£c 6 THE NORMAL SERIES. WEBB'S NORMAL HEADER No. 4, » • • * • • « TO TEACH CORRECT READING, TO IMPROVE AND EXPAND THE MIND, AND TO PURITY AND ELEVATE THE CHARACTER. Maw is -what HI 18, C AH EI WHAT HI WILL. BY J. RUSSELL WEBB. NEW YORK: SHELDON & COMPANY 115 NASSAU STEEET. 1860. THE NORMAL SERIES or SCHOOL READERS, J. RUSSELL WEBR In presenting to the public * new series of reading books, it is not pre- tended that the department they are designed to occupy in teaching, is not already abundantly supplied. There are books enough, and more tbiii enough, iftiiey neie only of the right kind — instinct with new ideas, and improved methods of instruction, by which to infuse those ideas into the minds of the young. In general, however, they follow one beaten track, and that not the most direct and easy. This series proposes and developes a new system of instruction, which, it is believed, possesses many and great advantages. It has been proved and commended by many practical teachers, and now solicits a fair and faithful trial from all who would attain for themselves, or impart to their pupils, the most im- portant, though hitherto the most neglected, of human arts — the art of reading well. THE SERIES CONSISTS OP Webb's Primary Lessoxs* By J. Russell Webb. Wi:bb's PrIMKR pub the Nursery By J. Jills sell Webb W ebb's Normal Primer for Schools. . .By J. Russell Webb. Webh's Normal Header, No. 1 By J. Russell Webb. Webb's Normal Reader, No. 2 By J. Russell Webb. Webb's Normal Reader No. 3 By J. Rm/mU Webb. Webb's Normal Reader, No. 4 By J. Russell Webb. Webb's Normal Reader, No. 5 By J Russell Wt^b. * A series of huge cards to be used iu connection with No. 1, where the classic lance. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1850, By J. RUSSELL WEBB, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United Status for the Southern District of New York. EDUCATION DEPT. INDEX Page Introduction • 5 The Five Essentials to Good Reading. 5 Position in Reading 6 Dictionary : its Importance and Use in Schools 8 Rules for Reading 12 The Nature and Object of Education . 13 The Put Lamb 16 The Value of Time 21 A Moment of Time 23 Anecdote of Washington 24 Dialogue on Physiognomy 26 Deal Gently with the Erring 29 The Town Pump 31 Pleasure is Cheap 35 The Two Brothers 36 It Snows 38 The Fool's Reproof 39 The Farmer and the Earl 40 I have lost my Fortune 41 Look Aloft 44 The Beef Lawsuit 45 Washington and the Poor Widow • • • • 47 I must do the Churning 52 To-day and To-morrow 54 Instinctive Knowledge in Birds 55 The Land of the Blest 59 Freak of a Hypochondriac 61 The Life-Clock 64 The Boy and the Man 65 The Three Black Crows 66 Edward and William, or True Friend- ship 68 The Gentleman 75 A G ood Daughter 77 Let Home be made Happy 78 Mortality and Immortality 81 The Raindrop 83 Washington with his Mother for the last time 87 Mary, the Mother of Washington .... 89 Captain Hardy and Nathan 93 Page Early to Bed and Early to Rise 96 Excel 97 Elocution and Reading 98 The Mother's Influence in the Forma- tion of Character 101 The Toll-Gate 102 Light Words 104 The Crown of the Hat 105 The Pleasure-Boat 107 Beware of Bad Books 110 The Sisters 112 Animals 115 Conscientiousness 117 All is Well 119 Auction Extraordinary 120 Leaving Home 121 Press On 125 The Lost Camel 127 Peter the Great 128 The Carrier Pigeon 129 The Cataract of Lodore 132 The Righteous Never Forsaken 134 Small Beginnings 137. Domestic Bliss l-lo Harmony among Brothers 141 Description of the Person of Jesus Christ 144 The Blind Preacher 145 Trust in God 117 The Banker and the King 148 Antony's Oration over Causar's Body . 155 Power of Maternal Piety 158 Thoughts for Young Men 161 The Family Meeting 166 Shaking Hands 1G7 The Closing of the Year 171 Sinclair and the Doctor 174 True Wisdom 177 Destruction of the Philistines 173 The Grave of Aaron Burr 180 Death of Hamilton 189 The Spider and the Fly 184 M69876 INDEX. 1 Pago I would not live always 188 Appetite 188 To Mary in Heaven 190 The Pursuit of Happiness 191 Thrilling Incident 193 Go feel what I have felt 194 Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane . 196 Woman at Home 197 A Friend 199 Columbus 201 The Wish 203 Address to Young Men 204 To My Mother in Heaven 206 Death of Cromwell 207 The Snow-Storm 209 Death of Washington 211 Niagara Falls 214 Death of Absalom 216 Colonel Isaac Haynes 220 The Right to Tax America 223 Afar in the Desert 224 Forest Trees 226 God's Ancient Sanctuaries 229 The Teacher's Profession 232 Friendsh i p, Love, and Truth 234 Our Wondrous Atmosphere 235 Napoleon at Rest 237 Page Typography 238 Byron's Fare well to his Wife 243 Universal Education 244 The Venomous Worm 247 Self-Culture 250 Shylock, or the Pound of Flesh 253 Europe and America 257 Washington 261 The Temperate and Dissolute Man ... 263 The Temple of Knowledge 265 The Progress of Mind 269 Labor a Necessity and Duty 270 The Mind is the Standard of the Man 273 Passing Away 276 The Dignity of Human Nature 278 The Gambler's Wife 280 South Carolina 281 Massachusetts 283 Hymn of the Church- Yard 285 Speech of James Otis 287 Select Sentences 289 The Wife 292 Green-Wood Cemetery 297 Remarks made by Clay and Webster in the Senate of the United States, on the Death of Calhoun 300 An Address to Young Persons 304 INDEX TO MUSIC. Page Leave us not 114 Sweet Home 124 The Snow-Storm 210 The Worm of the Still 848 The Child's Portrait 307 The Old Oaken Bucket 310 Tbo Old Clock on the Stairs -••• 311 INTRODUCTION. [To be read occasionally by tbe claw as a reading exercise.} To read well, the following five particulars are essential, viz : 1. a full comprehension of the matter to be read j 2. Correct position or action ; 3. Knowledge of the forms and force of words ; 4. Perfect control over the voice ; and 5. Judgment. The above essentials are fully expressed by one word — Nature. Who has not noticed complete exemplifications of this truth in unlettered persons while engaged in animated conversation ? Look at children in their sports ; listen to their tones ; — is not Nature's voice distinctly heard ? Do not the speech and manner accurately denote the feelings ? Look Nature through, consult her as you will, And ever her reply is, " Nature still." That there are many, very many poor readers is a lamentable fact ; so notorious, indeed, is it, that we fear little dissent from the assertion that nine hundred and ninety-nine to the thousand are regarded as such. And why is this ? Why are good readers WEBB S FOURTH READER. considered rare specimens of curious exotics ? Simply, be- cause such are not produced " at home," and are known only by reputation ! And why are they not " home products" for general every-day utility ? Because Art has assumed Nature's right, and either adulterated her efforts, or entirely usurped her power. It is our object to restore and preserve the original design. Nature assisted by Art, (and not Art by Nature, or indepen- dent of hor,) is tl.e obvious/law of the universe; and any infringement of the latter upon the rights of the former, is a usurf/Atioii. It destroys the harmony of the system: the re- cipients (Nature's offspring) strenuously protest against it, and submit only to long-continued force. The violation of this law is also one of the great secrets of the quite general aversion to books, schools, &c, and of the no less general stupidity of mind. When will man learn to u Take Nature's path, And mad opinions leave ?" 1st. To READ WELL, THE SUBJECT MUST BE THOROUGHLY UNDERSTOOD. This is so nearly a self-evident truth that it needs no arqpi- ments to establish it ; and referring to the preceding Numbers for our views as to its absolute necessity, we will pass to the 2d. Correct Position. However well the reader may comprehend his subject, and however pleasing his tones, a graceful manner or position must be added, to produce any thing like its full effect. The man- ner of delivery is at least as important an agent in producing the desired result, as the matter delivered. So important is it, that it has always been considered, by the greatest orators, as the essential in oratory ; and it is equally essential in reading, for reading is simply speaking at sight. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Two positions will suffice as illustrations : A represents a posi- tion often seen in our schools. It is wrong for several reasons. It is awkward, offensive, ob- structive, unhealthy, t in quite as enviable a situation as she who watches with anxiety the progress of her offspring ascend- ing the craggy and thorny paths of fame and honor. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 93 LESSON XXXIY. CAPTAIN HARDY AND NATHAN. Nathan. Good morning, captain. How do you stand this hot weather ? Captain. Bless you, boy, it is a cold bath to what we had at Monmouth ? Did I ever tell you about that battle ? N. I have always understood that it was very hot that day ! Cap. Bless you, boy, it makes my crutch sweat to think of it : and if I did not hate long stories, I would tell you things about that battle, such as you would not believe, you logue, if I did not tell you. It beats all nature how hot it was. N. I wonder you did not all die of heat and fatigue. Cap. Why, so we should, if the regulars had only died first ; but, you see, they never liked the Jerseys, and would not lay their bones there. Now, if I did not hate long stories, I would tell you all about that busi- ness, for you see they do not do things so now-a-days. N. How so ? Do not people die as they used to ? Cap. Bless you, no. It beat all nature to see how long the regulars would kick after we killed them. N. What ! kick after they were killed ! That does beat all nature, as you say. Cap. Come, boy, no splitting hairs with an old conti- nental, for you see, if I did not hate long stories, I would tell you things about this battle, that you would never believe. Why, bless you, when General Washing- ton told us we might give it to them, we gave it to them, I tell you. N. You gave what to them ? 94 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Cap. Cold lead, you rogue. Why, bless you, we fired twice to their once, you see ; and if I did not hate long stories, I would tell you how we did it. You must know, the regulars wore their close-bodied red coats, because they thought we were afraid of them ; but we did not wear any coats, you see, because we had none. N. How happened you to be without coats ? Cap. Why, bless you, they would wear out, and the States could not buy us any more, you see, and so we marched the lighter, and worked the freer for it. Now, if I did not hate long stories, I would tell you what the general said to me the next day, when I had a touch of the rheumatism from lying on the field without a blanket all night. You must know, it was raining hard just then, and we were pushing on like all nature after the regulars. N. What did the general say to you ? Cap. Not a syllable says he, but off comes his coat, and he throws it over my shoulders: "There, captain," says he, " wear that, for we can not spare you yet." Now that beat all nature, hey ? N. So you wore the general's coat, did you ? Cap. Lord bless your simple heart, no. I did not feel sick after that, I tell you. " No, general," says I, " the v can spare me better than they can you, just now, and so I will take the will for the deed," says I. N. You will never forget this kindness, captain. Cap. Not I, boy! I never feel a twinge of the rheu- matism, but what I say, God bless the general. Wow, you see, I hate long stories, or I would tell you how I gave it to a regular that tried to shoot the general at Mon- mouth. You know we were at close quarters, and the genera] was right between the two fires. N. I wonder he was not shot. Cap. Bless your ignorant soul, nobody could kill the WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 05 general ; but you see, a sneaking regular did not know this, and so he leveled his musket at him ; and you see, I knew what he was after, and I gave the general's horse a slap on the haunches, and it beats all nature how he sprung, and the general all the while as straight as a gun-barrel. N. And you saved the general's life. Cap. Did I not tell you nobody could kill the gen- eral ? but, you see, his horse was in the rake of my gun, and I wanted to get the start of that cowardly regular. N. -Did you hit him ? Cap. Bless your simple soul, does the thunder hit where it strikes ! though the fellow made me blink a little, for he carried away part of this ear. — See there ! (Showing his ear.) Now does not that beat all nature ? N. I think it does. But tell me, how is it that you took all these things so calmly ? What made you so contented under your privations and hardships ? Cap. O, bless your young soul, we got used to it. Be- sides, you see, the general never flinched nor grumbled. N. Yes, but you served without being paid. Cap. So did the general, and the States, you know, were poor as all nature. N. But you had families to support. Cap. Ay, ay, but the general always told us that God and our country would take care of them, you see. Now, if I did not hate long stories, I would tell you how it turned out just as he said, for he beat all nature for guessing right. N. Then you feel happy, and satisfied with what you have done for your country, and what she has done for you ? Cap. Why, bless you, if I had not left one of my legs at Yorktown, I would not have touched a stiver of the States' money ; and as it is, I am so old, that I shall not 9G WEBB'S FOURTH READER. need it long. You must know, I long to see the gen- eral again, for if he does not hate long stories as bad as I do, I shall tell him all about America, you see, for it beats all nature how things have changed since he left us. LESSON XXXV. EARLY TO BED AND EARLY TO RISE. 1. " Early to bed and early to rise" — Ay, note it down in your brain, For it helpeth to make the foolish wise, And uproots the weeds of pain. Ye who are walking on thorns of care, Who sigh for a softer bower, Try what can be done in the morning sun, And make use of the early hour. 2. Full many a day for ever is lost By delaying its work till to-morrow ; The minutes of sloth have often cost Long years of bootless sorrow. And ye who would win the lasting wealth Of content and peaceful power — Ye who would couple Labor and Health, Must begin at the early hour. 3. We make bold promises to Time, Yet, alas ! too often break them ; We mock at the wings of the king of kings, And think we ran owrtakr them. But why loiter away the prime of the day, Knowing that clouds may 1ow»t ? WEBB'S FOUKTH READEK. 97 Is it not safer to make Life's hay At the beam of an early hour ? 4. Nature herself ever shows her best Of gems to the gaze of the lark, When the spangles of light on Earth's green breast Put out the stars of the dark. If we love the purest pearl of the dew, And the richest breath of the flower — If our spirits would greet the fresh and the sweet, Go forth in the early hour. 5. ! pleasure and rest are more easily found When we start through Morning's gate. To sum up our figures, or plow up our ground, And weave out the threads of Fate. The eye looketh bright and the heart keepeth light, And man holdeth the conqueror's power, When ready and brave, he chains Time as his slave By the help of the early hour. Euza Coofc LESSON XXXVI. EXCEL. 1. Every young man, starting in life, should write one resolution upon his heart, and that is, " I will excel." We care not what his business may be, — whether it is professional, scientific, mechanical, agricultural, manu- facturing, or any department of labor, — every man should strive to excel. 2. The mere wish for excellence, the ambition to surpass others, is possessed by all, except the veriest drones and boobies. But, wish and ambition alone will not effect 98 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. the object. He who excels must study for it. He must give thought to it ; he must be laborious in pur- suit ; he must turn neither to the right hand nor to the left, if he would reach the topmost round of the ladder. 3. He who sets out determining to excel, rarely fails. At the bidding of Energy aid appears to come, which the slothful look upon with surprise, and term the suc- cess the work of blind but capricious Fortune. They are unwilling to admit that it is the achievement of the man himself that thus pushes him forward, for it would be a censure upon their own idleness. 4. In every department of labor the man that excels is the one who has plenty to do, whether others are idle or not. Excellence ever commands employment. Find a first-rate clerk, a quick, ready journeyman mechanic, a skillful artisan, or active laborer, long out of employ, if you can, providing they are honest and industrious men ; or, find an able advocate at the bar, an eloquent divine, a physician of reputation, out of clients, out of a station, or out of patients ! The thing never has been — never will be. 5. Then, Young Man, let your resolution be formed to excel. Live for it day by day, and, as sure as you are worthy, so sure you will rank among your fellows. LESSON XXXVII. ELOCUTION AND READING. 1. The business of training our youth in elocution, must be commenced in childhood. The first school is the nursery. There, at least, may be formed a distinct articulation, which is the first requisite for good speak- WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 99 ing. How rarely is it found in perfection among our orators ! Words, says one, referring to articulation, should " be delivered out from the lips, as beautiful coins, newly issued from the mint ; deeply and accurately im- pressed, perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, in due succession, and of due weight." How rarely do we hear a speaker, whose tongue, teeth, and lips, do their office so perfectly as, in any wise, to answer to this beautilul description ! And the common faults in articulation, it should be remembered, take their rise from the very nursery. But let us refer to other particulars. 2. Grace in eloquence — in the pulpit, at the bar — can not be separated from grace in the ordinary manners, in private life, in the social circle, in the family. It can not well be superinduced upon all the other acquisitions of youth, any more than that nameless, but invaluable quality, called good breeding. You may, therefore, be- gin the work of forming the orator with your child ; not merely by teaching him to declaim, but, what is of more consequence, by observing and correcting his daily manners, motions, and attitudes. 3. You can say, when he comes into your apartment, or presents you with something, a book or letter, in an awkward and blundering manner, " Return, and enter this room again ;" or, " Present me that book in a differ- ent manner ;" or, " Put yourself into a different atti- tude." You can explain to him the difference between thrusting or pushing out his hand and arm in straight lines and at acute angles, and moving them in flowing, circular lines, and easy, graceful action. He will readi- ly understand you. Nothing is more true than that " the motions of children are originally graceful ;" and it is by suffering them to be perverted, that we lay the foundation for invincible awkwardness in later life. 100 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 4. We go, next, to the schools for children. It ought to be a leading object, in these schools, to teach the art of reading. It ought to occupy three-fold more time than it does. The teachers of these schools should labor to improve themselves. They should feel, that to them, for a time, are committed the future orators of the land. 5. We would rather have a child, even of the other sex, return to us from school a first-rate reader, than a first-rate performer on the pianoforte. We should feel that we had a far better pledge for the intelligence and talent of our child. The accomplishment, in its per- fection, would give more pleasure. The voice of song is not sweeter than the voice of eloquence ; and there may be eloquent readers, as well as eloquent speakers. 6. We speak of perfection in this art ; and it is some- thing, we must say in defense of our preference, which we have never yet seen. Let the same pains be devoted to reading, as are required to form an accomplished per- former on an instrument ; let us have, as the ancients had, the formers of the voice, the music-masters of the reading voice ; let us see years devoted to this accom- plishment, and then we should be prepared to stand the comparison. 7. It is, indeed, a most intellectual acomplishment. So is music, too, in its perfection. We do by no means undervalue this noble and most delightful art, to which Socrates applied himself, even in his old age. But one recommendation of the art of reading is, that it requires a constant exercise of mind. It demands continual and close reflection and thought; and the finest discrimina- tion of thought. It involves, in its perfection, the whole art of criticism on language. A man may possess a fine genius, without being a perfect reader ; but he can not be a perfect reader without genius. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 101 LESSON XXXVIII. the mother's influence in the formation of character. 1. The most grand, daring, and successful genius of his age, — a man of giant intellect, a profound statesman, an unrivaled negotiator, and the greatest military cap- tain of the world, Napoleon, always ascribed the great- ness and glory of his unequaled career to the lessons taught him by his mother. So deeply graven on his mind was the truth of woman's pre-eminent influence in the formation of character, that it was one of the stand- ing maxims of his life, " That there never was an extra- ordinary man who was the son of an ordinary mother." 2. Many of the master-spirits of our own country, whose splendid achievements have enrolled their names high upon the imperishable records of true glory, and whose private and social virtues have enshrined them in the hearts of their fellow citizens, were trained and fash- ioned by female intelligence and virtue. Jackson and Calhoun, not to mention others, are noble specimens of what poor, virtuous, widowed mothers can achieve. 3. The brightest and purest name of our history, and of the world's history, which will grow brighter and brighter, and become more and more holy, as it goes sparkling down to posterity — our own beloved, immor- tal Washington — received the elements of that charac- ter of which we are all so justly proud, from the vigilant guardianship, sound judgment, and spotless virtue of his widowed mother. 4. To the male youth of our country, whose generous bosoms glow with ardent aspirations for enduring fame, with all the sincerity and energy that 1 can command, I would say, make Washington your perpetual model. 102 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. And to the fairer and lovelier sex, would you reign with- out rivals in our hearts, would you desire that the great and good of the republic shall raise monuments to your memory and pour the warm tears of a mighty people's gratitude upon your graves, imitate, forever imitate, the virtues of " Mary, the mother of Washington." Jas. Henry, jx. LESSON XXXIX. THE TOLL-GATE. 1. We are all on a journey. The world through which we are passing is in some respects like a turnpike, all along which Vice and Folly have erected toll-gates for the accommodation of those who choose to call as they go ; and there are very few of all the host of travelers who do not occasionally stop a little at some one or another of them, and, consequently, pay more or less to the toll-gatherers ; — pay more or less, I say, because there is a great variety as well in the amount as in the kind of toll exacted at these different stopping-places. 2. Pride and Fashion take heavy tolls of the purse. Many a man has become a beggar by paying at their gates. The ordinary rates they charge are heavy, and the road that way is none of the best. Pleasure oilers a very smooth, delightful road in the outset. She tempts the traveler with many fair promises, and wins thou- sands : but she takes without mercy. Like an artful robber, she allures till she gets her victim in her power, and then strips him of health and money, and turns him off, a miserable object, into the very worst and most rugged road of life. 3. Intemperance plays the part of a sturdy villain. He is the very worst toll-gatherer on the road, for he WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 103 not only gets from his customers their money and their health, but he robs them of their very brains. The men you meet in the road, ragged and ruined in fame and fortune, are his visitors. 4. And so I might go on, enumerating many others, who gather toll of the unwary. Accidents sometimes happen, it is true, along the road ; but those who do not get through at least tolerably well, you may be sure have been stopping by the way at some of those places. The plain, common sense men, who travel straight forward, get through the journey without much difficulty. 5. This being the state of things, it becomes every one in the outset, if he intends to make a comfortable jour- ney, to look well to his company. We are all very apt to imitate our companions — to stop where they stop, and pay toll where they pay toll. Ten chances to one, our choice in this particular decides our fate. 6. Having paid due regard to a prudent choice of companions, the next important thing is, closely to ob- serve how others manage — to mark the good or ill that is produced by every course of life — to see how those manage who do well, and trace the cause of evil to its origin in conduct. Thus you will make yourself master of the information necessary to regulate your own de- portment. 7. Be careful of your habits. These make the man. And they require long and careful culture ere they grow to be a second nature. Good habits I speak of. Bad or ^8 are more easily acquired — they are the spontaneous w >eds that flourish rapidly and rankly without care or r Kure. 104 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. LESSON XL. LIGHT WORDS. 1. This is often said to be a world of cold neglect and scorn : and so it is. But, reader, while you have called it so, have you ever thought that you are one of such a world ? that from you, perhaps, are often heard words so cold and unkind, that, like the torpedo, they benumb all within their reach ? Perhaps you did not mean to wound a friend, or make this life to him more lonely. Then you should have withdrawn that last " light word." " Tis over soon, the cause ; not soon The sad effects pass by." 2. Have you ever seen a gay, lively spirit and light heart turned to sadness and deep melancholy ? It might have been the effect of a single word. Have you seen the tear of the mourner starting afresh ? It was a light word that vividly recalled the past. Have you never seen the poor of this world made to feel more keenly than ever (and Heaven knows it is sharp enough at any time) the sense of destitution ? It was only a light word. Be mindful, then — " Ye little know what misery From idle words may spring." 3. But what are idle words? We watch the lips of the young and aged, of the wise and ignorant, of the thoughtful and giddy, and we hear the audible expression of careless hearts ; but certainly these can not be " light words," for all have their effect — deep, serious, and last- ing. Light words ! The very name is a mockery — a burden to the heart ; for however lightly they may fall from the lips, heavily do they often rest on the spirit. WEBB'S rOXJETH EEADER. 105 LESSON XLI. THE CROWN OF THE HAT. " The modish hat, whose breadth contains The measure of its owner's brains/' 1. As the poet advises, I oft study man, And have noted each trait that his nature displays, And though I must leave him where first I began, (Since truly but little is known of his ways,) For the good of mankind I'll record what I've seen, With the sage-like conclusions to which I have come ; Nor let any doubt me — I speak what I mean — And of all my observings give this as the sum : The main source of error, when justly come at, Will always be found in the " crown of the hat !" 2. The world was made rightly, and, well understood, Will be found in all parts to fill its design ; And we, like its Maker, should still call it " good," Though all its dark phases we may not define. And if, like the earth, man would keep in his sphere, He would ne'er have occasion at fortune to fret ; For e'en should his eye be suffused with a tear, 'Tis a gem dropped from heaven that brings no regret : Whoe'er, then, is fretting with this or with that, Must have something wrong in the " crown of his hat I" 5. The modern reformer, self-righteous and wise, Who deems that the world was ne'er blessed with the light Till he on its darkness was seen to arise, Like the sunbeams of morning dispelling the night, — With clamor denounees each system and creed, As vile impositions wherewith to deceive ; 106 webb's fourth reader. But proclaims to the world that his own they" must heed, And thunders at any who dares disbelieve : Now, the poor silly wight is as blind as a bat, For all has gone wrong in the " crown of his hat !" 4. The votary of fashion believes the Creator, When He first made the sex from the rib of the man, Had no standard of beauty by which He could rate her ; So she tries to improve His original plan. The waist is too large, and the hips are too small — These she shapes with a bustle, and that with a lace ; And finding a fault in the chief point of all, Disfigures with rouge the divine human face ! Now, if the poor ninny was not such a flat, She'd find her defects in the " crown of her hat !" 5. And thus every failure, and folly, and strife, That bothers us here, has its origin thence ; So that he who is donning a beaver for life, Should be sure, at the start, to well stock it with sense. But some, I've no doubt, are quite ready to say, That the poet belongs to the class he describes, And his own imperfections should closely survey, When others he dares to assail with his gibes : Well, he in all frankness acknowledges, pat, That there is something wrong in the " cro^ra of his hat !' Sidney Dyer. MO' dish, fashionable. 4. Rouge (roozh), a red paint for the face. Nin' ny, a silly person. 6. Don' ning, putting on. Gibes, reproaches. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 107 LESSON XLII. THE PLEASURE-BOAT. 1. Travelers tell us of a terrific whirlpool in the sea, a few leagues from the western shore of the kingdom of Norway, called Maelstrom. The water near it is kept in the most fearful commotion. 2. Ships, when they are unfortunately drawn into it, are quickly dashed to pieces and disappear. Even the whale is sometimes overcome by the force of the cur- rents, and with loud bellowings of distress and alarm, is carried into the vortex of the whirlpool, from which it never issues alive. 3. On the shore nearly opposite to this dreadful place, one fine day in the month of July, a party of young gentlemen and ladies were walking for pleasure. A proposition was made to embark for an excursion upon the water, and some of the party stepped into a boat lying by the shore. 4. None of them were accustomed to the dangers of the sea. The young men could not ply the oars as dex- trously as those can who are practiced in the labor. They supposed there could be no danger. The sea was so calm, the day so pleasant, and the winds breathed so softly, they felt all was safe. 5. They embarked, and the boat was soon in motion, propelled rapidly by the oars. The young men, fa- tigued with the exertion, ceased rowing, and were pleased to find that the boat continued to glide smoothly yet swiftly along. 6. They saw and apprehended no danger. All was lively joy and innocent hilarity. They knew not that they were within the influence of the whirlpool, and 108 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. passing rapidly around its outermost circle, and that they were drawing insensibly nearer to a point whence there could be no escape. 7. They came round nearly to the place whence they had embarked. At this critical moment, the only one in which it was possible for them to escape, a number of persons on the shore perceived the danger of the un- happy party, and gave the alarm. They entreated those in the boat to make at least one desperate effort, and if possible reach the shore. 8. They entreated in vain. The party in the boat laughed at the fears of their friends, and suffered them- selves to glide onward, without making one exertion for deliverance from the impending destruction. They passed around the second circle, and again appeared to their terrified friends on shore. 9. Expostulation and entreaty were redoubled, but in vain. To launch another boat would only bring sure destruction to those who might embark. If any of the party were saved, their own efforts could alone accom- plish the work. 10. But they continued their merriment ; and, now and then, peals of laughter would oome over the waters, sounding like the knell of death upon the ears of all who heard ; for they well knew that now there was no relief, and that soon the thoughtless revelers would see their folly and madness, and awake to their danger only to find that they could not avoid ruin and death. 11. Again they came round; but their mirth was terminated. They had heard the roarings of the whirl- pool, and had seen in the distance the wild tumult of the waters, and they knew that death was near. The boat began to quiver like an aspen leaf, and to shoot like lightning from wave to wave. 12 The foam dashed over them as they sped along, WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 109 and every moment they expected to be ingulfed. They now plied the oars and cried for help. No help could reach them. No strength could give the boat power to escape from the vortex toward which it was hastening. 13. A thick, black cloud, as if to add horror to the scene, at this moment shrouded the heavens in dark- ness, and the thunder rolled fearfully over their heads. With a desperate struggle the oars were again plied. They snapped asunder, and their last hope gave way to the agony of despair. The boat, now trembling, now tossed, now whirled suddenly around, plunged into the yawning abyss, and, with the unhappy persons which it carried, disappeared forever. 14. Thus perished the pleasure-boat and all who had embarked in it. And thus perish thousands in the whirl- pool of dissipation, who at first sailed smoothly and thoughtlessly around its outmost circle, and laughed at those who saw and faithfully warned them of their dan- ger. But, rejecting all admonition, and closing their ears to all entreaties, they continued on their course till escape was hopeless, and ruin inevitable. 15. Let every youth remember that the real danger lies in entering the first circle. Had not the pleasure- boat entered that, that unhappy party had never been dashed to pieces in the vortex of the whirlpool. Pleas- ure may, indeed, beckon on, and cry, There is no dan- ger ; but believe her not. 16. The waves and rocks of ruin are in her path ; and to avoid them may not be in your power, if one step be taken. Many a man, who commenced with a glass of spirit, relying upon his strength of mind and firmness of purpose, has passed around the whole circle of drunkenness, and lain down in a dishonored grave. 10 110 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. LESSON XLIII. BEWARE OF BAD BOOKS. 1. Why, what harm will books do me? The same harm that personal intercourse would, with the bad men who wrote them. That " a man is known by the com- pany he keeps," is an old prorerb ; but it is no more true than that a man's character may be determined by knowing what books he reads. If a good book can be read without making one better, a bad book can not be read without making one the worse. 2. Bad books are like ardent spirits ; they furnish neither "aliment" nor "medicine:" they are "poison." Both intoxicate — one the mind, the other the body ; the thirst for each increases by being fed, and is never satis- fied ; both ruin — one the intellect, the other the health, and together, the soul. The makers and venders of each are equally guilty and equally corrupters of the community ; and the safeguard against each is the same — total abstinence from all that intoxicates mind or body. 3. Whatever books neither feed the mind nor the heart, but have the effect to intoxicate the mind and corrupt the heart, are "bad books." Works of science, art, philosophy, history, theology, &c, furnish " aliment" or "medicine:" books of mere fancy, romance, infidelity, war, piracy, and murder, are "poison," more or less diluted, ani are as much to be shunned as the drunk- ard's cup. They will " bite like a serpent, and sting like an adder." 4. Books of mere fiction insult the understanding. They represent as truth what is confessedly false, and assume that the great object of reading is amusement WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Ill instead of instruction. The effects are such as might be expected. A habit of reading for amusement simply, becomes so fixed, that science loses all its charms; sober history becomes dull and tedious, and whatever requires thought and study is cast aside. 5. Beware of books of war, jriracy, and murder. The first thought of crime has been suggested by such books. The murderer of Lord William Russell confessed on the scaffold, that the reading of one such book led him to the commission of his crime. Another, who was executed for piracy, was instigated to his course by a book filled with piratical tales. The state prisons are filled with criminals who were incited to crime by similar means. They stimulate the love of adventurous daring, cultivate the baser passions, and prompt to deeds of in- famy. Away with them — beware of them ! 6. Do you still need to be persuaded to beware of the poison that would paralyze your conscience, enervate your intellect, pervert your judgment, deprave your life, and perhaps ruin your soul ? Beware of bad books, because if you, and others like you, will let them alone, they will soon cease to be published. Every such book you buy encourages the guilty publisher to make an- other. Thus you not only endanger your own morals, but pay a premium on the means of ruining others. 7. Beware of bad books, because your example is contagious. Good books are plenty and cheap, and it is folly to feed on chaff, or poison, when substantial, healthful food may as well be obtained. Beware of bad books, because they waste your time. " Time is money" — it is more — it is eternity ! Can you squander it on the means of ruin ! 8. Beware of bad books, because principles imbibed and images gathered from them, will abide in the memory and imagination forever. The mind once 112 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. polluted is never freed from its corruption — never. 1 t your pledge be — " Henceforth I will beware of bad boo.^s, and never read what can intoxicate and deprave l\<: mind and heart." LESSON XLIV. THE SISTERS. First Speaker. 1. I go, sweet sister ! yet ray love would linger with thee fain, And unto every parting gift some deep remembrance chain ; Take, then, the braid of eastern pearl, that once I loved to wear, And with it bind, for festal scenes, the dark waves of thy hair ; Its pale, pure brightness will beseem those raven tresses well, And I shall need such pomp no more in the lone convent cell. Second Speaker. 2. Oh ! sister, sister ! wherefore thus ? — why part from kindred love? Through festal scenes, when thou art gone, my steps no more shall move. How could I bear a lonely heart amidst a reckless throng ? I should but miss earth's dearest voice in every tone of song ! Keep, keep the braid of eastern pearl ! or let me proudly twine Its wreath once more around that brow, that queenly brow of thine ! WEBB'S FOUKTH READEK. 113 First Speaker. 3. Oh ! wouldst thou seek a wounded bird from shelter to detain ? Or wouldst thou call a spirit freed to weary life again ? Sweet sister ! take the golden cross that I have worn so long, And bathed with many a burning tear, for secret woe and wrong ! It could not still my beating heart — but may it be a sign Of peace and hope, my gentle one ! when meekly pressed to thine ! Second Speaker. 4, Take back, take back, the cross of gold, our mother's gift to thee : It would but of this parting hour a bitter token be ! With funeral splendor to mine eyes it would but sadly shine, And tell of early treasure lost, of joy no longer mine ! Oh, sister ! if thy heart be thus with voiceless grief op- pressed, Where couldst thou pour it forth so well as on my faithful breast ? First Speaker. 5 Urge me no more ! a blight hath fallen upon my altered years ; I should but darken thy young life with sleepless pangs and fears ! But take, at least, the lute I loved, and guard it for my sake, And sometimes from the silvery strings one tone of memory wake! Sing to those chords, in starlight hours, our own sweet vesper-hymn, And think that I, too, chant it then, far in my cloister dim ! 10* 114 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Second Speaker. 6. Yes ! I will take the silvery lute, and I will sing to thee A song we heard in childhood's days, e'en from our father's knee ! Oh ! listen, listen ! are those notes amidst forgotten things ? Do they not linger, as in love, on the familiar strings ? Seems not our sainted mother's voice to murmur in the strain ? Kind sister ! gentlest Leonore ! say, shall it plead in vain ? SONG. L E A V K U S N O T. J. R. W. f3=zs:^Hzd^: Leave ua not, leave us not! Say not a-dieu ! Have we not been to thee Chorus. mmmmm&m Ten-der and true ? Leave ua not, leave us not! Say not a-dieu! 1. Leave us not, leave us not ! Say not, adieu ! Have we not been to thee Tender and true ? 2. Take not thy sunny smile Far from our hearth ! With that sweet light will fade Summer and mirth. 3. Leave us not, leave us not ! Can thy heart roam ? Wilt thou not pine to hear Voices from home ? WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 115 4. Too sad our love would be, If thou wast gone ! Turn to us ! leave us not ! Thou art our own ! First Speaker. 7. 0, sister ! thou hast won me back ! too many fond thoughts lie In every soft spring breathing tone of that old melody : I can not, can not leave thee now ! e'en though my grief should fall As a shadow on the pageantries that crowd our ancient hall; But take me ! clasp me in thine arms ! — I will not mourn my lot, Whilst love like thine remains on earth — I leave, I leave theenot! F.Hemans. LESSON XLV. ANIMALS. 1. Animals are- divided into four great branches, dis- tinguished by the terms Vertebrated, Molluscous, Ar- ticulated, and Radiated. 2. The first division includes all those animals which are provided with a backbone ; and because the similar bones, or joints, of which it is composed, are called by anatomists vertebra (from a Latin word sig- nifying to turn)-, the individuals that belong to this di- vision are called Vertebrated Animals. 3. It is subdivided into four classes: 1. Mammalia; comprehending man, land quadrupeds, and tiie whale — I - — 116 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. tribe ; that is, all animals that give suck to their young : 2. Birds of all kinds : 3. Rej) tiles ; of which are frogs, serpents, lizards, crocodiles, alligators, tortoises, and turtles : 4. Fishes of all kinds, except the whale tribe ; which belongs to the class mammalia. 4. The second division includes tribes of animals which have no bones ; and because their bodies contain no hard parts, they are called Molluscous Animals, from a Latin word signifying soft. With a few exceptions, they all have a hard covering or shell, to which they are either attached, or in which they can inclose them- selves, and be preserved from injuries, to which, from their soft nature, they would otherwise be constantly exposed. 5. Apart from the few exceptions referred to, Mollus- cous Animals are divisible into, 1. Univalves; that is, animals armed with a shell, or valve, forming one con- tinuous piece; such as snails: 2. Bivalves; or those having two shells united by a hinge ; such as oysters : 3. Multivalves ; or those having more than two shells ; of which the common barnacle is an example. 6. The third division is assigned to what are called Articulated Animals : these having a peculiar struc- ture called articulations, from articulus, Latin for a little joint. It is subdivided into four classes: 1. Anne- lides, or those having a ringed structure, from annulus, Latin for ring ; leeches and earthworms are examples : 2. Crustacea ; or those which have their soft bodies and limbs protected by a hard coating or crust; which in common language we call shell also; such as lob- sters, crabs, and prawns : 3. Spiders ; which form a class by themselves : 4. Insects ; such as flies, beetles, bees, and butterflies. 7. The fourth division comprehends a great variety of animals which have a structure like an assemblage WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 117 of rays diverging from a common point like the spokes of a carriage wheel ; and on this account they are called Radiated Animals, from radius, the Latin for ray. It contains five classes ; but as three of these are animals without hard parts, we may pass them by. 8. Of the remaining two, one contains the echini, or sea-urchins ; the other, the very numerous tribe called zo op kites ; from two Greek words signifying animal and plant ; because the animal is fixed to the ground, and builds its strong habitation in the form of a shrub, or branch, or leafy plant. Corals and sponges belong to this class ; and among all the different animal re- mains that are found, there is no class which bears any proportion in point either of frequency of occurrence, or in quantity, to this last. LESSON XLYI. CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. The following is a beautiful illustration of conscien- tiousness, fully developed, and, of the old adage, that honesty is the best policy. How simply and beautifully has Abd-el-Kadir, of Ghilon, impressed us with the love of truth in a story of his childhood. After stating the vision which made him entreat of his mother to go to Bagdad, and devote himself to God, he thus proceeds : — I informed her of what I had seen, and she wept ; then, taking out eighty dinars, she told me I had a brother, and half of that was my inheritance ; she made me swear, when she gave it to me, never to tell a lie y and afterward bade me farewell, exclaiming — " Go, my 118 webb's fourth reader. son, I consign thee to God : we shall not meet until the day of Judgment." I went on till I came near Hamandnai, when our Kafillah was plundered by sixty horsemen. One fellow asked me wftat I had. " Forty dinars," said I, " are sewed under my garments." The fellow laughed, think- ing, no doubt, I was joking with him. — " What have you ?" said another : I gave him the same answer. When they were dividing the spoils, I was called to an eminence where the chief stood. "What property have you, my little fellow?" said he. " I have told two of your people already," I replied ; " I have forty dinars, sewed in my garments." He ordered them to be ripped open, and found the money. "And how came you," said he, in surprise, " to de- clare so openly what had been so carefully concealed ?" " Because," I replied, " I will not be false to my mother, to whom I have promised / never will tell a lie /" " Child," said the robber, " hast thou such a sense of duty to thy mother at thy years, and am I insensible at my age, of the duty I owe to my God ? Give me thy hand, innocent boy," he continued, "that I may swear repentance upon it." He did so. His followers were alike struck with the scene. " You have been our leader in guilt," said they to their chief; "be the same in the path of virtue." And they instantly, at his order, made restitution of their spoil, and vowed repentance on his hand. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 119 LESSON XLVII. ALL IS WELL. 1. When the hum of business has ceased in a popu- lous city ; when fainter and still more faint grow the laugh and the revelry, and the heavy tread of the strag- gler upon the stone pavement has a solitary and un- earthly sound; when hushed is every murmur, and midnight broods over the palace and the hut, who, in that still moment, when from turret and from tower peals the passing hour, has not beea startled by the cry of " All is well !" from the guardian watchman of the night, and been soothed and calmed by the magic of the sound ? 2. But all is not well. All is not well with the young mother as she leans over the fevered couch, and wipes the death-damp from the marble brow of her only child : nor with the votary of pleasure as he prays for the dawning of light, hoping to assuage the pain caused by the intoxicating cup : nor with the oppressor of the widow and orphan, as he remembers the agonizing sup- plications of his victims. 3. All is not well with the statesman, as he beholds the scepter of power and glory passing away forever : nor with the gambler in the gorgeous saloon, as, deeply quaffing spiced wines, he seizes with gaunt and jew- eled hand the dice-box, and dashes aside the pleasures of home. Nor is all well with his miserable broken- hearted wife, who has so fondly clung to him, and who will cling to him to the last. 4. To all these, that cry sounds like a funeral knell, and will bring neither hope nor consolation when the last hour of man has been numbered, and his life flick- 120 WEBB'S FOURTII READER. ers in the socket. Happy the person who at that mo- ment can look calmly back to the past, and, putting that question to his soul, hear the gladdening, the heart- cheering response from the unerring monitor within, ALL IS WELL. LESSON XLVIII. AUCTION EXTRAORDINARY. Written by Miss Davidson in ker sixteenth year. 1. I dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers, And as fast as I dreamed it, it came into numbers ; My thoughts ran along in such beautiful meter, I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry sweeter ; , It seemed that a law had been recently made That a tax on old bachelors' pates should be laid ; And in order to make them all willing to marry, The tax was as large as a man could well carry. 2. The bachelors grumbled and said 'twas no use, 'Twas horrid injustice and horrid abuse, And declared, that to save their own hearts' blood from spilling, Of such a vile tax they would not pay a shilling. But the rulers determined them still to pursue, So they set the old bachelors up at vendue. 8. A crier was sent through the town to and fro, To rattle his bell and his trumpet to blow, And to call out to all he might meet in his way, " Ho ! forty old bachelors sold here to-day I And presently all the old maids in the town, Each in her very best bonnet and gown, WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 121 From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red, and pale, Of every description, all flocked to the sale. i. The auctioneer then in his labor began, And called out aloud, as he held up a man, " How much for a bachelor ? who wants to buy ?" In a twink every maiden responded, " I ! 1 1" In short, at a highly extravagant price, The bachelors all sold off in a trice ; And forty old maidens, some younger, some older, Each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder. LESSON XLIX. LEAVING HOME. 1. The lapse of years brought around the time when James was to go away from home. He was to leave the roof of a pious father to go out into the wide world to meet its temptations and to contend with its storms : his heart was oppressed with the many emotions, which were struggling there. 2. The day had come in which he was to leave the fireside of so many enjoyments ; the friends endeared to him by so many associations — so many acts of kindness. He was to bid adieu to his mother, that loved benefactor, who had protected him in sickness, and rejoiced with him in health. 3. He was to leave a father's protection, to go forth and act without an adviser, and rely upon his own un- aided judgment. He was to bid farewell to brothers and sisters ; no more to see them, but as an occasional visitor, at his paternal home. O, how cold and desolate did the wide world appear ! How did his heart shrink ii = 122 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. from launching forth to meet its tempests and its storms ! 4. But the hour had come for him to go, and he must suppress his emotions, and triumph over his reluctance. He went from room to room, looking, as for the last time, upon those scenes, to which imagination would so often recur, and where it would love to linger. The well-packed trunk was in the entry, awaiting the arrival of the stage. Brothers and sisters were moving about, hardly knowing whether to smile or to cry. 5. The father sat at the window, humming a mourn- ful air, as he was watching the approach of the stage, which was to bear his son away to take his place far from home, in the busy crowd of a bustling world. The mother, with all the indescribable emotions of a mother's heart, was placing in a small bundle a few little com- forts, such as none but a mother would think of, and with most generous resolution endeavoring to maintain a cheerful countenance, that, as far as possible, she might preserve her son from unnecessary pain in the hour o" departure. 6. Here, my son, said she, is a nice pair of stockings which will be soft and warm for your feet. I have run the heels for you, for I am afraid you will not find any one who will quite fill a mother's place. The poor boy was overflowing with emotion, and did not dare to trust his voice with an attempt to reply. 7. I have put a piece of cake here, for you may be hungry on the road, and I will put it in the top of the bundle, so that you can get it without any difficulty. And, in this needle-book, I have placed a few needles and some thread ; for you may at times want some little stitch taken, and you will have neither mother nor sis- ters to go to. 8. The departing son could make no replv. He could 123 restrain his emotion only by silence. At last the rum- bling of the wheels of the stage was heard, and the four horses were reined up at the door. The boy endeavored by activity, in seeing his trunk and other baggage prop- erly placed, to gain sufficient fortitude to enable him to articulate his farewell. He, however, strove in vain. 9. He took his mother's hand. The tear glistened for a moment in her eye, and then silently rolled down her cheek. He struggled with all his energy to say good- by, but he could not. In unbroken silence he shook her hand, and then in silence received the adieus of brothers and sisters, as one after another took the hand of their departing companion. 10. He then took the warm hand of his warm-hearted father. His father tried to smile, but it was the strug- gling smile of feelings which would rather have vented themselves in tears. For a moment he said not a word, but retained the hand of his son, as he accompanied him out of the door to the stage. After a moment's silence, pressing his hand, he said, My son, you are now leaving us ; you may foiget your father and your mother, your brothers and your sisters, but O, do not forget your God! 11. The stage door closed upon the boy. The crack of the driver's whip was heard, and the rumbling wheels bore him rapidly away from all the privileges, and all the happiness of his early home. His feelings, so long restrained, now overcame him, and sinking back on his seat, he enveloped himself in his cloak, and burst into tears, where in sadness and silence he sat thinking of the loved home he had left 124 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. HOME, SWEET HOME 'Mid plea - sures and pal - a • ces tho' we msy roam, 2 Z Be it ev - er so hum-ble, there's no place like home: Sl^^p A charm from the skies seems to hal - low us there, maiM^j M^mi Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with eli p ljl j ^ ^j^^'.^! where. Home, home, sweet, sweet home. Be it P ev - er so hum-ble, there's no place like home. 12. 'Mid pleasures and palaces, though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home": A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with else- where. Home, home, sweet, sweet home, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. 13. I gaze on the moon, as I trace the drear wild, And feel that my parents now think of their child ; WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 125 They look on that moon from their own cottage door, Through woodbines whose fragrance shall cheer me no more. 14. An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain; 0, give me my lowly thatched cottage again ! The birds singing gayly, that came at my call, And sweet peace of mind, which is dearer than all. 15. If I return home overburdened with care, The heart's dearest solace I'm sure to meet there ; The bliss I experience whenever I come, Makes no other place seem like that of sweet home. 16. Farewell, peaceful cottage ! farewell, happy home ! Forever I'm doomed a poor exile to roam ; This poor aching heart must be laid in the tomb, Ere it cease to regret the endearments of home. Home, home, sweet, sweet home, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home. LESSON L. " PRESS ON." 1. Ppess on ! there's no such word as fail : Press nobly on ! the goal is near — Ascend the mountain ! breast the gale ! Look upward, onward — never fear ! Why shouldst thou faint ? Heaven smiles above, Though storm and vapor intervene : That sun shines on whose name is Love, Serenely o'er life's shadowed scene. 11* 126 WEBB'S FOUKTII READER. 2. Press on ! surmount the rocky steeps, Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch — He fails alone who feebly creeps — lie wins who dares the hero's march. Be thou a hero ! let thy might Tramp on eternal snows its way, And through the ebon Avails of Night Hew down a passage unto Day. 3. Press on ! if once and twice thy feet Slip back and stumble, harder try ; From him who never dreads to meet Danger and Death, they're sure to fly. To coward ranks the bullet speeds, While on their breasts who never quail Gleams (guardian of chivalric deeds) Bright courage like a coat of mail. 4. Press on ! if Fortune plays thee false To-day, to-morrow she'll be true ; Whom now she sinks she now exalts, Taking old gifts and granting new. The wisdom of the present hour Makes up for follies past and gone : To weakness strength succeeds, and power From frailty springs : press on ! press on ! 5. Press on ! what though upon the ground Thy love has been poured out like rain ? That happiness is always found The sweetest which is born of pain. Oft 'mid the forest's deepest glooms A bird sings from some blighted tree, And in the dreariest desert blooms A never-dying rose for thee. 6. Therefore press on ! and reach the goal, And gain the prize, and wear the crown ; WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 127 Faint not ! for to the steadfast soul Comes wealth, and honor, and renown. To thine own self be true, and keep Thy mind from sloth, thy heart from soil : Press on ! and thou shalt surely reap A heavenly harvest for thy toil ! Fa&k Benjamin. LESSON LI. THE LOST CAMEL. A dervis was journeying alone in the desert, when two merchants meeting him, he said to them, "You have lost a camel." " Indeed, we have," they replied. " Was he not blind in his right eye, and lame in his left leg ?" said the dervis. " He was," replied the merchants. " Had he lost a front tooth ?" asked the dervis. " He had," rejoined the merchants. " And was he not loaded with honey on one side and wheat on the other ?" " Most certainly he was," they replied ; " and, as you have seen him so lately, and marked him so particu- larly, in all probability you can conduct us to him." " My friends," said the dervis, " I have never seen your camel, nor ever heard of him, but from you." " A pretty story, truly !" said the merchants ; " but where are the jewels which formed a part of his cargo?" " I have neither seen your camel nor your jewels," replied the dervis. On this they seized his person, and forthwith hurried him before the Cadi, where, on the strictest search, nothing could be found upon him, nor could any evi- 128 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. dence whatever be adduced to convict him, either of falsehood or theft. They were then about to proceed against him as a sorcerer, when the dervis with great calmness thus addressed the court : " I have been much amused with your surprise, and own that there has been some ground for your suspi- cions ; but I have lived long and alone, and I can find ample scope for observation even in a desert. " I knew that I had crossed the track of a camel that had strayed from its owner, because I saw no mark of any human footstep on the same route ; I knew that the animal was blind in one eye, because it had cropped the herbage only on one side of its path ; and I perceived that it was lame in one leg, from the faint impression which that particular foot had produced upon the sand. " I concluded that the animal had lost one tooth, be- cause, wherever it had grazed, a small tuft of herbage was left uninjured in the center of its bite. As to that which formed the burden of the beast, the busy ants in- formed me that it was corn on one side, and the clus- tering flies that it was honey on the other." The story is not without its moral. A habit of ob- servation, of noticing what is going on around us, is of great use in storing the mind with knowledge, and pre- paring us for usefulness. LESSON LII. PETER THE GREAT, 1. One day, as the czar was returning from hunting, he happened to loiter behind the rest of the company. to enjoy the cool air, when, looking around, he observed WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 1 2 i> a boy standing on the top bar of a stile, looking earnestly about him, upon which he rode briskly up and accosted him with — " Well, my boy, what are you looking for ?" 2. " Please your honor,'* said the boy, " I am looking out for the king." " O," said the emperor, " if you will get up behind me, I will show him to you." The boy mounted, and, as they were riding along, the czar said, " You will know which is the emperor by seeing the rest take off their hats to him." 3. Soon after, the emperor came up to the party, who, much surprised at seeing him so attended, immediately saluted him, when the czar, turning around his head, said, " Now, do you see who is the king ?" " Why," replied the boy, archly, "it is one of us two ; but I am sure I do not know which, for both of us have our hats on." LESSON LIII. THE CARRIER PIGEON. 1. This species of pigeon is easily distinguished from all others by the eyes, which are encompassed about with a broad circle of naked, white skin ; and by being of a dark blue or blackish color. 2. They derive their name from the service in which they have been employed. They have been, for ages, used to convey speedy messages from place to place, from governors in besieged cities, to generals who are expected to relieve them ; they were sent from princes to their subjects, with official dispatches, or from gov- ernors of provinces to the seat of general government, with the news of important events. 3. It is attachment to their native place, and particu- larly where they have brought up their young, that leads 130 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. them to seek a return with so much eagerness. They are first brought from the place where they are bred, and whither it is intended to send them back with informa- tion. The letter is tied under the bird's wing, and it is then let loose to return. 4. The little creature no sooner finds itself at liberty, than its passion for home directs all its motions. It is first seen flying directly into the air, to an amazing higbt, and then, with the greatest certainty and exact- ness, directing itself, by some surprising instinct, toward its native spot, which often lies far distant. 5. We have no doubt, says a writer in the Library of Entertaining Knowledge, it is by the eye alone that the carrier pigeon performs those extraordinary aerial jour- neys, which have, from the earliest ages, excited astonish- ment. 6. We have frequently witnessed the experiment made with other pigeons, of taking them to a distance from the dove-cot, expressly to observe their manner of finding their way back, and we feel satisfied that their proceed- ings are uniformly the same. 7. On being let go from the bag in which they have been carried, to conceal from their notice the objects on the road, they dart off on an irregular excursion, as if it were more to ascertain the reality of their freedom, than to make an effort to return. When they find themselves at full liberty, they direct their flight in circles around the spot whence they have been liberated ; not only increasing the diameter of the circle at every round, but rising, at the same time, gradually higher. 8. This is continued as long as the eye can discern the birds ; and hence we conclude, that it is also con- tinued after we lose sight of them, — a constantly in- creasing circle being made, till they ascertain some known object, enabling them to shape a direct course. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 131 9. It is not a little interesting to contrast the proceed- ings just described with those of a pigeon let off from a balloon elevated above the clouds. Instead of rising in circles like the former, the balloon pigeon drops perpen- dicularly down like a plummet, till it is able to recog- nize some indications of the earth below, when it begins to whirl around in a descending spiral, increasing in diameter, for the evident purpose of surveying its local- ity, and discovering some object previously known, by which to direct its flight. 10. The rapidity with which the carrier pigeon per- forms long journeys, may perhaps be adduced as an ob- jection to this explanation. M. Antoine, for example, tells us that a gentleman of Cologne, having business to transact at Paris, laid a wager of fifty Napoleons that he would let his friend know of his arrival within three hours ; and as the distance is three hundred miles, the bet was eagerly taken. 11. He accordingly took with him two carrier pigeons, which had young at the time ; and on arriving at Paris, at ten o'clock in the morning, he tied a letter to each of his pigeons, and dispatched them at eleven precisely. 12. One of them arrived at Cologne at five minutes past one o'clock, and the other nine minutes later ; and consequently they had performed nearly a hundred and fifty miles an hour, reckoning their flight to have been in a direct line. But if they took a circular flight, as we have concluded from the above facts, their rapidity must have been much greater. 13. The bird let loose in eastern skies, When hastening fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wings, or fliog Where idle wanderers roam. 132 WEBB'S FOURTH HEADER. LESSON LIV. THE CATARACT OF LODORE. 1. " How docs the water come down at Lodore ?" My little boy asked me thus, once on a time ; And moreover he tasked me To tell him in rhyme. Anon at the word, There first came one daughter, And then came another, To second and third the request of their brother, And to hear how the water comes down at Lodore, With its rush and its roar, As many a time They had seen it before. So I told them in rhyme, For of rhymes I had store. 2. From its sources, which well In the tarn on the fell ; From its fountains in the mountains, Its rills and its gills ; Through moss and through brake, It runs and it creeps for a while, till it sleeps In its own little lake. 3. And thence at departing, awakening and starting, It runs through the reeds, and away it proceeds, Through meadow and glade, in sun and in shade, And through the wood -shelter, Among crags in its flurry, Helter skelter, hurry skurry, Here it comes sparkling, and there it lies darkling ; Now smoking and frothing In tumult and wrath in, Till, in this rapid race, on which it is bent, Jt reaches the place of its steep descent. , • c WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 133 4. The cataract strong then plunges along, Striking and raging as if a war waging, Its caverns and rocks among ; Rising and leaping, sinking and creeping, Swelling and sweeping, p Showering and springing, flying and flinging, Writhing and wringing, Eddying and whisking, turning and twisting, Around and around, with endless rebound ; Smiting and fighting, a sight to delight in ; Confounding, astounding, Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound. 5. Collecting, projecting, receding, and speeding, And shocking and rocking, and darting and parting, And threading and spreading, and whizzing and hissing, And dripping and skipping, and hitting and splitting, And shining and twining, and rattling and battling, And shaking and quaking, and pouring and roaring, And waving and raving, and tossing and crossing, 6. And flowing and going, and running and stunning, And foaming and roaming, and dinning and spinning, And dropping and hopping, and working and jerking, And guggling and struggling, and heaving and cleaving, And moaning and groaning, and glittering and frittering, And gathering and feathering, and whitening and brightening, And quivering and shivering, and hurrying and skurrying, Y. And thundering and floundering, Dividing, and gliding, and sliding, And falling, and brawling, and sprawling, And driving, and riving, and striving, And sprinkling, and twinkling, and wrinkling, And sounding, and bounding, and rounding, And bubbling, and troubling, and doubling, And grumbling, and rumbling, and tumbling, And clattering, and battering, and shattering ; 12 134 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 8. Retreating and beating, and meeting and sheeting, Delaying and straying, and playing and spraying, Advancing and prancing, and glancing and dancing, Recoiling, turmoiling, and toiling and boiling, A :d gleaming and streaming, and steaming and beaming. And rushing and flushing, and brushing and gushing, And flapping and wrapping, and clapping and slapping, And curling and whirling, and purling and twirling, And thumping and plumping, and bumping and jumping, And dashing and flashing, and splashing and clashing ; And so never ending, but always descending, Sounds and motions forever are blending, All at once, and all o'er, with a mighty uproar ; — And this way the water comes down at Lodore. Southet. Note. — This lesson is given more for an exercise in articulation than reading. Great care must be taken in the pronunciation. LESSON LV. THE RIGHTEOUS NEVER FORSAKEN. 1. It was Saturday night, and the widow of the pine cottage sat by her blazing fagots with five tattered chil- dren at her side, endeavoring, by listening to the art- lessness of their juvenile prattle, to dissipate the heavy gloom that pressed upon her mind. For a year, her own feeble hands had provided for her helpless family ; for she had no supporter, she thought of no friend, in all the wide, unfriendly world around. 2. But that mysterious Providence, the wisdom of whose ways is above human comprehension, had visited her with wasting sickness, and her little means had be- come exhausted. It was now, too, mid-winter, and the snow lay heavy and deep throughout all the surrounding WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 135 forests, while storms still seemed gathering in the heavens, and the driving wind roared amidst the bending pines, and rocked her puny mansion. 3. The last herring smoked upon the coals before her : it was the only article of food she possessed ; and no wonder her forlorn, desolate state brought up in her lone bosom all the anxieties of a mother, when she looked upon her children ; and no wonder, forlorn as she was, if she suffered the heart-swellings of despair to rise, even though she knew that He, whose promise is to the widow and to the orphan, can not forget His word. 4. Many years before, her eldest son went from his forest home, to try his fortune on the high seas ; since which, she had heard no note or tidings from him ; and, in the latter time, Providence had, by the hand of death, deprived her of the companion and staff of her worldly pilgrimage, in the person of her husband. Yet to this hour, she had been upborne ; she had not only been able to provide for her little flock, but had even an oppor- tunity of ministering to the wants of the miserable and the destitute. 5. The indolent may well bear with poverty, while the ability to gain sustenance remains. The individual, who has only his own wants to supply, may suffer with fortitude the winter of want ; his affections are not wounded, his heart is not wrung. The most desolate, in populous cities, may hope ; for Charity has not quite closed her hand and heart, and shut her eyes on misery. But the industrious mother of helpless and depending children, far from the reach of human charity, has none of these to console her. 6. Such a one was the widow of the pine cottage ; but, as she bent over the fire, and took up the last scanty remnant of food, to spread before her children, her spirits seemed to brighten up, as by some sudden and myste- 136 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. rious impulse ; and Cowper's beautiful lines came, un- called, across her mind — "Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust Him for His grace : Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face." 7. The smoked herring was scarcely laid upon the table, when a gentle rap at the door, and loud barking, attracted the attention of the family. The children flew to open it, and a weary traveler, in tattered gar- ments, apparently in indifferent health, entered, and begged a lodging, and a mouthful of food. Said he, " It is now twenty-four hours since I tasted bread." 8. The widow's heart bled anew, as under a fresh complication of distresses ; for her sympathies lingered not around her fireside. She hesitated not, even now : rest, and a share of all she had, she proffered to the stranger. " We shall not be forsaken," said she, " or suffer deeper for an act of charity." 9. The traveler drew near the board ; but when he saw the scanty fare, he raised his eyes toward heaven with astonishment. " Is this all your store ?" said he ; " and a share of this do you offer to one you know not ? Then never saw I charity before ! But, madam," said he, continuing, "do not wrong your children by giving a part of your last mouthful to a stranger." 10. "Ah!" said the poor widow, — and the tear-drops gushed into her eyes as she said it, — " I have a boy, a darling son, somewhere on the face of the wide world, unless Heaven has taken him away, and I only act toward you, as I would that others should act toward him. God, who sent manna from heaven, can provide for us as He did for Israel ; and how should I, this night, offend Him, if my son should be a wanderer, WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 137 destitute as you, and He should have provided for him a home, even poor as this, were I to turn you unre- lieved away !" 11. The widow ended, and the stranger, springing from his seat, clasped her in his arms — " God indeed has provided just such a home for your wandering son, and has given him wealth to reward the goodness of his benefactress. My mother ! O my mother !" 12. It was her long-lost son, returned to her bosom from the Indies. He had chosen that disguise, that he might the more completely surprise his family; and never was surprise more perfect, or followed by a sweeter cup of joy. 13. That humble residence in the forest was ex- changed for one comfortable, and, indeed, beautiful, in the valley ; and the widow lived long with her dutiful son, in the enjoyment of worldly plenty, and in the de- lightful employments of virtue. LESSON LVI. SMALL BEGINNINGS. 1. Despise not the day of small things. This sentence contains wisdom and philosophy, as well as Scripture. It is very easy and natural to sneer at small beginnings and humble means ; but it is not always wise to do so. It is better to commence on a humble scale, and come out in good style at last, than to suffer a severe collapse after an extensive and ridiculous flourish. Some men will do better with a capital of sixpence than they would if half the fortune of Astor had been given them to com- mence w r ith. 12^ 138 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 2. We have heard it told of a man worth his millions, that he commenced by selling fruit at a street-stall. We have seen boys at school roll a handful of snow on the ground, till, by its accumulated matter, #t became so bulky that a dozen could scarcely move it. Sands make the mountains, moments make the year, drops make the ocean, and so little endeavors, earnestly, unceasingly, and honestly put forth, make the great men in the world's history. 3. We say, then, do not despise the day of small things. If you have an undertaking to accomplish, or a good thing to bring about, begin according to your means, and never be discouraged because you can not make so magnificent a commencement as you could wish. Old King John, the Frenchman, five hundred years ago, conceived the idea of founding a library, and he began with — what do you suppose ? — two volumes ! But he knew what he was about ; for that library — the Royal Library of Paris — is now the most magnificent public library in the world, and contains 700,000 vol- umes ! 4. A whale one day came frolicking into the harbor of Nantucket, a short time after the first settlement of that island, and as it continued there for many hours, the enterprising inhabitants were induced to contrive and prepare a large barbed iron, with a strong cord at- tached, with which they finally succeeded in securing this aquatic monster. A small matter, truly ; but it was the commencement of a business which has added mil- lions to the wealth of the people — the incipient intro- duction to an enterprise which, nearly three quarters of a century ago, extorted a noble tribute of admiration from Edmund Burke, on the floor of the British parliament. 5. Two fishermen in Holland once had a dispute in a tavern, on the question whether the fish takes the hook, 1 L- WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 139 or the hook takes the fish. From this trivial circum- stance arose two opposing parties, the " Hooks" and the " Cobble- Joints," who, for two centuries, divided the nation, and maintained a contest not unlike that be- tween the red and the white roses in England. 6. There is a traditionary counterpart to this in our own history. We allude to the story of the pig, whose stupid obstinacy, we are gravely told, involved us in a war with Great Britain, in 1812. There is nothing in- credible about it, however ; and, as most of our readers are too young to recollect the circumstance, we will venture to relate the anecdote. 7. " Two neighbors, both of the old federal school of politics, who lived in the city of Providence, chanced to quarrel ; and it so happened that one was the owner of a pig, which had an irresistible inclination to perambu- late in the garden of the next neighbor. The owner of the garden complained of the pig-sty being insufficient to restrain the pig ; and the neighbor replied, it was all because he kept his fences in such ill repair. The pig was taking his morning walk, when he was surprised in the act of rooting up some very valuable bulbous roots. 8. " This was the last ' feather :' the owner of the garden put a pitchfork into his tender sides, and killed him outright. At the coming election, the owner of the garden was a candidate for a seat in the Legislature, and failed by one vote — the vote of his incensed neigh- bor, who voted against him. At the election of a sena- tor, the democratic candidate was elected by one vote ; and when the question of war with England was before the senate, it was declared by the majority of one vote ; so thai, but for this pig, we should probably have been saved from this war." 9. It is related of Chantrey, the celebrated sculptor, that, when a boy, he was one day observed by a gentle- 140 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. man, in the neighborhood of Sheffield, very earnestly- engaged in cutting a stick with a penknife. This gen- tleman asked the lad what he was doing, and, with great simplicity, the boy replied, " I am cutting old Fox's head." Fox was the schoolmaster of the village. On this, the gentleman asked to see what he had done, and pronouncing it an excellent likeness, presented the youth a sixpence. This may be reckoned as the first money Chantrey ever received for the production of his art ; and from such a beginning it was that arose this great est of modern artists. 10. Again we say, despise not small beginnings, noi look with supercilious contempt upon every thing which appears insignificant and trifling. Trifles are not sc plenty in this world as many of us imagine. A philos- opher has observed that wars, involving mischief to great nations, have arisen from a ministerial dispatch being written in a fit of indigestion ! When Alexander Pope received his present of Turkey figs, he little thought that a twig from the basket was to be* the means of in- troducing the weeping willow into England and America. 11. So is this world made up of and governed by tri- fles, at first too small to attract notice ; and the wise man will not only cultivate sharp eyes, but attentive habits, making the most and the best of every thing. LESSON LTII. DOMESTIC BLISS. 1. How sweet, when weary toils are o'er, And darkness vails the earth, To taste those joys that cluster 'round The fond domestic hearth ! WEBB'S FOUKTH READER. 141 2. To have the wife and smiling group Await you at the door, To share the fond embrace and kiss ; — 0, who could wish for more ! 3. And then within the ivied cot There's no profusion there ; Yet it contains what ne'er was found To dwell with prince or peer. 4. O, 'tis the bliss of sweet content — Of ardent, guileless love : These make the humblest cottage home Like Paradise above ! Sidney Dtek. LESSON LVIII. HARMONY AMONG BROTHERS. Two brothers, named Timon and Demetrius, having quarreled with each other, Socrates, their common friend, was solicitous to restore amity between them. Meeting, therefore, with Demetrius, he thus accosted him : — " Is not friendship the sweetest solace in adversity, and the greatest enhancement of the blessings of prosperity ?" Demetrius. Certainly it is ; for our sorrows are di- minished, and our joys increased, by sympathetic partici- pation. Socrates. Among whom, then, must we look for a friend ? Would you search among strangers ? They can not be interested for you. Among your rivals ? They have an interest in opposition to yours. Among those who are older or younger than yourself? Their feelings and pursuits will be widely different from yours. 142 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Are there not, then, some circumstances favorable, and others essential, to the formation of friendship ? Demetrius. Undoubtedly there are. Socrates. May we not enumerate among the cir- cumstances favorable to friendship, long acquaintance, common connections, similitude of age, and union of interest ? Demetrius. I acknowledge the powerful influence of these circumstances ; but they may subsist, and yet others be wanting that are essential to mutual amity. Socrates. And what are those essentials wanting in Timon ? Demetrius. He has forfeited my esteem and attach- ment. Socrates. And has he also forfeited the esteem and attachment of the rest of mankind ? Is he devoid of benevolence, generosity, gratitude, and other social af- fections ? Demetrius. Far be it from me to lay so heavy a charge against him. His conduct to others is, I believe, irre- proachable, and it wounds me the more that he should single me out as the object of his unkindness. Socrates. Suppose you have a very valuable horse, gentle under the treatment of others, but ungovernable when you attempt to use him, would you not endeavor, by all means, to conciliate his affections, and to treat him in the way most likely to render him tractable ? Or, if you have a dog highly prized for his fidelity, watch- fulness, and care of your flocks, who is fond of your shepherds, and playful with them, and yet snarls when- ever you come in his way, would you attempt to cure him of his fault by angry looks or words, or by any other marks of resentment ? You would surely pursue an opposite course with him. And is not the friendship of a brother of far more worth than the services of a horse, webb's fourth reader. 143 or the attachment of a dog ? Why, then, do you delay to put in practice those means, which may reconcile you to Timon ? Demetrius. Acquaint me with those means, for I am a stranger to them. Socrates. Answer me a few questions. If you were desirous that one of your neighbors should invite you to his feast, when he offers a sacrifice, what course would you take ? Demetrius. I would first invite him to mine. Socrates. And how would you induce him to take the charge of your affairs if you were on a journey? Demetrius. I should be forward to do the same good office for him in his absence. Socrates. If you were solicitous to remove a prejudice which he may have received against you, how would you then behave toward him ? Demetrius. I should endeavor to convince him, by my looks, words, and actions, that such prejudice was ill- founded. Socrates. And if he appeared inclined to reconcilia- tion, would you reproach him with the injustice he had done you ? Demetrius. No, I would repeat no grievances. Socrates. Go, and pursue that conduct toward your brother, which you would practice to a neighbor. His friendship is of inestimable worth, and nothing is more lovely in the sight of Heaven than for brothers to dwell together in unity. ,, J Percivai* 144 WEBB'S FOURTH HEADER. LESSON LIX. DESCRIPTION OF THE PERSON OF JESUS CHRIST. 1. There lives at this time in Judea a man of singular character, whose name is Jesus Christ. The barbarians esteem him as a prophet ; but his followers adore him as the immediate offspring of the immortal God. He is endowed with such unparalleled virtue as to call back the dead from their graves, and to heal every kind of disease with a word or a touch. 2. His person is tall and elegantly shaped ; his aspect amiable and reverend ; his hair flows in those beauteous shades which no united colors can match, falling in graceful curls below his ears, agreeably couching on his shoulders, and parting on the crown of his head; his dress is of the sect of Nazarites ; his forehead is smooth and large ; his cheek without either spot, save that of a lovely red; his nose and mouth are formed with ex- quisite symmetry ; his beard is thick and suitable to the hair of his head, reaching a little below his chin and parting in the middle like a fork ; his eyes are bright, clear, and serene. 3. He rebukes with mildness, and invites with the most tender and persuasive language, — his whole ad- dress, whether word or deed, being elegant, grave, and strictly characteristic of so exalted a being. No man has seen him laugh, but the whole world beholds him weep frequently ; and so persuasive are his tears, that the whole multitude can not withhold their tears from joining in sympathy with him. He is very modest, tem- perate, and wise ; in short, whatever this phenomenon may turn out in the end, he seems, at present, to be a man of excellent beauty, and divine perfections, every way surpassing the children of men. Joskphus. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 145 LESSON LX. THE BLIND PREACHER. 1. One Sunday, as I traveled through the county of Orange, my eye was caught by a cluster of horses, tied near a ruinous, old wooden house in the forest, not far from the road-side. Having frequently seen such ob- jects before, in traveling through these states, I had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place of re- ligious worship. Devotion, alone, should have stopped me, to join in the duties of the congregation ; but I must confess, that curiosity to hear the preacher of such a wilderness, was not the least of my motives. 2. On entering the house, I was struck with his pre- ternatural appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man, — his head, which was covered with a white linen cap, his shriveled hands, and his voice, were all shaken under the influence of a palsy, and a few mo- ments convinced me that he was blind. The first emo- tions which touched my breast, were those of mingled pity and veneration. But ah ! how soon were all my feelings changed ! 3. It was a day of the administration of the sacra- ment, and his subject, of course, was the passion of our Savior. I had heard the subject handled a thousand times ; I had thought it exhausted long ago. Little did I suppose, that in the wild woods of America, I was to meet with a man whose eloquence would give to this topic, a new and more sublime pathos than I had ever before witnessed. 4. As he descended from the pulpit, to distribute the mystic symbols, there was a peculiar, a more than human solemnity in his air and manner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame to shiver. He then drew 13 146 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. a picture of the sufferings of our Savior — his trial be- fore Pilate — his ascent up Calvary — tiis crucifixion — and his death. 5. I knew the whole history ; but never, until then, had I heard the circumstances so selected, so arranged, so colored ! It was all new ; and I seemed to have heard it for the first time in my life. His enunciation was so deliberate, that his voice trembled on every syl- lable; and every heart in the assembly trembled in unison. 6. His peculiar phrases had that force of description, that the original scene appeared to be, at that moment, acting before our eyes. We saw the very faces of the Jews — the staring, frightful distortions of malice and rage. We saw the buffet, — my soul kindled with a flame of indignation, and my hands were involuntarily and convulsively clinched. 7. But when he came to touch the patience, the for- giving meekness of our Savior — when he drew, to the life, His blessed eyes streaming in tears to heaven — His voice breathing to God a soft and gentle prayer of par- don on His enemies : — " Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do," — the voice of the preacher, which had all along faltered, grew fainter and fainter, until his utterance being entirely obstructed by the force of his feelings, he raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrepressible flood of grief. The effect was inconceivable. The whole house resounded with the mingled groans, and sobs, and shrieks of the congregation. 8. It was some time before the tumult had subsided, so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging by the usual, but fallacious standard of my own weakness, I began to be very uneasy for the situation of the preacher. For I could not conceive how he would be WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 14 7 able to let his audience down from the hight to which he had wound them, without impairing the solemnity and dignity of his subject, or, perhaps, shocking them by the abruptness of the fall. 9. But the descent was as beautiful and sublime, as the elevation had been rapid and enthusiastic. The first sentence with which he broke the awful silence, was a quotation from Rousseau : " Socrates died like a phi- losopher, but Jesus Christ like a God ! ! . Never before did I completely understand what Demosthenes meant by laying such stress on delivery. "William Wikt. LESSON LXI. TRUST IN GOD. 1. Thou art, Lord, my only trust When friends are mingled with the dust, And all my loves are gone. When earth has nothing to bestow, And every flower is dead below, I look to Thee alone. 2. Thou wilt not leave, in doubt and fear, The humble soul, who loves to hear The lessons of thy word. When foes around us thickly press, And all is danger and distress, There's safety in the Lord. 3. The bosom friend may sleep below The church -yard turf, and we may go To close a loved one's eyes : 148 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. They will not always slumber there ; We see a world more bright and fair, A home beyond the skies. 4. And we may feel the bitter dart, Most keenly rankling in the heart, By some dark ingrate driven : In us revenge can never burn ; We pity, pardon, then we turn, And rest our souls in Heaven. 5. 'Tis Thou, Lord, who shield 'st my dead, And draw'st thy curtains round my bed ; I sleep secure in Thee ; And, oh, may soon that time arrive, When we before thy face shall live Through all eternity ! LESSON LXII. THE BANKER AND THE KING. * 1. A celebrated banker once made a visit to the Prussian court to effect some very important negotia- tions. During his absence from home, the following incidents occurred, which he relates as follows : 2. It was in the year 1805, that business of im- portance required my speedy presence at the Prussian capital. Our house had not long been established, and as the Prussian government wanted money, I thought it expedient to see their minister myself without delay. The journey was somewhat dangerous, as the state of Germany had become rather precarious. 3. The French had again been so polite as to pay us, WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 149 unasked, a visit, and were not likely to look with a very- kind eye on a banker who was hastening to the seat of government to lend money. However, I was young, undaunted, of a happy flow of spirits, and cared neither for Napoleon nor any of his adherents. 4. So I bid Anthony, who is my witness, to make him- self ready, to place some wine and a dozen pheasants in our chest, and to take his seat in the post-chaise. The pheasants were intended as a present for the Prussian Finance Minister. 5. Like as I do Frankfort, my native city, I felt highly delighted when I arrived at the frontiers of Saxony; but my joy was soon to give way to other sensations. I was always fond of a good dinner and a good glass of wine ; things which are rarely to be met with in Saxony. It is a wretched country, and their wine is stuff, compared to which our vinegar is nectar. 6. I had traveled three days, and changed horses fifteen times. My bottling establishment was nearly out, when I found myself on the borders of Prussia, a vast desert of sand, where nothing grows but the hungry pine and curly-headed children ; yet still they might put better dinners before respectable travelers. It is really a shame, nothing but dry veal, potatoes, and beer ! 7. You may judge, gentlemen, of my situation by the fact, that I was obliged to attack the chest, which contained the intended present for the Prussian Minis- ter, and to purloin one of the pheasants. I ordered Anthony to cook it ; it was excellent, and so was my last bottle of rhenish. My appetite being satisfied, I mounted my post-chaise again, and proceeded on my journey. Our wheels plowed through the waves of sand as deeply as a three-decker through the billows of the sea. 13* 150 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 8. My patience became at length exhausted, and be- ing weary of looking at the sandy surface, I fell asleep. Shortly afterward a terrible shock awakened me. I endeavored to look around, but could not. My feet were fast in the carriage. I was near being killed. In short, the axletree of the chaise, with one of the wheels, was broken. 9. Anthony had fared somewhat better than 1 's master, and he relieved me from my disagreeable situa- tion. Now, gentlemen, you may believe me, this was no joke. There I was, fifteen miles from Berlin, and two from the next village, with a portfolio containing several hundred thousand dollars in papers, and no con- veyance. 10. Presently I discovered a carriage traveling the same road. It approached. Two gentlemen occupied the seats : a footman was behind. My resolution was soon taken. I ordered Anthony to get my post-chaise repaired, and to follow me to the Brandenburg hotel, as soon as possible. Thus resolved, I stepped toward the carriage, which had now come up to us. 11. "Gentlemen," said I, lifting my hat civily, "will you be so good as to afford a traveler, whose chaise you see is broken, a seat in your carriage ?" " Certainly," said the younger ; " please to step in." 12. I did so. The first minutes were passed in sur- veying the strangers, with whom my happy or unhappy stars, I knew not which, had brought me in contact. I was in a military country, and I was soon convinced that my new companions were military men. 13. The complaisance of these strangers soon re- stored me to my former good humor ; and thinking it my duty to meet their politeness by similar advances, I began to enter into something like conversation with them ; they, however, were not the most talkative per- WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 151 sons in the world. I spoke of the war which was raging between France and Austria, but I received only a nod. I went over the prospects of Prussia — no answer at all ; the old gentleman was as dry as a chip, the young one as shy as a lark. 14. I hate sullenness, especially in young men, and thinking my subjects were perhaps disagreeable, I changed them to the state of the country. I was not very lavish of my praise, and censured the government for not repairing the roads ; both gentlemen were ex- tremely attentive, but still more reserved. I had now tried every means to bring them into conversation. At last I spoke of my fare, and of the miserable dinners provided for travelers. They smiled. 15. "What do you think, sir," said I, addressing the young man, " I have dined upon ?" A pheasant I knew he never would guess. " I do not know, sir." " Well, guess then," said I. The young man looked significantly, and entering into my humor, returned, " 1 do not know, indeed ; perhaps a shoulder of mutton ?" 16. My hand fell involuntarily on his knee. "Higher," said I. " Well, then, perhaps you have dined on a goose ?" " Higher," replied I, placing my hand a second time on his knee. " Then it was a chicken," said he. " Higher," replied I, accompanying my word with a third slap. " You have not, surely, dined on a turkey in so poor a country ?" " Higher, sir," returned I, striking him for the fourth time on his knee. " Well, then, it must have been a pheasant." 17. "You have hit it, sir; a pheasant brought from Frankfort ; and if you will do me the honor of being my guests at the Brandenburg hotel, you shall dine on pheas- ants too." Neither promised to come, but both smiled. After this dialogue, we rode several miles without speak- ing a single word, when the young man, in quite a friendly 152 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. tone, said, " Now, sir, to ask you a question : whom do you think you ride with ?" 18. This question was put in the usual brisk tone of a Prussian officer. I looked at the stranger a moment ; he was about my age, but much taller. His dress was a plain surtout, and his head was covered with a woolen cap strongly set in leather, with a narrow gold brim. He had a good deal of the military cast. " Well," said I, " I think I have the pleasure of being in company with a military gentleman — a captain ?" added I, askingly. 19. " Higher," said the young man, striking me in his turn on the knee. The old gentleman now began to laugh. " A major, then ?" said I. " Higher," repeated he, slapping me a second time. He understands a joke, thought I. " So young, and already a colonel ?" " High- er," said he again, with a fourth slap. He is getiing impudent, thought I. I looked confounded at his assur- ance. " Then I have the honor to be in company with a general," said I, with a sarcastic incredulity. " High- er," he still replied, with another slap. 20. This, I thought, isthe most impudent fellow I ever met with ; and giving vent to my impatience, I said, " Then you are a field marshal ?" 21. We were by this time before the Brandenburg gate. I was fully persuaded that I was treated as a dupe by my companions. The young man's higher, had so confounded me, that I was thunderstruck, when the hats flew off in every direction. Officers and sol- diers rushed from the guard-house to their muskets, the drums were beating, the arms presenting, a number of carriages passed through the gate, and, in the confusion of the crowd, thronging from every side, I looked for the royal personage, to whom all these honors were paid. Our carriage whirled fast toward the Branden- burg hotel. WEBB'S FOUBTH EEADER. 153 22. Where do you wish to alight ?" said the young gentleman. " At the Brandenburg hotel, if you please," was my answer. " There it is," said he. I leaped from the carriage, took my portfolio, and bowing, requested the pleasure of their seeing me at dinner. * You shall see us," said the younger, and off they went. 23. The landlord and waiters of the hotel rushed toward me as I entered the gate, bowing to the ground. The former addressed me by the title of highness. * 4 My name," said I, " is P , banker, from Frankfort. Do you know the gentleman with whom I arrived ?" "Gen- tleman," repeated the landlord, significantly, " it was the king." " A good joke," said I ; " the young fellow was near telling me so himself." 24. "Beg your pardon, banker," said the landlord, " but please to use other terms when you speak of his majesty." " You are not in earnest ?" said I. " But I am though ; it is the king." The waiters, and fifty other persons who had assembled around me, pledged them- selves for the truth of what the landlord had spoken. There was now no doubt ; it was the king with whom I had made so free ! . 25. I am a republican, and not afraid of any king in Christendom, yet the affair might have become a serious one. I had dropped expressions which I might have kept more wisely to myself. How would he take these things ? What might he think of me ? — were thoughts which kept me awake for the greater part of the night. 26. The next morning I began the rounds of my visits. I found the finance minister extremely tough. When I returned home, the landlord informed me, that a royal page had been at the hotel, and summoned the banker P to the castle. 27. Well, thought I, nothing can happen worse than 154 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. hanging, and throwing myself into a hackney-coach, I roiled toward the royal residence of the king. The appointed hour was five. I was conducted through numberless guards into the royal apartments. When the last door opened, I beheld my young traveling com- panion seated on an ottoman ; on his right side was a most beautiful lady ; two boys and as many girls were playing in the chamber. 28. A king, thought I, who can enjoy domestic hap- piness, can not be a tyrant, and I stepped resolutely forward. " This, dear Louise/' said his majesty, " is the banker, who so agreeably entertained me yester- day." " Banker P ," said the lovely queen, " we hope you will take a better opinion of our country home with you." She stretched out her hand, and I was per- mitted todriss it. 29. Nor was this all. I had to tell my whole adven- ture over : I, however, omitted the slapping on the knee. In short, I spent the most agreeable hour in my life. 30. The following day, I concluded my money busi- ness. The royal condescension had rather too much captivated the otherwise cool banker : I entered some- what deeply into Prussian money matters — so deeply, that his royal majesty, twelve months afterward, had well-nigh ruined me. I do not know whether I would not have forgiven him for the sake of this hour. How- ever, Frederic William has since honestly paid me both debt and interest. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 155 LESSON LXIII. Antony's oration over c^esar's body. 1. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears : I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do, lives after them ; The good is oft interred with their bones : So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious : If it were so, it was a grievous fault ; And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. 2. Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, (For Brutus is an honorable man ; So are they all ; all honorable men), Come I to speak at Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me : But Brutus says he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honorable man, 3. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : Did this in Caesar seem ambitious ? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept ; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff ; Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honorable man, 4. You all did see, that on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ; And sure, he is an honorable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ; But here I am to speak what I do know. 156 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 5. You all did love him once, not without cause ; What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me ; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me. 6. But yesterday, the word of Caesar might Have stood against the world : now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. masters ! if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men ; I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, Than I will wrong such honorable men. 7. But here's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar, I found it in his closet, 'tis his will ; Let but the commons hear this testament (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read), And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue. 8. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle ; I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent ; That day he overcame the Nervii. — Look ! in this place, ran Cassius' dagger through • See ! what a rent the envious Casca made ; Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabb'd ; WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 157 And, as he pluck'd his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it. 9. This was the most unkindest cut of all ; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms, Quite vanquished him ; then burst his mighty heart ; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell 10. 0, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourish'd over us. . 0, now you weep ; and, I perceive, you feel The dint of pity ; these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what ! weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here ! Here is himself, marr'd, as you see, by traitors. 11. Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honorable ; What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not, That made them do it ; they were wise and honorable, And will, no doubt, with reason answer you. 12. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts ; I am no orator, as Brutus is ; But as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, That love my friend ; and that they know full well, That gave me public leave to speak of him. 13. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor power of speech, To stir men's blood ; I only speak right on : I tell you that, which you yourselves do know ; 14 158 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. SH4UPEARB. LESSON LXIV. POWER OF MATERNAL PIETY. 1. "When I was a little child," said a good old man, "my mother used to bid me kneel beside her, and then she would place her hand upon my head, while she prayed. Before I was old enough to know her worth, she died, and I was left too much to my own guidance. Like oth- ers, I was inclined to evil, but often felt myself checked, and, as it were, drawn back by a soft hand upon my head. 2. " When a young man, I traveled in foreign lands, and was exposed to many temptations ; but when I would have yielded, that same hand was upon my head, and I was saved. I seemed to feel its pressure as in the days of my happy infancy, and sometimes there came with it a voice in my heart, a voice that must be obeyed — ' O, do not this wickedness, my son, nor sin against thy God.' " 3. Why gaze ye on my hoary hairs, Ye children, young and gay ? Your locks, beneath the blast of cares, Will bleach as white as they. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 159 4. I had a mother once, like you, Who o'er my pillow hung, Kissed from my cheek the briny dew, And taught my faltering tongue. 5. She, when the nightly couch was spread, Would bow my infant knee, And place her hand upon my head, And, kneeling, pray for me. 6. But, then, there came a fearful day ; I sought my mother's bed, Till harsh hands tore me thence away, And told me she was dead. 7. I plucked a fair white rose, and stole To lay it by her side, And thought strange sleep enchained her soul, For no fond voice replied. 8. That eye, I knelt me down in woe, And said a lonely prayer ; Yet still my temples seemed to glow, As if that hand was there. 9. Years fled, and left me childhood's joy, Gay sports and pastimes dear ; I rose a wild and wayward boy, Who scorned the curb of fear. 10. Fierce passions shook me like a reed ; Yet, ere at night I slept, That soft hand made my bosom bleed And down I fell and wept. 11. Youth came — the props of virtue reeled ; But oft, at day's decline, A marble touch my brow congealed — Blest mother, was it thine ? 160 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 12. In foreign lands I traveled wide, My pulse was bounding high, Vice spread her meshes at ray side, And pleasure lured my eye ; — 13. Yet still that hand, so soft and cold, Maintained its mystic sway, As when, amid my curls of gold, With gentle force it lay. 14. And with it breathed a voice of care, As from the lowly sod, " My son — my only one — beware ! Nor sin against thy God." 15. Ye think, perchance, that age hath stole My kindly warmth away, And dimmed the tablet of the soul ; — Yet, when, with lordly sway, 16. This brow the plumed helm displayed, That guides the warrior throng, Or beauty's thrilling fingers strayed These manly locks among, — 17. That hallowed touch was ne'er forgot ! — And now, though time hath set His frosty seal upon my lot, These temples feel it yet. 18. And if I e'er in heaven appear, A mother's holy prayer, A mother's hand, and gentle tear, That pointed to a Savior dear, Have led the wanderer there. WEBB'S FOUBTH BEADEB. 161 LESSON LXV. THOUGHTS FOR YOUNG MEN. 1. Read, and, when you have read, think over what has been before your outward eyes. Thinking has a great influence on the mind's eye. Just in the same manner by which a close observer of men and nature will discover ten thousand objects which one who glances superficially at things will never perceive, so will one who thinks discern, with the keen eye of reason, a thou- sand beauties, and truths, and gems, which the mere sur- face-skimmer will never know. 2. We have been asked by young men, " Where shall I begin ? I have never pursued any one thing, and I do not know what to begin with." We generally reply, Begin at your own Heart — Learn to Think. If you read even an ordinary newspaper — if it is worth having at all — it will contain something worth remembering : a fact in history — an occurrence of the present day — a scientific discovery — a stray maxim — a remarkable phe- nomenon — a record of passing events. 3. Select the valuable, and treasure them up for future use ; you do not know of what value they may be to you at some time. And, while endeavoring to practice these teachings ourselves, we have frequently regretted the loss of some fact or narrative which would serve as a most apposite illustration of our argument. Read, we say ; read any thing ; read every thing which will com- pensate the mind for its labor ; but no not read the flimsy trash and injurious creations of the novelist or the libertine. 4. Shun the meretricious follies of romance, and you will find in the truthful narratives of history, and dis- 14* 162 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. coveries and adventures of explorers, more of romance and truth than ever embellished the morbid creations of the novelist. Read and think, and soon, if you have a mind, that mind will develop its particular bent, and the sublime hights of mathematics, the varied and lovely field of the botanist, the strong, practical teachings of physics and natural science, the open realm of chemical investigation, or the delightful walks of literature, will each fall, in turn, into the pathway of its chosen wor- shipers. 5. Aim high ! There is nothing gained by setting up a low standard of attainment. If a man is determined to reach the top of the ladder, he will doubtless find him- self much nearer to it than if he were to say, " I can not do that !" and rest at or near the bottom. Do not be ashamed to let others know you are looking forward to great things. They may laugh at you for your te- merity, and, if you are humble in position, they may sneer at you for your pains. Sneers are cheap with narrow souls. You may set down all such as being essentially hopeless themselves. A noble-minded man will always encourage, and, if possible, assist. 6. Let your failure not be based upon the mocks and sneers of craven-spirited companions : let your triumph be built upon the plaudits of the wise and the generous. There is no object to be gained by contenting one's self with small attainments. If knowledge, or wealth, or reputation, are desirable, they are desirable in the high- est degree, if they are properly improved ; and we would say to all, attain all three — attain all you can, and that in the greatest amount ; and, having attained, use them with wisdom and discrimination. Do not stand still, and say you have no capital, or no talent, or no friends. Firmness of purpose and integrity of character, perse- verance, and industry, will be rewarded. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 163 7. Take the first step ! If you are ever to be any thing, you must make a beginning ; and you must make it yourself. The world is getting to be too practical to help drones and push them along, when there is a busy hive of workers, who, if any thing, live too fast. You must lift your own feet ; and if you have a pair of clogs on, which clatter about your heels, they will soon be worn off, and left behind on the dusty pathway. Mark out the line which you prefer ; let Truth be the object- glass, Honesty the surveying-chain, and Eminence the level with which you lay out your field ; and, thus pre- pared, with Prudence on one arm, and Perseverance on the other, you need fear no obstacle. 8. Do not be afraid to take the first step. Boldness will beget assurance, and the first step will bring you so much nearer the second. But if your first step should break down, try again. It will be surer and safer by the trial. Besides, if you never move, you will never know your own power. A man standing still, declaring his inability to walk, without making the effort, would be a general laughing-stock; and so, morally, is the man, in our opinion, who will not test his own moral or intel- lectual power, and then gravely assure us he has " no genius," or " no talent," or "no capacity." A man with seeing eyes keeping them shut, and complaining that he can not see! The trumpeter of his own imbecility! 9. Cultivate largeness of soul ! Selfishness is too common in our world. We do not feel that our neigh- bor has a claim upon us, and we have a claim upon him. We are all sensitive enough about our own interests, but blind to those of others ; and if we all knew and felt the mutual relationship by which society is interwoven, and could recognize the nearness of interest which exists between us, human society would be unlike what it is at present. 164 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 10. Be generous to all around you ; the example will have a reflex power, and, at some future time, it may tell powerfully upon your own life. Let the influence of your whole soul be felt in favor of a noble benefi- cence. Deal justly ; but whenever occasion offers, do not be backward to assist the deserving. It matters not that you never received such assistance — it would have been like water to your thirsty soul ; and when it is in your power, give it to another. Your good deeds may tell on a coming generation. 11. The man and woman who tossed coppers to the poor singing student in the streets of Erfurt, had little thought they were aiding him who should be the agent in sending a thunderbolt into the Vatican which should shiver the foundations of the Papal throne, and rend the night of despotism and gloom. When a faithful Sunday- school teacher invited the ragged Sabbath-breaker into the Sunday-school, and gave him a decent garment, he little thought that he was laying the train by which the millions of China would receive the Bible, through the hands of a Morrison. 12. And when George House, of whom Franklin speaks in his personal narrative, brought the "country- man his five shillings," he knew not that the printer was only the early development of one of the greatest phi- losophers of modern times. Be noble — be generous — and you may live to know that you t^ve cheered another Franklin, and multiplied your influence as did George House, in his hands ; for, as Franklin observes, the gratitude he felt toward House often made him more ready than perhaps he would otherwise have been to assist young beginners. 13. Do not gtve up for TRIFLES ! If your object be grand, only grand difficulties should be heeded — trifling hindrances should not stand in the way any more than WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 165 a pebble before a triumphal car. The strong and reso- lute surmount all difficulties ; and though their success may not be brilliant, they will die in full confidence that their works will live. Like John Fitch, when he said he would "repose where the song of the boatman would enliven the stillness of his resting-place, and the noise of the steam-engine sooth his spirit !" let the resolve be to bequeath, at least, an example of perseverance and use- fulness, if no very great achievement, to the coming generation. 14. Do not stand still ! If you do, you will be run over. Motion — action — progress : these are the words which now fill the vault of heaven with their stirring demands, and make humanity's heart pulsate with a stronger bound. Advance, or stand aside ; do not block up the way, and hinder the career of others : there is too much to do now to allow of inaction anywhere in any one. 15. There is something for all to do ; the world is becoming more and more known ; wider in magnitude, closer in intercourse, more nearly allied in interest, more loving, and more eventful than of old : not in deeds of carnage ; not in the ensanguined field ; not in chains and terrors ; not in blood, and tears, and gloom ; but in the leaping, vivifying, exhilarating impulses of a better birth of the soul. Young man ! are you doing your part in this work ? Wk . 0land Bourne 3. Ap' po site, suitable. 4. Mer e tri' cious, gaudy ; false; alluring by false thaw. 5. Te mer' i ty, boldness. 6. Cra/ ven, a coward. 11. Vat' i can, the church of St. Peter's, in Borne. 13. Tri »mph' al, celebrating victory. 15. En san' guined, stained with blood. 166 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. LESSON LXVI. THE FAMILY MEETING. We are all here ! Father, mother, Sister, brother — All who hold each other dear. Each chair is filled — we're all at home ! To-night let no cold stranger come ; It is not often thus around Our old familiar hearth we're found : Bless, then, the meeting and the spot ; For once be every care forgot ; Let gentle peace assert her power, And kind affection rule the hour ; — We're all— all here ! We are all here ! Even they, the dead — though dead, so dear ! Fond Memory, to her duty true, Brings back their faded forms to view. How life-like, through the mist of years, Each well-remembered face appears ! We see them, as in times long past; From each to each kind looks are cast; We hear their words, their smiles behold — They're round us as they were of old ; — We are all here ! We are all here ! Father, mother, Sister, brother ; You that I love with love so dear. This may not long of us be said — Soon must we join the gathered dead ; WEBB'S FOURTH HEADER. 167 And by the hearth we now sit round, Some other circle will be found. 0, then that wisdom may we know, Which yields a life of peace below ; So in the world to follow this, May each repeat, in words of bliss, We're all — all here ! Charles Sprague. LESSON LXiVII. SHAKING HANDS. 1. There are few things of more common occurrence than shaking hands ; and yet I do not recollect that there has been much speculation upon the subject. I confess, when I consider to what unimportant and futile concerns the attention of writers and readers has been directed, I am surprised that no one has been found to handle so important a matter as this, and attempt to give the public a rational view of the doctrine and discipline of shaking hands. 2. It is a theme on which I have myself theorized con- siderable ; and I beg leave to offer a few remarks on the origin of the practice, and the various forms in which it is exercised. 3. I have been unable to find in the ancient writers any distinct mention of shaking hands. They followed the heartier practice of hugging or embracing, which has not wholly disappeared among grown persons in Europe, and children in our own country, and has un- questionably the advantage on the score of cordiality. When the ancients trusted the business of salutation to the hands alone, they joined but did not shake them. 4. I am inclined to think that the practice grew up 168 WEBB'S FOURTII READER. in the ages of chivalry, when the cumbrous iron mail, in which the knights were cased, prevented their em- bracing; and when, with fingers clothed in steel, the simple touch or joining of the hands would have been but cold welcome ; so that a prolonged junction was a natural resort, to express cordiality ; and, as it would have been awkward to keep the hands unemployed in this position, a gentle agitation or shaking might have been naturally introduced. 5. How long the practice may have remained in this incipient stage, it is impossible, in the silence of history, to say ; nor is there any thing in the Chronicles, in Philip de Comines, or the Byzantine historians, which enables us to trace the progress of the art into the forms in which it now exists among us. Without, therefore, availing myself of the privilege of theorists to supply- by conjecture the absence of history or tradition, I shall pass immediately to the enumeration of these forms. 6. The pump-handle shake is the first which deserves notice. It is executed by taking your friend's hand and working it up and down, through an arc of fifty degrees, for about a minute and a half. To have its nature, force, and character, this shake should be per- formed with a fair, steady motion. No attempt should be made to give it grace, and still less vivacity ; as the few instances in which the latter has been tried have uniformly resulted in dislocating the shoulder of the person on whom it has been attempted. 7. On the contrary, persons who are partial to the pump-handle shake should be at some pains to give an equable, tranquil movement to the operation, which should on no account be continued after perspiration on the part of your friend has commenced. 8. The pendulum shake may be mentioned next, as being somewhat similar in character ; but moving, as WEBB'S FOURTH HEADER. 169 the name indicates, in a horizontal, instead of a perpen- dicular direction. It is executed by sweeping your hand horizontally toward your friend's, and, after the junction is effected, rowing with it from one side to the other, according to the pleasure of the parties. 9. The only caution in its use, w r hich needs particu- larly to be given, is not to insist on performing it in a plane, strictly parallel to the horizon, when you meet with a person who has been educated to the pump- handle shake. It is well known that people cling to the forms in which they have been educated, even when the substance is sacrificed in adhering to them. 10. I had two acquaintances, both estimable men, one of whom had been brought up in the pump-handle shake, and the other had brought home the pendulum from a foreign voyage. They met, joined hands, and attempted to put them in motion. They were neither of them feeble men. One endeavoring to pump, and the other to paddle, their faces reddened ; the drops stood on their foreheads ; and it was at last a pleasing illustration of the doctrine of the composition of forces to see their hands slanting into an exact diagonal, in which line they ever after shook. But it was plain to see there was no cordiality in it ; and, as is usually the case with compromises, both parties were discontented. 11. The tournequet shake is the next in importance. It takes its name from the instrument made use of by surgeons to stop the circulation of the blood, in a limb about to be amputated. It is performed by clasping the hand of your friend as far as you can in your own, and then contracting the muscles of your thumb, fingers, and palm, till you have induced any degree of compression you may propose in the hand of your friend. 12. Particular care ought to be taken, if your own hand is hard and as big as a frying-pan, and that of your 15 170 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. friend as small and soft as a young maiden's, not to make use of the tournequet shake to the degree that will force the small bones of the wrist out of place. It is also seldom safe to apply it to gouty persons. 13. A hearty young friend of mine, who had pursued the study of geology, and acquired an unusual hardness and strength of hand and wrist by the use of the ham- mer, on returning from a scientific excursion, gave his gouty uncle the tournequet shake with such severity as nearly reduced the old gentleman's fingers to powder; for which my friend had the pleasure of being disinher- ited, as soon as his uncle's finger got well enough to hold a pen. 14. The cordial grapple is a shake of some interest. It is a hearty, boisterous agitation of your friend's hand, accompanied with moderate pressure, and loud, cheerful exclamations of welcome. It is an excellent traveling shake, and well adapted to make friends. It is indis- criminately performed. 15. The Peter Grievous touch is opposed to the cor- dial grapple. It is a pensive, tranquil junction, followed by a mild subsultory motion, a cast-down look, and an inarticulate inquiry after your friend's health. 16. The prude major and prude minor are nearly monopolized by the ladies. They can not be accurately described, but are constantly to be noticed in practice. They never extend beyond the fingers, and the prude major allows you to touch even then only down to the second joint. The prude minor gives you the whole of the fore finger. Considerable skill may be shown in per- forming these with nice variations, such as extending the left hand instead of the right, or stretching a new glossy kid glove over the finger you extend. 17. I might go through a list of the gripe royal, the saw-mill shake, and the shake with malice prepense ; but WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 17 1 these are only factitious combinations of the three funda- mental forms already described, under the pump-handle, the pendulum, and the tournequet ; as the loving pat, the touch romantic, and the sentimental clasp, may be reduced, in their main movements, to various combina- tions and modifications of the cordial grapple, the Peter Grievous touch, and the prude major and minor. 18. I should trouble the reader with a few remarks, in conclusion, on the mode of shaking hands, as an in- dication of characters ; but as I see a friend coming up the avenue, who is addicted to the pump-handle, I dare not tire my wrist by further writing. Edward Everett. Note. — This article is evidently intended as a satirical burlesque on the extreme awkwardness manifested by many in " shaking hands." Would not a little instruction by the teacher be advisable in several little mat- ters usually classed under the head " etiquette ?" LESSON LXVIII. THE CLOSING OF THE YEAR. 1. 'Tis midnight's closing hour, and silence now Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er The still and pulseless world. Hark ! on the winds The bell's deep tones are swelling : 'tis the knell Of the departed year. No funeral train Is sweeping past, yet, on the stream and wood, With melancholy light, the moonbeams rest, Like a pale, spotless shroud : the air is stirred As by a mourner's sigh ; and on yon cloud, That floats so still and placidly through heaven, The spirits of the seasons seem to stand — Young spring, bright summer, autumn's solemn form, And winter with his aged locks — and breathe 172 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. In mournful cadences, that come abroad Like the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail, A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year — Gone from the earth forever. 2. 'Tis a time For memory and for tears. Within the deep, Still chambers of the heart, a specter dim, Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time, Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold And solemn finger to the beautiful And holy visions that have passed away, And left no shadow of their loveliness On the dead waste of life. 3. That specter lifts The coffin-lid of hope, and joy, and love, And, bending mournfully above the pale, Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead flowers O'er what has passed to nothingness. The year Has gone, and with it many a glorious throng Of happy dreams. Its mark is on the brow, Its shadows in each heart. 4. In its swift course It waved its scepter o'er the beautiful ; And they are not. It laid its pallid hand Upon the strong man, and the haughty form Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged The bright and joyous; and the tearful Avail Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song And reckless shout resounded. 5. It passed o'er The battle-plain, where sword, and spear, and shield. Flashed in the light of mid-day ; and the strength Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass, WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 173 Green from the soil of carnage, waves above The crushed and mold'ring skeleton. It came And faded like a wreath of mist at eve ; Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air, It heralded its millions to their home In the dim land of dreams. 6. Remorseless Time ! Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe ! what power Can stay him in his silent course, or melt His iron heart to pity ! On, still on He presses, and forever. The proud bird, The Condor of the Andes, that can soar Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave The fury of the northern hurricane, And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and sinks To rest upon his mountain crag ; but Time Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness ; And Night's deep darkness has no chain to bind His rushing pinion. 7. Revolutions sweep O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast Of dreaming sorrow ; cities rise and sink Like bubbles on the water ; fiery isles Spring blazing from the ocean, and go back To their mysterious caverns ; mountains rear To heaven their bald and blackened cliffs, and bow Their tall heads to the plain ; new empires rise, Gathering the strength of hoary centuries, And rush down like the Alpine avalanche, Startling the nations : 8. Yet Time, Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce careei, Dark, stern, all-pitiless ; and pauses not 15* 174 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, To sit and muse, like other conquerors, Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought. G. D. PaENTICK. LESSON LXIX. SINCLAIR AND THE DOCTOR. Puffer. Your humble servant, sir; walk in, sir; sit down, sir. My master will wait on you in a moment, sir ; he is busy dispatching some patients, sir. I'll tell him you are here, sir. Be back in a moment, sir. Sinclair. No, no. I only wish to inquire — P. Right, sir ; you could not have applied to a more able physician. My master understands physic as fun- damentally as I do my mother tongue, sir. & He appears to have an able advocate in you. P. I do not say this, sir, because he is my master ; but 'tis really a pleasure to be his patient, and I should rather die by his medicines, than be cured by those of any other ; for, whatever happens, a man may be cer- tain that he has been regularly treated ; and should he die under the operation, his heirs would have nothing to reproach him for. S. That must be a great comfort to a dead man ! P. To be sure, sir ; who would not wish to die me- thodically ? Besides, my master is not one of those doc- tors who husband the disease of their patients. He loves to dispatch business ; and if they are to die, h^ lends them a helping hand. S. There is nothing like dispatch in business. P. That is true, sir. What is the use of so much hem- WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 175 ming and hawing, and beating around the bush ? I like to know the long and short of a distemper at once. S. Right, undoubtedly. P. Right! Why, there were three of my children, whose illness he did me the honor to take care of, who all died in less than four days, when, in another's hands, they might have languished as many months. But here comes the doctor ; he will examine your case, and at once decide whether it is hopeless. Sir, this gentleman is desirous of consulting — Doctor. I perceive it, sir ; he is a dying man. Do you eat well, sir? S. Eat ! yes, sir, perfectly well. Dr. Bad, very bad; the epigastric region must be shockingly disordered. How do you drink, sir ? S. Nobody drinks better, sir. Dr. So much the worse. The great appetition of frigid and humid, is an indication of the great heat and aridity within. Do you sleep soundly ? $. Yes, always. Dr. This indicates a dreadful torpidity of the system ; and, sir, I pronounce you a dead man. After consider- ing the diagnostic and prognostic symptoms, I pro- nounce you attacked, affected, possessed, and disorder- ed, by that species of mania termed hypochondria. P. Undoubtedly, sir ; my master never mistakes, sir. Dr. But for an incontestable diagnostic, you may perceive his distempered ratiocination, and other pa- thog-no-mon-ic symptoms of this disorder. P. What will you order him, sir ? Dr. First, a thorough salivation. P. But should this have no effect ? Dr. We shall then know the disease does not proceed from the humors. P. What shall we try next, sir ? 176 WEBB'S FOUKTH READER. Dr. Bleeding, twice a day, for five or six days. P. If he should grow worse and worse, what then ? Dr. It will prove the disease is not in his blood. P. What application would you then recommend ? Dr. My infallible sudorific. Sweat him off five pounds a day, and his case can not long remain doubtful. This, you know, is my regular course, and never fails to kill or cure. P. I congratulate the gentleman upon falling into your hands, sir. He must consider himself happy in having his senses disordered, that he may experience the efficacy and gentleness of the remedies you have proposed. S. What does all this mean, gentlemen ? I do not understand your nonsense. Dr. Such injurious language is a diagnostic we want- ed, to confirm our opinion of his distemper. S. Are you crazy, gentlemen ? I am not sick. [Spits on his hand and raises his cane.~\ Dr. Another diagnostic ! — frequent sputation. S. You better be done, and make off. Dr. Another diagnostic! — anxiety to change place. We will fix you, sir. Your disease — S. I have no disease, sir. Dr. A bad symptom, when a patient is insensible of his illness. S. I am well, sir, I assure you ; and having lost my way, only called to inquire the most direct route to the city. But I have heard enough from you, and will in- quire of a more rational person. Fowlk's Dialogues. Ep i gas' trie, pertaining to the upper and anterior part of the abdo- men. Ap pe ti' tion, desire. A riti' i ty, dri/jicss. Tor pid' i ty, stupid- ity, dullness. Di ag nos' tic, d i xt hi < pushing. Prog nos' tic, indicating something future. Ra tioc i na' tion, (ra shos e na' shun,) reasoning. Su dor if' ic, a medicine tfiat produces sweat. Spu ta' tion, act of spitting. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 177 LESSON LXX. TRUE WISDOM. 1. But where shall wisdom be found ? And where is the place of understanding ? Man knoweth not the price thereof ; Nor can it be found in the land of the living. The deep saith, It is not with me ; And the sea saith, It is not with me. It can not be gotten for gold, Nor shall silver be weighed out as the price thereof. 2. It can not be purchased with the gold of Ophir, With the precious onyx, or the sapphire. Gold and crystal are not to be compared with it ; Nor can it be purchased with jewels of fine gold. No mention shall be made of coral, or of crystal, For wisdom is more precious than pearls. The topaz of Ethiopia can not equal it ; Nor can it be purchased with the purest gold. 3. Whence, then, cometh wisdom ? And where is the place of understanding ? Since it is hidden from the eyes of all the living, And kept close from the fowls of the air. Destruction and Death say, We have heard of its fame with our ears. God only knoweth the way to it ; He only knoweth its dwelling-place ; For He seeth to the ends of the earth, And surveyeth all things under the whole heaven. 4. When He gave the winds their weight, And adjusted the waters by measure ; When He prescribed laws to the rain, And a path to the glittering thunderbolt ; 178 webb's fourth reader. Then did He see it, and make it known ; He established it, and searched it out ; But He said unto man, Behold, the fear of the Lord ! that is is thy wisdom ; And to depart from evil, thy understanding. Dr. Cheever's Hebrew Poets. LESSON LXXI. DESTRUCTION OF THE PHILISTINES. Occasions drew me early to the city ; And, as the gates I entered with sunrise, The morning trumpets festival proclaimed Through each high street ; little I had dispatched, When all abroad was rumored that this day Samson should be brought forth, to show the people Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games : I sorrowed at his captive state, but minded Not to be absent at that spectacle. The building was a spacious theater Half round, on two main pillars vaulted high, With seats where all the lords, and each degree Of sort, might sit, in order to behold ; The other side was open, where the throng On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand ; I among these aloof obscurely stood. The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice Had filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wine, When to their sports they turned. Immediately Was Samson as a public servant brought, In their state livery clad ; before him pipes, 179 And timbrels, — on each side went armed guards, Both horse and foot, — before him and behind, Archers and slingers, cataphracts and spears. At sight of him the people with a shout Rifted the air, clamoriug their god with praise, Who had made their dreadful enemy their thrall. 4. He, patient but undaunted, where they led him, Came to the place ; and what was set before him, Which without help of eye might be essayed, To heave, pull, draw, or break, he still performed All with incredible, stupendous force ; None daring to appear antagonist. At length, for intermission sake, they led him Between the pillars ; he his guide requested (For so from such as nearer stood we heard), As over-tired, to let him lean awhile With both his arms on those two massy pillars That to the arched roof gave main support. 5. He, unsuspicious, led him ; which, when Samson Felt in his arms, with head awhile inclined, And eyes fast fixed he stood, as one who prayed, Or some great matter iu his mind revolved : At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud : — " Hitherto, Lords, what your commands imposed I have performed, as reason was, obeying, Not without wonder or delight beheld ; Now of my own accord such other trial I mean to show you of my strength, yet greater, As with amaze shall strike all who behold." 6. This uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed : As with the force of winds and waters pent, When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars With horrible convulsion to and fro He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew 180 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder Upon the heads of all who sat beneath, Lords, ladies, captains, counselors or priests, Their choice nobility and flower, not only Of this, but each Philistian city round, Met from all parts to solemnize this feast. Samson, with these immixed, inevitably Pulled down the same destruction on himself ; The vulgar only 'scaped, who stood without. MlLTOX. LESSON LXXII. THE GRAVE OF AARON BURR. 1. We envy not the man who, unmoved, can gaze on the grave of Colonel Burr. It is one of the most deso- late places that we have ever seen. There is no monu- mental pile or sculptured marble standing over it, to evince the affection, or even respect, of a single soul : not so much as a rough, unhewn stone marks the head or the foot of him who once held such sway over the minds and feelings of men. 2. Wild grass and poisonous weeds form the sod that partly covers him. The rest of the surface of the grave is sterile clay, yielding no verdant plant or shrub. The stranger treads upon the spot and regards it not, until he is told that he stands over the remains of Burr. 3. How changed the scene, when from this unmarked spot we turn to the sleeping-place of the father of Burr ! Over it there is no towering monument ; but there is a massive tombstone, on which are chiseled the deeds of the loved and honored President of New Jersey College. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 181 The grave of the son is only designated by its being at the foot of the father's. 4. As the visitor stands over the grave, many scenes in the checkered and eventful life of Burr crowd upon his recollection. He remembers the 6th of February, 1756, when Burr first saw that light through which mis- directed zeal led him to so many deeds of woe. 5. He calls to mind the death of both his parents, while he was only three years old ; the handsome for- tune that was bequeathed an orphan son ; the four days' abscondance from his preceptor, when, too, he was a child of four years' growth ; the runaway from Mr. Ed- wards, for the purpose of going to sea, while he was in his eleventh year ; and the entrance of Princeton Col- lege at the early age of twelve, where he graduated at the age of sixteen, taking the honors of his class in spite of a moral character that evoked much disapprobation. 6. He reflects upon him as a volunteer in the Amer- ican revolution, and a soldier in the celebrated expedi- tion of Arnold to Quebec ; as an aid to General Putnam, and a conferee of the title of lieutenant-colonel. He follows him to the study of law, and admittance to the Albany bar in 1782 ; to the Senate in 1791 ; and to the second place in the high gift of the American people in 1801. 7. He beholds him the destroyer of Hamilton ; the reveler in intolerable licentiousness ; the intended estab- lisher of an empire beyond the great father of rivers, of which he was to be emperor, and the Crescent City the great capital. He sees him arraigned before the tri- bunal of his country, and acquitted for want of that overt proof which his own far-stretching cunning had enveloped in impenetrable clouds. 8. And, finally, he follows him from Staten Island, where, in 1836, he closed his miserable career, to the 16 182 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. cemetery at Princeton, to be interred with the honors of war, and to molder in a grave upon which the curses of injured virtue and the rewards of vicious ambition are to rest forever. 9. The life, the death, and the grave of Colonel Burr carry their own moral. The simple facts tell a tale that needs no comment. Words need not inform us that genius, however transcendent, unless virtue is one of its elements, can not attain eminence on which an uncloud- ed sun will forever beam. LESSON LXXIII. DEATH OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 1. A short time since, and he who is the occasion of our sorrows was the ornament of his country. He stood on an eminence, and glory covered him. From that eminence he has fallen — suddenly, forever fallen. His intercourse with the living world is now ended ; and those who would hereafter find him must seek him in the grave. There, cold and lifeless, is the heart which just now was the seat of friendship ; there, dim and sightless, is the eye whose radiant and enlivening orb beamed with intelligence ; and there, closed forever, are those lips on whose persuasive accents we have so often, and so lately, hung with transport. 2. From the darkness which rests upon his tomb, there proceeds, mcthinks, a light, in which it is clearly seen that those gaudy objects which men pursue are only phantoms. In this light, how dimly shines the splendor of victory ! how humble appears the majesty of grandeur! The bubble which seemed to have so much WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 183 solidity has burst, and we again see that all below the sun is vanity. 3. True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced; the sad and solemn procession has moved ; t'he badge of mourning has already been decreed ; and presently the sculptured marble will lift up its front, proud to per- petuate the name of Hamilton, and rehearse to the pass- ing traveler his virtues. 4. Just tributes of respect, and to the living useful : but to him, moldering in his narrow and humble habita- tion, what are they ? How vain ! how unavailing ! Approach and behold, while I lift from his sepulcher its covering. Ye admirers of his greatness — ye emulous of his talents and his fame — approach and behold him now. 5. How pale ! how silent ! No martial bands admire the adroitness of his movements ! no fascinated throng weep, and melt, and tremble at his eloquence ! Amazing change ! A shroud ! a coffin ! a narrow subterraneous cabin ! This is all that now remains of Hamilton ! And is this all that remains of him ? During a, life so transi- tory, what lasting monument, then, can our fondest hopes erect ? 6. My brethren ! we stand on the borders of an awful gulf, which is swallowing up all things human. And is there, amidst this universal wreck, nothing stable, nothing abiding, nothing immortal, on which poor, frail, dying man can fasten? 7. Ask the hero ; ask the statesman, whose wisdom you have been accustomed to revere, and he will tell you. He will tell you, did I say ? He nas already told you, from his death-bed ; and his illumined spirit still whispers from the heavens, with well-known eloquence, the solemn admonition : " Mortals ! hastening to the tomb, and once the companions of my pilgrimage, take warning, and avoid my errors ; cultivate the virtues I 184 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. have recommended ; choose the Savior I have chosen ; live disinterestedly ; live for immortality ; and if you would rescue any thing from final dissolution, lay it up in God." Eliphalet Nott. 2. Than' toms, a fancied vision. 3. Eu' lo gy, praise. 4. Em' u lous, desirous to excel. 5. Fas' cinate, to charm. Sub ter ra' ne ous, being under the surface of the earth. Trans' i to ry, passing without stay. 7. Ad mo ni' tion, advice. Note. — Alexander Hamilton was one of the most distinguished and eloquent sons of New York. He was killed (in a duel) by Aaron Burr, at Weehawk, New Jersey (opposite New York city), July 11, 1804. The stigma of the duel rests alone on Burr. LESSON LXXIV. THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. " Will you walk into my parlor ?" said a spider to a fly, " 'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, And I have many pretty things to show you when you're there." " 0, no, no," said the little fly, " to ask it is in vain, For who goes up your winding stair, can ne'er come down again." " I'm sure you must be weary with soaring up so high, Will you rest upon my little bed ?" said the spider to the fly ; " There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin, And if you'd like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in." " 0, no, no," said the little fly, " for I've often heard it They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed." WEBB'S FOUKTH KEADEK. 135 3. Said the cunning spider to the fly, " Dear friend, what shall I do, To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you ? I have within my pantry a store of all that's nice ; I'm sure you're very welcome — will you please to take a slice ?" " 0, no, no," said the little fly, "kind sir, that can not be ; I've heard what's in your pantry, and do not wish to see." 4. " Sweet creature," said the spider, M you're witty and you're wise ; How handsome are your gauzy wings ! how brilliant are your eyes ! I have a looking-glass upon my parlor shelf ; If you'll step in a moment, dear, you shall behold yourself." " I thank you, gentle sir," said she, " for what you're pleased to say, And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day." 5. The spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the silly fly would soon come back again ; So he wove a subtile web in a little corner sly, And set his table ready, to dine upon the fly. Then he went out to his door again, and merrily did sing, " Come hither, hither, pretty fly, with the pearl and silver wing; 6. " Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head ; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, and mine are dull as lead !" Alas ! alas ! how very soon this silly little fly, Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by ! With buzzing wing she hung aloof, then near and nearer drew — Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing ! At last, Up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast. ~ 16*~ 186 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 7. He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den, Within his little parlor ; but she ne'er came down again ! And now, dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words I pray you ne'er give heed ; Unto an evil counselor close heart, and ear, and eye, And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly. LESSON LXXV. I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. " It is true, there are shadows as well as lights, clouds as well as sun- shine, thorns as well as roses ; but it is a happy world, after all" 1. " I would not live alway !" yet 'tis not that here There's nothing to live for, and nothing to love ; The cup of life's blessings, though mingled with tears, Is crowned with rich tokens of good from above : And dark though the storms of adversity rise — Though changes dishearten, and dangers appall — Each hath its high purpose, both gracious and wise, And a Father's kind providence rules over all. 2. " I would not live alway !" and yet, oh, to die ! With a shuddering thrill how it palsies the heart ! We may love, we may pant for, the glory on high, Yet tremble and grieve from earth's kindred to part. There are ties of deep tenderness drawing us down, Which warm 'round the heart-strings their tendrils will weave ; And Faith, reaching forth for her heavenly crown, Still lingers, embracing the friends she must leave. 3. " I would not live alway !" because I am sure There's a better, a holier rest in the sky ; And the hope that looks forth to that heavenly shore, Overcomes timid nature's relic tance to die. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 187 0, visions of glory, of bliss, and of love, Where sin can not enter, nor passion enslave, Ye have power o'er the heart, to subdue or remove The sharpness of death, and the gloom of the grave ! 4. " I would not live alway !" yet 'tis not that time, Its loves, hopes, and friendships, cares, duties, and joys, Yield nothing exalted, nor pure, nor sublime, The heart to delight, or the soul to employ ; No ! an angel might oftentimes sinlessly dwell 'Mid the innocent scenes to life's pilgrimage given ; And though passion and folly can make earth a hell, To the pure 'tis the emblem and gateway of heaven. 5. " I would not live alway !" and yet, while I stay In this Eden of Time, 'mid these gardens of earth, I'd enjoy the sweet flowers and fruits as I may, And gain with their treasures whate'er they are worth : I would live, as if life were a part of my heaven ; I would love, as if love were a part of its bliss ; And I'd take the sweet comforts, so lavishly given, As foretastes of that world, in portions, in this. 6. " I would not live alway !" yet willingly wait, Be it longer or shorter, life's journey to roam, Ever ready and girded, with spirits elate, To obey the first call that shall summon r-3 home. 0, yes ! it is better, far better to go, Where pain, sin, and sorrow can never intrude ; And yet I would cheerfully tarry below, And expecting the better, rejoice in the good. W. CUTTXR. 188 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. LESSON LXXVI. APPETITE. 1. The young man walks in the midst of temptation to appetite, the improper indulgence of which is in danger of proving his ruin. Health, longevity, and virtue depend on his resisting these temptations. The providence of God is no more responsible, because a man by improper indulgence becomes subject to disease, than for the picking of his pockets. For a young man to injure his health, is to waste his patrimony and de- stroy his capacity for virtuous deeds. 2. Should man love God, he would have ten times the strength for the exercise of it, with a sound body. Not only the amount, but the quality of man's labor depends on his health. Not only lying lips, but a dyspeptic stomach, is an abomination to the Lord. The produc- tions of the poet, the man of science, or the orator, must be affected by his health. The man who neglects to control his appetites, is to himself what a state of bar- barism is to society — the brutish part predominates. He is to himself what Nicholas is to Hungary. 3. Men buy pains, and the purveyor and the market- man bring home disease. Our pious ancestors used to bury the suicide where four roads met ; yet every gen- tleman or lady who lays the foundation of disease with turtle soup or lobster salad, as really commits suicide as if they used the rope or the pistol ; and were the old law revived, how many who are now honored with a resting-place at Auburn, would be found on the cross- roads ! Is it nothing amazing that a man, invited to a repast worthy of the gods, should stop to feed on gar- bage ; or, when called to partake of the Circean cup, should stop to guzzle with swine ? WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 189 4. If young men imagine that the gratification of ap- petite is the great source of enjoyment, they will find this in the highest degree with industry and temperance. The epicure, who sees it in a dinner which costs five dollars, will find less enjoyment of appetite than the laborer who dines on a shilling. If the devotee of ap- petite desires its highest gratification, he must not send for buffalo tongues, but climb a mountain or swing an ax. Without health, there is no delicacy that can pro- voke an appetite. Whoever destroys his health, turns the most delicious viands into ipecac and aloes. 5. The man that is physically wicked, does not live out half his days, and he is not half alive while he does live. However gracious God may be with the heart, he never pardons the stomach. Let a young man pur- sue a course of temperance, sobriety, and industry, and he may retain his vigor till threescore years and ten, with his cup of enjoyment full, and depart painlessly : as the candle burns out in its socket, he will expire. 6. But look at the opposite. When a man suffers his appetite to control him, he turns his dwelling into a lazar- house, whether he lives in a hovel, clothed in rags, or the splendid mansion and gorgeous clothing of the upper ten. 7. Let every young man look on this picture and on that, and tell which he will choose. Society despises the wretch who debases himself, and treats him as the wild horses do their intractable members — get him inside of a ring, and kick him to death. HoRACE Mann> 1. Pat' ri mo ny, an estate derived from a father or other ancestor. 3. Pur rey' or, one who provides victuals. Gar' bage, filthy food. Oir ce' an, bewitching. 4. Dev o tee', one devoted. 6. La' zar-house, a resort for persons afflicted with nauseous diseases. 190 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. LESSON LXXVII. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 1. Thou lingering star, with less'ning ray, That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. 0, Mary ! dear, departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 2. That sacred hour can I forget — Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love ! Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past ; Thy image at our last embrace ! Ah ! little thought we 'twas our last ! 3. Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods' thick'ning green ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd amorous 'round the raptur'd scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. 4. Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, And fondly broods with miser care ! Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. WEBB'S FOUKTH READER. 191 My Mary ! dear, departed shade ! Where is thy place of blissful rest ? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? Robert Burns. LESSON LXXV;II. THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS. 1. The world is in a ceaseless toil for happiness ; and yet not one in a hundred ever obtains what he has con- sidered the desideratum of worldly felicity. If by con- stant effort and good fortune, one now and then over- comes ali obstacles, and forces his way to the long- cherished object of an anxious life, it is more than likely that he will still be unsatisfied with his success, and be- come the victim of disappointment, even in the posses- sion of all he once held to be the beau-ideal of earthly hope and desire. 2. Let those who are anxiously seeking and con- stantly laboring for future ease and comfort at a more advanced period of life, consider whether they may not even now have all the necessary means of happiness within their reach. Let them inquire, whether, in their solicitude for future good, they may not be losing present hours of real pleasure. Surrounded as we are by the elements of sorrow and misery, we often, and perhaps generally, have the choice of happiness or wretchedness left to ourselves. 3. The truth that " the mind is its own place/' must be more widely known, and more deeply felt, ere we look in the right direction for the approach of earthly bliss and 14* 192 WEBB'S FOURTII READER. millennial glory. Mankind are prone to look without, and not within themselves for happiness. Instead of cultivating the virtues and graces of the heart — instead of qualifying and accomplishing the intellect, and mak- ing a home for happiness within their own souls, their whole genius and capacity are bent on arranging out- ward conditions and circumstances. 4. An imposing mansion, a gilded equipage, and a sumptuous wardrobe, are often the requisites for enjoy- ment in the imagination of many a worldling. If these are not given him, he is ever miserable in his vain and envious efforts ; or, if he at length receives them, after long years of unceasing toil, he finds, too late, that peace and contentment are not brought with their possession. The discontented and unsatisfied disposition must ever remain unhappy ; while those who labor for what they never can obtain, will surely be doomed to a life of dis- appointment and vexation. 5. Those persons are to be pitied, who find the bur- den of their enjoyments only in the whirl of excitements and the gathering of assemblies ; and they are greatly deceived, who leave the quiet fireside and domestic cir- cle, to chase for happiness up and down the winding avenues of the gay world : they will find, when strength and patience have been exhausted, that they have pur- sued only a phantom. 6. Happiness is not to be run after. It is not won by changing our circumstances, but by improving and changing ourselves and our hearts. It it comes not to quiet homes and healthful bodies, it is vain to seek for it in the crowded mart or public throng. It is true, we may for a moment forget our misery amid the frivolous array of fashion, or the craziness of dissipation ; but to expect positive happiness therefrom, is as absurd as to look for sunbeams in a wandering cloud of midnight. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 193 7. Every truly happy person finds his bliss in his own bosom ; it is a part of his nature and his life. There he has a world within a world ; and if left to himself, and shut out from intercourse with his fellow-men, he can retire and amuse himself with his own pleasurable and innocent thoughts, fiis happiness not being de- pendent on others, he is consequently the most indepen- dent of beings. 8. Contented in the sphere which Providence has assigned him, he never mourns or murmurs over his worldly fate and fortune ; but with a cheerful heart and a steady purpose he pursues the path of life, assisting the needy and consoling the afflicted, and feels at every discharge of duty a blissful thrill of pleasure, and an ever attending consciousness of Divine approbation. Ezra D. Barker. LESSON LXXIX. THRILLING INCIDENT. 1. At a temperance meeting in Philadelphia, some years ago, a learned clergyman spoke in favor of wine as a drink ; demonstrating it, quite to his own satisfac- tion, to be scriptural, gentlemanly, and healthful. When he sat down, a plain, elderly man arose, and asked leave to say a few words. 2. " A young friend of mine," said he, " who had long been very intemperate, was at length persuaded, to the great joy of his friends, to take the pledge of entire ab- stinence from all that could intoxicate. He kept the pledge faithfully for some time, struggling with his habit fearfully ; till one evening, in a social party, glasses of wine were handed around. It 194 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 3. " They came to a clergyman present, who took a glass, saying a few words in vindication of the prac- tice. ' Well,' thought the young man, ' if a clergyman can take wine, and justify it so well, why not I ?' So he also took a glass. It instantly rekindled his fiery and slumbering appetite, and aftei*a rapid downward course, he died of delirium tremens — died a raving madman." 4. The old man paused for utterance, and was just able to add: "That young man was my son, and the clergyman was the Rev. Doctor who has just addressed the assembly !" LESSON LXXX. GO FEEL WHAT I HAVE FELT. 1. The circumstances which induced the writing of the following most touching and thrilling lines, are as follows : A young lady of New York was in the habit of writing for the Philadelphia Ledger, on the subject of Temperance. 2. Her writing was so full of pathos, and evinced such deep emotion of soul, that a friend of hers accused her of being a maniac on the subject of temperance; — whereupon she wrete the following lines : 3. Go feel what I have felt, Go bear what I have borne — Sink 'neath a blow a father dealt, And the cold world's proud scorn : Then suffer on from year to year — Thy sole relief the scorching tear. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 195 4. Go kneel as I have knelt, Implore, beseech, and pray — Strive the besotted heart to melt, The downward course to stay ; Be dashed with bitter curse aside ; Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied. 5. Go weep as I have wept O'er a loved father's fall — See every promised blessing swept — Youth's sweetness turned to gall ; Life's fading flowers strew'd all the way That brought me up to woman's day. 6. Go see what I have seen, Behold the strong man bowed — With gnashing teeth — lips bathed in blood — And cold and livid brow : Go catch his withering glance, and see There mirrored, his soul's misery. 7. Go to thy mother's side And her crushed bosom cheer ; t Thine own deep anguish hide ; Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear ; Mark her worn frame, and wither 'd brow ; The gray that streaks her dark hair now ; 8. With fading frame and trembling limb ; And trace the ruin back to him Whose plighted faith in early youth, Promis'd eternal love and truth, But who, forsworn, hath yielded up That promise to the cursed cup ; And led her down through love and light, And all that made her promise bright ; And chained her there 'mid want and strife — That lowly thing — a drunkard's wife ! 196 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. And stamp'd on childhood's brow so mild, That withering blight — the drunkard's child ! 9. Go hear and feel, and see and know, All that my soul hath felt and known ; Then look upon the wine cup's glow, See if its beauty can atone : Think if its flavor you will try ! When all proclaim, 'tis drink and die ! 10. Tell me I hate the bowl — Hate is a feeble word : i loathe abhor my very soul With strong distrust is stirr'd — When I see, or hear, or tell, Of the dark beverage of hell. LESSON LXXXI. CHRIST IN THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE. 1. He kneels ! the Savior of mankind ! on ground Now hallow'd by his presence. All alone He kneels ; his own disciples, favor'd most Both by his love and blessings — even they Have left their Master now ; and wearied li<\ Buried in sleep 'neath yonder trees ; their faith Hath proved too weak to aid them to endure The sight of this dread conflict of their Lord. 2. Evening steals on, and throws her mournful vail O'er the sad garden ; quiet reigns around Fitted for such a scene. The Savior's eves Are raised to heav'n, where soon, his earthly pain WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 197 Is to be recompensed with bliss intense. He is in prayer — in prayer almost too strong For the weak mortal frame which doth enshrine A soul Divine. Now from His quiv'ring lips In fervent supplication burst the words, " Father ! this cup — Oh ! let it pass away ! Yet, Father ! not My will, but Thine be done." 3. He sinks to earth again : yes ! prostrate lies On the cold earth, the Savior of the world ! But, see ! what bright angelic form appears Radiant with light. His golden pinions closed, A seraph he alights on yonder mound, And to the much-enduring Lamb of God Imparts celestial strength. " Savior," he saith, " Thy God is with Thee ; well-nigh hast Thou reach'd Thy final taste of earthly agony ; One conflict more, and everlasting bliss Unspeakable, shall crown Thy conquering head. Soon shalt Thou take Thy throne at God's right hand, And quaff eternally the cup of joy." 4. The cherub ceases, but his words infuse Sweet balm into the Savior's troubled breast. He rises from the ground ; His step regains Its wonted majesty : serene and calm He slowly leaves the garden, late the scene Of His sad agony, for us endured. LESSON LXXXII. WOMAN AT HOME. 1. Such is the position in society which many esti- mable women are called upon to fill, that unless they 11* 198 webb's fourth reader. have stored their minds with general knowledge during the season of youth, they never have the opportunity of doing so afterward. How valuable, then, is such a store to draw upon for thought, when the mind throughout the day is busily employed, and sometimes when the head is weary ! 2. It is then that knowledge not only sweetens labor, but often, when the task is ended, and a few social friends are met together, it comes forth unbidden, in those glimpses of illumination, which a well-informed, intelli- gent woman, is able to strike out of the humblest ma- terial. 3. It is then that, without the slightest display, her memory helps her to throw in those apt allusions, which clothe the most familiar objects in borrowed light, and make us feel, after having enjoyed her society, as if we had been introduced to a new and more intelligent existence than we had enjoyed before. 4. But it would be impossible for an ignorant, and, consequently, a short-sighted, prejudiced woman, to ex- ercise this influence over us. We soon perceive the bounds of the narrow circle within which she reasons with self, even in the center : we detect the opinions of others in her own, and we feel the vulgarity with which her remarks may turn upon ourselves the moment we are absent. 5. But how different is the enjoyment, the repose we feel, in the society of a well-informed woman, who has acquired, in early youth, the habit of looking beyond the little affairs of every-day existence — from matter to mind, from action to principle, from time to eternity ! The gossip of society, that many-toned organ of discord, seldom reaches her ; even slander, which so often slays the innocent, she is in many cases able to discern. 6. Under all the little crosses and perplexities which WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 199 necessarily belong to household care, she is able to look calmly at their comparative insignificance, and thus they can never disturb her peace ; while, in all the pleasures of intellectual and social intercourse, it is her privilege to give as bountifully as she receives. Mrs< Ellis LESSON LXXXIII. A FRIEND. 1. Celestial Happiness ! whene'er she stoops To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds, And one alone, to make her sweet amends For absent heaven : the bosom of a friend.— Youno. 2. When the sad mind, oppressed with care, Stands tottering with a load of grief, And prospects black point to despair, What form is that which holds relief? A Friend. 3. When pain and anguish rack the frame, Extort the groan, or heave the sigh ; When fever sucks the vital flame, What can illume the deep-sunk eye ? A Friend. 4. When doubt or fear o'erwhelms the mind, And darkness thick obscures the ray, Whose kind advice will help to find, Who mark the road to wisdom's way ? A Friend, 5. When calumny base, with snaky tongue And poisonous slander, slime the name ; 200 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. What soul starts forth to share the wrong : Who's champion then for injured fame? A Friend. 6. Is beauty gone ? are riches fled ? Do adverse gales blow bleak and fast ? Who'll pillow poverty's lone head, And fondly lull each care to rest ? A Friend. 7. Does folly taint old age or youth ? Do foul affections clog the soul ? Who kindly points the path to truth : Who dares our errors to control ? A Friend. 8. And who in sweetest hours of mirth, — Who, who can highten every joy, Add bliss to bliss, make heaven of earth, Give pleasure zest without alloy ? A Friend. 9. Who, in retirement's lonely shade, Can give to Nature charms more sweet ; Enchantment add to every glade. And fill with life each soft retreat ? A Friend. 10. At length, when death with sturdy gloom And meager aspect stalks in view ; Who'll smooth the passage to the tomb, And kiss a sweet — a sad adieu ? A Friend. 11. Say, every heart ; — say, angels ; say, Is there a name than Friend more dear ? When guilty man despairing lay, • What name did then the Savior bear ? A Friend. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 201 12. A Friend ! — God ; a Friend most dear, Though others false, or change to dust, Or distant far, — still Thou art near, Forever kind, and true, and just — A Friend. 13. Then come, dear Jesus ! seize my heart, And other friends no more I'll mourn ; Content with all for Thee to part, Till death safe lands me in Thy bourne. LESSON LXXXIV. COLUMBUS. Written by Miss Lucretia M. Davidson in her sixteenth year. 1. What must have been the feelings of Christopher Columbus, when, for the first time, he knelt and clasped his hands, in gratitude, upon the shores of his newly- discovered world ? Year after year has rolled away ; war, famine, and fire have alternately swept the face of that country ; the hand of tyranny hath oppressed it ; the footstep of the slave hath wearily trodden it ; the blood of the slaughtered hath dyed it ; the tears of the wretched have bedewed it ; still, even at this remote period, every feeling bosom will delight to dwell upon this brilliant era in the life of the persevering adven- turer. 2. At that moment his name was stamped upon the records of history forever ; at that moment, doubt, fear, and anxiety fled, for his foot had pressed upon the threshold of the promised land. The bosom of Colum- bus hath long since ceased to beat — its hopes, its fears, its projects, sleep, with him, the long and dreamless 202 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. slumber of the grave : but while there remains one gen- erous pulsation in the human breast, his name and his memory will be held sacred. 3. When the cold dews of uncertainty stood upon his brow ; when he beheld nothing but the wide heavens above, the boundless waters beneath and around him, — himself and his companions in that little bark, the only beings upon the endless world of sky and ocean ; when he looked back and thought upon his native land ; when he looked forward, and in vain traversed the liquid des- ert, for some spot upon which to fix the aching eye of anxiety ; oh ! say, amidst all these dangers, these uncer- tainties, whence came that high unbending hope, which still soared onward to the world before him ? whence that undying patience, that more than mortal courage, which forbade his cheek to blanch amid the storm, or his heart to recoil in the dark and silent hour of midnight ? 4. It was from God — it was of God ! His Spirit over- shadowed the adventurer ! By day, an unseen cloud di- rected him — by night, a brilliant, but invisible column moved before him, gleaming athwart the boundless waste of waters. The winds watched over him, and waves upheld him, for God was with him, — the whirl- wind passed over his little bark, and left it still riding onward, in safety, toward its unknown harbor, — for the eye of Him who pierces the deep was fixed upon it. 5. Columbus had hoped, feared, and had been disap- pointed ; he had suffered long and patiently ; he had strained every faculty, every nerve ; he had pledged his very happiness upon the discovery of an unknown land ; and what must have been the feelings of his soul, when, at length bending over that very land, his grateful bosom offered its tribute of praise and thanksgiving to the Being who had guarded and guided him through death and danger ? WEBB'S FOURTH EEADER. 203 6. He beheld the bitter smile of scorn and derision fade before the reality of that vision, which had been ridiculed and mocked at ; he thought upon the thousand obstacles which he had surmounted; he thought upon those who had regarded him as a self-devoted enthusiast — a visionary madman, and his full heart throbbed in gratitude to Him whose Spirit had inspired him, whose voice had sent him forth, and whose arm had protected him. LESSON LXXXV. THE WISH. Tell me, ye winged winds, That round my pathway roar, Do you not know some spot Where mortals weep no more ? Some lone and pleasant dell — Some valley in the West, Where free from toil and pain, The weary soul may rest ? The loud wind softened to a whisper low, And sighed for pity, as it answered, " No !" Tell me, thou mighty deep, Whose billows 'round me play, Know'st thou some favored spot — Some island, far away, Where weary man might find The bliss for which he sighs ; Where sorrow never lives, And friendship never dies ? The loud waves rolling in perpetual flow, Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer " No r 204 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. And thou, serenest moon, That with such holy face Dost look upon the earth, Asleep in night's embrace. Tell me, in all thy round, Hast thou not seen some spot Where miserable man Might find a happier lot ? Behind a cloud, the moon withdrew in woe, And a sweet voice, but sad, responded, " No !" Tell me, my secret soul, Oh, tell me, Hope and Faith, Is there no resting-place From sorrow, sin, and death ? Is there no happy spot Where man is fully blest, Where grief may find a balm, And weariness a rest ? Faith, Hope, and Love — best boons to mortals given, Waved their bright wings, and whispered, " Yes ! in Heaven." Chjlkues Mackay. LESSON LXXXYI. ADDRESS TO YOUNG MEN. 1. Could I call around me, in one vast assembly, the young men of this nation, I would say — Hopes of my country, blessed be ye of the Lord, now in the day of your youth. But look well to your footsteps ; for vipers, and scorpions, and adders, surround your way. Look at the generations that have just preceded you. 2. The morning of their life was cloudless, and it dawned as brightly as your own. But behold, now, the WEBB'S FOURTH KEADER. 205 smitten, enfeebled, inflamed, debauched, idle, poor, irre- ligious, and vicious, with halting step, dragging onward to meet an early grave ! 3. Their bright prospects are cfouded, and their sun is set, never to rise. No house of their own receives them, while from poorer to poorer tenements they de- scend, as improvidence dries up their resources. And, now, who are those that wait on their footsteps with muffled faces and sable garments ? 4. That is a father, and that is a mother, whose gray hairs are going with sorrow to the grave. That is a sister, weeping over evils which she can not arrest ; and there is the broken-hearted wife ; and these are the chil- dren : helpless innocents ! — for whom their father has provided no inheritance, only one of dishonor, and na- kedness, and woe ! 5. And is this, beloved youth, to be the history of your course? Is this the poverty, and the disease, which, as an armed man, shall take hold of you ? and are your relatives and friends to succeed those who now move on in this mournful procession, weeping as they go ? 6. Yes ; bright as your morning now opens, and high as your hopes now beat, this will be your noon, and your night, unless you shun those habits of intemperance which have thus early made theirs a day of clouds and of thick darkness. 7. If you frequent places of evening resort for social drinking ; if you set out with drinking, daily, a little, prudently, temperately ; it is yourselves, which, as in a glass, you behold ! 18 206 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. LESSON LXXXVII. TO MY MOTHER IN HEAVEN. 1. I know thou art gone to the land of thy rest ; Then why should my soul be so sad ? I know thou art gone where the weary are blest, And the mourner looks up and is glad ; Where Love has put off in the land of its birth, The stain it had gathered in this, And Hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the earth, Lies asleep in the bosom of bliss. 2. I know thou art gone where thy forehead is starr'd With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul, Where the light of thy loveliness can not be marred, Nor thy heart be flung back from its goal ; I know thou hast drunk of the Lethe that flows Through a land where they do not forget ; That sheds over memory only repose, And takes from it only regret. 3. This eye must be dark that so long has been dim, Ere again it may gaze upon thine ; But my heart has reveal ings of thee and thy home, In many a token and sign ; I never look up with a vow, to the sky, But a light like thy beauty is there ; And I hear a love murmur, like thine, in reply, When I pour out my spirit in prayer. 4. In the far-away dwelling, wherever it be, I believe thou hast visions of mine ; And the love that made all things as music to me, I have not yet learned to resign. WEBB'S FOURTH HEADER. 207 In the hush of the night, on the waste of the sea, Or alone with the breeze on the hill, I have ever a presence that whispers of thee, And my spirit lies down and is still. 5. And though like a mourner that sits by a tomb, I am wrapped in a mantle of care, Yet the grief of my bosom — oh ! call it not gloom- Is not the black grief of despair. By sorrow revealed as the stars are by night, Far off a bright vision appears ; And Hope, like the rainbow — a creature of light, Is bDrn, like the rainbow, in tears. E. K. Hervey. LESSON LXXXYIII. THE DEATH-BED OP CROMWELL. 1 At length, the last night drew on that was to usher in 1 is fortunate day. The 3d of September, the anni- ver rary of Dunbar and of Marston, came amid wind and sto m. In this solemn hour for England, strong hearts wtre everywhere beseeching Heaven to spare the Pro- testor ; but the King of kings had issued his decree, aud the spirit that had endured and toiled so long was already, gathering its pinions for eternity. 2. " It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God," broke from his pallid lips, and then he fell, in solemn faith, on the covenant of grace. His breath came difficult and thick ; but, amid the pauses of the storm, he was heard murmuring, " Truly, God is good ; indeed He is ; He will not his tongue failed him ; but says an eye-witness, " I apprehend it was, ' He will not leave me.' " 208 WEBB'S FOURTH PwEADER. 3. Again and again, there escaped from the ever-mov- ing lips the half-articulate words, " God is good — God is good." Once, with sudden energy, he exclaimed, " I would be willing to live, to be further serviceable to God, but my work is done. Yet God will be with His people." All night long, he murmured thus to himself of God ; showing how perfect was his trust — how strong his faith. Once, as some drink was offered him, he said, "It is not my design to drink or to sleep ; but my design is to make what haste I can to be gone." 4. While this scene was passing in that solemn cham- ber, all was wild and terrible without. Nature seemed to sympathize with the dying patriot and hero. The wind howled and roared around the palace ; houses were unroofed ; chimneys blown down ; and the trees that had stood for half a century in the parks, were uptorn, and strewn over the earth. The sea, too, was vexed : the waves smote, in ungovernable fury, the shores of England, and vessels lay stranded along the coasts of the Mediterranean. 5. But all was calm and serene around the dying bed of Cromwell. On that more than kingly brow, peace, like a white-winged dove, sat ; and that voice which had turned the tide of so many battles, now murmured only prayers. Bonaparte, dying in the midst of just such a storm, shouted, " Tete d'armee /" (" head of the army") as his gazing eye fell once more on the heads of his mighty columns disappearing in the smoke of battle ; but Cromwell took a nobler departure. 6. The storm arid uproar without brought no din of arms to his dying ear ; not in the delirium of battle did his soul burst away ; but with his eye fixed steadfastly on the eternal kingdoms, and his strong heart sweetly stayed on the promise of a faithful God, he moved from the shore of time, and sank from sight forever. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 209 7. He died at three o'clock that day ; on the very day which, eight years before, saw his sword flashing over the tumultuous field of Dunbar ; the same which, seven years previous, heard him shouting on the ramparts of Worcester. But this was the last and most terrible battle of all ; yet he came off victorious, and, triumpn- ing over his last enemy, Death, passed into the serene world, where the sound of battle never comes, and the hatred and violence of man never disturb. J. T. Headlet. LESSON LXXXIX. THE SNOW-STORM. 1. In the month of December, 1821, a Mr. Blake, with his wife and an infant, was passing over the Green Mountain, near the town of Arlington, Vermont, in a sleigh with one horse. The drifting snow rendered it impossible for the horse to proceed. Mr. Blake set off on foot in search of assistance, and perished in the storm, before he could reach a human dwelling. 2. The mother, alarmed, as is supposed, at his long absence, went in quest of him, with the infant in her arms. She was found, in the morning, dead, a short dis- tance from the sleigh. The child was wrapped in her cloak, and survived the perils of the cold and the storm 3. The cold winds swept the mountain's hight, And pathless was the dreary wild, And, 'mid the cheerless hours of night, A mother wandered with her child : As through the drifted snow she pressed, The babe was sleeping on her breast ! 18* 210 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. THE SNOW-STORM. «=£ =fW ^^0M The cold winds swept the mountain's hight, And pathless was DH M: *_i #: ^ £=£ ^ m^&m& ^ n i the dreary wild ; And, *mid the cheerless hours of night, A mother ^E^4fe E^i^{^P^ *-*— nr*ra ^-s energetic. mmmm&mmi® wander'd with her child. As through the drift - ed snow she press'd, The & m^m^^mm retard. ad lib. r?v babe was sleep-lng on her breast, The babe was sleeping on her breast m=0= ^^^=^^^ WEBB'S FOUKTH EEADER. 211 4. And colder still the winds did blow, And darker hours of night came on, And deeper grew the drifts of snow — Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone — " 0, God !" she cried, in accents wild, " If I must perish, save my child !" 5. She stripped her mantle from her breast, And bared her bosom to the storm, And round the child she wrapped the vest, And smiled, to think her babe was warm ! With one cold kiss, one tear she shed, And sunk upon a snowy bed. 6. At dawn, a traveler passed by ; She lay beneath a snowy vail ; The frost of death was in her eye ; Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale : He moved the robe from off the child ; The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled ! Portland Argus. LESSON XC. DEATH OF WASHINGTON. [Extract of an Address on the Life and Character of Washington, delivered ai East Granville, Mass., Feb. 22d, 18*2, by Nelson Sizer.] 1. On the 12th of December, 1799, disease laid a heavy hand upon him. Physicians were called ; yet all the remedies which their united wisdom could devise were used without effect. He became sensible, on the 14th, that his hour had come ; but a retrospect of the past gave no pain, in the finale of his eventful career. 2. The same placid serenity which had accompanied 212 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. him in life — the same coolness of judgment — the same Christian confidence — lived, in all their strength, in the last struggle with the king of terrors. " / die hard," said he ; " but I am not afraid to die." Truly, this was the triumph of a great spirit. 3. He could say, O, Death ! thou art disrobed of thy terrors, and I hail thee as the passport to a better life ! A heavenly messenger stooped in the sacred place, and whispered, " Come, pilgrim, come away !" Then, like a placid summer's sun, his mortality sank into rest, and a " spirit, bright as the seraphim that surround the throne of Omnipotence," ascended to the bosom of its God ! 4. Washington is dead ! Mourning fills the land : every heart is touched with grief. Sunny childhood in- hales the sympathy of sorrow from its sire, and they mingle their tears in one common urn. His body re- poses in the tomb at Mount Vernon ; his spirit blaze? around the eternal throne. 5. His memory is garnered in the hearts of his grate ful countrymen ; and his whole character, like a pyra mid of glass blazing in immortal light, is the admiration of men and of angels, and shall stand unscathed till the requiem of Time shall be sounded, and mortality lost in the ocean of eternity. 6. Washington is dead ! Dead ? No ! he lives for- ever — lives in every lover of liberty throughout the world — lives in our free institutions — lives in virtue's shrine ! His memory is as imperishable as the iron hills of Columbia, which sleep above the clouds, and as last- ing as the mind of man. 7. His name is emblazoned on the rustling folds of the banner of Liberty, as it floats in the breezes of heaven, WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 213 from the towering masts of our earth-encircling com- merce, or waves over the domes of freedom in the home of the brave. 8. Forgotten ? Never ! The rising glory of this vast republic — the voices of fifteen millions of happy free — proclaim his name immortal. It is engraven upon the door-cap of church, cot, and mansion, as with a diamond's point, in immortal adamant ! 9. Sacred the day that gave him birth ! the glorious caieer! the triumphant exit! Like a blazing star of promise, it sheds its steady light; and the north, the south, the east, and the west, are catching its effulgence like the dawn of morning, and the sighing sons of oppres- sion hail it as the beacon of deliverance. 10. " To live with fame, The gods allow to many ; but to die With equal luster, is a blessing Heaven Selects from all the choicest boons of fate, And with a sparing hand on few bestows." 11. Poor is the tribute we can bring. "His monu- ment is the freedom of his country, and his eulogy, the praise of ransomed millions." Who would not prefer this living tomb — this holy embalming in the hearts of his countrymen — to the proudest monument that the genius of sculpture could erect ? 12. Greenough may give the finishing touch of sculp- ture to his colossal statue (it shows a nation's grati- tude), but his memory will outlive the solid marble. It is engraven on the affections, and time can not efface it. His fame is beyond the reach of detraction. The tongue that would dare to depress him no longer exists. 13. "I would place another wreath on his brow, if a leaf of the one he now wears could yield to the frosts of a million of ages." But why attempt the language of 214 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. eulogy for the immortal Washington ? Had I at com- mand the combined intellect of a Bacon, a Jefferson, and a Webster, united with the burning eloquence of Demos- thenes, Cicero, and Henry, I could but stand upon the shore and point to the broad ocean of his greatness that rolls before me. Eulogy itself is dumb: — " He stands alone ; there is but one In all this world — one Washington !" LESSON XCI. NIAGARA FALLS. 1. Hail! Monarch of the World of Floods! whose majesty and might First dazzles, then enraptures, then o'erawes the aching sight : The pomp of kings and emperors, in every clime and zone, Grows dim beneath the splendors of thy glorious watery throne. 2. No fleets can stop thy progress, no armies bid thee stay, But onward, onward, onward — thy march still holds its sway; The rising mist that vails thee, as thy herald goes before, And the music that proclaims thee, is the thundering cata- ract's roar. 8. Thy diadem is an emerald green, of the clearest, purest hue, Set 'round with waves of snow-white foam, and spray of feathery dew ; White tresses of the brightest pearls float o'er thine ample sheet, And the rainbow lays its gorgeous gems in tribute at thy feet. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 215 4. Thy reign is from the ancient days, thy scepter from on high ; Thy birth was when the distant stars first lit the glowing sky; The sun, the moon, and all the orbs that shine upon thee now, Saw the first wreath of glory tjiat entwined thy infant brow. 5. And from that hour to this, in which I gaze upon thy stream, From age to age, in Winter's frost, in Summer's sultry beam, By day, by night, without a pause, thy waves, with loud acclaim, In ceaseless sounds, have still proclaimed the great Eternal's name. 6. For whether on thy forest banks, the Indian of the wood, Or, since his day, the red man's foe on his fatherland have stood, Whoe'er has seen thy incense rise, or heard thy torrents roar, Must have bent before the God of all, to worship and adore. 1. Accept, then, O, Supremely Great ! 0, Infinite ! 0, God ! From this primeval altar, the pure and virgin sod, The humble homage that my soul, in gratitude, would pay To Thee, whose shield has guarded me, in all my wand'ring way. 8. For, if the ocean be as naught in the hollow of Thy hand, And the stars of the bright firmament, in Thy balance, grains of sand ; If Niagara's rolling flood seem great to us, who humbly bow, 0, Great Creator of the whole ! how passing great art Thou ! 9. But though Thy power is far more vast than finite minds can scan, Still greater is Thy mercy shown to weak, dependent man ; 216 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. For him, Thou clothest the fertile globe with herbs, and fruit, and seed — For him, the seas, the lakes, the streams, supply his hourly need. 10. Around, on high, or far, or near, the universal whole Proclaims Thy glory, as the stars in their fixed courses roll ; And from creation's grateful voice, the hymn ascends above, While heaven re-echoes back to earth the chorus, " God is Love." J. S. Buckingham. LESSON XCII. DEATH OF ABSALOM. 1. And David numbered the people that were with him, and set captains of thousands and captains of hun- dreds over them. And David sent forth a third part of the people under the hand of Joab, and a third part under the hand of Abishai, the son of Zeruiah, Joab's brother, and a third part under the hand of Ittai the Gittite. 2. And the king said unto the people, I will surely go forth with you myself also. But the people answered, Thou shalt not go forth : for if we flee away, they will not care for us ; neither if half of us die, will they care for us ; but now thou art worth ten thousand of us ; therefore now it is better that thou succor us out of the city. And the king said unto them, What seemeth you best, I will do. 3. And the king stood by the gate-side, and all the people came out by hundreds and by thousands. And the king commanded Joab, and Abishai, and Ittai, say- ing, Deal gently, for my sake, with the young man, even u« » * WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 217 with Absalom. And all the people heard when the king gave all the captains charge concerning Absalom. 4. So the people went out into the field against Israel ; and the battle was in the wood of Ephraim ; where the people of Israel were slain before the servants of David, and there was there a great slaughter that day of twenty thousand men. For the battle was there scattered over the face of all the country ; and the wood devoured more people that day than the sword devoured. 5. And Absalom met the servants of David. And Absalom rode upon a mule, and the mule went under the thick boughs of a great oak, and his head caught hold of the oak, and he was taken up between the heaven and the earth ; and the mule that was under him went away. 6. And a certain man saw it, and told Joab, and said, Behold, I saw Absalom hanged in an oak. And Joab said unto the man that told him, And behold, thou saw- est him, and why didst thou not smite him there to the ground ? and I would have given thee ten shekels of silver and a girdle. 7. And the man said unto Joab, Though I should re- ceive a thousand shekels of silver in my hand, yet would I not put forth my hand against the king's son ; for, in our hearing, the king charged thee and Abishai, and Ittai, saying, Beware that none touch the young man Absalom. Otherwise, I should have wrought falsehood against mine own life , for there is no matter hid from the king, and thou thyself wouldst have set thyself against me. 8. Then said Joab, 1 may not tarry thus with thee. And he took three darts in his hand, and thrust them through the heart of Absalom, while he was yet alive in the midst of the oak. And ten young men that bare Joab's armor compassed about, and smote Absalom, and slew him. And Joab blew the trumpet, and the people 19 218 WEBB'S FOURTH READEK. returned from pursuing after Israel ; for Joab held back the people. 9. And they took Absalom, and cast him into a great pit in the wood, and laid a very great heap of stones upon him ; and all Israel fled, every one to his tent. Now Absalom, in his life-time, had taken and reared up for himself a pillar, which is in the king's dale ; for he said, I have no son to keep my name in remembrance ; and he called the pillar after his own name ; and it is called unto this day, Absalom's Place. 10. Then said Ahimaaz, the son of Zadok, Let me now run, and bear the king tidings, how that the Lord hath avenged him of his enemies. And Joab said unto him, Thou shalt not bear tidings this day, but thou shalt bear tidings another day ; but this day thou shalt bear no tidings, because the king's son is dead. Then said Joab to Cushi, Go tell the king what thou hast seen. And Cushi bowed himself unto Joab, and ran. 11. Then said Ahimaaz, the son of Zadok, yet again to Joab, But howsoever, let me, I pray thee, also run after Cushi. And Joab said, Wherefore wilt thou run, my son, seeing that thou hast no tidings ready ? But howsoever, said he, let me run. And he said unto him. Run. Then Ahimaaz ran by the way of the plain, and overran Cushi. 12. And David sat between the two gates : and the watchman went up to the roof over the gate unto the wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold, a man running alone. And the watchman cried, and told the king. And the king said, If he be alone, there is tidmgs in his mouth. And he came apace, and drew near 13. And the watchman saw another man runping, and the watchman called unto the porter, and said Be- hold, another man running alone. And the king said, He also bringeth tidings. And the watchman said. Me- WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 219 thinketh the running of the foremost is like the running of Ahimaaz, the son of Zadok. And the king said, He is a good man, and cometh with good tidings. 14. And Ahimaaz called, and said unto the king, All is well. And he fell down to the earth upon his face before the king, and said, Blessed be the Lord thy God, which hath delivered up the men that lifted up their hand against my lord the king. And the king said, Is the young man Absalom safe ? And Ahimaaz answered, When Joab sent the king's servant, and me thy servant, I saw a great tumult, but I knew not what it was. And the king said unto him, Turn aside and stand here. And he turned aside, and stood still. 15. And behold, Cushi came ; and Cushi said, Tid- ings, my lord the king ; for the Lord hath avenged thee this day of all them that rose up against thee. And the king said unto Cushi, Is the young man Absalom safe? And Cushi answered, The enemies of my lord the king, and all that rise against thee to do thee hurt, be as that young man is. 16. And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept ; and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom ! my son, my son Ab- salom ! would to God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son! Biblk 17. " Alas ! my noble boy, that thou shouldst die! Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair ! That death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in thy clustering hair! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, My proud boy, Absalom ! 1 8. " Cold is thy brow, my son, and I am chill. As to my bosom I have tried to press thee, How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, 220 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Like a rich harp -string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet ' My father" from these dumb And cold lips, Absalom! 19. " The grave hath won 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 ; But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come To meet me, Absalom ! 20. " And, 0, when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, ♦Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token ! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom ! 21. " And now, farewell ! 'Tis hard to give thee up, With death, so like a gentle slumber, on thee : And thy dark sin ! 0, I could drink the cup, If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My erring Absalom !" "Wiliis. LESSON XCIII. COLONEL ISAAC HAYNES. 1. After the city of Charleston had fallen into the hands of Lord Cornwallis, his lordship issued a procla- mation, requiring of the inhabitants of the colony that they should no longer take part in the contest, but con- tinue peaceably at their homes, and they should be most sacredly protected in property and person. WEBB'S FOUKTH READEK. 221 2. This was accompanied with an instrumer.t of neutrality, which soon obtained the signatures of many thousands of the citizens of South Carolina, among whom was Colonel Haynes, who now conceived that he was entitled to peace and security for his family and for- tune. 3. But it was not long before Cornwallis put a new construction on the instrument of neutrality, denomi- nating it a bond of allegiance to the king, and called upon all who had signed it to take up arms against the Rebels ! threatening to treat as deserters those who refused ! This fraudulent proceeding of Lord Corn- wallis aroused the indignation of every honorable and honest man. 4. Colonel Haynes now being compelled, in violation of the most solemn compact, to take up arms, resolved that the invaders of his native country should be the objects of his vengeance. He withdrew from the British, and was invested with a command in the continental service; but it was soon his hard fortune to be captured by the enemy and carried into Charleston. 5. Lord Rawdon, the commandant, immediately or- dered him to be loaded with irons, and after a sort of mock trial, he was sentenced to be hung ! This sen- tence seized all classes of people with horror and dismay. A petition, headed by the British Governor Bull, and signed by a number of royalists, was presented in his behalf, but it was totally disregarded. 6. The ladies of Charleston, both whigs and tories, now united in a petition to Lord Rawdon, couched in the most eloquent and moving language, praying that the valuable life of Colonel Haynes might be spared; but this also was treated with neglect. It was next proposed that Colonel Haynes's children (the mother had recently deceased) should, in their mourning habili- 19* 222 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. ments, be presented to plead for the life of their only surviving parent. 7. Being introduced into his presence, they fell on their knees, and with clasped hands and weeping eyes they lisped their father's name, and pleaded most ear- nestly for his life, but in vain : the unfeeling man was still inexorable ! His son, a youth of thirteen, was per- mitted to stay with his father in prison, who, beholding his only parent loaded with irons and condemned to die, was overwhelmed in grief and sorrow. 8. " Why," said he, " my son, will you thus break your father's heart with unavailing sorrow ? Have I not often told you we came into this world to prepare for a better ? For that better life, my dear boy, your father is prepared. Instead then of weeping, rejoice with me, my son, that my troubles are so near an end. To- morrow I set out for immortality. You will accompany me to the place of my execution ; and, when I am dead, take and bury me by the side of your mother." 9. The youth here fell on his father's neck, crying, " O my father ! my father ! I will die with you ! I will die with you !" Colonel Haynes would have returned the strong embrace of his son, but, alas ! his hands were confined with irons. " Live," said he, " my son, live to honor God by a good life ; live to serve your coun- try ; and live to take care of your little sisters and brother !" 10. The next morning Colonel Haynes was conducted to the place of execution. His son accompanied him. As soon as they came in sight of the gallows, the tat her strengthened himself, and said — "Now, my son, show yourself a man! That tree is the boundary of my life, and of all my life's sorrows. Beyond that, the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. Do not lay too much to heart my separation from you ; it WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 223 will be but short. It was but lately your dear mother died. To-day I die, and you, my son, though but young, must shortly follow us." " Yes, my father," replied the broken-hearted youth, " I shall shortly follow you ; for indeed I feel that I can not live long." 11. On seeing therefore his father in the hands of the executioner, and then struggling in the halter, — he stood like one transfixed, and motionless with horror. Till then he had wept incessantly, but as soon as he saw that sight, the fountain of his tears was stanched, and he never wept more. He died insane, and in his last mo- ments often called on the name of his father in terms that wrung tears from the hardest hearts. 3. Al le' gi ance, faithfulness. 6. Couched, expressed. Ha bil' i ments dresses. 7. In ex' o ra ble, unyielding. 11. Trans fixed', dead. Stanched, stopped. LESSON XCIV. THE RIGHT TO TAX AMERICA. 1. "But, Mr. Speaker, we have a right to tax Ameri- ca." Oh, inestimable right ! Oh, wonderful, transcend- ent right ! the assertion of which has cost this country thirteen provinces, six islands, one hundred thousand lives, and seventy millions of money. 2. Oh, invaluable right! for the sake of which we have sacrificed our rank among nations, our importance abroad, and our happiness at hom<^ ! Oh, right ! more dear to us than our existence, which has already cost us so much, and which seems likely to cost us our all. 224 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 3. Infatuated man ! miserable and undone country ! not to know that the claim of right, without the power of enforcing it, is nugatory and idle. We have a right to tax America, the noble lord tells us, therefore we ought to tax America. This is the profound logic which comprises the whole chain of his reasoning. BUKKE. 1. Trans cend' ent, surpassing. 3. In fat' u a ted, affected with folly. Nu' ga to ry, futile, insignifi- cant. LESSON XCV AFAR IN THE DESERT, 1. Afar in the desert I love to ride With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side ; When the sorrows of life the soul o'ercast, And sick of the Present I cling to the Past ; When the eye is suffused with regretful tears, From the fond recollections of former years, And the shadows of things that had long since fled Flit o'er the brain like ghosts of the dead : Bright visions of glory, that vanished too soon ; Day dreams, that departed e'er manhood's noon ; Attachment, by fate or by falsehood reft ; Companions of early days, lost or left ; And my native land, whose magical name, Thrills to the heart like electric flame ; The home of my childhood — the haunts of my prime — All the passions and scenes of that rapturous time, When the feelings were young and the worVl was new, Like the fresh bowers of Eden unfolded to view : — WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 225 All— all now forsaken — forgotten — foregone ! And I — a lone exile — remembered by none ; My high aims abandoned — my good acts undone — Aweary of all that is under the sun, With a sadness of heart which no stranger may scan, I fly to the Desert afar from man. 2. Afar in the desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side ; When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life, With the scenes of oppression, corruption, and strife — The proud man's frown and the base man's fears — The scorner's laugh and the sufferer's tears — And malice, and meanness — and falseness and folly, Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy ; When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are high, And my soul is sick with the bondsman's sigh — Oh ! then there is freedom, and joy, and pride, Afar in the desert alone to ride ! There is rapture to vault on the champing steed, And to bound away with the eagle's speed ; With the death fraught fire-lock in my hand — The only law of the Desert Land! 3. Afar in the desert I love to ride, With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side ; Away, away, in the wilderness vast, Where the white man's foot hath never passed, And. the'quivered Coranna or Bechuan Hath scarcely crossed with his roving clan ; And region of emptiness, howling and drear, Which man hath abandoned from famine and fear ; Which the sucker and lizard inhabit alone, With the twilight bat from the yawny stone ; Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub take root, Save poisonous thorns which pierce the foot ; 1Y* 226 webb's fourth reader. And the bitter melon for food and drink, Is the pilgrim's fare by the Salt Lake brink — A region of drouth where no river glides, Nor rippling brook with its grassy sides — Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount, Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount Appears, to refresh the aching eye ; But the barren earth and the burning sky, And the black horizon, round and round, Spread — void of living sight or sound. 4. And here, while the night-winds around me sigh, And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky, As I sit afar by the desert stone, Like Elijah at Horeb's cave alone, A still small voice comes through the wild, Like a father consoling his fretful child, Which banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear, Saying — "Man is distant, but God is near." LESSON XCVI. FOREST TREES. 1. Nothing so much adorns the face of the landscape as the luxuriant crowns and waving branches of forest trees ; and nothing could mar the beauty of the earth so much as their destruction. They are the ornaments of creation, and the symbols of human life. Eden with- out them would not have been a paradise. 2. Many of the sweetest remembrances and associa- tions of childhood and declining age, are blended with the kind and protecting shade of overhanging boughs. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 22? They have beautified the scenes of many a quiet home, and millions of young and innocent hearts have gam- boled away the sunny hours of infancy amid the rural retreats of the tangled wood, or dreamed of elysian joys, while lulled in sleep by the sylvan harp of the shadowy grove. 3. And when time has borne the pilgrim of life far away from the familiar haunts of his infant years, of the thousand fond recollections that stand portrayed in the faithful glass of memory, none will be more vivid, or moie welcome than that of a favorite oak or pine stand- ing before the cottage door of his youth, flashing from its verdant robe the hot and dazzling rays of noon, and throwing from its side a grateful shade, and a cooling breeze. 4. From the beginning of time they have been inti- mately connected with the history of man : the tree of life saw the purity and holiness of his first estate ; the tree of knowledge witnessed his great and mournful fall ; and the cedars of Lebanon trembled at the groans of Calvary, and bowed in sorrow as they beheld the infinite price of his redemption. 5. It is a refined and exalted emotion to admire the fresh green foliage of a luxuriant tree ; and there is something spiritual in the lively dance of the fairy leaflets as they keep time to the iEolian music that plays with heavenly harmony in the passing breeze, that speaks a soothing power to the wounded heart, and the afflicted soul. 6. The majestic oak, rising from the bosom of the earth and lifting its leafy banner to the sky, is an elo- quent and beautiful testimony of a Great First Cause, and a living reproach to the disciples of chance. As it stands in the exuberance of its pride and glory, smiling in the beams of day, nourished by the maternal soil, 228 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. and embraced by genial airs, it is an impressive emblem of man in the meridian of life and fullness of prosperity. 7. But when its countless leaves grow sick with chill- ing winds and biting frosts, and assume the hectic and changing tints of expiring life, they present to the human heart a gorgeous and solemn admonition to prepare for that fervent and final fever, that shall one day dry up the fountains of its own vitality ; and as they tremble for a moment upon the parent branch, and then descend to the earth, " dust to dust" is the sad and mournful language of their fall — an illustrated lesson from which man may learn his own mortality. 8. And when cold and lowering skies seem to mock its desolation, and dismal winds howl the requiem of its departed verdure, then the stately monarch of the wood stands forth in its deep-rooted strength, as if defying the tortures of the tempest and the wrath of the gale, till Spring shall again gladden the earth and restore its life and loveliness. So shall the virtuous and trusting mortal that endures unmoved the temptations of time, arise from the winter of the tomb, and breathe a new and endless life in the eternal Spring of Immortality. Ezra D. Barker. 2. E lys' ian, very delightful. Syl' van, pertaining to wood or grove. *l. Gor' geoua, showy. 8. Re' qui em, hymn for th$ dead. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 229 LESSON XCVII. god's ancient sanctuaries. 1. Ah, why- Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised ! Let me, at least, Here, in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn ; thrice happy, if it find Acceptance in His ear. 2. Father, Thy hand Hath reared these venerable columns. Thou Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose All these fair ranks of trees. They in Thy sun Budded, and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze, And shot toward heaven. The century-living crow, Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died Among their branches ; till, at last, they stood, As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark, Fit shrine for humble worshiper to hold Communion with his Maker. 3. Here are seen No traces of man's pomp, or pride ; no silks Rustle, no jewels shine, nor envious eyes Encounter ; no fantastic carvings show The boast of our vain race to change the form Of Thy fair works. But Thou art here ; Thou fill'st The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds That run along the summits of these trees In music ; Thou art in the cooler breath, That, from the inmost darkness of the place, 20 230 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct with Thee. 4. Here is continual worship ; nature, here, In the tranquillity that Thou dost love, Enjoys Thy presence. Noiselessly, around, From perch to perch, the solitary bird Passes ; and yon clear spring, that, 'mid its herbs, Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left Thyself without a witness, in these shades, Of Thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace, Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak, By whose immovable stem I stand, and seem Almost annihilated, not a prince, In all the proud old world beyond the deep, E'er wore his crown as loftily as he Wears the green coronal of leaves, with which Thy hand has graced him. 5. Nestled at his root Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, With scented breath, and look so like a smile, Seems, as it issues from the shapeless mold, An emanation of the indwelling Life, A visible token of the upholding Love, That are the soul of this wide universe. My heart is awed within me, when I think Of the great miracle that still goes on, In silence, round me ; the perpetual work Of Thy creation, finished, yet renewed Forever. Written on Thy works, I read The lesson of Thy own eternity. 6. Lo ! all grow old and die . but see, again, How on the faltering footsteps of decay WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 231 Youth presses, ever gay and beautiful youth, In all its beautiful forms. These lofty trees Wave not less proudly that their ancestors Molder beneath them. Oh, there is not lost One of earth's charms : upon her bosom yet, After the flight of untold centuries, The freshness of her far beginning lies, And yet shall lie. Life mocks the idle hate Of his arch enemy, Death ; yea, seats himself Upon the sepulcher, and blooms and smiles ; And of the triumphs of his ghastly foe Makes his own nourishment. For he came forth From Thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 7. There have been holy men, who hid themselves Deep in the woody wilderness, and gave Their lives to thought and prayer, till they outlived The generation born with them, nor seemed Less aged than the hoary tre^s and rocks Around them ; and there have been holy men, Who deemed it were not well to pass life thus. But let me often to these solitudes Retire, and in Thy presence reassure My feeble virtue. Here, its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps, shrink, And tremble, and are still. 8. God ! when Thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill With all the waters of the firmament, The swift, dark whirlwind, that uproots the woods And drowns the villages ; when, at Thy call, Uprises the great deep, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities ; — who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of Thy power, 232 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ? Oh, from these sterner aspects of Thy face Spare me and mine ; nor let us need the wrath Of the mad, unchained elements, to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, Thy milder majesty, And to the beautiful order of Thy works, Learn to conform the order of jur lives. W. C. BuYAirr. LESSON XCTIII. THE TEACHER'S PROFESSION. 1. Contrary to the opinion which has somewhat gen- erally prevailed, there is not among all the diversified callings of men one more important, elevating, and com- manding than that of a teacher. 2. The highest achievement of the most able and ac- complished legislator is simply the enactment of plain and just laws. His best and noblest work is after all but a silent letter, necessarily without vitality, action, or effect, to all that countless class of persons who can not understand its provisions, nor appreciate the intelli- gence, wisdom, justice, and patriotism which spoke it into being. But suppose the best fortune possible to attend the labors of the legislator, still his works are ephemeral, and destined soon to perish. 3. Not such the fate of the teacher. His labors pro- duce no learned tomes of lifeless statutes, but living, in- telligent, active, self-interpreting men ; men who are not only self-regulating, but whose example attracts, excites, vivifies, and directs all within the sphere of its influence. Characters such as these produce and re- WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 233 produce their representatives through indefinite ages; nay, every principle of truth, every seed of virtue which the faithful teacher has implanted in the soul of his pupil, shall continue to germinate and bear precious fruit so long as that soul itself shall exist. 4. Perhaps the most truly renowned name in the whole history of man, the name which appears most likely to attain an earthly immortality, is Socrates ; and his highest glory in his own estimation while he lived, and in the world's estimation since his death, is, that he was a teacher of youth. 5. But the dignity and importance of the teacher's profession are attested by a greater and holier name than that of Socrates. One of the chief objects of the mis- sion of the Savior of the world was to instruct mankind. Possessing in itself such inherent importance, excel- lence, and majesty, and sanctioned by the life and ex- ample of Him who spoke as never man spoke, who can, for a moment, doubt that the solid and enduring glory of a virtuous and accomplished teacher is a fit object of pursuit for the most capable and exalted minds ? and who can hesitate to believe that in the final awards which await us all, the highest honor shall be conferred upon him who has been most able and faithful in explaining and enforcing the everlasting principles of truth and duty, and winning men by precept and example to the love and practice of every possible virtue ? 6. But the teacher's profession is not only the most elevated, but it is also the most holy of all avocations. Amid the appalling moral and intellectual obliquity of adult life, he is more than man who does not sometimes, perhaps I should say often, find his resolution overpower- ed, his virtue sullied, by the almost resistless temptations with which pleasure, ambition, and the desire of wealth are constantly besetting him. 20* 234 WEBB'S FOURTH HEADER. 7. How different are the influences by which the teacher is surrounded ! Each morning he is hailed with the hearty welcome of smiling, healthy, and happy child- hood. On every hand, he beholds simplicity, frankness, candor, integrity, and unbounded confidence : in a word, he is encircled by those pure and innocent beings of whom the Savior himself said, " Of such is the kingdom of heaven." 8. Surrounded by influences such as these, would not all temptation be powerless ? would not every unholy emotion wither and die ? would not the constant aspi- ration of every soul be for higher attainments in virtue ? for more accurate and extensive knowledge of the Cre- ator's laws ? for more prompt and absolute compliance with their sacred requirements? There is a divinity and power in the society of innocent childhood which will touch the hardest heart, impress the proudest spirit with humility, and for a time, at least, awaken virtuous emotions in the most abandoned bosom. James Hekrv, Jr. 2. E phem' e ral, of short duration, (strictly, lasting but one day.) 3. Tome, a book. 5. In her' ent, existing within itself. LESSON XCIX. " FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND TRUTH."* 1. Where " Friendship, Love, and Truth" abound Among a band of brothers, The cup of joy goes gayly round, Each shares the bliss of others : Sweet roses grace the thorny way Along this vale of sorrow ; * The mctto of the " Independent Order of Odd Fellows." WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 235 The flowers that shed their leaves to-day- Shall bloom again to-morrow : How grand in age, how fair in youth, Are holy " Friendship, Love, and Truth !" 2. On halcyon wings our moments pass, Life's cruel cares beguiling; Old Time lays down his scythe and glass, In gay good-humor smiling ; With ermine beard and forelock gray His reverend front adorning, He looks like Winter turned to May, Night softened into morning. How grand in age, how fair in youth, Are holy " Friendship, Love, and Truth !" 3. From these delightful fountains flow Ambrosial rills of pleasure ; Can man desire, can Heaven bestow A more resplendent treasure ? Adorned with gems so richly bright, We'll form a constellation, Where every star with modest light Shall gild his proper station. How grand in age, how fair in youth, Are holy " Friendship, Love, and Truth !" Montgomery. LESSON C. OUR WONDROUS ATMOSPHERE. 1. The atmosphere rises above us with its dome, arch- ing toward the heavens, of which it is the most familiar synonyme and symbol. It floats around us, like that grand object which the Apostle John saw in his vision — " a sea of glass like unto crystal." 236 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 2. So massive is it, that when it stirs it tosses about great ships like playthings, and sweeps cities and forests, like snow-flakes, to destruction before it ; and yet is so subtile that we have lived years in it before we can be persuaded that it exists at all ; and the great bulk of mankind never realize the truth that they are bathed in an ocean of air. Its weight is so enormous that iron shivers before it like glass ; yet a soap ball sails through it with impunity, and the thinnest insect waves it aside with its wing. 3. It ministers lavishly to all the senses. We touch it not, but it touches us. Its warm south winds bring back color to the face of the invalid ; its cool west winds refresh the fevered brow, and make the blood mantle in our cheeks ; even its north blast braces into new vigor the hardened children of our rugged climate. 4. The eye is indebted to it for all the magnificence of sunrise, the full brightness of mid-day, the chastened radiance of the twilight, and the clouds that cradle near the setting sun. But for it, the rainbow would want its " triumphal arch," and the winds would not send their fleecy messengers on errands around the heavens. The cold ether would not shed snow feathers on the earth, nor would drops of dew gather on the flowers. The kindly rain would never fall, nor hail, storm, nor fog, diversify the face of the sky. 5. Our naked globe would turn its tanned and un- shadowed forehead toward the sun, and one dreary monotonous blaze of light and heat, dazzle and burn up all things. Were there no atmosphere, the evening sun would in a moment set, and, without warning; plunge the earth in darkness. But the air keeps his rays, and lets them slip but slowly through her ringers; so that the shadows of evening are gathered by degrees, and the flowers have time to bow their heads, and every WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 23 Y creature space to find a place of rest, and to nestle to repose. 6. In the morning the sun would burst at one bound from the bosom of night, and blaze above the horizon ; but the air watches for his coming, and sends at first one little ray to announce his approach, and then an- other, and by and by a handful, and so gently draws aside the curtain of night, and slowly lets the light fall on the face of the earth, till her eyelids open, and like a man, she goeth forth again to her labors till the evening. LESSON CI. NAPOLEON AT REST. 1. His falchion flashed along the Nile ; His hosts he led through Alpine snows ; O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the while, His eagle flag unrolled — and froze. 2. Here sleeps he now, alone ! Not one, Of all the kings, whose crowns he gave, Bends o'er his dust ; — nor wife nor son Has ever seen or sought his grave. 3. Behind this sea-girt rock, the star, That led him on from crown to crown, Has sunk ; and nations from afar Gazed as it faded and went down. 4. High is his couch ; — the ocean flood, Far, far below, by storms is curled ; As round him heaved, while high he stood, A stormy and unstable world. 238 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 5. Alone he sleeps ! The mountain cloud, That night hangs round him, and the breath Of morning scatters, is the shroud That wraps the conqueror's clay in death. 6. Pause here ! The far-off world at last Breathes free ; the hand that shook its thrones, And to the earth its miters cast, Lies powerless now beneath these stones. 7. Hark ! comes there, from the pyramids, And from Siberian wastes of snow, And Europe's hills, a voice that bids The world he awed to mourn him f - -'No: 8. The only, the perpetual dirge That's heard here, is the sea-bird's cry,- — The mournful murmur of the surge, — The cloud's deep voice, the wind's low sigh. John Pru n rr. LESSON CI I. TYPOGRAPHY : ITS ORIGIN, RISE, AND PROGRESS. 1. Heaven has allowed the discovery or invention of ao art that can compare, in point of usefulness, to the typographic art ; and notwithstanding its great import- ance, and the recentness of its origin, my readers will be surprised to learn that its inventor and early history are alike vailed in doubt. 2. " The inventor of this noble art to find, Has long engaged the antiquary's mind ; To question dates, on books and records pore, To draw the vail Obscurity's cast o'er — WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 239 Vain are his efforts : 'tis beyond his might To fix, in truth, on man or place, the right ! Doubts still exist to whom the palm is due ; Partisans for each their claims pursue ; But metal types, the honor all confer On both the Guttembergs, Faust, and Schoeffer." 3. Some have asserted that it has been practiced in China from the earliest days of antiquity ; but it is quite certain that the fifteenth century has the honor of mak- ing it available to the world at large ; for all admit that, previous to this time, types were not known. 4. It is probable that it was suggested to Caster, an old bachelor, by cutting a few letters or characters in the bark of a beech-tree. After this, he cut them on blocks^ and printed toys for the children of his brother, with whom he resided. From this small beginning, it appears that typography has arisen to be what it now is — the greatest earthly benefactor of the human race. 5. For some time, the matter to be printed was cut, inverted, on blocks of wood, from which the impres- sions were taken. At this early period, the present printed characters were unknown, and only urssr.i.i- 3EJ quires not the leam - ing of Greece or of Rome, fe^^^ia^^;^ 1 * To pic - ture out 3a - tan, or point out hU home; WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 249 mmmz^mms But the arch-flend dwells now in the "Worm of the Still." 7. It requires not the learning of Greece or of Rome To picture out Satan, or point out his home ; Into serpents, of old, crept the author of ill, But the arch-fiend dwells now in the " Worm of the Still " 8. Assuming that shape, he persuades men to take A temperate dram for their poor stomach's sake ; Till, by little and little, they're bent to his will, And man is o'ercome by the " Worm of the Still." 9. 'Tis his pride to transform, by his pestilent breath, The most nourishing food to the essence of death ; And give us, in place of the sweet bubbling rill, A river of fire from the " Worm of the Still." 10. In the art of corrupting and cursing our grain, To famish his victim, and madden his brain, No demon of death ever equaled his skill, Or replenished the graves like the " Worm of the Still." 11. With temperate drams drunkards always begin; But an unquenchable fire is soon kindled within, And quickly they fall from the brow of the hill, To grovel in dust with the " Worm of the Still." 12. What is it, I pray, that is wont to transmute Pure gold to base metal — a man to a brute ? What causes the hand of the murderer to spill The blood of a brother ? — 'Tis the " Worm of the Still!" 250 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. LESSON CVI, SELF-CULTURE. 1. Philosophers have racked their wit and wisdom to distinguish man from " other animals" by some single and infallible mark. But to us it seems sufficient to say, Man is a being capable of self-culture. This power at once separates him from the lower orders, and makes him akin to higher existences ; while its exercise brings him more and more on a level with the angels, than which he was originally created but little lower. Thus, while the simple possession of this faculty renders man noble, its full cultivation and development raises him still higher in the scale of being. 2. The most cursory survey of the universe of mat- ter and of mind, including all that science unfolds of the former, and all that either revelation or reason discov- ers of the latter, shows that one great law pervades them both. — This law is Progress. No star of the first magnitude, however near or remote it may be, however fixed it may appear, ever remains for a single moment stationary in any part of its orbit. 3. Suns, moons, planets, stars — all, all continue with unceasing activity, their annual and diurnal motions ; besides another, the " systemic," where whole systems become but units in other systems, which have hitherto proved too vast for man to explore. So, in like manner, not the smallest particle that helps make up the earth's mass, or the humblest individual that resides upon its surface, ever remains, from moment to moment, un- changed in its essential being, or in its relation to others. 4. Change, progress, is the necessary law of all be- WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 251 ings, and of all worlds. And while the latter are guided in their progress by other " laws," fixed as fate, immu- table as eternity, man possesses the high prerogative, both of promoting and of guiding his own progress ; and, as is just, becomes thus personally responsible for the quality, as well as the quantity of that progress. The artist has vividly portrayed the situation of man, as a fair youth, standing erect in his frail bark, upon the stream of life, and holding in his hand the helm of des- tiny. 5. His onward course is subject to his own control ; and he guides it as he will, downward, in the company of evil spirits, or upward, to the beckoning of his guar- dian angel. But the picture is imperfect, since it shows no glimpse of the multitudes of others, whose course is influenced, for better or for worse, according as he chooses for himself. For self-culture applies as much to the moral as to the intellectual nature ; and if by it a price is put into our hands to get wisdom, it must be that which regards man as an immortal as well as a mortal being. 6. As in no country are there greater opportunities for self-culture than in our own, so in no country are there higher motives to persuade us to improve them. The greater ease with which the American citizen provides for the daily wants of his family, as well as the perfect freedom of directing his attention to whatever subject he will, forms privileges, the value of which can never be correctly estimated, till we are deprived of them. 7. The genius of our republican institutions assists all in their onward progress, and never allows true merit to be repressed because unsupported by wealth or nobility ; but it encourages every citizen to believe he shall be honored as highly as he deserves, and he knows he may raise himself as high as he will. 252 WEBB'S FOURTII READER. What was it but self-cultivation which raised such men as Franklin and Roger Sherman, from their hum- ble station of journeymen mechanics to the high rank they acquired in life — the proud position they now hold in the history of our country ? 8. Not that we would imply that all can become as great as these men; for something of their greatness was, doubtless, due to the influence of the " times that tried men's souls ;" but we do say, that all who will but as perseveringly cultivate their own mental and moral faculties, will be as highly esteemed by all who know them; for self-culture is like a precious stone, which each one may polish less or more as he will. 9. Self-culture is self-education ; and, with few ex- ceptions, the great men of America, if not of the world, have been self-made men. And moreover, if we do not educate ourselves aright, other persons, and other influ- ences, will not fail to educate us wrong ; for whether we attend to it or not, the educating process must go on. 10. Let us all then, of all sexes and ages, retain in our own hands the high prerogative of self-culture, and make the highest possible improvement of the privilege, since it is a talent by which we may continually raise ourselves in the scale of being, and for which we are responsible, whether we use or neglect it. U. To the young, this subject has especial interest. They have, in a more peculiar manner, their destiny in their own hands. Let them see to it, that the time never comes, when they shall be made to feel that they have had given to them the power and the privi.ege of self-culture, of elevating and ennobling themselves and others ; but that, by neglecting to employ this power and privilege, they have criminally degraded both. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. LESSON CYII. 8HYLOCK, OR THE PCUND OF FLESH. Judge. What ! is Antonio here ? Antonio. Ready, so please your grace. Ju. I am sorry for thee ; thou art come to answer A stony adversary, an inhuman wretch, Incapable of pity. Ant. I am armed to suffer. {Enter ShylocJc.) Ju. Dost thou now exact the penalty, Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh? Shy. By our holy Sabbath, I have sworn, To have the due and forfeit of my bond. Ju. This is no answer, thou unfeeling man, To excuse the current of thy cruelty. Shy. I am not bound to please thee with my answer. You'll ask me why I rather chose to have A weight of carrion flesh, than to receive Three thousand ducats. I'll not answer that: But say it is my humor. Is it answered ? What if my house be troubled with a rat, And I be pleased to give ten thousand ducats To have it baned ? What, are you answered yet ? Some men there are, love not a gaping pig ; Some, that are mad, if they behold a cat ; As there is no firm reason to be rendered, Why one can not abide a gaping pig ; Another, a harmless, necessary cat ; So can I give no reason, and I will not, More than a lodged hate, and a certain loathing I bear Antonio, that I follow thus A losing suit against him. Ju. Do all men kill the things they do not love ? Shy. Hates any man the thing he would not kill ? 22 254 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Ant. For thy three thousand ducats, here are six. Shy. If every ducat in six thousand ducats Were in six parts, and every part a ducat, I would not draw them, I would have my bond. Ju. How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none ? Shy. The pound of flesh which I demand of him, Is dearly bought ; is mine ; and I will have it : If you deny me, fy upon your law ! I stand for judgment ; answer ; shall I have it ? Ju. Antonio, do you confess the bond ? Ant. I do. Ju. Then must the Jew be merciful. Shy. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that. Ju. The quality of mercy is not strained ; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath ; it is twice blessed ; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes. Shy. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, The penalty and forfeit of my bond. Ju. Is he not able to discharge the money ? Ant. Yes, here I tender it to him in the court ; Yea, twice and thrice the sum. Shy. I'll have my bond, I will not take thy offer. Ju. There is no power in Venice Can alter a decree established. Shy. O wise, wise Judge, how do I honor thee ! Ju. I pray you let me look upon the bond. {Gives it to the Judge.) Shy. Here it is, most reverend doctor, here it is. Ju. Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offered thee. Shy. An oath, an oath, I have in heaven : Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ? No, not for Venice. Ju. Why, tins bond is forfeit ; And lawfully by this the Jew may claim A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off Nearest the merchant's heart : be merciful ; WEBB'S FOUETH EEADEE. 255 Take thrice the money ; bid me tear the bond. Shy. When it is paid according to the tenor. You know the law, your exposition Hath been most sound. There is no power in the tongue of man To alter me : I stand here on my bond. Ant. Most heartily do I beseech the court To give the judgment. Ju. Why, then, thus it is. You must prepare your bosom for his knife. . Shy. noble Judge ! Ju. For the intent and purpose of the law Hath full relation to the penalty, Which here appeareth due unto the bond. Shy. 'Tis very true : wise and upright Judge ! Ju. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. (To Antonio.) Shy. Ay, his breast : So says the bond ; does it not, noble Judge ? Nearest his heart, those are the very words. Ju. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh The flesh ? Shy. I have them ready. f Ju. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond ? Ju. It is not so expressed ; but what of that? 'T were good you do so much in charity. Shy. I can not find it ; 't is not in the bond. Ju. Come, merchant, have you any thing to say ? Ant. But little ; I am armed, and well prepared. Ju. Shylock ! A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine ; The court awards it, and the law doth give it. Shy. Most rightful Judge ! Ju. And you must cut the flesh from off his breast ; The law allows it, and the court awards it. Shy. Most learned Judge ! A sentence : come, prepare. Ju. Tarry a little ; there is something else. 256 WEBB'S EOURTII READER. This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood : The words expressly are, a pound of flesh ; But v in the cutting it, if thou dost shed One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods Are, by the law of Venice, confiscate Unto the State of Venice. Shy, Is that the law? Ju. Thyself shalt see the act ; For, as thou urgest justice, be assured Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. Shy. I take his offer, then ; pay the bond thrice, And let the Christian go. Ju. The Jew shall have all justice ! soft ! no haste ! He shall have nothing but the penalty. Therefore prepare thee to cut off the flesh. Shed thou not blood , nor cut thou less nor more, Than just one pound ; be it but so much As makes it light or heavy, in the substance, Or the division of the twentieth part Of one poor scruple ; nay, if the scale do turn But in the estimation of a hair, Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy forfeiture. Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go. Ju. Thou hast refused it in the open court ; Thou shalt have merely justice, and the bond. Shy. Shall I not barely have my principal ? Ju. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, To be so taken at thy peril, Jew. Shy. Why, then, the devil give him good of it ! I'll stay no longer question. Ju. Tarry, Jew : The law hath yet another hold on you. It is enacted in the laws of Venice, If it be proved against an alien, That by direct or indirect attempts, He seeks the life of any citizen, WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 257 The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive, Shall seize one half his goods ; and the other half Comes to the privy coffer of the State, And the offender's life lies in the mercy Of the court only. Shy. Take my life, then, and all, and pardon not that. You do take my house, when you do take the prep That doth sustain my house ; you take my life, When you do take the means by which I live. Ju. The court in mercy spares thy life, But the forfeiture of thy estate Comes not within our power to remedy ; The law is strict in its demands of justice. Are you contented, Jew ? what dost thou say ? Shy. I pray you, give me leave to go from hence ; I am not well ; give me leave to go Where I may die in peace : Since what I hold dearer than my life, Is taken from me. Ju. The court has mercy on your life ; Go, repent, and live, And with a softer heart, remember mercy too. Shakspjeabx. LESSON CYIII. EUROPE AND AMERICA WASHINGTON. [Extract from an Address delivered at the celebration of the completion of the Bunker Hill Monument, June 17, 1843.] 1. Few topics are more inviting, or more fit for philo- sophical discussion, than the action and influence of the New World upon the Old; or the contributions of America to Europe. 2. Her obligations to Europe for science and art, 22' 258 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. laws, literature, and manners, America acknowledges as she ought, with respect and gratitude. And the people of the United States, descendants of the English stock, grateful for the treasures of knowledge derived from their English ancestors, acknowledge, also, with thanks and filial regard, that among those ancestors, under the culture of Hampden and Sidney, and other assiduous friends, that seed of popular liberty first germinated, which, on our soil, has shot up to its full hight, until its branches overshadow all the land. 3. But America has not failed to make returns. If she has not canceled the obligation, or equaled it by others of like weight, she has, at least, made respectable aavances, and some approaches toward equality. And she admits, that, standing in the midst of civilized nations, and in a civilized age, a nation among nations, there is a high part which she is expected to act, for the general advance of human interests and human welfare. 4. American mines have filled the mints of Europe with the precious metals ; the productions of the Amer- ican soil and climate have poured out their abundance of luxuries for the tables of the rich, and of necessaries for the sustenance of the poor ; birds and animals of beauty and value have been added to the European stocks ; and transplantations from the transcendent and unequaled riches of our forests have mingled themselves profusely with the elms, and ashes, and druidical oaks of England. 5. America has made contributions far more vast. Who can estimate the amount, or the value, or the aug- mentation of the commerce of the world, that has re- sulted from America ? Who can imagine to himself what would be the shock to the eastern continent, if the Atlantic were no longer traversable, or there were no longer American productions or American markets ? WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 259 6. But America exercises influences, or holds out examples, for the consideration of the Old World, of a much higher, because they are of a moral and political, character. America has furnished to Europe proof of the fact, that popular institutions, founded on equality and the principle of representation, are capable of main- taining governments — able to secure the rights of per- sons, property, and reputation. 7. America has proved that it is practicable to elevate the mass of mankind — that portion which, in Europe, is called the laboring or lower class ; to raise them to self- respect — to make them competent to act a part in the great right and great duty of self-government ; and this, she has proved, may be done by the diffusion of knowl- edge. She holds out an example a thousand times more enchanting than ever was presented before, to those nine-tenths of the human race who are born without hereditary fortune or hereditary rank. 8. America has furnished to the world the character of Washington. And if our American institutions had done nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the respect of mankind. Washington ! " First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his country- men !" Washington is all our own ! 9. The enthusiastic veneration and regard in which the people of the United States hold him, prove them to be worthy of such a countryman ; while his reputation abroad reflects the highest honor on his country and its [j institutions. I would cheerfully put the question to any of the intelligence of Europe and the world, what char acter of the century, upon the whole, stands out on the ; relief of history, most pure, most respectable, most sub- lime ; and I doubt not that, by a suffrage approaching to unanimity, the answer would be — Washington ! 10. This structure, by its uprightness, its solidity, its 260 webb's fourth PwEAder. durability, is no unfit emblem of his character. His pub- lic virtue and public principles were as firm as the earth on which it stands — his personal motives as pure as the serene heaven in which its summit is lost. But, indeed, though a fit, it is an inadequate, emblem. Towering high above the column which our hands have builded, beheld not by the inhabitants of a single city, or a single state, ascends the colossal grandeur of his character and his life. In all the constituents of the one — in all the acts of the other — in all its titles to immortal love, admi- ration, and renown — it is an American production. 11. It is the embodiment and vindication of our trans- atlantic liberty. Born upon our soil, of parents also born upon it ; never, for a moment, having had a sight of the old world ; instructed, according to the modes of his time, only in the spare but wholesome elementary knowl- edge which our institutions provide for the children of the people ; growing up beneath, and penetrated by, the genuine influence of American society ; growing up amid our expanding but not luxurious civilization ; partaking in our great destiny of labor, our long contest with un- reclaimed nature and uncivilized man ; our agony of glory, the war of independence, our great victory of peace, the formation of the Union, and the establishment of the constitution ; he is all, all our own ! That crowd- ed and glorious life, "*Where multitudes of virtues passed along, Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng, Contending to be seen, then making room For greater multitudes that were to come ; — " that life was the life of an American citizen. 12. I claim him for America. In all the perils, in every darkened moment of the state, in the midst of the reproaches of enemies and the misgivings of friends, I WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 261 turn to that transcendent name for courage and for con- solation. To him who denies or doubts whether our fervid liberty can be combined with law, with order, with the security of property, with the pursuits and ad- vancement of happiness ; to him who denies that our in- stitutions are capable of producing exaltation of soul and the passion of true glory ; to him who denies that we have contributed any to the stock of great lessons and great examples ; to all these I reply, by pointing to Wash- ington ! Webster. LESSON CIX. WASHINGTON. 1. La.nd of the West ! though passing brief the record of thine age, Thou hast a name that darkens all on history's wide page : Let all the blasts of fame ring out — thine shall be the loud- est far ; Let others boast their satellites — thou hast the planet star : Tis stamp'd upon the dullest brain, and warms the coldest heart, — A war-cry fit for any land where freedom's to be won : Land of the West ! it stands alone — it is thy Washington ! 2. Rome had its Csesar, great and brave, but stain was on his wreath, He lived the heartless conqueror, and died the tyrant's death ; France had its eagle, but his wings, though lofty they might soar, Were spread in false ambition's flight, and dipped in murder's gore. 262 WEBB'S FOURTH HEADER. Those hero-gods, whose mighty sway would fain have chain'd the waves ; Who flesh'd their blades with tiger zeal, to make a world of slaves ; Who, though their kindred barr'd the path, still fiercely waded on ; Oh, where shall be their "glory" by the side of Washington? 3. He fought, but not with love of strife ; he struck but to defend ; And ere he turned a people's foe, he sought to be a friend : He strove to keep his country's right by reason's gentle word, And sighed when fell injustice threw the challenge, — sword to sword : He stood the firm, the calm, the wise, the patriot, and the sage : He showed no deep avenging hate, no burst of despot rage ; He stood for Liberty and Truth, and dauntlessly led on, Till shouts of victory gave forth the name of Washington ! 4. No car of triumph bore him through a city filled with grief ; No groaning captives at the wheels proclaim'd him victor chief ; He broke the gyves of slavery, with strong and high disdain, And forged no scepter from the links, when he had crushed the chain. He saved his land ; but did not lay his soldier trappings down, To change them for the regal vest, and "don" a kingly crown. Fame was too earnest in her joy — too proud of such a son — To let a robe and title mask a noble Washington ! 5. England ! my heart is truly thine, my loved, my native earth ! The land that holds a mother's grave, and gave that mother birth ; WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 263 Oh, keenly sad would be the fate that thrust me from thy shore, And faltering my breath that sighed, " Farewell, for ever- more !" But did I meet such adverse lot, I would not seek to dwell Where olden heroe3 wrought the deeds for Homer's songs to tell ; " Away, thou gallan* ship !" I'd cry, " and bear me swiftly on ; But bear me from my own fair land to that of Washington !" Eliza Cook. LESSON CX. THE TEMPERATE AND DISSOLUTE MAN.* 1. I ask the young man, then, who is just forming his habits of life, or just beginning to indulge those habitual trains of thought out of which habits grow, to look around him and mark the examples whose fortunes he would court, or whose fate he would abhor. Even as we walk the streets, we meet with exhibitions of each extreme. 2. Here, behold a patriarch, whose stock of vigor threescore years and ten seem hardly to have impaired. His erect form, his firm step, his elastic limbs, and un- diminished senses, are so many certificates of good moral conduct ; or, rather, so many jewels and orders of nobility with which nature has honored him for his fidelity to her laws. 3. His fair complexion shows that his blood has never * An extract from an admirable little work entitled " Thoughts for a Young Maa" 264 WEBB'S FOURTH HEADER. been corrupted ; his pure breath, that he has never yielded his digestive apparatus for a vintner's cess- pool ; his exact language and keen apprehension, that his brain has never been drugged or stupefied by the poisons of the distiller or tobacconist. 4. Enjoying his appetites to the highest, he has pre- served the power of enjoying them. Despite the moral of the school-boy's story, he has eaten his cake, and still keeps it. As he drains the cup of life, there are no lees at the bottom. His organs will reach the goal of ex- istence together ; painlessly as a candle burns down in its socket, so will he expire ; and a little imagination would convert him into another Enoch, translated from earth to a better world, without the sting of death. 5. But look at an opposite extreme, where an opposite history is recorded. What wreck so shocking to be- hold as the wreck of a dissolute man ;— the vigor of life exhausted, and yet the first step in an honorable course not taken ; in himself a lazar-house of disease ; dead, but by a heathenish custom of society, not buried ! 6. Rogues have had the initial letter of their title burnt into the palms of their hands ; even for murder, Cain was only branded on the forehead ; but over the whole person of the debauchee or the inebriate, the signatures of infamy are written. How nature brands him with stigma and opprobrium ! How she hangs labels all over him, to testify her disgust at his existence, and to admonish others to beware of his example ! 7. How she loosens all his joints, sends tremor along his muscles, and bends forward his frame, as if to bring him upon all-fours with kindred brutes, or to degrade him to the reptile's crawling! How she disfigures his countenance, as if intent upon obliterating all traces of her own image, so that she may swear she never made him ! How she pours rheum over his eyes, sends foul WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 265 spirits to inhabit his breath, and shrieks, as with a trumpet, from every pore of his body, " Behold a Beast !" 8. Now let the young man, rejoicing in his manly proportions, and in his comeliness, look on this picture and on that, and then say, after the likeness of which model he intends his own erect stature and sublime countenance shall be configured. Horace Mann. 2. Fi del' i ty, faithfulness. 3. Vint' ner, a seller or dealer in wine. Cess'-pool, a cavity to receive filthy liquid. 4. Lees, dregs. 5. Dis' so lute, loose in moral*. Lft' zar-house, a house for persons affected with nauseous disease*. LESSON CXI. THE TEMPLE OP KNOWLEDGE. [Conclusion of " A Lecture before the members of the Albany Female Academy, at the close of the Annual Course on Astronomy, delivered April 2, 1845.] 1. I remember my feelings when a boy on first enter- ing the Cathedral of St. Paul, in London. While I gazed on that magnificent structure, I thought that if any thing made with hands was worthy of the Divinity, it was such a temple. And while I surveyed the statues, monuments, and obelisks — those envied emblems of earthly immortality erected to departed worth, and valor, and genius ; and when, high above all, around that lofty dome, I saw displayed the flags and banners of almost every nation on earth — the honored trophies of 23 266 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. hard-fought contests in field and flood for a thousand years — I confess, boy as I was, I could not repress a feeling of pride, as if part of the honor was shared by me in belonging to the race. 2. Young ladies, the temple of knowledge to which education introduces you, is in many respects the coun- terpart of that which I have thus faintly described. It is a venerable, an enormous pile ; the work of nearly sixtv centuries ; rude and contracted in its beginning, but enlarged from time to time, through the long suc- cession of generations, as new conquests have been made, and fresh trophies won. 3. As we stand in the vestibule and cast our eyes within, we may well feel awe-struck at the augustness of the scene, disclosing an extent so vast, and objects so innumerable, as to dazzle and bewilder. Contributions from every age and clime, and people and tongue, are there. In the innermost recesses, dim and dark, and almost lost in the obscurity of distance, are discovered memorials of the years before the flood ; while close to the vestibule, in bright and bold relief, are deposited the trophies of yesterday. 4. There, are the labors of the solitary cell, the mid- night taper, the over-worked brain, the wasting frame, the deathless, quenchless spirit, whose flame was fed by the immortality which,. with prophetic foresight, it knew it had already achieved. But why enumerate ? There, are the accumulated riches of the race, made up by tributes from every land. There, is all that man has won, and calls his own. 5. Who does not feel an interest — which of you does not feel an interest — may I not say a pride — in this, the common property of the race ? Which of you does not wish to contribute something to the common stock — some little relic, that shall outlive her own brief span of WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 267 being, and tell spectators of a future age, the story of her birth ? Who is there in whose bosom there breathes no aspiration, at least, to enter this temple of knowledge, and see before she dies, what man has done ? 6. But there is another temple, to which, in conclu- sion, I would lead your thoughts ; a temple in which there is found not in a single beholder an emotion of pride, but where every such feeling dies within the breast. It is the temple of the Universe — a temple not made with hands, whose architect is the Eternal — a temple whose dome is immensity, whose lamps are the ever-burning stars — a temple of which Earth is but one of ten thousand times ten thousand altars, and man himself one of the lowliest of its countless worshipers. 7. Oh ! if there is one species of insanity that towers above all others, surely it is the madness of the " unde- vout astronomer" who can gaze on such a scene as this, and, as he turns away from the sight, exclaim, " There is no God /" In St. Paul's Cathedral, while the stranger is lost in admiration of the physical grandeur of the structure, his eye is arrested by a lofty and con- spicuous inscription : " If you seek my monument, look around." 8. This is the epitaph of Sir Christopher Wren, the architect of the work ; and as the stranger obeys the injunction, and looks around, he pays involuntary homage to the genius and memory of the man. And is there no similar inscription in memorial of the Ever- lasting, carved in characters of living glory on the walls of the Universal temple, in language understood by savage and by sage, and which finds its interpretation in every heart ? 9. Who is there that surveys in a star-lit night this most imposing spectacle, amid that pervading, almost startling silence, which he knows to be coeval with eter- 268 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. nity, and does not feel inclined to stand with uncovered head, and awe-struck spirit, and even suppressed breath, while he feels that the earth on which he stands is but the vestibule of creation, the porch of the universe, the first step within the portals of that temple of Nature, of which he is thus permitted to discern only the dim, and distant, and shadowy outlines ? 10. And while the earth seems to dwindle into a point, and he into an atom, as he looks up into the infinitude of space above, and thinks of the infinitude that equally yawns beneath ; and then passes involuntarily to the idea of the Unseen Spirit whose presence pervades that in- finitude — now, as it ever did, and ever shall do — oh, it is then, that all the boasted treasures of human knowl- edge, the achievements of science, and the triumphs of reason, that lately seemed so vast, appear what in re- ality they are, only a few feeble rays, permitted to ema- nate from the ineffable fountain of Wisdom and In- telligence. 11. Such thoughts as these are the genuine results of real knowledge, and above all, of astronomical knowl- edge. Such thoughts form an infallible antidote to that vanity and self-esteem which superficial acquirements, a mere smattering of learning, is apt to inspire. They lift the soul above the petty strifes and trifles, the ignoble aims and pursuits, by which so many are engrossed. 12. May we all be permitted to cross the vestibule of the great temple, to gain a glimpse even of the shrine of the Uncreated, and with reason unclouded, and spirit unclogged, and eye unsealed, to see, to admire, to adore. But may I be permitted to remind you, that into this temple the only means of entrance are those prescribed in the book of Truth, by Him who is Himself the Way, the Truth, the Life — Ilyn who is emphatically the Great WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 269 Teacher, and who descended from heaven to earth, to achieve at once the spiritual education, and the end- less happiness, of His erring children. A. "Watson. LESSON CXII. PROGRESS OF MIND. 1. Oh, blessed hour! the " Day-spring from on high" Dawns on the darkened world : long-brooding night Rolls back, and morning breaks along the sky ; While Wisdom, stooping from her heavenly hight, Spreads o'er the earth her robe of dazzling light. The humblest now rejoice and feel no ban, But seek for wisdom as their heaven-born right, — With pleasure think, the thoughts of others scan, And deem him highest blest who best can act the man I 2. The mind aroused as ne'er in former years, Majestic, like the sun, moves on its way Of light from clime to clime, and earth appears To glow e'en now with bright millennial ray ! Old things with golden times have passed away, And man no more consents to plod his round In search of joys which ne'er his toils repay ; But like the winged light, with one rebound, Leaps to the goal he seeks, o'er hight and space pro- found ! 3. The forest melts at his advancing stride, And up, like magic, towns and cities spring : The subtile elements his will abide, And serve his wish as subjects serve their king. Each day reveals some new, unheard-of thing, 23< 270 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Till wonder long has ceased to feel surprise : Thought now is sent upon the lightning's wing, Which round the circling earth obedient flies, With speed as swift as e'er it flashed along the skies ! 4. Thus Thought goes forth and holds the world in awe, Subservient makes each known and latent power (Led to their springs by Truth's unerring law), Bedecks the desert wild with fruit and flower, And gleams from barren fields a princely dower ; Amid confusion, perfect order finds, A radiant sun, where clouds of darkness lower ; Culls rarest gems from long-neglected mines, And purest bliss enjoys, where Ignorance repines ! 5. O'er earth, ere long, a fearful change shall pass, Hurled back to chaos, whence at first it came, Its beauty changed to one unshapen mass, As round it spreads the fierce devouring flame, Which leaves no lingering trace of place or fame : Then o'er the scene shall Thought arise and shine ; With radiant beams the noonday sun 'twill shame, And from the smoldering wrecks of Earth and Time, In triumph mount to God, Immortal and Divine ! Sidney Drxn. LESSON CXIII. LABOR A NECESSITY AND DUTY. 1. Man is by nature a being of labor. His mental and physical constitution is wisely adapted to labor, and he never fulfills his destiny, and obeys the laws of his being, without it. Almost as soon as the child can raise his head he begins to shadow forth this inherent element WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 271 — he labors. That which in the child we call play, is ins labor, and most earnestly and faithfully does he per- form it. 2. Nothing would change the habits of the child as he advances in life, but the unsound and ridiculous public sentiment which writes disgrace on the perspiring brow of labor. When he is made to feel and believe that what is called work is disgraceful or ungenteel, he changes his useful employments for hunting, horse-racing, bowling, sparring, billiards, or some other useless form of filling up his time, and of obtaining that amount of physical and mental exercise which the mind and body must have, or become imbecile. 3. Thus the young man obeys the instinct of his nature — he works ; but he labors like the galley-slave, in occupations that debase the morals, that enslave and contract the intellect, and that do neither himself nor the world any valuable service. As well might we shut out the light of day from the young, as to deprive them of labor — they will work. 4. If taught that useful labor is disreputable, they will seek sports of questionable moral tendency on which to work off their surplus vitality and muscular energy, and the world, as well as themselves, will be deprived of all the usefulness which they might have accomplished. Labor is natural to man, and is one of his greatest bless- ings. 5. It were better for the affluent, the fortunate, or uNfortunate inheritors of millions, in view of their own personal welfare, to spend a considerable portion of every day in labor, producing something really valuable to the world, and adding to the general stock of comforts or embellishments of life. 6. Fashionable sports, or the dainty physical labor of the conceited dandy, vitiates the individual ; and while it 272 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. does the world no good, it produces positive harm, by in- spiring the young with a distaste for useful employment. This begets idleness, dissipation, gambling, and even theft, to enable the misled poor to ape the life of sport and dissipation of the rich. 7. Labor is any effort of the mind and body exercised to produce some useful result. It is valuable only for its benefit to sentient beings, particularly to the human race. Nearly all that is produced by labor is the result of the industrious toil of about one-half of mankind ; the balance are mere consumers, drone-bees in the hive of human society, who prey upon the products of industry, lessen the aggregate of human comfort, and do little or nothing to compensate society for their sustenance. 8. It is, therefore, not only unnatural and dishonorable to live a life of useless, unproductive existence, but it is social robbery ; piracy upon the products of the indus- trious world. No person has a right to live without a valuable contribution to the general stock of mind, morals, or money. 9. The world supports him, and he owes it, in return, the efforts of his mind or muscles, in the production of the useful and the true. To refuse to do this, is, in a moral point of view, robbery. The idiotic, the insane, and the imbecile, are excusable, and no others. 10. If haughty, purse-proud man would take lessons of industry from the whole world of organic and inor- ganic matter, and carry out, as he should, the indica- tions thus written in the practical language of action — useful, laborious, universal action — the race of idlers and non-producers would, by reformation, cease to bur- den and disgrace the earth. 11. Nature is one great workshop. The tides and the winds, electricity and magnetism, the chemical and the geological combinations and changes, the formation and WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 273 the development of organic life, are all specimens of in- cessant industry. 12. Shall the noblest work of God, man, be the only exception to this great law of industry ? Shall the earth, the air, and the sea, be instinct with life and action — unmitigated action ; and shall every species of animal, from the animalcule to the elephant, exert an earnest industry; and man, the master-piece of God's workman- ship, and who has more wants than any other animal in existence, be either too proud or too indolent to labor ? It is wrong and unnatural to be idle, or uselessly employed ; it is a libel on existence. It should therefore be re- garded, as it truly is, not only dishonorable, but dis- graceful. Nelson Sizer. LESSON CXIV. " THE MIND'S THE STANDARD OP THE MAN." 1. " Could I in stature reach the pole, Or grasp creation in my span, I'd still be measured by my soul : The mind's the standard of the man." 2. What truth was ever uttered more evident to the unprejudiced mind of any person than this, " The mind's the standard of the man ?" It is the grand distinctive feature of man's organization. Were it not for this, he would be leveled to the rank of a mere brute. His men- tality, then, is the only part of him which ought to be regarded as worthy of approbation or censure. 3. The very moment we estimate him by any other criterion, we are offering an insult to his nature ; we are erecting a standard which any sensible man ought to re- 274 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. gard as an indignity cast not only on himself, but also on the Being who made him to differ from the lower forms of animated matter, which are below him in the scale of creation. 4. But we can not disguise the fact, that this has never been the universal standard of estimation. In ancient times, feats of physical prowess were celebrated in poetry and romance, and the athletce of the gymnasium and stadium were crowned with the ivy, amid the cheers and congratulations of the multitude. Mothers trained their sons, from infancy, to feats of courage and hardships, and thought no disgrace greater than that of Dossessing cowardly offspring. 5. To this state of things, in later times, succeeded that of nobility and birth. Time was when a lord or a baron was distinguished by the dress which he wore, and hundreds bowed the servile knee to the purple and fur of him who boasted greatness on account of his pedigree and ancestral fame. But this standard of esteem is now well-nigh obliterated — at least in our own country. 6. We occasionally see its ghost, however, displaying its "shrunk shanks" in some of our large cities, as a carriage rolls along its streets with armorial bearings, and a driver and footman trimmed with gold lace. This ostentation admirably serves to mark the victims of folly, so that the wise and intelligent may look on them with detestation and pity : detestation that there are any so near the door of animality that they glory in a badge to distinguish their downfall ; and pity that the high and holy attributes of man should be put aside for the de- grading paraphernalia of the animal. 7. The race of Mammon has succeeded this, and we have now the almost universal consent that it is wealth which purchases a respectable station in the present or- ganization of society. Why do the glittering mines of WEBB'S FOURTH EEADER. 275 California allure the shoemaker from his bench, the black- smith from his forge, the tradesman from his counter, the farmer from his plow, when all are enjoying what their nature demands — the fruit of honest industry ? 8. Is it not that they may amass fortunes, wherewith to be looked upon with that esteem which they know can not be attained by any other means ? Is it not that society has erected wealth as a standard of estimation, and they are bending all their energies and exertions in order to display an equipage and style equal to those of fortune about them ? If such is the proper standard, let it remain ; if not, let every friend of man endeavor to disseminate correct notions concerning so important a subject. 9. Who wishes to be esteemed for a mere animal pos- session ? Man, as he approaches the model of pure in- telligence — as he stands the personification of all that goes to ennoble his immortal nature, or exalt his unlim- ited capacity — deserves respect and esteem. If we esti- mate him by the external trappings of wealth, we destroy the greater — that of the mind — and reduce him to a de- grading comparison with the beast. 10. We say emphatically, then, to all mechanics and laboring men, improve the mind — that is the true stand- ard of estimation ; endeavor to understand your own or- ganization, both mental and physical ; yield to none in your desire for truth and knowledge ; cultivate a benevo- lent and charitable disposition toward your fellow-men. There is a time coming when this false standard of esteem will be swept away, and whether a man has riches or not will be just as small a subject of inquiry as whether he eats his victuals cold or hot. 11. Improve the mind, then, for whether you are re- spected by a certain class or not, is but a small satisfac- tion ; you will have raised yourself already in the esti- 276 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. mation of those whose regard is worth ootaining, and exalted yourself to a pinnacle from whence you can look at the folly and the vain pursuits of others with just in- dignation, regarding their external symbols of rank with feelings kindred to those on beholding the elegant trap- pings of some caparisoned steed in a circus or a show. LESSON CXV. PASSING AWAY. 1. Was it the chime of a tiny bell, That came so sweet to my dreaming ear, Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell, That he winds on the beach so mellow and clear ; When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep — She dispensing her silvery light, And he his notes as silvery quite — While the boatman listens and ships his oar, To catch the music that comes from the shore ? Hark ! the notes on my ear that play, Are set to words : as they float, they say, " Passing away ! — passing away !" 2. But, no ! It is not a fairy's shell, Blown on the beach, so mellow and clear ; Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell Striking the hours, that fell on my ear, As I lay in my dream ; yet was it a chime That told of the flow of the stream of Time : For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung, And a plump little girl for a pendulum swung WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 277 (As you've sometimes seen, in a little ring That hangs in his cage, a canary bird swing) ; And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet ; And as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say, " Passing away ! — passing away !" 3. Oh ! how bright were the wheels, that told Of the lapse of time, as they moved round slow ! And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold, Seemed to point to the girl below. And lo ! she had changed ; in a few short hours, Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers, That she held in her outstretched hands, and flung This way and that, as she dancing swung, In the fullness and grace of womanly pride, That told me she soon was to be a bride : Yet then, when expecting her happiest day, In the same sweet voice I heard her say, " Passing away ! — passing away !" 4. While I gazed on that fair one's cheek, a shade Of thought, or care, stole, softly over, Like that by a cloud in a summer's day made, Looking down on a field of blossoming clover. The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush Had something lost of its brilliant blush ; And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels That marched so calmly round above her, Was a little dimmed — as when evening steals Upon noon's hot face : yet one couldn't but love her ; For she looked like a mother whose first babe lay Rocked on her breast, as she swung all day ; And she seemed in the same silver tone to say, " Passing away ! — passing away !" 5. While yet I looked, what a change there came ! Her eye was quenched, and her cheek was wan ; Stooping and staffed was her withered frame, Yet just as busily swung she on. 24 278 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. The garland beneath her had fallen to dust ; The wheels above her were eaten with rust ; The hands that over the dial swept Grew crooked and tarnished, but on they kept , And still there came that silver tone, From the shriveled lips of the toothless crone (Let me never forget, to my dying day, The tone or the burden of that lay ) — " Passing away ! — passing away !" Rev. J. Piebpont. LESSON CXVI. THE DIGNITY OF HUMAN NATURE. 1. Whoever yields to temptation, debases himself with a debasement from which he can never arise. This, indeed, is the calamity of calamities, the bitterest dreg in the cup of bitterness. Every unrighteous act tells with a thousand fold more force upon the actor than upon the sufferer. The false man is more false to himself than to any one else. 2. He may despoil others, but himself is the chief loser. The world's scorn he might sometimes forget, but the knowledge of his own perfidy is undying. The fire of guilty passions may torment whatever lies with'n the circle of its radiations ; but fire is always hottest at the center, and that center is the profligate's own heart. 3. A man can be wronged, and live ; but the unre- sisted, unchecked impulse to do wrong, is the first and the second death. The moment any one of the glorious faculties with which God has endowed us is abused or If WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 279 misused, that faculty loses, forever, a portion of its deli- cacy and its energy. ###### 4. Every injury which we inflict upon our moral nature, in this life, must dull forever and ever our keen capacities of enjoyment, though in the midst of infinite bliss, and weaken our power of ascension, where vir- tuous spirits are ever ascending. 5. It must send us forward into the next stage of ex- istence, maimed and crippled, so that however high we may soar, our flight will always be less lofty than it would otherwise have been ; and however exquisite our bliss, it will be always less exquisitely blissful than it was capable of being. Every instance of violated con- science, like every broken string in a harp, will limit the compass of its music, and mar its harmonies forever. 6. Tremble, then, and forbear, O man ! when thou wouldst forget the dignity of thy nature, and the immor- tal glories of thy destiny ; for if thou dost cast down thine eyes, to look with complacency upon the tempter, or bend thine ear to listen to his seductions, thou dost doom thyself to move forever and ever through inferior species of being; thou dost wound and dim the very organ, with which alone thou canst behold the splendors of eternity ! Hoeack Mann. 2. PSr' fi dy, violation of trust 6. Com pla' cen cy, pleasure. Se due' tion, the act of enticing from virtue. 280 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. LESSON CXVII. THE GAMBLER'S WIFE. 1. Dark is the night ! How dark ! No light ! No fiie ! Cold on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire ! Shivering she watches by the cradle side, For him who pledged her love — last year a bride ! 2. " Hark ! 'Tis his footstep ! — 'Tis past : 'tis gone ! Tick ! — Tick ! How wearily the time crawls on ! Why should he leave me thus ? He once was kind ! And I believed 'twould last — how mad ! — how blind ! 3. " Rest thee, my babe ! — Rest on ! — 'Tis hunger's cry ! Sleep ! — for there is no food ! — The fount is dry ! Famine and cold their wearying work have done, My heart must break ! — and thou !" — The clock strikes one. 4. " Hush ! 'tis the dice-box ! Yes, he's there, he's there : For this ! — for this, he leaves me to despair ! Leaves love ! leaves truth ! his wife ! his child ! For what ? The wanton's smile — the villain — and the sot ! 5. " Yet I'll not curse him ! No ! 'tis all in vain ! 'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again ! And I could starve and bless him, but for you, My child !— his child !— Oh, fiend !" The clock strikes two. 6. " Hark ! How the sign-board creaks ! The blast howls by! Moan ! Moan ! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky ! Ha ! 'tis his knock ! he comes ! — he comes once more ! 'Tis but the lattice flaps ! Thy hope is o'er ! WEBB'S FOTJKTH EEADER. 281 7. " Can he desert me thus ? He knows I stay Night after night in loneliness, to pray For his return — and yet he sees no tear ! No ! no ! It can not be. He will be here. 8. " Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart ! * Thou'rt cold ! Thou'rt freezing ! But we will not part ! Husband ! — I die ! — Father ! — It is not he ! God ! protect my child !" The clock strikes three. 9. They're gone ! They're gone ! the glimmering spark hath sped! The wife and child are numbered with the dead ! On the cold hearth outstretched in solemn rest, The babe lay frozen on its mother's breast ! The gambler came at last — but all was o'er — Dead silence reigned around. — The clock struck four ? Dr. Coates LESSON CXTIII. SOUTH CAROLINA. 1. If there is one state in the Union, Mr. President (and I say it not in a boastful spirit), that may challenge comparison with any other for a uniform, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion to the Union, that state is South Carolina. Sir, from the very commencement of the Revolution up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, how- ever great, she has not cheerfully made ; no service she has ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered to you in your prosperity, but in your adversity she has clung to you with more than filial affection. ?4* 282 WEBB'S FOURTH KEADER. 2. No matter what was the condition of her domestic affairs, though deprived of her resources, divided by parties, or surrounded by difficulties, the call of the country has been to her as the voice of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound — every man became at once reconciled to his brethren, and the sons of Carolina were all seen crowding together to the temple, bringing their gifts to the altar of their common country. What, sir, was the conduct of the South during the Revolution ? Sir, I honor New England for her conduct in that glo- rious struggle : but great as is the praise which belongs to her, I think at least equal honor is due to the South. 3. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren with generous zeal, which did not suffer them to stop to cal- culate their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen to create commercial rivalship, they might have found in their situation a guaranty that their trade would be forever fostered and protected by Great Britain. But trampling on all considerations, either of interest or of safety, they rushed into the conflict, and fighting for principle, periled all in the sacred cause of freedom. 4. Never was there exhibited in the history of the world higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffer- ing, and heroic endurance, than by the whigs of Carolina during that revolution. The whole state, from the moun- tain to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry perished on the spot where they were produced, or were consumed by the foe. 5. The " plains of Carolina" drank up the most pre- cious blood of her citizens ; black and smoking ruins n miked the places which had been the habitations of her children ! Driven from their homes into the gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps, even there the spirit WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 283 of liberty survived, and South Carolina, sustained by the example of her Sumpters and her Marions, proved by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her people was invincible. Baynes. LESSON CXIX. MASSACHUSETTS. 1. The eulogium pronounced on the character of the state of South Carolina by the honorable gentleman, for her revolutionary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence. I shall not acknowledge that the honora- ble member goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent, or distinguished character, South Carolina has produced. 2. I claim part of the honor : I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurenses, Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sumpters, the Marions — Americans all — whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by state lines, than their tal- ents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. 3. In their day and generation they served and honored the country, and the whole country, and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him, whose honored name the gentleman bears himself — does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts instead of South Carolina ? 4. Sir, does he suppose it in his power to exhibit aCaro- 284 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Una name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom ? No, sir, — increased gratification and delight, rather. Sir, I thank God, that if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. 5. When I shall be found, sir, in my place here in the senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of my own state and neighborhood ; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere devotion to liberty and the country ; or if I see an uncommon en- dowment of Heaven — if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South — and if, moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by state jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a hair from his just char- acter and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! 6. Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections ; let me indulge in refreshing remembrances of the past ; let me remind you that in early times no states cherished greater harmony, both of principle and of feeling, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again return. Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Revolution — hand in hand they stood round the administration of Washington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it exist, alienation and distrust, are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm never scattered. 7. Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts — she needs none. There she is ; behold her and judge for yourselves. There is her history — WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 285 the world knows 1 by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bun- ker's Hill; and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great struggle for inde- pendence, now lie mingled with the soil of every state, from New England to Georgia ; and there they will lie forever. 8. And, sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it ; if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it ; if folly and madness, if uneasiness, under salutary and necessary restraint, shall succeed to separate it from that Union, by which alone its existence is made sure, it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked ; it will stretch forth its arm with whatever of vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather around it ; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amid the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin. WlBSTIK. LESSON CXX, HYMN OP THE^CHURCH-YARD. 1. Ah me ! this is a sad and silent city ; Let me walk softly o'er it, and survey Its grassy streets with melancholy pity ! Where are its children ? where their gleesome play ? Alas ! their cradled rest is cold and deep — Their playthings are thrown by, and they asleep.. 286 webb's fourth reader. 2. This is pale beauty's bourn ; but where the beautiful, Whom I have seen come forth at evening's hours, Leading their aged friends with feelings dutiful Amid the wreaths of Spring, to gather flowers ? Alas ! no flowers are here but flowers of death, And those who once were sweetest sleep beneath. 3. This is a populous place ; but where the bustling, The crowded buyers of the noisy mart — The lookers-on — the snowy garments rustling — The money-changers — and the men of art ? Business, alas ! hath stopped in mid career, And none are anxious to resume it here. 4. This is the home of grandeur ; where are they — The rich, the great, the glorious, and the wise ? Where are the trappings of the proud, the gay — The gaudy guise of human butterflies ? Alas ! all lowly lies each lofty brow, And the green sod dizens their beauty now. 5. This is the place of refuge and repose ; Where are the poor, the old, the weary wight, The scorned, the humble, and the man of woes, Who wept for morn, and sighed again for night ? Their sighs at last have ceased, and here they sleep Beside their scorners, and forget to weep. 6. This is a place of gloom ; where are the gloomy ? The gloomy are not citizens of death ; Approach and look, where tho long grass is plumy ; See them above ! they are not found beneath ; For these low denizens, with artful wiles, Nature, in flowers, contrives her mimic smiles. 7. This is a place of sorrow ! friends have met And mingled tears o'er those who answer not ; WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 287 And where are they whose eyelids then were wet ? Alas ! their griefs, their tears, are all forgot : They, too, are landed in this silent city, Where there is neither love, nor tears, nor pity. 8. This is a place of fear ; the firmest eye Hath quailed to see its shadowy dreariness ; But Christian hope, and heavenly prospects high, And earthly cares, and nature's weariness, Have made the timid pilgrim cease to fear, And long to end his painful journey here. Heney W. Longfellow. LESSON CXXI. SPEECH OF JAMES OTIS. 1. England may as well dam up the waters of the Nile with bulrushes, as to fetter the step of freedom, more proud and firm in this youthful land, than where she treads the sequestered glens of Scotland, or couches herself among the magnificent mountains of Switzerland. Arbitrary principles, like those against which we now contend, have cost one king of England his life, another his crown, and they may yet cost a third his most flour- ishing colonies. 2. We are two millions — one-fifth fighting men. We are bold and vigorous, and we call no man master. To the nation, from whom we are proud to derive oui origin, we ever were, and we ever will be, ready to yield unforced assistance ; but it must not, and it never can be extorted. 3. Some have sneeringly asked, " Are the Americans 288 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. too poor to pay a few pounds on stamped paper ?" No ! America, thanks to God and herself, is rich. But the right to take ten pounds, implies the right to take a thousand ; and what must be the wealth, that avarice, aided by power, can not exhaust ? True, the specter is now small ; but the shadow he casts before him is huge enough to darken all this fair land. 4. Others, in sentimental style, talk of the immense debt of gratitude which we owe to England. And what is the amount of this debt ? Why, truly, it is the same that the young lion owes to the dam, which has brought it forth on the solitude of the mountain, or left it amid the winds and storms of the desert. 5. We plunged into the waves, with the great charter of freedom in our teeth, because the fagot and torch were behind us. We have waked the new world from its savage lethargy ; forests have been prostrated in our path ; towns and cities have grown up suddenly as the flowers of the tropics, and the fires in our autumnal woods are scarcely more rapid than the increase of our wealth and population. And do we owe all this to the kind succor of the mother country ? No ! we owe it to the tyranny that drove us from her to the pelting storms which in- vigorated our helpless infancy. 6. But perhaps others will say, " We ask no money from your gratitude — we only demand that you should pay your own expenses." And who, I pray, is to judge of t! eir necessity? Why, the king — (and with all due reverence to his sacred majesty, he understands the real wants of his distant subjects, as little as he does the lan- guage of the Choctaws.) 7. Who is to judge concerning the frequency of these demands ? The ministry. Who is to judge whether the money is properly expended ? The cabinet behind the throne. In every instance, those who take are to WEBB'S EOTJKTH READER. 289 judge for those who pay ; if this system is suffered to go into operation, we shall have reason to esteem it a great privilege, that rain and dew do not depend upon Parliament ; otherwise they would soon be taxed and dried. 8. But thanks to God there is freedom enough left upon earth to resist such monstrous injustice. The flame of liberty is extinguished in Greece and Rome, but the light of its glowing embers is still bright and strong on the shores of America. Actuated by its sacred in- fluence, we will resist unto death. But we will not countenance anarchy and misrule. 9. The wrongs, that a desperate community have heaped upon their enemies, shall be amply and speedily repaired. Still, it may be well for some proud men to remember, that a fire is lighted in these colonies, which one breath of their king may kindle into such fury, that the blood of all England can not extinguish it. LESSON CXXII. SELECT SENTENCES. Letters. Sage Cadmus, hail ! To thee the Grecians owed The art and science that from letters flowed : To thy great mind indebted sages stand, And grateful learning owns thy guardian hand. Printing. Hail, mystic art ! which sage-like men have taught To speak to eyes and paint unbodied thought ! 25 290 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Though deaf and dumb, blest skill, relieved by thee, We make one sense perform the task of three. Words. In all your words let energy be found, And learn to rise in sense and sink in sound. Harsh words, though pertinent, uncouth appear ; None please the fancy which offend the ear. Education. Youth like the softened wax, with ease will take Those images that first impressions make : If these are fair their lives will all be bright, If dark, they'll cloud it all with shades of night. Wisdom. Wisdom's an evenness of mind and soul ; A steady temper which no cares control, No passions ruffle, no desires inflame, Still constant to itself, and still the same. Fame. A generous ardor boils within my breast, Eager of action, enemy to rest : This urges me to fight, and fires my mind To leave a memorable name behind. Self- Conceit. Conceited thoughts indulged without control. Exclude all future knowledge from the soul ; For he who thinks himself already wise, Of course, all future knowledge will despise. Honor. Not all the threats or favors of a crown, A prince's whisper, or a tyrant's frown, Can awe the spirit or allure the mind Of him who to strict Honor is inclined. WEBB'S FOUKTH KEADEK. 291 Swearing. Maintain your rank : vulgarity despise : To swear is neither brave, polite, nor wise. You would not swear upon a bed of death : Reflect : your Maker now may stop your breath. Solitude. Thou gentle nurse of pleasing woe ; To thee, from crowds, and noise, and show, With eager haste I fly : Thrice welcome friendly Solitude ! Oh let no busy feet intrude, Nor listening ear be nigh. Thought. Whoever thinks and acts independently, using much precaution and care, will become great, and be esteemed by mankind. Hatred. Go — and may misery haunt thee From morn till dewy night — And untold terrors daunt thee In all thy dreams till light ; May all thy hopes be smitten, Thy brightest hours be gloom, And infamy be written In lightning on thy tomb. Kindness. I would not enter on my list of friends — Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility — the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 292 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Hatred and Kindness. The following lines were written by Burns on seeing a hare which was wounded by a shot : Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous art, And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, Nor pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, The bitter little that of life remains ; No more the thick'ning brakes and verdant plains To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, No more to rest, but now thy dying bed ! The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. Oft as by winding Nith, I musing wait The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. LESSON CXXIII. THE WIFE. 1. 1 have often had occasion to remark the fortitude with which woman sustains the most overwhelming re- verses of fortune. Those disasters which break down the spirit of man, and prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the energies of the softer sex, and give such WEBB'S FOUKTH READER. 293 intrepidity and elevation to their character, that, at times, it approaches to sublimity. 2. Nothing can be more touching than to behold a soft and tender female, who had been all weakness and de- pendence, and alive to every trivial roughness, while treading the prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising, in mental force, to be the comforter and supporter of her husband under misfortunes, and abiding, with unshrink- ing firmness, the bitterest blasts of adversity. 3. As the vine, which has long twined its graceful foliage about the oak, and been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling around it with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its shattered boughs ; so is it beautifully ordered by Provi- dence, that woman, who is the mere dependent and or- nament of man in his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when smitten with sudden calamity — wind- ing herself into the rugged recesses of his nature, ten- derly supporting the drooping head, and binding up the broken heart. 4. These observations call to mind a little domestic story, of which I was once a witness. My intimate friend, Leslie, had married a beautiful and accomplished girl, who had been brought up in the midst of fashion- able life. She had, it is true, no fortune ; but that of my friend was ample, and he delighted in the anticipa- tion of indulging her in every elegant pursuit, and ad- ministering to those delicate tastes and fancies that spread a kind of witchery about the sex. 5. Never did a couple set forward on the flowery path of early and well-suited marriage with a fairer prospect of felicity. It was the misfortune of my friend, how- ever, to have embarked his property in large specula- tions ; and he had not been married many months, when, by a succession of sudden disasters, it was swept from 25* 294 WEBB'S FOURTH EEADEE. him, and he found himself reduced to almost penury. For a time, he kept his situation to himself, and went about with a haggard countenance and a breaking heart. G. His life was but a protracted agony ; and what rendered it more insupportable, was the necessity of keeping up a smile in the presence of his wife ; for he could not bring himself to overwhelm her with the news. She saw, however, with the quick eye of affection, that all was not well with him. She marked his altered looks and stifled sighs, and was not to be deceived by his sickly and vapid attempts at cheerfulness. She tasked all her sprightly powers and tender blandishments to win him back to happiness; but she only drove the ar- row deeper into his soul. 7. The more he saw cause to love her, the more tor- turing was the thought that he was soon to make her wretched. " A little while," thought he, " and the smile will vanish from that cheek ; the song will die away from those lips ; the luster of those eyes will be quenched with sorrow ; and the happy heart which now beats lightly in that bosom will be weighed down, like mine, by the cares and miseries of the world." 8. At length he came to me one day, and related his whole situation, in a tone of the deepest despair. When I had heard him through, I inquired, " Does your wife know all this ?" At the question, he burst into an igODJ* of tears. I saw his grief was eloquent, and I let it have itsflow ; for sorrow relieves itself not by words. When his paroxysm had subsided, and he had relapsed into moody silence, I resumed the subject gently, and urged him to break his situation at once to his wife. 9. " Believe me, my friend," said I, stepping up, and grasping him warmly by the hand — " believe me, there is in every true woman's heart a spark of heavenly fire, which lies dormant in the broad daylight of prosperity, WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 295 but which kindles up, and beams and blazes, in the dark hour of adversity. No man knows what the wife of his bosom is — no man knows what a ministering angel she is — until he has gone with her through the fiery trials of this world." 10. Some days afterward, he called upon me in the evening. He had disposed of his dwelling-house, and taken a small cottage in the country, a few miles from town. He had been busied all day in sending out fur- niture. The new establishment required few articles, and those of the simplest kind. All the splendid furni- ture of his late residence had been sold, excepting his wife's harp. 11. He was now going out to the cottage, where his wife had been all day, superintending its arrangement. My feelings had become strongly interested in the pro- gress of this family story, and, as it was a fine evening, I offered to accompany him. 12. He was wearied with the fatigue of the day, and, as we walked out, fell into a fit of gloomy musing. " Poor Mary !" at length broke, with a heavy sigh, from his lips. " And what of her ?" asked I ; " has any thing happened to her ? Has she repined at the change ?" " Repined ! she has been nothing but sweetness and good humor. Indeed, she seems in better spirits than I have ever known her ; she has been to me all love, and tenderness, and comfort I" 13. " Admirable girl !" exclaimed I. " You call your- self poor, my friend ; you never was so rich ; you never knew the boundless treasures of excellence you pos- sessed in that woman." 14. After turning from the main road up a narrow lane, so thickly shaded by forest trees as to give it a complete air of seclusion, we came in sight of the cot- tage. It was humble enough in its appearance for the 296 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. most pastoral poet ; and yet it had a pleasing, rural look. A wild vine had overrun one end with a profusion of foliage ; a few trees threw their branches gracefully- over it ; and I observed several pots of flowers taste- fully disposed about the door, and on the grass-plot in front. 15. A small wicket-gate opened upon a foot-path, that wound through some shrubbery to the door. Just as we approached, we heard the sound of music. Leslie grasped my arm : we paused and listened. It was Mary's voice, singing, in a style of the most touching simplicity, a lit- tle air of which her husband was peculiarly fond. 16. I felt Leslie's hand tremble on my arm. He stepped forward to hear more distinctly. His step made a noise on the gravel-walk. A bright, beautiful face glanced out at the window, and vanished ; a light foot- step was heard, and Mary came tripping forth to meet us. She was in a pretty rural dress of white ; a few wild-flowers were twisted in her fine hair; a fresh bloom was on her cheek ; her whole countenance beamed with smiles. I had never seen her look so lovely. 17. " My dear George," cried she, " I am so glad you are come! I have been watching and watching for you ; and running down the lane, and looking out for you. I have set out a table under a beautiful tree behind the cottage, and I have been gathering some of the most delicious strawberries, for I know you are fond of them ; and we have such excellent cream, and every thing is so sweet and still here. Oh !" said she, putting her arm within his, and looking up brightly in his face — " Oh ! we shall be so happy !" 18. Poor Leslie was overcome. He caught her to his bosom ; he folded his arms around her ; he could not speak, but the tears gushed into his eyes ; and he has often assured me, that though the world has since gone WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 297 prosperously with him, and his life has indeed been a happy one, yet never has he experienced a moment ol more exquisite felicity. Irving. LESSON CXXIV. GREEN-WOOD CEMETERY.* 1. Here are the houses of the dead. Here youth And age, and manhood, stricken in his strength, Hold solemn state, and awful silence keep, While Earth goes murmuring in her ancient path. And troubled Ocean tosses to and fro Upon his mountainous bed impatiently, And many stars make worship musical In the dim-aisled abyss, and over all The Lord of Life, in meditation sits Beneath the large white dome of Immortality. 2. Made quiet by the awe, I pause and think Among these walks lined with the frequent tombs ; For it is very wonderful. Afar The populous city lifts its tall, bright spires, And snowy sails are glancing on the bay, As if in merriment — but here all sleep ; They sleep, these calm, pale people of the past : Spring plants her rosy feet on their dim homes — They sleep ! — Sweet Summer comes and calls, and calls With all her passionate poetry of flowers Wed to the music of the soft south wind — They sleep ! — The lonely Autumn sits and sobs Between the cold white tombs, as if her heart L * Brooklyn, N. Y. 298 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. Would break — they sleep ! — Wild Winter comes and chants Majestical the mournful sagas learn'd Far in the melancholy North, where God Walks forth alone upon the desolate seas — They slumber still : Sleep on, O passionless dead : Ye make our world sublime : ye have a power And majesty the living never hold. 3. Here Avarice shall forget his den of gold ! Here Lust his beautiful victim, and hot Hate His crouching foe. Ambition here shall lean Against Death's shaft, veiling the stern, bright eye That, over-bold, would take the hight of gods, And know Fame's nothingness. The sire shall come The matron and the child, through many years, To this fair spot, whether the plumed hearse Moves slowly through the winding walks, or Death For a brief moment pauses : all shall come To feel the touching eloquence of graves : And therefore it was well for us to clothe The place with beauty. No dark terror here Shall chill the generous tropic of the soul, But Poetry and her starry comrade Art Shall make the sacred country of the dead Magnificent. 4. The fragrant flowers shall smile Over the low, green graves ; the trees shall shake Their soul-like cadences upon the tombs ; The little lake, set in a paradise Of wood, shall be a mirror to the moon What time she looks from her imperial tent In long delight at all below ; the sea Shall lift some stately dirge he loves to breathe Over dead nations, while calm sculptures stand On every hill, and look like spirits there WEBB'S EOTJBTH KEADER. 299 That drink the harmony. Oh, it is well ! Why should a darkness scowl on any spot Where man grasps immortality ? Light, light, And art, and poetry, and eloquence, And all that we call glorious, are its dower. 5. Oh, ye whose moldering frames were brought and placed By pious hands within these flowery slopes And gentle hills, where are ye dwelling now ? For man is more than element. The soul Lives in the body as the sunbeam lives In trees or flowers that were but clay without. Then where are ye, lost sunbeams of the mind ? Are ye where great Orion towers and holds Eternity on his stupendous front ? Or where pale Neptune in the distant space Shows us how far, in His creative mood, With pomp of silence and concentered brows, The Almighty walked ? Or haply ye have gone Where other matter roundeth into shapes Of bright beatitude : or do ye know Aught of dull space or time, and its dark load Of aching weariness ? 6 , They answer not. But He whose love created them of old, To cheer His solitary realm and reign, With love will still remember them. William Ross Wallacb. 1. Cem' e ter y, a -place for burying the dead. 2. Sa/ ga, the general name of ancient compositions which relate to the history or mythology of the northern European races. 300 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. LESSON CXXV. [Extract* of remarks made, April 1, 1850, In the Senate of the United States, on the death of John C. Calhoun, by Henry Clay and Daniel Webster.] CLAY. 1. Sir, he has gone! No more shall we witness, from yonder seat, the flashes of that keen and penetrat- ing eye of his darting through this chamber ; no more shall we behold that torrent of clear, concise, compact logic poured out from his lips, which, if it did not always carry conviction to our judgment, commanded our great admiration. Those eyes and those lips are closed for- ever ! 2. And when, Mr. President, will that great vacancy, which has been created by the event to which we are now alluding — when will it be filled by an equal amount of ability, patriotism, and devotion to what he con- ceived to be the best interests of his country ? 3. Sir, this is not the appropriate occasion, nor would I be the appropriate person, to attempt a delineation of his character, or the powers of his enlightened mind. I will only say, in a few words, that he possessed an ele- vated genius of the highest order ; that in felicity of generalization of the subjects of which his mind treated, I have seen him surpassed by no one ; and the charm and captivating influence of his colloquial powers have been felt by all who have conversed with him. I was his senior, Mr. President, in years : in nothing else. According to the course of nature, I ought to have pre- ceded him. It has been decreed otherwise ; but I know that I shall linger here only a short time, and shall soon follow him. 4. How brief, how short is the period of human exist- WEBB'S EOUKTH KEADEPw. 301 ence allotted even to the youngest among us! Sir, ought we not to profit by the contemplation of this mel- ancholy occasion ? * * * I trust we shall all be instructed by the eminent virtues and merits of Mr. Calhoun's exalted character, and be taught, by his bright example, to fulfill our great public duties by the lights of our own judgments, and the dictates of our own consciences, faithfully and to the last. WEBSTER. 5. Mr. President, he had the basis, the indispensable basis, of all high character ; and that was, unspotted in- tegrity, unimpeached honor and motives. If he had as- pirations, they were high, and honorable, and noble. There was nothing groveling, or low, or meanly selfish, that came near the head or the heart of John C. Calhoun. 6. Firm in his purpose, perfectly patriotic and honest, as I am sure he was, in the principles that he espoused, and in the measures that he defended, aside from that species of distinction that conducted him to eminent sta- tions for the benefit of the republic, I do not believe he had a selfish motive or selfish feeling. 7. However, sir, he may have differed from others of us in his political opinions or his political principles, those principles and those opinions will now descend to posterity, under the sanction of a great name. He has lived so long, and has acted his part so well, so success- fully, and so honorably, as to connect himself, for all time, with the record of his country. He is now a historical character. 8. Those who have known him here will find that he has left upon our hearts a strong and lasting impression of his person, his character, and his public performance, 20 302 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. which, while we live, will never be obliterated. We shall hereafter, I am sure, indulge in it as a grateful rec- ollection that we have lived in his age, that we have been his cotemporaries, that we have seen him, and heard him, and known him. 9. We shall delight to speak of him to those who are rising up to fill our places ; and when the time shall come that we ourselves shall go, one after another, in succession to our graves, we shall carry with us a deep sense of his genius and character, his honor and integ- rity, his amiable deportment in private life, and the purity of his exalted patriotism. LESSON CXXVI. . AN ADDRESS TO YOUNG PERSONS. 1. I intend, in this address, to show you the import- ance of beginning early to give serious attention to your conduct. As soon as you are capable of reflection, you must perceive that there is a right and a wrong in human actions. You see, that those who are born with the same advantages of fortune, are not all equally prosper- ous in the course of life. While some of them, by wise and steady conduct, attain distinction in the world, and pass their days with comfort and honor, others of the same rank, by mean and vicious behavior, forfeit the ad- vantages of their birth, involve themselves in much misery, and end in being a disgrace to their friends, and a burden on society. 2. Early, then, may you learn, that it is not on the ex- ternal condition in which you find yourselves placed, but on the part which you are to act, that your welfare or WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 303 imhappiness, your honor or infamy, depends. Now, when beginning to act that part, what can be of greater moment, than to regulate your plan of conduct with the most serious attention, before you have yet committed any fatal or irretrievable errors ? 3. If, instead of exerting reflection for this valuable purpose, you deliver yourselves up, at so critical a time, to sloth and pleasures ; if you refuse to listen to any counselor but humor, or to attend to any pursuit except that of amusement ; if you allow yourselves to float loose and careless on the tide of life, ready to receive any direction which the current of fashion may chance to give you ; what can you expect to follow from such be- ginnings ? 4. While so many around you are undergoing the sad consequences of a like indiscretion, for what reason shall not those consequences extend to you ? Shall you at- tain success without that preparation, and escape dan- gers without that precaution, which are required of others ? Shall happiness grow up to you, of its own ac- cord, and solicit your acceptance, when, to the rest of mankind, it is the fruit of long cultivation, and the ac- quisition of labor and care ? 5. Deceive not yourselves with those arrogant hopes. Whatever be your rank, Providence will not, for your sake, reverse its established order. The Author of your being hath enjoined you to " take heed to your ways ; to ponder the paths of your feet ; to remember your Cre- ator in the days of your youth." 6. He hath decreed, that they only " who seek after wisdom shall find it ; that fools shall be afflicted, because of their transgressions ; and that whoever refuseth in- struction, shall destroy his own soul." By listening to these admonitions, and tempering the vivacity of youth with a proper mixture of serious thought, you may in- 304 webb's fourth header. sure cheerfulness for the rest of life ; but by delivering yourselves up at present to giddiness and levity, you lay the foundation of lasting heaviness of heart. 7. When you look forward to those plans of life, which either your circumstances have suggested, or your friends have proposed, you will not hesitate to acknowledge, that in order to pursue them with advantage, some p-evious discipline is requisite. Be assured, that whatever is to be your profession, no education is more necessary to your success than the acquirement of virtuous disposi- tions and habits. This is the universal preparation for every character and every station in life. 8. Bad as the world is, respect is always paid to vir- tue. In the usual course of human affairs, it will be found that a plain understanding, joined with acknowledged worth, contributes more to prosperity than the brightest parts, without probity or honor. Whether science, or business, or public life be your aim, virtue still enters for a principal share into all those great departments of society. It is connected with eminence, in every liberal art ; with reputation, in every branch of fair and useful business ; with distinction, in every public station. 9. The vigor which it gives the mind, and the weight which it adds to character ; the generous sentiments which it breathes ; the undaunted spirit which it inspires; the ardor of diligence which it quickens ; the freedom which it procures from pernicious and dishonorable avo- cations ; are the foundations of all that is highly honor- able or greatly successful among men. 10. Whatever ornamental or engaging endowments you now possess, virtue is a necessary requisite, in order to their shining with proper luster. Feeble are the at- tractions of the fairest form, if it be suspected that nothing within corresponds to the pleasing appearance without. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 305 Short are the triumphs of wit, when it is supposed to be the vehicle of malice. 11. By whatever means you may at first attract the attention, you can hold the esteem, and secure the hearts of others, only by amiable dispositions and the accom- plishments of the mind. These are the qualities whose influence will last, when the luster of all that once sparkled and dazzled has passed away. 12. Let not, then, the season of youth be barren of improvements, so essential to your future felicity and honor. Now is the seed-time of life, and according to " what you sow, you shall reap." Your character is now, under Divine assistance, of your own forming ; your fate is, in some measure, put into your own hands. 13. Your nature is, as yet, pliant and soft. Habits have not established their dominion. Prejudices have not preoccupied your understanding. The world has not had time to contract and debase your affections. All your powers are more vigorous, disembarrassed, and free, than they will be at any future period. 14. Whatever impulse you now give to your desires and passions, the direction is likely to continue. It will form the channel in which your life is to run ; nay, it may determine its everlasting issue. Consider, then, the employment of this important period as the highest trust which shall ever be committed to you, as, in a great mea- sure, decisive of your happiness in time and in eternity. 15. As in the succession of the seasons, each, by the invariable laws of nature, affects the productions of what is next in course ; so, in human life, every period of our age, according as it is well or ill spent, influences the happiness of that which is to follow. Virtuous youth gradually brings forward accomplished and flourishing manhood ; and such manhood passes of itself, without uneasiness, into respectable and tranquil old age. 26* 306 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 10. But when nature is turned out of its regular course, disorder takes place in the moral, just as in the vegetable world. If the spring put forth no blossoms, in summer there will be no beauty, and in autumn no fruit ; so, if youth be trifled away without improvement, manhood will probably be contemptible, and old age miserable. If the beginnings of life have been "vanity," its latter end can scarcely be any other than " vexation of spirit." 17. I shall finish this address with calling your atten- tion to that dependence on the blessing of Heaven, which, amid all your endeavors after improvement, you ought continually to preserve. It is too common with the young, even when they resolve to tread the path of virtue and honor, to set out with presumptuous confidence in themselves. 18. Trusting to their own abilities for carrying them successfully through life, they are careless of applying to God, or of deriving any assistance from what they are apt to reckon the gloomy discipline of religion. Alas ! how little do they know the dangers which await them ! Neither human wisdom, nor human virtue, unsupported by religion, is equal to the trying situations which often occur in life. 19. By the shock of temptation, how frequently nave the most virtuous intentions been overthrown ! Under the pressure of disaster, how often has the greatest con stancy sunk ! u Every good and every perfect gift is from above." Wisdom and virtue, as well as " riches and honor, come from God." Destitute of His favor, you are in no better situation, with all your boasted abilities, than orphans left to wander in a trackless desert, with- out any guide to conduct them, or any shelter to cover them from the gathering storm. 20. Correct, then, this ill-founded arrogance. Expect WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 307 not that your happiness can be independent of Him who made you. By faith and repentance, apply to the Re- deemer of the world. By piety and prayer, seek the protection of the God of heaven. 21. I conclude with the solemn words, in which a great prince delivered his dying charge to his son — words which every young person ought to consider as addressed to himself; and to engrave deeply on his heart : " Solomon, my son, know thou the God of thy fathers, and serve Him with a perfect heart and with a willing mind ; for the Lord searcheth all hearts, and understand- eth all the imaginations of the thoughts. If thou seek Him, He will be found of thee ; but if thou forsake Him, He will cast thee off forever." Blaie. THE CHILD'S PORTRAIT. LUCY A. RANDALL. What is that bo soft and love - ly, Shad-ow'd forth in life - like lines, That a - wakes a moth - er's sor - row ^^ 3 ffS In her spir - it's sa - cred shrine,— Weep - ing o'er the W z: P *-F-FH — ; — — Ff-F — * -r— FT hopes de-part - ed, Lone and sad and weary - heart-ed ; Joys that glitter'd, 308 WESB'S FOURTH READER. £=fe£i SS Now im-bit - ter'd, By the i - cy hand of Death ? To that pow'r that retard. m w^m v i spares no vie - tim, He has yield -ed up his breath. Lines Suggested by the Daguerreotype Likeness of a Deceased Child. u Among the recollected dead, there are some over whose beloved face oblivion can never draw their shrouds ; nor would we have them hidden — dear, pleasant, and con- solatory—inasmuch as from their remembered features are now reflected some few rays of His glory, in whose presence their souls are standing."— Martyria. 1. What is that so soft and lovely, Shadowed forth in life-like lines, That awakes the mother's sorrow, In her spirit's sacred shrine, — Weeping o'er the hopes departed, Lone, and sad, and weary-hearted, — Joys that glittered, Now imbittered, By the icy hand of Death ? To that power that spares no victim, He has yielded up his breath. 2. In his angel sweetness pictured, Beautiful, and soft, and meek, Golden curls are wandering brightly O'er his pale and lovely cheek ; Flowers around his white arm twining Saint-like he is there reclining. Cease thy weeping, He is sleeping, But to wake in realms of light, There to join the notes celestial, Sung by angels robed in white. "WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 309 3. He was but a spirit angel, Sent to earth to dwell awhile ; Ye might trace his home immortal In the beauty of his smile — In his spirit upward tending, Heaven and earth together blending. So he parted, Yet pure hearted, From the scenes of bitter woe, To the land where grief can come not — Where the living waters flow. 4. Therefore weep not, mourning mother, He has passed from earthly care, From the world of dark temptation, From the scenes of sad despair ; From the grief that stayeth never, He has parted, and forever ; White wings gleaming, Love -looks beaming, Welcome him to realms of joy : In that land of bliss immortal, Thou shalt meet thine angel boy. Note. — The merit of the above poetry, by Miss Randall (daughter of S. S. Randall), does not suffer by comparison with the productions of our most celebrated poets, at a similar age. Miss R. is but thirteen years old 310 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. too fast. :*t=i How dear to my heart are the scenes of my child-hood, When The orch - ard, the mead - ow, the deep - tan-gled wild - wood, And The old oak - en buck - et, the i - ron-bound buck - et, The Fine. & i — T^ fond rec - ol - lee - tion pre - sents them to ev - ery loved spot which my in - fan - cy moss - cov - erM buck - et, which hung in the view- knew; welll Solo. g gs^^g £ :E £=^ The wide-spread-ing pond, and the The cot of my fa - ther, the mill which stood by it, The dai - ry - house nigh it, And DC 1. How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view — The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew ; The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell ; The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well: The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well ! 2. That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure ; For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure — The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 311 How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell, Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well : The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well ! 3, How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ! Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. And now, far removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret wiU intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well : The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hangs in the well ! Samuel Woodworth. THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. (From " Woodbury's Youth's Song Book," by permission.) Energetic. !• B. WOODBURY. &_Pi IS . IS Some -what back from the vil-lage street, Stands the old - fash-ion'd m mmm fm^f coun - try seat ; A - cross its an-tique port - i - co Tall pop-lar trees their * [* f* , N N N _N , h fr_ jS_.fi , shadows throw; And from its sta-tion in the hall, An an-cient time-piece ft TV f f Si _— N £.__*_> fi ft . K > I , . I N says to all— "For -ev-er, nev-er! nev-er, for - ev • er! 312 WEBB'S FOURTH READER. 1. Somewhat back from the village street Stands the old-fashioned country seat ; Across its antique portico Tall poplar trees their shadows throw ; And from its station in the hall, An ancient time-piece says to all, " Forever, never ! — never, forever !" 2. By day, its voice is low and light ; But in the silent dead of night, Distinct as passing footsteps fall, It echoes 'long the vacant hall — Along the ceiling, 'long the floor — And seems to say at chamber-door, " Forever, never ! — never, forever !" 3. There groups of merry children played ; There youths and maidens dreaming strayed ; Oh, precious hours ! Oh, golden prime, And affluence, love, and olden time ! E'en as a miser counts his gold, Those hours the ancient time-piece told — " Forever, never ! — never, forever !" 4. All are scattered now and fled ; Some are married, some are dead ; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, " Ah ! when shall they e'er meet again, As in the days long since gone by? ' The ancient time-piece makes reply — " Forever, never ! — never, forever !" 5. Never here, forever there, Where all parting, pain, and care, And Death and Time, shall disappear, — Forever there, but never here ! The horologe of Eternity Sayeth this incessantly, — " Forever, never !— never, forever !" 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