large prominent eyes, 
 placed backwards on its head, so that it can almost see 
 behind it as it runs ; and its ears are capable of being di- 
 rocted towards every quarter, and are so formed that they 
 iBadily catch the slightest sound. Instinct teaches it to 
 choose its form in places where the surrounding objecta 
 are neariy of the colour of its own body. The hare may 
 ba tamed, and is then a frolicksome and amusing animal. 
 All these animals are mentioned in Scripture. The 
 bare was unclean by the Jewish law. Asahel, Joab's 
 brother, was as " light of foot as a wild roe." Part of 
 the daily provision for king Solomon's table consisted of 
 « harts, roebucks, and fallow deer." And David thu8 
 beautifully expresses his eager desire for the service of 
 (he Lord : " As the hart panteth for the water brooks, so 
 panteth ray soul after thee, O God." 
 
 LESSON XIV. 
 
 THB STAG DRINKING. 
 
 quench-ing 
 
 re-flect-ed 
 
 ob-9erv-ing 
 
 eK-trena^ 
 
 iden-der-ness 
 
 de&-pi-ca-Ue 
 
 spin-dle-shanks 
 
 an-8wer-a»ble 
 
 ao-li-lo-quy 
 
 ifli-me-di-ate-ly 
 
 bound-ed 
 
 pur-su-ers 
 
 en-tang-le<i 
 
 ex-claim-e4 
 
 ad-van-ta-^ei 
 
 de-spis-ed 
 
 ant-lers 
 
 be-tray-ed 
 
 A stag, quenching his thirst in a clear lake, was struck 
 with the beauty of his homs, which he saw reflected m 
 tie water. At the name time, observing the extrenM 
 
25 
 
 3s, and a 
 without 
 ent eyes, 
 most see 
 being di- 
 that they 
 hes it to 
 g objects 
 hare may 
 g animal, 
 ire. The 
 el, Joab's 
 Part of 
 isisted of 
 lavid thus 
 jervice of 
 brooks, 8a 
 
 .ng-led 
 
 aim-e4 
 
 in-ta-|^ 
 
 tts-ed 
 
 era 
 
 ay-ed 
 
 was eftradi 
 reflected in 
 be extrenM 
 
 slenderncss of his legs, what a pity it is, said lie that so 
 fine a creature should be furnished with so despicable a 
 set of spindle shanks! What a truly noble animal I 
 shovdd bC; were my legs in any degree answerable to my 
 horns ! — In the midst of this soliloquy, he was alarmed 
 with the cry of a pack of hounds. He immediately 
 bounded over the forest, and left his pursuers so far behind, 
 that he might have escaped ; but taking into a thick wood, 
 his horns were entangled in the branches, where he was 
 held till the hounds came up, and tore him in pieces. In 
 his last moments he thus exclaimed, How ill do we judge 
 of our own true advantages ! The legs which I despised, 
 would have borne me away in safety, had not my favourite 
 antlers betrayed me to ruin. 
 
 LESSON XV. 
 
 THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. 
 
 A hare who in a civil way 
 Complied with every thing, like Gay, 
 Was know by all the bestial train 
 Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain. 
 Her care was, never to offend. 
 And every creature was her friend. 
 
 As forth she went at early dawn, 
 To taste the dew-besprinkled lawn, 
 Behind she hears the hunter^s cries. 
 And from the deep-mouth 'd thunders flies ; 
 She starts, she stops, she pants for breath 
 She hears the near approach of death ; 
 She doubles to mislead the hound. 
 And measures back her mazy round 
 
 C 
 
d6 
 
 II' 
 
 
 Till fainting in the public way, 
 Half dead with fear vhe gasping lay. 
 
 What transport in her bosom grew. 
 When first the horse appeared in view I 
 
 Let me, says siie, your hack ascend, 
 And owe my safety to a friend , 
 You know my feet betray my flight : 
 To friendship every burthen's light. 
 
 The h()r$e replied, Poor honest puss I 
 It grieves my heart to see you thus : 
 Be comforted, relief is near ; 
 For all your friends are in the rear. 
 
 She next the stately bull implored, 
 And thus replied the mighty lord; 
 Since eveiy beast alive.^an tell j 
 
 , That I sincerely wish you well, 
 I may, without oCence, pretend 
 To take the freedom of a friend. 
 XiOve calls me hence ! in such a case, 
 You know all other things give ^place. 
 To leave you thus might seem ^unkind, 
 iBut see, the goat is just behind. 
 
 The goat remark'd her pulse was liigft 
 Her languid head, her heavy eye ; 
 My back, says she, may do you harm ^ 
 The sheep's at hand, and wool is warm. 
 
 The sheep was feeble, and complained 
 His sides a load of wool sustained } 
 Said he was slow, confessed his fears ; 
 For hounds eat sheep as well as hares. 
 
 She now the trotting calf adJli'ess'd, 
 To save from death a friend diatressed^ 
 Shall I, says he, of tender ajg(?, 
 
27 
 
 In this important care engoge ? 
 Older and abler possed you by ; 
 How strong are these — how weak am I ! 
 Should I presume to bear you hence, 
 These friends of mine may take offence. 
 Excuse me, then. You know my heart, 
 But dearest friends, cdas ! muEt part. 
 How shall we aU lament ! Adieu ! 
 For see, the hounds are just in view. 
 
 Gat. 
 
 eon-sti-tutcs 
 
 Xap-land-ers 
 
 8ub-ser-vi-ent 
 
 ten-dons 
 
 •a-vour-y 
 
 con«vert-ed 
 
 LESSON XVI. 
 
 THE REIN-DBER. 
 
 con-vey 
 
 con-struc-tion 
 
 at-tempt-ed 
 
 un-ac-cus-tom-ed 
 
 o-ver-set 
 
 pe-ri-od 
 
 de-po8-it)» 
 
 e-nor-mous 
 
 col*an-der 
 
 lich-en 
 
 sub-sisl-ence 
 
 nat-u-ral-ize 
 
 This useful animal, -the general height of which is about 
 fcur feet and a half, is to be found in most of the northern 
 regions of 'the- old tand new world. It has long, slender, 
 branched'homs ; those of the male are much the lai^e^t. 
 In colour, it is brown above and white teneath : but it 
 often becomes of a greyish white, as it advances In age. 
 ■it constitutes the whole wealth of the Laplanders, and 
 -supplies to them the place of the horse, the cow, the 
 ' sheep, and the goat. Alive or dead, the rein-deer 
 is equally subservient to their wants. When it 
 ceases to live, spoons are made of its bones, glm^ 
 
98 
 
 of itfl horns, bovvstringu and thread of its tendons, clothing 
 of its skin, and its flesh becomes a savoury food. Dur- 
 ing its life its m\\k, is converted into cheese, and it is en*- 
 ployed to convey its owner over the snowy waste of his 
 native country. Such is tlie swiftness of this race, that 
 two of iheni, yoked in a sledge, will travel a hundred and 
 twelve English miles in a day. The sledge is of a cui^ 
 iouv construction, formed somewhat in the shape of a 
 boat, in which the traveller is tied like a child, and which, 
 if attcmted to be guided by any person unaccustomed to 
 it, would inslanlly be overset. A Lnplander, who is rich, 
 has often more than a thousand rein deer. 
 
 The pace of the rein deer, which it can keep up for a 
 whole day, is rather n trot than a bounding. Its hoofs 
 are cloven and moveable, so that it spreads them abroad 
 ad it goes, to prevent its sinking in the snow; and as the 
 animal moves along, ihey arc heard to crack with a pretty 
 loud noise. 
 
 In summer, these ariimalsfed on various kinds of plants, 
 and seek the liigliest hilN, for the purpose of avoiding the 
 gadfly, which at that period deposits its eggs in their skin, 
 and that to such an enormous extent, that skins are fre- 
 quently found as full of hcles as a colander. Many die 
 from this muse. In winter, their food consists of tho 
 lichen, which ihey dig from beneath the snow with their 
 antlers and feet. When the snow is too deep for them 
 to obtain this plant, they resort to another species of it 
 which hangs on pine trees; and, in severe seasons, tlie 
 boors often cut down some thousniuls of these trees to 
 furnish subsistence to their herds. Attempts have been 
 made, but hitherto without succpss.to nat ralize the r^-n 
 
 oeer in England. 
 
 • , Trdimkb 
 
99 
 
 LKSSON XVII. 
 
 THE LAPLANPKU. 
 
 With blue rolJ nose, nrul wrinkled hro\r, 
 
 Traveller, whence comest thou ? 
 
 From Laplfnd's woods, nnd hills of frost, 
 
 By the nipid rein-deer rros*t ; 
 
 Where tapering grows the gloomy fir, 
 
 And the stunted juniper; 
 
 Where the wild liarc and the crow 
 
 Whiten in surrounding snow j 
 
 Where the shivering luintsnnen tear 
 Their fur coats from the grim white bear; 
 Where the wolf and the northern fox 
 Prowl among the lonely rocks j 
 And tardy guns to deserts drear, 
 Give days and nights of half a year : 
 From icy oceans, where the whales 
 Toss in foam their lashing tails ; 
 Where the snorting sea-horse shows 
 His ivory teeth in grinning rows, 
 Where, tumbling in their seal-skin Coat, 
 Fearless, the hungry flshes float. 
 And, from teeming seas, suj)^/ly yi 
 The food their niggard pldn? <jenf . 
 
 /• 
 
 re-claim-fed 
 
 «ub-aer-v^ 
 
 do-cile. 
 
 ^•^Sf^ON XVIII. 
 
 ^ THE DOG. 
 
 r 
 
 re-lie v-ed 
 
 .-enl 
 
 A 
 
 Bu-pe-n-or 
 fierce- ness 
 
 ex-trac-tioa 
 
 pen-dcm 
 
 prop-a-ga-ted 
 
II 
 
 I;!: 
 
 •f- fee ion-ate 
 
 88-8id-U*0U3 
 
 in-dif-fer-ent 
 
 friend-ly 
 
 re-sent-ment 
 
 Bub-mis-sion 
 
 can-ine 
 
 pro-trud-ed 
 
 re-tract-ed 
 
 pro-por-iion 
 
 New-found-hnd 
 
 sa-ga-ci-ty 
 
 vi-o-lence 
 
 in-triid-ers 
 
 re-sist-ed 
 
 30 
 
 an-ti-|ia-lhy 
 
 in-vet-e-raie 
 
 en-coun-ter 
 
 un-shrink-ing 
 
 for-ti-lude 
 
 ex-pert 
 
 en-dur-ance 
 
 am-phib-i-ous 
 
 un-i-ver-sal 
 
 an-ces-tors 
 
 ex-tra-or-di-na-ry 
 
 crim-i-nals» 
 
 ac-com-pa-ni-ed 
 
 chas-seurs 
 
 e-long-at-ea . 
 
 ex-hib-it-ed 
 
 vag-a-bond 
 
 a-rith-met-ic-al 
 
 dex-ter-ous 
 
 a-chieve-ments 
 
 Kamt-schat-ka 
 
 pri-va-tions 
 
 Can-a-da 
 
 con-venta 
 
 se-ques-ter-ed 
 
 ap-pa-ra-tu§ 
 
 hos-pi-ta-bly 
 
 con-tempt 
 
 en-act-raent 
 
 es-ti-ma-ble 
 
 Of all the animals which man has completely reclaimed 
 from a state of vvildness, and made subservient to his own 
 purposes, the dog is the wisest, the most docile, and the 
 n>ost affoctionate. 
 
 The.re are few things, not requiring the use of reason, 
 to which it may not be trained. Assiduous in serving its 
 master, and ooly a friend to hisfriends, it is indifferent to 
 every one else. Constant in its aflfeclions, and much 
 more mindful of benefits than injuries, it is nt>t made an 
 enemy by unkindness, but even licks the hand that has 
 just been lifted to strike it, and, in the end, disarms 
 resentment by submission. 
 
 Dogs have six cutting teeth in each jaw: four canino 
 teeth, one on each side, above and below ; and six or 
 seven grinders. Their claws have no sheath as those of 
 cats have, but continue at the point of each toe, without 
 the power of being protruded or retracted. The nose 
 
31 
 
 al 
 
 Its 
 
 ed 
 I 
 
 y 
 
 Q 
 
 eclaimed 
 hisown 
 and the 
 
 reason, 
 serving its 
 fferent to 
 nd much 
 maJe an 
 thai has 
 d, disarms 
 
 bur canine 
 nd six or 
 Bis those of 
 oe, without 
 The nose 
 
 also is longer than in the cat kind ; and the body is, In 
 proportion, more strongly made, and covered with haii 
 instead of fur. They are blind till nine days old, and 
 live about thirteen years. The variety of these animals, 
 through mixed breeds, is very great. 
 
 The mastiff is peculiar to the British islands. It ia 
 nearly of the size of the Newfoundland dog, strong and 
 active, possessing great sagacilyj and is commonly eoiploy- 
 •d as a watch dog. The mastiff is said seldom to use 
 violence against intruders, unless resisted j and even then 
 he will sometimes only throw down the person, and hold 
 him for hours without doing him further injury, until he 
 is relieved. 
 
 The bulldog is much less in size than the mastiff, but 
 is nearly equal to him in strength, and surpasses him in 
 fierceness. Tlmse of the Hnnflio/i f-Sn^i ««« srr.'*»?M,ie.tl tJir. 
 
 bcfst. No natural antipathy can exceed that of this at\i- 
 mal to tlie bull. Without barkin£> he wiU at once seize 
 the fiercest bull, rorrApg directly at his head, and some- 
 times catching hold of his nose, he will pin the bull to the 
 ground ; nor can he, without' great difficulty, be made to 
 quit his hold. Tv/o of these dogs, it is said, let loose at 
 once, are a match for a bull, three for a bear, and four 
 for a lion I 
 
 The terrier is a snniall thick-set hound, of which thefe 
 are two varieties *; the one with short legs, long back| 
 ahd commonly of a black or yellowish colour mingled 
 with white ; the other more sprightly in appearance, 
 with a shorter body, and the colour reddish browfc 
 or black. It has a most acute sense of smelling, and if 
 an inveterate enemy to all kinds of vermin. Nor isitex> 
 celled by any dog in the quality of courage. It will en- 
 couter even the badger with the utmost bravery, though* 
 
 ill 
 
VTT 
 
 !i [ 
 
 32 
 
 il often receives severe wounds in the conlcist, which, 
 however, it bears with unshrinking fi)rtitude. As it ia 
 very expert in forcing foxes and other game out of their 
 covers, and is particularly hostile to the fox, it is generally 
 an attendant on every pack of hounds ; in which case, 
 tiie choice of the huntsman is not directed by the 
 %\-AQ of llie animal, but by its strength and power of 
 endurance. 
 
 The Newfoundland dog, which came originally from 
 the island whence it derives its name, has a remarkably, 
 pleasing countenance, is exceedingly docile, and of great 
 size and sagacity. In their native country these dogs 
 are extremely useful to the settlers on the coast, who emr 
 ploy them to bring wood from the interior. Three or 
 four of them, yoked to a sledge, will draw three hundred 
 weight of wood for several miles, jn the perfprmariCQ o£ 
 this task, they ar3 so expert as not to need a driver. Af- 
 ter having delivered their load, they will return to the 
 woods with their empty sledge, and are then rewarded by 
 being fed with dried fish. The feet of this animal are so 
 made as to enable it to swim very fast, to dive easily, 
 and to bring up any thing from the bottom of the water. 
 Il is indeed, almost aa fond of the water as if it were an 
 amphibious animal. So srgacious is it,, and so pronr\pt 
 ill lending a^^.^ictaiico, that il has saved the lives of r.iim- 
 b^rless pcrsoKS, who were on (he point of drowiiing ; 
 ar)d this circumstance, together with its uniform good 
 temper, has rendered it a universal favourite. 
 
 The blood-hound ia a beautifully formed animal, usual- 
 ly of a reddish or brown colour, which was in high esteem 
 among our ancestors. His employ was to recover any 
 game that had escaped wounded, from the hunter, or Rad 
 been stolen out of the forest j but he was still more useful 
 
33 
 
 ^hich, 
 J it ia 
 r their 
 lerally 
 1 casC) 
 )y the 
 ver of 
 
 J from 
 arkably, 
 )f great 
 se dogs 
 vho etnr 
 hree or 
 hundred 
 
 3r. Af- 
 to the 
 arded by 
 are so 
 easily, 
 e vvale-r. 
 were art 
 prorT\\>t 
 
 of min^ 
 rowniiig ; 
 )rm good 
 
 a\, usual- 
 gh esteem 
 3over any 
 ter, or Tiad 
 \ore useful 
 
 in hunting tliieves and robbers by tlieir footsteps. For 
 llie latter purpose bluod-hound^ are now entirely disused 
 in thi;} country ; but they are still sometimes employed in 
 the royal forests to track deer stealers, and on such oc- 
 casions they display an extraordinary sagacity and accute- 
 ness of scent. In the Spanish West India islands, 
 however, they are constantly used in the pursuit of cri- 
 minals, and are accompanied by officers called chasseurs. 
 The grey .hound has a long body, a neat and elongated 
 head, full eye, long mouth, sharp and very white teeth, 
 little ears, with then gristles in them, a straight neck, and 
 full breast j its legs are long and straight , its ribs round, 
 strong, and full of sinews, and tapering about the belly. 
 It is the swiftest of all the dog kind, and can be trained 
 far the chase when twelve months old. It courses hr 
 sight, and not by scent as other hounds do 5 and is sup- 
 posed to outlive all the dog tribe. 
 
 The spaniel is of Spanish extraction, whence it derivet 
 itH name, and the silky softness of its coat. It is <:Iegant 
 in form, with long pendent ears, and hair giacertilly 
 curled or waved. Its scent is keen, and it possetsess in 
 the fullest perfection, Ihe good qualities of sagacity, 
 docility, and attachment. So strong is the latter, iliat 
 instances have been known of the animal dying of grief 
 for the loss of its master. The spaniel may be taught a 
 variety of tricks, such as fetching, carrying, and diving. 
 It is chiefly employed in setting for feathered game, and its 
 steadiness and patience in the performence of this task, 
 are worthy of the greatest admiration. 
 
 Besides these, there are many other species of dogs 
 equally sagacious and useful, such as the sheep dog, the 
 harrier, the Spanish pointer, the English setter, and the 
 beagle. There are also dogs which serve for ornament ard . 
 
 
r 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 u 
 
 amuBemeiH : for instance, the leopard or Danish dog, which 
 has been propagated to attend gentlenaen in their carriages ; 
 the lap-dog, which ladies keep as a domestic pet, or as a 
 eompanion in their walks ; the dancer, which is trained to 
 that exercise, and exhibited by vagabond shown^en for 
 the diversion of children ; and dogs of knowledge, which 
 have been taught to solve arithmetical questions, to tell 
 the hour of the day, and to perform a great many other 
 wonderful and dexterous achievements. 
 
 In Greenland and Kamtschatka, dogs are made ta 
 draw sledges with travellers in them, and they have such 
 strength and speed, and patience under privations, though 
 not above the middle size, as to carry their burden two 
 hundred and seventy miles in three days and a half. 
 From three to thirty are yoked to one sledge, according to 
 the weight it contains, the difficulties of the road, and 
 other circumstances of that kind. In Holland and Oana* 
 da, dogs are used for the same so;'t of labour : and even 
 in this country we sometimes meet with the practice. 
 
 Iti several convents, situated in those sequestered parts 
 of the Alps, which divide France from Italy, doga arc 
 trained to go in search of travellers, who may have lost 
 tlieir way. They are sent out with an apparatus fastened 
 to their collars, containing refreshments for the use of the 
 wanderers, and directiorjstothem to follow the footsteps of 
 the animal, which will guide them safely to the convent 
 to which it belongs, where they will be hospitably enter-^ 
 
 taihedi 
 
 It is a j'emarkable circumstance, that the dog is seldom 
 or never spoken of in Scripture without expressions ol 
 sontempt. The most offensive language which the Jews 
 could use towards any person, was to compare him to a 
 ••dead dog." Thus the dog seems to be used as a name; 
 
95 
 
 ich 
 
 I a 
 ito 
 
 for 
 lich 
 
 tett 
 }ther 
 
 le to 
 
 guch 
 
 tiough 
 
 i two 
 half. 
 
 ding to 
 
 !, and 
 
 Cana- 
 
 d even 
 
 ice. 
 
 id parts 
 a are 
 
 Lve Vest 
 
 fastened 
 
 ie of the 
 tstepsof 
 convent" 
 ly enter-* 
 
 [is seldom 
 B8ionB ol 
 I the Jews 
 him to a 
 [s a naiio ; 
 
 fur Satan, Psalm xxii. ?0 j—dogs are put for persecutofs, 
 Psalm xxii. 16 :— for false teachers, Isaiah, Ivi. 11 ;— 
 for unholy men, Matt, vii. 6; — and for the Gentiles, 
 Philip, iii. 2. The reason of this seems to have been, 
 that, by the law of Moses, the dog was pronounced to be 
 an unclean animal, and therefore, like the sow, was much 
 despised among the Jews. They would be prevented by 
 that legal enactment from discovering its great' value, and 
 from paying that attention to it, which was necessary for 
 rendering it what it now is, the favourite of young and 
 old, on account of its various useful and estimable pro* 
 
 .»r' 
 
 perties. 
 
 LESSOR XIX. 
 
 THE hahpeiu 
 
 On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelab was nigh, 
 
 No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I • 
 
 No harp like my own could so cheerily play. 
 
 And wherever I went was my poor do^ Tray. 
 
 When at last I was forced from my Sh^elah to part, 
 She said, while the sorrow was big at her heart, 
 Oh, remember your Sheelab, when far, far awa'y, 
 And be kind, my dear Pat,4o your poor dog Tray. 
 
 Poor dog ; he was faithful and kind to be sure, 
 And he constantly loved me, although I was poor ; 
 When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless a w? 
 1 had always a friend in my poor log Tray, . iJ; 
 
r 
 
 36 
 
 Whon tlie road wan so dark, and the nigfit was so coldy 
 And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, 
 How snugly we slept in my old coat of grey, 
 And he lick'd me for kindness— my poor^og Tray. 
 
 Though my wallet was scant, I remembered hU caaOy 
 Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face ; 
 But he died at my feet, on a cold winter's day. 
 And I played a lament for my poor dog Tray. 
 
 Where now shall 1 go t poor, forsaken and blind, 
 Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind ? 
 To my sweet native village, so far, far away, 
 1 can never return with my poor dog Tray. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 LESSON XX. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 night-in-gale 
 
 re-mark a-ble 
 
 va-ri-e-ty 
 
 ex-ceed-ing-ly 
 
 har>mo-ni-ous 
 
 ex-ert-ed 
 
 ex-qui-site 
 
 mel-o-dy 
 
 im-pres-sive 
 
 im-par-tial 
 
 dis-tri«bu-tion 
 
 splen-did 
 
 cun-structs 
 
 ma-tu-ri-ty 
 
 in-cu-ba-tion 
 
 ad-ja-cent 
 
 in ter-rup-tions 
 
 ap-proach-ing 
 
 The nightingale is not remarkable for the variety ot 
 richness of its tints; the upper part of the body being of a 
 rusty brown, tinged with olive ; and the under parts of 
 an ash colour, inclining to white about the throat and 
 belly. Its music, however, is exceedingly soft and har- 
 monious, and is still more pleasing as being heard in the 
 night, when all the other warblerg are eilent. 
 
37 
 
 The exquisite melody of this and other British bird", 
 compared with the plainness of their appearance, is an 
 impressive proof of the goodness of the Creator, in llie 
 impartial distribution of his benefits to the feathered tril)es. 
 The birds of other climates, may, indeed, delight the eyo 
 by the splendid richness of their colours, and the glowing 
 variety of their tints ; yet it k the warblers of Europe 
 alone, that are endowed with that pleasing song, which 
 gives so peculiar a charm to our groves and woods. 
 
 The nightingale visits England in the beginning of April, 
 and generally retires in August. It is only found in some 
 of the southern parts of England, chiefly in Devon and 
 Cornwall, and is totally unknown in Ireland, Scotland, 
 and Wales ; and as it generally keeps in the middle of its 
 favourite bush or tree, it is but rarely seen. The female 
 conrtnicts her nest of the leaves of trees, straw and moss, 
 and usually lays four or five eggs ; but it seldom Iiappens, 
 in our climate, that all these come to maturity. While 
 she performs the duty of incubation, the male sits on 
 8/)me adjacent branch, to cheer the tedious hours by his 
 harmonious voice, or, by the short interruptions of his 
 song, to ^ve her timely notice of approaching danger. 
 
 In a wild state, the nightingale does not in general, 
 ang above ten weeks in the year ^ but those confined in 
 a cage may, with care and attention, be induced to con- 
 tUiuo their melody for nine or ten months. 
 
 GOLDSMriH. 
 
 
 ; 
 
8b 
 
 LESSON XXI. '^'"^'^'' 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW-WORM. 
 
 A nigluingale, that all day long, 
 
 Had cheered the village with his song, 
 
 Nor yet at eve his note suspended, f 
 
 Nortel when eventide was ended. 
 
 Began to feel, as vvelf he might. 
 
 The keen demands of appetite j 
 
 When, looking eagerly around, 
 
 He spied far* off, upon the ground, - 
 
 A something shining in the dark, 
 
 And knew the glow-worm by his spark. 
 
 J So, stooping down from hawthorn top. 
 He thought to put him in his crop. 
 The worm, aware of his intent. 
 Harangued him thus, right eloquent : 
 
 *< Bid you admire my lamp," quoth he, 
 ** As much as I your minstrelsy. 
 You would abhor to do me wrong, 
 : As much as I to spoil your song ; 
 For, 'twas the ^elf-same Pow'r divine, 
 Taught you to sing, and me to shine ; 
 That you with music, I with light. 
 Might beautify and cheer the night." 
 
 The songster heard this short oration, 
 And warbling out his approbation, 
 Beleased him, as my story tells. 
 And found a supper somewhere else. 
 
 Cowpm. 
 
 'jf 
 
 ^^li^-; ■-i-i' ^•^'^■^■i^f'V-' 
 
39 
 
 Hence janing sectaries may learn, . 
 Their real interest to discecn ; 
 That brother should not war with brotheri 
 And worry and devour each othei 
 But sing and shine by sweet consent, 
 Till life's poor transient night is speat; 
 Respecting, in each other's case^ 
 The gifts of nature and of grace* 
 Those Christians best deserve the nanie» 
 Who studiously make peace their aim :— 
 Peace, both the duty and the prize 
 Of him that creeps and him that flie8» 
 
 COWPIR 
 
 LESSON XXII: 
 
 (-WPIK* 
 
 do-mes-ti-ca-tion 
 sug-gest 
 in-flate 
 Bur-round-ed 
 
 « 
 
 dis^tin-guish-ed 
 
 im-me-di-ate-ly 
 
 ex-cres-cen-ces 
 
 hi-ter-mix-ed 
 
 8om-er-set 
 
 pliHnage 
 
 TKE PIGEON OR 1)0VE« * 
 
 at-tach-ment con-nu-bi-al 
 
 ex-pe-di-ti-ous ap-pel-la-tlon 
 com-mu-ni-ca-tioiiin-ef-fec-tu-al 
 
 in-ter-cept-ed 
 
 crim-son 
 
 en-com-pass-es 
 
 sin-gu-lar-ly 
 
 plaintive 
 
 ad-dres8-ing 
 
 de-8crip-tion 
 
 mi-gra-to-ry 
 
 as-cer-tain 
 
 mer-chan«di8e 
 
 in-dig^na-tioB 
 
 ca-lam-i-tiee 
 
 cuMi-vate 
 
 at-ti-tudes 
 
 All the numerous and beautiful varieties of the pigeon 
 trib^, which, like the dog, the horse, and other domestio 
 animals, have branched into an almost endless variety of 
 kinds, forms, and • colours,- dejnve^ their origin from thc' 
 
IMM 
 
 40 
 
 ij^ 
 
 wood pigeon or stock-dove ; which is of a deep bluish 
 ash-co!oiir ; the breast dashed with a fine changeable 
 green and puipic ; the wings marked with two black 
 bars ; and back white ; and tlie tail barred near the end with 
 black. Such are the colours of tlie pigeon in its natural 
 state, and from these simple tints, the effects of domestica- 
 tion have produced a variety, that words cannot describe, 
 nor even fancy suggest. 
 
 The principal varieties of this numerous family are, the 
 fan-tail, the pouter, the nun, the dragon, the tumbler, the 
 carrier, the turtle-dove, and the ring-dove. 
 
 The fan-tail receives its name from the singular pro- 
 perty it possesses of erecting its long tail-feathers at plea* 
 sure, and extending them in the form of a fan. The 
 pouter, or pouting horseman, is so called from the curious 
 appearance of its craw, which it can inflate at will, and 
 extend, to a considerable size. The nun has its head 
 bordered or surrounded with small feathers, which it pos- 
 sesses the power of erecting, and which then assume the 
 appearance of a hood. The dragon is distinguished by 
 that part of its head immediately above the bill being cover- 
 ed with curious warty kind of excrescences j the feathers 
 of its breast also are of a green colour,beautifully intermixed 
 with blue. The tumbler flies lowest of the pigeon family, 
 and is peculiar for the many somerset kind of turns it 
 takes in the course of its flight. 
 
 The carrier is distinguished from all others by a broad 
 circle of naked white skin which surrounds the eyes ; 
 and by the colour of the plumage, which is of a dark 
 olue, inclining to black. From their attachment to their 
 native place or to their young, these birds are employed 
 in several countries as the most expeditious carriers of 
 lettere, and formerly they were commonly used in carry- 
 
41 
 
 ing Icltcis from place to piacc in linio of war, anJ in 
 case of sieges, when all other means of communication 
 were intercepted or cut oir by the enemy. These birds 
 have been known to fly seventy-two miles in two hours 
 and a half. 
 
 Tlio turtle-dove is smaller than the common pigeon, 
 and is distinguished by the yellow circle of the c)»e, and 
 by a beautiful crimson ciiclcthutencompasjic.slhe eye-lids. 
 The note of this bird is singularly tender and plaintive. 
 Ir adJressing his mate, the male makes use of a variety 
 of winning attitudes, cooing at the same time in the most 
 gentle and soothing accent*?. On this account, the turtle- 
 dove has been represented, iti all ag<'s, ns the most perfect 
 emblem of connubial atlachnicnt and constancy. 
 
 The ring-dove derives its appellation from a beautiful 
 white circle round the neck. This bird builds its nest 
 
 with a few dry sticks, in the bouglis of trees ; and is fo 
 Btroiigly attached to its nnlive freedom, that all attempts 
 to domesticate it have hitherto proved inelTectual. 
 
 There are many other varlelies of this extensive family ; 
 but they are not so strongly or so peculiarly marked, as 
 to need any separate descrijjtion. Wild pigeons aro 
 migratory, and are found in most parts of the world. 
 
 The dove is very much spohsn of in the Bible. It was 
 a dove which Noah sent out of tlie ark to ascertain 
 whether the waters of the flood had abated. This bird 
 was accounted clean by the law of Moses, and was ap- 
 pointed in certain circumstances to be oflered up in 
 sacrifice. It formed one of the n nicies of merchandise, 
 which the priests permitted to be bold in the temple to 
 those who came from a distance, and thetrafllc in which, 
 within the courts of God's house, provoked the holy indigo 
 nation of our Saviour. The Psalmist says of those who 
 
r 
 
 42 
 
 ve restored by God's mercy, ihat " they shall be as the 
 wings of a dove, covered with silver, and her feathers 
 with yellow gold." The Jews, when lamenting the 
 calamities they were suffering for their sins, are represented 
 by Isaiah^ as <^ mourning sore like doves," alluding to tlie 
 plaintive noise of the turtle-dove when deprived of its 
 mate. We are told in Mat. iii, 15, that "the Spirit of 
 God descended like a dove, and lighted upon Jesus." 
 And when Christ was giving his disciples advice, with 
 respect to the manner in which they should conduct them - 
 selves in the midst of their enemies, he said, *' Be yo 
 therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves," — tha^ 
 is, act with the prudence and skill of serpents ; but, at the 
 nme time, cultivate the innocence and simplicity of the 
 idore. 
 
 LESSON XXIII. 
 
 ex*'cep-tion 
 
 tpe-ci-es 
 
 twit-ter-ing, 
 
 ra-pid-i-ty 
 
 func-tions 
 
 an-noun-ces 
 
 Bum-mons 
 
 ex-pel 
 
 per-pen-di-cu-lar 
 
 THE SWALLOW. 
 
 » 
 se-cu-ri-t^ 
 
 an-nu-al 
 
 tor-pid-i-ty 
 
 mi-gra-tions 
 
 in-creas-es 
 
 ac-tiv-i-ty 
 
 cherish-ed 
 
 in-fi-nite 
 
 myr-i-ads 
 
 pre-ju-di-ci-al 
 Sep-tem-ber 
 es-cu-lent 
 ep-i-cures 
 ex-qui-site- 
 com-merce 
 tran-si-ent 
 com-pTain-ing 
 re-proach-ing 
 
 The swallow tribe have bills which are short, broad at 
 the bent, small at the point, and slightly curved. Their 
 tongue is shorty broad, and cloven, the nosti-ils are open, 
 and the mouth is wide. Except in one species, the 
 
43 
 
 ?» 
 
 wingd are lung, and the tail is forked. They have short 
 slender legs, and the toes arc placed three before and one 
 behind, with the exception of four species, in which the 
 toes are all placed forward. They have a peculiar twit- 
 tering voice, fly with extreme rapidity, scarcely ever walk, 
 and perform all their functions while they are on the 
 wing or sitting. Their plumage is glossed with a rich 
 purple. 
 
 To the martins, and other small birds, the swallow an- 
 nounces the approach of birds of prey. By a shrill alarm- 
 ing note, he summons around itim all his own species, 
 and the martins, as soon as an owl or a hawk appears. 
 The whole band then pursue and strike their enemy till 
 they expel him from the place, darting down on his back, 
 and rising in a perpendicular line with perfect security. 
 The swallow will also strike at cats while thrV Si^ 
 
 climbing the roofs of houses. 
 
 The following is an amusing instance of the manner in 
 which these birds will sometimes unite to punish their 
 enemies. A cock sparrow had got into a martin's nest, 
 while the owner was abroad ; and when he returned, the 
 saucy intruder put his head out of the hole, and pecked 
 at the martin as he attempted to enter his own house. 
 The poor martin was greatly provoked at this injustice ; 
 but was unable by his own strength, to drive the enemy 
 out, and to punish him. So he flew away and gathered 
 a large flock of swallows, who all came with a bit of clay 
 in their bills, and plastered up the hole of the nest, so 
 that the sparrow could not escape*, and died for want of 
 food and air in the prison to which he was thus confined. 
 
 £arly in. spring, when the solar beams begin to rouse 
 the insect tribes from their annual state of torpidity, the 
 swallow is seen returning from its long migrations beyond 
 
 < 1 1 
 
 1 1 
 
iesm 
 
 41 
 
 the ocean j and in proportion as the weather grows 
 warmer, and its insect supply increase?', it gathers strength 
 and activity. The breed of the swallow ought to bo 
 cberished, as the bird is of infinite service to mankind by 
 destroying myriads of vermin, which would prove very 
 prejudicial to the labours of the husband* an. Tho 
 female builds her nest with great industry on the tops of 
 chimneys, in the eaves of houses, or in the corners of tho 
 windows ; she sometimes breeds twice a year. The 
 greater part of these birds quit our island at the latter end 
 of September $ but some are said to retire to holes and 
 caverns, where they pass the winter in a state of torpidity. 
 It is affirmed, that, in their torpid state, they can exist 
 even under water. 
 
 There is a species of this bird in the East, called the 
 esculent swallow. Its nest, wliich it takes two months 
 
 in building, is not only edible, but highly esteemed by 
 epicures as giving an exquisite flavour to broths and other 
 meats. People are not agreed as to the matter of which 
 these nests are composed. They are thought to consist 
 of sea-worma or plants, or the eggs of other birds. They 
 form an article of commerce in China, which is the prin- 
 cipal market for them. 
 
 The swallow and the sparrow are mentioned by the 
 Psalmist as building their nests and laying their young in 
 the sacred places of God's house ; and he longed to dwell 
 there as they did, not merely to get a transient view of 
 the buildings of the temple, as they did when flying over 
 them, but to inhabit them, and enjoy the blessings which 
 they afforded to the pious. It is also" alluded to by Solo- 
 mon, in his book of Proverbs, when he says, " As the 
 ■wallowby flying, 80 the curse causeless shall not come;" 
 that is, a curse which we do not deserve, though pronoun- 
 
 h^ 
 
 r\i 
 
 frj 
 
 e<| 
 
 it 
 
 ei 
 
 iiamitm 
 
4.5 
 
 ;roW8 
 ength 
 to be 
 nd by 
 ! very 
 
 Tho 
 ps of 
 of th© 
 
 The 
 sr end 
 )s and 
 pidity. 
 n exist 
 
 led the 
 [nonths 
 
 [led by 
 
 d other 
 
 which 
 
 coiiMst 
 
 They 
 
 le prin- 
 
 bv the 
 oung in 
 dwell 
 new of 
 ng over 
 3 which 
 )y Solo- 
 i As the 
 come;" 
 ronoun- 
 
 ced by our bitterest H'e, will do us no more harm than is 
 done to us by the swallow flying over our heads. In Isaiah 
 xxxviii, I4ff the king of Judah says, " Like a crane or a 
 swallow so did I chatter ;" meaning, that the noise of his 
 complaining was sometimes like the noise of a swallow, 
 quick and frequent, and sometimes like that of a crane, 
 loud and frightful. In the writings of another prophet, 
 the swallow is referred to, where God is ;-poken of as re- 
 proaching his people for being unmindful of his doings, 
 while the fowls of the air attend to the proper season for 
 migrating. His words are, " Yea, the stork in the hea- 
 ven knoweth her appointed times ; and the turtle, and 
 the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their 
 coming J but my people know not the judgment of the 
 Lord," 
 
 LESSON XXIV. 
 
 THE SWALLOW AND OTHER BIRDS. 
 
 ma-te-ri-ar hab-i-ta-tlon 
 
 u-nan-i-mous-ly res-i-dence 
 
 con-se-quen-cea im-pris-on-ed 
 
 dis-be-liev-ing wretch-es 
 
 ne-glect-ing pun-ish-ment 
 
 fore sight 
 
 ad-mo-ni-tions 
 
 mia-chief 
 
 ob-bti-na-cy 
 
 neg-li-gence 
 
 A swallow, observing a farmer employed in mowing 
 hemp, called the little birds together, informed them what 
 ne was about, and told them that hemp was the material, 
 from which the nets so fatal to the feathered race were 
 composed ; advising them to join unanimously in picking 
 it up, in order to prevent the consequences. The birds, 
 either not believing his information, or neglecting his ad* 
 
 
I ! 
 
 46 
 
 r 
 
 vice, gave themselves no trouble about the matter. In a 
 Iiu!e time the hemp appeared above ground. The friendly 
 swallow, again addressing himself to them, told them 
 that it was not yet too late, provided they would immedi- 
 ately Ret about the work, beibre the seeds had taken loo 
 deep root. But they still neglecting his advice, he forsook 
 their society, repared for safety to towns and cities, and 
 there built his habitation and kept his residence. One 
 day, as he was skimming along (he street) he happened 
 to jee a number of those very birds, imprisoned in a cage 
 on (he shoulders of a bird-catcher. Unhappy wretches, 
 said he, you now suffer the punishment of your former 
 fteglect ; but those, who, having no foresight of their 
 own, despise the vihdesome admonitions of their friends, 
 deserve the mischiefs which their own obstinacy or negi^ 
 gence bring'S upon their heads. 
 
 ^.>^ 
 
 LESSON XXV. 
 
 TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 Hail' beauteous stranger of the grove 
 Thou messenger of spring ! 
 
 Now heaven repairs thy rural seat^ 
 And woods thy welcome sing. 
 
 What tinne the daisy decks the greeiif 
 Thy certain voice we hear^ 
 
 Hast thou a star to guide thy path, 
 0t mark the rolling year i 
 
 Delightful \i8ttant ! with thee 
 I hail the time of flowerst 
 
 And hear the sound of music sweet 
 From birds among the bowers* 
 
 
 i' 
 
47 
 
 r. In a 
 > friendly 
 Id them 
 immedi- 
 aken -too 
 le forsook 
 ities, and 
 ce. One 
 happened 
 in a cage 
 wretches, 
 )ur former 
 i of iheir 
 irfriendSf 
 '.y or negi^ 
 
 The fichoQl-boy, wandering through the wood 
 
 To pluck the primrose gay, 
 Starts, thy curious voice to hear. 
 
 And imitates thy lay. 
 
 What time the pea puts on the hloom, 
 
 Thou fliest the vocal vale, 
 An annual guest, in other lands 
 
 .Another spring to hail. 
 
 Sweet bird! thy Dower is ever gr^en^ 
 
 Thy sky is ever clear ; 
 Thou hast no sorrow in thy pong, 
 
 No winter in thy year, 
 
 ! could I fly, IM fly with thee ; 
 
 We'd make, with joyful wing, 
 Our r'^nual visit o'er the globe, 
 
 .Cc irions of the spring. LoGAif. 
 
 LESSON XXVL 
 
 THE SALMON. 
 
 Med-i-ter-ra-ne-an ob-struct-ed 
 de-po-sit-ing a-ston-ish-ing 
 
 per-e-gri-na-tions ob-sta-cle 
 cat-a-racts in-ter-vene 
 
 »-tra-or-di-na-ry in-ha-bi-tants 
 )[>o>8i-tion tor-rent 
 
 un-ex-pect-ed-ly fre-quent-ly 
 
 sur-mount 
 
 spawn-ing 
 
 re-cep-ta-cle 
 
 e-ma-ci-a-ted 
 
 grad-du-al-ly 
 
 in-creas-ing 
 
 an-glers 
 
 The salmon seems conhned, in a great measure, to the 
 'rthern seas, being unknown in the Mediterranean, and 
 
i 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 II I 
 
 48 
 
 in the waters of other warm climates. It lives in fttshi 
 as well as in salt waters, forcing itself in autumn up the 
 rivers, sometimes for hundreds of miles, for the pui^iose 
 of depositing its spavvo. In these peregrinations saluion 
 are caught in great numbers which supply our markets 
 and tables. Intent only on the object of their journey, they 
 spring up cataracts, and over other obstacle.^ of a very 
 great height. This extraordinary power seems to be 
 owing to a sudden jerk, wliich the fish gives to its body, 
 from a bent, into a straight position. When they are un- 
 expectedly obstructed in their progress, it is said they 6^f\m 
 a few paces back, survey the object for some minut<\s Pio- 
 tionless, retreaf, and return again to the charge: then, 
 collecting all their force, with one astonishing spring, 
 overleap every obstacle. When the water is low, or sand- 
 banks intervene, they throw themselves on one side, and 
 in that position soon work themselves over into the deep 
 water beyond* On the river Liffey, a few miles above 
 Dublin, there is a cataract about nineteen feet high ; and 
 here, in the salmon season, many of the inhabitants amu:>c 
 themselves in observing the fish leap up the torrent. 
 They fall back many times before they surmount it ; and 
 baskets, made of twigs, aje placed near the edge of the 
 Btream, to catch them in their fall. 
 
 When the salmon have arrived at a proper place for 
 spawning in, the male and female unite in fonning, in tha 
 sand or gravel, a proper receptacle for tlieir eggs, about 
 eighteen inches de**p, which they are also supposed aftt^r- 
 warda to cover up. In this hole, the eggs, lie nntil th^ 
 ensuing spring, if not displaced by the floods, before ihoy 
 are liatchetl. The parents, however, after their spawning, 
 l>ecomc extremely emaciated, and hasiten tn the salt 
 water. Towards the end of March, the young fry begin 
 
49 
 
 n fttehf 
 
 ) salmon 
 markets 
 
 iey,they 
 • a very 
 IS to b® 
 its boilyj 
 y are «n- 
 tiey s\fiin 
 nut«*s rio- 
 •ge: then, 
 ig sprifigi 
 ;, or sand- 
 siJe, and 
 ( the deep 
 les nbove 
 high; and 
 ants attiusc 
 he torrent, 
 unfit ; and 
 idge of the 
 
 place for 
 ,,i,i}/, intha 
 
 egg^, 
 
 about 
 
 e 
 
 posed aftor- 
 until th(j 
 
 before they 
 ii- apavvnirig, 
 
 tn the «aH 
 ng fry begin 
 
 to appear; and gradually increasing in size, become in 
 the beginning of May, five or six inches in length, whea 
 they are called salmon smelts. They now swarm in 
 myriads, in the rivers ; but the firi^t flood sweeps them 
 down into the sea, scarcely leaving any behind. About 
 the middle of June, the largest of these begin to return in- 
 to the rivers ; they are now become of the length of 
 twelve or sixteen inches. Towards the end of July they 
 weigh from six to nine poundci each. The food of tht 
 salmon consists of the smaller fishes, insects, and worms; 
 for all these are used with succes as baits by the anglers 
 
 of salmon- 
 
 History of Wonderful Fish$9, 
 
 LESSON XXVII. 
 
 va-ri-e-ga-ted 
 
 lat'^-ral 
 
 •b-do-men 
 
 or-i-fice 
 
 ren-dez-vous 
 
 New-found-land 
 
 No-va Sco-tia 
 
 THE COD* 
 
 grate-ful 
 
 vi-cin-i-ty 
 
 se-cu-ri-ty 
 
 re-pair 
 
 sub-sist-ence 
 
 Ice-land 
 
 Gib-ral-lar 
 
 pre-vi-ou3 
 
 dis-cov-e-ry 
 
 cen-tu-ries 
 
 im-ple-ments 
 
 pro-li-fic 
 
 Jan-u-a-iy 
 
 dis-solv-ing 
 
 The head of the cod fash is smooth*; the colour on the 
 back and sides is of a dusky olive, variegated with yellow 
 spots; its belly is white; the lateral line runs from the 
 gills to the tail, which at tne abdomen is curved, but 
 elsewhere is straight ; its scales are very small, and ad- 
 here firmly to the skin ; its roes are large ; at the angle 
 of the lower jaws there hangs a single beard, which ia 
 

 60 
 
 short, 8el«lorn exceeding a fingei'd lengtn, its tongue ia 
 jroad ; it has fieveral rows of teeih, like the pike j and in 
 the palate, near the orifice of the stomach, and near the 
 gills, it has small clusters of teeth. It has three bacli: 
 fins, two at the gill», and tw^ at the breast^-and two near 
 the tail. 
 
 These fish are foui d only in the seas of the northern 
 parts of the world; and the principal places of rendez- 
 vous are the sand banks of Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, 
 and New England. These shallows are their favourite 
 situations, as they abound with worms, a kind of food 
 that is peculiarly grateful to them. Another cause of 
 their attachment to these places is their vicinity to the 
 Polar seas, where they return to spawn. There they de 
 posit their roes in full security, and afterwards repair, 
 as soon as the more southern seas are open, to the 
 banks for subsistence ; consequently, the cod may justly 
 be placed at the head of the migrating or wandering tribes 
 offish. Few are taken north of Iceland, and the shoals 
 never reach so far south as the straits of Gibraltar. 
 
 Previous to the discovery of Newfoundland, the priii* 
 cipal fisheries for cod were in the seas off Iceland, and 
 off the western islands of Scotland. To the former of 
 these the English resorted for nearly four centuries, and 
 had no fewer than one liundred and fifty vessels employ* 
 ed in the Iceland fishery in the reign of James I. The 
 hook and line are the only implements which are used 
 taking this fish, and they are caught in from sixteen to 
 «1xty fathoms water. Fifteen thousand British seamen 
 are employ in this fishery. An expert hand will some- 
 times catch four hu dred in a day. 
 
 The cod is one of the most ;^ ^olific of the fish tribe. !» 
 the.>roeof only a middling si?/ cod there have bee» 
 
M 
 
 10 » 
 
 id in 
 r the 
 back 
 near 
 
 thern 
 [idez- 
 cotia, 
 ouritd 
 f food 
 Be of 
 to the 
 eyde 
 repury 
 to the 
 • juBtly 
 z tribes 
 shoals 
 
 counted more ihan nine millions of eggs. They begin to 
 6pavvn in January in the European seas. Their principal 
 food consists of the smaller 8{>ecies of fish,worm8, shell-fish, 
 and crabs ; and their stomachs are capable of dissolving 
 tlie greatest part of the shells that they swallow. They 
 grow to a great size. The largest cod that was ever taken 
 weighed seventy-eight pounds, and wns five feet eight 
 inches in length Trimmer. 
 
 LESSON xxviir. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 The Sea it is deep, the Sea it is wide, 
 And it girdeth the earth on every side^ 
 On every side it girds it round, 
 With an undecaying, mighty bound. 
 When the Spirit of God came down at first, 
 Ere the day from primal night had burst; 
 Before the mountains sprung to birth. 
 The dark, deep waters veiled the earth ; 
 Like a youthful giant roused from sleep, 
 At Creation's call uprose the Deep, 
 And his crested waves tossed up their spray, 
 As the bonds of his ancient rest gave way ; 
 Aqd a voice went up in that stillness vast, 
 As if life through a mighty heart had passed. 
 Ob ancient, wide, unfathomed Sea, 
 Ere the mountains were, Grod fashioned thee 
 And he gave In thine awful depths to dwell. 
 Things like thyself, imtameable — 
 The Dragons okl^ and the Harpy brood. 
 
I 
 
 111, 
 
 52 
 
 Were Ihc lords of thine early solitude ! 
 
 ])ut night came down on that ancient day^ 
 
 And tliat mighty race was swept away ; 
 
 And death thy fathomless depths passed through 
 
 And thy waters were meted out anew ; 
 
 And then on thy calmer breast were seen 
 
 The verdant crests of islands green ; 
 
 And mountains, in their strength, came forth. 
 
 And trees and flowers arrayed the earth ; 
 
 Then the Dolphin first his gambols played, 
 
 In his rainbow-')nted scales arrayed ; 
 
 And down below, all fretted and trore, 
 
 Was wrought the coral and madrepore ; 
 
 And among the bea-weed green and red. 
 
 Like flocks of the valley the Turtles fed ; 
 
 And the sea-flowers budded and openM wide. 
 
 In the lustre of waters deepened and dyed ; 
 
 And the little Nautilus set afloat 
 
 On thy bounding tide his pearly boat ; 
 
 And the Whale sprang forth in his vigorous play 
 
 And shoals of the Flying-fish leaped into day; 
 
 And the Pearl-fish under fhy world of waves 
 
 Laid up his store in the old sea-caves. 
 
 Then Man came down, and with silent awe« 
 
 The majesty of waters saw ; 
 
 And he felt like an humbled thing of fear, 
 
 As he stood in that Presence august, severe, 
 
 Till he saw how the innocent creatures played 
 
 In the billowy depths, and were not afraid; 
 
 Till he saw how the Nautilus spread his sail. 
 
 And caught as it blew the favouring gale ; 
 
 And great and small through the watier realm ^^ 
 
 Were steered as it were by a veering helm; ,. 
 
 I 
 
 ' ' 1', . ;. 
 
 1 - 
 
53 
 
 Then his heart grew bold, and his will grew strongi 
 And he pondered in vigilance though not long, 
 Ere he fashioned a boat of a hollow tree. 
 And thus became lord of the mighty Sea ! 
 
 Mrs. Howitt. 
 
 LESSON XXIX. 
 
 lay I 
 
 ri 
 
 : t^t 
 
 red 
 
 U 
 
 
 lar-va 
 
 cat-er-pil-Iars 
 chry-sa-lis 
 e-mer-ges 
 but-ter-fly 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY. 
 
 cors-Iets 
 
 con-ceal-ed 
 
 dis-cov-er-ed 
 
 ap-pear-ance 
 
 mul-ti-ply-ing glass o-pa-ci-ty 
 
 bril-li-ant 
 di-a-mond 
 cor-res-pond 
 trans'pa-rent 
 
 The butterfly, like most other insects, is first produced 
 hs an egg ; from this 6gg proceeds the larva, grub, or cat- 
 erpillar ; which as soon as it is perfected, takes a new 
 form, that of the pupa or chrysalis ; and lastly, from th9 
 chrysalis emerges the perfect animal. The butterfly may 
 be said to consist of three parts ; the head, the corslet, 
 and the body. The body is the hinder part, &nd is com- 
 posed of rings, which are generally concealed under long 
 hairs, with which part of the animal is clothed. The 
 corslets is more solid than the rest of the body, and in it 
 the four legs and the wings are fixed. Butterflies have 
 six legs, but only make use of four ; the two forefeet are 
 covered by the long hairs of the body, and are sometimes 
 80 much concealed, that it is difficult to discover them, 
 f butterflies have not all the same form ; 
 
 ey 
 
 some 
 
 they are the larger portion of a sphere j in others they 
 are but a small part of it, just appearing from the head : 
 
1 M 
 
 in some also they are small, and in otliere large ; but in 
 all of them the outer coat has a lustre, in which may be 
 discovered all the various colours of the rainbow. It has 
 likewise the appearance of a multiplying-glass, having a 
 great number of sides, in the manner of a brilliant cut 
 diamond. In tliis particular, the eyes of the butterfly and 
 of most other insects correspond. 
 
 The wings of butterflies are difierent from those of any 
 other fly : they are four in number, and though two of 
 them be cut ofi^, the animal has the power of flying. They 
 are, in their own substance, transparent, but owe their 
 opacity to the beautiful dust with which they are covered. 
 ,, Trimmer 
 
 LESSON XXX. 
 
 1 1 
 
 I (hi I 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE SNAIL. 
 
 All upstarts, insolent in place. 
 
 Remind us of their vulgar race. 
 
 As, in the sunshine of the morn, 
 
 A butterfly, but newly born. 
 
 Sat proudly perking on a rose. 
 
 His wing^, all glorious to behold, 
 
 Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold. 
 
 Wide he displays ; the spangled dew 
 
 Beflects his eyes and various hue. 
 
 His now-forgotten friend, a snail. 
 
 Beneath his house, with slimy trail. 
 
 Crawls o'er the grass ; whom when he spies, 
 
 In wrath he to the grad'ner cries : 
 
 *< What means you peasant's daily toil, 
 
 From choking weeds to rid the soil? 
 
bb 
 
 • 
 
 Why wake yi-u lo llio morning's caret 
 
 Why with new arts correct the year? 
 
 Why glows the poach with crimson hue! 
 
 And why the plum's inviting blue? 
 
 Were thy to feast his taste iKsij^rjM, 
 
 That vermin of voracioua kir»(i ? 
 
 Crush then the slow, the pili'^ring race j 
 
 So purge the garden romdi-grncc." 
 
 " What arrogance !" tjie snail reiilied j 
 
 <* How insolent is upstart pride ! 
 
 Hadst thou not thus, with insult vnin, 
 
 Provok'd my patience to complain, 
 
 I had conceal'd thy meaner birth, 
 
 Nor traced thee to the scum of earth, 
 
 For scarce nine suns have walk'd the hours, 
 
 To swell the fruit and paint the fluw'is, 
 
 Since 1 thy humbler life survey'd. 
 
 In base and sordid guise array 'd : 
 
 A hideous insect, vile, unclean, 
 
 You dragg'd a slow and noisome train ; 
 
 And from your spidef-bowels drew 
 
 Foul film, and spun fhe dirty clue. 
 
 I own my humble life, good friend ; 
 
 Snail was I born, and snail shall end. 
 
 And what's a butterfly ? At best 
 
 He's but a caterpillar drest j 
 
 And all thy race (a num'rous seed) 
 
 Shall prove of caterpillar breed." 
 
 Gat. 
 
 \\ 
 
 *" . 
 
flf) 
 
 SECTION 11 
 LESSON I. 
 
 BTRTH OF ISAAC AND EXPULSION OF ISHMAEL. 
 
 e-laps-ed 
 
 pros-pect 
 
 de-scend-ed 
 
 per-8uad-ed 
 
 pre-vails 
 
 Ha-gar 
 
 E-gyp-tian 
 
 in-her-il 
 
 wil-der-ness 
 
 gtib-mit 
 
 Ish-ma-cl 
 
 af-fec-tion-ate 
 
 dis-tinct-ly 
 
 ex-plain-^d 
 
 fruit-ful 
 
 mul-ti-ply 
 
 cov-e-nant 
 
 e-stab-Iish 
 
 o-be-di-ence 
 
 cir-cum-cis-eo 
 
 re-joic-iiig8 
 
 cc-ca-sion 
 
 rid-i-cule 
 
 in-sist-ed 
 
 ur-gent 
 
 re-Iuc-tance 
 
 en-cour-aged 
 
 in-ti-ma-tion 
 
 Beer-she-ba 
 
 o-ver-pow-er-ed 
 
 i-ma-gin-ing 
 
 Pa-ran 
 
 Ar-abs 
 
 When God commanded Abraham to leave his natire 
 cuntry, and to go into a strange land, he gave him a 
 promise, vvHich was often afterwards renewed, that he 
 vhould be the father of a great nation. Many years bar- 
 ing elapsed without any prospect of this promise being 
 fulfilled, Sarah appears to have doubted whether the na- 
 tion was to be descended from her ; and she gave to Abra- 
 !):im her handmaid Hagar to wife, that the children born 
 of her might inherit his name anil riches. When Hager 
 saw that she was about to be the mother of a family she 
 dispisied her mistress, for which she was so hardly dealt 
 widi, that she fled into the wilderness. As she was 
 standing by a fountain, the angel of the Lord directed her, 
 to return and submit to her mistress, telling her that, in 
 the course of lime, she should bear a son whom she was 
 to call Ishmael, and who was to be a wild man, his hand 
 being against every man, and every maii*:^ hand agilnst 
 
07 
 
 him. Hagar did as she was commanded, and soon aHar 
 gave birth to Ishmael, when his father Abraham was four 
 score and six years old. 
 
 But though Ishinael wastiius tlie son of Abrahara^aold 
 age, lie was not \he child of promise ; for, mariy yeart 
 af\ervYards, whet\ Abraham oiTered up this affectionata 
 prayer for his firii-begotten son — •* O that Ishmael might 
 live before thee/' God distincily explained to him, that ho 
 would indeed make Ishmael fi'iiitful, and multiply him 
 exceedingly, and make him a great nation, hut that ho 
 would establish his covenant with Isaac, whom Sarah 
 should bear the following year* 
 
 Accordingly, at the appointed time, Tsaac was borni 
 and) in obedience to the divine command, was circumcised 
 on the eighth day. And Abraham was a hundred years 
 old when his son Isaac was born to him. And the child 
 grew, and was weaned ; and Abraham made a great 
 feast the same day that Isaac was weaned. The rejoic- 
 ings on t!iis occasion having been turned into ridicule by 
 Iriliinne], Sarah insisted that he and his mother should bo 
 cast out. Abraham yielded to this urgent demand of his 
 wife with great reluctance till f^od assured him, that though 
 his seed should be in Isaac, yet of the son of of the bond- 
 woman also he would make a great nation. Encouraged 
 by this intitnation, Abraham rose early next morning 
 and, furnishing Hagar with a supply of bread ari! water* 
 sent her and the lad away. Wnndeiing into the wilder- 
 ness of Beersheba, the water was soon spent in the bottle, 
 and Ishmael was nearly* overpowered with fatigue and 
 thirst. Hagar, imagining that he was going to die, laid 
 him under a bush, and sat dov. r over against him a good 
 way off, as it were a bow-shot ; for she said. Let me not 
 seethe de.ath of my child. And she sat over against. 
 
 
58 
 
 
 n > 
 
 11 
 
 hini) and lifted up her voice, and wept. And God heard 
 the voice of the lad : and the angel of God called to Hagar 
 out of heaven, and said unto her, "What ailelh thee, 
 Hagar 1 Fear not j for God hath heard the voice of the 
 lad where he is. Arise, lift up the ladj and hold him in 
 tliine hand ; for I will make him a great nation." And 
 God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water; and 
 she went and filled the bottle with water, and gave the lad 
 drink. And God was with the lad ; and he grew, and 
 dwelt in the wilderness, and became an archer. And his 
 mother took him a wife out of Egypt ; and to him were 
 born twelve son, who became the heads of twelve tribes, 
 from whom some of the families of the wandering Arabs 
 to this day claim to be descended. 
 
 11 ■! : 
 
 LESSON II. 
 
 TRIAL OF Abraham's faith. 
 
 faith-ful 
 
 jus-ti-fies 
 
 Mo-ri-ah 
 
 burnt-of-fer-ing 
 
 ap-pall-ing 
 
 cir-cum-stan-ces 
 
 He-brew 
 
 pa-tri-arch 
 
 de-spair 
 
 ful-fil-ment 
 
 fu-ture 
 
 mys-te-ri-ous 
 
 an-nounc-ed 
 
 sac-ri-fice 
 
 neigh-bour-ing 
 
 in-con-sist-ent 
 
 hes-i-tate 
 
 va-ri-ance 
 
 ac-com-plish 
 
 wit-ness 
 
 Bol-emn 
 
 sus-pect-lng 
 
 vic-tim 
 
 Je-ho-vah-ji-reh 
 
 Abraham is frequently styled the father of the faithfuli 
 and his unhesitating obedience of the extraordinary com- 
 mand, which he now received from God, amply justifies 
 this tiile. To try his faith, God saiJ to him, « Take now 
 
td 
 
 thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get 
 (hee into the land of Moriah, and offer him there for a 
 burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will 
 tell thee oC" This was perhaps the most appalling com- 
 mand which could have been given to any parent j and 
 there were several circumstances, which must have made 
 It peculiarly painful to the Hebrew patriarch. Isaac had 
 been born to him at an age when most men would have 
 Legun to despair of the fulfihnent of the divine promise 
 tnat he should have a posterity. Through this child, he 
 was to be the father of that mighty nation, which, in 
 future time, was to possess the land in which he was then 
 a stranger ; and from him was to descend that mysterious 
 person, (first announced as the seed of the woman, that 
 should bruise the head of the serpent,) in whom all fami- 
 lies of the earth were to he blessed. Besides, though the 
 custom of offering human sacrifices may already have be- 
 gun to prevail among the neighbouring tribes, such a com- 
 mand was altogether inconsistent with the charactejc, in 
 which God had hitherto revealed himself to Abraham. 
 Yet Abraham did not hesitate to obey. His faith wae 
 strong enough to believe that God would not require any 
 (hing which was really at variance with his justice and 
 mercy, and that he could raise Isaac from the dead, if it 
 were necessary to accomplish what he had promised. He 
 therefore rose up eariy in the morning, and saddled his 
 ass, and took two of his young men with him, and Isaa« 
 his son J and he clave the wood for the burnt offering, 
 and set out for the place which God had told him; 
 
 On the third day, they beheld the mountain at a dis- 
 tance ; and Abraham unwilling perhaps that any one 
 should witness the solemn and painful' service which he 
 was about to perform, told the young men tr lemain where 
 
 t 
 
 I 
 
GO 
 
 (hey were, while he and his son went Ibrwiid to worship. 
 They therefore went on together, Isaac cair^ing the wood, 
 and Abraham himself taking the fire and n knife. And 
 now the faith of A!)raham, if any thing could have shaken 
 it, must have yielded to the voice of nature. loaac, little 
 suspecting that he himself was to be the victim^ said to 
 Abraham, "My father, behold the fire and the wood, 
 but where is the lamb for a burnt-oflTcring V^ " My son,'* 
 was Abraham's only reply, " God will provide himself a 
 lamb for a burnt-oflering. 
 
 Having come to the place which God had pointed out, 
 Abraham built an altar, upon which he laid the wood io 
 order. He then bound Isaac, and laid him on the altar, 
 and took the knife, and stretched forth his hand to slaj 
 his son. . But his faith had been sufficiently tried j and 
 the angel of the Lord called unto him out of heaven, and 
 said, ** Abrahiam ! Abraham ! Lay not thine hand upon 
 the lad, neither do thou any thing to him ; for now I know 
 that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy 
 son, thine only son from me." And Abraham hfted up 
 his eyes and looked, and saw a ram caught in a thicket 
 by the horns ; and Abraham went and took the ram, and 
 offered him up for a burnt-offering instead of his son. 
 And Ab^ham called the name of that place, Jehovah- 
 jiieh, that is, .the Lord will provide. 
 
 LESSON m. 
 
 DEATH OF SARATI ; MARRIAGE OF ISAAC ; AND DEAT)8| 
 
 OF ABRAHAM,. 
 
 de-cease 
 
 pa-tri-arch 
 
 Hittites 
 
 re la-tion,Bhip 
 mar-ri-age 
 Ca naan-itet 
 
 Re-bec-ca? 
 hos-pi-tal-i-ty- 
 prov-i-dtenpe » 
 
61 
 
 »> 
 
 lKi.Ta 
 
 ee pul chres 
 
 friend-ly 
 
 E-phron 
 
 in-sist ed 
 
 pur-chas-ing 
 
 Mach-pe-lah 
 
 trans-ac-tion' 
 
 en-camp-ment 
 Na-hor 
 
 6in-gu-lar 
 
 Ke-tu-rah 
 
 (le-scen-dants 
 
 Is-rael-ites 
 
 ali-ens 
 
 am-ity 
 
 res-pect-ive 
 
 par-mis-sion 
 brace-lets 
 Be'jk u-el 
 Mil-cah 
 pro ven-der 
 
 Some years after the trial of Abraham's faith, Sarah ^ 
 died in the hundred and twenty seventh year of her agp. 
 Her decease brought the patriarch into treaty with tbd 
 ohiefs of the Hittites regarding a burial place for his ftimily* 
 He had as yet no possession of h?s own in the land of pro*- 
 mise ; and he was unwilling that the earthly remains of 
 the Hebrews should mingle with those of the Canaanitea*- 
 He therefore declined to use tlie sepulchres of the chil^ 
 dren of Heth, He would not even except the friendly 
 offer of Ephron to make him a present of a piece of groimd 
 to bury his dead ; but insisted on purchasing the field and 
 cave of Machphelah for as much money as it was worth* 
 The sum agreed upon was four hundred sheckels of silver ; 
 and as there appears to have bean as yet no coined mo- 
 ney in use among these tribes, it was weighed out at the 
 gate of the city, in presence of the children of Heth; 
 
 In the next transaction in which Abraham was ene 
 gaged, we find him equally desirous, as in this treaty, of 
 avoiding every kind of relationship with the inhabitants 
 of: the land. Being now advanced in years he wished to 
 see his son Isaac settled in marriage. He therefo.^ said 
 to liis eldest servant, " Put now thy hand under my thigh, 
 and swear by the Lord, the God of heaven and the God 
 of earth, that thou wiH not take a wife unto my son ofth* 
 daughters of the Ganaanites, among whom I dwell, but 
 tl^Vthpu wilt go unto my own country, and to my own 
 
Il 
 
 kindred, and take a wife unto my son Isaac,'* The ser- 
 vant having sworn, and having been liirnishcd with the 
 usual jii^sents, sets out for the city or encampment of Na- 
 hor, Abraham's brother. At a well in the neighbourhood, 
 he prays that God would show kindness to his master by 
 pointing out to him, in a particular manner, the maiden 
 whom he had appointed tp be the wife of Isaac. He has 
 Boarcely finished his prayer, when a beautiful damsel 
 came out, according to the custom of the country, to draw 
 water. He asks permission to drink from the pitcher. 
 She replies by not only giving drink to himself, but by 
 drawing water to his camels. In return for her kindness, 
 he presents her with a golden ring and two bracelets, and 
 asks whose daughter she is. " I am the daughter of Be- 
 thuel," she replied, " the son Milcah, whom she bare to 
 Nahor," The servant bows his head and worships the 
 God of his master Abraham for having thus answered his 
 prayer. Hearing the name Abraham, the damsel runs 
 and tells her relations, who send out Laban, Rebecca's 
 brother, to iiivite him to their tents, with all the hospitality 
 which distinguislied the people of tliat age and country. 
 The servant excepts their hospitality, and informs them 
 who he is, and on what errand he had been sent by his 
 master. The singular providence of God in answerihg 
 the servant's prayer, together with tJic accounts of Abra- 
 ham's wealth, confirmed by the rich presents of gold and 
 jewels which he produced, makes both Rebecca and her 
 (nends ^ve a willing consent. She sets out with the ser- 
 vant, and reaches in safety the encampment of Abraham. 
 Isaac having gone forth at the even -tide, sees the camek 
 coming. Rebecca, informed by the servant who he k, ' 
 afights from her camel, and covers herself wnth a reil^ 
 The servant then gives an account of his mission ; and 
 
68 
 
 scr- 
 ibe 
 
 Na- 
 
 ood, 
 
 rby • 
 
 idea 
 
 shaa 
 
 imsel 
 
 (ii'aw 
 
 Lcher. 
 
 at by 
 
 ilness, 
 
 s, and 
 
 ofBe- 
 
 lare to 
 
 ps tba 
 
 red bis 
 
 3I runs 
 lecca's 
 
 [pitality 
 
 ountry. 
 
 Is tbem 
 by bis 
 sweriTig 
 
 If Abra- 
 )ld and 
 ind ber 
 tbe ser- 
 [)rabaTa. 
 earnest 
 be tet 
 a veH^^ 
 
 ►n 5 ^ 
 
 Isaac makes Rebecca his wife by leading her to the tent 
 of his mother Sarah, of which he puts her in possesaon 
 as the chief wife of the tribe. 
 
 After these events, Abraham took another wife named 
 Keturah, by whom he had many children. But Isaac 
 still continued his sole heir, the rest having been cent 
 away into the east country. Their descendants are often 
 mentioned in the history of tlie Israelites, but always as 
 aliens from the stock of Abraham. At length the patri- 
 arch died and was buried in Machpelah by Ishmael and 
 Isaac, who met in perfect amity to perform the last duty 
 $0 the head and father of their respective tribes. 
 
 LESSON IV. 
 
 JACOB AND ESAU. 
 
 in-ci-dents 
 
 dis-po-si-tions 
 
 pur suits 
 
 vi-o-lent 
 
 de-voted 
 
 oc-cu-pied 
 
 op-por-tu-ni-ty 
 
 fa tigues 
 
 len- tiles 
 
 priv-i-lege 
 
 mys-te-ri-ous 
 
 ven-i-son 
 
 ppo-Phet-ic-al 
 
 pro-nounce 
 
 coun-ter-feit 
 
 ap-pn-rent 
 
 de-cla-ra-tioD 
 
 strat-a-gem 
 
 in-ter-view 
 
 im-plores 
 
 pre-vi-ous 
 
 ex-cit-ed 
 
 threat-en-ed 
 
 ven-geance 
 
 Pa-dan -a-iam 
 
 pos-ter-i-ty 
 
 ac-costs 
 
 Ra-chel 
 
 in-tro-du-ces 
 
 6tip-u4at-ed 
 
 re-com-pense 
 
 con-cu bines 
 
 me-mo-rial 
 
 Gil-e-ad 
 
 Jab-bok 
 
 ap-pease 
 
 pre cau-tions . 
 
 af-fec-tion-ate 
 
 an-i mos-i ties 
 
 'There were few incidents of much interest in the lifb 
 of Fsaac, till his two sons, JaC/ob and Esau, grew up to 
 
64 
 
 niaii^s estate. The appearance, dispositions, and pio^ 
 Kuits of these young persons were very different. Essu 
 was a rough man, rash and violent in his temper, and de- 
 voted to the oports of tlie field: Jacob was of a smooth 
 f'ouiplexiori, gentle in iiis disposition, and, like his father 
 and grandfuiher, occupied with the care of cattle. The 
 wild luintsinan was his father^s favourite ; the domestic 
 vJiepherd was tlie favourite of his mother. Esau, busied 
 with other pursuits, appears to have thought little about 
 the lofty promise made to his family ; while Jacob, who 
 had set his heart upon them, lost no opportunity of 
 endeavouring to attain them. Accordingly, one day, on 
 £sau,s return from the field, faint and worn out with tha 
 fatigues of the chase, he found his brother making pottago 
 of lentiles. " Feed me, I pray thee, with that same red 
 pottage," said Esau, " for I am faint." " Sell me thia 
 day thy birth-right," answered Jacob. Then Esau eaid| 
 "Behold I am at the point of death ; and what profit' 
 shall this birth-right do to mel" The birth-right was 
 therefore sold for a mess of pottage j and Jacob, in this 
 manner, became possessed of the right to succeed his father 
 OS patriarch, or prince and priest of the tribe, with all tha 
 privileges attached to that high station, and all the mys- 
 terious promises made to the principal branch of the family. 
 Oh another occasion, when Isaac was grown old and- 
 blind, he requested his elder son, in the hearing of his 
 mother, to go to the field, and fetch venison, that his soiil 
 might bless him before he died. Doubted, ],)erhaps, 
 whether Jacob would really succeed to the headship of' 
 the tribe by the former transaction between the brothersi 
 unless they were confirmed by the father's blessing, and 
 probably knowing the prophetical character of the blesnhg 
 which her husband would pronounce, fiebecca immedi- 
 
65 
 
 I 
 
 Htjly sent her favourite son to the flocks lor two kidfl* 
 These she drassed in the form of venison; and then 
 clothing Jacob in a suit of Esau's raiment, and covering 
 his hand and neck with the skins of the kids, she sent him to 
 his father to counterfeit his elder brother, and securo 
 llie blessing to himself. The aged patriarch had at first 
 <l()ubts, whether this was his very son Esau or not, arising 
 both from tiie sound of Jacob's voice, and from the short- 
 ness of the time within which he brought the venison; 
 but these doubts were removed, when he came to feel 
 the apparent roughness of his son's skin, and to hear the 
 express but fals*^ declaration, that he was indeed Esau. 
 He then kissed Jacob, and pronounced upon him the 
 blear^ing intended for his fn*st-born, saying, " Be lord over 
 thy brethren, and let thy mother's sons bow down before 
 thee.'* Scarcely had Jacob gone out from the presence 
 of Ills father, when his elder brother appeared with the 
 savoury meat which he also had prepared, A most affect- 
 ing interview took piac« between the father and his fo- 
 vourite son. "Let my father arise," said Esau, "and 
 eat of his son's venison, that thy soul may bless me." 
 " Who art thou 1" exclaimed the astonished parent. " I 
 am tJiy son, thy first-born Esau," was the reply. 
 " Who 1" cries Isaac, trembling and greatly moved ; 
 " Where is he that hath taken venison, and brought it to 
 me and I have eaten of all before thou camest, and have 
 b'cssed him? yea and he shall be blessed." With a 
 p "ercing cry, Esau, who had never sufficiently valued the 
 privileges of his birth till now, \\ hen they were taken from 
 nim, earnestly implores, " Bless me, even me also, O my 
 father !" The father having explained the whole pre- 
 vious circumstances, his first-born again and again urges 
 him, with tears, to bless him, saying, " Hast thou but 
 
I i 
 
 66 
 
 on© blessing, my father t Bless me, even me also, mi a- 
 ihor," Yielding to these entreaties, the patriarch, whil^ 
 k could not recall the blessing which he had pronounced 
 en Jacob, gave to Esau such a blessing as he had still \v 
 reserve, saying, that his dwelling should be in the fatnewi 
 of the earth, that he should live by his sword, anc tnat ne 
 diould at length break his irother's yoke from ofFhisnecK. 
 As might have been expected from a person of his vi(^ 
 lent temper, Esau's hatred was now so greatly excited 
 against his brother, that he resolved to slay him as soon 
 m his father was dead. To place him beyond the reach 
 of this threatened danger, as well as to prevent him follow- 
 mg (tie example of his elder brother, who had taken two 
 wives of the daughters of Heth, Isaac and Rebecca sent 
 Jacob to Padanaram to sojourn with his uncle Laban. 
 And thus Rebecca was punished for the fraud she had 
 contrived for the advantage of her favourite, by the ban- 
 isfhment of that son, whom she never saw more. Jacob, 
 on his way being- overtaken by the night, lies down to 
 ileep on the ground, with a stone for his pillow, when 
 God appears to him in a vision, announcing himself as 
 the God of Abraham and Isaac, and promising to give the 
 land on whicb he lay to him and his posterity. He also 
 renews the mysterious promise formerly made to Abra- 
 ham, that in his seed all families of the earth should be 
 blessed. In the morning Jacob resumes his journey, and 
 8t length arrives in Padanaram. He accosts some shep- 
 herds, who are standing wath tlieir flocks by the side of 
 the well, and who tell him they are of Haran. He asks 
 IT they know any thing of Laban, and is informed that 
 they know him well, that he is in good health, and thai 
 it is his daughter Rachel who is now approaching the well 
 with her facer's sheep. He straightway removes the 
 
6t 
 
 stone, (with which, in these countries, the wells arc c©- 
 vt'ied up, to previent then from being choked with tlw 
 Kind,) and waters the flock for Hachel. Having done 
 this, ho introduces himself, and, when he has made known 
 to her their connexion, they tenderly salute each otl»er 
 with tears. She runs home to tell the news, and brings 
 oiit her father, who, after kindly embracing his nephew, 
 receives him as a kinsman into his dwelling. After abid- 
 ing there for a month, his uncle tells him that it is unrea- 
 sonable that he should enjoy his services for nothing, and 
 bids him name his wages. He immediately agrees to sen^ 
 seven years, on condition that, at the end of that period, 
 he should receive Rachel to wife , to this Laban agreed, 
 The term of service is at length completed ; Jacob de- 
 mands the stipulated ret ompense j his uncle apparently 
 consents, and a great marriage feast, to which all the peo- 
 ple of the neighbourhood are invited, is prepared. In 
 place of fulfilling his agreement, however, Laban gives 
 Jacob, not Rachel, as he had promised, but her elder and 
 less beautiful sister, Leah. Jacob loudly complains of his 
 breach of promise. His uncle pretends to justify it, by 
 alle^ng, that in no case, by the custom of their country, 
 w ' a younger sister married before an elder ; but pmo- 
 mises that if his nephew will serve him seven years more, 
 he shall have the younger also to wife. With this coft- 
 dition Jacob complies, and at the end of the week, during 
 whicb the marriage feast lasted, receives Rachel. By 
 these two waves, and by their handmaids, whom he takes 
 as concubines, he became th? Either of twelve sons and 
 one daughter. By another agreement which he makes 
 with Laban, namely, that he should have all the speckled 
 goats and brown sheep for taking care of the flocks, bo 
 becomes very rich in herds. His wealth at last excites 
 
b8 
 
 n 
 
 the envy of Laban and his sons j and, by the advice of 
 the Lord, he therefore flees from that country to retiirR 
 home, taking with him his family and property. No 
 sooner is his flight discovered than Laban sets furtli in 
 pursuit of him j but by the way the Lord appears unto 
 him, and warns him not to touch Jacob. Laban at length 
 overtakes his nephew at Mount Gilead, where he had 
 pitched his tent ; but, dreading the vengeance of tlie God 
 of Jacob, who had appeared to him by the way, oflers 
 him no violence. He only chides him f(>'' going away 
 without giving him intimation, that he might have yhowii 
 him due respect at his departure ; and tlicn enters into t 
 covenant with him for the protection of his daughters, of 
 which a pillar, which they there set up, was to be a me 
 morial. On the following morning, Laban returns it, 
 peace to his own country. 
 
 But Jacob has no sooner partea with Laban, than ho 
 begins to dread another enemy in his brother Esau, who 
 was now the chief of the country through which he must 
 pass on his way to Canaan. His alarm becomes still 
 greater, when he is informed that Esau has set out to meet 
 him with four hundred armed men. Encouraged, how- 
 ever, by a host of angels, whom he meets near Mount 
 Gilead, and afterwards by the angel of the Lord, with 
 whom he wrestles at the ford Jabbok, and who changes 
 his name from Jacob to Israel, he determines to proceed. 
 To appease his brother, he sends forth a valuable present 
 of cattle, and then so divides his family and flocks, that 
 if the foremost were attacked, the rest might have timo 
 to escape. But all these precautions are unnecessary. 
 The meeting which soon after takes place is friendly and 
 affectionate. All their former animosities are forgotten, 
 and it is not till Jacob promises to visit him at Seir, that 
 

 dvice of 
 to return 
 ty. No 
 forth in 
 jars unto 
 at length 
 5 he had 
 ' the God 
 3y, oflera 
 ing away 
 ^'e shown 
 ;rs into i 
 ghters, cf 
 be a me 
 returna it. 
 
 , than ho 
 isau, who 
 h he rautst 
 omes still 
 ut to meet 
 red, how- 
 !ar Mount 
 jord, with 
 o changes 
 proceed, 
 ble present 
 locks, that 
 have timo 
 necessary, 
 •iendly and 
 5 forgotten, 
 t Seir, that 
 
 Gy 
 
 Esau takorf his ItMvo. Aikr hi;} departure, Jacob crosses 
 the Jordan, and omco luoiv^ Ijcconies a sojourner in the 
 promisotl lair I 
 
 LKSSON V. 
 
 HISTORY OF JOSiTPH. 
 
 cir-cum -Stance 
 
 Buf-fi-cient 
 
 re-ports 
 
 mis-con-duct 
 
 in-di-cates 
 
 wel-fare 
 
 de-ter-min-ed 
 
 dis-suad-cd 
 
 Reu-ben 
 
 de-ceive 
 
 ig-no ranee 
 
 fx-ciaini-ud 
 
 sack- cloth 
 
 at-tempt-cd 
 
 con-so-la-tinn 
 
 Pot-i-phar 
 
 con-fi-dcnco 
 
 ac-cus-ed 
 
 per-p!ex-ed 
 
 in-ter-pre-tation 
 
 ve-ri fi-ed 
 rc-sto ration 
 prc-dicl-od 
 Pha-raoh 
 ro-iuoni-l)ers 
 Hg-ni-fy 
 a-buu dance 
 ro com- mends 
 ap-pro-ba'tion 
 
 The particular favourite of Jacob, among his twelve 
 sons, was Joseph, the eldest son of his beloved Rachel. 
 This circumstance was perhaps sufficient to excite tha 
 envy and hatred of his brethren ; but these feelings wera 
 increased by the reports of their misconduct which ha 
 carried to his father, and by two dreams which he had, 
 indicating his future greatness. So strong did their dislilw 
 to him grow, that, having gone to feed their flocks in a 
 distant part of the country, and Joseph having been wnii 
 to inquire after their welfare, they determined to put him 
 to death when they saw him approach. Froni iln:i 
 bloody purpose they were dissuaded by Reuben ; but im- 
 mediately after, they sold him to a company of merchants 
 who were travelling with spices from Gilead to Egypt. 
 
 
 
i:l 
 
 t!! 
 
 w 
 
 i i 
 
 I I 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 70 
 
 To deceive their father, and to keep him ig;norant of what 
 had heen done with his favourite child, they dipped J> 
 vph's coat of many colours in the blood of a kid, ant*, 
 vvhen they returned home, showed it to him, saying, « This 
 we have found j see whether it be thy son's coat or not f 
 Jacob knew the coat, and exclaimed with great anguishi 
 << It is my uon^s coat ; an evil beast hath devoured him : 
 Joi3e[)h is surely torn in pieces." Then rending hifi 
 clothes, and putting sackcloth upon his loins, he mourned 
 for Joseph many days. The rest of his family attempted 
 to comfort him, but he refused their consolation, sayings 
 " I will go down to the grave unto my son mourning.'' 
 
 In the mean time, Joseph is carried down into Egypt^ 
 and sold as a slave to Potiphar, the captain of the king's 
 guard. But Divine Providence watches over him, even 
 in land of the stranger. He soon gains the confidence of 
 his master, who entrusts him with the charge of his whola 
 household. After some time, however, being falsely ao 
 cused by his master's wife, he is thrown into prison^ 
 where he obtains the favour of the keeper, who commits 
 all the other prisoners to his care. Among these are the 
 chief butler and the chief baker of the king. Each of 
 these men has a dream in one night, by which he is great* 
 ly perplexed. Joseph interprets the dreams ; and his iiw 
 lerpretation is verified by the event. Notwithstanding^ 
 from the forgetfulness ofiihe chief butler, whose restora^ 
 tion to favour Joseph had predicted, he continues in pri^ 
 son for two full years. About the end of that time, 
 Pharaoh the king has two dreams in the same night, 
 which his wise men are unable to interpret. The chief 
 butler then remembers Joseph, who is instantly brought 
 trom prison into the royal presence. He explains I9 
 Pharaoh that the seven fat kine, and the seven full 
 
71 
 
 ears of com, which he saw in his (bt;ams, signify 
 •even years of great abundance ; and that tho seven leao 
 kine, and the seven thin ears of com, are seven years of 
 famine, which are to follow. He also recommends lo 
 the king to seek out a wise and discret man, whom ha 
 may get over the land, with the power of appointing offi- 
 GC!rs to lay up com during the plenteous years, as a pro- 
 vision against tlie years of famine. The proposal meets 
 with the approbation of the king, who appoints Joseph 
 himself governor over all the land, arrays him in fine 
 ^parel, puts a ring upon his hand, and a gold chain 
 about his neck, causes him to ride in his own second 
 diariot, and bids all his subjects bow before him. Thus, 
 he whom his brethren sold as a slave, and whom his 
 (ather still continued to mourn as dead, is raised, in the 
 course of a few years, by one of those rapid changes by 
 DO means wicommon in eastern countries, tto the highest 
 >flice under the king, in the land of Egypt. 
 
 
 
 V* 
 
 
 LESSON VI. 
 
 
 CONTIMUA^riON OF THE HISTORY OF JOSEPH 
 
 pre-dic-tlon 
 
 con-fine-ment 
 
 ap-peal 
 
 Ben-ja-min 
 
 de-tdn-ing 
 
 re^fhun 
 
 le-pair 
 
 ca-re-van-sa-ry 
 
 e-mo-'dons 
 
 re-cog nis-es 
 
 a-ston-ish ment 
 
 con-found-ed 
 
 c&-cal-lects 
 
 re-proach-es 
 
 de-cla-ra-tion 
 
 per-ceiv-ing 
 
 ac-com-pa-nied 
 
 in-vi-ta-tion 
 
 pre-tend-ing 
 
 al-lay 
 
 con-vey-ance 
 
 aa-sert 
 
 en-ter-tains 
 
 grate-ful 
 
 As-be-Iieve 
 
 o-ver-pow-er-ed 
 
 trans-port 
 
7-2 
 
 ii 
 
 The years of plenty came, according to Joseph's pre- 
 diction, and, by his directions, abundance of corn is laid 
 up in store houses. The years of famine next arrive. 
 All countries flock to Egypt for bread. Among othersy 
 Joseph's own brothers, with the exception of Benjamin^ 
 wiio is kept at home by his father, repair thither. Joseph 
 instantly recognises them, and recollects his youthful 
 dreams j but perceiving that they do not know him, ho 
 epeaks roughly to them, pretending to mistake them for 
 spies. In vain they assert that they are true men, and no 
 spies ; in vain they inform him that they belong to a 
 family in Canaan, in which there had once been twelvo 
 eons, of whom the youngest was then with his father, and 
 one was not. He still affects to disbelieve them, having 
 Indeed no reason to trust them as to what they said of 
 Benjamin, and insists, that, in proof of the truth of thcii 
 story, one of them shall go home and bring his brother, 
 while the rest remain in Egypt. After keeping them in 
 confinement for three days, however, he contents himself 
 with detaining one of them a prisoner, aii'^ permits tha 
 others to depart to bring down Benjaimn. On the way 
 home, they stop at an inn or caravansary, and are filled 
 with astonishment and alarm, when one of them, on open- 
 ing his sack to give food to his ass, finds the price of the 
 corn in the mouth ofthe sack. At length they arrive at 
 their father's home, and tell him their singular story. 
 Jacob is filled with grief at the thought of parting with 
 Benjamin; reproaches them for having mentioned that 
 tliey had a brother ;.and refuses to let him go. " My son 
 shall not go down with you," says he ; " for his brotlicr 
 is dead, and he is left alone ; if mischief befall him by thd 
 \\'ay in which ye go, then shall ye bring down my gray 
 hairs with sorrow to the grave." 
 
7^ 
 
 pre- 
 
 j laid 
 
 rrive. 
 
 tViersi 
 
 amin, 
 
 loseph 
 
 mthful 
 
 m, tie 
 
 5m for 
 
 and no 
 
 2 to a 
 twelve 
 
 tier, and 
 
 , having 
 said of 
 of thcii 
 brother, 
 them in 
 
 5 himself 
 ■mitd tho 
 the way 
 are filled 
 on open- 
 ce of the 
 arrive at 
 ar story. 
 Ling with 
 loned that 
 « My son 
 ;is brother 
 ^im by thd 
 my gray 
 
 But wlieii tho com \ras nenrly consumed, and the fa- 
 mine still continued, the patriLirch was forced to yield. 
 He sends then awoy a second tini : accompanied by Ben- 
 jamin, with a present to the governor, and double money 
 in their sacks. They again arrive in Egj'^pt, and are 
 brought into Joseph's own house. Alarmed it tliis, thoy 
 explain to the stewards about the money returned in the'i- 
 sacks. He endeavours to allay their fears, brings out theii 
 brother who had been detained a prisoner, gives tlient 
 water to wash their feet, and furnishes provender to tneir 
 asses. Soon after Joseph appears. They produce their 
 present, and bow before him to the earth. He asks kindly 
 of their welfare, and enquires if tlie old man their father is 
 still alive and well. Then, casting his eyes on Benjamin, he 
 says, " Is this your younger brother of whom ye told me 1" 
 and adds, " God be gracious unto thee, my son." But 
 the sight of his brother, the only other child of his own 
 mother Rachel, is more than he can bear. He makes 
 haste to leave the apartment, seeking where to weep ; and 
 he enters into his chamber, and weeps there. As soon 
 •IS he recovers himself, he entertains diem hospitably, and 
 ahews particular attention to Benjamin, Next morning, 
 at day-break, they sat out on their journey homewards. 
 But scarcely have they gone out of the city where Joseph 
 dwelt, when they are overtaken by the steward, who 
 charge? tliem with having stolon his lord's cup. They 
 deny the charge ; ask if it is a likely circumstance that 
 diey, who had brought again from Canaan the money 
 which they had found in the mouths of their sacks, would 
 steal from his lord's house either gold or silver ; and boldly 
 declare that if the cup be found in the possession of any 
 ofthem, not only he shall die for his crime, but all the rest 
 will yield themselves as bondsmen. " Well, now," an* 
 
! 
 
 \ I 
 
 748 
 
 swers tlie steward, " let it be according to your words ; 
 he with whom the cup is found shall be my servant, aiui 
 ye shall be blameless.'* They then take "down their sacks, 
 and the steward proceeds to search, beginning at the eldest, 
 and ending at the youngest. At the very time they begin 
 to hoi^e that the danger is past, the cup is found in Benja- 
 min's sack ; in which, indeed, it had been previously 
 placed by the steward himself, by the direction of his 
 master. Filled with surprise and terror, they replace 
 their sacks on their asses' backs, and return with tha 
 steward to the city. " What deed is this that ye have 
 done," cries Joseph, when they are brought into his pre- 
 sence. Judah owns that they cannot clear themselves 
 from the crime with which they are chained, and adds, 
 " Behold, we are my lord's servents, both we, and he also 
 with whom the cup is found." " Be it far from me, that 
 I should do so," replies Joseph, -'the man in whose 
 hand the cup was found, let him be my servant j and 
 as for yoiij go ye in peace to your father." Then 
 Judah comes near to him, and says,- "Oh, my lord, 
 let thy servant, I pray thee, speak a word in the 
 ears of my lord, and let not thine anger burn against 
 thy servant, for thou art even as Pharaoh. My lord 
 asked his servants, saying, Have ye a father or a 
 brother? And we said unto my lord, We have a father 
 an old man, and a child of his old age, a little one ; and 
 his brother is dead, and he alone is left of his mother, and 
 his father loveth him. And thou saidst to thy servants. 
 Bring him down that I may set my eyes upon him. And 
 we said unto my lord. The youth cannot leave his father, 
 for if he should leave his father, his father would die. 
 And thou saidst to thy servants, Except your youngest 
 .'> rother come down with you, ye shall see m face no 
 
75 
 
 it, and 
 
 > sacks, 
 
 eldest, 
 
 ybe^n 
 
 Benja- 
 
 jviously 
 
 I of hia 
 
 replace 
 
 vith the 
 
 ye have 
 
 his pre- 
 
 gmselves 
 
 nd adds, 
 
 ,dhe also 
 me, that 
 
 n whose 
 
 ant J ami 
 Then 
 
 my lord, 
 
 d in the 
 n against 
 My lord 
 ler or a 
 a father 
 one; and 
 [other, and 
 servants, 
 im. And 
 his father, 
 ould die. 
 youngest 
 
 face no 
 
 fpore- Now when we came up to thy servant my father, 
 we told him the words of my lord. And our father s^d, 
 Go again, and huy us a little food. And we said, We 
 cannot go down: if our youngest brother be with us, 
 then will we go down ; for we may not see the man's 
 face except our youngest brother be with us. And thy 
 servant my father said unto us, Ye know that my 
 jvife bare unto me two sons, and the one went out from 
 me, and I said, surely lie is torn in pieces ; and I saw 
 him not since; and if ye take this also from me, and 
 mischief befall him, ye shall bring down my gray hairs 
 with sorrow to the grave. Now therefore, when I come 
 to thy servant my father, and the youth be not with us, it 
 will be that when he sceth that the youth is not with h5j, 
 he will die ; and thy servants shall bring down the gray 
 hairs of thy seivant our father with sorrow to the grave. 
 For tliy servant became surety for the youth to my father, 
 saying, If I bring him not nnio thee, than I shall bear the 
 blame to my father for ever. Now, therefore, I pray thee, 
 let thy servant abide instead of tlie youth a bondman to 
 my lord ; and let the youth go up with his brethren. For 
 how shall I go up to my father and the youth be not witli 
 me? lest peradveiiture T S3e the evil that shal' ome on 
 my fatlier," 
 
 Overpowered by this affecting appeal, and sati lirj 1 now 
 that all they had told him, of his father being '-till alive, 
 was true, Joseph can no longer refrain him 'f. He oi- 
 ders all others out of his presence, and remains alone with 
 his brothers. He then, giving full vent to his emotions, 
 weeps aloud, saying as soon as he can find utterance, 
 " I am Joseph : doth my father yet live ?" Confounded 
 at this declaration, thev can make no answer. He bids 
 ihem draw near to him, and then in a'tone of the kindest 
 
 Ml 
 
 »» 
 
Hi 
 
 I 
 
 
 1*1' 
 
 III 
 It 'I 
 
 ; ! 
 
 ''lii 1 
 
 76 
 
 aflfertion, teii's tliem tliat he is indeed Jospeh, whom they 
 sold into Egypt, but by no means to be grieved nor angry 
 with themselves for what they had done : " For," he adds, 
 " it was not you who sent me hither, but God, who hath 
 made me a ruler throughout all the land of Egypt. Haste 
 ^'e, and go up to my father, and say unto him. Thus saith 
 Jiyson Joseph, God hath made me lord of Egypt; 
 come down unto me, tarry not ; and thou shalt 
 -well in the land of Goshen, and thou shalt be near 
 ttnto me ; thou and thy children, and thy flocks, and tiiy 
 herds, and all that thou hast ; and there will I nourish 
 thee." Then he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck and 
 wept ; and Benjamin \vept upon his neck. Moreover, 
 he kissed all his brethren, and wept over them ; and after 
 that his brethren talked with him. 
 
 The news soon reached the ears of the king ; who joins 
 in the invitation for Joseph's family to come down and 
 settle in Egj'^pt, and furnishes them with waggons for 
 their conveyance, telling them, at the same time, that they 
 need not care what they bring along with them, " for," 
 atlds he, " the good of all the land of Egypt is yours." 
 Joseph's brethren accordingly soon after depart, laden with 
 presents, and return to their father. The old man, on 
 hearing such extraordinary tiuings, has at first great dif- 
 ficulty in believing them ; but, on finding them confirmed 
 by the waggons and presents, which they brought along, 
 with them, he, with grateful transport, exclaims, " It i» 
 enough ; Joseph, my son is alive ; 1 will go and see him 
 before I die," 
 
77 
 
 
 LESSON VII. 
 
 CONCLUSION OF THE HISTORY OP JoSEPH. 
 
 cx-trem-i-ty 
 
 in-ti-mate 
 
 ven-e-ra-l)1e 
 
 con-form-i~ty 
 
 a-l)om-i-na-tion 
 
 ad-min-is-ter 
 
 pro-phe-ry 
 
 (les-ti-ny 
 
 Ma-nas-seh 
 
 E-phraim 
 
 re-mains 
 
 la-men-ta-tions 
 
 e scort-ed 
 
 an-ccs-tors 
 
 mel-an-cho-ly 
 
 fore-bod-ings 
 
 ex-pe-ri-encetl 
 
 ap-pre-hen-sion 
 
 ven-geance 
 
 ex-act-ed 
 
 ein-l)alm-ed 
 
 In consequence of the message, which Israel had re- 
 ceived from Joseph, lie set out with all his family on his 
 journey to Egj-pt. Having arrived at Beersheba, the 
 southern extremity of Canaan, he there offered sacrifices 
 to the God ol his father, who ^poke to him in a night vision, 
 bidding him not fear to go down into Egypt, for there he 
 would be with him, would make of him a great nation, 
 and would Ijring him up again. Israel and his family then 
 entered Egypt, in numiier three score and six souls* The 
 wliole number, accorclingly,of Abraham's descendants now 
 in that country, including Benjamin, and Joseph and his 
 two sons, Manasseh and Ejihraim, were three score 
 and ten. Judah is sent before to intimat their ap- 
 proach to Jo'culi ; who immediateiy sets out in his 
 chariot, and receives his venerable fadier in the land 
 of Goshen, wilh ail the marks of the most tender filial 
 affection. He then goes to announce the arrival of his 
 father and family to Pharaoh, to whom he first introduces 
 five of his i)rothers, and afterwaixls the aged jwitrjarch 
 himself. The king enquires of ihein tlieir occupation, to 
 which they reply, in conformity witli the instructions 
 vvliich th^y had jx-eviously receivetl from Joseph, that 
 
 *'l 
 
 k 
 
 'J 
 
7g 
 
 ill I 
 
 I i: li 
 
 \u\ 
 
 ■■I: 
 
 |l, i 
 
 
 i|:i: 
 
 
 m 
 
 i' 
 
 
 
 *■ 
 
 iii 
 
 1 
 
 V ■ 
 
 H 
 
 'M 
 
 ■li 
 
 j' 
 
 i 
 
 iili 
 
 
 ■P 
 
 
 
 H' 
 
 'n 
 
 
 1 
 
 : 
 
 
 du\v, like their fathers before them, followed the cmplo) 
 moDt of shepherds. The occupation and the very name 
 of shepherds were at that time held in abomination among 
 the Egyptians. Pharaoh, on hearing their employment, was 
 induced to set apart for them the land of Goshen,*as one 
 which was well 6tted for pasture, and where they might 
 live in a great measure separate from his other subjects. 
 There, accordingly, they took up their abode and flourished 
 gi-eatly j while Joseph continued to administer the affairs 
 of tlie kingdom with the greatest ability and wisdom. 
 
 After they had lived seventeen years in Goshen, the 
 patriarch, feeUng his end to be approaching, takes an 
 oath of Joseph to have him interred in the family sepul- 
 ciire atMachpelah, Ho next called all his faiiiily around 
 him, and to each, in the lofty spirit of prophecy, and in 
 lie glowing language of poetry, announces tlie future des- 
 tiny of his respective tribe. His address to Judah on 
 115 at occasion demands particular attention, as distinctly 
 pointing out the tribe, from which the future Deliverer 
 was to spring. " Judah, thou art he whom thy brethren 
 shall praise ; thy father's children shall bow down before 
 thee. The sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a 
 lawgiver from between his feet, until he come to whom 
 it belongs; and unto him shall the gathering of the peo- 
 ple l>e." Joseph's sons too, Manasseh and Ephraim, were 
 marked by their grandfather with peculiar favour, and by 
 him appointed the heads of two distinct tribes, of \\ hich 
 the tribe of Ephraim, though he was the younger son, was 
 to be the greater. Buving closed his predictions and 
 having again charged his sons to bear his remains to the 
 sepulchre of his fathers, the patriarch breathed his last in 
 the bosom of his family. Thus died the father of the 
 twelve tribes ; and was, with great lamentations, escorted 
 
79 
 
 i(» 
 
 til ! burial place of his ancestors, (a distance of aboui 
 tw o hundred miles,) not by his own descendants merely, 
 bill by all the great men of Egypt, with chariots and horse- 
 men, even a very great company. 
 
 Havinj^ thus performed their last duties to their father, 
 the sons <. f Israel returned with their numerous attendants 
 into Egypt. Among the other melancholy forebodings 
 which took possession of their minds, in their present al- 
 tered condition, there is one well worthy of observation, 
 as strongly marking the disturbed state of a guilty soul, 
 even long after that guilt is past, and has been freely for- 
 given by the injured party. Notwithstanding the unbound- 
 ed kindness which they had hitherto experienced from 
 their brother Joseph, tlieir minds w*ere now filled with the 
 painful, though totally groundless apprehension, that their 
 father being now dead, he would at length take vengeance 
 upon them for the cruelty with which had treated him, 
 riiey therefore represent imto him their fears, and ear- 
 jC3tly implore his for^j^iveness, bringing at the same time to 
 ds recollection their common father and their father's 
 lod. And Joseph wept when they spoke to him ; and 
 . Js ]>rethTen also wept and fell down before his face, and 
 <taid, *' Wc be thy servants." And Joseph said to them, 
 '^ Fear not ; for am I in the place of God ? But as for 
 ■OU; ye thought evil r.gain«t me, but God meant it unto 
 {^o'kI, to bring to pasti as it is this day, to save much peo- 
 ple alive. Now, therefore, fear ye not; I will nourish 
 you and your little ones.'* And he comforted them, and 
 qvdke kindly to them. 
 
 This pious, upright and amiable man lived to see his 
 children and his grandchildren. Before his death, relying 
 with a steady faith upon the promise which had been 
 made to his great ancestor, that his tiibe should at length 
 
 
 Pi 
 
 ^i: 
 

 
 return to their own land, he exacted of Ihe children of 
 Israel a promise, that when they aeparted from Egypt, 
 they sliould take up his bones along with them to Canaan. 
 His mortal remains were in the mean time embalmed af- 
 ter the manner of the Egjrptians. 
 
 LESSON VIIL 
 
 HISTORY OF MOSES. 
 
 m 
 
 in 
 
 Is-ra-el-ites 
 
 op-preas-ed 
 
 im-pos-ed 
 
 con-ceal 
 
 bul-rush-cs 
 
 per-ceiv-ing 
 
 Mir-i-am 
 
 pro-cure 
 
 per-mis-sion 
 
 ed-u-cat^ed 
 
 a-dopt-ed 
 
 a-pos-tle 
 
 es-teem-ing 
 
 quar-rell-ing 
 
 Mid-i-an 
 
 Je-thro 
 
 Zip-po-rah 
 
 ex-am-ine 
 
 re-fer-ring 1 
 
 de-liv-er-ance 
 
 mir-a-cles 
 
 After the death of Joseph, the Israelites stil! continued 
 to flourish. But in course of time, a king who knew 
 not Joseph ascended the throne of Egypt. This prince 
 <>li])ressed the children of Israel, and, alarmed at their 
 i^rowing power, tried to prevent them from increasing in 
 numbers. For this purpose he reduced them to a state of 
 hontlage, imposed heavy taxes upon them, and made a 
 • ruel law, that all the male children should be thrown in- 
 to the river Nile, as soon as they were bom. It was at 
 tliis time tliat Moses was bom ; and, as he was a goodly 
 child, his mother hid him three months. When she 
 could conceal him no longer, she made an ark of btilrush- 
 ee, and daubed it over with slime and pitch ; and having 
 placed the child in it, she laid it down on the banks of Ihe 
 river. Soon after, the king's daughter came down ^c 
 
 I I 
 
gl 
 
 jn of 
 Sgypt, 
 naan. 
 edaf- 
 
 ce 
 
 »ntmued 
 knew 
 prince 
 It their 
 ising in 
 state of 
 made a 
 own in- 
 was at 
 goodly 
 len she 
 (tilrush- 
 having 
 s of the 
 lown ♦c 
 
 hnihc, anvl pcirpiviun the arl;, iKvircd one of her mai<la to 
 fetch it. On opening it, slie was stmck witli compassion 
 to see the eliild in tears. At this moment, Miriam, the 
 sister of Moses, who had l)een set to watcli \N'liat should 
 become of the chiKl, came up and offered to procure a 
 nurse ; and on receiving permission to do so, \>'ent and 
 brought her own mother. Thus the mother of IMoses had 
 the pleasure of nursing hei* own child, and as he grew up, 
 of seeing him educated, as the adopted son of I haraoh's 
 daughter, in all the learning of the Egyptians. Fut his 
 parents also took care to instruct him in the knowledge 
 and woi*ship of the tiiie God, and in the promises which 
 had been made to the fathers ; for we are toM ])y un apos- 
 tle, that when he was come to years, he refused to be 
 called the son of Pharaoh's daughter ; choo^•ing rather to 
 suffer aflliction with the peoole of God than to enjoy the 
 pleasures of sin for a season ; esteeming the rej)r():u'h of 
 Christ greater riches than all the treasures of I'gypt. 
 When he was about forty years of age, he one day naw 
 fin Egyptian smiting a Hebrew, when he took the part of 
 his countryman, and helped him to kill his oppresssor. 
 Next day he saw two Hebrews quarrelling, and when he 
 trie*] to make peace between them, was asked, " Who 
 made thee a prince and a judge over ust wilt thou kill 
 me as thou didst the Egyptian yesterday ?" learning 
 from this that the deed which he had done was wel. 
 known, and having been told that Pharaoh sought to kil' 
 him for it, he fled into the country of Midian, on the op- 
 posite side of the Red Sea. Having been introduced intc 
 the family of Jethro the priest of the country, by helping 
 his daughters to water their flocks, he marries the eldest, 
 whose name was Zipporah, One day, about forty year* 
 after his arrival in Midian, while tending his father-m- 
 
 m 
 
 
I 
 
 l! 
 
 82 
 
 law^s flock in Horel), he beholds the cxtraordmary sig)\l 
 ofahuc^li Imrn'mg ])ut n(»t consumed, lie goes near to 
 examine what it could be, when a voice from the midst 
 of tlie bush calls to him, " Moses, Moses, draw not nigh 
 hither j put olTthy shoes from olTthy feet ; for the place 
 where thou stnndcst is holy ground. I am the God of thy 
 fatlier, the God of Abraham, tJie God of Isaac, and ^he 
 Goil of Jacob." Tiie voice then, after referring to the db 
 tressed condition of the children of Israel in Egj'pt, com 
 mands the Hebrew shepherd of Midian to go forth to theii 
 deliverance. After many objections on the part of M( *9, 
 which are all obviated by the Angel of the Lord, and aftei 
 having been invested with the power of working miracles, 
 he quits the sheep-fold, bids farewell to his father-in-law, 
 and returns to EgjqH on his important nfission. 
 
 1 y'^i^ 
 
 m 
 
 LESSON IX. 
 
 DELIVERANCE OF THE ISRAELITES. 
 
 de-vout 
 
 de-mand-ed 
 
 op press-ed 
 
 gi'iev-ous-ly 
 
 mi-rac-u-lous 
 
 en-tnist-ed 
 
 im-i-tat-ed 
 
 ma-gl-cians 
 
 m-flict-ed 
 
 re-li-gi-ous 
 
 per-ma-nent 
 
 ob-sti-natc 
 
 ven-geance 
 
 un-leav-ened 
 
 suc-ceed-ing 
 
 ge-ne-ra-tions 
 
 corn-memo rate 
 
 sym-bol 
 
 in-sti-tu-tion 
 
 pass-over 
 
 la-men ta-tion 
 
 sub-jects 
 
 subsid-ed 
 
 o-ver-whelm-ed 
 
 ce-le-brat-ed 
 
 tri-umph 
 
 ac-com-pa-ny-ing 
 
 When Moses returned to Egypt, in company with his 
 brother Aaron, who, by the direction of God had met him 
 in the v^nlderness, he' related to the elders and people of 
 
83 
 
 tlm-ed 
 -ed 
 
 |>a-ny-ing 
 
 with hia 
 Id met him 
 people of 
 
 Isr^iel vvhttt he had sf^n, and tlie errand on which he had 
 been s<.^ni. They heard him with devout attention, and 
 worshipped God for having been pleased to visit tliem in 
 their afthction. JNIoses and Aaron tliei\ went to the king, 
 and demanded, in the name of the God of the Hebrews, 
 that he should let the people go. Bui Pharaoh, instead 
 of complying with their demand, rej^roved them for mak- 
 ing the people idle, aud oppressed them inoi-c grievously 
 than before. Now was the time, tlicrelore, for exercising 
 that miraculous power with which Moses hud been en- 
 trusted. Besides changing his rod into a serpent, which 
 was imitated by the magicians of Egypt, he, nt dilferent 
 periods, inflicted upon the Egyptituis * mi successive 
 plagues, aflecting tluir personal comfort i- callle, and 
 
 the produce of their land. But the first nmc of these pro- 
 duced no permanent impression on the obstinate lieart of 
 Pharaoh ; as a still more signal mark of his dispk\isure 
 and vengeance, therefore God determinetl to desU'oy all the 
 first born both of men and of cattle. But before he pro- 
 ceeded to do this, he told Moses to direct the childien of 
 Israel, who had been saved from all the other plagues, 
 by what means they might escape this one also. He or- 
 dered every family to take a lamb or kid for itself, unless 
 where the household w^as extremely small, in which case 
 two families might u.iite and have one lamb betwixt them. 
 The lamb was to be wthout blemish, a male of the first 
 year. It was to be killed in ithe evening ; its blood was 
 to be sprinkled upon the side posts, and on the upper 
 door-post of the houses, wherein it should be eaten ; it 
 was to be roasted with fire, not sodden at all with water ; 
 no stranger was to eat thereof ; it was to be eaten with 
 bitter herbs and unleavened bread, and in tlie night, in 
 haste, with their shoes on their feet, and their staves in their 
 
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 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 
 
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 11.25 
 
 12.2 
 
 lit 
 
 12.0 
 
 m 
 
 1.4 il.6 
 
 
 m 
 
 
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 /A 
 
 HiotDgraphic 
 
 Sciences 
 
 CorpotdtiQn 
 
 23 WIST MAIN STRUT 
 
 WnSTIR,N.Y. 14S80 
 
 (716) •72-4503 
 

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 84 
 
 hands-, ready for departure ; not a bone of it was to be 
 broken ; it was to be all eaten in one house j and, if any 
 of it remained untill the morning, it was not to be 
 eater: thereaftei, but consumed with fire. All this 
 was to be carefully observetl by the children of 
 Israel, not only on the present occasion, but in 
 all succeeding generations, for two purposes : To commem 
 orate the mighty deliverance of God's people from the 
 bondage of Egypt ; and as a type or symbol of the future, 
 and still more glorious deliverance of the human race from 
 a spiritual and far more grevious and fatal bondage. This 
 institution was, moreover, to be called the Lord'b Pass- 
 over, because the Lord was that night to pass over the 
 houses of the children of Israel, and deliver them, when 
 lie smote the Egyptians. Accordingly, at midnight the dis- 
 troying angel went forth, and cut off the first-bom in every 
 dwelling in Eg3rpt, which was not sprinkled with the 
 l)lood of the sacred lamb ; and a loud and giievous lament- 
 ation was heard throughout all the land. The proud 
 lieart of Pharaoh was now humbled. Instead of prevent- 
 ing the children of Isi-eal from leaving the coimtry, he 
 implored Moses and Aaron to depart, taking %vith them the 
 l)eople, and their flocks and their herds. His terrified 
 subjects joined in tliis entreaty ; and the Israelites were 
 hun'ied out of the land, carrying \vith them the gold, sil- 
 ver, and raiment which they had asked from the Eg3rpt- 
 ians. Thus did the Lord, with a mighty hand, bring his 
 chosen people out of the land of their oppressors, in which 
 they had sojourned for many years, as he had promised 
 to Abraham in the very hour when he forewarned him of 
 tKeir foreign yoke. In remembrance of the mercy which 
 had been shown to the families of Israel, at the time when 
 the Lord smote the first-bom of Egypt, tliey were com- 
 
85 
 
 Miy 
 
 be 
 this 
 of 
 ; ir 
 lem 
 . the 
 itiire, 
 from 
 
 This 
 
 ?ASS- 
 
 r tho 
 when 
 tiedis- 
 i every 
 Oi the 
 xment- 
 proud 
 revenl- 
 he 
 cm the 
 rrified 
 s were 
 Id, sil- 
 Egypt- 
 ing his 
 which 
 roirdsed 
 him of 
 which 
 e when 
 Ire com- 
 
 ciaiiJeJ to set apart their own first Lorn, n^. petuU iriy do- 
 
 (llciited to God. 
 
 But the heart of Pharaoh was humbled only for a very 
 c.'iort time ; for no sooner had the first alarm subsided 
 tiian he repented that he had let the children of Israel go, 
 and resolved to follow after tliem and bring them back* 
 Accordingly, with a great army, he pursued and overtook 
 »the Israelites just as they had encamped on the shore of 
 tlie Red Sea. Seeing themselves thus completely hem- 
 med in, without, as they thought, the possibility of escape, 
 the people were loud in tlieir murmms against tlieir lead- 
 er. " Fear ye not," was the reply of Moses ; " Stand 
 still, and see the salvation of the Lord, which we wil* 
 eho^v to you to-day, for the Egyptians whom you have 
 seen to-day, ye sliall see them again no more for ever." 
 As he spoke these word*?, tho pillar which had hitherto 
 gone l.)efore them, now shifted its place, and, moving be- 
 hind tlicm, continued to be t« them a light and guide> 
 \Vtiile lo their pursuers it proved a cloud and darkness. 
 Then Moses stretches his rod over the sea ; a passage is 
 opened up to the Israelites, the waters being like a wall 
 on their right hand and on their left j they enter, and are 
 hotly pursued ])y the Egj'ptians. But as soon as the 
 Israelites have reached the opposite shore in safety, Moses 
 again stretches his rod over the sea ; the waters rush back 
 to their former level ; tha Eg}'ptians are overwhelmed, and 
 not one of all Pharaoh's mighty host escapes. This won- 
 derful deliverance was celebrated by the Israelites with 
 great rejoicings, Moses himself composing one of the nob- 
 lest songs of triumph which has ever been written, and 
 Miriam, followed by other woman,accompanying tlie music 
 witii timbrels and dances. 
 
 M 
 
86 
 
 LESSON X. 
 
 li ' i 
 
 I 
 
 con-clud-od 
 
 A-ra-b'ia 
 
 in-ter-rupt-ed 
 
 ob-sta-eles 
 
 hordes 
 
 man-na 
 
 Am-a-lek-ites 
 
 pre-vail-ir»g 
 
 vic-to-ry 
 
 sanc-ti-fy 
 
 pu-ri-fy 
 
 as-scm-ble 
 
 THE LAW^ 
 
 ush-er-ed 
 
 cn-clo-sure 
 
 sol-emn ^ 
 
 pro claim 
 
 re-hearse 
 
 ad-di-tion-al 
 
 cov-e-nant 
 
 au-di-ance 
 
 ce-re-mo-ni-al 
 
 reg-ii-late 
 
 po-li-ti-cal 
 
 com-mu-ni-ty 
 
 In dc-psn-dent 
 
 pre-fig-ur-ing 
 
 sig-nif-i-cance 
 
 u-ni-ver-sal 
 
 ob-li-ga-tion 
 
 in di cat-ed 
 
 com-mu-ni-cat-ed 
 
 brev-i-ty 
 
 sim-pli-ci-ly 
 
 com-pre -hen-si ve 
 
 Re-deem-er 
 
 pe-nal-ty 
 
 Having concluded their rejoicings for their wonderful de- 
 liverance from the bondage and pursuit of Pharaoh, the 
 Israelites were led by Moses into the deserts of Arabia. 
 Their progress was there interrupted by three obstacles, 
 to whicn travellers in these barren wastes have, in al! 
 ages, been exposed ; namely, thirst, hunger, and the wan- 
 <lering hordes of the wilderness. From the thirst they 
 were delivered, in the first instance, by the miraculous 
 sweetening of a pool of bitter water to which they came, 
 and afterwards by a stream which flowed from the rock 
 Horeb, after it was struck by the rod of Moses. Their 
 hunger was satisfied by manna which fell every morning, 
 except on the Sabbath, in sufficient abundance for the 
 whole camp. The Amalekifes were also defeated in » 
 miraculous manner, — Israel prevailing when Moses 
 Gtretched forth his hands in prayer, and Amalek prevail- 
 
87 
 
 ing when he suffered them to fall down. To ensure the 
 victory to the Israelites, Aaron and Hur placed a stone 
 under Moses, and suppoited his hands till the going down 
 of the sun ; by which time the Amalekites were totally 
 routed. 
 
 At length, on the first day of the third month, after the 
 institution of the passover, the Israelites encamped at the 
 foot of Mount Sinai« Moses is commanded to make the 
 people sanctify and purify themselves for two days, and 
 on the third day bring them to forth from their camp, to 
 witness the glorious descent of Jahovah upon the sacred 
 mount. The mount was in the mean time to be fenced 
 round, at the place where the people were to assemble, 
 that they might not di-aw near or touch it. " There shall 
 not a hand touqh it," was the solemn warning, " but he 
 shall surely be stoned or shot through ; whether it be 
 beast or man, it shall not live." The third day at length 
 arrives, and is ushered in by thunder and lightnings, and 
 the sound of the trumpet exceeding loud. Sinai quakes, 
 and is covered wnth thick smoke. The Lord descends 
 upon it in fire, and calls upon Moses to come up. On 
 iiis return, Moses repeats the charge to the people, on 'no 
 account to break through the enclosure, A solemn voice 
 is then heard to proclaim, " I am the Lord thy God, who 
 have brought thee out of the land of Egypt, and out of the 
 house of bondage ;" and to rehearse tlie ten command- 
 ments of the moral law. When the voice ceased, the 
 people intreat Moses, " Speak thou with us, and we will 
 hear ; but let not God speak with us, lest we die." They 
 •accordingly remain afar off, while their leader again as- 
 cends into the thick darkness to receive God's furtliei 
 commandments. He returns with an additional portion 
 of the law, to which the people give their assent, declar- 
 

 &8 
 
 ing with one voico, " All the words vvliich the Lord hatb 
 said will we do.'' Next morning Moses erects an altar 
 at the foot of the hill, on which he olfers buml-ofTerings 
 and peace-offerings unto the Lord. With half of the 
 blood of the sacrifices he sprinkler the altar, and with the 
 other half he sprinkles the people, exclaiming at he same 
 time, " Behold the blood of the covnant." The words 
 of the covenant are also read aloud in the audience of the 
 people, who again solemnly promise obedience; and 
 twelve pillars, corresponding in number to the twelve 
 tribes of Israel, are erected as a memorial of this solenm 
 profession. 
 
 After this, Moses again ascends to the top of the moun- 
 tain, where he remains forty days, receiving the details of 
 that code of laws, which is commonly divided into three 
 parts, the Moral Law, the Ceremonial Law, and the Civil 
 Law. The Moral Law was given to teach, not only the 
 Israelites, but all mankind, the duties which they owe to 
 God and to one another. The Ceremonial Law was in- 
 stituted for the double purpose of regulating the form of 
 religious worship among the children of Israel, and of pre- 
 figuring the Lamb of God, who was to take away the 
 sin of the world by the sacrifice of himself. And the 
 Civil L»aw was given to regulate tha afiairs of the Israel- 
 ites, as a political community. Having been established 
 for a particular object, the Ceremonial Law lost its signi- 
 ficance when that object was accomplished by the 
 death of Christ. The Civil Law also ceased to be bind- 
 ing when the Jews ceased to be a separate and indepen- 
 dent nation. But the Moral Law continues to be of 
 universal and everlasting obligation, because the duties 
 which the creatures of Gml owe to him and to one ano- 
 ther can never have an end. This seems to have been 
 
89 
 
 iniicaled by llioir being written by Iho finger of God him- 
 S3lf on tlie two tables of stone, whereas the civil and 
 ceremonial laws were only communicated to Moses, 
 to be delivered by hini to the children of Israel, 
 Besides, the brevity, simplicity and comprehensive- 
 ness, of the commands of the Moral Law, fit them 
 in a peculiar manner, for being a code which all 
 men are bound to obey. On account of their shortness, 
 they are easily rememljered j on account of their simpli- 
 city, even a child can understand them ; and they are so 
 comprehensive as to include every duty which every 
 human being owes, in every condition and relation of life. 
 The grounds on which men are called upon to obey them, 
 are tiot less simple and intelligible. "I am the Lord thy 
 God," said the solemn voice heard by the Israelites, there-* 
 by enforcing the duty of obedience to God as our Creator; 
 " who brought thee out of the land of Egypt, and out 
 of the house of bondage," thereby enforcing the same 
 duty of obedience to Him as our Redeemer. Equally ex- 
 plicit, and equally applicable to every intelligent creature, 
 is the sanction which he added to the Moral Law. " Cur- 
 sed is every one that continueth not in all things which 
 are written in the book of the law to do them." 
 
 LESSON XI. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 God of Bethel ! by whose hand 
 Thy people still are fed j ,), ,;, 
 
 Who through this weary j 4^imag8 
 Hast all our fathers let r 
 
 I !■!!! *-;»'/•»- 
 
p^ 
 
 •90 
 
 Our vowB, our prayers, we now present 
 Before lliy throne of grace : J 
 
 GoO of our fathers ! be the God 
 Of their succeetli?ig race. 
 
 Through each perplexing path of life 
 Our wondVing footsteps guide ; 
 
 Give us each day our daily bread, 
 And raiment fit provide. 
 
 O spread tliy cov'ring wings around, 
 Till all our wand'rings cease, 
 
 And at our Father' lov'd abode 
 Our souls arrive in peace. 
 
 Such blessings from thy gracious hand 
 
 Our humble pray'rs implore ; 
 And thou shalt be our chosen God^ 
 And portion evermore. , , 
 
 
 LESSON XIL 
 
 THE FINDING OF MOSES. 
 
 Slow glides the Nile ; amid the margin flags, 
 Closied in a bulrush ark, the babe is left — 
 Left by a mother's hand. His sister waits 
 Far off J and pale, 'tween hope and fear beholds 
 The royal maid, surrounded by her train, 
 Approach the river bank, — approach the spot ' 
 Where sleeps the innocent : she sees them stoop 
 With meeting plumes ; the rushy lid is op'd 
 And wakes the infant smiling in liis tears, 
 
 n 
 
91 
 
 As wheji along a little mountain lake, 
 The Piimmer pouth-vvind breathes, with gentle sigh. 
 And parts the reedf, unveiling as they l)end, 
 A water-lily floating on the wave. 
 
 LESSON XIII. 
 
 THE FIRST-BORN OF EGYPT. 
 
 When life is forgot, and night hath power, 
 And mortals feel no dread, 
 
 When silence and slumber rule the hour. 
 And dreams are round the head ; 
 
 God shall smite the first-born of Egypt's race, 
 
 The destroyer shall enter each dwelling-place- 
 Shall enter and choose his dead 
 
 " To your homes," said the leader of Israel's host, 
 
 " And slaughter a sacrifice ;- - 
 
 <' Let tlie life-blood be sprinkled on each door-post, 
 
 " Nor stir till the morning arise : 
 " And the angel of vengeance shall pass you by 
 
 <• He shall see the red stain, and shall not come 
 nigh, 
 
 " Where the hope of your household lies." 
 
 The people hear, and they bow them low — 
 
 Each to his hoxLse hath flown : 
 The Lamb is slain, and with Mood they go, 
 
 And sprinkle the lintel-stone ; 
 And the doors they close when the stm hath:set, 
 But few in oblivious sleep forget ^ 
 
 The judgment to be done, :'^^ --.n ' 
 
 . - i 
 
r 
 
 92 
 
 I I 
 
 Tis midnight — yet they hear no eound , ' / 
 
 Along the lone still street J 
 No blast of pestilence sweeijs die ground, 
 
 No tramp of unearthly fe6t ; ^ ■ 
 
 Nor rush as of harpy wing goes by, 
 But the calm moon floats on the cloudless sky, 
 
 'Mid her wan light clear and sweet. 
 
 Once only, shot like an arrow ray, 
 
 A pale blue flash was seen. 
 It passVd so swift, the eye scarce could say 
 
 That such a thing had been ; 
 Yet the beat of every heart was still. 
 And the flesh crawled fearfully and chill, 
 
 And back flowed every vein. 
 
 The courage of Israel's bravest quail'd 
 
 At the view of that awful light. 
 Though knowing the blood of their off'ring avail'd 
 
 To shield them 4rom its might: 
 They felt 'twas the Spirit, of Death had past. 
 That the brightness they, saw his cold glance had cast 
 
 On Egypt's land that night., r '• ■ 
 
 That his'fearfiil eye' had' unwarn'dstnick down. 
 
 In the darkness of the graven 
 The hope of that empire, the pride ofits crown. 
 
 The first-born of l<Mrd and ^ve' ; — 
 The lovely, the tender, the ardent, the gay ; 
 Where are they ? — all withered in ashes away. 
 
 At the terrible deati*-glare it gave. : , , 
 
 From the couches of dumber ten thousand cries 
 Burst forth 'mid the silence of diead — 
 
 The youth by his living brother lies 
 Sightless, and dumb, apd ^^&t n 
 
 ft 
 
 ,a, 
 
i)3 
 
 The infant lies cold at his mother's breast, 
 ' She had kissM him alive as she sank to rest, 
 She awakens — his life hath fled. 
 
 And shrieks from tlie palace-chambers break — 
 
 Their inmates are steeped in wo. 
 And Pharaoh had found his arm too weak 
 
 To arrest the mighty blow : 
 Wail, king of the Pyramids'! Egypt's throne 
 Cannot lighten thy heart of a single groan, 
 
 For thy kingdom's heir laid low. 
 
 Wail, King of the Pyramids ! Death hath cast 
 His shafts through thine empire wide, 
 
 But o'er Israel in bondage his rage hatli past, 
 No first-bom of her** hath died — 
 
 Go, Satrap ! command that the captive be free. 
 
 Lest their God in fierce anger should smite even thee 
 On the crown of thy purple pride. 
 
 ■ \i 
 
 !i i 
 
 LESSON XIV. 
 
 A HEBREW MELODY. 
 
 -■''./. 
 
 . -( \ :'(U\ 
 
 Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ! 
 Jehovah hath triumph'd — his people are free ! 
 Sing — for the pride of the tyrant is broken, " 
 
 His chariots and horsemen,^ all splendid and brave, 
 How vain was their boasting ! — The Lord hath but 
 spoken, - - •' 
 
 And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave 
 Sound the. loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea ; . . 
 Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free ! 
 
94. 
 
 Pial-^c to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord, 
 
 Hir) word was our arrow, his breath was our sword! 
 
 Who shall return to tell Egypt the story 
 
 Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride 1 
 For the Lord hath looked out from his pillar of glory, 
 
 And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide. 
 Sound the loud timbrel o^er Egypt,s dark sea ; 
 Jehovah has triumph'd — his people are free ! 
 
 LESSON XV. 
 
 HYMN OP THE HEBREW MAID. 
 
 When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 
 
 Out from the land of bondage came. 
 Her father^s God before her moved. 
 
 An awful guide in smoke and flame. 
 By day along the astonished lands 
 
 The cloudy pillar glided slow y 
 By night Arabia's crimsoned sands 
 
 Retum'd the fiery pillar's glow. 
 
 There rose the choral hymn of praise, 
 
 And trump and timbrel answered kei 
 And Zion's daughter poured their lays, 
 
 With priest's and warrior's voice bet • 
 Ko portents now our foes amaze, 
 
 Forsaken Israel wander lone ; 
 Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 
 
 And thou hast left them to their own. 
 
 But present still, though now unseen ' ^'^ 
 When brightly shines the prosperous '-;^' 
 
 Be thoughts of thee a cloudy screen -' 
 
 To temper the deceitful ray. - ' 
 
15 
 
 Ami oil ! \v!uvi sloops on Jiuliih's path 
 In sliado and vtorni t)ic frequent nighty 
 
 Be tliou long sufT'ring, slow to wrath, 
 A burning and a shining light. 
 
 Our harps we led by Babel's stream, 
 
 The tyrant's jest, the Gentiles' scorn, 
 Nor censer round our altars beams. 
 
 And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn ; 
 But thou hast said, — << The blood of goats, 
 
 The flesh of rams I will not prize ; 
 A contrite heart, an humble thought. 
 
 Are mine accepted sacrifice." 
 
 LESSON XVI. 
 
 PROTECTION AND GUIDANCE SUPPLICATED. 
 
 Thus far on life's perplexing path, 
 Thus far,the Lord our steps hath led ; 
 
 Safe from the world's pursuing wrath 
 Unharm'd though floods hung o'er our head ; 
 
 Here then we pause, look back, adore, 
 
 Like ransomd Israel from the shore. 
 
 Strangers and pilgrims here bejiow. 
 
 As all our fathers in their day, 
 We to a land of promise go, 
 
 Lord, by thine own appointed way ; 
 Still guide, illumine, cheer our flighty 
 In cloud by day, in fire by night. 
 
I , 
 
 96 
 
 Pr tjct us through this wilderness 
 
 From serpent, plague, and hostile rage ; 
 
 Witli bread from heaven our table bless, 
 With living streams our thirst assuage, 
 
 Nor let our rebel heaits repine, 
 
 Or follow any voice but Thine. 
 
 Thy righteous law to us proclaim, 
 But not from Sinai's top alone ; 
 
 Hid on the rock-cleft be thy name, 
 
 Thy power and all thy goodness shown. 
 
 And may we never bow the kneo 
 
 To any other <^od but Thee. 
 
 Thy presence with us, move or rest 5 
 And as an eagle o'er her brood 
 
 Flutters her pinions, stira the nest, 
 Covers, defends, provides them food, 
 
 Bears on her wings, instructs to fly, 
 
 Thus, tlius prepare us for the sky. 
 
 When we have number'd all our years. 
 And stand at length on Jordan's brink, 
 
 Though the flesh fail with human fears, 
 Oh ! let not then the spirit shrink ; 
 
 But strong in faith, and hope, and love. 
 
 Plunge through the stream, to rise above. ' 
 
 ;> I 
 
 ' rir.ii ■^^J,', 
 
 I -* '. 
 
 
 •rii- 
 
 ;(■/,[ .j.{ ,^,; 
 
 ! I / ii '. 
 
 ri-T 
 
 
 . : i .;' '.7/ 
 
 . • '■■-■■'1 \hi?< 
 
97 
 
 
 
 SECTION in. 
 
 
 > 
 
 LESSON I. 
 
 
 
 METALS. 
 
 
 
 utor — George — Henry. 
 
 
 mal-le-a-bil-i-ty 
 
 duc-ti-li-ty 
 
 fu-si-bil-i-ty 
 
 fos-sils 
 
 min-e-rals 
 
 ex-pe-ri-ence 
 
 min-e-ral-o-gy 
 
 cha-rac-ter-iB-tic 
 
 pro-ducta 
 
 rev-e-nue 
 
 bril-lian-oy 
 
 crys-tals 
 
 o-paque 
 
 trans-pa-rent 
 
 ef-fec-tu-al-Iy 
 
 T. Now, my young friends, if you have a mind^ I will 
 tell you something about metals. 
 
 G. Pray do, Sir. ^ 
 
 H. Yes 5 I should like it of all things. 
 
 T. Well then. First let us consider what a metal is. 
 Do you think you should know one from a stone? 
 
 'G. A stone ! Yes ; I could not mistake a piece of lead 
 or iron for a stone. * 
 
 T. How would you distinguish it t 
 
 G. A metal is bright and shining. 
 
 T. True, brilliancy is one of the qualities of metals, 
 But glass and crystals are also very brighL 
 
 H. But we can see through glass, and not through a 
 piece of metal. 
 
 T. Right. Opacity, or a want of transparency, is gen- 
 erally esteemed one of the distinguishing characteristics of 
 metals. Gold, however, when beaten very thin, trans- 
 mits a green light. 
 
 G. Metals are very heavy too. 
 
98 
 
 T. All metals were thought to be so till very lately, 
 but some very light metals have been discovered within 
 those few years, so that weight is not now considered as 
 one of their characteristics. Well, what else ? 
 
 G. Why, they will bear beating with a hammer, which 
 a stone will not, without flying in pieces. 
 
 T. Yes ; that property of extending or spreading under 
 tlie hammer is called malleability ; and another, like it, is 
 tfiat of bearing to be drawn out into wire, which is called 
 ducliliiy. Metals have both these, and much of their 
 use depends upon them. ■ ^: 
 
 G. Metals will melt too. v 
 
 •H. vWhat ! will iron melt ? 
 
 T. Yes.; all metals will melt, though some requii9 
 greater heat than others. The property of melting is called 
 fasibility. Do you know any thing more about them ? 
 
 G. No J except that they are brought out of the ground^ 
 I believe. , 
 
 T. That is properly added, for it is that circumstance 
 which makes them rank among fossils ot minerals. To 
 «um up their character, then, metals are brilliant, opaque, 
 malleable, ductile, and fusible minerals. , 
 
 G. I am afraid I can hardly remember all that. 
 
 T. The names may slip from your memory, but yon 
 cannot see metals used at all, without being sensible of 
 the things, 
 
 G. But what arc ores ? I rcmemoer seeing a heap of 
 iron ore which men breaking witli hammers, and it looked 
 very like a heap of stones. 
 
 T. The ore of a metal is the state in which it is gener- 
 ally met with in the earth, when it is so mixed with stony 
 and other matters, as not to show its proper qualities as a 
 metal. 
 
99 
 
 H. How do peopl3 know it then T 
 
 T. By experience. It was probably accident, which 
 in the early ages, discovered that certain fossils, by tb* 
 force of fire, might be made to jrield a metal. The ex- 
 periment was repeated on other fossils ; so that, in course 
 of time, all the different metals, and all the different forms 
 in which they lie concealed in the ground, were found 
 out. This branch of knowledge is called Mineralogy^ 
 and a very important science it is. > 
 
 G. Yes, I suppose so \ for metals are 'very valuable 
 things. I have heard that a great deal of money every 
 year is made from the liiines in Wales. ' ' ' 
 
 T. The mineral wealth of somie countries is much su- 
 perior to that of the products above ground, and the re- 
 venue of many kings is in a great measure derived from 
 ^eir mines. But I suppose I have told you as much as 
 'you can remember; in our next lesson we shall resume 
 the subject, when I shall give you an account of some of 
 the principal metals. 
 
 LESSON II. 
 
 r , , 
 
 GOLD. 
 
 ■■ .. .'p 
 
 em-broid-er-y 
 
 a-gri-cul-ture 
 
 te-na-ci-ty 
 
 man-u-fac-tures 
 
 co-he-sion 
 
 sub-sist ence 
 
 u-ten-sil 
 
 il-lus-trate 
 
 val-u-a-bfe 
 
 tol-e-ra-We 
 
 a-bun-dance 
 
 in-trin-sic 
 
 coun-ter-feii,^ 
 
 gcn' 
 
 oa-p&-ci-tjr ' ■ ' tobSB-mu-iiJ-ty'- ." •pros-pSi-i'ij 
 
 m-ter-feit./ ::.;£a-lcj^' ; : ;.:.'. :Lvi>-di^.oe.^ 
 i-u-me * • * • ' 'ffk-iag-g^r-at-id ' * 'ih*4feg-lri-ljr" 
 
100 
 
 ' Tutor. Well, have you been thinking of what 1 told 
 ypu, in last lesson, about metals? — Can you repeat their 
 ciistinguishing proierties ? , . , 
 
 ., GcEORGE. I can : they are brilliant, opaque, malleable, 
 ductile, ^nd fusible. , ,.,, 
 
 . Henrt. And I have been thinking several times of 
 what you told us about the mines in some countries 
 yielding the principal part of the king's revenue. I sup- 
 pose they must be gold and silver mines. 
 
 T. These to be sure are the most valuable, if the metals 
 .are found in tolerable abimdance. But do you know whr 
 they ace so ? 
 
 H. Because money is made of gold and silver. 
 
 T. That is one reason, no doubt. But tliese metal,s 
 have intrinsic properties that make them highly valuable, 
 else probably they would nofhave been chosen in so many 
 countries to make money of. In tlie first place, gold and 
 iftlver are both perfect metals, tliat is, they cannot be de- 
 itroyed by fire. Other metals, if kept a considerable 
 -time in the fire, change by degrees into a powdery or 
 scaly matter called calx. You have seen melted lead I 
 dare say t 
 
 G. Yes, often. -' 
 
 T. Have you not, then, perceived a drossy film collect: 
 upon its surface after it had been kept melting a while t 
 
 G. Yes. 
 
 T. That is calx ; and in time the whole lead woidiJ: 
 change to such a substance. You may likewise seetha- 
 when you have heated the poker red hot, some scales se- 
 parate ^KJVA \i.yi]x'xX\ arc brittle and. drofsy. 
 
 H. Yes; iliE kitchen, p 'ikar irf almost bu»*nt away by 
 putting it into ^the fire. ^ ^ 
 
 T. Well, ail metals imderge ^he^'c^hartgen',* except gold 
 
tor 
 
 told 
 their 
 
 able, 
 
 ,39 of 
 [itries 
 
 8Up- 
 
 aetals 
 ^whT 
 
 meta^a 
 iuablCi 
 
 many 
 Id and 
 be de- 
 
 erablo 
 ery or 
 
 lead I 
 
 collect. 
 rhUel 
 
 woi£i3 
 Isee tha 
 [ales ee- 
 
 |way by 
 
 reptgold 
 
 stndsilven-; but thche, if kept ever so long in the hottedl 
 firr, sustain no loss or change. They arc therefore jjer- 
 fe t ir.etals. Gold has several other remarkable proper- 
 ties. It is the heaviest of all metals, except platina. 
 
 H. What ! is ii heavier than lead / 
 
 T. Yes : it is between nineteen anci twenty times as 
 heavy as an equal bulk of \Valer. This weight is a ready 
 means of discovering (rounterfeit ^old coin from genuine ; 
 for as gold must be adulterated v\nth something much 
 lighter than itself, a false coin, if of the same weight with 
 file true, will be sensibly bigger. Gold is also the mosi^ 
 ductile of all metals. You have seen leaf gold ? 
 
 G. I once bought a book of it. 
 
 T. Leaf-gold is made by beating a plate of gold, plac^ 
 between pieces of skin, with heavy hammers till it is 
 spread out to the utmost degree of thinnoss. And so 
 great is its capability of being extended, that a single grain 
 of the metal, which would scarcely be bigger than a largo 
 pin's head, may be beaten out to a surface of fifty square* 
 inches. 
 
 G. That is wonderful indeed! but I know leaf gold 
 must be very thin, for it will almost float upon the air. 
 
 T. By drawing gold out to wire, it may be still farther' 
 exteAded. Gold wire, as it is called, is made with silver,- 
 over-laid with a small proportion of gold, which is drawn 
 out along vdth it. In the wire commonly used for laces 
 and embroidery, and the like, a grain of gold is made to 
 cover a length of three hundred and fifty-two feet ; and 
 when it is stretched still farther by flatting, it will reach 
 four hundred and one feet. 
 
 H Prodigious! Whatavas' way a guinea might be 
 drawn out! . ' 
 
 T* The gold of a guinea at that rate w«uld reach abovs 
 
I I 
 
 li; I 
 
 f/i i 
 
 i 1 
 
 ill 
 
 m 
 
 ! > 
 > I 
 
 102 
 
 nine miles and a half. The property in gold of being 
 capable of extension to go extraordinary a degree, is 
 ovvdng to its great tenacity or cohesion of particles, whicii 
 ia such, that you can scarcely break a piece of gold wire by 
 twisting it ; and a wire of gold will sustain a greater 
 weight than one equally thick of any other metal. 
 
 H. Then it would make very good wire for hanging bells. 
 
 T. It would J but such bell-hanging would be ratlier 
 too dear. Another good quality of gold is its fine colour. 
 You know that scarcely ary thing makt s a more splendid 
 appearance than gilding. And a particular advantage of it 
 iS| that gold is not liable to rust or tarnish, as other metals 
 are. It will keep its colour in a pure and clear air for a 
 great many years. 
 
 H. I remember the vane of the churcli steeple was ne^ 
 gilt two years ago, and it looks as well as at first. 
 
 T. This property of not rasting would render gol/ 
 very usafijl for a variety of purposes, if it were mem 
 common. It would make excellent cooking utensils 
 water-pipes, &c. 
 
 G. But is not gold soft ? I have seen pieces of golft 
 bent double. 
 
 T. It is next in softness to lead, and therefore, when it 
 is made into coin, or used for any common purposes, it is 
 mixed with a small portion of some other metal in ordei 
 10 harden it. This, is called its allo^. Our gold coir 
 has one-twelfth part of alloy, which is a mixture of silver 
 and copper, 
 
 G. How beautiful new gold coin is ! 
 T. Yes ; scarcely any metal takes a stamp or imprest 
 ion better, and it is capable of a very fine polish. 
 
 G. What countries yield the most gold ? •:;. 
 
 , T. South America, the East Indies, and the coasts o' 
 
 Africa. Europe afibrds but little ; yet a moderaU 
 
103 
 
 )eing 
 
 B, 19 
 
 re by 
 ■eatef 
 
 beUs. 
 ratlier 
 olour. 
 lendid 
 re of it 
 naetals 
 for a 
 
 ;r goli' 
 more 
 tensUs 
 
 )f goU 
 
 when it 
 es, it is 
 1 oiLdei 
 d coir 
 f silver 
 
 iprest 
 
 loasts o 
 
 loderaU 
 
 quantity is got every yeai' lirom Hungary. Gold has also 
 been found in the county of Wicklow, and some time ago 
 one piece v^^as found nearly pure, which weighed no leas 
 than twenty two ounces* 
 
 G. I havj read of rivers rolling over sands of gold. 
 Is ihere any truth in that ? 
 
 T. The poets, as usual, have greatly ex iprated tlie 
 matter ; however, th;^re are various streams m different 
 parts of the worlds the sands of which contain particles of 
 gold, and some of th?m in such quantity as to be worth 
 the search. 
 
 H. How does the gold come there ? 
 T. It is washed down along with the soil from moun- 
 tiinsbythe torrents, which are the sources of rivers. 
 Some perscns say that all sands contain gold ; but I 
 would not advise you to take the pains to search for it in 
 our common sand j for in more senses than one, gold may 
 be bought too dear. 
 
 H. But what a fine thing it would be to find a gold 
 mine on one's estate. 
 
 T. Perhaps not so fine as you imagine, for many a 
 mine does not pay the cost of working. A coal-pit 
 would probably be a better thing. Who do you think 
 are the greatest-gold-finders in Europe ? 
 
 H. I don't know. 
 
 T. The gypsies in Hungary. A number of half-starved 
 half-naked wretches of that community employ themselves 
 in washing and picking the sands of some mountain- 
 streams which contain gold, from which they obtain just 
 profit enough to keep them alive ; whereas, were they to 
 employ themselves in agriculture or manufactures, they 
 might perhaps earn -a comfortable subsistence . . - > 
 
 G, In what part pf the world was gold first discover- 
 ed f _ _ 
 
i I 
 
 I ! 
 
 ! 
 
 I 
 
 104 
 
 T. Probably in some of the countries of Western Asia; 
 for we may infer from Genesis ii, 11, 12, that it was 
 either found in the sands of one of the rivers which wa- 
 tered the garden of Eden, or dug from mines in the sur- 
 rounding country. 
 
 G. Gold is very often spoken of in the Bibl6. 
 
 T. It is ; and I think I cannot conclu le tliis lesson 
 oetter than by explaining some of the passages in which 
 it is mentioned. We read in the books of Moses, that 
 g^t quantities of it were used in making the sacred 
 vessels. David, as we learn from 1 Chron. xxii. 14, 
 had prepared for building the temple no lesa than a hund- 
 red thousand talents of gold, which was perhaps equal in 
 ▼alue to five hundred millions of our money, A greai 
 part of Solomon's wealth consisted in the quantity of 
 gold which he possessed. We are told in 1 Kings x. 14, 
 that " the weight of gold which came to him in one year 
 was six hundred and si:-ty-six talents (nearly two and a 
 half millions,) besides what he had of the merchantmen, 
 and of the traffic of the spice merchants, and of all the 
 kings of Arabia, and of the governors of the country." 
 Grold is employed by the inspired writers as a figure of 
 q)eech to illustrate the value of spiritual gifts. " Wisdom 
 cannot be gotten for gold," says Job, The Psalmist af- 
 firms that God's commandments are *' more to be desired 
 than gold, yea, than much fine gold." Peter tells us 
 that " the trial of our faith is much more precious than 
 gold, though it be tried v^th fire." And in the book of 
 Bevelations, we are informed that St. John was instructed 
 to say to the church of Laodicea ; " I counsel thee to buy 
 cf me gold tried in the fire, that thou may est be rich." 
 Gold stands for all earthly riches ; as when Job, protest- 
 bg his integrity, says, " if I made gold my hope, or said 
 
105 
 
 unto the fine gold, Thou art my confidence, &c. this 
 were an iniquity to be punished by the judge." And it 
 is taken, when united with the idea of a crown, to repr^ 
 sent prosperity, honour, and happiness; as when the 
 Psalmist says, in offering thanksgiving for a victory, (Psa. 
 xri.) " Thou settest a crown of pure gold on his head.** 
 And the elders that are spoken of in the book of Kevel- 
 ations, are said to have << had on their heads crowns ot 
 gold." . 
 
 • 
 
 1 • ' , 
 LESSON III. 
 
 ■ 
 
 ,*.*,- - 1 
 
 t ■ • 
 
 SILVER. 
 
 
 Pfe-ni 
 
 sauce-pan 
 
 De-me-tri-u8 
 
 Po-to-si 
 
 cor-rod-ed 
 
 £-phe-sian 
 
 u-ten-sils 
 
 dis-solv-ed 
 
 Je-ru-sa-lem 
 
 tar-nish 
 
 pa-tri-arch 
 
 mor-al 
 
 rar-i-ty 
 
 se-pul-chre 
 
 de-gen-er-a-cy 
 
 va-ri-e-ty 
 
 ehek-els 
 
 com-par-i-son 
 
 or-na-ment-al 
 
 hea-then 
 
 sig-ni-fy 
 
 > 
 than 
 
 George. I think, ^rom what you told us m the last 
 lesson, that I would rather have a silver mine after all. 
 
 Henry. Are there any silver mines in the British > 
 Hands? •' •'■ '■ '■ r -^-- ^' ^^ : "i--r-^ .^;,.-'^ - 
 
 Tutor. We have no silver mines, properly so called; 
 but silver is procured in some of our lead mines. There 
 are pretty rich silver mines, however, in various parts of 
 Europe; but the richest of all are in Peru, in South 
 America. 
 
 G« Are not the famous mines of Pbtosi there t . ^ ^ 
 
II 'I 
 
 I I 
 
 106 
 
 ^; T. They are. Shall I now tell you some of the pro- 
 perties of silver, , ! ,^j, , ? 7 , 
 .. G. By all means. r ,:: < - ' « 
 r. T. It is the other perfect metal. It is also as Uttle li- 
 able to rust as gold, tliougii indeed it is easily tarnished. 
 ' H. I believe silver plate must generally be cleaned be- 
 fore Jt can bo used. . s 
 
 T» Plate, however, is not made of pure silver, any more 
 than silver coin and silver utensils of all kinds. An alloy 
 is mixed with it, as with gold, to harden it ; and that 
 makes it more liable to tarnish. 
 G. Bright silver, I think, is almost as beautiful as gold, 
 T. It is the most beautiful oft the white metals, and ia 
 capable of a very fine polish ; and this, together with its 
 rarity, makes it to be used for a great variety of ornamental 
 purposes. Then it is nearly as ductile and malleable as 
 
 G. I have liad silver leaf, and it seemed as thin as gold 
 leaf* . - 
 
 T. It is, nearly so ; and it is used for silvering, as gold 
 leaf is for gilding. It is also common to cover metali 
 with a thin coating of silver, which is called plating. 
 
 H% I have seen a saucepan silvered over in the inside 
 what was that for ? ■ . 
 
 T. To prevent the victuals from getting any taint from 
 the metal of the saucepan ; for silver is not capable of 
 being corroded or dissolved by any of the liquids used for 
 food, as iron and copper are. 
 
 ^^ H. And that is the reason, 1 4iq>pose, why fruit-knives 
 are made of silver. ;.;, 
 
 ^ Tr It is ; but the softness of the metal makes them bear 
 A very poor edge. 
 
 G. Does silver melt easily f -ryr^A ^ti^ 
 
 
107 
 
 T. Silver and gold botn melt with greater difliculty than 
 lead J not, indoeil, till they are above a common red heat. 
 As to the weight of silver, it is nearly one half less than 
 that of gold, being only eleven times heavier than water. 
 
 G, Was silver discovered as early as gold ? 
 
 T, No ; it docs not appear, that silver was in use Ije- 
 fore the deluge ; for Moses says nothing of it previous to 
 that event, though he speaks of brass and iron. In Abra- 
 ham's time it had become common, and traffic was carried 
 on by means of it. That patriarch is said to have been 
 rich in silver and gold, and to have given foiu* hundred 
 shekels for a sepulchre for Sarah. The f«hekel was not a 
 coin, at least at that time, but a weight of two hundred 
 and nineteen grains, worth nearly two shillings apd fiye- 
 pence of our money. 
 
 G. I think I have read, that the heathen sometimes 
 made their idols of silver. 
 
 T. Yes J we are told in Acts xix. 24, that Demetrius 
 the silversmith made silver shrines for Diana, who was 
 the imaginary goddess of the Ephesians. 
 
 H. Was not silver also employed in the building of 
 Solomon's temple ? 
 
 T. It was. In the same passage, in which we are 
 Md, that David laid up a hundred thousand talents of 8;old 
 for that purpose, it is also mentioned, that he had prepar- 
 ed " a thousand thousand talents of silver ;" probably 
 about eighteen millions of pounds sterling, Solomon was 
 ttlso very rich in silver j so much so, that he is said to 
 have " made silver to be in Jerusalem as stones for abun- 
 dance.'* And it appear^ to have, been in great request 
 among the neighbouring, nations. Tarshish traded with 
 alver in the fairs of Tyre, (Ezek. xxvii. 12 ;) and « Tyre 
 heaped up sjlyetr as. dyst," (Zech. ix. 3.) Like gold, 
 
 r 
 
 I 
 
 fi 
 
108 
 
 silver id odon used as a figure in the Scriptures. Thus 
 moral degeneracy is described by silver becoming d/oss, 
 (\wi. i. 22.) It stands for all worldly possessions, 
 (Eccles. V. 10.) And it is a comparison, by which, or. 
 account of its excellence, the sacred writers illustrate wi^ 
 dom, (Job xxviii. 15 ;) the word of God, (Psalm xii. 6 ;) 
 and the tongue of the just, (Prov. x. 20,) which are ai 
 oompared to silver. 
 
 quick-sil-ver 
 flu-id 
 a-mal*gam 
 ▼ol-a-tile 
 
 LESSON IV. 
 
 QUICKSILVER. 
 
 Bir-ming-ham 
 mer-cu-ry 
 med-i-cine 
 sal-i-va-tion 
 
 ver-mil-lion. 
 cin-na-bar 
 eom>merce 
 in-fe-ri«or 
 
 Henry. Is quicksilver a kind of silver ? 
 
 Tutor. It take its names from silver, being very like 
 it in colour ; but in reality it is a very different thing, and 
 erne of the mx)8t singular of the metal kind. 
 
 GfiORGE. It is not malleable, I am sure. 
 
 T. No, when it is quic& or fluid, as it always is in our 
 climate. But a very great degree of cold makes it solid , 
 and then it is malleable like other metals. ^ 
 
 G. I have heard of killing quicksiller ; what does thai « 
 meant 
 
 T. It means destroying its property of running about, by 
 mixing it with some other substance. Thus, if quicksil- 
 ver be well rubbed with fat, or oil, or gum, it mutes with 
 them, losing all its metallic appearance of fluidity. It 
 also unites readilv with gold and silver, and several other.. 
 
109 
 
 rhuft 
 
 ;088, 
 
 ioni, 
 1, or. 
 
 .6;) 
 re ai 
 
 like 
 ig,and 
 
 in our 
 It solid . 
 
 that , 
 
 )ut,by 
 ucksU- 
 Is with 
 
 k It 
 
 h other. 
 
 mjtii!s, into the form of a kind of shining paste, which ii 
 eallcii an amalgam. Tliis is one of the mntiiods of gilil- 
 ing or Bilvcring thing3 ; buttons, for instance, aro gilt by . 
 mcanM of an amalg.im. 
 
 G. How is that done ? 
 
 T The shells of the button, which are made of copper, 
 are shaken in a hat with a lump of amalgam of gold and ' 
 quicksilver, till they are covered over with it. They ans 
 then put into a sort of frying pan, and held over the fire. 
 The quicksilver, being very volatile in its nature, flies oflf 
 in the form of smoke or vapor when it is heated, leaving 
 the gold behind it spread over the surface of the button. 
 Thus many dozen buttons are gilt at once with the great?, 
 est ease. 
 
 H- What a clever way ? I should like vastly to see il 
 done. 
 
 T. You may see it at Birmingham, if you should ever 
 happen to be there, as well as a great many other curioui 
 operations on metals. 
 
 G, What a weight quicksilver is ! I remember taking- 
 up a bottle full of it, and I had Hketo have dropped ?,. 
 again, it was so much heavier than I expected. 
 
 T. Yes, is it one of the heaviest of metals, being about 
 fifteen times heavier than water. 
 
 G. Is not mercuiy a name for quicksilver ? I have 
 beard talk of the mercury rising and falling in the wea- 
 tlier -glass. 
 
 T. It is. You have perhaps also heard of mercurial, - 
 medicines, which are prepared from quicksilver. 
 
 G. What are they good for ? 
 
 T. For a great nnmber of complaints. But they have 
 one remarkable effect, when taken in a considerable 
 quantity, which is, to loosen the teeth, and cause a great 
 spitting. This is called salivation. 
 
 r'A 
 
 \ Tt 
 
•110 
 
 H. I used to think quicksilver was poison, 
 T. When it is in its common state of running quicksil- 
 ver, it generally does neither good nor harm ; but it may 
 be prepared so as to be a very violent medicine, or even 
 a pc son. 
 
 G. Is it useful for any thing else ? 
 T. Yes, for a variety of purposes in the arts, which 1 
 cannot not now very well explain to you. But you will 
 perhaps be surprised to hear, that one -of the finest red 
 paints is made from quicksilver, 
 G, A red paint ! Which is that I 
 T Vermillion, or cinnabar, which is a particular mix- 
 ture of sulphur with quicksilver. 
 
 H, Is quicksilver found in this country ? 
 T. No, The greatest quantity comes from Spain, 
 Istria, and South America. It is a considerable object of 
 coimnerce, and bears a high, value, though much inferior 
 to silver. . 
 
 LESSON V. 
 
 COPPER. 
 
 bra-zier 
 
 eoc-po-sure 
 
 cal-cined 
 
 im-per-fect 
 
 oor-rode 
 
 sa-line 
 
 ver-di-gris 
 
 nau-se-ous 
 
 dis-a-gree-a-ble 
 
 con-ve-ni-ent 
 
 im-pres-sion 
 
 com-mod-i-ties 
 
 in-gre-di-ent 
 ca-la-mine ~ 
 An-gle-sey 
 tab-er-na-cle 
 in-di-vid-u als 
 du-ra-bil-i-tj 
 
 TuTOR.^ Now that you know the chief properties of 
 gold, silver, and mercury, suppose we go on to aame of 
 the other metals. ■.- 
 
 ■I 
 
 I 
 
Ill 
 
 .13 
 
 rties oi 
 >xiie 9^ 
 
 GEor.GE. Prav do. 
 
 IlENiiY. Ye3, by all means. 
 
 T. Very well. You know copper, I doubt not. 
 ; G. yes ! 
 
 T. What colour do you call it ? 
 
 G. I think it is a sort of reddish-brown. 
 
 T. True. Sometimes, however, it is of a bright re J, 
 like sealing-wax. It is not a very heavy metal, not quite 
 nine times the weight of water. It is pretty ductile, bear- 
 ing to be rolled or hammered out to a very thin plate, and 
 also to be drawn out to a fine wire. 
 
 H. I remember seeing a halfpenny, that had been 
 roUed out to a long ribbon. 
 
 G. Yes, and I have seen half a do^en men at a time, 
 with great hammers, beating out a piece of copper at the 
 orazier's. 
 
 T. Copper requires a very considerable heat to melt 
 it j and by long exposure to the fire, it may be burned or 
 calcined ; for, like all we are now to speak of, it is an 
 imperfect metal. 
 
 H. And it rusts very easily, does it not ? 
 
 T. It does ; for all acids dissolve or corrode it : so do 
 salts of every kind : hence, even air and common water 
 in a short time act upon it, for they are never free from 
 somewhat of a saline nature. 
 
 G. Is not verdigris the rust of copper ? 
 
 T. It is : a rust produced by the acid of grapes. But 
 every rust of copper is of a blue or green colour, as well 
 as verdigris. 
 
 H. And are they all poison too 1 
 
 T. They are all so in some degree, producing violent 
 sickness and pain in the bowels ; and they are all extreme- 
 ly nauseous to the taste. Even the metal itself, when 
 
I 
 
 illi 
 
 I I! H! 
 
 112 
 
 heated, has a very d'sagrooable taste and smell, 
 
 G. Then why is it used so much in cooking, brewing, 
 and the like 1 
 
 T. Because it is Ti very convenient metal for making 
 vessels, especially large ones, as it is easily worked, and 
 is sufficiently strong, though hammered thin, and bears 
 the fire well. And if vessels of it were kept quite clean, 
 and the liquor not suffered to stand long in them when.' 
 cold, there is no danger in the use. But copper vessels 
 for cooking are generally lined in the inside with tin 
 
 G; What else is copper used for ? 
 
 T. A varietyof things. Sheets of copper are sometimes 
 used to cover buildings : and of late a great quantity is 
 eofisumed in sheeting ships, that is, in covering all the part 
 under water ; the purpose of which is to protect the tim- 
 ber from worms. 
 
 H. Money is also made of copper, 
 
 T. It is; for it takes an impression in coining very 
 well, and its value is a proper proportion below silver, as 
 a price for the cheapest commodities. In some poor 
 countries they have little other than copper coin. An- 
 other great use of copper is as an ingredient irt mixed me-^ 
 tals, such as bell-metal, cannon- metal, and particularly 
 brass. 
 
 H. But brass is yellow. 
 
 T. True ; it is converted to that colour by means of 
 another metallic substance, named zinc or spelter, tlie na- 
 tural colour of which is white, A kind of brown stone 
 called' calamine is an ore of zinc. By filling a pot with 
 layers of powdered calamine and charcoal, placed alter- 
 nately with copper, and applying a pretty strong heat, tho 
 anc is driven in vapours out of the calamine, and penes 
 ^tee the copper, changing it into brass. 
 
113 
 
 G. What is the use of turnii?g copper into brass t: 
 T. It gains a fine gold-like colour, and becomes harder^ 
 more easy to melt, and less liable to rust. Hence it is 
 •ised for a variety of utensils, ornamental and useful. 
 Brass does not bear hammering well ; but is generally 
 cast into the shape wanted, and then turned in a lathe and 
 polished. Well, these are the principal things I have to 
 eay about copper. 
 
 H. But where does it come from ? 
 T. Copper is found in many countries. Britain yields 
 abundance, especially in Wales and Cornwall. In An- 
 glesey there is a whole hill called Paris mountain, consist- 
 ing of copper ore, from which immense quantities are dug 
 every year. There are copper mines too in various parts 
 oflreland. 
 
 G. And is it not mentioned in the Bible 1 
 T. Only twice j once in the book of Ezra, which 
 speaks of" two vessels of fine copper, precious as gold j" 
 and once by Paul, in his second epistle to Timothy, where 
 he complains that " Alexander the coppersmith had done 
 him much harm." But brass is frequently spoken of. 
 Tubalcain, we read in Genesis, was " an instructor of 
 every artificer in brass and iron. Brass was largely em- 
 ployed in making the Jewish tabernacle. It was a brazen 
 serpent which Moses erected in the wilderness, for curing 
 those of the people who were bitten by the fiery serpents, 
 Samson was bound by the Philistines with fetters of brass. 
 We read of " shields of brass," a " helmet of brass," 
 "greaves of brass for the legs," " pillars of brass," " cym- 
 bals of brass," " vessels of brass,'' and of many other 
 things formed of that m.etal. And brass is employed as a 
 figure, to point out various qualities in kingdoms and in- 
 dividuals, such as impudence, strength, and durability. 
 
LESSON VI. 
 
 I! 
 
 e-las-tic 
 
 te-na-ci-ous 
 
 ob-ject-ed 
 
 mal-le-a-bil-i-ty 
 
 im-ple-ments 
 
 flex-i-ble 
 
 in-flam-ma-ble 
 
 corn-pact 
 
 tex-ture 
 
 tem-per-ing 
 
 IRON. 
 
 ex-qui-site 
 
 Creoe-sus 
 
 man-u-fac-ture 
 
 ma-chin-e-ry 
 
 Mex-i-cans 
 
 Pe-ru-vi-ans 
 
 per-ni-ci-ous 
 
 con-sti-tu-tion 
 
 me-di-ci-nal 
 
 cha-lyb-e-ate 
 
 sed-i-meni 
 
 at-tract-ed 
 
 mag- net 
 
 com-mu-ni-cato 
 
 im-por-ta-tion 
 
 o-ri-ginal 
 
 fig-u ra tive 
 
 ir-re-sist-i-bl 
 
 au-thor-i-ty 
 
 con-scienco 
 
 Tutor. Now for Iron. 
 
 Henry. Ay! that is the moat useful of all the metals. 
 
 T, I think it is ; and it is likewise the most common, 
 for there are few countries in the world possessing hills and 
 rocks, where more or less of it is not to be met with. Iron 
 is the hardest of metals, the most elastic or springy, tlie 
 most tenacious or difficult to break, next'to gold the least 
 fusible, and one of the lightests, being only seven or eight 
 times heavier than water. 
 
 G. You say it is difficult to break ; but I snapped the 
 blade of a pen-knife the other day by only bending it a 
 little J and my mother is continually breaking her needles. 
 
 T. Properly objected I But the qualities of iron differ 
 extremely according to the method of preparing it. There 
 are forged iron, cast iron, and steel, which are ver}^ differ- 
 ent fr«m each other. Iron, when first melted from its 
 ore, has very little malleability ; and the vessels and other 
 implements, that are made of it in that state by casting 
 into moulds, are easily broken. It acquires toughness and 
 malleability by forging, which is done by beating it, when 
 red hot, with heavy hammers, till it becomes dyctile and 
 
 
 rVf'' : ' 
 
 .»:■• 
 
115 
 
 i-cate 
 tion 
 
 •bl 
 
 y 
 j0 
 
 I metals, 
 common, 
 ; hills and 
 ,h. Iron 
 ngy, tlie 
 ihe least 
 1 or eight 
 
 ^ped the 
 ling it a 
 needles, 
 on differ 
 There 
 vy difler- 
 from its 
 nd other 
 r casting 
 ness and 
 t, when 
 ■tile and 
 
 flexible. Steel, again, is made by heating small bars of 
 iron with ashes of wood, charcoal, bone and horn shavings, 
 or other inflammable matters, by which it acquires a finer 
 grain and more compact texture, and becomes harder 
 «nd more elastic. Steel may be made eitlier verj' flexible, 
 or brittle, by different modes of tempering, which is per- 
 formed by heating and then cooling it in water. 
 
 G. All cutting instruments are made of steel, are they 
 not ? 
 
 T. Yes ; and the very firie-edgeu ones are generally 
 tempered brittle, as razors, pen-knixe^, and surgeons' in- 
 struments \ but sword-blades are made flexible, and the 
 best of them will bend double without breaking, or becom- 
 ing crooked. The steel, of which springs are made, has 
 the highest possible degree of elasticity given to it. A 
 watch spring is one of the most perfect exarnples of this 
 kind. Steel for ornaments is made extremely hard and 
 close-grained, so as to bear an exquisite polish. Com- 
 mon hammered iron is chiefly used for works of strength, 
 as horse-shoes, bars, bolts, and the like. It will bend, but 
 not straighten itself again, as you may see in the kitchen 
 poker. Cast iron is used for pots and cauldrons, cannons, 
 cannon-balls, gratis, pillars, and many other lurpojes, in 
 which hardness without flexibility is wanted. 
 
 G. What a vast variety of uses this metal is put to ! 
 
 T. Yes ; I know not when I should have done, were 
 I to tell you of them all. 
 
 H. Then I think it is really more valuable than gold, 
 though it is so much cheaper. 
 
 T. That was the opinion oftlie wise Solon, when he 
 observed to the rich king Creocsus, who wf.s showing him 
 his treasures, "he who possesses more iron, u ill soon l)e 
 master of all this goiu," 
 
 H. I suppose he meant weapons and arm > ;r, 
 
 :i 
 
\ 
 
 I 
 
 116 
 
 T. He (lid ; but there are many nobler uses for tlicsr 
 metals ; and few circumstances denote the progress of 
 lb e arts in a country, more than having attained the full 
 use of iron, without which scarcely any manufacture or 
 machinery can be brought to perfection. From the dif 
 ficulty of extracting it from the ore, many nations havj 
 been longer in discovering it than some of the other metals 
 The Greeks in Homer's time seem to have employed cop 
 per or brass for their weapons much more than iron j and 
 the Mexicans and Peruvians, who possessed gold and sil- 
 ver, were unacquainted with iron, when the Spaniards iu- 
 vaded them. 
 
 G, Iron is very subject to rust, however. 
 
 T. It is so, and that is one of its worst properties. 
 Every liquor, and even a moist air, corrodes it. But tlie 
 rust of iron is not pernicious ; on the contrary, it is a very 
 useful medicine. 
 
 G. I have heard of steel drops and steel filings being 
 givea for medicines. 
 
 T. Yes; iron is given in a variety of forms ;• and the 
 property of them all is to strengthen the constitution. 
 Many springs of water are made medicinal by the iron, 
 which dissolve in the bowels of the earth. These are all 
 chilled 'chalybeate waters, and they may be known by theii 
 inky taste, and the rust- coloured sediment which they 
 leave in their course. 
 
 H. May we drink such water if we meet with it ? ' 
 
 T Yes J it will do you no harm at least. There is one 
 other property of iron well worth knowing, and that \h 
 that it is tlie only thing attracted by the magnet or load 
 stone. 
 
 G. I had a magnet once that would take up needles ami 
 keys J but it seemed a bar of iron itself. 
 
in 
 
 T. True : the real loadstone, which is a particular ore 
 of iron, can communicate its virtue to a piece of iron by 
 rubbing it : nay, a bar of iron itself, in length of lime, by 
 being placed in a certain position, will acquire the same 
 property. 
 
 G. Is all the iron used in Britain produced there ? 
 
 T. By no means. The extensive manufactures in Eng^ 
 land and Scotland require a great importation of iron. 
 Much is brought from Norway, Russia, and Sweden j and 
 the Swedish is reckoned particularly excellent. 
 
 G. Iron is very often mentioned in the Bible. 
 
 T. It is ; and the nations spoken of in Scripture history, 
 seem to have been among the first in the world to use iL 
 One of the great advantages of the land of Canaan was, 
 that its " stones were iron," that is, consisted of iron ore. 
 (Deut. viii, 9.) The original inhabitants of that country 
 ■fought with chariots of iron, and one king had no fewer 
 than nine hundred, (Judges iv. 3). David " prepared 
 iron in abundance for nails for the doors" of the temple, 
 (1 Chron. xxii. 3). Tarshish traded in "bright iron,** 
 thai is, in manufactures of iron, in the faire of Tyre, (Ezek. 
 xxvii. 19). Iron is also used as a figurative expression 
 for mighty power, ( Dan. ii. 40) ; for great strength (Job 
 xl. 18) ; for irresistible authority, (Ps. ii. 9) ; and the 
 apostle Paul speaks of those " who depart from the faith,** 
 as " having their conscience seared with a hot iron," j(2 
 Tun. iv. 2) 
 
 il 
 
■liig-gish-nc^s 
 
 dia-po-si-tion 
 
 vi-ne-gar 
 
 un-whole-some 
 
 vi-o-lent 
 
 lis 
 
 LESSON VII. 
 
 LEAD. 
 
 in-dis-pos-ed 
 
 ig-no-rance 
 
 sac-ri-ficed 
 
 com-mu-ni-ty 
 
 pre-pa-ra-tion 
 
 poi-son-oua 
 
 de-struct-ive 
 
 do-mes-tic 
 
 ex-por-ta-tion 
 
 si-mi-Ie 
 
 Tutor. I dare say you can tell me a good deal about 
 lead. 
 
 Henry. I know several things about it. It is very 
 heavy, and soft, and easily melted. 
 ^ T. True ; these are some of its distinguishing properties. 
 Its weight is between eleven and twelve titties heavier 
 than water. Its colour is a dull bluish white; and from 
 its livid hue, as well as fix)m its being totally void of spring 
 or elasticity, it has acquired a sort of character of dullness 
 and slug^shness. Thus we say of a stupid man, that he 
 has a leaden disposition. 
 
 G. Lead is very malleable, I think. 
 
 T. Yes ; it may be beaten into a pretty thin leaf, biit 
 "rt will not bear drawing into fine \!dre. It is not only very 
 fusible, but very readily calcined by heat, changing into a 
 powder or scaly matter, which may be niade by fire to 
 take all colours firom yellow to deep red. You have seen 
 peti lead. 
 
 G. Yes. 
 
 T. That is calcined lead exposed for a considerable time 
 to a strong flame. Lead is used in the manufacture of glass , 
 whicJi, however, it renders softer: there is a good deal of 
 it in our finest g^ass. 
 
 G. What is white lead! 
 
na 
 
 T. It is lead corroded by the steam of vinegar. Lead 
 in various forms is much used by painters. Its calces 
 dissolve in oil, and are employed for the purpose of 
 thickening paint and making it dry. AH lead paints^ 
 however, are unwholesome so long as they continue to 
 smell ; and the fumes of lead, when it Is melted, are like- 
 wise pernicious. This is the cause why painters and 
 plumbers are so subject to various diseases, especially 
 violent colics and pali'es. The white lead manufacture 
 id so hurtful to the health, that the workmen in a very 
 short time are apt to lose the use of tlielr Umbs, and to be 
 otherwise severely indisposed. 
 
 G. I wonder then, that any botly works in it. 
 
 T. Ignorance and high wages are sufficient to account 
 for their doing so. But it is to be lamented, that in a 
 great' many manufactures the health and lives of individuab 
 are sacrificed to tlie convenience and ]ikrofit of the com- 
 munity. Lead, when dissolved, as it may be in all sotir 
 liquors, is a slow poison, and is the mpre dangerous that 
 it gives no disagreeable taste. A salt of lead made with 
 vinegar is so sweet as to be called sugar of lead. It has 
 been too common to put this, or somjc other preparation 
 of lead, into sour wines in order to cure them ; and much 
 mischief has been drtne by this practice. 
 
 G. If lead is poisonous, is it not \ATong to make water- 
 pipes and cisterns of it ; 
 
 T. This has been objected to : but it does not appear, 
 that water can dissolve any of tlie lead. Nor does it read- 
 fly rust in the air : and hence it is much used to cover build- 
 ings with, as well as to line spouts and water-courses. For 
 these purposes the lead is cast into sheets, which are 
 easily cut and hammered into shape. 
 ' H. Bullets and shot are also made of lead. 
 
i:0 
 
 T. They arc ; and in this way it is ten times xnoro 
 destructive than as a poison. 
 
 G. Lead seems to be more used than any metal except 
 iron. 
 
 , T. It is: and the plenty of it in the British Islands 
 a great benefit to us, both for domestic use, and as a 
 article that brings in much profit by exportation. 
 
 G. Where are the principal lead mines j 
 ..,j T. They are much scattered about. The south-west 
 of England produces a great deal, in Cornwall, Devon- 
 shire, and Somersetshire, Wales affords a large quantity. 
 Derbyshire has long been noted for its lead mines ; and 
 BO have Northumberland and Durham. And there aro 
 considerable ones in the southern parts of Scotiand, and 
 in many parts of Ireland. 
 ^ ., G. Where is lead mentioned in Scripture; 
 
 T. In Numbers xxxi. 21, we are told, that when the 
 Israelites had overcome the Midianites, they were com- 
 manded to purify the spoils which they had taken ; 
 and the mode of purifying " the gold, and, tlie silver, the 
 brass, the iron, the tin, and the lead," was by making them 
 " go through the fire." In Ezekiel xxii. 20, it is said 
 that the house of Israel had, by reason of their sins becomo 
 as dross unto God, and he threatens, that " as they gather 
 silver, and brass, and iron, and lead, and tin, into the 
 midst of the furnace, to blow the fire upon it, to melt it, so 
 will I gather you in mine anger and in my fury, and I 
 will leave you there and melt you." Job says (xix. 23, 
 24",) " O that my words were written ! that they wer« 
 printed in a book ! that they were graven with an iron 
 pen and lead in the rock for ever." And Moses, in tlio 
 Bong of praise, which he and the Israelites sang to God, 
 ibr the destruction of Pharaoh and his host in the Red 
 
 1 
 s 
 t 
 
Icl 
 
 noro 
 
 :cept 
 
 is 
 s a 
 
 -west 
 evon- 
 
 intity. 
 ; and 
 :e ara 
 , and 
 
 m the 
 com- 
 
 ir, the 
 gthem 
 Is said 
 icomo 
 gather 
 Jto the 
 
 |ltit,80 
 
 land I 
 Ix. 23, 
 |y were 
 iron 
 |in tli0 
 God, 
 le Red 
 
 Sea, haa tliis siuiilc, << thev sank as lead in the mighty 
 waters." 
 
 LESSON VIII. 
 
 TIN. 
 
 re-sem-bles 
 
 con-junc-tion 
 
 in-gre-di-ent 
 
 Phe-ni-ci-ans 
 
 pro'-duct-ive 
 
 pen»in-sii*Ia 
 
 Ma-lac-ca 
 
 sem-i-met-als 
 
 chem-ists 
 
 chris-ten-ing 
 
 pro-pen-si-ty 
 
 phy-ei-cians 
 
 mar-tia* 
 
 lu-nar 
 
 mer-cu-ri-G 
 
 sa-tur»nine 
 
 sub-sist-enc 
 
 ao-cu-ra cy 
 
 TiFTOR. Now do you recoUet another metal to be spoken 
 aoout? 
 
 George. Tin. 
 
 T. Yes. Tin resembles lead in colour, but has a more 
 silvery whiteness. It is soil and flexible, like lead, but is 
 distinguished by the crackling noise it makes on being bent. 
 It melts as easily as lead, and is readily calcined by being 
 kept in the fire. It is a light metal, being only aeven 
 dmes heavier than water. It may be beaten into a thin 
 leaf, but not drawn out to wire. 
 
 G. Is tin of much use 1 
 
 T. It is not often used by itself; but very frequently, 
 m conjunction ^^nili other metals. As tin is little liable to 
 rust, or to be corroded by common liquors, it is employed 
 for lining or coating vessels made of copper or iron. The 
 saucepans and kettles in the kitchen, you know, are all 
 tinned. 
 
 G. Yes. How is it done ? 
 
 T. By melting the tin, and spreading it upon the surface 
 
 o 
 
I I 
 
 of tl*c copper, u hlch i^ first lightly pitched over, in order 
 to make the tin adhere. 
 
 G. But of ^/hat arc the vessels made at die tinman's ? 
 Are they not all tin T 
 
 T. No. Tinned-ware (as it is properly called) is made 
 of thin iron plates coated over with tin by dipping them 
 into a vessel full of melted tin. These plates are after- 
 wards cut, and bent to proper shapes, and the joinings 
 are soldered together with a mixture of tin and other 
 metals. Another similar use of tin is in vN'hat is called the 
 iilvering of pins. 
 
 G. What 1 Is not that real silvering? 
 
 T. No. The pins, which are made of brass wire, after 
 being pointed and headed, are boiled in water in which 
 grain-tin is put along vnth tartar, which is a ciust, that 
 collects in the inside of wine casks. The tartar dissolves 
 some of the tin, and makes it adhere to the surface of the 
 pins ; and thus thousands are covered in an instant. 
 
 H. That is as clever as what you told us of the gilding 
 of buttons. 
 
 T. Another purpose, for which great quantities of tin, 
 used to be employed, was the making of pewier. The 
 best pewtfcv consists chiefly of tin, with a small mixture 
 of other metals lo harden it ; and the London pewter was 
 brought to such perfection, as to look almost as well as 
 silver. 
 
 G. I remember a long row of pewter plates at my 
 gi-andmothcr's. 
 
 T. In her time, all the plates and dishes for the table 
 were made of pewter ; and a handsome range of pewter 
 shelves was thought the chief ornament of a kitchen. At 
 present, this trade is almost come to nothing, through the 
 use of earthen-ware and china ; and pewter is employe- ' 
 
i:3 
 
 fDr little but the worms of stills, rntl lj:irl)rr.3M)a.sirus and 
 porter-pots. Hut a uood deal is still cxportcii. Tin is 
 likewise an ingreilicnt in other mixed nictaU for various 
 pui*poses; but, on the whole, Icssd of it is used than of the 
 other common metals. 
 
 G. Ih not England more famous for tin than any other 
 country? I have read of the Phenicians trading there 
 for it in very early times. 
 
 T. They did ; and tin is still a very vahia!)le article of 
 export from England. Much of it is sent as far as China. 
 The tin mines in England are chiefly in Cornwall ; and I 
 believe they are the most proiluctive of any in Europe. 
 Very fine tin is also got in the peninsmla of Malacca in the 
 East Indies. Well ! we iiavo now gone through the 
 seven common metals. 
 
 G. But you said something about a kind of metal called 
 zinc. 
 
 T. That ifl one of another class of mmeral substances 
 called semimetals. These resemble metals in every 
 luality but ductility, of which they arc almost wholly 
 destitute ; and for want of it they can be: seldom used in the 
 arts, except when joined with metals. ^-i. 
 
 G, Are there many of them ? 
 
 T. Yes, several ; but we will not talk of them, nor of 
 a very uncommon metal called Platina, till I have some 
 opportunity of showing diem to you, for probably you may 
 never have seen any of them. Now, trj' to repeat the 
 names of the mettils to me in the order of their weight. . 
 
 H. There is first gold, 
 
 G. Then quicksilver, lead, silver. 
 
 H. Copper, iron, tin. 
 
 T. Very righv. Now I must tefl you of an odd fancy 
 that chemists have had, of calling these metals the by 
 
 •','? 
 
 i* 
 
* * 
 
 \l 
 
 I I 
 
 ! I 
 
 'I i 
 
 I24i 
 
 names of tnc neavenly bodies. They have called gold 
 iVo/ or the sun. 
 0. That is suitable enough to its colour and brightness. 
 H. Then silver should be the moon ; for moon-light is 
 said to be of a silveiy hue. 
 
 T. True : and they have named it so ; it is Luna* 
 Quicksilver is Mercury, so named probably from its great 
 propensity to dance or jump about ; for Mercury, you 
 know, was very nimble. 
 
 G» Yes ; he had wings to his heels. 
 
 T. Copper is Venus, 
 
 G. Venus ! Surelv it is scarcely beautiful enough for 
 tnat. 
 
 T. But they had disposed of the most beautiful ones 
 before. Iron is Mars. 
 
 H» That is right enough, because swords are made of 
 iron. 
 
 T. Then tin is Jupiter , and lead Saturn ; I suppose 
 oniy to make out the number. Yet the dullness of lead 
 might be thought to agree with that planet, which is the 
 most remote, but one, from the sun. These names,child- 
 ish as they may seem, are worth remembering, since 
 chemists and physicians still apply them to many prepara- 
 tions of the various meials. You vnW probably often hear 
 of lunar, mr.rcurial, and saturnine ; and you may no, 
 know what, they mean. 
 
 G. I think, that to learn all about metals is the most 
 useful kind of knowledge. 
 
 T. I would not say that ; for however useful they may 
 be, there are many other things, such a« animals and 
 plants, which ^re not less so. However, without inquir- 
 ing what part? f natural knowledge are most useful, you 
 mav be assur )f this, that all are useful in some degiee 
 
ie3 
 
 or other; and there are few tilings whicli give one man great- 
 er superiority over another, than the extent and accuracy 
 of his knowledge in these particulars. One person passes 
 his life upo)i the earth, a stranger to it ; while another finds 
 himself at home every where. 
 
 Mtercd from Evenings at Home 
 
 LESSON IX 
 
 anon-ey 
 
 shoe-makei 
 
 fam-i-ly 
 
 ex-change 
 
 but-cher 
 
 MONEY. 
 
 brew-er 
 trou-ble-some 
 cau-tion-ed 
 anx-i-ous 
 right eous-ness 
 
 Prov-i-dence 
 Chris-ti-an 
 Ju-de-a 
 a-pos-tle 
 col-lec-tion 
 
 What a useful thing is money ! If there were no such 
 thing as money, we should be much at a loss to get any 
 thing we might want. The shoemaker, for instance, who 
 might want bread, and meat, and beer, for his family, 
 would have nothing to give in exchange but shoes. He 
 must therefore go to the baker, and offer him a pair of 
 shoes for as much bread as they are worth ; and the same, 
 if he went to the butcher and the brewer. The baker, 
 however, might haj)pen not to want shoes just then, but 
 might want a hat ; and so the shoomaker must find out 
 some hatter, who wants sho3s, and get a hat from him, 
 and then exchange the hat with the baker for bread. All 
 this would be very troublesome : but, by the use of money 
 the trouble is saved. Any one, who has money, may 
 get for it just what he may chance to want. The baker, 
 fir example, is always willing to nart with his bread for 
 
126 
 
 money, because he knows, that he may exchange it for 
 flhoes, or a hat, or firing, or any thing else he needs. Wha 
 time and trouble it must have cost men to exchange one 
 tiling for another, before money was in use. 
 
 We are cautioned in Scripture against the love of 
 money. It is a foolish and a wicked thing for men to sel 
 their hearts on money, or on eating and drinking, or our 
 fine clothes, or on any thing in this present world : for all 
 theac are apt to draw off their thoughts from God. Our 
 Lord Jesus Christ, therefore, tells us to " lay up for our- 
 selves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust 
 dotli corrui)t, and where thieves do not break through nor 
 steal ;" and commands us not to be too careful and anx- 
 ious " what we shall eat or what we shall drink, or where- 
 withal we shall be clothed, but to "seek first the kingdom 
 of God, and his righteousness." 
 
 But we ought nevertheless, to be thankful for all the 
 good things which Providence gives us, and to be careful 
 to make a right use of them. Now, the best use of wealth, 
 and what gives most delignt to the true Christian, is to 
 relieve good people, when they are in want. For this 
 puj*pose, money is of great use ; for a poor man may 
 chance to be in want of something, which I may not 
 have to spare. But if I give him money, he can get just 
 what he wants for that, whether bread, or coals, or cloth- 
 ing. When t'lerc was a great famine in Judea, in the 
 time of the apostle Paul, the Greek Christians thought fit 
 to relieve the poor "saints," (that is, Christians,) who 
 were m Judea. But it would have been a great trouble 
 to send them corn to such a distance ; and, besides, they 
 themselves might not have corn to spare. They accord- 
 ingly made a collection of money, which takes up but little 
 room, and Paul carried it to Judea j and with this money 
 
127 
 
 tlie poor Deoj)le. could buy corn, vvheievcr it was to ixj had* 
 
 LESSON X. 
 
 OF EXCHANGES. 
 
 neigh-boiirs 
 
 at- tempt 
 
 canoe 
 
 com-plete 
 
 tai-lor 
 
 till-ing 
 
 an-val 
 
 sup-ply 
 
 sav-a ges 
 
 la-bour 
 
 cab-in 
 
 main -tain 
 
 But why should not eveiy man make what he wantn 
 for himi>elf, instead ofgohig to his neighbours to bu^ it? 
 Go into the shoemaker's shop, and ask him why he does 
 not make tables and chairs for himself, and hats andcoate, 
 and every thing else, which he wants; he will tell you, 
 that he must have a complete set of joiner's tools to n.alio 
 one chair properly — the same tools, that would cr/c to 
 make hundreds of chairs. Then if he were also to make 
 the tools himself, and the nails, he would need a smith's 
 forge, and an anvil, and hammers : and, after all, it would 
 cost him great labour to make very clumsy tools and 
 chairs, because he has not I'cen used to that kind of 
 work. It is therefore lerjs trouble to him to make :-1iocp, 
 that he can sell for as much as will iDuy a dozen chairs, 
 than it would be to make one chair for himself. To the 
 joiner, again, it would be ju^^t as great a loss to attempt to 
 make shoes for himself; and so it is with the tailor, and 
 the hatter, and all other trades. It is best for all, that 
 each should w^ork in his own way, and supply his neigh- 
 bours, while they, in their turn supply, him. 
 
 But there are srni:? i-uJe nation-, who have very littte 
 
\\) 
 
 '( ! 
 
 128 '-^ ., : 
 
 of this land of exchange. Every man among them builds 
 himself a cabin, and makes clothes for himself, and a 
 canoe to go a fishing in, and a fishing rod and hooks and 
 lines, and also darts and a bow and arrows for hunting, 
 besides tilling a little land, perhaps. Such people are all 
 much worse off than tlie poor among us. Their clothing 
 is nothing but coarse mats or raw hides j their cabins are 
 no better than pig-sties : their canoes are onty hollow trees, 
 or baskets made of bark ; and all their tools are clumsy. 
 When every man does every thing for himself, every 
 thing is badly done ; and a few hundreds of these savages 
 will be half starved in a country, which would maintain 
 ten times as many thousands of us, in much greater com- 
 fort. 
 
 LESSON XI. 
 
 COMMERCE. 
 
 com-merce 
 pro-duce 
 ma-chines 
 A-mer-i-ca 
 
 Por-tu-guese 
 sep-a-rate 
 wag-gon 
 ca-nals 
 
 dif-fe-rent 
 jea-lous 
 peace-a-bly 
 per-verse 
 
 There is also much useful exchange among different 
 nations, which we call commerce. All countries will 
 not produce the same things ; but, by means of exchanges, 
 each country may enjoy all the produce of all others. 
 Cotton would not grow here except in a hot-house: it 
 grows in the fields in America ; but the Americans cannot 
 spin and weave it so cheaply as we can, because we 
 have more skill and better machines ; it answers best, there- 
 fore, for them to send us the cotton wool ; and they take in 
 
129 
 
 excnang,3 part of tl^e cotton made into cloth : an J l!iu^ of 
 both we and tliey are best supplied. Tea again, conic;^ 
 f.\om China, and sugar from the West Indies. Neltlier of 
 them could be rai;::ed here without a hot house : no moro 
 can oranges, which conie from Portugal. But we get all 
 these things in exchange (or knives, and scissors, and cloth, 
 which we can make much better and cheaper than the 
 Chinese, and West Indian?, and Portuguese j and so !;oth 
 parties are better oiT, than if t^iey made every thing at lionic. 
 How useful water is for commerce ! The sea seems 
 to keep different countnes sepni'ate ; but, for the purposes 
 of commerce, it rather brings L^em together. If there 
 were only land bet^veen this couritry and America, wc 
 should have no cotton ; for the carriage of it would cost 
 more than it is worth. Think how many horses would 
 DC wanted to draw such a load as comes in one ship : and 
 then they must cat and rest, whije they were travelling. 
 But the winds are the horses, which cany the sliip along j 
 and they cost us nothing but to spifead a sail. Then, too, 
 the ship moves easily, because it floats on the water, in- 
 stead of dragging on the ground liko a waggon. For this 
 reason we have canals in many places, for the purpose of 
 bringing goods by water. One or two horses can easily 
 draw a barge along a canal with a load, which t\vice as 
 many could not move, if it were on the ground. 
 
 What folly, as well as sin, it is, for different nations to 
 be jealous of one another, instead of trading , together 
 peaceably, by which all would be richer and better off! 
 But the best gifts of God are given in vain, to those who 
 are perverse. 
 
 
130 
 
 
 LESSON XII. 
 
 
 
 COIN. 
 
 
 peb-ble3 
 
 sil-ver-smith 
 
 neck-lace 
 
 fan-cy 
 
 or-na-ment 
 
 pro-visions 
 
 val-ue 
 
 ne-grocs 
 
 con-ve-ni-ent 
 
 o-blige 
 
 cow-ries 
 
 pro-por-tion 
 
 Why should people part with their goods m exchange 
 fw little bits of silver, or gold, or copper? If you ask 
 a man why he does so, he will tell you it is because he 
 finds, that, when he has the!>e little bits of stairiped metal) 
 which are called coins, every one is willing to sell him 
 what he wants for them. The baker will let him have 
 bread for them, or the tailor, clothes, and so on with all 
 the rest. Then^ if you ask him, whv the baker and the 
 tailor are wilhng to do this, he will tell you, that it ib be- 
 cause they also can buv with the same coins what they 
 want from the shoemaker, the butcher, or any other 
 Person. 
 
 But how could this use of coin first begin 1 How 
 could men first agree all of thera to be ready to part with 
 food, and cloth and working tools, and every thing el^e, 
 in exchange for little bits of gold, and silver, which no 
 one makes any use of, except to part with them again for 
 something else t And why should not pebbles, or bits ol 
 wood serve as well as coins 1 Some people fancy thai 
 coins pass as money, and are valued, because they are 
 stamped according to law with the king's head and other 
 marks. But this is not so ; for if a piece of money were 
 made of copper, and stamped, and called a shilling, you 
 "would never get the san^e quantity of bread for it, as you 
 i^ ibr a silver shilling. The law might oblige you to caD 
 
 s-t n--"-r-^'"^-i i- i*-tx 
 
131 
 
 a bit of copper a shilling ; but the name could not make it 
 of any greater value. You would have to pay three or 
 four of these copper shillings for a penny loaf: so (hat U 
 is not the law, or the stamp, that makes gold and silver 
 coins so valuable. 
 
 IC you were to melt down several shillings into a lump 
 of silver, you might get from the silversmith very nearly 
 as much for it as for the shillings themselves ; and the 
 same with gold coins : for silver and gold are valued, 
 whether they are in coins, or m spoons, or in rings, or id 
 any other kind of ornament. And copper also, tliough 
 not so precious as these, is still of value, whether in pence, 
 or in kettles and pans. People would never have thought 
 of making coin, either of gold, or of any other metal, if 
 these had been of no value before. 
 
 Among some nations, several other things are used foe 
 money, instead of coins. There are some tribes of Ne- 
 groes, who are very fond of a kind of pretty little shelU 
 called cowries, which their women string for necklaces ; 
 And these shells serve them as money. For about sixty 
 of them, you may buy enough of provisions for one day. 
 There are otber parts of Africa where pieces of cotton 
 cloth, all of the same kind, and of the same size, are used 
 as money ; that u?, these pieces of cloth are taken in ex- 
 change for all kinds of goods by persons, who do not mea* 
 to wear the cloth themselves, but to pay it away again, 
 in exchange for something else. But none of these thin^ 
 are so convenient as coins of silver and other pietale. 
 These are not liable to break ; and they also take up but 
 little room in proportion to their value. This is especially 
 the case with gold and silver ; for copper money is usefd 
 for small paynients, but would be very inconvenient Uk 
 large ones. The price of a horse or a cow in copper 
 
132 
 
 f 
 
 would be a heavy load, but a man might easily carry in 
 his pockets the price of twenty horses, if paid in gold. A 
 bank note is still more convenient in this respect j but 
 though it is often called paper money, it is not really 
 money, but only a promise 'to pay money. No one would 
 give anything for a bank note, if he did not believe, thai 
 the banker is ready to pay gold or silver for it to any one, 
 who should present it to him. But as long as men are 
 Bure of this, they receive the bank note instead of money, 
 because they may get money for it, whenever they please* 
 
 SECTION IV. 
 
 tra-di-tions 
 
 Phe-ni-ci -an 
 
 Eu-ro-pa 
 
 mi-gra-tions 
 
 grad-u-al-ly 
 
 in-volv-ed 
 
 ob-rscu-ri-ty 
 
 in-ter-wov-en 
 
 po li-ti-cal 
 
 LESSON I. 
 
 EUROPE. 
 
 pe-nin-su-la 
 
 in-ter-sect 
 
 Vis-tu-la 
 
 com-pre-hends 
 
 Pyr-e-nees 
 
 Ap-pe- nines 
 
 Swit-zer-land 
 
 Ma-ce-don 
 
 class-ic 
 
 phe-nom-rc-na 
 
 Ba-le-ar-ic 
 
 fer-til-ize 
 
 in-tro-duce 
 
 sa-lu-bri-ous 
 
 lux-u-ri-ant 
 
 pro-duc-ilons 
 
 pop-u-Ia-tion 
 
 Pro-vi-dence 
 
 It is uncertain, whence this quarter of tlie world de- 
 rived '*" »iame. The traditions of the Greeks say, that it 
 was from a Phenician princess, named Europa ; and it 
 may have been, that such a person, leading one of the 
 first migrations from the west of Asi»; gave her name to 
 
133 
 
 Uiat part of the coad, on which her Ibllowcrs first settled, 
 and that, as they i?prcad to the north and west, it gra- 
 dually extended to the \\hole continent. But tlie subject 
 is involved in the greatest obscurity, and is not of so 
 much importance, as to make it \Yori\\ \>'hilc to endeavour 
 to separate it from the fables, with which it is interwoven. 
 In the course of the iVequcnt wars, in which the Euro- ' 
 pean states have been engaged, they have often changed 
 their political boimdnrie.s ; but there are certain grand 
 natural features, which remain always the same, and 
 which are quite suflTicient to give a general idea of the 
 kingdoms, into which this portion of the world is divided. 
 Beginning at the north, Norway and Sweden form one 
 great peninsula, more than a thousand miles in length, 
 bounded on the north by the Arctic ocean, on the west 
 by the Atlantic, and on the Koulh and east by the Baltic 
 sea. This peninsula is naturally divided into two king- 
 doms by a chain of lofty mountains, ^Ahich intersects it 
 from north to south. Russia presents the appearance of 
 a vr.st plain, extending fiom the Northern ocean to the 
 Black Sea, and from the river Vistula to the borders of 
 Asia. A nother great plain extends from the Vistula west* 
 ward to the Atlantic ocean, and is bounded by the Baltic 
 and Atlantic on the north, and by the Carpathian moun- 
 tains, tlie Alps, and the river Rhine on the south. Thif 
 plain comprehends the states of Germany, and the king- 
 doms of Denmark and Holland. France and the Nether- 
 lands have a remarkably compact appearance, and 
 present a bold frontier on all sides. They have tne 
 English Channel on the north, the Atlantic ocean on 
 the west, the Alps on the east, and the Mediterranean 
 sea and the Pyrenees on the south. Spain and Portugal 
 form the second great peninsula of Europe, being «ur- 
 
134 
 
 ■ i 
 
 t 
 
 I 
 
 rounded on all sides by water, except where they are 
 joined to France by the Pyrenees, The third great pen- 
 insula is Itxily, which is intersected by the Appenines, a 
 branch of the Alps, running in a south easterly direction 
 from the shores of the Gulf of Genoa to the Gulf of Ta- 
 ranto. To the north of Italy lies Switzerland, the high- 
 est inhabited land in Europe, and peculiarly fitted for 
 being the residence of a free, bold, and warlike people. 
 The banks of the Danube present another of the great 
 plains of Europe, comprehending the chief part of the 
 Austrian empire. Southward lie the ancient countries of 
 Thrace, Macedon, Epirus, and Thessaly, forming the 
 European part of the Turkish dominions. The country 
 to the South has been again established into a separaii 
 state, retaining the classic name of Greece. 
 
 The islands of Europe are of at least equal importance 
 with the countries on the continent. Great Britain and 
 Ireland form the most powerful kingdom in the world. 
 Iceland is full of interest, whether we regard its inhabi- 
 tants, its history, or its natural phenomena. The Ba- 
 learic islands were ass famous in ancient, as Corsica is in 
 modern times. The names of Sicily and Crete are close- 
 ly connected with the histories of Greece and Rome. 
 
 Besides the numerous arms of the sea, which have 
 been the highways of the world to seafaring nations in aU 
 ages, Europe boasts of many noble rivers, which not only 
 fertilize the countries through which they flow, but serve 
 Co introduce the productions and improvements of other 
 lands. Of these ihe principal are the Thames, the Rhine, 
 the Tagus, the Ebro, the Rhone, the Danube, the Elbe, 
 and the Volga. 
 
 The climate of Europe varies from me icy coldness of 
 tfie AioUc roi^on, to the gpnial sun and refreshing brcezei 
 
135 
 
 of the countries on the Mediterranean. In general it is 
 very salubrious: and, though other regions have been 
 favoured with a richer soil, and more luxuriant produc- 
 tions, none of them is possessed by a population so free, 
 active, and enlightened. In some periods both of ancient 
 and of modern history, the nations of Europe have held 
 in subjection almost every other part of the habitable 
 world ; and, though they have now lost much of their 
 political power, yet the moral influence still remains with 
 them. So far as we can read the future designs of Pro- 
 vidence from the present aspect of affaire, it is from the 
 nations of Europe, that all great efforts to enlighten the 
 nations, whic^ still dwell in darkness, and in the lepon 
 of the shadow of death, must proceed. 
 
 LESSON II. 
 
 SPREAD OF THE QOSPEL. 
 
 have 
 in aU 
 only 
 I serve 
 other 
 Ihine, 
 lElbe, 
 
 Iss of 
 rcezei 
 
 From Greenland's icy mountains, 
 From India's coral strand, 
 Where Afric's sunny fountains 
 Roll down their golden sand ; 
 From many an ancient river, 
 From many a palmy plain, 
 They call us to deliver \. , 
 Their land from error's chain. 
 
 *^ 
 j^ • 
 
 What though the spicy breezes 
 Blow soft on Ceylon's isle. 
 Though every prospect pleases, 
 And only man is vile 1 
 
 ■^v 
 
III vuin, with lavisli kiii.lnesu, 
 The gifts of Gotl i.re atrewn, 
 The Heathen, in liis blindness, 
 Bows down to wood and stone. 
 
 Shall we vNhose souls arc lighted 
 Witli wisdom from on high : 
 Shall we to men benighted 
 The lamp of life deny ? 
 Salvation ! oh, salvation ! 
 The joyful sound proclaim, 
 Till each remotest nation 
 Has learnM Messiah's name. 
 
 Waft, waft, ye winds, his story, 
 And you, ye waters, roll, 
 Till, like the sea of glory, 
 It spreads from pole to pole ; 
 Till o'er our ransomed nature. 
 The lamb for sinners slain, 
 Redeemer, King, Creator, 
 In bliss returns to reign. 
 
 Hebkr. 
 
 LESSON HI. 
 
 mag-ni-fi-cent 
 
 Sa-mor-cand 
 
 Bo-cha ra 
 
 Scy-thi-an 
 
 Si-be-ri-a 
 
 ex-])o-sure 
 
 ASIA. 
 
 Ye-ni-sei 
 
 Irop-ic-al 
 
 m-6u-lat-ed 
 
 at-mo-sphere 
 
 \em-per-a-ture 
 
 mod-i-fied 
 
 Eu-phra-les 
 
 Cau-ca-su3 
 
 Leb-a-non 
 
 Da-mas-cus 
 
 e-merg-ing 
 
 ster-ile 
 

 , 
 
 157 
 
 
 
 lat-i-iiule 
 
 di Hion-r^ions 
 
 ve-gr-ta-tion 
 
 
 mo-rass-C9 
 
 Ma-lac-ca 
 
 con-tiiirii-ous 
 
 
 u-ni-form 
 
 lux-ii-ri-ance 
 
 ver-dure 
 
 
 de-sola-tion 
 
 Po-ly-ne-si-a 
 
 ex-pa nse 
 
 
 Asia id dislinguislied, by natural divisions, into Cen- 
 
 
 tral, Nortlicrn, 
 
 South -eastern, aad 
 
 South-western Asia. 
 
 • 
 
 Central Asia is 
 
 separated by ranges 
 
 of mountains into the 
 
 middle, eaj'tern, anvl western regions. The middle region 
 is the highest, from \\liich lofty moimtains break off in all 
 directions, and immense nvers run to the east and to the 
 west, or fall into the icy sea, or into the Indian ocean. 
 This elevated region of snows and clouds maintains an 
 almost unbroken winter, in the very neighbourhood of the 
 tropic. Central Asia is somewhat softened in its eastern 
 division, where the cold is thawed by the neighbourhood 
 of the sea, and the inland regions are fertilized by the 
 waters of the Amour, and sheltered by its magnificent 
 forests. The western division is a still rnilder and more 
 fertile region, as the ground rapidly descends, and the sky 
 gradually brightens, till the delicious valley of Samarcand 
 and Bochara opens out, and displays its green meadows 
 and blossoming gardens, the inhabitants of which, in the 
 mildness of their climate, lose the Scythian cast of coun- 
 tenance, and are alike celebrated for their bravery, and 
 their beautv. 
 
 Northern Asia, or Siberia, loses by its northern expo- 
 sure and latitude, what it gains by the descent of the 
 ground towards the icy sea ; and winter lingers' round the 
 year, in the recesses of its woods, and in the depths of its 
 morasses, where the ice never melts ; only some favour- 
 ed situations enjoy the benefit of a brief and rapid sum- 
 mer. But even in its uniform desolation, there are shades 
 
138 
 
 ofdifibrence; an*! ilie country beyond the Yenisei is still 
 more Siberian, than that which is nearer 1o Kussia. It 
 is thus, that Asia has no temperate cUmate : it is divided, 
 by its central range of mountains, between v/inter and 
 summer. 
 
 South-eastern Asia, which is its warm and .ropica 
 division, may be divided into Chi. a, India, and the Ii;do- 
 Chinese countries. In China, the hills retain the coldness 
 of Tartary, and the valleys unite the warmth of India to 
 the mildness and moisture of the neighbourhood of the 
 Southern sea j and China thus furnishes, with every vari- 
 ety of climate, every variety of production. Japan may 
 be considered as a smaller and insulated China, surrounded 
 by the atmosphere of the Pacific, and therefore presenting 
 the same range of temperature, modified by its vicinity 
 to the ocean. In India beyond the Ganges, both the an- 
 imal and vegetable worlds assume their largest dimensions ; 
 this is the native region of the teak forest and of the ele- 
 phant. Nature itself is on so large a scale, that every 
 range of moimtains forms the boundary of a kingdom, and 
 every valley constitutes an empire. This region, by the 
 jutting out of the peninsula of Malacca, forms a connexion 
 with the spice islands. These islands owe their luxuriance 
 to their being placed beneath the sun of the equator, in 
 the midst of a boundless ocean ; and while in one of their 
 gi'oup, New Holland, they attain almost to the size of a 
 continent, their size is lessened in the isles of Polynesia, 
 till they form but a single rock, or a bed of coral emerging 
 from the waves. 
 
 South-western Asia, which consists of Persia, the coun- 
 tries watered by the Tigris and the Euphrates, Caucasus, 
 Asia Minor, Syria, and Arabia, may be considered the 
 most temperate region of Asia. The Tigris and the Eu 
 
 !■]!• 
 
139 
 
 phratos no longer water the gardens of the king ol* tlie 
 world. The forests of Lebanon and Carmel, with ♦he of"- 
 chards of Damascus, tlie hills of Judea covered witn vines, 
 and its plains with corn, once ranked among the most 
 luxuriant and most cultivated spots of the earth. Arabia, 
 farther to the south, forms a desolate contrast^ stripped of 
 all vegetation but the few palms, which indicate the se- 
 cret waters of the desert : and its sterile uniformity is oniy 
 interrupted by mountains, which break the clouds, retain 
 tlieir waters in the wells of tlie rock, and form upon their 
 terraced sides the gardens of the burning wastes around 
 them. These mountains, becoming frequent and continu- 
 ous towards the south, enclose the Happy Arabia, where 
 hills and valleys, showers and sunshine, produce a variety 
 of verdure, the reverse of the arid expanse of the sands. 
 
 Douglas, 
 
 LESSON IV. 
 
 THE BIRDS. 
 
 Tribes of the air ! whose favor'd raco 
 May wander through the realms of /space, 
 
 Free guests of earth and sky j 
 In form, in plumage, and in song- 
 What gifts of nature mark yoiu* throng 
 
 With bright variety ! 
 
 Nor differ less your forms, your fligh* 
 Your dwellings hid from hostile sight, 
 
 And the wild haunts ye love ; 
 Birds of the gentle beak !* how dear 
 
 • The Italians call all singing hirdsi " birds of the gentle b««k,** 
 
I 
 
 r 
 
 1 1 
 
 Your wood-note to the wanJerer''s ear, 
 In shadowy vale or grove ! 
 
 Far other '■cenes, remote, sublime, 
 Where swain or hunter may not cUmb, 
 
 The mountain-eagle seeks ; 
 Alone he reigns, a monarch there, 
 Scarce v ill the chamois' footstep dare 
 
 Ascend his Alpine peaks. 
 
 Others there are, that make their home 
 Where the white billows roar and foam, 
 
 Around the o'erhanglng rock j 
 Fearless they skim the angry wave, 
 Or sheltered in their sea-beat cave, 
 
 The tempest's fury mock. 
 
 ^W"'^ 
 
 Where Afric's burning realm expands, 
 The ostrich haunts the desert sands, 
 
 Parch'd by the blaze of day ; 
 V'he swan, where northern rivers glide. 
 Through the tall reeds that fringe their tide, 
 
 Floats graceful on her way. 
 
 The condor, where the Andes tower. 
 Spreads his broad wing of pride and power. 
 
 And many a storm defies ; 
 Bright in the orient realms of morn. 
 All beauty's richest hues adorn 
 
 The bird of Paradise. 
 
 Some, amidst India's groves of palm, 
 And spicy forests breathing balm, 
 Weave soft their pendant nest j 
 
H\ 
 
 Some, deep in western wilds, display 
 Their fairy form and plumage gay, 
 In rainbow colours drest. 
 
 Others no varied song may pour, 
 May boast no eagle-plume to soar, 
 
 No tints of light may wear ; 
 Yet, know, our Heavenly Father guide s 
 The least of these, and well providcrj 
 
 Fo"" each with tenderest ca •'^ 
 
 Shall he not then tliy guaraian no >' 
 VVill not his aid extend to thee ? 
 
 Oh ! safely may'st thou rest ! 
 Trust in his love, and e'en shoukl pain 
 Should son I. 7 tempt thee to complain , 
 
 Know, \- . he wills is bust. 
 
 . \l 
 
 LESSON V. 
 
 AFRICA. 
 
 re-sem-blance de-so-la-tion 
 Med-i-te-ra-ne-an a-si-ta-ted 
 
 Mo-roc-co 
 
 Al-giers 
 
 Tu-nis 
 
 Tri-po-li 
 
 E-gypt 
 
 Nu-bi-a 
 
 A-b si-ni-a 
 
 Sa-ha-cs, 
 
 o-ver -whelm- ed 
 
 whirl-winds 
 
 o-a-ses 
 
 con-ve-ni-ent 
 
 ca-ra-vans 
 
 trans-port 
 
 mer-chan-dise 
 
 in-te-ri-or 
 
 in-stru-ment 
 
 pro-por-Uon-a-bly 
 
 ac-quaint-ed 
 
 pro'blem 
 
 ter-rai-na-tion 
 
 prac-ti-cal 
 
 com-mer-cial 
 
 en-ter-prise 
 
 phil-an-thro-py 
 
 mis-sLon-a-ry 
 
 m 
 
 
 Africa is the barren region of the earth, both as reqiects 
 
142 
 
 the nAtoTft of ttie soil^ an(f the moral condition of its io 
 habitants. The northern part of tliis continent bears 
 strong resemblance to Arabia, with tlie exception of the 
 valley of the Nile and the countries on the Mediterranean, 
 in both of which all the productions of temperate climates 
 arrive at the greatest perfection. These countries are the 
 states of Barbaiy, consisting of Morocco, Fez, Algiers, 
 Tunis, and Tripoli : the coimtries on the Nile are Egypt, 
 Nubia, and Abyssinia. South from the Barbary states 
 stretches the Sahara or great desert, which is 1 500 miles 
 long, and 800 broad. The surface of this immense tract 
 of barrenness and desolation is sometimes agitated by 
 winds like the waves of the sea ; and travellers are 
 overwhelmed by the mountains of sand, which are raised 
 and driven along by storms and whirlwinds. Like the 
 ocean, also, the desert has many islands, jailed oases, of 
 great beauty and fertility, some of which are so large as lo 
 support powerful tribes of the natives. These oases fornS 
 convenient resting places for the caravans which transport 
 merchandise, from the shores of the Mediterranean to 
 Central Africa. 
 
 The interior of the South of Africa is almost entirely 
 unknown ; but it is probable, that its general appearanco 
 resembles that of the north . On the coasts there are some 
 tracts of fruitful land, such as Upper and Lower Guinea^ 
 the country round the Cape of Good Hope, and Mozam- 
 bique. But the richest portion of this continent is aloig 
 the banks of the Niger. Throughout the whole course of 
 that mighty river, the land is abundantly supplied with 
 heat and moisture, the two great instruments of vegetation, 
 and IS proportionably fertile and productive. But we are 
 Mill very imperfectly acquainted v\ith this region of the 
 globe. It was long a problem among geographers, ii^ 
 
143 
 
 its in 
 ears 
 3f the 
 anean, 
 imates 
 ire the 
 Llgiers, 
 Egypt, 
 states 
 I miles 
 e tract 
 ted by 
 irs are 
 I raised 
 ike the 
 ises, of 
 ge as to 
 les fornl 
 ansport 
 Lean to 
 
 entirely 
 ;aranc6 
 re some 
 Guinea, 
 lozam- 
 s along 
 )urse of 
 3d witrt 
 retation, 
 t vve are 
 of the 
 hers, in 
 
 what direction the Niger fOvved. This was at last solv- 
 ed by Mungo Park, who, after encountering the greatest 
 fatigues and dangers, discovered it flowing gently eastward. 
 It then became an object of inquiry, into what sea or lake 
 it emptied its waters. After many unsuccessful attempts, 
 and the sacrifice of the lives of several travellers, curiosity 
 has also been satisfied on th's point by Richard and Ro- 
 bert Lander, two English travellers, who followed the 
 course of the river from central Africa to its termination 
 in the Gulf of Guinea. The pifictical results of this dis- 
 covery have yet to be learned ; but it is probable, that it 
 will present new scenes and olijects for commercial enter- 
 prise, and it is certain, that it will open an almost unbound- 
 ed field for Christian philanthropy and missionary zeal* 
 
 LESSON VL 
 
 TO A DYING INFANT. 
 
 Sleep, little baby, sleep ! 
 
 Not in thy cradle bed, 
 Not on thy mother's breast, 
 Henceforth shall be thy rest, 
 
 But with the quiet dead. 
 
 JTes — with the quiet dead, 
 Baby, thy rest shall be ; 
 
 Oh ! many a weaiy wight. 
 
 Weary of life and light. 
 Would fain lie down with thee. 
 
 Flee, little tender nursling, 
 Flee to tliy grassy neet j 
 
 t(«M 
 
144. 
 
 There the first flowers shall blow, 
 The first pure flake of snow^ 
 Shall fall upon thy breasit. 
 
 Peace ! peace ! the little besom 
 
 Labours with shortening breath ] 
 Peace ! peace ! that tremulous sigh 
 Speaks his departure nigh ; 
 Those are the damos of death. 
 
 I've seen tnee in tny beauty, 
 A thing all health and glee, 
 
 But never then wert thou 
 
 So beautiful as now, 
 Babv. thou seem'b<t to me* 
 
 Thine upturn'd eyes glazed over, 
 Like harebells wet with dew. 
 
 Already veiled and hid, 
 
 By the convulsed lid. 
 Their pupils darkly blue. 
 
 Thy little moutn haif open, 
 Thy soft lips qmvering. 
 As if (like summer air 
 Huflling the rose leaves) there 
 Thy soul were fluttering. 
 
 Mount up, immortal essence ! 
 
 Young spirit ! ha te. depart ! 
 And is this death ? Dread u. 
 [f such thy visiting, 
 
 How beautiful tliou vi t ' 
 
U5 
 
 Oh ! I could gaze for ever 
 
 Upon that waxen face : 
 So passionless ! so pure \ :^ 
 
 The little shrine wos sure 
 
 An angel's dwelling-place. 
 
 Thou weepest, childless mother ! 
 
 Ay weep — 'twill ease thine b^^*^ 
 He was thy first-born son, 
 Thy first, thy only one, 
 
 ' Tis hard firom him to part ! 
 
 'Tis hard to lay thy darling 
 Deep in the damp cold earth 
 
 His empty crib to see. 
 
 His silent nursery, 
 
 Once gladsome with his mirth. 
 
 To meet again in slumber 
 
 His small mouth's rosy kiss 
 Then wakened with a start 
 By thine own throbbing heart 
 His twining arms to miss ! 
 
 To feel (half conscious why) 
 
 A dull, heart sinking weight, 
 'Till memory on thy soul 
 Flashes the painful whole, 
 That thou art desolate 1 
 
 And then to lie and weep, 
 
 And think the live-long* night, 
 Feeding thy own distress 
 With accurate greediness, 
 
 ^ Ofeveiypa«t deligiht. 
 
 cr 
 
 H' 
 
' i 
 
 II ; 
 
 U6 
 
 Of all his winning ways, 
 His pretty, playful smiles, 
 
 His joy at sight of thee, 
 
 His tricks, his mimicry ! 
 And all hi» little wiles ! 
 
 Oh I these are recollections 
 
 Round mothers' hearts that cling. 
 
 That mingle witti the tears, 
 
 And smiles of after years, 
 With oft awakening. 
 
 But thou wilt then, fond motner, 
 
 In after years look back, 
 (Time brings such wondrous easing) 
 With sadness not unpleasing, 
 
 E'en on this gloomy track. 
 
 Thou'lt say, " My ftrst-bom blessing ! 
 
 It almost broke my heart. 
 When thou wert forced to go ; 
 And yet, for thee I know 
 
 'Twas better to depart. 
 
 " God took thee in his mercy 
 
 A Iamb untask'd, untried. 
 He fought the fight for thee, 
 He won the victory ! 
 
 And thou art sanctified ! 
 
 " I look around and see 
 
 The evil ways of men. 
 And oh ! beloved child ! 
 Pm more than reconciled 
 
 i*o thy departure then. 
 
 
 A-m 
 
 sub-c 
 
 Ca-n 
 
 pre-v 
 
 com-] 
 
 ad-mi 
 
 Ai 
 
 divisiol 
 
 Soon 
 
 edup( 
 
14 
 
 " The little arms that clasp'd me, 
 The innocent lips that press'd, 
 Would they have been as pure 
 Tiil now, as when of yore 
 I iullM thee on my breast ? 
 
 « Now (like a dew drop shrined 
 
 Within a crystal stone) 
 Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove. 
 Safe with the source of love ! 
 The Everlasting One. 
 
 << And when the hour arrives, 
 
 From flesh that sets me frc j ; 
 Thy spirit may await. 
 The first at heaven's gate. 
 To meet and welcome me" 
 
 Akon. 
 
 LESSON VII 
 
 AMERICA. 
 
 A-me-ri-ca in-ter-course 
 
 sub-di-vi-sdons Bra-zil 
 Ca-rib-be-an Por-tu-guese 
 pre-vi-ous em-po-ri-um 
 
 com-mu-ni«ca-tion per-pet-u-al 
 ad-mi-ra-bly Flo-ri-da 
 
 Span-iards 
 
 a-e-ri-al 
 
 ad-van-tage-oua-ly 
 
 Chi-li 
 
 Pe-ra 
 
 Co-lum-bi-a 
 
 America, or the New world, is separated into two sub- 
 divisions, by the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean sea. 
 Soon after it was discovered, this vast continent was seiz- 
 ed upon by several of die nations of Europe; and each 
 
ill 
 
 U8 
 
 nition a[)peai's to have obtained that portion of it, which 
 was most adapted to its previous habits. The United 
 Slates, the greater part of which was peopled by English 
 settlers, while they possess tlie finest inland communica- 
 tion in tlic world, am admirably placed for intercourse 
 with tlic West India Islands, and with Europe. The 
 Brazils are well situated, on the other hand, for extending 
 the influence acquired by the Poituguesc ; for becoming 
 the emporium between Eitfope and the East ; and for re- 
 ceiving into their own soil, and rearing to perfection, the 
 rich productions of the Asiatic islands, which the Portu- 
 gese have lost for ever. The United States possess 
 avery variety of temperature and of soil, from the snows 
 and barrenness of the Rocky Mouutains to the perpetual 
 bloom of Florida ; while the Brazils, to the north and 
 towards the Equator, approach the climate and luxuriance 
 of Africa, and towards the south, are able to rear the tea- 
 plant, and the other productions of China The Spaniards 
 in the New as in the Old World, and in modern as in an- 
 cient times, are the great possessors of mines. They 
 spread themselves along the back of the Andes, as other 
 nations spread themselves along the valleys of rivers, 
 and live, an aerial people, above the clouds, having built 
 their cities in the purer and higher regions of the air. And, 
 while the Americans are placed over against Europe, and 
 the Brazihans are advantageously situated in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Africa, the Spaniards, from Chili, Peru, the 
 west of Columbia, and Mexico, overlook that vast ocean, 
 which will soon open to them a communication with 
 China, and the islands of the South Sea, and connect, by a 
 new channel, the gold and silver of the West with the rich 
 productions of the East. 
 
 Douglas, 
 
149 
 LESSON VIII. 
 
 BniDS OF PASSAGE. 
 
 Birds, joyou3 birds of the wandering wing ! 
 Whence ki it ye come with the flowers of spring) 
 — " We come from the shores of the green old Nile, 
 From the land where the roses of Sharon smile. 
 From the palms that wave through the Indian sky, 
 From the myrrh-trees of glowing Araby. 
 
 •'^ We have swept o'er the cities in song renown'd, 
 
 Silent they lie with the deserts round ! 
 
 We have crossed proud rivers, whose tide hath roU'd 
 
 All dark \nth the v/arrior blood of old j 
 
 And each worn wing hath regain'd its home, 
 
 Under peasant's roof-tree or monarch's dome." 
 
 And what have ye found in the monarch's dome, 
 Since laat ye traversed the blue sea's foam ? 
 — " We have found a change, we have found a pall. 
 And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall. 
 And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt, 
 Nought looks the same, save the nest we built !" 
 
 Oh ! joyous birds, it hath slill been so ; 
 Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go ! 
 But the huts of the hamlets lie still and deep. 
 And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep, — 
 Say what have ye found in the peasant's cot, 
 Since last ye parted from that sweet spot ? 
 
 — " A change we have found there— and many a change i 
 Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange ! 
 Gone are the heads of the silvery hair, 
 
 it 
 
 «■ 
 
I 
 
 inn 
 
 And tlie y«iung tliat were have a brow of core, 
 And tho place is hush'd where the children play'd 
 Nought looks the same, save the nest we made ! 
 
 Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth, -^ 
 
 Birds that o^eraweep it, in power and mirth ! 
 Yet through tlie wastes of the ti'ackless air, 
 Ye have a Guide, and shall we despair ? 
 Ye over deserts and deep have pass^ed. 
 So may we reach our bright home at last. 
 
 Hemans. 
 
 LESSON IX. 
 
 peak cavern in DERBYSHIRfi. 
 
 sub-lime 
 
 ex-cite 
 
 ad-mi-ra-tion 
 
 vi-cin-i-ty 
 
 fis-surc 
 
 ex-trem-i-ty 
 
 au-gust 
 
 re-cess 
 
 can-o-py 
 
 de-press-ed 
 
 pen-e-trat-ing 
 
 tre-men-dous 
 
 de-lach-ed 
 
 gra-du-al-ly 
 
 di-min-ish-ea 
 
 a-byss 
 
 ter-mi-na-tion 
 
 project-ing 
 
 ap-pel-la-tion 
 
 in-cess-ant 
 
 pet-ri-fi-ed '; 
 
 in-crus-ta-tion 
 
 u-ni-form \ 
 
 cav-i-ty 
 
 sub-ter-ra-ne-ous 
 
 ex-plo-sion 
 
 in-te-ri-or 
 
 Peak cavern is of those sublime works of nature, which 
 constantly excite the wonder and admiration of Uieir be- 
 holders. It lies in the vicinity of Castleton, and is ap- 
 proached by a path along the side of a clear rivulet, lead- 
 ing to the fissure, or separation of the rock, at the extremity 
 of which the cavern is situated. It would be difficult to 
 imagine a scene more august than that, which presents it- 
 self to the visitor at its entrance. On each side, the hugs 
 
151 
 
 grey rocks rise almost Btraigl»t up to iho height of nearly 
 three huruhvtl feet, or about seven times the height of a 
 modern house, and, meeting each other at right or cross 
 angles, foiiri a deep and gloomy recess. In front, it is 
 overliuiig by a vast canopy of rock, assuming tlio appear- 
 ance of n depressed arch, and extending in width, one 
 hundred and twenty feet j in height, forty-two ; and in re- 
 ceding deptli, about ninty. After penetrating about ninty 
 feet into tlie cavern, the roof becomes lower, and a gentle 
 descent leads, by a detached rock, to the interior entrance 
 of this tremendoui hollow. Here the light of day, having 
 gradually diminished, wholly disappears ; and the victor 
 is provided with a torch to light him in his further pro- 
 gress. 
 
 The passage now becoming extremely confined, he is 
 obliged to proceed, in a stooping posture, about twenty 
 yards, when he reaches a large opening, named the Bell- 
 house, and is tlience led to a small lake, called the First 
 Water, about forty feet in length, but not more than two 
 or three feet in depth. Over this he is conveyed in a 
 boat to the interior of the cavern, beneath a massive vault 
 of rock, which in some parts descends to within eighteen 
 or twenty inches of the water. On landing, he enters a 
 spacious apartment, 220 feet in length, 200 feet in breadth, 
 and in some parts 120 feet in height, opening into T ? bo- 
 som of the rock: but, from the want of light, neither the 
 distant sides, nor the roof of this abyss, can be seen. In 
 a passage at the inner extremity of this cave, the stream, 
 which flows through the whole length oi the cavern, 
 spreads into what is called the Second Water ; and, near 
 its termination, is a projecting pile of rocks, known by the 
 appellation of Roger Rain's house, from the incessant fall 
 of water in large drops through tlw crevices of the roof* 
 
152 
 
 
 I 
 
 ficydhd this, opens another tremendous hollow, called the 
 Caancel, where the rocks are much broken, and the 
 aides covered with petrified iacrustations. The path now 
 leads to a placed called Half-way House, and thence by 
 three natural and regular arches, to a vast cavity, which, 
 from its uniform belMike appearance, is called Great Tom 
 of Lincoln . From this point the vault gradually descends, 
 the passage contracts, and at length does not leave more 
 than sufficient room for the current of the stream, which 
 continues to flow through a subterraneous channel of several 
 miles in extent, as is proved by the small stones brought 
 into it, after great rains, from the distant ruins of the Peak 
 Forest. 
 
 The entire length of this wonderful cavern is 2250 feet, 
 nearly half a mile ; and its deptli, from the surface of the 
 
 Peak mountain, about 620 feet. A curious effect is pro- 
 
 I. » 
 
 duced by the explosion of a small quantity of gunpowder, 
 wedged into the rock in the interior of the cavern ; for the 
 sound appears to roll along the roof and sides, like a 
 tremendous and continued peal of thunder. 
 
 Clarke's Wonders, 
 
 LESSON X. 
 
 VISIT TO A NEWCASTLE COAL-PIT. 
 
 ad-ven-ture 
 
 cer-e-mo-ny 
 
 pro-di-gi-ous-ly 
 
 steam-en-gine 
 
 vf^A-ti-la-tor 
 
 pu-ri-fy-ing o-si-er 
 
 suf-fo-cat-ing re-i)e-ti-tion 
 
 con-grat-u-lat-ed sub-ter-ra-ne-ous 
 
 tem-per-a-ture de-cliv-i-ty 
 
 ex-am-i-na-tion in-ge-ni-ous-ly 
 
 Our visit to one of the coal-pits in the neighbourhoo- 
 
151 
 
 •hoc 
 
 of Newcastle, was rather a droll adventure. The finrt 
 ceremony was to put on a kind of frock, which covered 
 us all over, to prevent our clothes from being spoiled. 
 We were then shown a prodigiously large steam engine 
 at work at the mouth of the pit, in order to drain off the 
 water, and close to it a ventilator for purifying the air. 
 Our guides now seated us upon a piece of board, slung 
 in a rope like the seat of a swing, and hooked to an iron 
 chain, which was let gently down the sufTocating hole by 
 the assistance of six horses. I mu!=5t confess, I did not 
 like this mode of travelling ; my spirits, however, were 
 rather cheered, when I reached the solid bottom, and 
 saw my good friend Franklin, with a smiling face, at my 
 Bide* He congratulated me on my arrival, and pointed 
 to a huge fire burning in order to keep up the necessaiy 
 ventilation. Gaining courage by a nearer examination, 
 my brother and I walked about the chambers with as 
 much ease, as if they had been the apartments of a dwell- 
 ing-house. The coal is hollowed out in spaces of four 
 yards wide, between which are left pillars of coal to sup- 
 port the roof, ten yards broad and twenty deep. After 
 exploring a dozen or two of these little apartments, our 
 curiosity was satisfied, as tliere was nothing more to be 
 ^een, but a repetition of the same objects to a v^ast extent, 
 A number of horses live here for years together, and 
 seem to enjoy themselves very comfortably : they are 
 .employed to draw the coal through the subterraneous 
 passages 4o the bottom of the opening of the pit. The 
 machine, which raises the coal to the surface of the earth, 
 •is worked by stout horses The coal is brought in strong 
 baskets made of osier ; they each contain twelve hundred 
 weight of coals, and one ascends while the other descends. 
 A single man receives these baskets as they arrive, an4 
 
H ! 
 
 154 
 
 places them on a dray, having hooked on an empty baskc< 
 
 in the place of a full one, before he drives the dray to a 
 
 shed at a little distance, where he empties his load. The 
 
 dust passes through holes prepared to receive it, whilst 
 
 the large pieces of coal roll down the declivity in heaps, 
 
 where they are loaded in waggons and carried to whajfs 
 
 on the river side, to be put on board the vessels, whieh 
 
 wait to carry them to distant ports. The waggons, very 
 
 heavily laden, run without horses to the water side, along 
 
 a rail-road ingeniously formed in a sloping direction, with 
 
 grooves that fit the waggon wheels to make them go more 
 
 readily. 
 
 Wakefield. 
 
 LESSON XI. 
 
 THE HOMES OP ENGLAND. 
 
 The stat'jly homes of England, 
 
 How beautiful they stand ! 
 
 Amidst their tall ancestral trees I 
 
 O'er all the pleasant land ! 
 
 The deer across their greensward bound 
 
 Through sha4e and sunny gleam, 
 
 And the swan glides past th^m with the sount 
 
 Of some rejoicing stream, 
 
 The merry homes of England ! 
 
 Around their hearths by night, 
 
 Wliat gladsome looks of h( usehold love 
 
 Meet in the ruddy light ! 
 
 There woman's voice flows forth in song, 
 
 Or childhood's tale is told ; 
 
 Or lips move tunefully along 
 
 Some glorious page of old. 
 
 } 
 
155 
 
 The cottage homes of England I 
 
 By thousands on her plains, 
 
 They are smilling o'er the silvery brook 
 
 And round the hamlet-f> .r.e 
 
 Through glowing orchards forth they peep, 
 
 Each iirom its nook of leaves *, 
 
 And fearless there the lowly sleep, 
 
 As the bird beneath their eaves. 
 
 The free fair homes of Eng^i! 
 Long, long in hut and hall 
 May hearts of native proof be rear'd 
 To guard each hallow'd wall. 
 And green for ever be the groves, 
 And bright the Howery sod, 
 Where first the child's glad spirit loves 
 Its countrv and its God. 
 
 HemaiNw. 
 
 LESSON XIL 
 
 Tiat-u-ral 
 
 grot-to 
 
 stu-pen-dous 
 
 col-umns 
 
 mo-sa-ic 
 o-lem-ni-ty 
 nag-ni-fi-cence 
 
 fingal's cave, isle ot staffa. 
 
 Cor-vo-ranv, 
 col-on-nades 
 
 a-gi-ta-tion 
 
 ob-scure 
 
 dis-play-ing 
 
 i-ma-gine 
 
 am-phi-the-a-tre 
 
 pro-ject-ing 
 
 gall-er-y 
 
 e-rup-tion 
 vol-ca-no 
 Boo-aha-la 
 ob-lique ly 
 ver-dure 
 
 The grandest, the most sublime, and most extraordina- 
 ly object we have yet seen, is Fingal's cave, in the isle ol 
 Staffa. It is a natural grotto of stupendous size, formed 
 by ranges of columns of dark crey stone, and roofed hj 
 
 I'i 
 
 lu 
 
 1^ 
 
I 
 
 156 
 
 tlie bottoms of oUiers tliat have been broken oT, wiiK tlie 
 spaces between filled with a yellow matter, which gives it 
 the appearanceof mosaic work. The sea reaches to the ex- 
 tremity of the cave, which is a hundred and forty feet 
 long, fifty-six feet high, and thirty-five wide at the en- 
 trance. It is impossible to give you a just idea of tho 
 solemnity and magnificence of Uiis vast cavern. The 
 agitation of the waves, beating against the rocky bottom 
 and sides, and breaking in all parts into foam , the light, 
 gleaming from without to the further end, becoming grad- 
 ually more obscure, but displaying a wonderful variety of 
 colours J produced altogether the most surprising effect 
 you can imagine. On the right side of tlie entrance is a 
 spacious amphitheatre, of different ranges of columns, on 
 Uie top of which we walked at first with tolerable ease ; 
 but as we advanced, this projecting gallery became so 
 narrow and slippery, that we were obliged to go larefoot, 
 and with great risk reached the farther end, where Ae cave 
 is bounded by a row of pillars resembling an organ. Had 
 we not seen Fingal's cave, we might have admired that of 
 Corvorant, ?*♦ the north side of the island; but it is every 
 way inferior to the one, which has so much delighted, and 
 astonished us. I believe the whole island, which is only 
 about two miles round, is a rock composed of the same 
 kind of pillars as this wonderful cavern ; for, on approach- 
 ing it in our fittle boat, we were struck with awe at the 
 grand ranges of colonnades, one above another, some 
 fifty feet high, that support the south-west end, and curve 
 into spacious amphitheatres, according to the form of the 
 bays and windings of the shore. It is supposed by some, 
 that the whole was formed many ages ago by the eruption 
 of a volcano, as also the rock islet of Booshala, at a smaH 
 distance from the grand cavern^ most likely united to 
 
 i ''] 
 
157 
 
 StafTa beneath the water, 1.hougl% they appear to "be BCpar- 
 ated ])y a narrow channel. It is entirely composed of a 
 number of banks of these natural pillars, placed in all 
 directions ; in some parts they form arches ; in others, 
 they are piled one upon anothor like steps, by which we 
 clambered to the top of the pointed hills, made, if I may so 
 express myself, of bundles of these pillars laid obliquely, 
 and bare of mould or verdure j the whole so entirely dif- 
 ferent from any thing I ever saw before, that I am at a Ion 
 to describe it. 
 
 Wakefield.. 
 
 LESSON XTII. 
 
 SCOTLAND- 
 
 De<ir to my spirit, Scotland, thou hast been. 
 Since infant years, in all thy glens of green j 
 Land of my love, where every sound and sight 
 Comes in soft melody ; or melts in light 4 
 Land of the green wood by the silver rill, 
 The heather and daisy of the hill, 
 The guardian thistle to thy foeman stem, 
 The .wild-rose hawthorn, and ihe lady-fern 1 
 Land of the lark, th?t like a seraph sings, 
 t3eyond the rainbow, upon quivering wings.; 
 Lar I of wild beauty and romantic shapes, 
 Of shelter'd valleys and of stormy capes ; 
 Dl the bright garden and the tangled brake. 
 Of the dark mountain and the sun-lit lake : 
 Land of my birth and of jny father's grave. 
 The eagle's home, the eyrie of the brave ; 
 Land of affection, and of native worth ; 
 I..and where my bones shall mingle with tho eartij 
 
 i 
 
158 
 
 The foot of slave thy heather never stain'd, 
 Nor rocks, that battlements thy sons^'profaneil ; 
 UnrivallM larul of science and of aits j 
 Land of iHt faces and of faithful hefirtsj 
 Land where Religion paires her hcavenwaid road^ 
 Land of the temple of the living God! 
 Yet dear to feeling, Scotland as thou art, 
 Shouldst thou that glorious temple e'er desert, 
 I would disclaim thee, seek the distant shore 
 Of Christian isle, and thence return no more. 
 
 James Gh^ 
 
 LESSON xir. 
 
 THE GIANT'S CAUSEWAY. 
 
 ba-5a!t-ic 
 cause- .vay 
 frag-m !;ts 
 ir-reg-u-lar 
 ar-range-ment 
 
 as-cer-taio-ed 
 vis-i-ble 
 de- lin-:ng 
 
 T.i'-U-ll 
 
 pa-rade 
 cora-po-si-tion 
 I en-tag-o-nal 
 . o -vex 
 
 per-pen-dic-u-lar di-am-e-ter 
 
 This vast collection of basaltic pillars is in the countj 
 of Antrim, on the northern coast of Ireland. The prin- 
 cipal or grand causeway consists of an irregular arrange- 
 ment of many thousand columns, formed of a black rock 
 nearly as hard as marble. These columns are of an un- 
 equal height and breadth, several of the most elevated 
 rising to upwards of twenty feet. How deeply they are 
 tixed in the strand, has never yet been ascertained. 
 
 This grand arrangement extends nearly two hundred 
 yanls, as it is visible at low water ; but how far beyond 
 isur.rerrain. From its declining appearance, howeverj 
 
159 
 
 as far into the sea as it can be seen, it is^probable that it 
 does not reach beneath the water to a distance equal to 
 that which is seen above. The breadth of the principal 
 causeway, which runs out in one continued range of 
 columns, is in general from twenty to thirty feet: in some 
 parts it may, for a short distance, be nearly forty, and, at 
 the highest part, it is not more than from twelve to 6fleen 
 feet. The columns of this narrow part incline a little to 
 th? wcj^tward, and form a slope on their tops by the un- 
 equal height of their sides. In this way, from the head 
 of one column to the next above, a gradual ascent is made 
 from the foot of the cliff, to the fop of the great causeway. 
 At the distance of about eighteen feet from the cliff, the 
 columns become perpendicular, and the causeway, lower- 
 ing from its general height, then widens to between tw^enty 
 and thirty feet, being for nearly a hundred yards always 
 above the \\ater. Throughout this length, the tops of the 
 columns are nearly of an equal height, and form a grand 
 and singti'ar parade, somewhat inclining to the water's 
 edge. Bi t within high water mark, the platform, being 
 washed by the beating surges on every return of the tide, 
 lovers consideraV'y, and, becoming more and more un- 
 even, cannot be walked on but with the greatest care. 
 At the distance of a hundred and fifty yards from the 
 cliffs, it turns a little to the east, for the space of eighty or 
 ninoty Too*, and thon sinls into the pea. The figure ol 
 these columns is generally pentagonal, or composed of five 
 sides, though some have been found with three, four, six, 
 and even eight sides. What is very extraordinary, and 
 particularly ciuious is, that there are not two columns to 
 be found in ten thousand, which either have their sides 
 equal among t'lemf'clvcs, or display a like figure ;yet they 
 are so arranged and con.bined, that a knile can scarcely 
 
ICO 
 
 l)e introduced between them, either at tne sides or angles 
 Their composition is also worthy of attention. They ar« 
 not of one fiolid stone in an upright position, but compos- 
 ed of several short lengths, nicely joined, not with flat 
 surfaces, but like a ball and socket, tlie one end of the 
 joint being a cavity, into which the convex end of tlie 
 opposite is exactly fitted. The length of the stones from 
 joint to joint is various : they are in general from eighteen 
 •wkchcB to two feet long ; and for the greater part, longer 
 towards the bottom of the columns than nearer the top. 
 I'heir diameter is likewise as different as their length and 
 figure J but it is generally from fifteen to twenty inches. 
 
 Clahke's Wonders, 
 
 
 LESSON XV. 
 
 • ^^ 
 
 
 THE LAKE OFKILLARMEY. 
 
 Kil-lar-ney 
 
 en-chant-ment 
 
 sce-ner-y 
 
 cas-cade 
 
 mag-ni-fi-cence 
 
 pic-tu-resque 
 
 Aim-id 
 
 ex-trem-i-ty 
 
 com-mu-ni-cates 
 
 spec-ta-tor 
 
 cch-oes 
 
 in-dent-ed 
 
 Inn-is-fall-en 
 
 Man-ger-ton 
 
 sum-mit 
 
 pro-mon-tor-y 
 
 suc-ces-sion 
 
 cir-cu-lar 
 
 The most extraordinary fresh-water lake in Ireland \h 
 Lough-Lean, othei-wise called the Lake of Killarney, in 
 the county of Kerry. It possesses singular beauties. 
 It is divided into three parts. The northern or lowex 
 Jake, six miles in length and from three .to four in breadth. 
 On the side of one of the mountains is O'Sullivan's cas- 
 cade, which falls into the lake with a roaring noise, that 
 strikes the .t'nud spectator with awe. The view of this 
 
IGl 
 
 filieet of water, appearing to descend from an arch of 
 wood, whiclj overhangs it aljove seventy feet in height 
 fjtom the surface of the lake, is uncommonly fine. The 
 inlands are not so numerous in this part, as in the upper 
 lake J but there is one of uncommon beauty, called In- 
 nisfaJlen, nearly opposite to O' Sullivan's cascade. It 
 contains eighteen acres ; and the coast is formed into a 
 variety of bays and promontories, skirted and crowned 
 with arbutus, holly, and other shrubs and trees. The pro- 
 montory of Mucruss, which divides the upper from tlio 
 i'oA^er lake, is a perfect land of enchantment j and a road 
 's carried through the centre of this promontory which 
 nnfoids all the interior beauties of the place. Among tlie 
 distant mountains the one named Turk presents itself as 
 an object of magnificence ; and the sumnut of Mangerton, 
 more lofty, though less interesting, soars above the whole. 
 
 The passage to the upper lake is round the extremity 
 of Mucruss, by which it is confined on one side, and by 
 the approaching mountains on the other. Here is a 
 celebrated rosk called the Eagle's Nest, which produces 
 wonderful echoes : the report of a single cannon is an- 
 8W31V d by a succession of peals resembling the loudest 
 thunder, which seem to travel along the surrounding 
 scenery, and dio awry amid the distant mountains* The 
 upper lake is four miles in length, and from two to three 
 m brcaLtli. It is almost surrounded by mountains, from 
 which des:^end a number of beautiful cascades. The 
 islands in this lake are numerous, and afibrd an amasung 
 variety of picturesque views. 
 
 The cent 3 lake which communicates with the upper, 
 is small in comparison with the other two, and cannot 
 boast of equal variety ; but its shores are, in many places, 
 indented with beautiful bays^ surrounded by dark groves oJ 
 
 •') 
 
 >i 
 
 
\6J 
 
 trees. The enstem boundary is formed by the base oi 
 Mangerton, down the steep side of which descends a cas- 
 cade, visible for four hundred and fifty feet. This fall of 
 water is supplied by a circular lake near the summit of 
 the mountain, which on account of its immense depth, 
 and the continual overflow of wal or, is considered one ot 
 the greatest curiosities in Killarney. , 
 
 Clarke's Wonders, 
 
 LESSON XVI. 
 
 LINES SENT TO THE IRISH HARP SQCIETY, ASSEMBLED ON 
 
 ST. Patrick's day. 
 
 The harp that in darkness and silence forsaken, 
 Had slumber'd while ages rolled slowly along, 
 
 Once more in its own native land shall awaken, 
 And pour from its chords all the raptures of song 
 
 Unhurt by the mildews that o'er it were stealing. 
 
 Its strings in full chorus shall warble sublime — 
 Shall rouse all the ardour of patriot feeling, 
 
 Aud snatch a bright wreath from the relics of time. 
 
 Sweet harp ! on some tale of past sorrow while dwelling. 
 
 Still plantive and sad breathes the murmuring sound 
 The bright sparkling tear of fond sympathy, swelling. 
 
 Shall freshen the Shamrock that twines thee around. 
 
 Sweet harp ! o'er thy tones ihough with fervent devotion, 
 
 We mingle a patriot smile wth a tear, 
 Not fainter the smiles, not less pure tlie emotion, ; 
 
 That w lits on the ca»»i':e which assembles us here. 
 
3N 
 
 n> 
 
 10 
 
 01 
 
 EIS- 
 
 of 
 
 of 
 
 th, 
 
 ot 
 
 Behold whoix) the child of alUiction and sorrow, 
 Whose eyes never gazed on the splendour of light, 
 
 Is taught from thy trembling vibration to borrow j ' 
 One mild ray of joy midst the horrors of night. 
 
 No more shall lie wander unknown and neglected, 
 From winter's loud tempests a shelter to find ; 
 
 No more a sad outcast, forlorn and dejected, 
 Shall poverty add to the woes of the blind. 
 
 MissBai.four. 
 
 g- 
 
StICTION V. 
 
 LESSON I. 
 
 THE PARTS OF SFELCH. ' 
 
 There are nine Parts of Speccli ; Noun, Article, Adjet 
 tive, Pronoun, Verb, Adverb, Conjunction, Preposition^ 
 and Interjection. A Noun ia the name of a person, place 
 or tiling. An Article is a word used to point out a noun 
 (a or an pointing out any one of a class ; the pointing out 
 some particular one.) An Adjective expresses the kind or 
 quality of a noun. A Pronoun is a word used instead of a 
 noun. A Verb is a word which expresses in what state or 
 posture the noun is or what it does or sulTers. A n Adverb is 
 used to qualify a verb or adjective. A Conjunction con- 
 nects words or sentences. A Preposition points out the 
 relation of one word to another. An Interjection expres- 
 ses some emotion of the mind. Thus, in the sentence, 
 **John is a good boy: he is the best scholar in the class ; 
 for he is attentive to his lessons, and repeats them correct- 
 ly: but, alas! he is in very bad health;" John, boy, 
 scholar, class, lesson, Jiealih, being names, are called 
 Nouns J A and the, because they point out the nouns, boy, 
 scholar, and class, are Articles ; good, best, attentive, 
 bad, because they express the kind or quality of the nouns, 
 boy, scholar, John, health, are Adjectives ; He, his, and 
 Ihem, being used instead of nouns, are Pronouns ; Is, 
 signifying a state of being, and repeats, expressing an ac- 
 tion, are Verbs ; Correctly, qualifying repeats, and very, 
 qualifying bad, are Adverbs; And, joining the verbs, is 
 and r peats, and also for and but, connecting clauses of 
 
165 
 
 the aentcncc, arc Conjunction^) j To and i/?, pointing oiit^ 
 the relation between John and liis lessons and healthy 
 arc f repositions ; anda/'/5/ cxprcHsing the emotion (>C 
 
 ?•/ 
 
 r John's bad healthy is an Interjection. 
 
 LESSON II, 
 
 PREFIXES AND AFFIXES 
 
 A prefix is a syllable placed at the beginning of a word 
 to change or increase its signification. An affix is a 
 syllable placed at the end of a word for the same purpose. 
 Some of the prefixes, used in the formation of Englifah 
 words, are of Saxon origin ; others are boiTowed from the 
 Latin and Greek. The following is a list of the Saxon 
 prefixes, and of most of the affixes, except such as are 
 used in the declension of nouns and verbs, and in the 
 comparison of adjectives. 
 
 ^ive, 
 
 uns, 
 
 and 
 
 Is, 
 
 ac- 
 
 i-ery, 
 
 PREFIXES. 
 
 A, on ; as ashore. 
 
 Be, about i before, make ; as besprinkle, bespeak, ^^almt 
 
 En, make ; as enrich. 
 
 ToTCf before } as foresee. 
 
 Mis, error or defect ; as misconduct, mufortune. 
 
 Out, beyond ; as owflive. 
 
 Over, over or above ; as overflow. 
 
 Un, 910^ ; as un&hle. 
 
 With, from or against ; as imVAhold, untAstand 
 
I ■ II HP' 
 
 lb(y 
 
 j 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 AFFIXES. 
 
 1. To J^ouns, 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 A"' "1 
 
 ' 
 
 ' HistoriaM, 
 
 ' ar, 
 
 
 beggar. 
 
 aiy, 
 
 
 adversary, 
 
 
 
 doctor. 
 
 \ er. 
 
 
 farmer. 
 
 ^ eer, 
 
 an agent or 
 (me Hiho does : as i 
 
 chariote«,^ 
 
 H ist, 
 
 chemtif, 
 
 ^ ard, 
 
 ' » 
 
 drunkard/, 
 
 ant. 
 
 
 assistant, 
 
 ent. 
 
 
 student, 
 
 rte. 
 
 
 favouri/e 
 
 Btei^ J 
 
 * 
 
 ^ songster 
 
 i 
 
 1 , Hood, 
 
 > 
 
 ' Manhood, 
 
 i ism. 
 
 
 heroism 
 
 1 ment. 
 
 
 wnaazement, 
 
 [ ness, 
 
 
 darkness, 
 
 nee, 
 
 TJ9 
 
 «fa/e o/ being, or 
 qualify; as 
 
 abundance, 
 bravery, 
 
 ship. 
 
 ■ 
 
 Snendship, 
 
 tude, 
 
 
 rec^iude. 
 
 ^9 
 
 
 pie/y. 
 
 7^ J 
 
 . 
 
 . viUainy. 
 
 Dom, age, action^ state, property; as Dukecfom, 
 
 Cle, let, /iV/Ze ; as partic/e; rivu/e/. 
 Liag, young ; as diick/z/ig*. 
 
 Tion, sion, the act of doing, or the thing done } as 
 orma^ion, ascenc<^/)- 
 
167 
 
 I 
 
 2. To J^djeclivps 
 
 A), 
 
 an, 
 
 ar, 
 
 ary, 
 
 ory, 
 
 c, 
 
 ile, 
 ine, 
 ish, 
 
 Ful, 
 ous, 
 ose, 
 some, 
 
 r. 
 
 of or belonging io ; 
 as 
 
 f Persono^ 
 j human, 
 familiar, 
 prii lary, 
 * laTiaator^, 
 domest/c, 
 juveAi/e, 
 i infanttng 
 I EngliiS 
 
 V 
 
 full ; as 
 
 j gloriow^j 
 verbo^^, 
 
 i woody. 
 
 ■I 
 
 I 
 
 Ant, ent, ^emg ; as pleasaw/, differed/. 
 
 Ble, may, or can ie ; as \\s\ble. 
 
 En, macfe q/^y as vvoodcw. 
 
 Ish, little ; as h\^ckish. 
 
 Less, mtkout ; as use/es^, 
 
 Ly, ish, like, M^ ; as friend/y, childi^A, god/i'yttf. 
 
 Ward, towards } as backti>ar</. 
 
 Ate, 
 en, 
 
 ish, 
 ize. 
 
 3. To Verbs. 
 
 r C Anirwfl'/tf,' 
 
 ! I lengthen, 
 
 < ^0 »iaA:c; as { magni^, 
 
 estab/M, 
 L inmiortah*2»J 
 
 4. To Adverbs. 
 
 Ly, /t'Ac ; as foolish/y. 
 Ward, towards j as northuwrrf. 
 
 ? I- 
 
IL'8 
 
 iv 
 
 Example. — " Man's chief j»ood is an upright mind, 
 which no earthly power can bestOvT, or take from him." 
 What part of speech is man''s ? A nown, because it is the 
 name of a person. The word which signifies the state of 
 being a man 1 Manhood. An adjective from man ? 
 Manly, like a man. A noun from manly f Manliness 
 formed by adding vess, quality or slate. The opposite 
 to manlij? Unmanly. A noun from chief? Chief- 
 iain. The state or office of a chieftain 1 Chiefiainship, 
 The scripture name for tlic head or chief of a tribe 1 
 Patriarch. The noun from it corres-ponding to chieftain" 
 ship 1 Patriarchate. The noun signifying the quality 
 of being f^ood ? Goodness. A similar noun from up' 
 riirhl? Ujp'i'j^h/ness. The [^rGi\K. 'n\ iipright ? Up. An 
 adjective and noun from ri ihl 1 Righteous, righteous- 
 ness. To make right ? Redify, An adjective from 
 mind 1 Mindful. The opposite of it ? Unmindful, 
 The alTix in earth/y ?. Ly, like. Full oC earth ? Earthly, 
 Made o( earth ? Earthen. Add two affixes of opposite 
 signification io power. Powerful, full of power ; power- 
 less, without power. Another word for bestow ? Give. 
 A person who gives ? A giver. The thing given ? A 
 gift. A w^ord derived from take? Mistake, formed by 
 prefixing the syllable mis, error or defect. 
 
 I i 
 
 
 LESSON 
 
 III. 
 
 
 
 THE MASK OF 
 
 NATURE. 
 
 bcau-ti-ful 
 
 crys-ta. 
 
 
 twi -light 
 
 ap-proach-es 
 
 lang-uid 
 
 
 un-a- wares 
 
 g?ir-lnnd 
 
 riv-u-lels 
 
 
 par-tfidge 
 
 trans-pa- rent 
 
 gi-ate-ful 
 
 
 pheas-ant 
 
 ro fresh-mejit 
 
 a-cid 
 
 
 i-ci-cle 
 
f69 
 
 er- 
 rive. 
 * A 
 
 Who is liiis beautiful virgin that approaches, clothed in 
 a robe of light green? she has a garland of flowers on 
 her bead, and flowers spring up wherever she sets her foo^ 
 The snow, which covered the 'fieldsjand the ice, which, 
 was on the rivers, melt away wlien she breathes upon them 
 The young lambs frisk about her, and the birds warble to 
 welcome her coming ; when they see her, they begin to 
 choose their matob', and to build their nests. Youths and 
 maidens, have ye S3cn this beautiful virgin? If ye have, 
 tell me wlio she is, and what is her name ? 
 
 Who is this that cometh fjom the south, thinly clad in 
 « light transparent garment 1 Iler breath is hot and sultry; 
 she seeks the refreshment of the cool shade; she seeks 
 the clear streams, the erytlal brook, to bathe her languid 
 limbs. The brooks and rivulets fly from her, and are 
 dried up at her approach. She cools her parched lips 
 with beiTies, and the gratelul acid of fruits. The tanned 
 haymaker welcomes her coming; and the sheep-shearer, 
 who clips the fleeces of his flock with his sounding shears. 
 When she cometli, let me lie under the thick shade of a 
 qireading beech-tree ; let me walk with her in the early 
 morning, when the dew is yet upon the gi'ass ; let Ti,* 
 wander with her in the i«oft twilif^I it when the phephen! 
 shuts his fold, and the star of the evening appears. W!io 
 i:^ she that cometh from the fioutli I Youtlis .md maidens, 
 tell me, if you know, who is she, and ^^hatis her name? 
 
 Who is he that cometh whh sober pace, rtealing upon 
 us unawares ? His garments are red \\ ith the blood of 
 the grape, and his temples arc bound with a sheaf of 
 rij3e wheat. His hair is thin and begins to fill, and the 
 auburn is mixed with mournful grey. He shakes the 
 brown nuts from the tree. He winds the horn, and calls 
 
 llie hunters to their -^^r* 
 
 The gun sounds. 
 
 The tj-em- 
 
170 
 
 h\\m pmtnd^.Q and tlie l^^autiful pheasant flutter, bleeding 
 in the air, and fall dead at 'the sportsman's feet. Youths 
 and maidens, tell me, iPyou kijow, who is he, and what 
 IS his name? 
 
 Who is he that cometh from the. north, in fur and warm 
 wool ? He wraps his cloal^ close about him. His head 
 i^j bald ; his beard is made of sharp icicles. He loves the 
 I lazing fire, high piled uppn the hearth, and the wine 
 sju\rkling in the glass. lie bijids skates to his feet, and 
 skims over the frozen lakes. His breath is piercing and 
 cold, and no little flower dares to peep above the surface 
 of the ground, when he is by. What ever he touches 
 tnrns to ice. Youths and maidens do you see him? He 
 IS coming upon us, and soon will be here. Tell me, i( 
 you know, who he is, and what is his nanie ? 
 
 BAwRBAULD. 
 
 h .1 
 
 LESSON IV. 
 
 day: a pastoral. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 Morning, 
 
 In tlie barn the tenant cock. 
 Close to partlet perch'd on high. 
 
 Briskly crows(the shepherd's clock) 
 Jocund that the morning's nigh. 
 
 Swiftly from the mountain's brow, 
 Shadows nursed by night, retire : 
 
 And the peeping sunbeam, now. 
 Paints '.N-ith |,old the village spire. 
 
171 
 
 Philomel forsakes the thorn. 
 
 Plaintive where she prate? night ; 
 
 And the lark, to meet tlie moi n, 
 Soars beyond the shepherd j sight. 
 
 From the low-roof 'd cottage r dge, 
 See the chatt'ring swallow sj ring ; 
 
 Darting through the one-archM bridge, 
 Quick she dips her dappled >.nng. 
 
 Now the pine-tree's waving top, 
 Gently greets the morning gale 
 
 Kidlings now begin to crop 
 Daisies, in the dewy dale. 
 
 From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd, 
 (Restless till her task be done,) 
 
 Now the busy bee's employ'd, 
 Sipping dew before! the sun. 
 
 Sweet, — sweet, the warbling throng, 
 On tile white emblossom'd spray ! 
 
 Nature's universal song . - 
 
 Echoes to the rising day. 
 
 .AToon. 
 
 Fervid on die glitt'ring flood, 
 
 Now the noontide radiance glows. 
 
 Drooping o'er its infant bud. 
 Not a dew-drop decks the ros'e. 
 
 By the brook the shepherd dines ; 
 
 From the fierce meridian heat 
 Shelter'd by the branching pines^ 
 
 Pendant o'er his gra^ssy seat. 
 
172 
 
 Now the flock forsakes the glade, 
 Where unchecked the sunbeam'i Tally 
 
 Sure to find a plea&ing shade 
 By the ivv'd abbey wall. 
 
 Echo, in ner airy round, 
 
 Over river, rock and hill, 
 Cannot catch a single sound. 
 
 Save the clack of yonder mill. 
 
 Cattle court the zephyrs bland. 
 Where the streamlet wanders cool 
 
 Or ivith languid silence stand 
 Midway in the marshy pool. 
 
 A^oi i5 leaf has leave to &tir. 
 
 Niiture's lull'd serene, and still ; 
 Qu'pt e'en the^shepherd's cur, 
 
 Slefjping on the heath-clad hill. 
 
 Languid is the landscape round, 
 Till the fresh descending shower, 
 
 Grateful to the thirsty ground. 
 Raises ev'ry fainting flower, 
 
 Ji^vening, 
 
 O'er the heath the heifer sti-ays 
 Free (the furrow'd task is done ;) 
 
 Now the village windows blaze, 
 Bumish'd by the setting sun , 
 
 Now he hides behind the hill, 
 Sinking from a golden sky j 
 
 Can the pencil's mimic skill 
 Copy the refulgent dye I 
 
173 
 
 Trudging as the ploughmen go 
 (To the smoking hamlet bound,) 
 
 Giant-like their shadows grow, 
 Lengthen'd o'er the level ground. 
 
 Where the rising forest spreadM 
 Shelter for the lordly dome, 
 
 To their high-built airy beds, 
 See the rooks returning home J 
 
 AS the lark, with varied tune; 
 
 Carols to the ev'ning, loud, 
 Mark the mild resplendent moon 
 
 Breaking through a parted cloud f 
 
 Now the hermit-owlet peeps 
 
 From the bam, or twisted brake ; 
 
 And the blue mist slowly creeps 
 Curling on the silver lake. 
 
 Tnppmg inrougn the silken grass, 
 O'er the path-di\ided dale, 
 
 Mark tke rose-comp!exion'd lass, 
 With her well-poised milking pail. 
 
 Linnets with un-nurnl)er\l notes, 
 And the cuckoo-bird with two, 
 
 Tuning sweet their mellow throatr> 
 Bid the setting sun r.illcii. 
 
 OuNKiyCHAM. 
 
174 
 LESSON V. 
 
 THE DEATH OP THE JUST. 
 
 How calm is the summer sea's wave ! 
 
 How softly is swelling its breast ! 
 The bank it just reaches to lave, 
 
 Then sinks on its bosom to rest. 
 
 No dashing, no foaming, nor roar. 
 But mild as a zephyr its play ; 
 
 It drops scarcely heard on the shore, 
 And passes in silence away. 
 
 So calm is the action of death, 
 On the halcyon mind of the just, 
 
 As gently he rifles their breast. 
 As gently dissolves them to dust. 
 
 Not d groan, nor a pain, nor a tear, 
 Nor a grief, nor a wish, nor a sigh, 
 
 Nor a cloud, nor a doubt, nor a fear. 
 But calm as a slumber they die. 
 
 K 
 
 Edmeston. 
 
 LESSON VL 
 
 the whistle. 
 
 hol-i-day 
 
 vo-lun-tar-i-ly 
 
 dis-turb-in^ 
 
 oar-gain 
 
 /ex-a-tion 
 
 L"e-flec-tions 
 
 "sac-ri-fi-cing 
 at-tend-ance 
 lev-ees 
 re-pose 
 lib-er-ly 
 at-tain 
 
 be-nev-o-Ient 
 
 ac-cu-mu-lat-ing 
 
 lau-da-rble 
 
 sen-su-al 
 
 gra-ti-fi-ca-tion 
 
 fiir-nj-ture 
 
n5 
 
 cha-gnn 
 
 pop-u-lar-i-ty 
 
 e-qui-piige 
 
 iin-pres-sioii 
 
 po-li-li-cal 
 
 con-tract-ed 
 
 un-nc-ccss-a-rj' 
 
 ne-glect-iii^' 
 
 ca-rcer 
 
 am-bi-ti-ous 
 
 mi-ser 
 
 cs-ti-niate 
 
 Wlien I was a child about seven years of .\ge, iny 
 friends on a holiday, filled my pocket with halfpence. I 
 went directly towards a shop wliere toys were sold for 
 children, and being charmed with the sound of a whistle, 
 that I met by the way, in the hands of another boy, I 
 voluntarily offered him all my money for it. I then came 
 home, and went whistling over the house, much pleased 
 with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. M^ 
 brothers and sisters, and cousins, understanding the bar- 
 gain I had made, told me I had given four times as much 
 for it as it was worth. This put me in mind what good 
 things I might have bought with the rest of the money ; 
 and they laughed at me so much for my folly, that I cried 
 with vexation. My reflections on the subject gave me 
 more chagrin, than the whistle gave me pleasure. This 
 little event, however, was afterwards of use to me, the 
 impression continiung on my mind ; so that often, when 
 I was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing, I said to my- 
 self, " Do not give too much for the whisilt^^ and so I 
 saved my money. 
 
 As I grew up, came into tne world, ana [observed the 
 actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, 
 who " gave too much for the whistle, ^^ 
 
 When I saw any one too ambitious of court-favour, 
 eacrificing his time in attendance on levees j his repose, 
 his liberty, his virtue, and perhaps his friends, to attain it, 
 I said to myself, " This man gives too much for his 
 whistle.''^ 
 
 When I saw another fond of popularity, constantly 
 
176 
 
 employing himself in political bustles, neglecting his own 
 affairs, and ruin" ng them by that neglect j " He paysy in- 
 deed^^ said I, ^Hoo much for his whistle.^"* 
 
 If I knew a miser, who gave up every kind of comfort- 
 able living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, an( 
 Uie esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys of benevo 
 tent friendship, for the sake of accumulating wealth 
 ^* Poor manP^ said I, "yow indeed pay too much for 
 your whistle,^^ 
 
 When I met a man of pleasure, sacrificing every laud- 
 able improvement of mind, or of forti me, to mere sensual 
 gratification J " Mistaken man /" said I, "yow are prO' 
 viding pain for ipursclf imieud of pleasure ; you giv9 
 loo much for your whistle,''^ 
 
 If I saw one fond of fine clothes, fine furniture, fine 
 equipage, all above his fortune, for which he contracted 
 debts, and ended his career in prison ; " Jllas /" said I, 
 ** he has paid dear, very dear^ for his whistle.''^ 
 
 In short, I conceived, that great part of the miseries of 
 mankind are brought upon them by the false estimate 
 Chey make of the value af things, and by their giving too 
 much for their whisilis, 
 
 Franklin. 
 
 1 
 
 LESSON VII. 
 
 ON A -WATCH. 
 
 Wliile this gay toy attracts thy t-ight. 
 
 Thy reason let it warm ; 
 And seize, my dear, that rapid time 
 
 That never must retym. 
 
177 
 
 » 
 
 If idly lost, no art or care 
 The blessing can restore ; 
 
 >A.nd Heaven exacts a strict account, 
 For every inis- spent hour. 
 
 Short is our longest day of life, 
 And soon its prospects end : 
 
 Ifet on that day'd uncertain date 
 Eternal years depend. 
 
 Cakter. 
 
 tem-pcr-ate 
 
 ex-trav-a-gant 
 
 a-ro-mat-ic 
 
 fra-grant 
 
 de-li-ci-ous 
 
 re-galed 
 
 LESSON VIII. 
 
 THE TW« BEES. 
 
 in-t3r-val8 8U3-pi-ci-0U3 
 
 gra-ti-fi-ca-tion mod-er-a-tion 
 
 al-lur-ing sur-feit-ed 
 
 ep-i-cure e-ner-vat-ed 
 
 re-mon-stran-ceo in-dul-gence 
 
 phi-lo -soph-ic ' n-*^ v-i-ta-»ble 
 
 On a fine morning in s"nrimer, two bees set forward in 
 quest of honey ; the one wise and temperate, the other 
 careless and extravagant. They soon arrived at a garden 
 enriched with aromatic herbs, the most fragrant flowers, 
 and the most delicious fruits. They regaled themselves 
 with the various dainties that were spread before them 5 
 the one loaded his thighs, at intervals, with provisions for 
 the hive against the distant winter j the other revelled in 
 Bweets, without regard to any thing but his present gratifi- 
 tion. At length they found a wide-mouthed phial, that 
 hung beneath the bough of a peach-tree filled with honey 
 

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178 
 
 ■ •■•..-■ ."i - ,* ,. 
 
 peady tempered, and exposed to their taste in the most 
 alluring manner. The thoughtless epicure^ in spite of his 
 Iheiid's remonstrances, plunged headlong into the vessel, 
 iesolving to indulge himself in all the plea8ures*of sensuali- 
 ty. His philosophic companion, on the other hand, sip- 
 ped a little, with caution : but being suspicious of danger, 
 tlew off to fruits and flowers ; where, by the moderation 
 of his meals, he improved his relish for the true enjoy- 
 ment of them. In the evening, however, he called upon 
 his friend, to inquire if he would return to the hive : but 
 ne found him surfeited in sweets, which he was as unabie 
 to leave, as to enjoy. Clogged in his wings, enfeebled 
 in his feet, and his whole frame totally enervated, he was 
 but just able to bid his friend adieu ; and to lament, with 
 his latest breath, that though a taste of pleasurd may 
 quicken the relish of life, an unrestrained indulgence leads 
 
 to inevitable destruction. . , . , , . 
 
 •..*.;- D0D8X.ET. 
 
 LESSON IX. 
 
 , ^ THE BOY AND THE RAINBOW 
 
 One evening, as a simple swain 
 
 His flock attended on the plain, 
 
 The shining bow he chanced to spy, 
 
 Which warns us when a show'r is ni^ 
 
 With brightest rays it seemM to glow : 
 
 Its' distance eighty yards or so. 
 
 This bumpkin had, it seems, been told 
 
 The story of the cup of gold, 
 
 Which fame reports is to be found 
 
 Just where the rainbow meets the ground, 
 
 
 .; «-« 
 
179 
 
 nost 
 fhis 
 
 uali- 
 sip- 
 [iger, 
 &tion 
 ijoy- 
 iipon 
 : but 
 lable 
 sbled 
 iwat 
 with 
 may 
 leads 
 
 IT, 
 
 '*=♦ 
 
 He therefore felt a sudden itch 
 To seize the goblet and be rich ; 
 Hoping (yet hopes are oft but vain,) 
 No more to toil through wind and rain, 
 But still indulging by the fire % t ;. 
 'Midst ease ana plenty like a squire. 
 He marked the very spot of land, 
 On which the rainb«w seem'd to stand. 
 And, stepping forward at his leisure, 
 Expected to have found the treasure, 
 But as he moved, the colourM ray 
 Still changed its place, and slipped away, 
 As seeming his approach to shun ; 
 From walking he began to run ; 
 But all in vain, it still withdrew 
 As nimbly as he could pursue. 
 At last, through many a bog and lake, 
 Rough craggy road, and thorny brake. 
 It led the easy fool, till night 
 Approach'd, then vanish'd in his sight, 
 And left him to compute his gains. 
 With nought but labou^ for his pains. 
 
 WiLKIl. 
 
 i-dic-u-louB 
 «u-pe-ri-or 
 fa-cul-ties 
 per-fec-tion 
 
 LESSON X. 
 
 THE FOLLY OP PBIDE. 
 
 rea-aon-a-ble 
 ped-ri-»gi'ees 
 dis-tine-Uons 
 em-i-nence 
 
 9u-per<-nu-me<-ra-py me-ni-al 
 ca-lam-i-ties gran-ar-y 
 
 dis-card-ed 
 suc-cess-or 
 co-quette J, .- 
 par-al-lel ^ ^^ 
 syc-o-phant ;; 
 in-gen-i-ous 
 
ISO 
 
 If there be any thing that makes human nature appear 
 fidiculous to beings of ssupanor faculties, it must be pride. 
 Tliey know so well the vanity of tliose imaginary per- 
 fections, that swell the heart of man, and of those little 
 eupemumerary advantages of birth, fortune, or title, which 
 one man enjoys above another, that it must certain!/* 
 very much astonish, if it does not very much divert them, 
 when they see a mortal pulled up, and valuing himself 
 above his neighbours, on any of these accounts, at tho 
 same time that he is liable to all the common calamities 
 of tlie species. 
 
 To set this thought in its true light, we shall fancy, 
 if you please, that yonder mole-hill is inhabited by reason- 
 able creatures; and that every pismire (his shape and 
 way of life only excepted) is endowed with human pas- 
 sions. How should we smile to hear one give an account 
 of the pedigrees, distinctions, and titles, that reign among 
 them ! — Observe how the whole swarm divide and make 
 way for the pismire that passes along ! You must un- 
 derstand he is an emmet of quality, and has better blood 
 in his veins than any pismire in the mole-hill. Do you 
 not see how sensible he is of it, how slowly he marches 
 forward, how the whole rabble of ants keep their dis- 
 tance ! Here you may observe one placed upon a littia 
 eminence, and looking down on a row of labourers. He 
 b the richest insect on this side the hillock : he has a 
 walk of half-a-yard in length, and a quarter of an inch in 
 breadth ; he keeps a hundred menial servants, and has at 
 least fifteen barley-corns in his granary. He is now 
 chiding and enslaving the emmet that stands before him, 
 one who, for all we can discover, i3 as good an emixiet 
 as himself.^ 
 
 But here comes an insect of rank ! Do not you per' 
 
ISI 
 
 a 
 m 
 at 
 low 
 
 r.v.v tlii.' litile u'liite straw that lie cnrrios in his mouth? 
 That straw, you must understandj he would not part with 
 for the longest tract about the mole-hill, you cannot conceive 
 what ho has undergone to purchase it ! Bee how the ants 
 of all qualities and conditions swarm about him ! Should 
 that straw drop out of his mouth, you waiild j^ce all thi^ 
 numerous circle of attendants follow the next that took It 
 lip; and leave the discarded insect, or nm over his l>ack, 
 to come to his successoi". 
 
 If now you have a mind to see the ladles of llie molo- 
 hill, observe, first, the pismire that listens to the emmet 
 on her left hantl,at the same time that she seems to turn 
 away her head from him. He tells this poor 
 insect, that she is a superior being; that her eyes ace 
 'jrighter than the sun ; that life and death are at her dis- 
 posal. She believes him, and gives herself a tliousand 
 little airs upon it, Mark the vanity of the pismirc on her 
 right hand. She can scarcely crawl with age ; but you 
 must know she values herself upon her birth } and, if you 
 mind, she spurns at every one, that comes within her 
 reach. The little nimble coquette, that is running by the 
 iide of her, is a wit. She has broken many a pisraire'i 
 heart. Do ))ut observe what a drove of admirers are 
 limning after her. 
 
 We shall here finish this imaginary scene. But first 
 of all, to draw the parrallel closer, we shall suppose if you 
 please, that death comes down upon the molc-hill, in the 
 shape of a cock sparrow; and picks up, without distinct 
 tion, the pismire of quality and his flatterers, the pismico 
 of substance and his day-labourers, the white straw-officer 
 and his sycophants, witli all the ladies of rank, Uie v\'hs, 
 and the beauties of tlie mole-hill. 
 
 May we not imagine^ that beings of superior iiatuie 
 w>4 perfections regard all tlie instances of pride and vani^ 
 
 ^ 
 
182 
 
 Umong our own species, in the same kind of view, when 
 Ihey take a survey of tho^ who inhabit this earth ; or 
 (in the language of an ingenious French poet,) of those 
 pismires, that people this heap of dirt, which hunaan 
 vanity his divided into cHmates and regions? 
 
 Guardian- 
 
 lesson XL 
 
 THE COMMON LOT. 
 
 A- 
 
 Once, in the flight of ages past,. 
 
 There lived a man : — and wiio was he ? 
 — Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast, 
 
 That Man resembled Thee : — 
 
 Unknown the regions of his birth, 
 
 The land, in which he died, unknown : 
 
 His name has perish'd from the earth, 
 This truth survives alone : 
 
 That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear. 
 Alternate triumph'd in his breast ; 
 
 His blisa and woe — a smile, a tear ! 
 — Oblivion hides the rest. 
 
 It 
 
 The bounding pulse, the languid limb; 
 The changing spirits' rise and fall ; 
 We know that these were felt by him, 
 'V For these are felt by all. 
 
 ne BufibrM— but his pangs are o'er, 
 \ Enjoy'd-— but his delights are fled }, 
 
 V 
 
 V 
 
 ' ',:i.;; 
 
 iV :- 
 
I 
 
 r 
 
 J«3 
 
 Had friends — liis fnends'aro now no more j 
 And foes — his foes are dead. 
 
 He loved — but whom he loved, the grave 
 Hath lost in its unconscious womb : 
 Bhe was fair ! but nought could save 
 Her beauty from the tomb. 
 
 He saw whatever thou hast seen ; 
 
 Eneounter'd all that troubles thee ; 
 He was — whatever thou hast been ; 
 
 He is — wjiat thou shalt be. 
 
 The rolling seasons, day and night, 
 
 Sun, moon, and stars, the eartii and main, 
 
 Erewhile his portion, life and light. 
 To him exist in vain. 
 
 The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye 
 That once their shades and glory threw 
 
 Have left in yonder silent sky 
 No vestige where they flew. 
 
 The annals of the human race, 
 Their rums, since the world began, 
 
 Of HIM affords no other trace 
 Than this — there lived a man. 
 
 MONTGOMBRT. 
 
e-rup-tion 
 
 ^t-na 
 
 adja-cen' 
 
 la-va 
 
 con-fu-sloT* 
 
 LESSON XIL 
 
 TriE PIOUS SONS, 
 
 80-li-ci-tude 
 pre-s3r-va-tion 
 rc-col-lect-ed 
 fi!-i al 
 txi-uruph ed 
 
 con-sid-cr-a-tion 
 
 gcn-cr-ou3 
 
 af-fec-tion-ate 
 
 ad-mi-ra-tioa 
 
 pos-ter-ity 
 
 In one of those terrible eruptions of Mount -^tna, 
 which have often happened, the danger of tlie inhabitants 
 of the adjacent country was uncommonly great. To 
 avoid immediate distruction from the flamc3, and the 
 melted lava which run down tlie sides of the mountains^ 
 ihe people were obliged to retire to a considerable distance* 
 Amidst the hurry and confusion of such a scene, (every 
 one flying and carrying away whatever he deemed most 
 precious,) two brothers, in the height of their solicitude 
 for the i)rcservation of their wealth and goods, suddenly 
 recollected, that theh* father and mother, both very old, 
 were unable to save themselves by flight. Filial tender- 
 ness triumphed over every other consideration . "Where," 
 cried the generous youths, " shall we find a more pre- 
 cious treasure, than they are, who gave us being, and 
 who have cherished and protected us through life?" 
 Having said this, the one took up his father on his should*' 
 en, and the other his mother, and happily made their 
 way tlirough the surrounding smoke and flames. All, 
 who were witnesses of this dutiful and afiectionate con- 
 duct, were struck with the highest admiration ; and their 
 posterity, ever after, called the path, vs^hich these young 
 men look in their retreat, "The Field of the Pious." 
 
 
J85 
 LESSON XIII. 
 
 THE ORPHAN BOT. 
 
 » 
 
 
 Stay, lady, stay, for mercy's sake, 
 
 And hear a helpless orphan's tale ! 
 Ah ! sure my looks must pity wake ! 
 
 'Tis want, that makes my cheek so pale. 
 Yet I was once a mother's pride, 
 
 And my brave father's hope and joy j 
 But in the Nile's proud fight he died, 
 
 And I am now an Orphan Boy. 
 
 Poor foolish child ! how pleased was 1, 
 
 When news of Nelson's victory came, 
 Along the crowded streets to fly, 
 
 And see the lighted windows' flame I 
 To force me home my mother sought, 
 
 She could not bear to see my joy ; 
 For with my father's life 'twas bought, 
 
 And made me a poor Orphan Boy. 
 
 The people'a shouts were long and loud j 
 
 My mother, shuddering, closed her ears j 
 " Rejoice ! rejoice !" still cried the crowd j 
 
 My mother answer'd with her tears. 
 *< Oh ! why do tears steal down your cheek," 
 
 Cried I, " while others shout for joy ?" 
 She kiss'd me, and in accents weak, 
 
 She called me her poor Orphan Boy. 
 
 "What is an Orphan Boy 1" I said. 
 When suddenly she gasp'd for breath ; 
 
 And her eyes closed ; — I shriek'd for aid, — 
 But ah I her eyes were closed in death J 
 
186 
 
 i 
 
 
 My hardships since I will not tell ; 
 
 Cut now no more a parent's joy — 
 Ah, lady ! I liave learnt too well 
 
 What 'tis to be an Orphan Boy. 
 
 were I by your bounty fed ! — 
 
 Nay, gentle lady ! do not chide ! 
 Trust me, I mean to earn my bread ; 
 
 The sailor's orphan boy has pride. 
 Lady, you weep : — what is't you say ? 
 
 You'll give me clothing, food, employ 
 Look down, dear parents ! look and sec 
 
 Your happy, happy. Orphan Boy. 
 
 t_ 
 
 Opie. 
 
 LESSON XIV. 
 
 self-de-ni-al 
 
 in-cli-na-tion 
 
 op-por-tu-ni-ty 
 
 hes-i-ta-tion 
 
 ex-er-cise 
 
 SELF-DENIAL. 
 
 re-so-lu-tion 
 
 Bup-press 
 
 e-quip-ped 
 
 ba-rom-e-ter 
 
 de-ter-mine 
 
 hem-i-sphere 
 
 com-pla-cen-cy 
 
 com-mu-ni-cat-ing 
 
 re-flec-tions 
 
 dia-ap-point-ment 
 
 The clock had just struck nine, and Harry recollected, 
 tiiat his mother had desired them not to sit up a moment 
 after the clock struck. He reminded his elder brother 
 of this order. "Never mind," said Frank ? " here is a 
 famous fire, and I shall stay and enjoy it." — " Yes," said 
 Hany, " here is a famous fire, and I should like to stay 
 and enjoy it; but that would not be self-denial, would it 
 Frank!" — «<^ Nonsense," said Frank, "I shall not stir 
 yet, I promise you." — " Then, good night to you," said 
 Harry. • 
 
 ■•> *» 
 
187 
 
 itay 
 it 
 stir 
 jaid 
 
 Six o'clock wnM lliu time at \n liicli the brotJiers were 
 expected to rise. Wlieu it struck six the next morning, 
 Harry started up ; but tiie air Iclt so frosty, that he had a 
 strong inchnation to lie down again. " But no," thought 
 he, " here is a fine opportunity for self-denial ;" and up lie 
 jumped without fartner hesitation. " Frank, Frank, 
 (»id he to his sleeping brother, " past six o'clock, and a 
 fine star-liglit morning !" " Let me alone," cried Frank, 
 ill a cro3i| drowsy voice. " Very well, then, a pxeasant 
 nap to you," said Harry, ana down he ran as gay as the 
 lark. After finishing his Latin exercise, he had time to 
 take a pleasant walk before breakfast ; so that he came 
 in fresh and rosy, with a good appetite, and, what was 
 still better, in a good humour. But poor Frank, who had 
 just tumbled out of bed when the bell rung for prayers, 
 came down, looking pale, and cross, and cold, and dis- 
 contented. Harry, who had some sly drollery of his own, 
 was just beginning to rally him on his forlorn appcaranc<.i, 
 when be recollected his resolution. "Frank does not 
 like to be laughed at, especially when he is cross," thought 
 he; so he suppressed his joke : and it requires some self- 
 denial even to suppress a joke. 
 
 During breakfast his father promised, that if tlie weath- 
 er continued fine, Harry should ride out with him before 
 dinner on the grey pony, Harry was much delighted 
 with this proposal ; and the thought of it occurred to him 
 very often during tlie business of the morning. The sun 
 shone cheerily in at the parlour windows, and seemed to 
 promise fair for a fine day. About noon, however, it be- 
 came rather cloudy, and Harr}- was somewhat startled to 
 perceive a few large drops upon the flag-stones in tlie 
 court. He equipped himself, nevertheless, in his great 
 coat at the time appointed, and stood playing with his 
 
ISS 
 
 whip in tiic hall, waiting to see tlic hordes led out. His 
 mother now pasjsing by, said, << my dear boy, I am afraid 
 there can no be riding tiiis morning ; do you sec, that tho 
 stones are quite wet ?" " Dear mother," said Harry, 
 ** you surely do not imagine, that I am afraid of a few 
 drops of rain ; besides, it will be no more than a shower 
 at any rate." Just then his father came in, who looked 
 first at the clouds, then at the barometer, and then at 
 Hany, and shook his head. << You intend to go, papa, 
 don't you 1" said Harry. << I must go, I have business to 
 do ; but I believe, Harry, it will be better for you to stay 
 at home this morning," said the father. " But, Sir," 
 repeated Harry, " do you think it possible, now, that this 
 little sprinkling of rain should do me the least harm in the 
 world, with my great coat and all ? " Yes, Harry," said 
 his father, << I do think tliat even this sprinkling of ram 
 may do you harm, as you have not been quite well : I 
 think, too, it will be more than a sprinkling. But you 
 shall decide on this occasion for yourself; I know you 
 have some self command. I shall only tell you, that your 
 going this morning, would make your mother uneasy, and 
 that we both tliink it improper ; now determine." Harry 
 again looked at the clouds, at the stones, at his boots, an d 
 last of all at his kind mother, and then he recollected 
 himself. " This," thought he, " is the best opportunity 
 for self-denial, that I have had to-day ;" and he imme- 
 diately ran to tell Roger, that he need not baddie the grey 
 pony. 
 
 << I should like anotlier, I think mother," said Frank, 
 that day at dinner, just as he had dispatched a large 
 hemisphere of mince pie. " Any more for you, my deai 
 Harry 1" said his mother. " If you please j no, thank 
 yoi^ though," said Harry, withdrawing his plate 5 " for,* 
 
189 
 
 ibought he, ** I have had enough, ami more than enough, 
 to sati' ly r: y hunger ; and now is the time for fielf- 
 donial/' 
 
 "Brotlier Harry," said his liiJ*' sister after dinner, 
 " when will you show me how to do tliat pretty puzzle 
 you said you would show me a long time ogo?" " I am 
 busy, now, child," said Hnrry, " don't tease me now, 
 there's a gooJ girl." She said no more, but looked di£ 
 appointed, and still hung upon her hrd'u r's chair.— 
 ** Come, then," said ho, suddenly recollecting himself, 
 " bring me your puzzle," and laying down his hook, ho 
 veiy good-naturedly showed his little sister how to place 
 it 
 
 That night, when the two boys were going to bed, 
 Harry called to mind, with some coniplacency, tlie several 
 instances, in which, in the course of tlic day, he had ex- 
 ercised self-denial, and he was on the very point of com- 
 municating them to his brother Frank. << But no," 
 thought he, " this is another opportunity still for self- 
 denial J I will not say a word about it j besides, to boast 
 of it would spoil all." So Harry lay down quietly, mak- 
 ing the following sage reflections: "This has been a 
 pleasant day to me, although I have had one great 
 disappointment, and done several things against my 
 will. I find that self-denial is painful for a moment, but 
 very agreeable in the end ; and if I proceed on this plan 
 every day, I shall stand a good chance of leading a happy 
 life." 
 
 Jane Tavlor. 
 
190 
 
 LESSON XV. 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE SLUGGARD. 
 
 *Ti^ the voice of the dRuggard — I heard hn. complain 
 " You have waked me to soon, I must slumber again." 
 As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed 
 Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. 
 
 ** A little more sleep, and a little more slumber." 
 
 Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without 
 
 number ; 
 And when he gets up, he sits folding his haods, 
 Or walks about saunt'ring, or trifling he stands. 
 
 1 passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier, 
 The thorn, and the thistle, grow broader and higher ; 
 The clothes, that hang on him, are turning to rags ; 
 And his money still wastes, till he starves or he begs. 
 
 I made him a visit, still hoping to find 
 He had <taken more care for improving his mind, 
 He told me his dreams, talkM of eating and drinking ; 
 But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking. 
 
 Said I then to my heart, " Here's a lesson for me, 
 That man's but a picture of what I might be j 
 But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, 
 Who taught me betimes to love working and reading. 
 

 
 191 
 
 
 
 
 LESSON XVI. 
 
 
 
 
 THE DERVIS. 
 
 
 der-vis 
 
 
 re-pos<2 
 
 an-ces-tors 
 
 Tar-taiy 
 
 , 
 
 pas-ture 
 
 in-hab-i-tants 
 
 ca-ra-van- 
 
 ■sa-rv 
 
 (le-bate 
 
 per-pet-u-al 
 
 gal-ler-y 
 
 
 ilis-ting-uisli 
 
 suc-ces-sion 
 
 A dcrvis, tiavclling through Tartary, having arrived 
 at tlie town of Balk, went into the king's palace, by mist- 
 lako, thinking it to be a public inn, or caravansary. 
 Having looked about him for some time, he enter- 
 ed a long gallciy, where he laid down his wallet, and 
 spread his caqiet, in order to repose himself upon it, after 
 the manner of eastern nations. He had not been long in this 
 posture, before he was observed by some of the guards, 
 \Mio askeil him, whst vvas his business in that place. The 
 dervis ijld them he irteiuled to take up his night's lodging 
 ;oi tha I'^jravansai-y. "Ihe guards ^et him know, in a very 
 angry manner, tiuil Ih^ Adu^c he vvas in was not a caravan- 
 6ary,butthe king's palace.It happened,tliat the king himself 
 passed through the gallery during the debate ; who, smiliQg 
 at the mistake of tiie dervis, asked him, how he coukl 
 possibly be so dull as not to distinguish a palace from a 
 ciiravansaiy. Sir, said the dervis, give me leave to ask 
 yciur nijjosty a question or two. Who were the persona 
 tliat lodged in this house when it was fii*st built 1 The 
 king replied, his ancestors. And who, said the dervne, 
 was the last person tliat lodged here 1 The king replied, 
 his fathci. And jvho is it, said the dervis, that lodg»)ti here 
 at present? The king told him, that it was he himself. 
 And who, said the dervis, will be here after you ? Tlie 
 k ing answered, the young prince, his son. Ah ! Sir,pn'd 
 
r^ 
 
 192 
 
 the dervis, a house that changes Its Inhabitants 80 ofteiii 
 and receives such a perpetual succession of guests^ b not 
 a palace, but a caravansary. 
 
 LESSON XVII. 
 
 aiY father's at the heui, 
 
 •Twas when the sea's tremendous roar 
 
 A little bark assail'd ; 
 And pallid fear, with awful power 
 
 O'er each on board prevailed. 
 
 Save one, the captain's darling son 
 Who fearless view'd the storm, 
 
 And playful, with composure, smiled 
 At danger's threat'ning formt 
 
 " Why sporting thus," a seaman cried, 
 *' Whilst sorrows overwhelm 1" 
 
 •* Why yield to grief?" the boy replied / 
 My father's at the helm !" 
 
 Despairing soul ! from thence be taught, 
 
 How groundless is thy fear j 
 Think on what wonders Christ has wrought, 
 
 And He is always near. 
 
 Safe^jn his hands, whom seas obey. 
 
 When swelling billows rise; 
 Who turns the darkest night to day, 
 
 And brightens lowering skies. 
 
193' 
 
 Thougti thy corruptions rise abhorrM, 
 And outward foes increase ; 
 
 'Tis but for Him to speak the word, 
 And all i? hush'd to peacp. 
 
 t..' 
 
 Then upward look, howe'er distressM, 
 Jesus will guide thee home, 
 
 To that blest port of endless rest, 
 Where storms shall never come. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 LESSON xvin. 
 
 WHANG, THK MILLER. 
 
 8 <?a-n-ci-ous 
 
 ae quaint-ed 
 
 iii'i-mate 
 
 ea-ger-ness 
 
 fru-gal-i-ty 
 
 fai-ter-vals 
 
 con-tem-plate 
 
 sat-is-fac-tion 
 
 ac-qui-si-tion 
 
 af-flu-ence 
 
 as-si du-i-ty 
 
 dis-gust-ed 
 
 foun-da-Uon 
 
 mon-8trous 
 
 di-a-mond 
 
 un-der-mine 
 
 rap-tures 
 
 trans-porta 
 
 »Vhang, the mil.er, was naturally avaricious ; nobody 
 loved money better than he, or more respected those that 
 had it. When people would talk of a rich man in com- 
 pany, Whang would say, I know him very well j he and 
 I have been long acquainted ; he and I are intimate. 
 But if ever a poor man was mentioned, he had not the 
 least knowledge of the man : he might be very well, for 
 aught he knew ; but he was not fond of making many 
 acquaintances, and loved to choose his company. Whang, 
 however, with all his eagerness for riches, was poor. He 
 had nothing but the profit-^ of his mill to support him ; but 
 
 K 
 
rr 
 
 i|! 
 
 I ! : 
 
 M ; 
 
 (! 
 
 ]9^ 
 
 though these were smafl, they were certain : while ii 
 stood and went, he was sure of eating; and his frigality 
 was such that he every day laid some money by which 
 he would at intervals count and contemplate with mucl: 
 satisfaction. Yet still his acquisitiona were not ec|ual ii. 
 his desires ; he only found himself above want, whereasf 
 he desired to be possessed of affluence. One day, as he 
 was indulging these wishes, he was informed that a neigh 
 hour of his had found a pan of money under jrround, hav* 
 ing dreamed of it three nights running before. Thes« 
 tidings were daggers to the heart of poor Whang. " Here 
 am I," frrys he, " toiling and moiling from morning to nigh^« 
 for a fe^v paltry farthings, while neighbour Thanks onl/ 
 goes quietly to bed, and dreams himself into thousand/) 
 before morning. that I could dream like him ! With, 
 what pl.;a)?.ure would I dig round the pan ! how slily 
 would I carry it home ! not even my wife should see me,' 
 and then, the pleasure of thrusting one's hand into a 
 heap of gold up to the elbow !" Such reflections only served 
 to make ^hc miller unhappy : he discontinued his former 
 assidiv!ty j he was qnit3 disgusted with small gains, and 
 his customers began to forsake him. Eveiy day he re- 
 peated the wish, and every night laid himself down in 
 order to dream. Fortune, that was for a long time unkind, 
 fit last, however, seemed to smile upon his distress, and 
 indulged him with the wished for vision. He dreamed, 
 that under a part of the fouiLlation of his mill, there was 
 concealed a monstrous pan of gold and diamonds, buried 
 dteep in the ground, and covered with a large flat stone. 
 He concealed his good luck from every person as is usuaI 
 in money-dre?.ms, in order to have the vision repeated 
 the two succeeding nights, by which he should be certain 
 ^>f its truth. His wishes in this also were answered ; he 
 
 / ! 
 
195 
 
 stffl dreamed of the same pan of money, in the very same 
 place. Now, therefore, it was past a doubt ; so getting up 
 early the third morning, he repaired alone, with a mattock 
 in his hand, to the mill, and began to undermine that 
 part of the wall to which the vision directed. The first 
 omen of success that he met with, was a broken ring ; 
 digging still deeper, he turned up a house-tile, quite new 
 and entire. At last, after much digging, he came to a 
 broad flat stone, but so large, it was beyond man's strength 
 to remove it. " There," cried he in raptures, to himself, 
 " there it is ; under this stone there is room for a very 
 large pan of diamonds indeed. I must e'en go home to 
 my wife, and tell her the whole affair, and get her to as- 
 sist me in turning it up." Away therefore, he goes, and 
 acquaints his wife with every circumstance of their goo<4 
 fortune. Her raptures on this occasion may easily be 
 imagined ; she flew round his neck, and embraced him 
 in an agony of joy ; but these transports, however, did 
 not allay their eagerness to know the exact sum ; return- 
 ing, therefore, to the place where Whang had been^dig- 
 ging, there they found—not, indeed, the expected treasure ; 
 but the mill, their only support, undermined and fallen ! 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 LESSON XIX. 
 
 HUMAN FRAILTY. 
 
 Weak and irresolute is man j 
 The purpose of to-day, 
 
 Woven with pains into his plan. 
 To-morrow rends away. 
 
196 
 
 .111 
 
 ill 
 
 The bow well bent, and smart the spring, 
 
 Vice seems already slain ; 
 But pa.«'/ion rudely snaps the strings, 
 
 And it revives again. 
 
 Some foe to his upriglit intent 
 
 Finds oiit his weaker part ; 
 Virtue engages his a^^nt, 
 
 But pleasure wins his heart. 
 
 'Tis here the folly of the wise, 
 
 Through all his art we view 9 
 And while his tongue the charge denies, 
 
 His cdnacierice owns it true. 
 
 Bound on a voyage of awful length. 
 
 And dangers little known, 
 A stranger to superior strength, 
 
 Man vainly trusts his own. 
 
 But oars alone can ne'er prevail 
 
 to reach the distant coast ; 
 The breath of heaven mU3t swell the sail, 
 
 Or all the toil is lost. 
 
 C0WPB11# 
 
 LESSON XX. 
 
 THE LOST CAMEL. 
 
 der-vis 
 
 mer-chants 
 
 |jud-den-ly 
 
 con-duct 
 
 jew-els 
 
 re-peat-ed 
 
 sor-ce-rer 
 calm-nes6 
 sus-pi-cions 
 
 I 
 
19. 
 
 hon-ey 
 
 ca-di 
 
 ob-ser-va-tion 
 
 par-tic-urlar-ly 
 
 ev-i-dcnce 
 
 her-bagc 
 
 prob-a-bil-i-ty 
 
 ad-duce 
 
 un-in-jur-ed 
 
 A deiris was journeying alone in the desert, when two 
 merchants suddenly met him. ** You have lost a 
 camel," said he to the merchants. " Indeed we have," 
 they replied. " Was he not bli" ' in his right eye, and 
 lame in his left leg?" said the dcrv.a. " He was," replied 
 the merchants. " Had he lost a front tooth 1" said the 
 dervis. " He had," rejoinedthe merchants. "And was 
 he not loaded with honey on one side, and wheat on the 
 other!" " Moat certainly he was," they replied; "and 
 as you have seen him so lately, and marked him so par- 
 ticularly, you can, in all probability, conduct us to him." 
 ** My friends," said the dervis, " I have never seen your 
 camel, nor ever heard of him, but from yourselves." " A 
 pretty story, truly !^ said the merchant ; " but where a^o 
 the jewels which formed a purt of his cargo ?" " I have 
 neither seen your camel, nor your jewels," repeated the 
 dervis. On this, they seized \\U person, and forthwith 
 hurried him before the cadi, where, on the strictest search, 
 nothing could be found upon him, nor could any evidence 
 whatever be adduced to convict him, cither of falseh(x>d 
 or of theft. They were then about to proceed against 
 him as a sorcerer, when the dervis, with great calmness, 
 thus addressed the court : — " I have been much amused 
 with your surprise, and own, that there has been some 
 ground for your suspicions ; but I have lived long, and 
 alone ; and I can find ample scope for observation, even 
 in a desert. I knew that I had cros«?cd the track of a 
 camel, that had strayed from its owner, because I saw no 
 mark of any hunin: ^ootst ps on the same route j I knew 
 
198 
 
 that the animal was bhnd in one eye, because it had 
 cropped the herbage only on one side of its path ; and I 
 perceived that it was lame in one leg, from the faint im- 
 pression that particular foot had produced upon the sand ; 
 I concluded that the animal had lost one tooth, because 
 \vherever it nad grazed, a small tuft of herbage was left 
 uninjured, in the centre of its bite. As to that which 
 formed the burden of the l^east, the busy ants informed 
 me, that it was corn on the one side, and the clustering 
 flies, that it was honey on tlie other." 
 
 LESSON XXI. 
 
 THF. SPfXTACMIS. 
 
 A ceHain artist (I forget his name) 
 
 Had got for making spectacles a fame, 
 
 C>r, helps to icad — as, when they first were sold, 
 
 Was writ upon his glaring sign in gold j 
 
 And for all uses to be had from glass, 
 
 His were allowed by readers to surpass. 
 
 Thero came a man into his shop one day, 
 <« Are you the spectacle contriver, pray ?" 
 " Yes, Sir," said he , "I can in that rffair 
 Contrive to please you, if you want a pair." 
 " Can you 1 pray do, then." So at first hd chose 
 To place a youngish pair upon his nose ; 
 And book produced to see how they would fit ; 
 Asked how he lijked them. " Like them ! not a bit." 
 
 "There, Sir, I fancy, if you please to trj', 
 These in my hand will better suit your cyo." 
 •* Ko, but (tier/ don*t.'^ « Well, comp, Sir, if you please, 
 
199 
 
 Here is another sort — we'll t v'n try these ; 
 StU? '» inewhat more they niagniiy the letter: 
 Now, Sir."—" Why now Pm Lot a bit the 1 etter." 
 " No ! HlTO, take these, which magnify still more ; 
 How ih I'lcy fit ?"~ « Like all the rest before."— 
 In short, they tried a whole assortment iliroug'i, 
 But all in vain, for none of them would do. 
 The operator, much surprised to find 
 So odd a case, thought — sure the man is blind. 
 " What sort of eyes can you have got ?" said he. 
 ** Why very good ones, friend, as you may see." 
 ** Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ball ; 
 Pray, let mt ask you, can you read at all t" 
 « No surely not. Sir, if I could, what need 
 Of paying you for any help to read ?" 
 And so he left the maker in a heat, 
 Kesolved to post him for an arrant cheat." 
 
 LESSON XXII. 
 
 TRAVELLERS WONDERS. 
 
 ttd-ven-tures 
 
 en-ter-tain-ment 
 
 qua-dni-ped 
 
 hab-i-ta-tions 
 
 ar-ti-fi-ci-al-ly 
 
 in-pal-a-ta-ble 
 
 ve-ge-ta-bles 
 
 ab-so-lutely 
 
 nau-se'ous 
 
 in-gre-di-ents 
 
 in-tox-i-cat-ing 
 
 pun-gent 
 
 li-quid 
 
 sal-u-tar-y 
 
 per-ni-ci-ous 
 
 de-li-ci-ous 
 
 tem-per-a-ture 
 
 o-dor-i-fer-ous 
 
 ar-tic-u-late-ly 
 
 cat-er-pil-lars 
 
 fan-tas-tic 
 
 One winter's evening, as Captain Compass was sitting 
 by the fire-side with his children all around him, little Jack 
 fjaid to him, Papa, pray tell us some ^:torie=i about what 
 
200 
 
 you liavi' :ecn lu your voyages, t linve been vastly en- 
 sortained, whilst you was abroad, with GulIiver'B Traveis, 
 and the Adventures of Sinbad tlie Sailor ; and, I think, as 
 you have gone round and round the world, you must have 
 met with things as wonderful as tliey did. — No, my dear, 
 •aid the Captain, I never met with Liliputians or Brob- 
 dignagians, I assure you ; nor never saw tJie black load- 
 stone mountain, or the valley of diamonds j but to be sure, 
 I have seen a great variety of people, and their differenl 
 manners and ways of living ; and if it will be any enter- 
 tainment to you, t will tell you some curious particulars 
 of what I observed — Pray do, Papa, cried Jack, and all 
 his brothers and sisters ; so tliey drew close round him^ 
 and he began as follows: — 
 
 Well then, I was once, about this time of the year, in 
 a country when it was very cold, and the poor inhabi- 
 tants had much ado to keep themselves from starving. 
 They were clad partly in the skins of beasts, made smooth 
 and soft by a particular art, but chiefly in garments made 
 from the outer covering of a middle sized quadruped, 
 which they were so cruel as to strip off his back, while he 
 was alive. They dwelt in habitations, part of which 
 were []sunk under ground. The materials were either 
 stones, or earth hardened by fire ; and so violent, in that 
 country, were the storms of wind and rain, that many of 
 them covered their roofs all over with stones. The walls 
 of their houses had holes to let in the light ; but to prevent 
 the cold air and wet from coming in, they were covered 
 witli a sort of transparent stone, made artificially of melted 
 sand or flints. As wood was rather scarce, I know not 
 what they would have done for firing, had they not dis- 
 covered in the bowels of the earth a very extraordinary 
 kind of stone, which, w^hen put among burning wood, 
 ca\ight fire and flamed like a torch. '* 
 
20 « 
 
 Dear me, eaid Jack, what a wonderful stone ! I lup- 
 pose it was somewhat like whnl we call fire-stones, that 
 shine so when we rub thorn tog; ilicr. I don't think they 
 are of a darker colour. 
 
 Wei), but their diet loo wna r^markabic. Some of 
 them ate fish, that had been hung tip in the smoke, till it 
 was quite dry and hard ; and along with it they ate either 
 the roots of plants, or a sort of coarse black cake made 
 of powdered seeds. These were the poorer class; the 
 richer had a white kind of cake, which they were fond 
 of daubing over with a grasy jnaitor, that was the product 
 of a large animal among them. This grease they used, 
 too, in almost all their dishes, ami, when fresh, it really 
 was not unpalatable. They likewise devoured the flesh 
 of many birds and beasts, when they could gci it; and 
 ate the leaves and other paits of a variety of vcgctaljles 
 growing in the couniiy, oonie al/iolutely raw, others- 
 variously prepared by the aid of fire. Another great 
 article of food was the curd of ini!k, pressed into a hanl 
 mass and malted. Thiv had so rank a smell, that [x^rsons 
 of weak stomacln often could not bear to come near it. 
 For drink, they made great use of v%'ater, in which certain 
 dry leaves had been steepcii. These leaves, I was told, 
 came from a great distance. They had likewise a method 
 of preparing a grass-like plant steeped in water, with the 
 acldition of a bitter herb, and then set to work or ferment. 
 I was prevailed upon to taste it, and thought it at first 
 nauseous enough, but in time I liked it pretty well. When 
 a large quantity of the ingredients is used, it becomes per- 
 iSBCtly intoxicating. But what astonished me most was 
 their use of a liquor so excessively hot and pungent, that 
 U seems like liquid fire. I once got a mouthful of it by 
 mistake, taking it for water, which it resembles in appear- 
 
202 
 
 V 
 
 ance ; but I ihought it Would instantly have taken away 
 my breath. Indeed, people are not unfrequently kiNeil 
 by it ; and yet many of them will swallow it greedily 
 whenever they can get it. This, too, is said to be pro- 
 pared from the seeds above mentioned, which are 
 innocent and salutary in their natural Btate, though made 
 to yield such a pernicious juice. The Htrang^st custom, 
 
 that I believe prevails in any nation, I found heve ; which 
 was, that some take a mighty pleasure in ftUing their 
 
 mouths full of abominable smoke ; and others, in thrus^ng 
 
 a nasty powder up their nostrils. 
 
 I should think it would choak them, said Jack. It 
 almost choaked me, answered his father, only to stand by 
 while they did it ; but use, it is truly said^ is second 
 nature. 
 
 I was glad enough to leave this cold climate ; and 
 Boout half a year after, I fell in with a people enjoying a 
 delicious temperature of air, a counXty full of beauty and 
 verdure. The trees and shrubs are furnished with a great 
 variety of fruits,which, with other vegetable products, con- 
 stituted a large part of the food of the inhabitants. I par- 
 ticularly relished certain berries growing in bunches, t«me 
 white and some red, oft a pleasant sourish taste, and so 
 transparent, that one might see the seed at their very 
 centre. Hero were whole fields full of extremely odori- 
 ferous flowers, which, they told me, were succeeded by 
 pods bearing seeds, that afforded good nourishment to man 
 and beast. A great variety of birds enlivened the groves 
 and woods ; among which I was entertained with one, 
 that, without any teaching, spoke almost as articulaiely 
 as a parrot, though indeed it was all the rejietition of a 
 single word. The people were tolerably jrentle and civil- 
 ized, and possessed many of the-arts of life. Th>i.ir c*rftss 
 
 1 1 
 
 !l 
 
203 
 
 vas very various. Many were clad only in a thin cloth 
 made of tlie long fibres of the stalks of a plant cultivated 
 for the purpose, which they prepared by soaking in water) 
 and tlien beating with lai^ mallets. Others wore cloth 
 woven from a sort of vegetable wool growing in pods 
 ui>on bushes. But the most singular material was a fine 
 glossy fltuff, u.««d chiefly >)y the richer classes, which, as 
 I was credibly informed, is manufactured -out of the webs 
 of caterpillars ; a most wonderful circumstance, if we con- 
 sider the immense number of caterpillars necessary to the 
 production of so large a quantity of stuff as I saw used. 
 These people are very fantastic in tlieir dress, especially 
 tlie women, whose apparel consists of a great number of 
 articles impossible to be described, and strangely disguising 
 the natural form of the body. In some instances they 
 Bcem very cleanly ; but in others, the Hottentots can scarce 
 go beyond them ; particularly in tlie management of their 
 hair, which is all matted and stiffened with the fat of the 
 Bxnne and other animals mixed up with powders of vari- 
 ous colours and ingredients. Like most Indian nations, 
 they use feathers in the head-dress. One thing surprised 
 QIC much, w^iich was, that they bring up in their houses 
 an animal of the tiger kind, witli formidable teeth and 
 claws, which, notwithstanding its natural ferocity, is 
 played with and caressed by the most timid and delicate 
 of their women. 
 
 I am sure I would not play with it, said Jack. Why, 
 vou might chance to get an ugly scratch, if you did^ ssl\a 
 he Captain. 
 
 The languagvi of this nation seems very harsh and un" ^* 
 telligible to a foreigner, yet they converse among one an- 
 other wth great ease and quickness. One of the oddest 
 tu^toins is tboit wliich men use on saluting each otliei(» 
 
h 
 
 I 
 
 204 
 
 Let Uk- weaihei be what it will, they uncover their hea as, 
 and remain uncovered for some time, if they mean to be 
 cxtraordinniy respectful. 
 
 Why, tliat's like pulling off our nats, said Jack. Ah, 
 ah ! Papa, cried Betsey, I have found you out. Yon 
 have been telling us of our own country, and what is done 
 at home all this while. But, said Jack, we dont bum 
 stones, or eat grease and powdered seeds, or wear skins 
 and caterpillars' webs, or play with* tigcra. — No ! said the 
 Captain j pray what are coals but stones j and is not 
 butter, grease j and corn, seeds ; and leather, skins ; and 
 silk, the web of a kind of caterpillar ; and may we not as 
 well call a cat an animal of the tiger-kind, as a tiger an 
 animal of the cat-kind ? So, if you recollect what I hav© 
 been describing, you will find, with Betsey's help, that all 
 the otner wonderful things I have told you of are matters 
 faniliar among ourselves. But I meant to show you, thai 
 a foreigner might easily represent every thing as equally 
 strange and wQnderiol among us, as we could do with res- 
 pect to his country } and also to make you sensible that 
 we daily call a great many things by their names, without 
 enquiring intjo iheir nature and properties ; so that, in 
 reality, H is onAy the names, and not the things themselves, 
 with which we. ar*^ >)rnuainted. 
 
 Evenings at Home, 
 
«05 
 
 LESSON XXIIL 
 
 THE CHAMELEON. 
 
 Oft has it been my lot to mark - 
 
 A proud, con cited, talking spark, 
 With eyes that hardly eerred at most 
 To guard their master 'gainst a post ; 
 Yet round the world the blade had been, 
 To see whatever could be seen. 
 Returning from his finished tour, 
 Grown ten times perter than before, 
 Whatever word you chance to drop. 
 The traveli'd fo»] your mouth will slop: 
 " Sir, if my judgment you'H allow — 
 I've seen and sure I ouglit to know" — 
 So begs youM pay a due submis-jlon, 
 And acquiesce in liis decision. 
 
 Two traTcllers of such a cast, 
 As o'er Arabia's wilds tliey pass'd. 
 And on their way in friendly chat 
 Now talkM of this, and then of that — 
 DisC'OUTbed a whife, 'mongst other mattec, 
 •Of the Chameleon's form and nature. 
 ** A stranger animal," cries one, 
 ** Sure nevw lived beneath the sun : 
 A Kzard's body, lean and long, 
 A fish's head, a serpent's tongue ; 
 Its foot with triple claw disjoin'd, 
 And what a length of tail behind ! 
 How nlow its pace I and then its hi» — 
 Who ever saw so fine a blue 1" 
 
 V Hold there," the other quick fepUo% 
 
- 
 
 < *Tis green, — I saw it with these eye«, 
 As late with open mouth it lay, 
 And warmed it in the sunny ray ; 
 Stretth'd at its case the beast I view'd, 
 And saw it eat the air hr foodi" 
 
 « I've seen it, Sir, as well as you, 
 And must again affirm 'tis blue. 
 At leisure I the beast survey'd. 
 Extended in the cooling shade.'' 
 
 « 'Tis green, 'tis green. Sir, 1 assure ye." 
 
 " Green !" cries the other in a fury — 
 " Sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes 1" 
 
 " 'Twere no great loss," the friend replies. 
 For, if they always serve you thus, 
 Youll fiad them but of little use*" 
 
 So high at last the contest rose, 
 From words they almost came to blows ; 
 When luckily came by a third ; 
 To him the question they referr'd, 
 And begg'd he'd tell them, if he knew, 
 Whether the thing was green or blue. 
 " Sirs," cried the umpire, " cease your pothei^ 
 The creature's neither one nor t'other ; 
 I caught the animal la»t night, 
 And view'd it o'er by candle-light ; 
 I mark'd it well — 'twas black as jet — 
 You stare— but. Sirs, I've got it yet, ^ 
 
 And can produce it" — " Pray, Sir, do ; 
 I'll lay my life, the thing is blue." 
 " And I'll be sworn that when you've seen 
 The reptile, you^ll pronounce him green." 
 
 ** Well then, at once, to ease the doubt," 
 Eteplies the man, << I'll turn him out ; 
 
 
 
1:07 
 
 And when before your eyes I've set him. 
 If you don't find him black I' U eat him," 
 
 He said ; then full before their sight 
 IVoduced the beast, and lo — 'twas white ! 
 Both stared ; the man look'd wond'roui wise { 
 " My children," the Chameleon cries, 
 (Then first the creature found a tongue,) 
 " You all are right, and all are wrong : 
 When next you talk of what you view. 
 Think others see as well as you ; 
 Nor wonder, if you find that none 
 Prefers vour eye-sight to his awn.*' 
 
 Merriok. 
 
 LESSON XXIV 
 
 eii 
 
 4f 
 
 A-chil-les 
 
 A-lex-an-der 
 
 aen-ea-tions 
 
 ap-pel-la-tion 
 
 an-i-mat-ed 
 
 fe-ro-ci-ous 
 
 grat-i-fy-ing 
 
 TRUE HEROISM. 
 
 im-pulses 
 
 hu-man-i-ty 
 
 ty-ran«nical 
 
 hu^mil-i-a-tion 
 
 her*o*ism 
 
 con-front-ed 
 
 in«fe€-tiouB 
 
 hos-pi-tals 
 
 qua-ran'^tino 
 
 pa-ci-fy 
 
 la-ment-a^ble 
 
 Bur-geon 
 
 ope-ra-tion 
 
 dis-tract-ed 
 
 You have perhaps read the stories of Achilles, Alexand- 
 dr, and Charlos of Sweden, and admired the high cour- 
 vige which seemed to set them above all sensations of fear, 
 and rendered them capable of the most extraordinary act- 
 ions. The world calls these men heroes ; but before we 
 p'tve them that noble appellation, let us consider what 
 Tcre the principles and motives which animated them te 
 ?rid sufff" t-^ thev did. 
 
208 
 
 f 
 
 TRe first was a furious savage, governed by the passions 
 of anger and revenge, in gratifying which he disregarded 
 ail impulses oli duty and humanity. The second was in- 
 U)xicated with the love of glory, swoln with absurd pride, 
 and enslaved by dissolute pleasure; and, in pursuit of 
 tlieso objects, he reckoned the blood of millions as of no 
 account. The third was unfeeling, obstinate and tyran- 
 liical, and preferred ruining his country, and sacrificing all 
 his faithful followers, to the humiliation of giving up any 
 of his mad projects. Self, you see, was the spring of all 
 Clieir conduct j and a selfish man can never be a hero. 
 But I shall now give you two examples of genuine hero- 
 l8n>y the one in acting, and the other in suifering ; and 
 these shall be true stories, which is perhaps more than 
 can be saiU of half that is recorded of i^chilles and Alex- 
 ander. 
 
 You have probably heard something of Mr. Howard, the 
 leformer of prisons. His whole life almost, was heroism ; for 
 he confronted all sorts of dangers, with the sole view of 
 relieving the miseries of his fellow-creatures. When h* 
 began to exa^iine the state of prisons, scarcely any in 
 Ilngland was free from a, very fatal and infectious disteoor* 
 per called jail-fever. Wherever he heard of it, he mada 
 $ point of seeing the poor ^ufierers, aad often went <lowii 
 t^ their dungeons, when the kee}>ers themselves would 
 Oot accompany him. He travelled several times over 
 diQQSt the whole of Europe, and even into Asia, in order 
 (b-.g^in knowledge of the state of prisons and hospitals, and 
 point ot)t means for lessening the calamities that prevailed 
 in tbein. He even went into the countries wheie the 
 plague was, that he might learn the best method of 
 treating that terrible disease ; and he voluntarily exposed 
 hMrifn^ %o perform a strict quarantine, as one suspected 
 

 of having the infection of the plague, only that he might 
 be thoroughly acquaintetl with the methods used for its 
 prevention. He at length died of a fever, (caught in 
 attending on the sick on tlie borders of Crim Tartary), 
 honored and admired by all Europe, after having greatly 
 contributed to enlighten his own and many other countries 
 wilh respect to some of the most important objects d 
 humanity. Such was Howard the Good ; as great a 
 hero in preserving mankind as some of the false herocB 
 above mentioned were in destroying them. 
 
 My second hero is a much humbler, but not less genuine 
 one. There was a jouneymen bricklayer in this towa, 
 an able workman, but a veiy drunken, idle fellow, who 
 spent at the alehouse almost all he earned, and left his 
 wife and children at home to shift for themselves. They 
 might have starved, but for his eldest son, whom, from a 
 childj the father had brought up to help him in his work. 
 This youth was so industrious and attentive, that, being 
 now at the age of thirteen or fourteen, he was able to 
 cam pretty good wages, every farthing of which, that he 
 could keep out of his father's hands, he brought to his 
 motlier. Often also, when his fatlier came home drunk, 
 cursing and swearing, and in such an ill humour, that his 
 mother and tlie rest of the children durst not come near 
 him for fear of a beating, Tom, (that was this good lad's 
 name) kept beside him, to pacify him, and get him quietly 
 to bed* His mother, therefore, justly looked upon Tom, 
 as the support of the family, and loved him dearly. But 
 it chanced one day, that Tom, in clinbing up a high lad- 
 der with a load of mortar on his head, missed his hold, 
 and fell down to the bottom, on a heap of bricks and 
 rubbish. The by-standers ran up to him, and found him 
 ell bloody, with his thigh-bone broken, and bent quit© 
 
1 
 
 L 
 
 i I 
 
 210 
 
 iitiilor him. Tiiey raised him ii|>> and tjjtrinkled water in 
 iiisj face, to recover iiim from a swoon into which he liad 
 fallen. As r^oon as he could speak, looking round, he 
 cried in a lamentable tone, " Oh, what will become of 
 my poiM' mother !" — He was carried home. I was pre- 
 ii'ent while the surgeon set his thigh. His mother was 
 hanging over him half distracted. " Don't cry, mother," 
 said he ; " I shall get well again in time." Not a word 
 more, or a groan, escaped him, while the operation lasted. 
 — Tom has always stood on my list of heroes. 
 
 Evenings at Home, 
 
 LESSON XXV. 
 
 :il 
 
 ! ; 
 
 THE GOOD ALONE ARE GREAT. 
 
 When winds the mountain oak assail, 
 
 And lay its glories waste, 
 Content may slumber in the vale, 
 
 Unconscious of the blast, 
 Through scenes of tumult while we roam, 
 The heart, alas ! is ne'er at home ; 
 
 It hopes in time to roam no more : 
 The mariner, not vainly brave, 
 Combats the storm, and rides the ware. 
 
 To rest at last on shore. 
 
 Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe, 
 How vain your mask of state ! 
 
 The good alone have joy sincere. 
 The good alone are great : / 
 
 Crreat, when, amid the vale of peace. 
 
 They bid the plaint of sorrow cease, 
 
 "1 
 
211 
 
 ler in 
 i had 
 I, he 
 le of 
 pre- 
 waa 
 
 her," 
 word 
 isted. 
 
 -1 
 
 And hear the voire of artless praise: 
 
 As when along the trophied plain, 
 
 Sublime they lead the victor train. 
 
 While shouting nations gaze. 
 
 Beattie. 
 
 LESSON XXVI. 
 
 AFRICAN HOSPITALITY. 
 
 cel-e-brat-ed 
 
 in-ter-est-ing 
 
 hos-pi-ta-ble 
 
 dis-cour-a-ging 
 
 mor-ti-fi-ca-tion 
 
 pre-ju-di-ces 
 
 vic-tuals cho-rus 
 
 un-com-fort-a-ble plaint ive 
 
 de-ject-ed li-ter-al-ly 
 
 ben-e-fac-tress trans-lat«ed 
 
 ap-pre-hen sion com-paS'Sion«ate 
 
 ex-tem-po-re re-com»pense 
 
 Mungo Park, the celebrated African traveller, gives the 
 following lively and intei'esting account of the hospitable 
 treatment which he received from a negro woman : — 
 " Being arrived at Sego, the capital of the Kingdom of 
 Bam1)arra, situated on the banks of the Niger, I wished 
 to pass over to tliat part of the town, in which the kiig 
 resides : l>ut, from the number of persons eager to obtain 
 a passage, I was under the necessity of waiting two hours. 
 During this time, the people, who had crossed the river, 
 carried information to Mansong, the king, that a white 
 man was waiting for a passage, attd was coming to see 
 him. He immed"ately sent over one of his chief men, 
 who informed me, that the king could not possibly seci 
 me, until he knew what had brought me into this coun- 
 try : and that 1 must not presume to cross the river widi^ 
 out tlic king's permission. He therefore advised inc to 
 
 m 
 
 :7 
 
h 
 
 212 
 
 bdge, for that night, at a distant village, to which he 
 pointed ; and said that, in the morning, he would give me 
 further instructions how to conduct myself. This was 
 very discouraging. However, as there was no remedy, 
 -I set off for the village ; where I found, to my great 
 mortification, that- no person would admit me into his 
 house. From prejudices infused into their minds, I was 
 regarded with astonishment and fear ; and was obliged to 
 sit the whole day without victuals, in the shade of a tree. 
 ^ << The niglit threatened to be verj' uncomfortable j for 
 the wind rose, and there was gi'eat appearance of a heavy 
 rain : the wild beasts, too, were so numerous in the 
 neighbourhood, that I should have been under the neces- 
 sity of climbing up the tree, and resting among the branches. 
 About sunset, however, as I was preparing to pass the 
 night in this manner, and had turned my horse loose, that 
 he might graze at liberty, a negro woman, returning from 
 the labours of the field, stopped to observe mc j and per- 
 ceiving tliat I was weary and dejected, inquired into my 
 situation. I briefly explained it to her j after which, with 
 looks of great compassion, she took up my saddle and 
 bridle, and told me to follow her. Having conducted me 
 into her hut, she lighted a lamp, spread a mat on the floor, 
 and told me I might remain there for the night. Finding,that 
 I was very hungry, she went out to procure me something 
 to eat, and returned in a short time with a very fine fish, 
 Tjfhich, having caused it to be half broiled upon some 
 embers, she gave me for supper. The riles of hospitality 
 being thus performed towards a stranger in distress, my 
 worthy benefactress (pointing to the mat, and telling me 
 I might sleep there without apprehension) called to the 
 female part of the family, who had stood gazing on me 
 e4l(be wftflein fixeci aiBtonishment, to resume their task 
 

 213 
 
 all the while in fixed astonishment, to resume their task 
 of spinning cotton ; in which tliey continued to employ 
 themselves a great part of tlie night. 
 
 " They lightened their labour by songs, one of w ;U 
 was composed extempore ; for I was myself the subject 
 ol it. It was sung by one of the young woman, the rest 
 joining in a sort of chorus. The aii* was sweet and plaint- 
 ive, and the words, literally translated, were these : 'The 
 winds roared, and the rains fell. — The poor white man^ 
 faint and weary, came and sat under our ti-ee. — He haa 
 no mother to bring him milk, no wifii to grind his corn . 
 Chorus — Let us pity tlie white man : no motlier has he 
 to bring him milk, no wife to grind his corn.' Trifling ne 
 these events may appear to the reader, they were to m.e 
 affecting in the highest degree. I was oppressed by sucii 
 unexpected kindness ; and sleep fled from my eyes. In 
 the morning I presented to my compassionate landlady 
 two of the four brass buttons which remained on my 
 waistcoat ; the only recompense it was in my power to 
 
 make her." 
 
 Park's Travels* 
 
 •LESSON XXVII. 
 
 LOVE OF COUNTRr. 
 
 Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 
 Who never to himself hath said, 
 
 This is my own, my native land ! 
 Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd. 
 As home his footsteps he hath turn'd. 
 
 From wand'nng on a foreign strand t 
 
 II 
 
2U 
 
 
 If MUch their breathe, go, nmrk him vvjII j 
 For him no minstrcl raptures swell j 
 High though his titles, proud his name, 
 Boundless his wealtli as wish can claim*) 
 Despite those titles, power, and pelf. 
 The wretch, concentred all in self, 
 Living, shall forfeit fair renowrt, 
 And, doubly dying, shall go down 
 To the vile dust from whence he sprung 
 Unwept, imhonorM, and unsung. 
 O Caledonia ! stern and wild, 
 Meet nurse for a poetic child. 
 Land of brown heath, and shaggy wood. 
 Land of the monntain and the flood. 
 Land of my sires ! what mortal hand. 
 Can e'er untie the filial band 
 That knits me to thy rugged strand ! 
 Still as I view eacli well-known scene, 
 Think what is now, and what hnth been, 
 Seems as to me of all bereft 
 Sole friends thy woods and streams were left 
 And thus I love thee bctt-r still. 
 Even in extremity of ill. 
 By yarrow's streams still let me stray : 
 Though none should guide my feeble way ; 
 Still feel the breeze down Ettriok break, 
 Although it chill my witherM cheek ; 
 Still la^y my head by Teviot stone, 
 Though there forgotten and alone, 
 The bard may draw his parting groan. 
 
 Sir W- Scott. 
 
215 
 LESSON XXVIII. 
 
 ADVENTuT.E OF MUNGO PARK. 
 
 in-te-ri-or 
 
 en-coun-lor-eil 
 
 hc9-i-1at-ing 
 
 Man i\\\g:^ 
 
 ap-prc her.- ii)ii 
 
 pro-cecl 
 
 oIwi-oiH 
 
 ox-am-ine 
 
 miniite-ly 
 
 iM-SpL'Ct-Cll 
 
 l)ui-(liHi 
 remain-(k»r 
 Im-mrm-i-lv 
 n'(Mi-o-rnn-(lum 
 wil-ilor n'\^^ 
 
 nl-ter-na-tlve 
 in-flu-ence 
 re-li-gion 
 Prov-l-ilenco 
 
 pon-(1o-s';o;nl 
 ir-re-wi^t-i-ijlv 
 ara so-la-tion 
 con-tern pir.to 
 
 On liio return iVoiii liio iiiterioi' of AiVici, i\fr. Park 
 was en-.'ounteroJ by :i parly of armed men, who sjnid tliat 
 the lvii:g oi ihe Fou-uii-^ h;\'l jiJOnt th..Mi to lu'ui^- liini, 
 hirf hor^se, and every thi:i;2,' that helonirnl to lihn, to FouLn- 
 doo j and that lie niusi ihercibre turn hack, and go along 
 with tiieni. '• Without lier^itatlnc;,''' says Mr. Park, "I 
 turned round and lollowed tlieni, and wc tavelle J together 
 near a quarter of a mile without exchanging a word: 
 when, coming to a dark place in the wood, one of jthem 
 «aid, in the Mandingoe language, * This place will do,' and 
 immediately snatched the hat from my head. Though I 
 was by no means free from apprehensions, yet I was re- 
 solved to show as few signs of fear as possijjle and there- 
 fore told them, that unless my hat was returned to me, I 
 would proceed no farther ; but before I had time to receive 
 an answer, another drew his knife, and seizing on a metal 
 button, which remained upon my waistcoat, cut it off, 
 and put it into his pocket. Their intention was now obvi- 
 ous, and rthought,that the easier tliey were permitted to rob 
 me of every thing, the less I had to fear. I therefore 
 allowed them to search my pocket*? without resistance, 
 
 < 
 
r 
 
 *nd examine every pari of my npparcl, which ihey d'A 
 with the most scrupulous exactness. But observing, lluit 
 I had one waistcoat under anotner, they insisted, that T 
 should cast them off; and at last, to make siu*e work, they 
 stripped me quite naked. Even my half-'boots, though 
 the soles of tliem were tied to my feet with a broken bri- 
 dle rein, were minutely inspected. Whilst they were ex- 
 nmining the plunder. I begged them to return my pocket 
 compass j but, when I pomted it out to them, as it was 
 laying on the ground, one of the banditti, tliinking I was 
 al)out to take it up, cocKed his musket, and swore, that he 
 would shoot me dead on the spot, if I presumed to put 
 my hand on it. After this, some of them went away 
 with my horse, and the remainder stood considering, 
 whether they should leave me quite naked, or allow me 
 something to shelter me from the heat of the sun. Hu- 
 manity at last prevailed ; they returned me the worst of 
 the two shirts, and a pair of trowsers ; and as they went 
 away, one of them threw back my hat, in the crown of 
 which I kept my memorandums : and this was probably 
 the reason they did not wish to keep it. 
 
 *< After they were gone, I sat for some time 
 .Qoking roimd me in amazement and ten*or. Which- 
 soever way I turned, nothing appeared but dan- 
 gpr and difficulty. I saw myself in the midst of a vast 
 wildemess, in the depth of the rainy season, naked and 
 alone, surrounded by savage animals, and by men still 
 mere savage ; I was five hundred miles from the nearest 
 European settlement. All these circumstances crowded 
 at aioe upon my recollection : and, I confess, my spirits 
 began to ftul me. I considered my fate as certain, and 
 that I had no alternative but to lie down and die. The 
 inf ■ nco of relis;i()n, however, aided anl supp' itjl me. 
 
«.! I 
 
 I reflected, that no human prudence or foresight ccufik 
 possibly have averted my present sufTerings. I was in- 
 deed a stranger in a strange land ; yet I was still under 
 the protecting eye of that Providence, who has conde- 
 scended to call himself the stranger^s friend. At thli 
 moment, painful as my feelings were, the oxtroordinarj 
 beauty of a sm nil moss irresistibly caught my eye. I 
 mention this, to show from what trifting circumstancea 
 the mind will sometimes derive consolation ; for though 
 the whole plant wa»not larger than my finger, I could 
 not contemplate the delicate structure of its parts without 
 admiration. Can that Being, thought I, who planted, 
 watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of 
 the world, a thing of so small importance, look with un- 
 concern on the situation and sufibrings of creatures formed 
 aii'ir his own imago? Surely not! Reflections like 
 these would not allow me to despair. I started up, and, 
 disregarding both hunger and fatigue, travelled fonvard, 
 assured that relie^ was at hand and _I was not disap- 
 pointed.'* . . •' '"' 
 
 : 1 : ; L '• u Tavlk's Travels 
 
 lime 
 'hich- 
 dan- 
 ▼ast 
 and 
 still 
 learest 
 >\vdcd 
 ispirits 
 I, and 
 The 
 me. 
 
 
 LESSON XXIX. 
 
 rSRSlS SUPPOSED TO BE WRrTTEN BT ALEXANDER SIItf> 
 KXRK (ROBINSON CRUSOE^) IN THE ISLAND OF JUAX 
 VBRNANDEZ. ^-^.^ 
 
 ' 'a- 
 I am monarch of all I survey, 
 
 My right there is none to dispute ; 
 
 From the centre all round to tre s^a, 
 
 I em loid of the fowl and the wruto. 
 
 I. 
 
i 
 
 I 
 
 i I 
 
 •21S 
 
 solitude ! where are the charms 
 Which sages have seen in thy face ? 
 
 Better dwell in the midst of alarms. 
 Than reign in this horrible place. 
 
 1 am out of humanity's reach ; 
 
 I must finish my journey alone; 
 Never hear the sweet music of speech, 
 I start at the sound of my own. 
 
 The beasts, that roam over the plain. 
 My form with indifference see ; 
 
 They are so unaquainted with man. 
 Their tameness is shocking to me. 
 
 Society, friendship, and love. 
 Divinely bestowed upon man, 
 
 O ! had I the wings of a dove, 
 How soon would I taste you again ! 
 
 My sorrows I then might assuage. 
 In the way of religion and truth ; 
 
 Might learn from the wisdom of age, 
 And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth* 
 
 Religion !— What treasures untold 
 Resides in that heavenly word ! 
 
 More precious than silver or gold. 
 Or all that this earth can afford. 
 
 But the sound of the church-going bell 
 These valleys and rocks never heard ; 
 
 Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell. 
 Or smiled when a Sabbath appear'd. 
 
'2)9 
 
 Ye winds, that have made me your sport, 
 
 Convey to this desolate shore 
 Some cordial endearing report 
 
 Of a land I shall visit no more. 
 
 My friends, do they now and then send 
 
 A wish o** a thought after me ? 
 O tell me I yet have a friend, 
 
 Though a friend I am never to see. 
 
 How fleet is a glance of the mind I 
 Compared with the speed of its flight, 
 
 The tempest itself lags behind, 
 
 And the svnft- winged arrows of light. 
 
 When I think of my own native land, 
 In a moment I seem to be there : 
 
 But, alas I recollection at hand. 
 Soon hurries me back to despair. 
 
 But the sea fowl is gone to her nest,^ 
 The beast is laid do^vn in his lair ; 
 
 Even .here is a season of rest. 
 And I to my cavern repair. 
 
 There is mercy in every place 
 Andmercy (encoura^ng thought !) 
 
 Gives even affliction a grace. 
 And reconciles man to his lot. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
120 
 
 !1i 
 
 i 
 
 { 
 
 Cr(B-9Us 
 
 8ui-ta-ble 
 
 re-pu-ta-tion 
 
 mag-ni-fi-cent 
 
 in-dif-fe-rence 
 
 phi-lo-so-pher 
 
 .n-di-gence 
 
 u-ni-ver-sal-ly 
 
 LESSON XXX. 
 
 SOLON AND CR(ESU«. 
 
 Cle-o-bi8 Bu-per-fi-ci-al 
 
 fra-ter-nal per-pet-u-al-ly 
 
 fee-ti-val un-for-tu-nate 
 
 con-gra-tu-la-ted ad-mo ni-tion 
 
 vi-cis-si-tude8 ve-he-mence 
 
 ac-ci-dents sub-lu-nar-y 
 
 pro8-per-i-ty com-mis-e-ra-tion 
 
 txans-i-ent mon-arch. 
 
 The name of CroBSUS, the fifth and last king of Lydia, 
 who reigned 557 years before Christ, has passed into a 
 proverb to describe the possession of immense riches. 
 When Solon the legislator of Athens, and one of the most 
 celebrated of the ancient sages of Greece came to Sardis, 
 where Croesus held his court, he was received in a man- 
 ner sutable to the reputation of so great a man. The 
 king, attended by his courtiers, appeared in all his regal 
 pomp and splendour, dressed in the most magnificent ap- 
 parel. Solon, however, did not discover surprise or ad- 
 miration. This coldness and indifference astonished ami 
 displeased the king, who next ordered that all his trea- 
 sures, magnificent apartments, and costly furniture, his 
 diamonds, statutes, and paintings, should be shown to the 
 philosopher. 
 
 When Solon had seen all, he was brought back to the 
 king, who asked, whether he had ever beheld a happier 
 man than he. Yes, replied Solon : one Telius, a plain 
 but worthy citizen of Athens, who lived all his days above 
 indigeo :e ; saw his country in a flourishing condition ; 
 had ck -dren who were universally esteemed : and, having 
 
-tlOIl 
 
 Lydia, 
 into a 
 riches, 
 e most 
 Sardis, 
 man- 
 The 
 regal 
 nl ap- 
 or ad- 
 ed ami 
 is trea- 
 ire, his 
 to the 
 
 to the 
 
 lappier 
 
 plain 
 
 ahove 
 Idition J 
 
 having 
 
 221 
 
 lad tlie satisfaction of seeing those children's children, 
 iied fighting for his country. 
 
 Such an answer, in which gold hi\d silver were ac- 
 counted as nothing, seemed to Crcesus to indicate strange 
 ignorance and stupidity. However, as he flattered him- 
 self with being ranked in the second degree of happiness, 
 he asked him whether after Tclius, he knew another 
 happy man ? Solon answered, — Cleobis, and Biton, of 
 Argos, two brothers, perfect patterns of fraternal affection, 
 and of the respect due from their children to their parents. 
 Upon a solemn festival, their mother, a priestess of Juno, 
 was obliged to go to the temple ; and the oxen not being 
 ready for her chariot,they put themselves in the harneae,and 
 Irew it thither amidst the blessings of the people. Every 
 mother present congratulated the priestess on the piety of 
 her sons. She, in the transport of her joy and thankful- 
 ness, earnestly entreated the goddess to reward her 
 children with the best thing that heaven could give to 
 man. Her prayers were heard ; when the sacrifice wai 
 over, they fell asleep in the temple, and there died in a 
 fsoft and peaceful slumber. 
 
 • What, then ! exclaimed Croesus, you do not reckon m« 
 in the number of the happy. King of Lydia, neplied 
 Solon, true philosophy, considering what an infinite num- 
 ber of vicissitudes and accidents the life of man is liabls 
 to, does not allow us to glory in any prosperity we enjoy 
 ourselves, nor to admire happiness in others, which, per- 
 haps, may prove only transient or superficial. No man 
 can be esteemed happy, but he, who heaven biews^ with 
 Buccese to the last. As for those, who are perpetually 
 exposed to dangers, we account their happiness ae uncer- 
 lam, as the crown to a champion, before the combat if 
 det»irmined. 
 
m 
 
 *m 'm 4t 
 
 It w & not long before Croesus exp^^ .ence J tne truth of 
 what Solon had told him. Behig defeated by Cyrus king 
 of Persia, and his capital taken, he was himself taken 
 prisoner j and, by order of the conqueror, laid bound upon 
 a pile to be burnt alive. The unfortunate prince now 
 recollected the admonition of the Athenian sage, and cried 
 aloud, Solon, Solon, Solon ! 
 
 Cyrus, who, with the chief officers of his court, was 
 present, was curious to know why Crcesus pronounced 
 that name with so mucn vehemenc^i^ Joeing told the 
 reason, and reflecting on the uncerta'miy of all sublunary 
 things, he was touched with commiseration, ordered the 
 monarch to be taken from the pile, and treated him after- 
 wards with honour and respect. 
 
 Thus had Solon the glory of saving the life_ of one 
 king, and giving a wholesome lesbon of instruction to 
 another. 
 
 T.ESSON XXXI. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 
 
 It was summer's evening. 
 
 Old Kasper's yvork was done , 
 
 And he before his cottage door 
 Was sitting in the sun j 
 
 And by him sported on tnc green 
 
 His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 
 
 She saw her brother Peterkin 
 
 Roll something largo and round, 
 Which he beside the rivulet, 
 
 V_y' 
 
*223 
 
 In i)laying tuere, had found ; 
 He came to ask what he had found, 
 That was so large, and smooth, and round. 
 
 Old Kasper took it from the boy. 
 
 Who stood expectant by ; 
 And then the old 'man shook his head. 
 
 And, with a natural sigh, 
 *' 'Tis some poor fellow's skull," saia ne, 
 " Who fell in the great victory ! 
 
 " I find them in the garden, 
 For there's many here about ; 
 
 And often when I go to plough. 
 The plough-share tums^them out, 
 
 For many thousand men," said he, 
 
 « Were slain'in that great victory ! 
 
 " Now, tell us what 'twas all about," 
 
 Young Peterkin he cries j 
 And little Wilhelmine looks up. 
 
 With wonder-waiting eyes ; 
 "Now, tell us all about the war, 
 And what they kill'd each for." 
 
 «* It was the English," Kasper cried, 
 Who'put the French to rout*; ] 
 
 But what they kill'd'each other for, 
 I could not well 'make out." 
 
 But every body said," quoth he, 
 
 ** That 'twas a famous-victory.! 
 
 «:My, faihifei Ijvjetl at Blinh^im'tl^ett-."; ; , 
 Yoii iitfle'cVeafti hard by V, ' ' ^ 
 Th6y.'huJn'^[Hi.s d^yelling tc the g»'Onnd,j " 
 
***> 
 
 'J-J 
 
 1 
 
 I' '' 
 
 And ho was forc'd to fly i 
 So, with his wife and child he fled, 
 Nor had he where to rest his head. 
 
 « With fire and sword the country round 
 
 Was wasted far and wide ; 
 And many a childing mother then, 
 
 And new-bom baby died ; 
 But things Hke that, you know, must lie 
 At every famous victory. 
 
 " They say, it was a shocking sight 
 
 After the field was won ; 
 For many thounf;and bodies here 
 
 Lay rotting in the sun. 
 But things like that, you know, must be ' 
 After a famous victory. 
 
 " Great f-raise the Duke of Marlborough won, 
 
 And our good prince Eugene." 
 " Why, 'twas a very wicked thing '." 
 
 Said little Wilhelmine. 
 « Nay — Nay — my little girl," quoth he, 
 " It VN'fis a famous victory ! 
 
 *< And every body praised th Duke 
 
 Who this great fight did win." 
 '* But what good came of it at last ?" 
 
 Quoth little Peterkin. 
 " Why, that I cannot tell," said he, 
 " But 'twas a famous victory ! Southi 
 
 ll 
 
 :;.;•' • -JAwa e^.d.! 
 
 . « •• » ' » 
 
 « ■ 
 
 
 :« ON'mrif L : "* FfNTor t; a r'm k a m>a r 
 
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