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NEW YORK: D. & J. SADLIER a; CO., SI BARCLAY 6TRE . MONTEBAL : COR. NOmi DAXB AMD IT. nUXOU XATIIR ITS. mm linterad MenrdiiBg to Aot of CongreM, in «he jear 1871* Bj D. A J. BADLIEB ft CO., Ib tht OIBm «f tiM libiuiu of CongreM at WMhiaften. Bleotro^ped bjr VINOXNT DIIIi, 26 k 27 Mew Obunbtn St* M. T. ki PREFACE THIS series oiiginaUj comprised four Progressive Beaders. A Fiftih, or Oratorical Header, was soon after added ; but as many teachers complained that the Third Header was too far in advance of the Second, an Intermediate Header has been prepared, and is now published, to foUow after the Second. The Third Header has also been carefully revised, and, where it was possible to do so, shorter and more simple words have been substituted for larger and more difficult ones. These changes will, it is hoped, make the Metropolitan series entirely complete. Having had some experience in the education of youth, and having examined most of the Headers published, we noticed that, with the single exception of the Christian Brothers' series, all the others are better adapted for pagan than Christian schools. They are made expressly for mixed schools, where Protestant and Catholic, Jew and pagan, may read out of the same book, without discovering that there is such a thing as religion in the world. !Dr. Brownson, in his Heview for July, has so well described what Headers should and should not be, thai we will be pardoned for quoting him, aa he ex- i^ 6 PBEFAOE. presses far more dearly than we can what we would wish to say : " Instructions in natural history or natural science, as chemistry, mineralogy, geology, quadrupeds, birds, fishes, or bugs, may be ver}' interesting, but they form no part of education, and tend far more to materialize the mind than to elevate it to God, and to store it with moral and religious principles, which may one day fructify, and form a character of moral and true religious worth. A book may contain much useful instruction on nouns, adjectives, verbs, adverbs, par- ticiples, and other parts of speech, very proper in a grammar-book, but quite out of place in a reading- book ; but all these lessons belong to the department of special instruction, and either have no bearing on education proper, or tend to give to education a dry, utilitarian, and materialistic character. . . . The aim of the reading-book is not instruction, save in the single art of reading, but education, the development or cultivation in the mind and in the heart of those great principles which are the basid of all religion.'* We have endeavored to make these Headers as attractive in every way as any series published; while from a Catholic point of view, we can con- scientiously claim for them some degree of merit. The style in which the publishers have got up the other books of this series is very creditable to them ; but in this third book they have surpassed themselves. It is embellished with numerous engravings, many of them very fine, and far superior to what is generally seen in school-books. The CoustLEB. 1 ^-Tmmmmsm* CONTENTS. PART I. PAOB iNBTHVonom ox TBI PuKOirau or Biasino 11 1. Baptism 16 2. The Smile of Innocence 18 8. Kind Words 19 4. The Brothers 20 6. Beware of Impatience 21 6. The Two Ways 28 7. Ckransel to the Toung 25 8. On a Picture of a Girl leading her Blind Mother through the Woods WiUii. 26 9. The Honest Shepherd Boy 28 10. The Wonders of a Salt Mine Touth'a C. Magaxim. 82 11. The Starry Heavens 83 12. Carelessness 86 18. Congregation of the Propagation of the Faith , 89 14. live for Sometliing 42 16. Predominant Passions 48 16. •• •• (Cbntfmierf) 47 17. My Boy Absalom N.P. Wittit S?. 18. The Scholar's Virion £ It 19. Birth of our Saviour IMy ufa Christian. 68 20. A Spanish Anecdote 61 21. Anecdotes of Dogs Ifiatural Hitkry. 62 22. Burial of Sir John Moore Wo(f«. 66 28. I Try to be Good , 68 24. The Green Mossy Bank 70 26. On the Baptismal Vows. Duty afa ChrUHan. 71 26. The Litany 78 27. Tho Sign of the Cross 74 28. The Three Friends 77 29. SongoftheBailroad O.W.Holmet. 78 80. Tiototinui .,.« 80 "■rnKmrnm^m 8 CONTENTS. 81. OnarditB Angeb 82 82. TheBMorrectionoftheBodj B\HkHiHory. 84 88. A Storj of » Monk 87 84. The Dilatory Scholar 89 86. Spanish Evening Hymn 90 86. Christ stilling the Tempest 91 87. Holiday Children 92 PART II. 1. The Dream of the Crusader 96 2. •' " " •• (Qmimmi) 97 8. The Lord's Prayer BiUe StoriM, 99 4. Legend of the Infant Jesus 101 6. The Do-Nothings 102 6. Healing the Daughter of Jaims.. WVlu. 106 7. St Philip Neri and the Youth Byron. 108 8. Confirmation. 109 9. Birds in Summer ' 110 10. The Children and the Infant Jesos 112 11. The Grave of Father Marquette Judge Kennedy. 117 12. Abraham and Isaac BMe Hulory. 120 18. Hohenlinden OampbeU. 128 14. Language of Flbwdrt. Cliflon l\raeU. 124 \6. Homeward Bbuhd....... ..WHHa. 127 16. Lucy's Death. . . . ..... . . a\flon TnuU. 128 17. Autobii^ropliy iCf a Boee.... E.M.€hiihn». 182 18. " »• (Ow/miierf). " 186 19. Winter........ 188 20. The Sno 141 21. Uses of Watier ..... . . . . . 148 Dying Christiaii to his Soul Pope. 146 22. Flight Into Efeypt. . .............. Bible Stories. 146 23. The Freed Bird Mrg. Bamms. 148 24. Beheading of St. John. ...:.::;....:;.....;; .Bibie Storia. 160 26. Saturday AftemooA ... ....... ....... . . . . .......... WUH$. 162 26. Learning and Aco6ttplisbments not inconsistent with €h>od Housekeeping. .......•.■.'................ i; ........... 164 27. Leaniinj^ aod Aooomplishmenti {Omtimui) . ; . . i '. « I'l v i . ; ; . . 166 CONTENTS. \ . 28. Anecdotes of the Tiger Kdmtd Butary 169 29. The Fountaht 168 80 Benedict Arnold 164 81. Ruth and Noemi Bible Sioriet. 166 82. Flowers 169 83. The Scholar of the Boearj 170 84. " •• •• " (Coniinued^ 172 86. The Month of May , 176 86. The Month of Mary C. Youtk't MagaoM. 177 87. The Indian 178 88. Charity OmqAim. 180 89. The Everlasting Church Maeaday. 181 40. Welcome to the Rhine BmOm. 188 41. The Bee-Hive 186 42. The Child's Wiuh in June 187 48. The Martyr's Boy .... .' Cardinal Wimmm. 188 44. " •♦ •• (Omtinwi) " •• 198 46. Anna's Offering of Samuel BM» Storiu. 196 46. The Boy and the Child Jesus Beher. 199 47. The Holy Eucharist. Bible Storia. 201 48. The House of Loretto S. M. Guthrw. 204 49. Extreme Unction. Dvty tfa CftruiMn. 207 60. "What is that, Mother?" Loom. 209 61. Charity Ongkul. 210 62. Anecdotes of Horses AnecdoU» . ••B3fU Storiee. 811 Truth in Parentheses. Bood. 812 Jiq^ese Martyrs ....,..,.-... ; Oamee. 818 Pain in a Pleasure-Boat iibod. 817 Tkmente the Altar.. Cliftoik Trade. 820 ft ai T tt bi I have given the names of some authors ; but in arranging this Reader, my object was to secure pfeces suitable for ojiildren who wete commencing to read rather fluently. Many of them are fugitive. I sought rather te malce it pleasant and instructive, than to cull from particular authors. *>'»• SIKIWIHQnM THE THIRD R • PART FIRST. nSTRDCnOHS OS THE PBINCIPLES OF READIHO. \\ All that articulate langaage can effect to inflnence others, is dependent npon the voice addressed to the ear. A skil- fiil management of it is, consequently, of the highest import* ance. Distinct articulation forms the foundation of good readhig. To acquire this, the voice should be firequently exercised upon the elementary sounds of the language, both simple and com- bined, and classes of words containing sounds liable to be perverted or suj^ressed in utterance, should be forcibly and accurately pronounced. Elbmektart Yooal Sounds. ' Vtwd Samtb, as in ape. as in old. " arm. " do. <*^ ball io " ox. " mat a " use. " eve. u " tub. " end. tt " falL " ic5e. oi " voice. " it on " sound. 12 TUE THIBD 'RTBA'nii'.n. Oomcnant Sounds. b'*' as in bag. r as IS ram. d ' ' dun. V " vane. « ' ' gate. V " war. J ' 1 ' jam. ' love. 7 " z " yes. zeal. m * n ' ' moment. ' not. ng " th " song, there. Aspirate Sounds. The aspirate consonant is distinguished from the vocal in its enunciation : the former is prouounced with a foil emission of breath ; the latter, by a murmuring sound of the voice. Exerciaea in the Aspirate Consonants. f as in fate. h as in hate. k as in key. p * " phi. s " sign. t " tell, ch " charm. sh " shade. th " thanks. Avoid the suppresedon of a syllable ; as, cab'n for cabin. des'late for desolate, partic^ar " particular. mem'ry " memory. Avoid the omission of any sound properly belonging to a word; as, seem' for seeing. swif ly for swiftly, wa'mer. " warmer. *appy " happy. ^ government" government. b'isness " bnisness. Avoid the substitution of one sound for another ; as, wil-ler forwil-low. tem-per-it for tem-per-ate. win-der " window. com-proni>mise " com-pro-mise. sep-e-rate " sep-a-rate. hol-ler " hollow. * The common defect in the articulation of 6, is a want of force in compreuing and opening the mouth. ON THB PBINOIPLES OF BBADINa. 18 Emphasis and Accent. Emphasis and Accent both indicate some special stress of the voice. Emphasis is that stress of the voice by which one or more words of a sentence are distinguished above the rest. It is used to designate the important words of a sentence, without any direct reference to other words. — ^Example : Be we men, And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not The stain away m blood ! Emphasis is also used in contrastmg one word or clause with anpther ; as, Bdigion raises men above themselves. Irreligion sinks them beneath brutes. To detenmne the emphatic words of a sentence, the reader must be governed wholly by the SentimerU to be expressed. The idea is sometimes entertained, that emphasis is expressed by loudness of tone. But it should be borne in mind that the most intense emphasis may often be effectively expressed even by a whisper. Accent. Accent is that stress of voice by which one syllable of a word is made more prominent than the others. The accented syllable is sometunes designated thus (') ; as, in'terdict. Words of more than two syllables generally have two or more of them accented. The more forcible stress is called the primary accent, and the less forcible the secondary accent ; as, mul'ti pli caption, com'pre hend". Note. — The change of accent on the same word often changes its meaning ; as 11 ob'ject, ultimate pm'pose. con'duct, behavior. object', to oppose, con duct', to lead. IMaW ft I Wnft Wa O i^fcM 14 THE THIBD BEAPEB. Inflechons or Modulations are those variations of the voice heard in speaking or reading, which are prompted by the feelings and emotions that the sub- ject inspires. A correct modulation of the voice is one of the most important things to be taught to children. Without it they cannot become good readers. If the voice is kept for any length of time in one continuous key or pitch, the reader and the hearers equally become weary. Whenever a habit of reading or speaking in a nasal, shrill, harsh, or rough tone of voice is contracted by the pupil, no pains should be spared in eradicating it, and in securing a clear, full, round, and flex- ible tone. Three degrees of variations are usually recognized in reading — the high, middle, and low. , The low is that which falls below the usual speaking key, and is employed in expressing ^motions of sublimity, awe, and reverence. The middle pitch is what is usually employed in common conversation, and in expressing unimpassioned thought, and moderate emotion. The liigh pitch is that which rises above the usual speaking key, and is used in expressing jot/ous and elevated feelings. The great object of every reader should be, first, to read so as to be fully and easily understood by all who hear him ; and next, to read with grace and force, so as to please and move his hearers. i.. BAPTISM. 15 . J^i^iarf'.^itlliii.fenvJiR nr?:) IT::; %.> vjiP^m'SP. fc. ■ .ir-"«i,!:Ml iDia^:. 1. Baptism. O-rig'i-nal, first, primitiye. Mar'tyr-dom, death in testi- mony of the true faith. Sup-Fi'ci-ENT, enough. Va-lid'mY) legal force. Reg'is-ter-ed, recorded. Oar Savioar baptised by St. John. THE first of the Sacraments which we receive is baptism. It was instituted by our Lord to firee us from original sm, and also from actual sin committed before we receiye it. Bap- tiim makes us children of God and of his holy Church ; and II " .% .s' ^\fy^.. 16 THE THIBD BEADEB. it is the most necessary of all the Sacraments, because, unless we receive it, we cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. 2. There are conmionly reckoned three kinds of baptism : first, by water ; second, that of the spirit ; and third, of blood. The first only is properly a sacrament, and it is conferred by pouring water on the head of the person to be baptized, repeating at the same time these words : " I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost." 3. The baptism of the spirit takes place when a person has a true sorrow for his sins, and an ardent desire to receive bap- tism, but is placed in such a position that it is impossible for him to receive the sacrament. By this desire origmal and actual sin is for^ven. The baptism of blood is that which takes place when a person suffers martyrdom for the faith. Hence the Holy Innocents, put to death by the order of Herod, when that wicked king sought to kill our Lord, wre esteemed as martyrs, and as being baptized in their blood. 4. At what particular time during the life of our divine Lord baptism was instituted is not exactly known. Some holy Fathers think it was instituted when Christ was baptized by St. John ; others, when He said, unless a man be bom of water and the Holy Ghost, he cannot enter the kingdom, of heaven. It is certain, however, that the obligation b^^n with the beginning of Christianity. 5. Baptism is conferred in three ways. First, by immer* sion, that is, by plunging the person under the water. Sec- ondly, by infusion, or pouring the water on the person to be baptized ; and thirdly, by aspersion or sprinkling^. The prac- tice now is, to pour the water three times on the person about to be baptized, using the words, "I baptize thee, ^c.," which we mentioned before. The pouring of the water once is suffi- cient, as to making the sacrament valid ; and it is not actually necessary to make the sign of the cross while pouring the water, though it is usually dpne. 6. The ceremonies made use of in conferring the sacra* ment of baptism are impressive and instructive. The priest breathes upon the infant or other person to be baptized, to iP'"*!!!PP*i>9iiii BAPTISM. 17 ri^fy spiritual life. It is used also to drive cTra.y the devil, by the Holy Ghost, who is called the Spirit of God. The person is signed with the sign of the cross, to signify that he is made a soldier of Christ. Salt is pnt into his mouth, which is an emblem of prudence, and signifies that grace is given to preserve the soul incorrupt. 7. The priest applies spittle to the person's ears and nostrils, in imitation of Christ, who used that ceremony in curing the deaf and dumb. The anointing the head denotes the dignity of Christianity ; the anointing the shoulders, that he may be strengthened to carry his cross ; the breast, that lus heart may concur willingly in all the duties of a Christian ; the white garment in which the person is clothed signifies inno- cence ; and the lighted candle the light of faith with which he is endowed. 8. When children are baptized, they have also a godfather and godmother, whose duty it is to instruct the child in the duties of its religion, in case of the death or neglect of parents to do it. The office of godfather or godmcth3r is an important one, and should not be undertaken Without due con- sideration of its duties. 9. At baptism, the devil and all his works are solemnly re- nounced ; a promise is recorded on the altar to bear the white robe of innocence without stain of sin before the throne of God. Children, have you kept this promise f hi 18 THE THIRD REAPER. 2. The Smile of Innocence. Tran'sient, passing, fleeting. Ma'ni-ac, a madman. Pen'sive, thoughtful. Plac'id, quiet. En-rol', to register. Me'te-or, a luminous, tran- sient body, floating in the atmosphere. In'no-cbnce, freedom from guilt. 1. rpHERE is a smile of bitter scorn, J- Which curls the lip, which lights the eye ; There is a smile in beauty's mom Just rising o'er the midnight sky. 2. There is a smile of youthfiil joy, When hope's bright star's the transient guest ; There is a smile of placid age. Like sunset on the billow's breast. S. There is a smile, the maniac's smile. Which lights the void that reason leaves, And, like the sunshine through a cloud. Throws shadows o'er the song she weaves. " fl [%**^— • -i.r-"fc''i'iWiW l-''-ini,T.--f ' i^\__. iwiww|ippiaipg|pg»ww»!iww pw«wwi p.*i J. jiiiiiwpmwy KBXD WOBDS. 4. There is a smile of love, of hope, Which shines a meteor throngh life's gloom ; And there's a smile, Religion's smile, Which lights the weary to the tomb. 6. It is the smile of innocence. Of sleeping infancy's light dream ; Like lightning on a summer's eve, It sheds a soft, a pensive gleanL 6. It dances round the dimpled cheek, And tells of happiness within ; It smiles what it can never speak — A human heart devoid of sin. 19 1 »^ 3. Kind Words. Men'tal, relating to the mind. I Wrath'ful, furious, raging. Mo-bose', sour of temper. I XJN-PLEAs'Airr, offensive. Do not say tnent'l for tnentcH; 'compLuh or uooon^Uh for accomjiith tuitolve for retclve ; perduet fox produce. THEY never blister the tongue or lips. And we have never heard of one mental trouble arising from this quarter. Though they do not cost mutih, yet they accomplish mack 90 THE THIRD BEADEB. They' help one's own good-natnre and good*wiII. Soft words soften our own Ronls. Angry words are fuel to the flame of wrath, and make the blaze more fierce. 2. Kind words make other people good-natured. Gold words freeze people, and hot words make them hot, and bitter words make them bitter, and wrathful words make them wrathful. There is such a rush of all other kinds of words in our days, that it seems unpleasant to give kind words a chance among them. 3. There are Tain words, and idle words, and hastj words, spiteful words, and empty words, and profane words, and war- like words. Kind words also produce their own image in man's soul. And a beautiful image it is. - 4. They soothe, and quiet, and comfort the hearer. They shame him out of his sour, morose, unkind feelings. If we have not yet begun to nse kind words in abundance as thex ought to be used, we should resolve to do so immediately. 4 The Bbothebs. Sa'cred, holy. TJn-troub'led, not troubled. Sound e correctly. Do not akj mtmd for tucred; war* for wtr*. Avoid a singing tone in reading poetry. 1. TIT^B ARE BUT TWO — ^thc othcTs sleep * * Through death's untroubled night : We are but two — oh, let us keep The link that binds us bright. 2. Heart leaps to heart — ^the sacred flood That warms us is the same ; That good old man — ^his honest blood Alike WB ftMsdly daun. _u_ ' ■■■■ iW IpRp mmm BEWABE OF DIPATIENOB. & We in one mother^s anns were lock'd — Long be her loye repaid ; In the same cradle we were roclc'd, Bound the same hearth we played. ai 4. Oar boyish sports were all the same, Each little joy and woe : Let manhood keep aUve the flame/ Lit up so long ago. 6. Wb are but two — ^be that the band To hold ns till we die ; Shoulder to shoulder let us stand, Till side by side we lie. 6. Bewabe of Impatienoe. De-li'cious, excellent to the taste. Mis'e-bt, wretchedness ; woe. Anx'ious, with trouble of mind. iM'PORr'ANCE, consequence. Ad-vised', to have given ad- vice. Plunged, thrust in. 6e-ware', to take care. Poi'soN, what is noxious to life or health. ■iMlk ¥f S3 THE THIBD READEB. 'i .i i •I :' 1 ^ rpHERE'S many a pleasure in life which we might possess, -1- were it not for our impatience. Young people, especially, miss a great deal of happiness, because they cannot wait till the proper time. 2. A man once gave a fine pear to his little boy, saying to him, "The pear is green now, my boy, but lay it by for a week, and it will then be ripe, and very delicious." "But," said the child, "I want to eat it now, father." " I tell you it is not ripe yet," said the father. " It will not taste good ; and, besides, it will make you sick." -^^ 3. " No, it won't, father ; I know it won't, it looks so good. Do let me eat it 1 " After a little more teasing, the father consented, and the child ate the pear. The consequence was, that the next day he was taken sick, and came very near dying. Now, all this happened because the child was impatient. 4. He could not wait, and so, yon see, the pear, that might have been very pleasant and harmless, was the occasion of severe illaess. Thus it is that impatience, in a thousand hi- stances, leads children, and pretty old ones too, to convert sources of happiness into actual mischief and misery. 5. There were some boys once, who lived near a pond ; and when winter came, they were very anxious to have it freeze over, so that they could slide and skate upon the ice. At last, there came a very cold night, and in the morning the. •mn '•f^mm^Ktm V i! THB TWO WAYS. 2a boys went to the pond to see if the ice woald bear them. Their father came by at that moment, and seeing tliat it was hardly thick enough, told the boys that it was not safe yet, and advised them to wait another day before they ventured upon it. 6. But the boys were in a gpreat hurry to enjoy the pleasure of sliding and skating. So they walked out upon the ice ; but pretty soon- it went crack — crack — crack 1 and down they were all plunged into the water ! It was not very deep, so they got out, though they were very wet, and came near drowning ; and all because they could not wait. *l. Now these things, though they may seem to be trifles, are full of instruction. They teach us to beware of unpatience, to wait till the fruit is ripe ; they teach us that the cup of pleasure, seized before the proper time, is turned into poison. They show us the importance of patience. 6. The Two Ways. Rhine, the principal river in Germany. Gon'science, internal or self- knowledge. Calm'ness, quietness. Mourned, sorrowed. Raven, a species of black bird. Rust'ling, slight noise. Mis'e-by, wretchedness. Par'a-ble, a fable; a simili- tude. IN a village on the Rhine, a schoolmaster was one day teaching in his school, and the sons and daughters of the villagers sa£ around listening with pleasure, for his teaching was full of interest.' He was speaking of the good and bad conscience, and of the still voice of the heart. 2. After he had finished speaking, he asked his pupils: ''Who among you is able to tell me a parable on this sub- ject ?" One of the boys stood forth and said, " I think I can tell a partible, but I do not know whether it be right." "Speak in your own words,'' answered the master. And the boy began: "I compare the calmness of a good con* I I ■mm i _i ■ '■-• • ..^. '.- I.— -kH.iiiX.ii^-Mta::' 94 THB THIBD BBADEB. Bcience and the nnhappiness of an evil one, to two ways on which I walked once. 8. " When the enemy passed through onr village, the soldiers carried off by force my dear father and our horse. /When my father did not come back, my mother and all of us wept and mourned bitterly, and she sent me to the town to inquire for my father. I went ; but late at night I came back sorrow- fully, for I had not found my father. It was a dark night in autumn. 4. "The wind roared and howled in the oaks and firs, and betw^n the rocks ; the night-ravens and owls were shrieking and hooting ; and I thought in my soul how we had lost my father, and of the misery of my niother when she should^ see me return alone, A strange trembling seized me in the di^ary night, and each rustling leaf terrified me. Then I thought to myself, — such must be the feelings of a man's heart who has a bad conscience." 5. " My children,** said the master, "would yon like to walk in the darkness of night, seeking in vain for your dear father, and hearing naught but the roar of the storm, and the screams of the beasts of prey ?" 6. "Oh I no,** exclaimed all the children, shuddering. Then the boy resumed his tale and said, " Another time I went the same way with my sister ; we had been fetching many nice things firom town for a feast, which onr father was secretly preparing for our mother, to surprise her the next day. 7. "It wn late when we returned ; but it was in spring; the sky was bright and clear, and all was so calm, that we could hear the gentle murmur of the rivulet by the way, and on all sides the nightmgales were singing. I was walkm^- hand in hand with iiiy sister ; but we were so delighted th:'t we hardly liked to speak ; then onr good father came to mt:eo us. Now I thoucrht again by myself, — such must be the state of the man w!:iO hi>^ done much good." 8. When the ?K>y had finished his tale, the master looked kindly at the ch'jdroi^, aad they all said together, "Yes, we will become good man I " I \y 'X. OOUmOEL TO THE TOVAti. 26 7. COUNSEI. TO TUE ToXJNG. Web, net'work. Trou'ble, care. Chber'fdl, pleasant. HAr'rr, impetaons; with ea- (TPT-ness. Moui jr, to grieve. Bud'ble, a small bMder of water. Tri'fle, a il ^ter of no im- portance. Re-vengb', returning evil for evil. IVrEYER be cast down by trifles. If a spider breaks his •*• ' web twenty times, twenty times will he mend it. Make up your minds to do a thing, and you will do it. Fear not if trouble comes upon yon; keep up your spirits, though the day may be a dark one — Troubles do not last forever, The darkest day will pass away. 2. If the sun is going down, look up to the sturs ; if the earth w dark, keep your eyes on heaven. With God's prea* ence and UocTs [promise, a man or child may be cheerful. Never despair when fog's in the air, ▲ ■unshiny MMiming wUl come without waming. 4 I »^tlM^ ilf»|-|i mtitimtmTm' m< i «ii£iai*'1 26 THE THIBD HEADER. 3. Mind what^ you run after I Never be content with a bubble that will Ijurst ; or a fire that will end in smoke and darkness : but that which you can keep, and which is worth keeping. Something sterling that will stay, When gold and silver fly away. 4. Fight hard against a hasty temper. Anger will come, but resist it strongly. A spark may set a house on fire. A fit of passion may give you cause to mourn all the days of your hfe. Never revenge an injury. He that revenges knows no rest ; The meek possess a peaceful breast. ■ 5. If yon have an enemy, act kindly to him, and make hun your friend. You may not win him over at once, but try again. Let one kmdness be followed by another till you have compassed your end. By little and little great tMngs are completed. "Water falling day by day, Wears the hardest rock away. ^ And so repeated kindness will soften a heart of stone. 8. On a Picture of a Girl leading her Blind Mother through the Wood. 1. rriHE green leaves as we pass -L Lay their light fingers on thee unaware. And by thy side the hazels cluster fah*, And the low forest-grass Grows green and silken where the wood-paths wind — Alas 1 for thee, sweet mother ! thou art blmd I 2. And nature is all bright ; And the faint gray and crimson of the dawn, Like folded curtains from the day are drawn ; And evening's purple light OntL LEADING HEB BLIND MOTHEB. Quivers in tremulous softness on the sky — Alas I sweet mother ! for thy clouded eye; 27 8. Tlie moon's new silver shell Trembles above thee, and the stars float up, In the blue air, and the rich tulip's cup Is pencil'd passing well. And the swift birds on glorious pinions Hee — Alas 1 sweet mother ! that thou canst not see I 4. And the kind looks of friends Peruse the sad expression in thy face. And the child stops amid his bounding race, And the tall stripling bends ::;:s^ ^ss^zzJSifir, 28 THE THIRD BEADEB. Low to thine ear with duty nnforgot — Alas ! sweet mother I that thou seest them not I t ; 5. But thou canst hear! and love May richly on a human tone be pour'd, And the least cadence of a whisper'd word A daughter's love may prove — And while I speak thou knowest if I smile, Albeit thou canst not see my face the while I 6. Yes, thou canst hear 1 and He Who on thy sightless eye its darkness hung, To the attentive ear, like harps, hath strung Heaven and earth and sea ! And 'tis a lesson in our hearts to know — WUh but one sense the soul may overflow. 9. T?HE Honest Shephebd BoT. Shep'herd, one who has the care of sheep. Fru'gal, saving of expenses. Crook, bend, a shepherd's staflF. Gaif, manner of walking. Jomi-NEY's END, place to lie reached! De-pict'ed, portrayed. Ca-pac'i-ty, the power of re- ceiving and containing. I AM going to tell you something which happened in Eng* land. It is about a shepherd boy, named John Borrow. It was a cold, wintry morning when John left his home, as usual, to tend the sheep of farmer Jones. In one hand John carried his frugal meal, and in the other he held a shepherd's crook. He walked briskly along, whistling as lie went — now tossing with his feet the still untrodden snow, and, once in a while, running back to slide where his own feet had made a way. Had you looked into the bright, sunny face of John Borrow, you would not have been sutprised at his cheerful i jA^ THE HONEST SHEPHERD BOY. 29 gait. His countenance bore the impress of a happy disposi- tion, and a warm, confiding heart. 2. John had been carefully brought up by his only surviv- ing parent — a poor mother ; he was her only son, and though she had many little daughters to share her maternal care, still she seemed to think that her first-bom, the one who was to be the stay and support of the family, needed thje most of her watchful love. 3. Hitherto John had not disappointed her — ^he was beloved by all for hi^ open, firank manners, and his generous, honest heart; and he promised fair to become all that his mother had so earnestly prayed he might be. D be 'WSf9m^ ^■>r^^:v f re- Eng* rrow. le, as John lerd's -now 3 in a ide a John eerful r 4. But while I have been telling you a little about our young friend, he, in spite of his playing a little by the way, has reached his journey's end. He first deposits his dinner in the trunk of an old oak, which always serves hun for a closet ; and then he begins to feed the poor sheep, who do not seem to enjoy the cold weather so much as himself. 5. John manages *to spend a very happy day alone in the meadows with his sheep and his dog. Sometimes he tries how Pepper likes snow-balling ; sometimes he runs up to the wind- mill, not far off, to see if he can get any other little boys to come and play with him. This momiiig, however, he had a little more business to do than usual ; he had to take the sheep to another fold, where they would be more sheltered from the ii'iliii 11 I TT^ mu 80 THE TmBD BEADEB. ifittd. And jast as be is in the act of driving them throngh the large field-gate, he sees farmer Jones coming towards him. 6. "John," exclaimed the farmer, as he came up to the other side of the gate, "have you seen my pocket-book about anywhere ? I was round here about half an hour ago, and must have dropped it." " No, sir ; I have not seen any thing of it, but I'll look about, if you like." i. " That's a man, John. Be quick, for it's got money in it, and I don't at all wish to lose it. We will hunt together." Whereupon they parted company, one going one way, and the other another, with their eyes on the ground, searching for the missing treasure. Presently John heard Mr. Jones calling him in a loud voice from the other side of the field. 8. John, thinking the book was found, came running with great eagerness ; but, as he drew near the old oak where farmer Jones stood, he was taken somewhat aback to see the look of anger depicted on his master's face ; and still more was he surprised when he saw the missing book lying open by the side of his own dinner, and Mr. Jones pointing to it. "Well, sir, what does this mean?" exclauned the indignant farmer. " I thought yoa told me you did not know where it was?" 9. John, whose amazement at the strange circumstance was very great, and whose sense of honor was no less so, felt the color mount to his cheeks, as he replied : " Yes, sir, and I spoke the truth." " Then, how do you account for my findmg it open in the trunk of an oak, close to your dinner?" " That I cannot say ; this, only, I know : that I did not put it there." 10. But Mr. Jones would not be convinced — ^the fact seemed to him so clear and so self-evident ; for John acknowledged he had not seen any one else about there that morning ; so, after scolding the poor boy ver;* severely, he dismissed him on the spot from his employment. 11. It is easier to imagine than describe the feelings of poor • ] i THE HONEST 8HEPHEBD BOY. 81 John, as he slowly fonnd his way home that evening. To be deprived of the means of assisting his dear mother was bad enough ; bnt to be suspected of lying and stealing, was, to simple, honest John, almost too hard to bear. He consoled himself, however, with the thought — "Mother will believe me." 12. Yes, and Ms mother did believe him, and told hun not to foel angry with farmer Jones, for appearances were certainly against him, and he did not know him as well as she did. "Besides," she added, "truth must come out some time or other." , And so it did, though it was months afterwards ; and I will tell you how. 13. John had long been seeking another situation, but no one would take him, on account of the apparent blot on his character. This cost John many a tear and tiaany a sigh, but he trusted that Qod would right him, and he was not discour- aged. 14. One day he went to see a gentleman who had inquired for a lad to work in his garden. As usual, John told his story just as it was, and his face brightened as the gentleman said, " Then that must have been your dog I saw with a book in his mouth. I was riding through the field you mention, one day, some months since, and I saw a dog with a book in hi? mouth, run and put his head in the trunk of an old oak." 15. John claimed his hands for joy, exclaimmg: "I knew the truth would come out. Then Pepper — poor Pepper ! it was his kindness to me that caused all the trouble ; he thought it was mine, and he took it to where I always keep my dinner, and then, I suppose, in dropping it into the hole, it came open." 16. John lost no time in acquainting farmer Jones with what he had heard. He was very sorry for his suspicions, and wanted to take him back ; but John, who saw some chance of promotion in the gentleman's garden, declined the favor. n. John remained some time with his new master as gar- den-boy, but he became so great a favorite, both among the family and servants, that he was afterwards taken into the 82 THit THIBD ftiBA'men- honse, where he remained as the trusted and yalned senrant of his kind master, until his death. He never married— in order that he might be better able to su^^rt his widowed mother and his four sisters. See, my dear children, how true it is, that all thmgs work' together for good to those who love God. ' "^ 10. The WoKDEfta of a Salt Mine. Mine, a pit fi*om*which min- erals are dug. Ca'ble, a large, strong rope. Mi'ner, one who. works- in a mine. Gav'ern, an opening under ground. Vault, a continiied arch, a cellar. I'ci-CLES, a hanging mass of ice. iN-HAfi'iT-ANT, a pcrsou who resides in a place. , Com'posed, formed. IN a- country of Europe, called Poland, there is the largest salt mine in the^ world. It is quite a little town, into which there are eight openings, six in the fields, and two in a town called Cracow, near which the mine is situated. At the top of each of these openings is a large wheel with a cable, by which persons are let down, and sometimes as many as forty persons descend together. They are carried slowly down a narrow, dark well, to the depth of 600 feet, and as soon as tho first person touches the ground, he steps from the rope, and the rest do the same in turn. 2. The place where they land is quite dark, but the miners strike a light, by means of which strangers are led through a number of winding ways, all sloping lower and lower, till they come to some ladders, by which they descend again to an im- mense depth. 3. At the bottom of the ladders the Visitors enter a small, dark cavern, apparently walled up on all sides. The guide now puts out his lamp as if by accident, and catching the vis- itor by the band, drags him through a narrow cleft into the i -'V. ^ THE BTABBY BEATENS. 33 /f '/r' body of the mine, where there bursts upon his sight a view, the brightness and beauty of which is scarcely to be imagined. 4. It is a spacious plain, containing a little world under- gromid, with horses, carriages, and roads, displaying all the bustle of business. This town is wholly cut out of one vast bed of salt, and the space is filled with lofty arched vaults, siipported by pillars of salt, so that the building seems com- posed of the purest crystals. - 5. Lights are constantly burning, and the blaze of them reflecting from every part of the mine, gives a more splendid sight than any human works above ground could exhibit. The salt is, in some places, tinged with all the colors of precious stones, blue, yellow, purple, red, and green ; and there are en- tire columns wholly, composed of brilliant masses of such colors. 6. From the roofs of the arches, in many parts, the salt hangs in the form of icicles, presenting all the colors of the rainbow. In various parts of this spacious plain stand the huts of the miners and their families, some single, and others in -clusters like villages. The inhabitants have very little intercourse with the world above ground, and many hundreds are bom and end their lives there. 1. A stream of fresh water runs through the mine, so that the mhabitants have no occasion for a supply from above : and above all, the Almighty, Creator of all these wonders is not forgotten ; tliey have hollowed out a beautiful chapel, in which the Adorable Sacrifice is offered ; the altar, crucifix, ornaments of the chapel, with statues of our Blessed Lady and several saints, are all of the same beautifhl material. - ^ 11. The Stabby Heayens. Fir'ma-ment, the heavens. Pro-claim', announce. Plan'et, a celestial body re- volving about the sun. 31a'di-ant, bright. Ter-res'tb.-al, relating to the earth. Rea'son, the faculty of judg^ ing. Glo'ri-ous, illttstrioiu. u THE THIBD RBADEB. 1. rflHE spacions firmament on high, -^ With all the blue, ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame/ Their great Original proclaim. 2. Th' unwearied sun, from day to day, Does his Creator's power display, And publishes to every land. The work of an Almighty hand. • 3. Soon as the evening shades prevail. The moon takes up the wondrous tale, '♦ i 7r 86 And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth ; 4. While all the stars that ronnd her bum, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, ( And spread the truth from pole to pole. 6. What though in solemn silence all Move lound this dark, terrestrial ball, — What thongh no real voice nor sound Amid their radiant orbs be found ? 6. In reason's ear they all rejoice, h ^ utter forth a glorious voice, > Foiever singing as they shine, " The hand that made us is cUvine.'' 12. Cabelesbness. Qual'i-ty, an attribute. Sloven'li-ness, untidiness ; carelessness. Yield'ing, giving up. Frag'ment, a small portion. A-void'ed, shunned. Sur-prise', wonder- suddenly excited. MARY BELL was a little girl who, though she had many good qualities, was also, like most persons, possessed of some very bad ones. One of her worst faults was her negli- gence and carelessness, which showed itself in many matters, and especially in her dress. 2. She was affectionate, kind-hearted, and good-natured ; always ready to assist otiers, even when by so doing she stood in the way of her own pleasure. But, alas I her sloven- liness, " Like a cloud before the skies, Hid aU her better qualities." ^£0t^ : jL^'ii" '^** f THB THIBD Bii!AT>»R- 3. This trait in Mary's character gave her mother a great deal of trouble. She did not want her little girl to be vain of dress, which is yery foolish as well as wicked, but she wished to see her neatr- and careful. ' Mary sometimes suffered much inconvenience from her carelessness. She would often, when preparing for a walk or ride, waste half an hour in look- ing for a missing glove or stocking, and when found, the article was generally so much out of repair, as hardly to be worn with decency. 4. .But she had got the habit of throwing her things about, and letting them go unmended, and it seemed impossible to break her of it. So true it is that children should be very careful how they form habits that may cling to them through life, and, if bad, cause them much trouble. 5. About l^alf a mile tcoxa Mrs. Bell's there lived a very nice old woman, who had formerly been a housekeeper in the family, and who was very fond indeed of little Mary. Mary, in return, loved Mrs. Brown, as the -old woman was called, and was always delighted to be the bearer of the little delica- cies which her mother often sent to her. 6. One Saturday morning Mrs. Bell called Mary to her,^ and told her that as she had been a go,od girl, and learned all her tasks that week very well, she might go over and spend, the day with Mrs. Brown, adding, that when she was dressed, she would find a pitcher of broth on the dining-table, which she wished her to take with her. Mary was delighted with the permission, and ran up-stau's as fast as possible to get ready. 7. As usual, half the articles she wanted to wear were miss- ing, and no, two in the same place, so that a long time was consumed in looking for them. One of her shoes was in her bedroom, but where the other had gone was a mystery which no one in the house could solve. The servants were called from their work to know if they had seen it, but none of them knew any thing about it. 8. After wasting a long time in this wa y ^ Ma ry happened to recollect that the night before she had puUed it off, on ac- count of its hurting her, and thrown it under the parlor lounge> V [ 0ABEIJH98NE8S. 87 where it was found: The string was ont ; but being by this time in a great hurry, Mary conclnded it would stay on with- out one, and put it on as it was. ' In changing her dress, she noticed a small rent in the skirt, which her mother had told her of some days before, but which she had forgotten to mend. 9. " Never mind," thought she, " it will not be noticed, and I can sew it up when I come home." One glove was in her pocket, and the other, after some search, she found in her ret- icule. These required mending also^ but were thrust on with- out it. The string of her bonnet was ripped off, and being in too much haste to fasten it properly, she merely stuck a pin in it, hoping that this would answer the purpose. Being at ladt ready, Mary took the pitcher, which was a very handsome one, and started on her journey. 10. It was a lovely day, and she went on for some distance in the greatest glee, although her shoe kept slipping up and down in a most troublesome manner. She was thinking how much pleaded Mrs. Brown would be to see her, and get the nice broth, when, in crossing a stile, the corner of one of the steps caught in the rent in her dress, and tore a hole in the thin lawn nearly a quarter of a yard wide, 11. Poor Mary could have cried heartily at seeing her pretty frock spoiled, but remembering that crying would not repair the injury, she forced back her tears, and pinned it up as well as she could. After having done this, she took up her pitcher and went on, though not quite so gayly as before, for she was afraid of receiving a scolding from her mother ; and she felt that she deserved one for not having mended her dress, as she was told to do. 12. Her troubles had hardly begun ; for she had not gone much further when the pin came out of her bonnet«tring, and a gust of, wind carried away her bonnet, and sent it flying across the field. Mary set down her pitcher and ran after it as fast as she could; but every time she got near to it, another puff of wind would take it far out of her reach, until at last it was blown into a sort of marshy place at the bottom of the field. 13. In her efforts to regain it, her foot sank deep mto the witift^if 8B THB THIBD RTtADKB. ■oft, yielding earth, and when she got it oat, the shoe which had no string to lieep it on was left behind. Poor Mary was almost heart-broken at the loss of her shoe ; and her bonnet — which was floating in a mud-puddle — was a mere mass of wet ribbons and dirty straw. She stood crying for some time, when happening to remember the pitcher which she had left at the end of the field, she started to look for it. 14. The stones and sticks were so painful to her bare little foot, that she was ahnost lame before she reached the spot. Here, alas ! another misfortune awaited her. A dog happen- ing to come along during her absence had smelled the soup, and tried hard to get it. In so doing he had knocked the pitcher over against a stone, and there it lay, broken in a dozen pieces. This was too much for Mary. 15. She sat down on the ground by the firagments, and cried as though her little heart would break. Poor child 1 she was in a sad dilemma indeed. She could not go to Mrs. Brown's in this plight — without, her bonnet, with but one ^oe, her hair tangled and matted, and her frock soiled and torn ; and she was afraid, if she went home, her mother would he offended at the results of her carelessness. She thought how easily all this could have been avoided by a little care and a few stitches. 16. She was still sitting sobbing, when she heard a voice behind her exclaim in a tone of surprise, " Mary, is it. possi- ble I Why, what can you be doing here ? " Mary turned, and saw through her tears her father's face looking kmdly but in surprise upon her. As well as her sobs would permit, she told him the events of the morning exactly as they had occurred. It. "Well, Mary," said her father, when she had finished,^ " I am sorry to see you in so much trouble ; but your mother has often warned you of the effects which must result from your extreme carelessness; but dry, your eyes now, and come home with me ; this is no place for you." "Oh ! papa, how can I? Ma will be so angry with me. for losing .my bonnet •nd shoe, and breaking her pitcher." 18, " Never mind, my poor child ; come with me, and I do r I * ' I i PBOPAOAnoM OF THE FAITH. 89 not think jova mother will panish joti, if she Ciees how mrrj you are ftJr your carelessness ; come 1 " Mrs. Bell was surprised at Mary's appearance ; bat when she heard h( r story, and saw how distressed she really was, she did not scold her, but merely told her she hoped her morn- ing's adventures would teach her to be more careful in future. 19. I am happy to be able to tell my little readers, that Mary has learned wisdom by experience, and is now all that her parents can desire. 13. Congregation op the Propagation of the Fatth. Su-preme', highest and greatest. Pa'oak, a heathen, an idola- tor. In-sti-4^'tion, system estab- lished. Doe-u'MEMTS, important pa- pers. De-part'msnt, diyision for the performance of certain da- ties. i I THE object of this Congregation is to spread the Christian Religion over the whole world. Before cor Lord Jesus Christ ascended into Heaven, He said to St. Peter and the other Apostles, "Qo teach all nations.'^ The Pope, who is the successor of St. Peter, is the Supreme Pontiff, or Chief Bishop of the Catholic world. He is the one from whom the missionary receives his commission to preach the gospel to pagan nations. 2. One of the chief objects of the Pope is to send mis- sionary priests to the farthest parts of the earth, and to direct, . assist, and support them while they labor for the salvation of souls — for the Pope is the head pastor or shepherd over the flock of Christ, and his heart yearns to brmg the poor pagans into the one fold. In 'this holy work, he is assisted by the Sacred College of Cardinals, a portion of which form what is called the Sacred Congregation de Propaganda, which means the Sacred Congregation for the spreadfaig of the Futh. To tmitsmoiiaiuumm 40 THE THIBD RFiAT)FiR. this Congregation is committed the management of the Cath- olic missions. 3. This society was first commenced by Pope Gregory the Fifteenth, in 1622. He formed it, and supplied it with Ainds for its support His successor, Urban the Eighth, favored the Congregation, and set apart large sums of money for its success. , 4. So much good has been done by the Propaganda that many pious lay persons have given large donations to help the good missionaries, for they wished to have a share in the merits of those who, forsaking their homes, peril their lives to preach the gospel of Christ to the poor heathen nations. 5. The managers of the Sacred Congregation of the Propa- ganda receive letters from the missionaries all over the world. Those letters are very interesting, and edifying. They contain accounts of the zeal and sufferings, and very often the martyr- dom, both of the missionaries and converts in pagan countries. Perhaps you have read the account of the martyrdom of the good, religious, and many others, who were killed in China in 1870 by their pagan persecutors. The Holy Father has all the letters and other important documents that relate to the Propaganda carefully preserved. 6. There is a printing establishment connected with the in- stitution, which is coi^idered the most valuable in the world. It is furnished with types or characters of forty-eight different languages, by means of which the Holy Scriptures, works of instruction, and other books, may be printed in that number of languages. This is a great help in the labor of spreading the gospel among foreign nations. 1. But the most important department of this Congregation is the College of the Propaganda, as it is usually called. This famous school was founded by Pope Urban the Eighth, in 182t, and may be justly considered as the seminary of the universal Church. The design of this school is to educate, for the priesthood, young men from all the nations of the earth. 8. Here may be found Chinese, Greeks, Arabians, Ethio* plans, Syrians, Bulgarians, Turks, Italians, French, Belgians, English, Irish, Ssotcb, Americans, Dutch, Germans, Spaniards, 1*1 PBOPAOATION OF THE FAITH. 41 «B A POTtngnese, Poles, Rassians, with the inhabitants of various other portions of the globe — representing, in all, between forty and fifty tribes and nations of the earth. 9. These are taught free of charge, all the branches of sacred and profane learning, and thus prepared, when raised to the holy order of priesthood, to enter upon the duties of the mission in their native countries, or bear the light of Christ's gospel to pagan nations. 10. Every year within the octave of the Epiphany, it is usual for the students of this College to celebrate the festival by a solemn academical exhibition. A Latin prose composi- tion is first read, followed by poetry written in the various languages. In 1841 the compositions and speeches read on the occasion, were in forty-four different languages. 11. In this great variety of languages, we may see that the Catholic Church is universal, that is, spread over all nations ; and in this gathering of the youth of all nations and languages into one school for the purpose of learning one Faith, under the one chief Pastor, we see the unity of the Catholic Church, that Church which our Lord founded for the purpose of teach- ing all nations. 12. The priests of the Catholic Church are never afraid to brave all the dangers and privations they must sufier when living among savages and barbarians, and they willingly leave all the enjoyments of civilized life to labor for the salvation of rfouls. 13. Those trained in the College of the Propaganda are well prepared to perform this charitable work ; no difference in language or custom can hinder them from being understood by those among whom they labor, for they are enabled to speak to the various tribes of the earth in their native tongue, and in this manner they can easily teach them the divine truths of the Gospel. 1 '42 THE THIRD BENDER. 14 Live fob Something. EM-piiOY'MENT, occupation. Self'ish, regarding one's own interest solely. Op-pressed', burdened. * Sym'pa-thy, compassion, fel- low-feeling: Wea'ry, fatigued. Foun'tain, a j(Bt of water 4 tfj)nwiJ*» 1. T IVE for something ; be not idle — J-J Look about thee for employ ; Sit not down to useless dreaming — Labor is the sweetest joy. Folded hands are ever weary. Selfish hearts are never gay, Life for thee hath many duties — Active be, then, while you may. 2. Scatter blessings in thy pathway I Gentle words and cheering smiles Better are than gold and silver, With their grief- 1. A LAS ! my noble boy ! t^t thou shouldst die I -^ Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair I That death should settle m thy g'onous eye, And leave his stillness in this clustering hair t How could hfe mark thee for the si ent tomb ! My proud ^t^, AbsaiDm 1 i MY BOY ABSALOM. 53 «> 2. " Cold is thy brow, my son ! and I am chill, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee I How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, Like a rich harp-striug, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet 'my f other P from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom I •<• 1 8. "Bat death is on thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young ; And life will pass me in the mantling blush, And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung ; — Bat thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come To meet me, Absalom ! i. " And oh I when I am stricken, and my heart. Like a bruised reed is waiting to be broken, 54 THB THIRD BEADBB. How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token I It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom ! 6. " And now, farewell I 'Tis hard to give thee up. With death so like a gentle slumber on thee ; — And thy dark sin ! — Oh I I could drink the cup. If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have call'd thee, like a wanderer, home, My lost boy, Absalom 1'' . 6. He cover'd up his face, and bow'd himself A moment on his child ; then, giving him A look of melting tenderness, he clasp'd His hands convulsively as if in prayer ; And, as if strength were given him of God, He rose vp calmly, and composed the pall Firmly and decently — ^and left him there— As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. 18. TdHlDoHOLAB's Vision. Yis'ioN, supernatural appear* ance. Cen'tu-by, a hundred years. Stu-pid'my, extreme dulness. Tuk'bu-lent, tumultuous, dis- orderly. Sup-port'ed, aided, assisted. Gon-ceal'ino, hiding. AMONG the students of the University of Padua during the early part of the thirteenth century, there was a scholar by the name of Albert de Groot, a native of Lawin- gen, a town of Swabia, now fallen mto decay. Albert was remarkable for his stupidity and the dulness of his intellect, and was at once the object of ridicule to his companions, and the victim of his teachers. 2. In addition to his mental defects, he was timid and shy, and without any powers of speech to defend himself agamst •sy ii THE SGHOLAB'S VISION. 55 •*• i* the taunts and jeers of his schooUnates. Even his diminutivo size for one of his age, bemg then fifteen years old, did not escape the keenness of their satire. 3. Albert was not insensible to their raillery, and more than once would have listened to the temptation of despair, had it not been for the care of his virtuous mother, the ardent piety with which she had inspired his youthful mind, and his tender and lively devotion to the Blessed Virgin. 4. If he felt it hard to endure the jeers and ridicnle of his companions, yet, when he considered that he had neither read- iness, memory, nor intelligence, he thought within himself that probably ne' deserved all their reproaches ; and that the career of science, which he so ardently desired, was not his vocation. 6. Deeply influenced by this conviction, at the age of six- teen, he applied for admission into the Dominican Order, think- ing that if he did not shine among the brilliant men who were its glory, yet at least he might the better save his soul. The General of the Order, who was of his own country, gave him a kind welcome, and received him into the convent to complete his studies. '~^. But, alas ! he found in the cloister the same sorrows he had sought to avoid. His slow wit and dull intellect could take in nothing, or express nothing; and though he found more charity among the novices than among the turbulent students of the university, yet he saw clearly that he was looked upon as the lowest in the house. 7. His piety and humility for a long time supported him ; his courage did not fail ; ho looked forward with hope to the day when his perseverance should surmount all obstacles and break the bonds which held him captive. He took the habit, and became a monk ; but still his backwardness as a scholar continued. 8. After two years of patience, he began to be thoroughly discouraged ; he thought he hod been mistaken ; that perhaps he had yielded to^ an impulse of pride in entering an order whose mission it was to preach to the people, and to proclaim to the world the faith of Christ; and which, consequently, ought to be distinguished for science as well as for vurtue; 5a THE THIBD READER. and considering that he should never be able to master either logic or eloquence, he resolved to fly from the convent. 9. Concealing the matter, from every human being, he con- fided the subject of his departure to the Blessed Vurgin, his comforter in all his trials. On the night fixed for his de- parture he prayed longer than usual, then, after waiting till all the convent was asleep, he went from his cell, gained without noise the walls of the garden, and fixed a ladder against them. But before he ascended, he knelt again and prayed to God not to condemn the step he was taking, for that nevertheless ne would serve him, and belong to him, and to him alone. 10. As he was about to rise, he beheld four majestic ladies advancing towards bim. They were surrounded by a heavenly radiance, while their dignity, tempered with sweetness and se- renity, inspired him with confidence and respect. Two of them placed themselves before the ladder, as if to prevent him from ascending. » 11. The third drawing near, asked him kindly why he thus departed, and how he could desert his convent and throw him- self without a guide into the dangers of a wicked world. Al- bert, without rising from the ground, pleaded as an excuse his obstinate stupidity, which resisted all the efforts of his per^ severance. 12. "It is," said the lady, "because yon seek in the mere human strength of your own intellect, the light which comes only from God. Behold your Mother," pointing to the fourth lady, " your amiable protectress, who loves you tenderly ; ask her for the gift of knowledge ; implore her with confidence ; our intercession shall second you." The scholar recognized in the fourth lady the Immacu- late Queen of Heaven, and bending his face to the ground, he asked her in all the fervor of his heart for the light of science, as heretofore he had only prayed for the graces which tended to salvation. 14. "Science, my son," answered the amiable Vir^n, "is full of dangers ; but your prayer shall not be rejected. In philosophy, which you so much desire, beware of pride ; let not your heart be puffed up. Long shall you possess the gift ^ W THE SCHOLAR'S VISION. 67 % <4I of science ; and I promise 70a, as a reward of your piety, that its light shall be withdrawn from you the moment it becomes dangerous to you." 15. The vision disappeared, but Albert remained for an hour on his knees thanking God, and pouring forth the most . fervent devotions to the Queen of Angels, who had so kindly interposed in his behalf. He then removed the ladder and retired to his cell. . 16. The next mom ng the whole convent was amazed at nT* the astonishing chanr^^e that had come over Albert; in his classes he surpriscci both the teachers and scholars. His former heaviness had given way to the liveliest and most sub- tle intelligence ; he understood every thing ; the most difficult problems were solved with a clearness that astonished all. 17. No one, however, was aware of the vision, for the un\> w cholar kept it a secret. So rapidly did he advance in br/ i^'adies, especially in philosophy, that in one year he passed all his companions, and even eclipsed his teachers. His piety and humility increased with his learning, and he ever remained inaccessible to the seductions of the world and vain glory. 18. The scholar, who obtained this so wonderfiil gift of knowledge, as the reward of his tender devotion to the Blessed Virgin, was the celebrated Alhertua Magnus, who was so dis- tinguished during the thirteenth century. For fifty years he astonished all Europe by the vastness of his learning and the profoundness of his teaching. ^9. Whenever he spoke, crowds gathered to hear him ; and his discourse always produced the most salutary results : yet up to the age of seventy-five, he had never experienced the slightest movement of vanity. 20. It happened, however, on a certain occasion as he was preaching at Cologne, and seeing the inunense audience elec- trified at his discourse, he lifted his head with an air of dignity, and was about to indulge in a thought of self-admiration, when he stopped suddenly in the middle of a learned sentence, and descended from the pulpit without being Able to finish it. He had lost his memory ss THE THJBD RWADITiR. 21. The Holy Virgin, through whose mtercession he had obtained the gift of knowledge, appeared to him and deprived him of it at the moment when it was about to become danger- oos to him. He i back into the state of dullness which he had deplored at JPadua. He understood the warning, <.nd devoted all his thoughts to prepare himself for a holy death, which took place two years after, on the 15th of November, 1282. 22. Let children learn from this example, to place their studies under the patronage of the Queen of Heaven, and receive with the gift of knowledge, those virtues which will render them ornaments of society, and worthy candidates foe heaven. .. * 19. BiBTH OF OUB SaYIOXTB. I'' Csn'sus, numbering. Naz'a-reth, the village in- .which oui- Saviour lived. Beth'le-hem, the village in which our Saviour was bom. Ma'gi, wise men of the East. Ad-mis'sion, admittance. Pur'chased, bought. Mes-si'ah, name given to our Saviour Bead deliberately, and pause to take breath and compress your lips. Give t itr. proper sound. Do not say puUhm ioi purchase; Meamr for Meisiak. AUGUSTUS C-^SAR having commanded a census to be taken of all the population of the empire, Joseph and Mary went from Nazareth to Bethlehem, whence their family had its origin. There it was that, in the year of the world 4004, the Son of God came mto the world, at the dead hour of night and in a poor stable, the poverty of Joseph being too great to pay for admission to an inn. 2. His birth was speedily announced by the angels to some shepherds who were watching their flocks by night. " Olcyry to Ood" sang the heavenly messengers, making known the joyful tidings, " Olory to Ood in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good mil ! " 3. Eight days after his burth he was circumcisttd, and on I BIRTH OF OUB SATIOUII. 59 I ^^( that same day the Blessed Yirgin and St. Joseph, confonna- bly to the command which they had received from God by an angel, gave him the name of Jl^ru«, which signifies Saviour, because he came to save all m&a., and to deliver them from sin and hell. 4. To the name of JesvLs has been added that of Christ, which means sacred or anointed, not that he was visibly con- secrated by hands, but by reason of his hypostatical union with the Father. We also call Jesus Christ Our Lord, because he has a par- ticular claim on all Christians, whom he has redeemed and purchased at the price of his blood. 5. A few days after Jesus was cux:umcised, he was recog- nized as God and as king by three Magi, who, guided by a star, came from the East to adore him. Having reached Jerusalem, they lost sight of the star, and went about inquir- ing for the new-born king of the Jews. 6. The doctors of the law, being questioned by Herod, king of Galilee, made answer that the Messiah was to be bom in Bethlehem. Herod, being alarmed by this announcement, and already meditating the death of thg divine infant, engaged the Magi to return and acquaint him w'th the place where the child was to be found, falsely saying that he, too, would >wish to adoro him. t. The Magi, resuming their journey, found the child, to whom they presented gifts of gold, frankincense, and mjnrrh ; but being warned by an angel that Herod only sought to kill the infant, they returned by another way to their own country. 8. Forty days after the birth of Jesus, the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph took him to the temple, to present him to God, according to the custom of the Jews, he being the first-born. The Blessed Yirgin at the same time fulfilled the law of puri- fication, and offered what the law ordained, that is to say, a lamb for her son, and for herself, a pair of doves, being the gifts usually made by the poor — ^what examples of humility, and of obedience to the law 1 9. Herod, seeing that the Magi returned no more, conceited ^e design of putting to death all children ander two yean 60 THB THIBD BBAPWIL of age, whom he conid find in Bethlehem or its vicinity, hop- ing thus to make sure of destroying the Sayioor. But St. Joseph, apprised of this design by an angel, fled into Egypt with Jesus and Mary, where he remained till after the death of that barbarous pr i. 10. He then let. . Acd to Jnaea, and again took up his abode m Nazareth of Galilee ; hence Jesus was called, through contempt, the Nazarene. The gospel tells us that at the age of twelve years Jesus was taken to Jerusalem to celebrate Uie festival of the I »dch, according to the custom of the Jews, when he remained bo- hind in the temple unperceived by his parents. 11. When they found that he was not with them, they sought him in vain for a whole day, whereupon they returned to Je- rusalem, where they found him in the temple, seated amid the doctors, listening to them and proposing to them questions in a manner so astonishing that all who heard hun were surprised by his wisdom and his answers. 12. At the age of thirty years, Jesus Christ was baptized by St. John the Baptist in the river Jordan ; at which time the Holy Ghost descended upon him in the form of a dove, and the eternal Father declared from the highest heavens that Jesus Christ was mdeed his beloved Son. 13. Soon after this, Jesus Christ was conducted by the Holy Ghost into the desert, where he fasted forty days. It is in honor and in remembrance of this fast of Jesus Christ that the Church has instituted the fast of Lent. Our Lord at that time permitted himself to be tempted by the devil, in order to teach us not to fear temptation, and also the manner in which we must resist it, so as to render it even profitable to our souls. 14. Example. A certain mother whose piety was as great as her faith was enlightened, reconmiended to her children to pass no day without asking the child Jesus for his blessing. " When," said she, " you are at your morning and evening prayers, picture to yourself the Blessed Virgin, carrying in her arms th« infant Jesus, 15. " Bow d«wn respectfully before her, and say with all , BPAMIBH ANECDOTE. 61 possible fervor ; '0 Mary ! deign to e:ctend over me the hand of thy divine Son, so that being blessed by him, I may avoid the evil which is displeasing to him, and practise the good which is agreeable to him ; that I may imitate him in his obedience and in all his other virtues, m that I may become worthy of possessing him with thee in hrmven I"' 20. A Spanish Anecdote. BEF's(vro-RY, a dining-room in convents and monasteries. Ge-ron'o-mite, a monk. Dis-gerned', descried, seen. FA-mL'iAii, intimate, well^ known. Ec'sTA-sT, rapture, trance. Va'oant, empty. 1. TT was a holy usage to record J- Upon each refectory's side or end The last mysterious supper of our Lcrd, That meanest appetites might upwivrd tend. 2. Within a convent-palace of old Spain, — Rich with the gifts and monuments of kings,— Hung such a picture, said by some to reign The sovereign glory of those wondrous things. 3. A painter of far fame, in deep delight, Dwelt on each beauty he so well discem'd ; While, in low tones, a gray Geronomite This answer to his ecstasy returned : 4t. " Stranger 1 I have received my daily meal In this good company now threescore years ; And thou, whoe'er thou art, canst hardly feel How time these lifeless images endears. 6. " Lifeless I ah, no, while in my heart are stored Sad memories of my brethren dead and gone, 62 THE THIBD READEB. Familiar places vacant round oar board, And still that silent sapper lasting on I 6. " While I review my youth, — what I was then,- What I am now, and ye, beloved ones all, — It seems as if these were the living men, And we the color'd shadows on the wall'' 21. Anecdotes of Dogs. Eeen'ness, sharpness. Lit'er-a-turb, learning, ac- quaintance with books. Sa-gac'i-tv, quick discernment in animals. Civ'iL-izED, reclaimed from barbarism. Do-mis-ti-ca'tion, the act of making tame. Em-phat'ic, forcible. j ! f 1! THE dog stands to man in the relation both of a valuable servant and an engaging companion. In many employ- ments, especially those of shepherds and herdsmen, he performs servicesi of great importance, such as could not be supplied without him. In those sports of the field, such as hunting and !ilace, for respect for the tandUy of the place. VIOTORINTJS, a celebrated orator, had been professor of rhetoric at Rome ; he had passed his life m tiie study of the liberal sciences, and had attamed a great proficiency in all of them. He had read, examined, and explained almost all the writings of the ancient philosophers, and had had the honor of instructing ail the most distingmshed of the Roman senators. 2. He had, in fine, followed his profession so successfully, that a statue had been erected to his honor in a public square of Rome, a distinction then con^dered the highest that man could attain. Yet he was still a pagui, an adorer of idols ; and not only that, but he employed all his eloquence in per- suading others to adore them as he did. 3. What extraordinary grace did it require to touch and convert such a heart I Behold the means which God employed in doing so. Yictorinns began to read the Holy Scriptures, and having for some time applied himself to that study, to- gether with other books that explained the Christian religion, he said one day to St. Simplician ; " I have something to tell you which will interest you very much : I am a Christian" — TIOTOBINUB. a ( i. "I do not believe a word of it," replied the Saint, "nor shall I believe yoa, antil I see you in the church where the faithful are wont to assemble." 4. " What then," exclaimed Victorinns, '* is it only within the inclosure of four walls that one is a Christian ? " So it went on for some time, as often as Victorinns protested that he was a Christian, Simplician made him the same reply, and the other always put it off with a laugh and a jest. 5. The truth was, that he feared to exasperate his pagan friends, as their anger and opposition would be sure to crush him, if once called forth, and this risk he could not bring him- self to incur. 6. But after a time courage and generosity were given him from above because of his close application to the study of religion, and the docility with which he opened his heart to its truths, and he became convinc^ed that it would be an enormous crime to blush for believing the mysteries of Jesus Christ, while appearing to glory in the sacrilegious superstitions of paganism. 7. No sooner did he obtain this conviction than he hastened to tell St. Simplician, at a time, too, when that holy man was least expecting him : " Let us go to the church," said he, " I am resolved to shorn- myself a Christian, nor content myself longer with being one in heart." Simplician, transported with joy, immediately took him to the church, and had his name entered on the list of those who demanded baptism. 8. All the city of Rome was struck with adnuration and astonishment ; and the hearts of the faithful were filled with joy, because of the celebrity and high reputation of that great man. At length the happy day arrived when he was to make his profession of faith, in order to be baptized. 9. It was then the custom in the Roman church to make 9 this profession in a regular formula of words which the cate- chumen learned by heart, and pronounced aloud before all the people. The priests, through respect, would have waived this custom, and permitted Yictorinus to make his profession in private, a privilege which was sometimes granted to timid per- sons ; but Victorinns declined, declaring that he would pro- IriWiHti 82 THE THIRD READER. V claim aloud, in presence of the whole assembly, his belief in those doctrines which were to guide him to endless happiness. 10. No sooner had he appeared in the tribune than a sudden transport of joy seized all hearts, and his name was echoed aloud from mouth to mouth, and although each one restrained his joyful emotion through respect for the sanctity of the place and the sacrament about to be administered, yet all around was heard the murmured exclamation : It is Victorinus 1 It is Victorinus! 11. But every sound was speedily hushed, in order to per- mit him to speak ; whereupon, he with holy fervor, repeated in a clear, distinct voice, his belief in the truths which form the basis of our faith. Willingly would the people have taken him and carried him around in triumph, for every heart over- flowed with the joy of beholding him a Christian. 12. This splendid conversion had great consequences, and when St. Augustine was informed of it by St. Simplician, he acknowledged that he felt strongly moved to follow the exam- ple of Victorinus ; this intention he soon after carried into execution under the ministry of St. Ambrose, to whom St. Simplician had been a father from his baptism. * '. ri) 31. Guardian Angels. Sdb-ser'vi-ent, serviceable. I Em'a-nat-ing, issuing, or flow* Way'waud, unruly, perverse. | ing from. ; i ;: Do not say moles for moulds. 1. 2. OH 1 he may brave life's dangers. In hope and not in dread, Whose mother's prayers are lighting A halo round his head. For wheresoe'er he wander. Through this cold world and dark, There white-wing'd angels follow. To guard life's wayward bark. Go, let the scoffer call it A shadow and a dream, I/':, w «* !» . GUARDIAN ANGELS. Those meek, subservient spirits, Are nearer than we deem. » Tliink not they visit only The bright, enraptured eye, Of some pure sainted martyr, Prepared and glad to die ; 83 ^: h ii I' -I ^ \v ■3 Or thpt the poet's fancy, Or the painter's magic skill, Creates a dream of beauty. And moulds o. work at will. u 7 THE THIBD BEADEB. 3. They Hve, they wander round ns. Soft resting on the cload, Although to human vision, The sight be disallow'd. They are to the Almighty What rays are to the sun, An emanating essence, From the great supernal One. 4. They bend for prayers to listen, They weep to witness crimes. They watch for holy moments, Good thoughts, repentant tunes ; They cheer the meek and humble, They heal the broken heart, They teach the wavering spirit From earthly ties to part. 5. Unseen they dwell among us, As when they watch below; In spiritual anguish, The sepulchre of woe. And when we pray, though feeble Our orisons may be, They then are our companions, Who pray eternally. M 32. The Resurbection op the Body. Moul'der, to rot. Es-tab'lish-ed, fixed. Rb-sus'ci-tate, to bring to life. Om-nip'o^ence, unlimited pow- er. Im-pas'si-ble, not subject to suffering. In-con-ceiv'a-blb, not to be conceived. Oor-rup'tion, decay. Give its proper sound. Do not say coruerlation for coMolation; Vgeihsr for together ; V create for to create. IT is an article of faith that our body shall one day rise again. All men shall die, and they shall rise again with the same bodies they had in this life. The body, kid in the earth, shall 1\ THE RESUBltECnON OF THE BODY. 86 * ■ . I to be on; in. me aU \ go through the process of corraption, and moulder into dust ; but what changes soever it may have undergone, its ashes shall one day be gathered together and reanimated by the breath of God. Life is but a dream, and death a sleep ; but the resurrection will be the beginning of a life which shall never end. 2. "The day will come/' said Jesns Christ, "when all who are in the grave shall hear the voice of the Son of God, and they who have done good works, shall rise and live forever ; but they who have done evil shall rise to be condemned." " In a moment," says St. Paul, '* in the twinkling of an eye, at the sound of the last trumpet, the dead shall arise to die no more." 3. That resurrection shall be general ; all shall arise, the great and the small, the just and the wicked, they who have lived before us from the beginning of the world, they who are now on the earth, they who. shall come after ns, all shall die, and rise again at the last day with the same bodies they had in this life. 4. It is God who will work this prodigy by his Omnipotence. As he haa drawn all things from nothing by his will alone, so shall he with as much ease, gather together onr scattered members, and reunite them with our souls. It i;; not more difficult for the Almighty to reanimate oi^r bodie:^ man it was for him to create them. Nay, we have under our eyes, every year, a figure of this resurrection. 5. Are not the trees, as it were, dead during the winter, and do they not appear to resuscitate in the spring ? The grain and other seed which is cast into the earth, decays there- in, only to come forth again fairer than at first : it is the same with our body ; which, like a seed, is laid in the earth for a season, to come forth again full of life. 6. The bodies of the just shall nOt then be solid, heavy, and corruptible, as they uow^ are ; but they shall shine like the sun, and shall be free from all sorts of pain and inconvenience, full of strength and agility, such as was the body of our Lord after his resurrection, 1. The just, who are his children, sanctified by his grace, m THE THIBD BEADEB. i >-' 'i hf: united and made one with him by faith, shall also rise like unto himself ; Jesus Christ shall transform their mean and abject bodies, and render them like unto to his own — ^glorious and impassible. 8. The body, which has had its share in the good done by the soul while they were joined together, shall be a shaisr also in its happiness. The wicked shall, indeed, rise agaiu, but their bodies shall have none of these glorious qualities ; they shall arise, but only to be given up to torments endless in their duration, and inconceivable in their greatness. 9. " All the multitude of those who sleep in the dust of the earth," says one of the prophets, "shall awake, some for life eternal, and others for endless ignominy and disgrace." What a spectacle shall then meet our eyes 1 what sentiments will arise in our hearts, when we hear the sound of the trum- pet, and when that dreadful voice shall echo over the earth, "Arise, ye dead 1 and come to ijidgment!" — when we shpll see all mankind assemble, without any other distinction than that made by their own works 1 10. In the reign of Antiochus, the seven young Machabees and their mother generously suffered the most cruel torments rather than violate the law of God, because they hop(d in the resurrection. The first had his tongue cut out and the skin torn off his head, and he being still alive he was cast into a caldron over a huge ftre. The second, when expbing, said to the king : " You now put us to death ? but the Ruler of the world shall one day raise us up to life everlasting." 11. The third said with confidence : "I have received these members from Heav(!n, but I now hold them as nothing in defence of the laws of God, because I hope that they shall be one day restored r,o me." The fourth spoke in these terms : " It is better for us to bo slain for obeying God, than to pre- serve our lives by disobeying him ; we hope that in the resur- rection, God will render glorious these bodies which we re- ceived from him." 12. The others manifested similar courage and fortitude. Nevertheless, the youngest still remaiped ; and Antiochus tried to shake his purpose by caresses and the hope of reward ) he \ } A STORY OF A MONK. 8T also sent him to his mother, hoping that she would persaade him to sacrifice to the idols 13. But that generous mother said to her son : " Look up to heaven 1 raise thine eyes to God, who hath created all things, and thou shalt not fear these torments, but will loUow thy brethren to death 1 " Antiochus, more than ever enraged, poured out all his wrath on the boy, and caused vbe mother to undergo the same torments as her sons. 33. A Story op a Monk. Monk, a member of a religious community of meii. Clois'teb, a convent or mon- astery inhabited by nuns or monks. Ab'bot, the head of a commu- nity of monks. Stu'di-ous, given to books or learning. Chron'i-cle, to record, to write down. Oru'ci-fix, an image of oui; Saviour's body fastened to a cross. \ MANY years ago, there dwelt in a cloister a monk named Urban, who was remarkable for an earnest and devout frame of mind beyond his fellows, and was therefore intrusted with the key of the convent library. He was a 88 THE THIBD READER. P-: m k carefal guardian of its contents, and, besides, a studious reader of its learned and sacred volumes. One day he read in the Epistles of St. Peter the words, " One day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day ;'' and this saying seemed impossible in his eyes, so that he spent many an hour in musing over it. 2. Then one morning it happened that the monk descended from the library into the cloister garden, and there he saw a littl: biid perched on the bough of a tree, singing sweetly, like a nightingale. The bird did not move as the monk approached her, til- he came quite close, and then she flew to another bough, and again another, as the monk pursued her. Still singing the .iC sweet song, the nightingale flew on ; and the monk, en- trajK'fd by the sound, followed her out of the garden into the wifle V, orid. 3. At last he stopped, and turne i back to the cloister ; but every thing seemed changed to him. Every thing had become larger, more beautiful, and older, — the buildings, the garden ; and in the place of the low, humble cloister church, a lofty minster with three towers reared its head to the sky. TLis seemed very strange to the monk, indeed marvellous ; but he walked on to the cloister gate and timidly rang the bell. A porter entirely unknown to him answered his summons, and drew back in amazement when he saw the monk. 4. The latter went in, and wandered through the church, gazing with astonishment on memorial stones which he never remembered to have seen before. Presently the brethren of the cloister entered the church : but all retreated when they saw the strange figure of the i '.nk. The abbot only (but not his abbot) stopped, and stretching a crucifix ^ (^fore him, ex- claimed, " In the name of Christ, who art thou, spirit or mor- tal ? And what dost thou seek here, coming from the dead among us, the living ? " 6. The monk, trembling and tottering like an old man, cast his eyes to the ground, and for the first time became aware that a .ong silvery beard descended from his chin over his girdle, to which was still suspended the key of the fibrary. To the monks around the stranger seemed some marvellous I 1 ) THE DUATOBT SCHOLAIL 89 appearance ; and, with a mixture of awe and admiration, they led him to the chair of the abbot. There he gave to a young monk the key of the library, who opened it, and brought out a chronicle wherein it was written, that three hundred years ago the monk Urban had disappeared, and no one knew whither he had gone. _ 6. "Ah, bu'd of the forest, was it then thy song?" said the monk Urban, with a sigh. "I followed thee for scarce three minutes, listemng to thy notes, and yet three hundred years hare passed away ! Thou hast sung to me the song of eter- nity which I could never before learn. Now I know it ; and, dust myself, I pray to God kneeling in the dust.'^ With these words he sank to the ground, and his spirit ascended to heaven. 34. The Dilatobt Scholar. To Lin'ger, to delay, to be dil- atory. To Pro-test', to declare. Satch'el, a little bag nsed by schoolboys. At'las, a book of maps. Pronounce distinctly. Do not e&y breakin for breaking; nothin for nothing ; playm iov flaying. 1. fXSL I where is my hat? it is take.^ away, v/ And my shoestrings are all in a kiot ! I can't find a thmg where it should b(3 to-day, Though I've hunted in every spot. 2. My slate and my pencil nowhere can be found, Though I placed them as safe as could be ; While my books and my maps are all scatter'd around, And hop about just like a flea. 8. Do, Rachel, just look for my atlas up-stairs ; My Virgil is somewhere there, too :; And, sister, brush down these troublenome hairs, — And, brother, just fasten my shoe. mammssmmBimmmim 90 THE THIBD BEADEB. u '!'; 4. And, mother, beg father to write an excuse ; But stop — he will only say "No," And go on with a smile and keep reading the newS| While every thing bothers me so. mii 5. My satchel is heavy and ready to fall ; This old pop-gun is breaking my map ; ni have nothing to do with the pop-gun or ball,- There's no playing for such a poor chap 1 6. The town-clock will strike in a minute, I fear ; Then away to the foot I must sink : — There, look at my history, tumbled down here I And my algebra cover'd with ink I i 35. Spanish Evening Hymn. Wea'ry. tired, fatigued. Watch-fire, a fire used as a signal Sound the aspirated h. Do not say sailor zim for saihr'i hymn ; from iz for from his; fountun sealing for fount unsealing. 1, IIJ OTHER 1 now let prayer and music, -"J- Meet in love on earth and sea I Now, sweet mother ! may the weary. Turn from this cold world to thee I CHRIST BTCLLINa THE TEMPEST. 2. From the wide and restless waters, Hear the sailor's hymn arise ; From his watch-fire 'mid the mountains, Lo 1 to thee the shepherd cries 1 3. Yet, when thus fiill hearts find voices, If o'erburden'd souls there be, Dark and silent in their anguish, Aid those captires, set them free I 4. Touch them, every fount unsealing. Where the frozen tears lie deep ; Thou, the mother of all sorrows, Aid, oh I aid to pray and weep I 91 36. Christ STmLma the Tempest. "But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves ; for the wind was contrarj." — Matthew xiv. 24. i Bil'lows, waves. Breath'less, out of breath. Right'e-ous, just, upright. Man'dates, commands. Pronounce each word distinctly. Do not say rolUn 'igh an' dark for rcUi$iff high and dark. 1. XnEAB was within the tossing bark, J- When stormy winds grew loud ; And waves came rolling high and dark, And the tall* mast was bow'd. 2. And men stood breathless in their dread, And baffled in their skill — But One was there, who rose and said Tothe wUdsea, "BestUU" 3. And the wind ceased — it ceased I — that word Pass'd through the gloomy sky ; The troubled billows knew their Lord, And sank beneath his eye. y .— i/ ■ irniwsi .atmum smm. tSiSi, THE THIRD HEADER. 4. And slumber settled on the deep, And silence on the blast, As when the righteous fall asleep, When death's fierce throes are past. 5. Thou that didst rule the angry hour, And tame the tempest's mood — Oh ! send thy spirit forth m power, O'er our dark souls to brood ! 6. Thou that didst bow the billow's pride 1 Thy mandates to fulfil — Speak, speak, to passion's raging tide, Speak and say — " Peace, be still 1" 37. Holiday Children. I j''^ Christ'has, the day our fca- viour was bom. Mu-se'um, a coilectio.it of ca- riosities. CoAx'iNG-LY, flatteringly. Scutch'eon, the ground on which a coat of arms is painted. ONE of the most pleasing sights at this festive season, is the group of boys and girls returned from school. Go where you will, a cluster of their joyous, chubby faces presents them- selves to our notice. In the streets, or elsewhere, our elbows are constantly assailed by some eager urchui whose eyes just peep beneath to get a nearer view. 2. I am more delighted in watching the vivacious workings of their ingenuous countenances at jbhese Christmas shows, than at the sights themselves. Z,^ .v'; 3. From the first joyous buzzafl, and loud-blown horns which announce their arrivnl, to the faint attempts at similar mirth on then* return, I am interested in these youngsters. 4. Observe the line of chaises with their swarm-like loads hurrymg to tender and exulting parents, the sickly to be cher- .M // I HOLIDAY CHILDBEN. 93 'mr bauble does e hand, his ts, while am- ished, the strong to be amused ; in a few mornings yon shall see them, new clothes, warm gloves, gathering around their mother at every toy-shop, claiming the promised bat, hoop, top, or marbles ; mark her kind smile at their ecstasies ; her prudent shake of the head at their numerous demands ; her gradual yielding as they coaxingly drag her in ; her patience with their whims and clamor while they turn and toss over the playthings, as now a sword, and no a hoop is theu* choice, and, like their elders, the possessi' but make: them sigh for another. 5. View the fond father, his pet little boys walking before, on whom his proud bitious views float over his mind for them, and make him but half attentive to their repeated inquiries ; while at the museum or the picture-gallery, his explanations are interrupted by the rapture c»f discovering that his children are already well ac- quainted with the different subjects exhibited. 6. At no season of the yt.ir are their holidays so replete with pleasures ; the expected Christmas-bcx from grand-papa and grand-mamma ; plum-padding and snap-dragon, with blindman's buflF and forfeits ; perhaps to witness a juvenile play rehearsed and ranted ; galantee-show and drawing for twelfth-cake ; besides Christmas gambols in abundance, new and old. 7. Evtsn the poor charity-boy at this season feels a transient glow of cheerfulness, as with pale blue face, frost-nipped hands, and thin, scant clothes, from door to door he timidly displays the unblotted scutcheon of his graphic talents, and feels that the penc(; bestowed are his own, and that for once in his life he may taste the often-desired tart, or spin a top which no one can snatch from hJm in capricious tyranny. -^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 m IM 12.2 s; 1^ 12.0 m |1.25 , u 114 < 6" — > Photographic Sciences CarporatiGn 'i^ A V 33 WIST MAIN STRHT WIUTIR,N.Y. I4SM <7I*)«72-4S03 4^ v\ ;\ Ik \ PART SECOND. A WORD TO TEAOHEBS. We have deemed it best to discontinne the spelling and defining lessons at the commencement of the articles, but we cannot too strongly recommend all teachers to devote a por* tion of every day to the orthography and definition of a certain number of words contained in the reading lesson. Let the pupils spell and ei^lain the words at the head of each lesson before commencing to read. After the lesson is over, let the teacher direct them to close their books, and 1^11 and define every word he may select, It may, then, be asked : how are children to learn the meaning of the words 7 We answer, by being accustomed to give in their ovm lan- guage, theur own ideas of every unusual or important word which occurs in their reading leaaon ; the teacher of course correcting them when wrong, uid explaining, when necessary, the proper meaning of the term in question ; or referring them for this mformation to their dictionaries, which dionld always be at hand for this their Intimate use. Questions on the subject of the lesson should also be care- fully continued. rt i f-j' THE DBXAH OF THE OBUBADEB. B5 1. The Dbeaic of the Cbubader. ly* tmm m m >r «'- <- 96 THE THIRD RFiADliiB. 8. That cry went forth through Europe's reahmi^ From one end to the other ; The call was like the thunder's voice, That nought on earth can smother. 4. And France's fairest chiyahy Did mount at that loud call ; From Normandy unto Provence, None tarried in his hall. 6. Some came from the fast-flowmg Loire And others from the Rhone, And some whose castles were upon The banks of the ij^aronne. 6. One common badge they all do wear, A proud and holy crest, A Mood-red cross, emblazoned bright On each left arm and breast. 1. Their banner is that blood-red cross. Upraised as for a sign. And animating all the host With thoughts of Palestine. , 8. And day by day they fought their w;f^ Still onwards from the sea, And charged upon the Infidol With dauntless constancy^ 9. And 'mid that host of incble knights Who ttom their homes had gone. There was not one more worthy than Ansehn of Bibeaupont,. 1» - ( imtmitUmliimm. mmmPimmm J THE DBEAIC OF THE CBUBADEB. n } 2. The Dbeam of the Cbusadeb — continued. 1. One early morn, the son as jet Was scarcely in the sky, He b^g'd the priest to shrive hun then, And make him fit to die. ■ 2. He wish'd to tAke the sacrament • As soon as ho was shriven, That he might dare to meet his God With hopes to be foigivoL 8. Now all did' marvel at his words, For he was fresh and well ; And why he deem'd that he shonli? die, No mortal man could telL 4. But good Sir Anselm with gravehmiflR (ff'yf^^'^ Thus spake— " My rao& is run4 Ere yonder son shall set again, I (fe's joomey will be done. 5. My friend, Ingolram of St. Pol, Who feU at Ma'ra's fight, And whom we all lamented so^ I've seen in the past night. 6. This very night he came to me, And irtood beeide my bed ; rTwas not a dream — I was awake, And heard each word he said. 1. I asked him, 'Whither comest thou, And why so bright and fair ? For thou wert kill'd at Maara, And we interred thee there/ 8. He was so bright and beantiftil. And mUd each placid feature ; 6 J HBii THE TUIKD READER. He was not like a mortal man. Bat some i^ngelic creatnre. 9. He answer'd me, ' I am so fair, And beaatifol and bright, Becaose mj dwelling shmeth so Witii all-resplendent light. 10. And this to me my God hath given. Because I served him well ; For laying down my life for him Against the InfideL 11. And it hath been reveai'd to me, Hat such a dweUmg-place, Bat brighter still, awaiteth thee, Throagh Qod's great sovereign grace. iiu And I an^Gome to bring to thee Tbeffb n(£ngs glad and sweet ; Thy dwelling it is wondrons fair — To morrow there we meet I' " 13. Again they went to fight their way Still onwards from the sea \ They charged npon the Infidd With wonted constancy. 14. The Paynim men advance again. To drive them to the sea, Bat on them rash'd the red-cross men With all their chivalry. 16. And when the day's ha^ strife was o'er. The san went dowp apace, The good Sir Anselm he was miss'd At his accostom'd place. 16. They soaght him on the battle-field, Thej found him 'midst the dead : A stone, by some huge engine harPd, Had stmck him on the head. THE lord's FSAJESU 99 4^ 3. The Lobd's Prates. OTTR Lord has himself taught as what we are to beg €f God, and the order in which it is to be asked. He has even vonchsafed to draw up the petition which we are to pre- sent to the Father in his name, and to leave as an excellent form of prayer, which is thence called TAe Lord's Prayer. "Jesus Christ," says St. Cyprian, "among other salutary advices and precepts which he hath ^ven to his people in order to guide them to salvaticm, has prescribed a formula oj prayer, to the end that we ma^ be the more readily heard by the Father, by addressing him in the very words which his Son hath taught us. 2. ''Let us, therefore, pray,'* adds this holy doctor, "as our master and our God hath directed us ; that prayer must be pleasmg to God which comes from himself, and strikes his ea,r through the words of Christ ; let the Father recognize in our prayer the words of his divine Son. 8. ." Smce Jesus Christ is our Advocate with his Father, let ■Bi 100 THE THIRD BEADEB. US make nse of the verj words of our Mediator ; he assnrer us that the Father will grant whatever is asked in his name ; how mach more willingly if asked, not only in his name, but in his own very words V' The Church, accordingly, makes continual nse of that divine prayer ; by it she begins and ends all her offices ; she introduces it solemnly in the holy sacri- fice of the mass. The fUthfiil should recite it daily, morning and evening, and recall it often to their minds through the course of the day. 4. The Lord's Prayer is comtXMed of a short preface, and seven petitions or requests^ of which the three first relate to Qod, and the other foor concern ourselves ; it contains all that we can desire and ask of God ; it is the rule by which we are to form our sentiments and our desires. We may, indeed, make use of other words in our prayers, but we are to ask nothing of God save what is contained in this model ; any request that is not consistent with it would be unworthy a Christian, and <$oald not be agreeable to God. 5. The pre&ce consists of these words : " Our Father^ who art in heaoen; " Jesqs Christ has thrown into these few words all that is most capable of engaging God to hear us, and of inspiring within ourselves sentiments of respect, confidence, and love. 6. We call God our Father, for so has Christ instructed US to do. God is indeed our father by creation, since he has given us life, and formed us to his own image ; he is still more our father by the grace of our baptism, seeing that in Bap- tism he adopted us as his children ia Christ Jesus. " Con- sider," says the Apostle St. John, "what love the Father has had for us, since he would have us called his children, and really be bo\" "Because ye are children,'' adds St. Paul, "God has sent into your hearts the spirit of his Son, cry- ing 'My, Father, Mxf Father P" Oh, name fall of sweet- ness and delight 1 what love, what gratitude, a^d what con- fidence should it excite in your heart I 7. K it be true that God is yojur Father, can you fear that your prayer will be rejected when you remind him of a name by which his takes pleasure in hearing os address him? What il- LEGEND OF THE INFANT JESUS. 101 I. does he not grant to a child who prays to him, after he has received him into the number of his children by a grace which preceded his prayers and desires. 8. Fear only that by your disobedience yon may render yourself unworthy to be called the child of God ; that alone can obstruct the flow df his grace and the effect of your prayers. Each of us says, when addressing God: "Our Fatfier," and not My Father, because haring all the same Father, and expecting from him the same inheritance, we are not only to pray for ourselves, but for all the faithful, who are oilr brethren. By that we understand that it is not in our own name w^ pray, but in that of Jesus Christ, and in nnion with the whole body of his Church, whose members we are. 9. We add : " Whi^^rt in heaven," for although God is everywhere in his immenn;|y, we nevertheless consider heaven .as the throne of his glory ; it is in heaven that he puts forth all his magnificence, and i^veals himself, fully to his elect without the shadow of a cloud to obscure his brightness. It is to heaven that we ourselves are called ; heaven is our country, and the inheritance destined for us by our Father. When we kneel, then, in prayer, let us raise our thoughts and our desires to heaven ; let us unite with th^ society of blessed spirits, and excite in our hearts the hope and the desire of possessing God. 4. Legend of the Infant JEStna. 1. nOME, children, all whose joy it is ^ To serve at holy mass, And.hMff what once, in days of fiedth, In England came to pass I 2. It chanced a priest was journeying Through dark and gloomy wood, And there, where few came passing by, A ImAflj chapel stood. 102 THE TUIBD READEB. 8. He stay'd his feet, that pilgrim priest, His morning mass to say, And pat the sacred vestments on Which near the altar lay. 4. Bat who shall serve the holy mass For all is dlent here ? He kneels, and there in patience waits The peasant's hoar of prayer. 5. When lo 1 a child of wondroos grace, Before the altar steals, And down beade the lowly priest, The infant beanty kneels. 6. He serves the mass ; his voice is swee^ Like distant masic low. With downcast eye and ready hand, And footfall hash'd and slow. T. " Et verbom caro factum est," He lingers tiU he hears, Then taming he to Mary's shrine^ In^lory disappears. 8. So roand the altar, children dear. Press gladly in God's name, For once to serve at holy mass, The Infant Jesas came. 5. The Do-NormNGS. THE Do-Nothings are a very nameroas family : some mem- bers of it are foand in all parts of the coontry ; and there are very few schools in which some of them are not in attend- ance as papils. They are known by their slow and listless steps, th«r antidy appearance, and the want of animation and w THE DO-NOTHINGS. 103 Interest in their faces. They do not do any thing, whether woric or play, with a hearty g^ood-will. 2. Their hair is apt to be in disorder ; their hands and faces are not always clean ; their clothes look as if they had been half pnt on. They are always in a hnrry, and yet always behindhand. They are sometimes absent from school, and often tardy ; but for every neglect of dnty they always ha?e some sort of an excuse. 8. A girl of this family gets np in the morning late, dresses herself in a harry, and comes down-stairs a little ont of humor from the feeling that she has begun the day wrong. The family breakfast is oret, and she is obliged to take hers alone ; which does not improve her temper. She knows that she has a French lesson to learn before school ; but she is attracted by a new picture-book which had been brought home the day before for one of her little brothers, and she takes it up, mean- ing only to look over the pictures. But she becomes interest- ed in the story, turns over one leaf after another, and at last nine o'clock strikes before she is aware of it 4. She huddles on her shawl and bonnet, and hastens to school as fast as possible ; but she is late in spite of her hurry, and is marked for tardiness. It takes her some time to get seated at her desk, and to recover from the heat and flurry of comii^ to school so fast. She at first proposes to learn the French lesson, which she ought to have done at home ; but after studying a few moments, she finds some leaves missing from her dictionary. She tries to borrow one from a neigh- bor, but in vain ; so she becomes discouraged, and thinks she will do a few sums in arithmetic. 6. So she takes out her slate, and b^ms to wash it ; Ependr ing much more time in this process than is necessary. She tries a sum and cannot do it, and thinks it the fault of the pencil. So she proceeds to sharpen that with great delibera- tion, making everybody around her uneasy with the disagree- able, grating sound. When this operation is over, she looks at the clock, and sees that it will soon be time to recite in geography, of which she has not learned any thing. * 6. Bx6 jmiis up her iffitte, pentefl, and arithmetic^ and tftkoi 104 THE THIBD BEADEB. !i oat her geographj and atlas. Bj the time these are opened and spread before her, she hears a band of music in the street. Her seat is near the window, and she wastes some precioos minutes in looking at the soldiers as they pass by. She has hardly made any progress in her study of geography when she is called up to recite. She knows very little of her lesson, gives wrong answers to the questions put to her, and gets a bad mark. 7. Soon after this, the class in French to which she belongs goes up to recite. This lesson she has only half learned, and she blonders sadly when called upon to answer. She goes back to her desk in an unhappy state of mind, and takes up her arithmetic once more. But she feels dissatisfied with herself, and cannot fix her attention upon her task. She comes to the conclusion that she has got a headache, which is a very com- mon excuse with her, and that she cannot study. So she puts a cover upon one of her books, and writes a note to one of her young friends about going to a concert ; and when this is over the bell for dismissal rings. 8. And this half day may be taken as a fair sample of the whole school-life of Miss Do-Nothing. It is a long succession of lessons half learnt, of sums half done, of blotted copy- books, of absences and tardinesses, of wasted hours and neg- lected opportunities. Most of the annoyance which teachers suffer in the discharge of their duties, comes from boys and girls of this family. They have two seemingly opposite traits : they are. always idle and yet always restless. They move about on their seats, and lean upon their desks in a great variety of postures. They talk with their fingers ; and keep up a constant whispering and buzzing with their lips, which disturbs scholars and teachers alike. 9. The boys are very expert in catching flies, and moulding pieces of pap^ into the shape of boats Or cocked hats. They draw figures upon their slates, and scribble upon the fly-leaves of their books. In summer they are afflicted with a constant thirst, and in winter their feet and hands are always cold. Both boys and girls are apt to be troubled with drowsiness in ttie daytime ; and yet they ar^ very reluctant to go to bed HKALINa THE DAUOBTEB OF JAIRU8. 105 \^. when the proper hoar comes. They ar« fond of laying the fault of their own indolenoe upon the weather ; they would have learned their lesson if it had not been so hot, so cold, or so rainy. 10. There is one remarkable peculiarity about this family : every boy and girl that chooses can leave it, and Join the Do- Somethings ; the members of which are alwayr glad to wel- come deserted from the Do-Nothings. The boys and girls of the Do-Something family are always busy, always cheerful; working heartily when tiiey work, and playing heartily when they play. They arei fieat in their appearance, and punctual in attendance upon school ; every thing it done in proper order, and yet nothing is harried ; they are the Joy of tiidr parents, and the delight of their teachers. 11. My yonng fH^uods into whose hands this book may fall, to >hich of these two fiumlies do yon beloi^? Remember tliat the usefulness and happiness of yonr whole Ures depends up(Hi the answer to this question. No one can be. truly hnippy who is not usefhl ; and no one can be Oieftd who is idle, oare- ^ and negligent. I 6. EEEi^Lda TBB Baughibi tfp Jairub. 1. TJIBBSHI4T the oool fereath of the zoning eve J? SUOb lihfOagli the lattice, and the cfying girl ¥^t a npon her fHiehead She ha4 Iain Sinoe i|to hot no<»t»de in a breathless trance — Her thhi, pale ili^^ clasped within the hand Of the heart;-broken Ruler, and her breast. Like the dead marble, white and motionless. 2. The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips. And, as it stirr'd with the awak'nmg wind, The dark lids lifted from her languid eyes, And her slight fingers moved, and heavily She tum'd upon her pillow. He was there — ^ The same loved tireless watcher, and she look'd Into his face until her sight grew dim ! ii 106 THE THIBD BEADEB. With the fast-falling tears ; and, with a sigh ■ Of tremalons weakness murmuring his name, ' She gently drew his hand upon her lips, And kiss'd it as she wept. The old man sunk < Upon his knees, and in the drapery Of the rich curtains buried up his face ; ' And when the twilight fell, the silken folds Sturr'd with his prayer, but the slight hand he held •} Had ceased its pressure — and he could not hear, In the dead, utter silence, that a breath Came through her nostrils — and her temples gave To his nice touch no pulse — and, at her mouth, He held the lightest curl that on her neck Lay with a mocking beauty, and bis gaze Ached with iti deathly stillness. HEALma THE DAUaHTEB OF JAIBUS. 107 <^ w * 9)1 * * * * 3. All was still. The echoing yestibnle gave back the slide Of their loose sandals, and the arrowy beam Of moonlight, slanting to the marble floor, Lay like a spell of silence in the rooms. As Jairus led them on. With hushing steps He trod the winding stah* ; but e'er he touch'd The lachet, from within a whisper came, " Trouble the Master not— for she is dead !" And his faint l^and fell neryeless at his side, And his steps falter'd, and bis broken voice Choked in its utterance ;— but a gentle hculd Was laid upon his arm, and in bis ear The Saviomr's voice sank thrillingly and low« '' She is not dead — but deepethP •4. Like a form Of mP>tchl9BB sculpture in her sleep she lay — The linei) vesture folded on her breast, And oyer it her white transparent hands, The blood still rosy m. their tapering nails. A line of pearl ran through her parted lips, And in her postrils spiritually thin. The breathing curve was mockingly like life ; And round beneath the faintly-tinted skin Ran the light branches of the azure veins ; And on her cheek the jet lash overlay. Matching the arches penpil'd on her brow. 6. Her hair had been unbound, and falling loose Upon her pillow, hid her small round ears In curls of glossy blackness, and about Her polish'd neck, scarce touching it, they hung Like airy shadows floating as they slept. *Twas heavenly beautiful. The Saviour raised Her hand from o£f her bosom, and spread out The snowy fingers in his palm, and said, "Maiden/ Arise/" — and suddenly a flush ■IMHi 'j;i!^ ^^mfi 108 THE THIBD BEADBB. Shot o'er her forehead, and along her lips And through her cheek the rallied color ran ; And the still outline of her graceful form Stirr'd in the linen vesture ; and she dasp'd The Saviour's hand, and fixing her dark eyes Full on his beaming countenance — ^abosb 1 7. St. PhHiTP Nebi and the Touts. ST. Philip Neri, as old readings say, Met a young stranger in Rome's streets one day ; And being ever courteously inclined To give young folks a sober turn of mind. He fell into discourse with him ; and thus The dialogue they held comes down to us. /SS(. Tell me what brings you, gentle youth, to Romef Y. To make myself a scholar, sir, I come. Si. And, when you are one, what do you intend 7 . T. To be a priest, I hope, sir, in the end. St. Suppose it is so — what have you next in view ? Y. That I may get to be a canon too. 1^. Well ; and how then ? Y. Why, then, for aught I know, I may be made a bishop. St. Be it so — What then? Y. Why, cardinal's a high degree— And y«t my lot it possibly may be. St. Suppose it was, what then ? Y. Why, who can say But I've, a chance of being pope one day ? St, Well, having worn the mitre and red hat, And triple crown what follows after that ? Y. Nay, there is nothing fhrther, to be sure Upon this earth that wishing can procure ; When I've enjoy'd a dignity so high. As long as Qod shall please, then, I must die. mimmm mm OONFIBICATION. 109 8t. What, must jon die, fond yonth ? and at the best Bat wish, and hope, and may be all the rest I Take my advice — whatever may betide. For that which must be, first of all provide ; Then think of that which may be, and indeed, When well prepared, who knows what may succeed 7 But yon may be, as you are pleased to hope, Priest, canon, bii^op, cardinal, and pope. I i I 8. Confirmation. OUR young readers have learned from their little catechism, that confirmation is the sacrament by which they are ele- vated to the dignity of soldiers of Jesus Christ ; that, as by baptism they were made children of God, so by confirmation their names are inscribed in the army of the faithful foQowers of our divine Lord, and they receive strength to battle against sin, the world, and the devil, which they had so solemnly re- nounced at the baptismal font. 2. Confirmation is conferred by a bishop, who first imposes his hands on those to be confirmed, invoking upon them the Holy Ghost, with his sevenfold gifts ; he then signs the fore- head of each with chrism in the form of the cross, saying at the same time : "I sign thee with the sign of the cross ; I confirm thee with the chrism of salvation, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen," 3. The bishop concludes the ceremony by giving the person confirmed a slight blow on the cheek, to signify that as fol- lowers of Jesus Christ, we must bear trials and persecutions for his sake. 4. The chrism used in confirmation, is an ointment made of the oil of cloves and balm. The oil signifies the effect of this holy sacrament, namely, spiritual strength and purity of heart, and preservation from the rust of sin ; and the sweetness of balm, the odor of a good and virtuous life. 6. Confirmation can only be received once, hence it is a ^\s^ mm no THE THIBD EEADEB. great misfortune not to receive it with the proper dispositions. Formerly it was the custom to confirm children immediately after baptism, but now it is generally delayed until after they have made their first communion. It is not a sacrament abso- lutely necessary for salvation, but it would be a grievous sin to' omit receiving it through contempt or neglect. 6. Children ought to look forward with a longing desire to the moment when they shall have the happiness to receive this holy sacrament, and daily ask of Almighty God the grace to receive it worthily, and as often resolve to live up to the obli- gations it imposes, when they shall have received it. T 1 \ »< i 9. BiBDs IN Summer. 1. TTOW pleasant the life of a bird must be^ -tl Flitting about in each leafy tree ; In the leafy trees so broad and tall, Like a green and beautiful palace hall, With its airy chambers, light and boon,'*' That open to sun, and stars, and moon ; That open unto the bright blue sky. And the firoUcsome winds as they wander by ! 2. They have left their nests on the forest bough ; Those homes of delight they need not now , And the young and the old they wander out, ■ And traverse their green world round about j And hark ! at the top of this leafy hall. How one to the other in love they call I " Come up I come up 1" they seem to say, "Where the topmost twigs in the breezes sway. 8. " Come up, come up I for the world is fair Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air." *£oon, pleaiant. BIRDS m BX7MMEB. lU [)n& kely hey bso- 1 to' 3 to this I to >bli- '* \'. And the birds below give back the cry, "We come, we come to the branches high." How pleasant the lives of the birds most be, Living in love in a leafy tree 1 And away through the air what joy to go, And to look on the green, bright earth below 1 4. How pleasant the life of a bird must be, Skimming about on the breezy sea ; Cresting the billows like silvery foam, Then wheeling away to its cliff*built home I What joy it must be to sail, upborne By a strong, free wing, through the rosy mom I To meet the young sun face to face. And pierce like a shaft the boundless space ; — 5. To pass through the bowers of the silver cloud ; To sing in the thunder halls aloud ; \ 1 112 THE THIRD READER. To spread out the wings for a wild, free flight With the upper-cloud winds, — Oh, what delight I Oh, what would I give, like a bird, to go Right on through the arch of the sun-lit bow, And see how the water-drops are kiss'd Into green, and yellow, and amethyst I 6. How pleasant the life of a bird must be, Wherever it listeth there to flee ; To go when a joyful fancy caUs, Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls ; Then to wheel about with their mates at play, Above, and b^low, and among Ihe spmy, Hither and tiiither, with screams as wild As the kraghing mirtii of a rosy diild 1 7.' What joy ^' mutt be, like a living breeze, To flutter abdiot Wd the flowering trees'; ^ ligfatiy to soar, and to see beneath Hie wastes of the blossonung purple heathy ^ And the yellow fufze, like fields of gold, That gladden'd some^iiy r^on old 1 On mountain tops, on the billowy sea, On the leafy stems of the forest tree. How pleasant the life of a bird must be I 10. The Children and the Infant Jesus. AT tl^e time that the celebrated Egidius was provincial of Spain, he gave the habit of the order to a young Gascon named Bernard, who was received into the convent of Santa- rem, and became distinguished among that saintly community for the holy simplicity of his life. 2. The circumstances attending his death, attested by al- most all the writers on the history of the order, are of peculiar beauty. Bernard filled the office of sacristan in the convent \ . I 1 THE OHILDBEN AND 'fSE INFANT JESUS. 113 alof iscon antA- unity )y al- !uliar avent of Santarem ; an office, the exercise of which was pecnlisrly delightful to him, from the many opportunities it gave him of indulging his devotion unseen by any one but his Lord, whom he loved to honor by a reverent care of the altar and every thing belonging to the Divine mysteries. Besides this employ- ment, his spare time was occupied in the education of two children, the sons of a neighboring gentleman, who sent them every day to the convent, where they remained until evening, only sleeping at their father's house. 3. These two boys were permitted* to wear the novices' habit of the Friars-Preachers, being probably destined for the order, although not as yet received into the community ; and theur innocence and goodness of heart had rendered them pe- culiarly dear to Blessed Bernard. It was his custom, when busy in the sacristy, to allow them to remain in a chapel, then dedicated to the Holy Kings, on the right of the high altar, where they usfed to sit on the altar-steps, reading or writing their exercises ; spending their tune happily until their master's return. Here also they were accustomed to spread out the dinners which they brought with them from home, which they took together in the same place, as soon as they had finished their daily lessons. 4. On the altar of this chapel, which was seldom used for the purpose of saying mass, there was an image of the Blessed Yirgm, holding her Divine Son in her arms ; and the two children came to look on the Holy Infant almost as a com- panion, and were wont to talk to him, as he seemed to look down on them from his mother's arms, with the simple fa- miliarity of their age. One day, as they thus sat on the altar< steps, one of them raised his eyes to the image of the little Jesus that was just above him, and said, " Beautiful child, how is it yon never take any dinner as we do, but always re- main without moving all day long? Gome down and eat some dinner with us, — we will give it to you with all our hearts." 5. And it pleased God to reward the innocence and simple faith of the children by a wonderful miracle'; for the carved form of the holy child became radiant with life, and coming 4owii from his holy mother's arms, he sat with them on the lU THE THIBD BEADER. I grqnnd before tbe altar, and took some of tbeir dinner with them. Nor need we wonder at so great a condescension, re* membering how he came uninvited to be a gnest with Zacchens who was a sinner, and that the two whom he now consented to treat as his hosts, were clothed in that pure robe of bap- tismal innocence which makes us worthy to receive him under our roof. 6. Now this happened more than once, so that the neglected chapel became to these two children full of the joy of heaven ; and by daily converse with their Divine Lord they grew in such fervent love towards him, that they wearied for the hour when then might have him with them ; caring for nothing else than this sweet and familiar intercourse with the Lord of heaven. And their parents perceived a change in them, and Low their only pleasure was in hastening to the convent, as if it contained a secret source of happiness which had not been revealed before. They therefore questioned them closely ; and the children told them every thing without reserve. 7. But the tale seemed to those who listened, nothing but an idle invention, or perhaps an artifice in order to obtain a larger quantity of food ; and they therefore took no notice of what they said beyond reproving them for their folly. But when they repeated the same story to Bernard, he listened with very different feelings; for he knew the holy hearts of his two little disciples ; and he felt, moreover, that there was nothing unworthy of belief in the fact that he who, being God, became a little child, should condescend to give a mark of favor to those of whom he himself has said, that "of such is the kingdom of heaven.'' When, therefore, after many uiquiries, he had satisfied hunself of the truth of the tale, he bade them give glory to God for his goodness; and' then considered whether there was no way in which these circum- stances might be made to serve yet fhrther to the happiness and spiritual advancement of his pupils. 8. And hearing how they in their childish way expressed a wonder that, after they had so often invited the child to eat some of their dinner, he had never brought any food with him to i(hare with ttuHn, he bade them, the nsxt tune he cnntf, ask THE OHILDBEN AND THE INFANT JESUS. 115 him how this was, and whether he would not ask them some day to dine with hun in his Father's house. The boys were delighted with this idea ; and they failed not to do as they were directed the next time that they were alone in the chapel. Then the child smiled on them graciously, and said, " What you say is very just ; within three days I invite yon to a baur quet in my Father's house : " and with this answer they re- turned full of joy to their master. 9. He well knew the meaning of this invitation ; the change that had gradually appeared in his two beloved disciples had not beien unmarked by him ; he had seen them, as it were before their time, growing ripe for heaven ; and he understood that it was the Divine pleasure, after thus training them for heaven in a marvellous way, that they should be transplanted to the angelic company, before their hearts had once been toncWd by the knowledge of sin or the contamination of the world. 10. Yet he sighed to think that thej should thus be granted to pass to Christ in their happy inf.wcy, while he, who had grown old in the spiritual warfare, was to be left behind ; and resolving to make one more trial of the condencension which had been so bounteously lavished on his pupils, he bade them go back to the chapel, and tell the Divine child that since they wore the habit of the order, it was necessary for them to ob- serve the rules ; and that it was never permitted for novices to accept of any invitation, or to go to the house of any person, except in their master's company. "Return, then, to your master," said the Holy Child, "and bid him be of the com- pany ; and on Thursday morning I will receive you all three together in my Father's house." 11. Bernard's heart bounded with emotion when he heard these words. It was then the first of the RpOgation days, and the day which had been appointed was therefore Ascension day. He made every arrangement as for his approaching death, and obtained leave on that day to say his last mass, — his two disciples serving during the celebration, and receiving communion from his hands. Doubtless it would be haiu for us to realize his feelings of dtvoat and joyful expeotatiou during those momeBte. 116 THE THIBD READEB. 12. And when mass was ended, he knelt before the same altar with the children, one on either side, and all three com- mended their sonls to God, as though they knew their last hour was come, and the altar-steps were to be their deathbed. And it was even so. An hour after, some of the brethren found them still kneeling thus before the altar, Bernard vested as for mass, and the two boys in their serving-robes. 13. But they were quite dead : their eyes were closed, and their faces wore a smile of most sweet tranquillity ; and it was evident that there had been no death-struggle, but that their souls had passed to the presence of God while in the very act of prayer. The were buried in the chapel of the Holy Kings, which had been the scene of so many of our Lord's visits to the two children ; and a picture was hung over the spot, rep* resenting them seated on the altar-step, with the Divine child between them. 14. This was the only monument to mark the place of their burial ; and in the course of years the memory of it was lost, and the chapel became disused and neglected as before. One of the succeeding priors of the convent, wishing to find some further record of the ancient tradition, dug down beneath the spot indicated by the picture ; taking care to have two apos- tolic notaries and the vicar-general of the diocese present, to- gether with other authorities of distinction and credit. 15. At a little distance beneath the surface a carved stone sarcophagus was found, which being opened, the church was immediately filled with an odor of surpassing sweetness ; and on removing the clothes that lay on the top, the remains of three bodies were discovered, which they could not doubt were those of Blessed Bernard and his novices ; for the bones of the middle skeleton were the size of a grown man, while those on either side- were small and delicate. 16. From the great number of years that had passed, most of them were reduced to mere dust ; but some portions of white cloth showed that they had been buried in the habit of the order. The memory of this history has been preserved even up to our own^times; for from the time of this solemn translstfion of their bodies^ a malii al the ascensicm was cele- THE OBAYE OF FATHER MABQUETTB. 1^7 brated every Thursday, in thanksgiving for the graces granted to them, and a confraternity of the Infant Jesus established, to whom the custody of the ancient image was intrusted. Their death is supposed by Sosa to have taken place about the year 1217. 11. The Grave of Father Marqtjeite. 1. rpHERE is a wil^and lonely dell, -l Far in the wooded West, Where never summer's sunbeam fell To break its long, lone rest. Where never blast of winter swept, To m£9e or to chill, The calm, pellucid lake that slept, O'erhung with rock and hill. 2. A woodland scene by hills inclosed, By rocky barriers curb'd, Where shade and silence have reposed, For ages undisturb'd. Unless when some dark Indian maid, Or prophet old and gray, Have hiM them to the solemn shade. To weep alone or pray. 3. One mom, the boatman's bugle note Was heard within the dell, And o'er the blue waves seem'd to float, Like some unearthly swell. A skiff appears, by rowers stout Urged swiftly o'er the ti^e, An aged man sat wrapp'd in thought. Who seem'd the helm to guide. Mrv4. 4. He was a holy Capuchin, Thin locks were on his brow ; 118 THE THIBD READEB. His eye, that bright and bold had been, With age was darlcen'd now. From distant lands, beyond the sea, The aged pilgrim came, To combat base 'idolatry, And spread the holy name. 6. From tribe to tribe the good man went, The sacred cross he bore. And savage men on slaughters bent. Would listen aAd adore. But worn with age, his mission done. Earth had for him no tiS, He had no further wish, save one, — To hie him home and die. 6. The oarsman spoke, " Let's not delay. Good father, in this dell ; Tis here that savage legends say. Their sinless spirits dwell. The hallow'd foot of prophet sere, Or pure and spotless maid. May only dare to venture here, When night has spread her shade.'' T. " Dispel, my son, thy groundless fear. And let thy heart be bold. For see, upon my breast I bear, The consecrated gold. The blessed cross that long hath been Companion of my path. Preserved me in the tempest's din. Or stay'd the Ini^then's wrath, 8. " Shall guard us from the threatened harm. What form soe'er it take, 'lii'* hurric ine, or savage arm, Or spL'ifi of the lake." THE OBAYE or FATHEB MABQUETTS. " But father oball we nrver ceaie, Through 8a?»ff« wilds to uem ? My heart is yearniug for the peace, That smiles for ub at home. 9. "We've traced the river of the Wet, From sea to foantain-heau, And sail'd o'er broad Superior's breast, By wild adventure led. We've slept beneath the cypress sluide, Where noisome reptile lay, We've chased the panther to his beu. And heard the grim wolf bay. 10. "And now for sunny France we sigh, For quiet and for home ; Then bid us pass the valley by, Where only spirits roam." " Repine not, son ! old age is slow. And feeble feet are mine ; This moment to my home I go. And thou shalt go to thine. 11. " But ere I quit this vale of death. For realms more bright and fair. On yon green shore my feeble breath, Would rise to Heaven in prayer. Then high on yonder headland's brow, The holy altar raise ; Uprear the cross, and let us bow With humble hearts in praise.'^ 12. Thus said, the cross was soon uprear'd, On that lone, heathen shore, Where never Christian voice was heard In prayer to God before. The old man knelt, his head was bare. His arms cross'd on his breast ; 119 iMHMi 120 THE THIRD READER. ft He pray'd, but none could hear the prayer His wither'd lips expressed. 13. He ceased, they raised the holy man, Then gazed in silent dread, Chill through each vein the life-blood ran,— ;' The pilgrim's soul had fled. ' In silence pray'd each voyager. Then* beads they counted o'er, Then made a hasty sepulchre. On that lone ravine's shore. "\ 14. Beside the altar where he knelt. And where the Lord released His spirit from its pilgrimage. They laid the holy priest. In fear and haste, a brief adieu The wondering boatmen take, Then rapidly then: course pursue Across the lonely lake. \h. In after years, when bolder men The vale of spirits sought, O'er many » wild and wooded glen They roam'd, but found it not. We only know that such a priest There was, and thus he fell, But where his saintly relics rest. No livmg man can tell. /' 12. Abraham. r^ :i ISMAEL'S banishment restored peace to Abraham's family, and left Isaac the one and sole heir of his father's fortune. Isaac was growing up in the full promise of early youth, when God was pleased to make trial of Abraham's faith, in a point 1 ABRAHAM. 121 the most decisive ; he ordered him to take that very Isaac, his beloved son, and to offer him in sacrifice upon the mountain he would show him. \ Vi ay, ine. len bint 2. Abraham had always looked upon his son as a special gift from God, and, therefore, did not hesitate a single moment to give him back in the manner that God required. He had been assured that his posterity should one day become as nu- merous as the sands upon the shore, or as the stars in heaven. 122 THE THIRD READER. Steadfast, therefore, in that belief, and unshaken in his hope, Abraham stifled every doubt he might otherwise have formed of the repeated promises God had made him ; he rose early in the morning, and keeping his secret to himself, went silently out with Isaac and two servants. 3. He carried with him the wood necessary to consume the holocaust, and directed his way towards the mountain. Fixed in his resolution, he went on for two days, and on the third came in sight of the destined place of sacrifice. He told his servants to remain at the bottom of the hill, while he with his son should go up to adore their God. Inflexible to the sug- gestions of flesh and blood, he took in his hand the fire and the sword, and gave to his son the wood that was intended for the sacred fire. 4. Charged with his load, Isaac proceeded up the hill, a very lively figure of him who was afterwards to ascend the mount of Calvary loaded with a cross, on which he was to consummate the great work of our redemption. As they were going on, Isaac asked his father where the victim was ? The question was too interesting not to awaken all the tenderness of a father's love in such circumstances ; Abraham dissembled the secret feelings of his heart, and with a manly firmness an- swered, that God would provide the victim. 5. Being come to the appointed spot, he erected an altar, and laid the wood in order upon it ; then having bound and placed his son Isaac thereon, he took op the sword, and stretched out his hand to strike. The firm obedience of the father/ and the humble submission of the son, were all that God required of them. An angel at that moment was dis- patched to stop the father's arm, and to adsure him that God was satisfied with the readmess of his obedience. The angel called aloud on Abraham ; Abraham answered the voice, and looking round saw a ram with his horns entangled amid the brambles, which he took and offered as a holocaust for his son. 6. This history, which is so mysterious, and in almost every circumstance so resembling the stations of our Saviour's pas- sion, is, according to the holy fathers, an instruction for all parents to consult the will an4 implore the aid of God, before r • t HOHENUNDEN. 123 \\ they presume to dispose of their children. Nothing less than the eternal welfare of their souls, and the service of Almighty God, ought to guide their attention, and regulate their con- duct in this respect. 7. Saint Gbrysostom more at large deplores the misfortune of those parents who, notwithstanding their Christian profes- sion, sacrifice their children, not to God as Abraham did, but to Satan, either by engaging them in the pursuits of a vain world, or by drawing them from the practice of a virtuous life. " Abraham h the only one," says he, " who consecrates his son to God, while thousands of others turn then* children over to the devil ; and the joys we feel in seeing some few take a Christian care of their little ones, is presently suppressed with grief at the sight of those greater numbers, who totally neglect that duty, and by the example they give, deserve to be considered rather as parricides, than the parents of their children.' iltar, and and If the that dis- God mgel and the son. ivery pas- H all sfore 13. HOHENUNDEN. 1. AN Linden, when the sun was low, yj All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 3. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. 8. By torch and trumpet fast array'd, Each horseman drew his battle-blade ; And fiirions every charger neigh'd To join the dreadful revehry. 4. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rush'd the steed to battle driven, I ': 4M. THE THIBD READER. And loader than the bolts of heaven Far flashed the red artillery. 5. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stain'd snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 6. 'Tis mom ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun. Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. t. The combat deepens. On, ye brave, Who rush to glory or the grave 1 Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry 1 8. Few, few shell part where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding sheet ; And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 14. Language of Flowers. GOOD news 1 joyful news ! " cried the happy voice of Alice Telford, running in with a huge bunch of roses in her hand. " Gome, Gattie I come, Honor I we are to go to help Sister Theresa in the sacristy, — oh, I do so love i^hat ! The great candlesticks are out, and the new branches, and such a lovely veil for the tabernacle ! I was peeping in with one eye, after I had helped to clean the chapel, and Father Ash- urst said 'Gome here with me; I see what yon want;' and he went into the nuns' sacristy, aud told Sister Theresa there was a poor beggar outside who wanted to speak to her ; and when she came out, he did so laugh I and then Sister Theresa told me to fetch all the girls to help to dress the sanctuary." I LANOUAOE OF FLOWEBS. 125; Alice n her help The uch a one Ash- and there ; and leresa uary." .f 2. She was still speaking, when all the children began to ran here and there, to gather up their flowers, vases, and strings ; but the lay sister, who was darning stockings at the table, quietly collected her work into her basket, and with a few calm and controlling words stilled the excitement, and soon reducing the scattered elements into order, a quiet pro- gressive movement was effected towards the convent. 8. They found Lucy Ward and Magdalen in the nuns' sac- risty. The former was silently arranging a large basket of exquisite hot-house flowers in tall fairy-like white vases ; and as the sacristan glanced at those which were finished, she could not but marvel at the faultless taste which guided the labor, and breathe a fervent prayer for the soul that seemed marked out by God for some special grace. \ , 4. "You love flowers, Lucy?" "Do I not love them, sister ?" replied Lucy ; "I dream of them at night, — I should like to die-looking at them." " Which do you love best ? " " I never could quite tell. They speak such different words ; but all that they say makes music." "True. Is that why you love them ?" 5. " Yes, sister ; I get very tired of hearing people talk, but I am never tired of the silent words of my dear flowers. They say so much." " What do they seem to say to you this evening ?" "They all seem to whisper something new," replied Lucy, thoughtfully, and as if to herself. "Look at these white camellias, and side by side with them these blood-red ones. They seem to me to mean so much, but I cannot read it. Can you, sister?" 6. "Yes," replied the nun, gently. "The sight of that pure white and blood-red reminds us always of the Sacred Heart of Jesus that was pierced for us. Look, here are the blood and water that flowed out for us. They speak the sweetest music to our hearts." 1. "That is beautiful 1" said Lucy, hanging on the words ; " and you understand the flowers too. Everybody has always laughed at me if I spoke about it, except Matthew. Dealr '-y-MaMfMi!;- 126 THE THIRD BEADEB. Ill Matthew — he never laughs at me but he shakes his head, and says I have wild talk, and he can't make it out/' "You love Matthew?" 8. " Oh, I love him in my deep heart 1 " said Lucy, her wax-like cheek and brow flushing with a thrill of feeling. "You have, then, two hearts; and you love sometunes with one and sometimes with the other?" " Yes^ sister, I have an outer heart for everybody ; but no one m in my inside heart but Matthew and — " she stopped short. 9. " And our Lord, now — Lucy?" " I can't tell," replied Lucy, returning to her old reserve. " No, I think my inside heart is very empty. Let us talk about the flowers again. Look at these roses, sister ; their heads are quite bowed down with their weight ; they cannot keep in their sweet smell ; it seems as if it burst out from their great cups. That says something beautiful, but I don't know what." 10. "I think it does," replied the nun: "it says that they are a faint poor type of that great One who said, 'I am the Rose of Sharon;' and whose thorn-crowned head was so bowed down with his weight of love on the cross, that the overflowing scent of it converted first the poor thief, and afterwards thousands of miserable sinners. Let it draw you, my child, till you run after those most precious odors, and make theln yours forever." 11. Lucy was quite silent foi a few minutes, and then draw- ing out a rich cluster of geraniums, she turned her large eyes full on the nun and said, "These I love best of all, but I never could make out what they said. They all seem to sing together a very rich song that goes throngli my heart, like a hymn I heard the Spanish sailors sing down on the Parade last summer at night. Can you read these ?" 12. "Perhaps not in a way that you can understand. These may represent the royal and special gifts which God bestows on the friends he has chosen to himself. They are set apart and separated from other gifts. They are only to be bought at a great price, nay, they are often of priceless value. They cost labor, and pains, and watdiing ; but vJbea \i HOMEWABD BOUInD. 127 the vork is done, where can we find its like ? Those who pos- sess them will be the brightest jewels in his crown at the last day." 13. "And who can win these gifts?" said Lucy, breath- lessly awaiting the answer. " Those who love^" replied the nun, and her words seemed to Lucy ihiQ solemn voice of God. The tears rushed to her eyes, and she murmured to herself, "When shall I knew him? When will ho fill my inner heart?" 15. Homeward Bound. 1. fVEL I when the hour to meet again ^ Creeps on — and, speeding o'er the sea, My heart takes up its lengtiieji'd chain, And, link by link, draws nearer thee — When land is hail'd, and from the shore. Comes off the blessed breath of home. With fragrance from my mother's door, Of flowers forgotten when I come — 128 THE I'UlUD BEADED. When port is gain'd, and, slowlj now, The old familiar paths are pass'd, And, entering — unconscious how — I gaze upon thy face at last. And run to thee, all faint and weak, And feel thy tears upon my cheek. 2. Oh ! if my heart break not with joy. The light of heaven will fairer seem ; And I shall grow once more a boy : And, mother ! — ^'twill be like a dream, That we were parted thus for years — And once that we have dried our tears, How will the days seem long and bright— To meet thee always with the mom. And hear thy blessing ey«'ry night — Thy " dearest," thy " first bom 1 »* And be no more, as now, in a strange land forlorn ? W 16. Luetics Dbatb. iiji Hi; HOW is Lncy?'' asked Mildr^ of Oattie, as she softly entered the children's classroom on the mommg of the eve of the Octave of the Assumption; "have yoa seen h Cattie?" " Oh, yes, I have been with Magdalen to talk to her, and to say our office," replied Cattle ; " Magdalen thinks she will die very soon, but I cannot believe it. Oh, she does look so bright and beautiful— just like an angel !" 2. "That's why I think she's going to die," replied Mag- dalen, who now followed Cattie into the room with her office- book in her hand. " Lucy looks much too beantiful to live ; I mean not commonly beautiful, but she has such a wonderful look. Her eyes seem as if they had seen our Blessed Lady already ; and she smiles every now and then to herself, as if the angels were talking to her." 8. "So thej do, «0d oar Lord, too, I am sure," added / I is luoy's death. 129 BOftlj >f the h r, and ,e will »ok so Mag- ofBce- live; lerful Lady as if added Cattie ; "for she said when nobody was speaking, 'Yes, that is qoite true — ^yes, dear Lord ; ' just as if our Lord were sitting by the couch. Oh, I hope we may go again soon and see her!" 4. " Sister Xavier said we might sit up part of to-night," replied Magdalen ; " we four are to take it in turns, and I am so glad we may. But now we must go into school, for the bell is just going to ring." 5. The sivid bell accordingly did ring before Cattie had finished washing her hands ; and the half-sad, half-rejoicing group in the class-room was dispersed by its well-known sound. We shall take the opportunity of walking up to the convent, and into the cool infirmary dormitoi'y, where Lucy lay upon a large couch, with dear Sister Xavier by her side. 6. T.^ dormitory was long and high, and refreshingly shaded by outside awnings from the scorching sun, so that the breezes blew in cool and fragrant over the garden and from the sea beyond. The turfy downs outside the walls looked now green and bright, and now shadowy, as the clouds flew over them ; and beyond, the castle-crowned hill, and distant, picturesque old town, the chalk clifib washed by the waves, the far-off fleet of fishing-boats, and the wild everlasting sea,— > oonld all be seen by Lucy, as in some lovely Italian landscape, exquisitely painted. 7. But though at times her eyes were fixed upon the blue sky or bluer sea, her thoughts were not of them. Beautiful as was the world without, — the glorious "earth-rind" of the external works of God, — there were far lovelier visions floating before the eyes of the pure and loving soul that was bidding earthly beauty farewell for her eternal home. 8. For now, indeed, Lucy was dying. The longing desire of heaven, and the face of her Incarnate God, had so fretted the frail body, which already inherited the most rapid form of decline, that thread after thread of the delicate frame had snapped, or, as it were, been consumed by the ardent fire within. 9. A careless observer might have been even now deceived ; but to a practised eye, the alabaster temples, the starting azure veins, the bright cheek and lips, and the deep, glittermg 130 THB THIRD BEAPBR. III! brightness of the eye, told that in a few honra the thirsting soul would be at rest. 10. "Sister," whispered Lucy, ''will Father Ashurst come soon?" " Very soon, dear child ; it is not three o'clock yet. Do you feel worse ?" "I feel well," replied Lucy, speaking with difficulty, "qwUe well ; but oh, I see such lovely things, and I want to get there very much." 1 1. The sister listened with breathless attention, while Lucy, as if from a heavy dream or half ectasy, in broken sentences continued — " No words can tell what they are like .... white shapes, all snow-white, with golden dew-drops on their wings .... and they bow down softly all together, like white lilies when the vind blows over them. They are going up and up, such a g'orious place .... and they take me with them .... but w bere I cannot see There is one there who sits like a king, but I cannot see his face ; he says it is not time." .... 12. Two sisters at the moment came soft!) Into the dormi- tory, one of whom whispered something to Sister Xavier ; the other was Mother Regis, the novice-mistress, whom Lucy had always greatly loved. But now she did not perceive her ; and SB they quietly sat down behind the couch, she again spoke : 13. "And now, I think, it would be time, if Father Ashurst were to come and bring me my last food. I think if he were here, I could beg him so much that he could not leave me be- hind. Dear Sister Xavier, will you ask Father Ashurst to come now ? " 14. "He is coming, my child," replied the sister, softly rising and bending over her ; " but, Lucy, yea promised to be very good and patient." " Yes, sister, I was wrong. Indeed I will ))e good. I will wait ; but every moment seems a year. I cannot think how you can be always so patient when you see those shapes, and see his face so often, and hear his voice. Now I see them going up again. 15. " Oh, how many, many thoosajids, with their hands to* W ^r luoy's death. 131 getber, and their long, long wings, uid their snow-white robes I And there are more, more, with bare heads, and crimson crosses on their breasts, and bright armor, and cloalcs all washed in the blood of One. Oh, let me go with them I Show me thy face, and let me live I " 16. Sister Xayier rose and glided away; but she soon re- turned with a religious, at the sight of whom the sisters rose, and removed further from Lucy's couch. It was the Mother Superior, who quietly took her place beside Lucy's pillow, and wiped the death-drops that now stood thickly on her trans- parent brow. " Reverend mother,'^ said the child, catching hold of her hand, and kissing it with joyful respect, " where am I ? " Then immediately she relapsed into her former dreamy state. 17. "There is one sitting by his side. She is coming soon for me, for her hands are spread out towards me. O Mary ! Mother ! Mary, lead me to Jesus I . . . . Come quickly, dear Jesus ; I am very tired of waiting. Oh, let me see thee 1 Thou art sweeter than honey and the honeycomb. Thon art calling me to be crowned on the mountains. How long have 1 cried to thee to come !....'' Lucy sank back, gaspmg on the pillow; her breath coming thick and thicker from her laboring breast, while the drops stood on her forehead like rain. Her eyes opened, and their depths seemed deeper than ever. " Food 1 food 1 " she gasped, " the end is coming." 18. At that moment the faint sound of a distant bell was heard coming along the corridors. It was borne so faintly at first, that the sisters did not observe it ; but the first sound was enough for the ear of the listener. To her it was the "cry of the voice" of the Beloved. She sprang up from the pillows, clasped her hands together, and gazed at the door of the dormitory with her whole soul in her eyes. 19. Sister Xavier immediately perceiving that the blessed sacrament was approaching, went out with Mother Regis to meet it. The little altar had been freshly prepared by the infirmarian with large bouquets of flowers, and was now hfted by the other sister to the foot of Lucy's couch, at a little dis- tance from it. Nearer and nearer came the bell. The acolytes 132 THE THIRD BEADEB. ! !|l' f 'ii: ■' 'i'li ii entered, two and two, with lighted candles ; then all the sis* ters ; and lastly came Father Asharst, in snrplice, veil, and stole, bearing the blessed sacrament in the ciborium, from the chapel. The "children of Mary" stole in behind. 20. Lucy's glorious eyes were upraised to the Sacred Host, and fixed with such adoring love as filled the witnesses with an awful joy. "Jesus," she said, and the clear tones of her young voice sounded through the breathless stillness like the voice of an angel, — "Jesus, my food, my strength, my life, come to my thirsty soul. Now I see thy face. It is enough ; I come into thy precious, precious wounds ! " 21. She received the bread of life, the strength and help for her last journey, and immediately sank back on the pillows. Her hands were clasped ; her deep eyes fixed : a bright, heav- enly smile flitted across her face. "Jesus, O Jesus 1 now I see thee 1 Jesus, Mary, come I " 22. The long, level rays of the evening sun streamed upon the conch, gilding the angelic face and shmmg waves of hair, the smUe yet lingering, the lips yet apart, the hands still gently clasped upon the breast. l^e pilgr'm was gone on her way refireshed ; the wanderer was at home. 17. AXTTOBIOOBAPHY OF A BOSE. ON a fine morning in June, I opened my eyes for the first time on as lovely a scene as could be imagined. I was in the heart of a most beautiful garden filled with flowers. Fucshias, geraniums, jasmines, tulips, and lilies were my com- panions. I saw them all wide awake, and smiling through the dew upon their bright lids in joyous greeting to the morning sun. A gentle breeze would sometimes wander by, and then the tears of rejoicing would fall upon the delicate blades of grass at our feet. 2. The dew made the robes of my neighbors as bright as if covered with diamonds, so that I cast a look upon my own pink vesture, to see if I were likewise adorned with the same I A ■■■-■ii JOTTOBIOOBAPHY OF A BOSK. 133 glory. As I bowed my head to inspect myself, a few dropB of the crystal water, coudeiised at uightfall, fell upon the grass at my feet, and from this I learned that I was indeed gifted with as beautiful g(msa3 were those around me. 3. Let me describe to you one of the little community of which I was a member — a sister rose-bud growing at my side. It is true that she had not opened her glowing heart to the fresh breezes and to the sunshine, as I had done, but the beauty and fragrance thus concealed were so sweetly promised, that I am sure nothing could be more lovely. 4. Spreading tenderly, her calyx held her heart, bursting with the wealth of its own beauty, lest the wooing winds should call forth her fragrance prematurely ; and two sister baby rose-buds rested their little heads almost upon her cheek. Pretty twins, these baby rose-buds ! The tell-tale zephyr told me that they would be as beautiful as the one I am now de- scribing, when she, poor thing, had faded away. 5. Now, you see, my heart first tasted sorrow ; for here- tofore I had not heard of decay or dea^h ; and the emotion fy;pused by this thought agitated me so violently, that my dew- diamonds were almost all cast, like worthless bubbles, to the ground. This joy, this sunshine, this fragrance, this beauty, was bom to fade — or rather we flowers, who love all these, and treasure them in our hearts, ttx must fade, and so the joy, and fragrance, and beauty must die. But my beautiful sister was lovely enough to be immortal — -^nd I shut my heart against the story of the zephyr, determined not to believe in clouds till clouds should overshadow me. 6. The bright green leaves spread their glittering pahns to catch the sunshine for the fair creature the^were so proud to encircle, and Ctery motion of the parent stem brought a flood of smiles to the face of my peerless sister. 7. A beautiful creature, endowed with wings, and with a throat colored like the rainbows only with hues more soft, played about her like an embodjil^ breeze ; now darting, with a motion that made it invisible, up into the air, and in a mo. ment swaying, with a musical hum of wings, around my rose* neighbor, and making her sunny vesture tremble with the W ^l ^»mmtmmmm 134 THE THIBD BEADER. . '1' Ml! !t happy emotions of her heart ; then, with kisses and caresses on my sister's stainless brow, the wonderful creature was lost in the air above me, and I think that the hmnming-bird must have gone to a place where there is no death. I think it is with the breath of these beautiful beings that the rainbow is colored, and with their brightness that the stars are lighted. 8. I saw strange, large beings, with power in every motion, bending over us, and afterwards learned that they were called men. They held dominion over us, and though some scorned our gentle natures, they who were pure and good among them were very tender to us, and could not bear to see us wounded. 9. At noon of my first day, when the shadow of the moun* tain-ash waving over our heads completely hid me from the sun, for which kindness I was deeply grateful, as the rays, so cheering in the morning, were almost scorching now, one of the daughters of men, robed in white, came and kneeled beside me, and laid her pure cheek close to mine, and then with her eyes she talked to me. ^^yy, 10. "Rose," said she, "beautiful rose, thou art an emblem of my blessed mother," and here a dew more pure and sweet than the drops I had sacrificed in the mornmg at the thought of death and decay, floated along the dark fringes of her lids, and I could not hear the voice from her eyes until those peer- less gems had fallen upon my bosom. Then it seemed to me that I could hear and see things more wonderful than were ever given to rose before to hear and see. 11. "Beautiful rose 1" she continued, "lift thy royal head, and look eastward ; thou beholdest there a building most sacred to our hearts, for it contains the King of Heaven — the Creator of the world — the Author of my being and of thine. Lovely flower, ages and ages ago, longer ago than thou or I can think to measure, in the glorious country beyond the stars — in heuven — where stands the eternal throne of our King, a beautiful angel, a being of power and light, rebelled against his God, and was cast out of his holy home forever. Then the world was created. 12. "It was made as perfect and delightful as our Heavenly Father could frame it, and there wrs neither sin, nor tears, AUTOBIOGBAPHY*OF A BOSE. 136 t nor death, nor sorrow there. In this garden of God was man first created. He was formed holy, sinless, and pure, but free as was the bright angel who, with his brethren, choae to ques- tion the power of the Omnipotent. The name of this angel was Lucifer, and his dominion was established in outer dark- ness^ far away from the eternal fountain of all light. /i-xj^. IS. "Beautiful rose," said the maiden, "thou who art nur- tured by, and wouldst die but for the light, thou canst not conceive of this outer darkness — ^but it exists, and the fallen angels seek to blacken the universe with its gloom. The first of mankind, who were to enjoy eternal light so long as they were obedient to God, were discovered by the prince of dark- ness, and he took the form of a reptile, and tempted them to doubt the truth of the Almighty Father. They believed his subtle words and fell, and were banished from the garden as Lucifer had been banished from heaven." 18. AxTTOBiOGBAPHY OF A BosE — conttnued. SWEET rose, I dare not tell thee the wretchedness this disobedience brought upon man. There came sickness, and sorrow, and sighing — ^there came hatred, crime, and decUh. Our Heavenly Father saw this wretchedness ; saw the triumph of Lucifer and his rebel army, and he so loved the world that he sent his only begotten Son upon earth to be a mau' — ^to suffer poverty, to suffer temptation, to suffer ignominy and death — that thus man might be saved from eternal death. 2. "This God, incarnate in humanity, was bom of a spotless virgin — ^spotless and perfect as thou art, O Rose, and thus art thou in thy beauty her emblem, just as one little fleeting sun- beam is a type of the innumerable hosts of suns and worlds that revolve in the heavens. 8. "This God-man, whose name was Jesus, was slain cruelly by those whom he came to save. He died on the cross ; but before he left the world, he gave to man his body and blood, his divine humanity, as food to nourish his soul. By this ..jneittn »i»swiaK«aaiMi«ijA. 136 THE THIRD BEADEB. means he unites himself to us, and we who love him delight to offer what is richest and dearest in return for his unbounded love ; for by his death he has snatched us from the power of the prince of darkness, and in exchange has given us a joint inheritance with him in heaven, where there is no death or decay." i 4. The white^robed daughter of men ceased speakmg, or rather her gentle eyes, that told this all to me, were turned away eastward, to where the dome of the palace, where dwelt the King of kings, glittered calmly in the sun. 5. She looked long and lovingly ; and the dew, so priceless and sweet, flowed in two pearly streams down her fair face ; and I came near worshipping her, because so great tenderness seized my heart as thus I gazed upon her. But the speaking eyes turned once more, and said, " What shall vx offer ?" Up from the inmost depths of my heart swelled the fragrant drops that the twilight had stored there. " What shall / offer ? " I repeated ; "I who am so poor in treasure ; I who have nothing but my beauty, my freshness, and my unsullied purity ? 6. "What can I offer to God for his generous love to thy race, beautiful maiden ? He gave the life of a Man-Ood. Oh, bear me to his presence 1 I can do no more than give myself to him ! Take me, then, dear maiden — ^I would lie at his feet. Mayhap he may accept the odor of my sacrifice, and Jbear mo in Us bosom, where there is no decay or death 1 Hasten, for his love draws me, and I would tarry here no longer ! " 7. The young lover of Jesus severed me gently from my companions, and clasping me to her heart, bore me to the feet of her Saviour. As we passed forward to the sanctuary, she made the sign of the cross — ^because Jesus dfed upon the cross — ^by passing her hand from her forehead to her breast, and then from shoulder to shonlder ; but before she did this, she dipped the tips of her fingers in holy water, and some of it fell upon me, and I e^qierienced sensations I had never before imagined. 8. As I rested there at the foot of the altar, it seemed to me that more life came to me from those sunple drops than had ever been bestowed by the heaviest shower or gentlest rain before^ The maiden now bent over me, and her eyes wcrv AUTOBIOaSAFHT OF A ROSE. 137 < fixed tenderly upon me, and again her voice whispered to my spirit : 9. "O humble, gentle, innocent rose," said she ; "thou who art so soon to pass away, let me learn from thy devotion, and freely give to my God all that he has so freely bestowed upon me ; however little, however much, sweet rose, thou hast taught me to offer all as the just due of my Creator 1 " Then her white hand veiled her eyes, and her bosom heaved, and, in one great tear that fell upon me, I saw her beautiful soul mir- rored. I saw what I had never dreamed of before. 10. Lucifer, the fallen angel, was striving to lure this noble being to disobedience, that she might be driven from the par- adise of her Redeemer's love. This was why the tears fell ; this was . why her bosom heaved. Then I saw an angel of light with his powerful wings sweep through the air, and the rays from his glorious brow dazzled the eye of the prince of darkness, and he reeled away from the presence of the weeping daughter of earth. 11. Oh 1 then what an ocean of sweetness flowed over that tempted soul, and bore her unresisting to the eternal fountain of all sweetness. She pressed her cheek once more to mine in honor of the mother of her Saviour, and music issued from her lips, low and soft as the voice of a night-bird. 12. " Thou gavest thy life to God, dear flower, unquestion- ing. Thou hadst no assurance of immortality in return. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, I bless thee, beautiful flower, for I have learned of thee a lesson that, by the grace of God, will earn for me life eternal. Be my witness, humble Hose 1 be my witness, angels hovering near me I I give my life, my love, my beiug through all time8 to thee, my bleeding, suffering, patient Jestis t Hold me to my pledge, dear Saviour, by the might of thy tenderness, and let me never swerve from the integrity of my purpose^ hound this day tvith my heart to thy dear cross I " 13. Night fell over us both, and I slept with the sweet mur- mur of that voice still vlbratmg the chambers of my soul. Through the season of my freshness, I daily caught the incense cf this madden'e devotion arinng beforo the altar ; and, by a rmmm 138 THE THIRD BEADEB. seeming chance, after my leaves had withered and faded, I was concealed from the sight of the sacristan, and even for months lay happily at the feet of the Redeemer of the world. Thas I witnessed the formal consecration of this maiden to the will of her chosen one. 14. She was arrayed in white, and her brow was crowned with buds from the rose-tree that gave me birth. She knew not that I beheld her then, but I felt that my image had never faded from her heart. The pure folds of her snowy veil fell over her shoulders like the plumage of wings at rest ; and I remembered the angel who had put to flight the prince of dark- ness, and I was sure he was near her ; for her face had become like his, and I think it was because he was so constantly at her side, and because she loved him so. I think she was the earthly mirror of the heavenly being who protected her from danger, and that her face and bearing reflected his beauty and grace, as the tear-drop that feU upon me from her eyes re- flected her fioul at that moment. 15. I never saw this maiden more ; but I think her angel will lead her to heaven. Yesterday, as I lay here, a little wilted remnant of a rose, the sacristan raised me in her fingers, and supposing me to be a particle of incense that had fallen, she placed me in the censer Thus, when the benediction of this evening is pronounced, I shall have fulfilled my mission, and shall ascend upon the gentle clouds that then will over- shadow the tebernaelc of the Most High. 19. WiNTEB. THE scenes around us have assumed a new and chilling ap- pearance. The trees are shorn of their foilage, the hedges are laid bare, the fields and favorite walks have lost their charms, and the ga^rden, now that it yields no perfumes and offers no firuits, is, like a fHend in adversity, forsaken. The tuneful tribes are dumb, the cattle no longer play in the mead- ows, Uie north wind blows. ** He sendeth abroad his icc-Uke ! WINTER. 139 I (y morsels: who can stand before his cold?" We msh in for shelter. 2. But winter is not without its nses. It aids the system of life and vegetation I it kills the seeds of infection ; it refines the blood; it strengthens the nerves; it braces the whole frame. Snow is a warm covering for the grass ; and, while it defends the tender blades from nipping ff^U, it also nourishes their growth. When the snow thaws, it becomes a genial moisture to the soil into which it sinks ; and thus the glebe is replenished with nutriment to produce the bloom of spring and the bounty of adtnmn. 3. Winter has also its pleasures. I love to hear the roar- ing of the wind ; I love to see the figures which the frost has painted on the glass ; I love to watch the redbreast with his slender legs, standing at the window, and knocking with his bill to ask ( k: the crumbs which fall from the table. Is it not pleasant to view a landscape whitened with snow ? To gaze upon the trees and hcdges^resscd in such sparkling lustre ? To behold the rising sun laboring to pierce the morning fog, and gradually causing objects to emerge from it by little and little, and appear in their own forms ; while the mist rolls up the side of the hill and is seen no more ? vat^yv "Wnt-^j ■u^n'JSsTiiilSri^ iHHI ■,r^aMiMir>Mii-|TnwmOB'i"iTi;v. 140 THE THIRD READER. k m hi 4. Winter is a season in which we should feel gratitude for our comforts. How much more temperate is our climate than that of many other countries ! Think of those who live within the polar circle, dispersed, exposed to beasts of prey, their poor huts furnishing only wretched refuge I They endure months of perpetual night, and by the absence of heat almost absolute barrenness reigns around. But we have houses to shelter us, and clothes to cover us, and fires to warm us, and beds to comfort us, and provisions to nourish us. How be- coming, in our circumstances, is gratitude to God ! 5. This season calls upon us to exercise benevolence. While we are eujoyingeyery comfort which the tenderness of ProvL dence can affora, let us think of the indigent and the misera- ble. Let us think of those whose poor hovels and shattered panes cannot screen them from the piercing cold. Let us think of the old and the infirm, of the sick and the diseased. Oh, let "the blessing of them that are ready to perish come upon us." Who would not deny'himself superfluities, and something more, that his bounty may visit "the fatherless and the widows in their affliction." 6. This season is instructive as an emblem. Here is the picture of thy life : thy flowery spring, thy summer strength, thy sober autumn, are all hastening into winter. Decay and death will soon, very soon, lay all waste I What provision hast thou made for the evil day ? Hast thou been laying up treasure in heaven ? hast thou been laboring for that wealth which endureth unto everlasting life ! 7. Soon spring will dawn again upon us with its beauty and its songs. And "we, according to his promise, look for new heavens and a new earth wherein dwelleth righteousness." No winter there ; but we shall flourish in perpetual spring, in end- less youth, in everlasting life I THE SNOW. 1^ 20. The Snow^ 1. rpHE snow I the snow ! 'tis a pleasant thing -L To watch it falling, falling Down upon earth with noiseless wing As at some spirit's calling ; Each fli(ike is a fairy parachute, From teeming clouds let down ; And earth is still, and air is mute, As frost's enchanted zone. 2. The snow 1 the snow ! — ^behold the trees Their fingery Ml|lis stretch out, The blossoms of the sky to seize, As they duck nd dive about ; The bare hills plead for a covering. And, ere the gray twilight, Around their shoulders broad shall cling An arctic cloak of white. 142 THE THIBD BEADEB. 8. The snow 1 the snow ! — alas I to me It speaks of far-off days, When a boyish skater, mingling fi-ee Amid the merry maze ; Hethinks I see the broad ice still, And my nerves all jangling feel, Bl;;nding with tones^of voices shrill The ring of the slider's heel. 4. The snow 1 the snow ! — soon dnsky night Drew his murky curtains ronnd Low earth, while a star of loitre bri^t Feep'd from the blue profound. '^^ Tet what cared we for darkening lea, Or warning bell remote ? With shout and cry we scudded by, And found the bliss we sought. 6. The snow I the snow t — ^'twas ours to wage^ How oft, a munic war. Each white ball tossing in wild rage, That left a gorgeous scar ; While doublets dark were powdered o'er Till darkness none could find, And valorous chiefs had wounds before,. And caitiff chiefs behind. 6. The snow 1 the snow I — I see him yet, That piled-up giant grim, To startle horse and traveller set, With Titan gui;h of limb. We hoped, oh, ice-ribb'd Winter bright I Thy sceptre could have screened him ; But traitor Thaw stole forth by night, And cruelly guillotined him I • t. The snow ! the snow t — Lo I Eve reveals Her starr'd map to the moon, USES OF WATEB. An! o'er hush d earth a radiance steals More blabu than that of noon ; The fur-robed genii of the Pole Pance o'er our mountains white; Chain up the billows as they roll, And pearl the caves with light. 6. The snow 1 the snow ! — It brings to mind A thousand happy things ; And but one sad one — 'tis to find Too snro that Time hath wings 1 Oh, ever sweet is sight or sound, That tells of long ago, And I gaze around with thoughts profound, Upon the falling snow. 143