LIBR^XRV 
 
 OF THl 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 F r < > K 
 
 Received UJfrlr. 
 
 btf/S)ZL '-' <fy ^ 
 
NATIONAL SERIES. No. V. 
 THE 
 
 NATIONAL 
 
 FIFTH READER: 
 
 CONTAINING 
 
 A TREATISE ON ELOCUTION; 
 
 EXERCISES IN 
 
 READING ^AND pECLAMATION; 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES, AND COPIOUS NOTES. 
 
 ADAPTED TO THE USE OF STUDENTS IM 
 
 ENGLISH AID AMERICAS' LITERATURE. 
 
 BY 
 
 RICHARD G. PARKER, A.M., 
 
 AND 
 
 J. MADISON WATSON. 
 
 
 1STEW YORK: 
 A. S. BARNES & BURR, 
 
 51 & 53 JOHN 8TEEET. 
 
 BT BOOKSELLERS, GENERALLY, THROUGHOUT THE UNITED STATUS 
 
 1863. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year ISCd, 
 
 BY A. S. BARNES A CO., 
 
 J the Clerk 3 Office of the District Court of the United States fer tho Southern 
 District of New York. 
 
 S. C. VALKNTINK. ' 
 
 S/EREOTYPKK AND ELECTROTTPER. QEO. W. WOOD, 
 
 81, 83, and 85 Centre-rtrert No. 2 Ou.ch-rt.. K. T. 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
' 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 IN tlic preparation of this volume, we have aimed to make il a 
 complete and sufficient work for advanced classes in Reading, 
 Elocution, and English and American Literature ; to furnish, in 
 an available form, such an amount of biographical, historical, 
 classical, orthoepical, and miscellaneous matter, as to render it 
 highly valuable as a book of reference ; and to present a collec- 
 tion of pieces so rich, varied, perspicdbus, and attractive, as to 
 suit all classes of minds, all times, and. all occasions. 
 
 Part First, in two chapters, embraces a simple, complete, and 
 eminently practical Treatise on Elocution. The principles and 
 rules are stated in a succinct and lucid manner, and followed by 
 examples and exercises of sufficient number and extent to'enable 
 the student thoroughly to master each point as presented, as well 
 as to acquire a distinct comprehension of the parts as a whole. 
 
 In Part Second, the Selections for Reading and Declamation 
 contain what are regarded as the choicest gems of English lit- 
 erature. The works of many authors, ancient and modern, have 
 been consulted, and more than a hundred standard writers of 
 the English language, on both sides of the Atlantic, have been 
 laid under contribution to enable the authors to present a collec- 
 tion, rich in all that can inform the understanding, improve the 
 taste, and cultivate the heart, and which, at the same time, shall 
 furnish every variety of style and subject to exemplify the prin- 
 ciples of Rhetorical delivery, and form a finished leader and 
 elocutionist. These selections have been arranged in a regularly 
 graded course, and strictly classified with regard to the nature of 
 the subjects. Although we have not been studious of novelty, 
 presenting only what we regarded as suitable, intrinsically excel- 
 lent, and most truly indicating the mode and range of thought 
 of the writer, it will be seen that a large proportion of this col- 
 lection is composed of pieces to be found in no similar work. 
 
PKEFACE. 
 
 Much care and labor have been devc*ed to the orthoepical 
 department. The pronunciation of all words liable to be mis- 
 pronounced is indicated once in each paragraph, or at the bottom 
 of the page where they occur. With respect to the words about 
 the pronunciation of which orthoepists difi'er, we have adopted 
 the most recent and reliable authority. 
 
 Classical and historical allusions, so common among the test 
 writers, have in all cases been explained ; and if the authors 
 have not been deceived, every aid has been given in the notes, 
 that the reader may readily comprehend the meaning of the 
 writer. This has been done in a manner more full and satisfac- 
 tory than they have seen in any other collection, and in every 
 instance at the bottom of the page where the difficulty occurs, 
 so that the reader may not be subjected. to the trouble of turning 
 to an index, or consulting a dictionary, a work which, in general, 
 if done at all, is done with extreme reluctance, even by advanced 
 pupils. 
 
 In order that the student may still more thoroughly under- 
 stand what he reads, and for the convenience of that large class 
 of readers who have not leisure to peruse voluminous memoirs 
 of distinguished men, and yet would be unwilling to forego all 
 knowledge of them, we have introduced concise Biographical 
 Sketches of authors from whose works extracts have been se- 
 lected, and of persons whose names occur in the Reading Exer- 
 cises. These sketches, presenting a clear and distinct outline 
 of the life, and producing a clear and distinct impression of the 
 character, furnish an amount of useful and available information 
 rarely surpassed by memoirs of greater extent and pretension. 
 Lists of the names of authors, both alphabetical and chronolog- 
 ical, have also been introduced, thus rendering this a convenient 
 text-book for students in English and American Literature, 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I.-ELOCUTLON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. ORTHOEPY. 
 
 IUGB 
 
 SECTION I. ARTICULATION 15 
 
 Definitions 15 
 
 Table of Oral Elements 17 
 
 Cognates .- 18 
 
 Alphabetic Equivalents 19 
 
 Spelling by Sounds! 20 
 
 Errors in Articulation 21 
 
 Exercises in Articulation 22 
 
 SECTION II. SYLLABICATION 25 
 
 Formation of Syllables 25 
 
 Rules for the Formation of Syllables 26 
 
 Exercise 27 
 
 SECTION III. ACCENT 29 
 
 Words Distinguished by Accent 29 
 
 Accent Changed by Contrast 30 
 
 ' CHAPTER II. EXPRESSION. 
 
 SECTION I. EMPHASIS 31 
 
 Rules for the Use of Emphasis 32 
 
 Exercises 32 
 
 SECTION II. SLUR 35 
 
 Exercises 35 
 
 SECTION III. INFLECTIONS 39 
 
 Rules for the Use of Inflections 41 
 
 SECTION IV. MODULATION 47 
 
 Pitch 47 
 
 Force 60 
 
 Quality 52 
 
 Rate 56 
 
 SECTION V. MONOTONE 58 
 
 Exercises 59 
 
 SECTION VI. PERSONATION 60 
 
 Exercise 60 
 
 SECTION VII. PAUSES 61 
 
 Rules for the Use of Pauses 61 
 
 Suspensive Quantity 63 
 
 General Rule 64 
 
 Exercise . . 64 
 
. TEXTS. 
 
 PART II. EXERCISES IN READING. 
 
 I. PIECES IN PROSE. 
 
 F4G1 
 
 1. The Months H. W. Beecher. 67 
 
 3. On Reading Edward Gibbon. 75 
 
 4. Never Despair 77 
 
 7. Maternal Affection Scrap Book. 84 
 
 8. Shaking Hands Edward Everett. 85 
 
 10. Peter Pounce and Parson Adams Henry Fielding. 92 
 
 11. Noble Revenge Thomas De Quincey. 95 
 
 13. A Golden Coppersmith 99 
 
 14. The Hermit of Niagara Mrs. Sigourney. 102 
 
 16. Broken Hearts Washington Irving. 109 
 
 17. Broken Hearts concluded Ill 
 
 22. Selected Extracts Jj. W. Beecher. 123 
 
 24. The Barbarities of War Thomas Chalmers. 128 
 
 26. The Cost of Military Glory Sidney Smith. 133 
 
 28. Biography of Jacob Hays * William Cox. 138 
 
 30. The Uses of History ..." Washington Irvmg. 143 
 
 31. Ancient and Modern Writers Charles Sumner. 145 
 
 33. Return of Columbus W. H. Prescott. 148 
 
 35. Character of Louis the Fourteenth T. B. Macaulay. 153 
 
 36. Queen Elizabeth David Hume. 155 
 
 38. The Good Wife D. G. Mitchell. 160 
 
 39. Scene with a Panther C. B. Brown. 163 
 
 41. Work Thomas Carlyle. 168 
 
 43. Study Orville Dewey. 173 
 
 45. Wants J. K. Paulding. 178 
 
 46. Wants continued 1'SO 
 
 47. Wants concluded .' 181 
 
 51. Letters D.G. Mitchell. 197 
 
 54. Washington and Napoleon J. T. Headtof. 205 
 
 57. Rural Life in England in 1763 George Bancroft. 210 
 
 58. Panegyric on England Edward Everett. 213 
 
 60. Sound and Sense Robert Chambers. 218 
 
 61. The Power of Words E. P. Whipple. 221 
 
 63. Parallel between Pope and Dryden Samuel Johnson. 228 
 
 64. The Puritans '. T. B. Macaulaij. 231 
 
 66. Advantages of Adversity to our Forefathers Edward Everett. 233 
 
 68. Progress of Freedom W. II. Prescott. 239 
 
 ' . Liberty Orville Deicei/. 244 
 
 72. Influence of Home R. H. Dana. 249 
 
 74. The Widow and her Son Washington Irving. 253 
 
 75. The Widow and her Son concluded 256 
 
 77. Glory Francis Wai/land. 
 
 79. Westminster Abbey Washington Irvina. 
 
 80. Westminster Abbey concluded 269 
 
 82. Daniel Webster ..." Edward Everett. 273 
 
 83. Daniel Webster concluded 275 
 
 84. From a Historical Address Daniel Webster. Til 
 
 87. Charge against Lord Byron Francis Jeffrey. 285 
 
 90. View of the Coliseum Oriilk Dewey. 293 
 
 i>3 The Death of Hamilton Eliphalet Nott. 296 
 
 \ 
 
CON T E N T 8 . 7 
 
 I'AGK 
 
 95. SELECT PASSAGES IN PROSE 300 
 
 I. Good Use of Memory. II. Injudicious Haste in Study 
 Locke. III. Studies Bacon. IV. Books Channing. 
 V. The Bible Hall. 
 
 96. Buying Books II. W. Beecher. 304 
 
 98. SELECT PASSAGES IN PROSE 309 
 
 I. A True Man Scott. II. A True Woman Scott. III. The 
 Power of a Word Landor. IV. Moral Force of Ex- 
 ample Judge McLean. V. Law Hooker. VI. Truth 
 and Falsehood Milton. 
 
 99. Truth and Falsehood Dr. Johnson. 311 
 
 101. Count Fathom's Adventure T. G. Smollett. 316 
 
 102. Count Fathom's Adventure concluded 318 
 
 104. The Rattlesnake W. G. Simms. 325 
 
 109. Shakspearo Dr. Johnson. 344 
 
 110. Hamlet's Instruction to the Players Skakspeare. 347 
 
 114. Paul Flemming Resolves //. W. Longfellow. 356 
 
 116. Beauty ^ R. W. Lmerson. 300 
 
 118. Death of the Old Trapper J. Fennimore Cooper. 365 
 
 119. Death of the Old Trapper concluded 369 
 
 121. The Poet and his Critics Washington Allston. 375 
 
 131. A Curtain Lecture of Mrs. Caudle Douglas Jerrold. 404 
 
 133. Blennerhassett's Temptation William Wirt. 412 
 
 136. Public Virtue Henry Clay. 420 
 
 -1&K Washington's Sword and Franklin's Staff J. Q. Adams. 422 
 
 \ 139. Forest Trees Washington Irving. 427 
 
 145. Speech of Sergeant Buzfuz Charles Dickens. 445 
 
 148. Landscape Beauty ; Francis Jeffrey. 459 
 
 151. Elements of the Swiss Landscape G. B. Cheever. 468 
 
 1*8. Cicero at the Grave of Archimedes R. C. Winthrop. 473 
 
 157. Hymns //. W. Beecher. 486 
 
 160. The Stolen Rifle Washington Irving. 498 
 
 161. The Tomahawk submissive to Eloquence John Neal. 499 
 
 162. Marius in Prison Thomas De Quincey. 501 
 
 164. SELECT PASSAGES IN PROSE 505 
 
 I. The Stream of Life Heber. II. Life compared to a River 
 Davy. III. Ideal Character of Life R. H. Dana. 
 IV. Man's Glory passeth away Watson. V. Evidence 
 of a Creator in the Structure of the World Tillotson. 
 VI. Nature proclaims a Deity Chateaubriand. VII. The 
 Blessings of Religious Faith Davy. 
 
 165. The Unbeliever Chalmers. 510 
 
 168. The Resurrection Bible. 514 
 
 170. Moral Progress of the American People W. II. Seward. 518 
 
 171. SELECT PASSAGES IN PROSK 522 
 
 I. Our Common Schools Everett. II. What Youth should 
 Learn Hare. III. What Youth should be Taught 
 Landor. IV. Education of the Heart Scott. V. Duty 
 Dickens. VI. Air and Exercise London Quarterly Re- 
 view. VII. Pampering the Body at the Soul's Expense 
 Everett. VIII. The Necessity of Mental Labor Scott. 
 IX. Aptitude of Youth for Knowledg 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 MM 
 
 172. The Schoolmaster and the Conqueror Henry Brougham. 628 
 
 176. The Poet H. B. Wallace. 540 
 
 178. Dignity of Poetry J. D. bourse. 545 
 
 181. Apostrophe to the Sun H. B. Wallace. 553 
 
 184. The Sea II. B. Wallace. 558 
 
 190. Milton. T. B. Macaulay. 575 
 
 191. Milton concluded , 578 
 
 196. The Knocking at the Gate, in Macbeth Thomas De Quincey. 592 
 
 197. Life H. B. Wallace. 595 
 
 II. PIECES IN VERSE. 
 
 2. Hymn to the Seasons James Thomson. 71 
 
 6. Pennsylvania T. B. Mead. 79 
 
 6. Sahbath Morning James Grahame. 81 
 
 9. The Dream of the Reveler Charles Mackay. 89 
 
 12. Life in the West G. P. Morris. 97 
 
 15. The Song of the Shirt Thomas Hood. 100 
 
 18. Lines relating to Curran's Daughter Thomas Moore. 115 
 
 19. Thanatopsis % W. C. Bryant. 116 
 
 20. Euthanasia W. G. Clark. 119 
 
 21. SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE 121 
 
 I. Succession of Human Beings. II. Death of the Young 
 and Fair. III. A Lady Drowned Procter. IV. The 
 Life of Man Beaumont. " V. Coronach Scott. VI. Im- 
 mortality R. H. Dana. 
 
 23. Fuller's Bird B. W. Procter. 127 
 
 25. Bingen on the Rhine Mrs. Norton. 130 
 
 29. A Modest Wit 141 
 
 32. The Poetic Faculty Gold Pen. 147 
 
 34. Destiny of America George Berkeley. 152 
 
 37. The King and the Nightingales Charles Mackay. 157 
 
 40. Nature's Teachings Robert PoUok. 166 
 
 42. Now Charles Mackay. 171 
 
 44. The Power of Art Charles Sprague. 176 
 
 48. The Deserted Village Oliver Goldsmith. 183 
 
 49. The Deserted Village continued 187 
 
 50 The Deserted Village concluded 191 
 
 52 The Settler A. B. Street. 200 
 
 53 The American Flag J. R. Drake. 202 
 
 55. Napoleon and the Sphinx Charles Mackay. 207 
 
 56. A Conqueror's Account of Himself W. B. Procter. 209 
 
 59. Language 0. W. Holmes. 216 
 
 62. Extract from the Essay on Criticism Alexander Pope. 224 
 
 65. The Rock of the Pilgrims G. P. Morris. 233 
 
 67. The Graves of the Patriots J. G. Perdval. 236 
 
 69. The Antiquity of Freedom W. C. Bryant. 242 
 
 71. SELECT PASSAGES IN VEESE 246 
 
 I. The Beauties of Nature Beatlie. II. Beaut}' Gay. III. 
 The Poet Shakspeare. IV. Flowers Hunt. V. Summer 
 Wind Bryant. VI. The Last Rose of Summer Moore. 
 
 73. An Old Haunt Household Words. 251 
 
 76. Passing Away John Pierpont. 259 
 
 78. The World for Sale Ralph Hoyt. 264 
 
CONTENTS. 9 
 
 FAGK 
 
 81. A Great Man Departed Household Words. 272 
 
 85. To the Evening Wind W. C. Bryant. 281 
 
 88. Lord Byron Robert Pollok. 287 
 
 '9. Midnight the Coliseum Lord Byron. 291 
 
 dl. The Dying Gladiator Lord Byron. 21)4 
 
 92. The Inquiry Charles Mackay. 2UG 
 
 94. Pass on, Relentless World George Lunt. 298 
 
 97. The Baron's Last Banquet A. G. Greene. 307 
 
 100. The Phantom Ship 314 
 
 103. Darkness Lord Byron. 322 
 
 106. Ode to Adversity Thomas Gray. 334 
 
 107. Parrhasius and the Captive N. P. Willis. 386 
 
 108. Ambition Gold Fen. 342 
 
 111. Cardinal Wolsey, on being cast off by Henry VIII. . .Shakspeare. 349 
 
 112. National Song R. T. Paine. 351 
 
 113. The Marseilles Hymn Rouget de Lisle. 354 
 
 115. Procrastination Edward Young. 359 
 
 117. The Closing Year G. D. Prentice. 363 
 
 120. The Holy Dead Mrs. Sigourne//. 374 
 
 122. To a Skylark .. P. B. Shelley. 378 
 
 124. Bernardo del Carpio Mrs. Hemam. 384 
 
 125. SELECT PASSAGES IN VKRSK 387 
 
 I. Patriotism Scott. II. Ambition Byron. III. Independ- 
 ence Thomson. IV. The Captive's Dream's Mrs. Ilem- 
 ans. V. William Tell Bryant. VI. Tell on Switzer- 
 land Knowles. VII. How sleep the Brave Collins. 
 VIII. The Greeks at Thermopyke Byron. 
 
 126. Greece Lord Byron. 391 
 
 127. Song of the Greeks, 1822 Thomas Campbell: 394 
 
 128. Marco Bozzaris Fttz-Greene Ilalieck^. 395 
 
 132. SKLKCT PASSAGES IN VERSE 407 
 
 I. Exhortation to Courage. II. Fame Pope. III. Value 
 of Reputation Shakspeare. IV. Pleasure Burns. V. 
 Pleasure Young. VI. Time never returns. VII. In- 
 gratitude Shakspeare. VIII. Severity and Gentleness 
 Gold Pen. IX. Mercy Shakspeare. X. Man Young. 
 
 1 34. Battle of Warsaw Thomas Campbell. 415 
 
 138. A Forest Nook A. B. Street. 424 
 
 140. God's First Temples W. C. Bryant. 430 
 
 141. Trust in God William Wordsworth. 433 
 
 143. The Musquito W. C. Bryant. 441 
 
 144. A Tailor's Evening Soliloquy 0. W. Holmes. 444 
 
 146. SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE 449 
 
 I. Early Dawn Shelley. II. Daybreak Atlantic Monthly. 
 III. Daybreak Shelley. IV. Sunrise in S. America 
 Bowles. V. Dawn Willis. VI. Morning Milton. VII. 
 Morning on the Rhine Bowles. VIII. Morning Sounds 
 Beattie. IX. Early Rising Hurdis. 
 
 147 . SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE ' 454 
 
 I. Invocation to Night J. F. Boilings. II. Evening Cr&ly. 
 III. Night// Coleridge. IV. Night at Corinth Byron. 
 V. A Summer's Night P. J. Bailey. VI. Night and 
 Death J. B. White. VII. Night Shelley. VIII. The 
 Moon Charlotte Smith. IX. The Stars 'Darwin. 
 
]0 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 149. Kiliinandjaro Bayard Taylor. 462 
 
 150. Morning Hymn to Mont Blanc S. T. Coleridge. 465 
 
 152. Alpine Scenery Lord Byron. 470 
 
 154. Messiah Alexander Pope. 477 
 
 156 SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE 483 
 
 I. Voice of tb Wind Henry Taylor. II. Ministrations of 
 Nature L*>ieridge. III. Moonlight Shakspeare. IV. 
 The Bells of Ostend Bowles. V. Music Shakspeare. 
 VI. Music Shelley. VII. Pastoral Music Byron. 
 
 158. The Passions William Collins. 48'. 
 
 159. Alexander's Feast John Dryden. 4'Jo 
 
 166. Hamlet's Soliloquy . Shakspeare. 510 
 
 167. Cato's Soliloquy Joseph Addison. 511 
 
 169 Hope Triumphant in Death Thomas Campbell. 516 
 
 173. The Famine H. W. Longfellow. 530 
 
 175. Address to the Indolent James Thomson. 538 
 
 177. To the Spirit of Poetry Frances Osgood. 543 
 
 179. The Spirit of Poetry J. G. Percival. 547 
 
 180. The Bells Edgar A. Poe. 549 
 
 182. Apostrophe to the Sun J. G. Perdval. 554 
 
 183. The Ocean R. H. Dana. 557 
 
 185. Apostrophe to the Ocean Lord Byron. 560 
 
 187. The Raven Edgar A. Poe. 565 
 
 1 92. Hymn of our First Parents Milton. 581 
 
 Satan's Encounter with Death Milton. 586 
 
 198. Elegy written in a Country Church-yard Thomas Gray. 597 
 
 III. DIALOGUES. 
 
 27. Lochiel's Warning Thomas Campbell. 134 
 
 86. Gil Bias and the old Archbishop Alain Le Sage. 282 
 
 105. Roger Ascham and Lady Jane Grey W. S. Landor. 330 
 
 123. Norval John Home. 381 
 
 129. Conversations after Marriage R. B. Sheridan. 398 
 
 130. Conversations after Marriage concluded 401 
 
 135. Scene Hamlet and his Mother Shakspeare. 416 
 
 142. Scene from the Lady of Lyons E. B. Lytton. 436 
 
 155. Scene from Catiline George Croly. 479 
 
 163. Scene from King Richard III Shakspeare. 502 
 
 174. Abraham and the Fire- Worshiper Household Words. 535 
 
 186. Brutus and Titus Nathaniel Lee. 562 
 
 188 The Saracen Brothers New Monthly Magazine. 569 
 
 189. The Saracen Brothers concluded 572 
 
 193. The Phrensy of Orra Joanna BaiUie. 583 
 
 195. Murder of King Duncan Shakspeare. 588 
 
ALPHABETICAL LIST OF AUTHORS. 1 
 
 ADAMS, JOHN Q., 422. 
 
 ADDISON, JOSEPH, 511. 
 
 ALLSTON, WASHINGTON, 875. 
 
 BACON, FRANCIS, 301. 
 
 BAILEY, P. J., 456. 
 
 BAILLIE, JOANNA, 583. 
 
 BANCROFT, GEORGE, 210. 
 
 BEATTIE, JAMES, 246, 452. 
 
 BEAUMONT, FRANCIS, 122. 
 
 BEECHER, H. W. } 67, 123, 304, 486. 
 
 BERKELEY, GEORGE, 152. 
 
 BOWLES, W. L., 450, 452, 484. 
 
 BROUGHAM, HENRY, 527, 528. 
 
 BfiowN, C. B., 163. 
 
 BRYANT, W. C., 116, 242, 248, 281, 
 
 389, 430, 441. 
 BURNS, ROBERT, 408. 
 BYRON, G. G., 291, 294, 822, 888, 891, 
 
 455, 470, 486, 560. 
 CAMPBELL, THOS., 134, 394, 415, 516. 
 CARLYLE, THOMAS, 168. 
 CHALMERS, THOMAS, 128, 510. 
 CHAMBERS, EGBERT, 218. 
 CHANNING, W. E., 802. 
 CHATEAUBRIAND, F. A., 509. 
 CHEEVER, G. B.,468. 
 CLARK, WILLIS G., 119. 
 ' 'LAY, HENRY, 420. 
 COLERIDGE, HARTLEY, 455. 
 COLERIDGE, S. T., 465, 483. 
 COLLINS, WILLIAM, 390, 489. 
 COOPER, J. FENNIMORE, 865, 869. 
 Cox, WILLIAM, 138. 
 
 CROLY, GEORGE, 454, 479. 
 
 DANA, E. H., 123, 249, 506, 557. 
 
 DARWIN, ERASMUS, 459. 
 
 DAVY, HUMPHREY, 506, 509. 
 
 DE QUINCE Y, THOMAS, 95, 501, 592. 
 
 DEWEY, ORVILLE, 173, 244, 298. 
 
 DICKENS, CHARLES, 445, 525. 
 
 DRAKE, J. R., 202. 
 
 DRYDEN, JOHN, 493. 
 
 EMERSON, R. W., 360. 
 
 EVERETT, EDWARD, 85, 213, 233, 273, 
 
 275, 522, 526. 
 FIELDING, HENRY, 92. 
 GAY, JOHN, 247. 
 GIBBON, EDWARD, 75. 
 GOLDSMITH, OLIVER, 183, 187, 191. 
 GRAHAME, JAMES, 81. 
 GRAY, THOMAS, 334, 597. 
 GREENE, ALBERT G., 307. 
 HALL, ROBERT, 803. 
 HALLECK, FITZ-GREENE, 895. 
 HARE, C. J. & A., 524. 
 HEADLEY, J. T., 205. 
 HEBER, REGINALD, 505. 
 HEMANS, MRS., 884, 388. 
 ROLLINGS, J. F., 454. 
 HOLMES, O. W., 216,444. 
 HOME, JOHN, 881. 
 HOOD, THOMAS, 106. 
 HOOKER, RICHARD, 810. 
 HOYT, RALPH, 264. 
 HUME, DAVID, 155. 
 HUNT, LEIGH, 247. 
 
 1 The nnmbers here given refer to Selections. For Biographical Sketches. 
 Chronological List of Authors. 
 
12 
 
 ALPHABETICAL LIST OV AUTHORS. 
 
 HURDB, JAMES, 453. 
 
 IRVING, W., 109, 111, 143, 253, 256, 
 
 267, 289, 427, 498. 
 JEFFREY, FRANCIS, 285, 459. 
 JERROLD, DOUGLAS, 404. 
 JOHNSON, SAMUEL, 228, 311, 844. 
 KNOWLES, J. S., 389. 
 ! AX OCR, W. S., 309, 330, 524. 
 LEI:, NATHANIEL, 562. 
 LE SAGE, ALAIN, 282. 
 LOCKE, JOHN, 300. 
 LONGFELLOW, II. "W., 856, 580. 
 LUNT, GEORGE, 298. 
 LYTTON, E. B., 436. 
 MACAULAT, T. B., 153, 231, 575, 51 8. 
 MACKAY, CHAS., 89, 157, 171, 207, 296. 
 MCLEAN, JOHN, 310. 
 MILTON, JOHN, 311, 451, 581, 586. 
 MITCHELL, D. G., 160, 197. 
 MOORE, THOMAS, 115, 248. 
 MORRIS, G. P., 97, 233. 
 NEAL, JOHN, 499. 
 NORTON, CAROLINE E., 130. 
 NOTT, ELIPHALET, 296. 
 NOURSE, J. D., 545. 
 OSGOOD, FRANCES S., 543. 
 PAINE, E. T., 351. 
 PAULDING, J. K., 178, 180, 181. 
 PERCIVAL, J. G., 236, 547, 554. 
 PIERPONT, JOHN, 259. 
 FOE, EDGAR A., 549, 565. 
 POLLOK, ROBERT, 166, 287- 
 
 A LEXANDER, 224, 408, 477 
 1 - <!, K. (1. D M 363. 
 
 j PRESCOTT, W. H., 148, 289. 
 j PROCTER, B. W., 121, 127, 209. 
 j READ, T. BUCHANAN, 79. 
 
 ROUGET DE LISLE, 354. 
 
 SCOTT, WALTER, 122, 309, 387, 525, 527 
 
 SEWARD, WILLIAM H., 518. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE, WM., 247, 847, 849, 408, 
 410, 416, 484, 485, 502, 510, 588. 
 
 SHELLEY, P. B., 378, 449, 450, 458,485. 
 
 SHERIDAN, R. B., 398, 401. 
 
 SIGOURNEY, MRS., 102, 374. 
 
 SIMMS, W. G., 325. 
 
 SMITH, CHARLOTTE, 458. 
 i SMITH, SIDNEY, 133. 
 j SMOLLETT, T. G., 316, 818. 
 , SPRAGUE, CHARLES, 176. 
 
 STREET, A. B., 200, 424. 
 
 SUMNER, CHARLES, 145. 
 TAYLOR, BAYARD, 462. 
 
 TAYLOR, HENRY, 4S3. 
 
 THOMSON, JAMES, 71, 388, 538. 
 
 TILLOTSOX, JOHN, 508. 
 
 WALLACE, H. B., 540, 553, 558, 595 
 
 WATSON, RICHARD, 507. 
 
 WAYLAND, FRANCIS, 262. 
 
 WEBSTER, DANIEL, 277. 
 
 WHIPPLE, E. P., 221. 
 
 WHITE, J. BLANCO, 457. 
 
 WILLK, N. P., 336, 451. 
 
 WIXTHROP, R. C., 473. 
 
 WIRT, WILLIAM, 412. 
 
 WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM, 433. 
 
 YOUNG, EDWARD, 859, 4C9. 411. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF AUTHORS. 1 
 
 HUOKEK, RICHARD 310 
 
 BACON, FRANCIS 213 
 
 8HAE.SPEARE, WlLLIAM 348 
 
 BEAUMONT, FRANCIS 122 
 
 MILTON, JOHN 582 
 
 TILLOTSON, JOHN 508 
 
 DRYDEN, JOHN 497 
 
 LOCKE, JOHN 213 
 
 LEL, NATHANIEL 565 
 
 LE SAOK. ALAIN 285 
 
 ADDISON, JOSEPH 513 
 
 YOUNG, EDWARD 360 
 
 BERKELEY, GEORGE 152 
 
 GAY, JOHN 247 
 
 POPE, ALEXANDER 227 
 
 THOMSON, JAMES 75 
 
 FIELDING, HENRY 95 
 
 JOHNSON, SAMUEL 230 
 
 HUME, DAVID 157 
 
 GRAY, THOMAS 835 
 
 COLLINS, WILLIAM 492 
 
 SMOLLETT, T. G 822 
 
 HOME, JOHN 884 
 
 GOLDSMITH, OLIVER 196 
 
 DARWIN, ERASMUS 459 
 
 BEATTIE, JAMES 452 
 
 GIBBON, EDWARD 77 
 
 WATSON, RICHARD 507 
 
 SMITH, CHARLOTTE 458 
 
 SHKKIIMN, R. B 404 
 
 BURNS, ROBERT 408 
 
 ROUGET DE LISLE . . , . 855 
 
 BOWLES, W. L 450 
 
 BAILLIE, JOANNA 586 
 
 HURDIS, JAMES 453 
 
 HALL, ROBERT 803 
 
 GRA HAM E, JAMES 84 
 
 ADAMS, JOHN Q 424 
 
 SMITH, SIDNEY 134 
 
 CHATEAUBRIAND, F. A 509 
 
 WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM 4? 5 
 
 SCOTT, W ALTER -;09 
 
 BROWN, C. B 166 
 
 COLERIDGE, S. T 467 
 
 WIHT, WILLIAM. ; 414 
 
 JEFFREY, FRANCIS 287 
 
 Norr, ELIPHALET 298 
 
 PAINE, R. T 854 
 
 LANDOR, W. S 333 
 
 CAMPBELL, THOMAS 137 
 
 CLAY, HENRY 421 
 
 DAVY, HUMPHREY 506 
 
 PAULDING, J. K 183 
 
 ALLSTON, WASHINGTON 377 
 
 BROUGHAM, HENRY 530 
 
 CHALMERS, THOMAS 130 
 
 CHANNING, W. E 302 
 
 MOORE, THOMAS 115 
 
 WHITE, J. BLANCO 457 
 
 WEBSTER, DANIEL 280 
 
 HEBER, REGINALD 505 
 
 IRVING, WASHINGTON 1 14 
 
 HUNT, LEIGH 247 
 
 PIERPONT, JOHN 26) 
 
 1 The numbers here given refer to Biographical Sketches. For Selections, 
 Alphabetical List of Authors. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF AUTHORS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 DE QUINCEY, THOMAS 97 
 
 DANA, E. H 251 
 
 BYRON, G. G 292 
 
 COOPER, J. FENNIMORE 873 
 
 SIGOCRNEY, MRS 106 
 
 SPR AGUE, CHARLES 177 
 
 SHELLEY, P. B 380 
 
 HEMANS, MRS 887 
 
 BRYANT, W. C 113 
 
 DEWEY, ORYILLE 176 
 
 EVERETT, EDWARD 89 
 
 fsEAL, JOHN 501 
 
 PERCIVAL, J. G 238 
 
 PROCTER, B. W 128 
 
 HALLECK, FITZ-GREENE 397 
 
 DRAKE, J. R 204 
 
 CROLY, GEORGE 454 
 
 CARLYLE, THOMAS 170 
 
 COLERIDGE, HARTLEY 455 
 
 KNOWLES, J. S 389 
 
 PRESCOTT, W. H 151 
 
 WAYLAND. FRANCIS 264 
 
 HOOD, THOMAS 109 
 
 MCLEAN, JOHN 810 
 
 POLLOK, ROBERT 167 
 
 TAYLOR, HENKY 4S3 
 
 HARE,C.J.& A 524 
 
 BANCROFT, GEORGE 212 
 
 CHAMBERS, ROBERT 220 
 
 HOLLINGS, J. F 454 
 
 MORRIS, G. P 98 
 
 MACAULAY, T. B 155 
 
 SEWARD, WILLIAM H 522 
 
 Cox, WILLIAM 141 
 
 GREENE, ALBERT G 808 
 
 PRENTICE, G. D 365 
 
 EMERSON, R. W 362 
 
 JERROLD, DOUGLAS 407 
 
 LUNT, GEORGE 2 ( .'P 
 
 BAILEY, P. J 456 
 
 LYTTON, E. B 441 
 
 SIMMS, W. G 330 
 
 WILLIS, N. P 341 
 
 CHEEVER, G. B 470 
 
 LONGFELLOW, H. W 858 
 
 NORTON, CAROLINE E 132 
 
 HOLMES, 0. W 217 
 
 WINTHROP, R. C 477 
 
 CLARK, WILLIS G 120 
 
 POE, EDGAR A 552 
 
 SUMNER, CHARLES 146 
 
 STREET, A. B 202 
 
 DICKENS, CHARLES 448 
 
 HOYT, RALPH 266 
 
 MACKAY, CHARLES 91 
 
 NOURSE, J. D 547 
 
 OSGOOD, FRANCES S 545 
 
 BEECHER, H. W 71 
 
 HEADLEY, J. T ? 207 
 
 WALLACE, H. B 542 
 
 WHIPPLE, E. P 224 
 
 MITCHELL, D.G 162 
 
 READ, T. BUCHANAN 81 
 
 TAYLOR, BAYARD 464 
 
T; 
 
 THE 
 
 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 ELOCUTION. 
 
 ELOCUTION is the delivery of extemporaneous or written 
 composition. It embraces ORTHOEPY and EXPRESSION. 
 
 We say of elocution, it is good or bad ; clear, fluent, or melo- 
 dious ; though it is often used as nearly synonymous with elo- 
 quence, the act of expressing thoughts with elegance and beauty. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ORTHOEPY. 
 
 ORTHOEPY is the art of correct pronunciation. It em- 
 braces ARTICULATION, SYLLABICATION, and ACCENT. 
 
 SECTION I. ARTICULATION. 
 
 DEFINITIONS. 
 
 1. ARTICULATION is the distinct utterance of the Oral 
 Elements, in syllables and words. 
 
 2. ORAL ELEMENTS are the sounds that, uttered sepa- 
 rately or in combination, form syllables and words. 
 
 3. ELEMENTS ARE PRODUCED by different positions of 
 the organs of speech, in connection with the voice and 
 the breath. 
 
16 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 4. THE PRINCIPAL ORGANS OF SPEECH are the lips, teeth, 
 tongue, and palate. 
 
 5. VOICE is PRODUCED by the action of the breath upon 
 the larynx. 1 
 
 6. ELEMENTS ARE DIVIDED into three classes: eighteen 
 Tonics, fifteen Subtonics, and ten Atonies. 
 
 7. TONICS are pure tones produced by the voice, with 
 but slight use of the organs of speech. 
 
 8. SCBTONICS are tones produced by the voice, tnodified 
 by the organs of speech. 
 
 9. ATONICS are mere breathings, modified by the or- 
 gans of speech. 
 
 10. YOWELS are the letters that usually represent the 
 Tonic elements, and form syllables by themselves. They 
 are #, e, i, 0, u, and sometimes y. 
 
 1 1 . A DIPHTHONG is the union of two vowels in one 
 syllable ; as, oi in oil, ou in our. 
 
 12. A DIGRAPH, or improper diphthong, is the union 
 of two vowels in a syllable, one of which is silent ; as, 
 oa in loaf. 
 
 13. A TRIPHTHONG is the union of three vowels in one 
 syllable ; as, eau in beau, ieu in adieu. 
 
 14. CONSONANTS are the letters that usually represent 
 either Subtonic or Atonic elements. They are of two 
 kinds, single letters and combined, viz. : b, c, d, f, g, h 
 j, k, 1, m, n, p, q, r, s, t. v, w, x, y, z; h Subtonic, th 
 Atonic, ch, sh, wh, ng. 
 
 The term Consonant, literally meaning sounding with, is ap- 
 plied to these letters and combinations because they are rarely 
 used in words without having a vowel connected with them in 
 the same syllable, although their elements may be uttered sepa- 
 rately, and without the aid of a vowel. 
 
 15. COGNATES are letters whose elements are produced 
 by the same organs, in a similar manner; thus, /"-is a 
 cognate of v ; k of <?, &c. 
 
 1 The larynx is the uppu* part of the trachea, or windpipe. 
 
ORAL ELEMENTS. 17 
 
 16. ALPHABETIC EQUIVALENTS are letters, or combina- 
 tions of letters, that represent the same elements, or 
 sounds; thus, i is an equivalent of 0, in pa'que. 
 
 ORAL ELEMENTS. 
 
 1. In sounding the tonics, the organs should be fully opened, 
 and the stream of sound from the throat should be thrown, as 
 much as possible, directly upward against the roof of the mouth. 
 These elements should open with an abrupt and explosive force, 
 and then diminish gradually and equably to the end. 
 
 2. In producing the subtonic and atonic elements, it is impor- 
 tant to press the organs upon each other with great firmness and 
 tension; to throw the breath upon them with force; and to 
 prolong the sound sufficiently to give it a full impression on 
 the ear. 
 
 3. In addition to the observance of the above directions, pu- 
 pils should be required to assume an erect posture, either stand- 
 ing or seated, and to keep a full supply of air in the lungs, while 
 uttering the elemental sounds, as arranged in the following 
 
 TABLE OF OEAL ELEMENTS. 1 
 
 1. TONICS. 
 
 a or a, as in age, ate. 
 a or a, " at, land. 
 
 a, as in art, arm. 
 d, " all, Mil. 
 a, 2 " bare, care. 
 
 1 First require the pupils to utter an element by itself, then to pro- 
 nounce distinctly the words that follow, uttering the element after each 
 word thus : age, & ; ate, a : at, a ; lnd, a, &c. Exercise the class upon 
 the above table, till each pupil can utter consecutively all the Oral ele- 
 ments. The attention of the class should be called to the fact that the 
 first element, or sound, represented by each of the vowels, is usually 
 indicated by a horizontal line placed over the letter, and the second 
 sound by a curved line. After each pupil can utter correctly all the ele- 
 ments as arranged in the table, numerous class exercises may be formed 
 by prefixing or affixing Subtonics or Atonies to the Tonics, in the follow- 
 ing order : Ba, ba, b&, ba, ba, b& ; be, be, be* ; bl, b! ; bo, b&, b6 ; bu, bu, 
 bu ; bou : ab, ab, ab, ab, &c. These exercises will be found of great 
 value, to improve the organs of speech and the voice, as well as to 
 familiarize the pupil with different combinations of sounds. 
 
 8 The fifth element, or sound, represented by , is its first or Alphabetic 
 Bound, modified or softened by r. 
 
 2 
 
Ib NATIONAL FIFTH READEK. 
 
 a, 1 as iu ask, 
 
 glass. 
 
 n, as in 
 
 /lame, 
 
 nine. 
 
 e or 
 
 e. 
 
 " 
 
 he, 
 
 these. 
 
 ng, " 
 
 ga^, 
 
 sang. 
 
 e or 
 
 e, 
 
 u 
 
 elk, 
 
 end. 
 
 7, 3 tt 
 
 rake, 
 
 bar*. 
 
 
 e. 2 
 
 it 
 
 h&r, 
 
 verse. 
 
 {fr, " 
 
 fiiis, 
 
 with. 
 
 I or 
 
 i, 
 
 tt 
 
 ice, 
 
 child. 
 
 V " 
 
 rine, 
 
 -yice. 
 
 i or 
 
 i, 
 
 tt 
 
 Ink, 
 
 inch. 
 
 w, " 
 
 wake, 
 
 t^ise. 
 
 6 or 
 
 6, 
 
 tt 
 
 old, 
 
 home. 
 
 V " 
 
 yard, 
 
 yes. 
 
 6 or 
 
 6: 
 
 it 
 
 6n, 
 
 bond. 
 
 " 
 
 sest, 
 
 gase. 
 
 
 o, 
 
 tt 
 
 do, 
 
 prove. 
 
 Z u 
 
 azure, 
 
 glazier. 
 
 11 or 
 
 u 
 
 tt 
 
 cube 
 
 , cure. 
 
 
 
 
 u or u, " 
 
 bud, 
 
 hush. 
 
 3 
 
 . ATOXICS. 
 
 
 u, 
 
 tt 
 
 full, 
 
 push. 
 
 f, as in 
 
 fame, 
 
 fife. 
 
 014, 
 
 tt 
 
 our. 
 
 house. 
 
 A, 
 
 hark, 
 
 harm. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 &, 
 
 kind, 
 
 kiss. 
 
 
 
 2. 
 
 SUBTOXICS. 
 
 / 
 
 27 u 
 
 / 
 
 pnmp. 
 
 b, as in 
 
 babe, 
 
 orb. 
 
 n U 
 
 ^ame, 
 
 sense. 
 
 d, 
 
 u 
 
 
 did, 
 
 dim. 
 
 ^ " 
 
 tart, 
 
 toast. 
 
 g, 
 
 It 
 
 
 gag, 
 
 gig. 
 
 ^A 4< 
 
 ^Aank, 
 
 youth. 
 
 ji 
 
 it 
 
 join, 
 
 joint. 
 
 cA, " 
 
 cAase, 
 
 marcA. 
 
 z, 
 
 tt 
 
 
 Zake, 
 
 lane. 
 
 A, " 
 
 ^Aade, 
 
 sAake. 
 
 m, 
 
 tt 
 
 
 mild, 
 
 mind. 
 
 10 A, " 
 
 i^Aale, 
 
 white. 
 
 COGNATES. 
 
 First require the pupil to pronounce distinctly the word containing 
 the Atonic element, then the Subtonic Cognate, uttering the element 
 after each word thus : \\p, p; ori, 6, &c. The attention of the pupil 
 should be called to the fact that Cognates are produced by the same 
 organs, in a similar manner, and only differ in one being an undertone, 
 and the other a whisper. 
 
 ATONICS. SUBTONICS. 
 
 lip, p or&, b. 
 
 f\fe, / ^ase, v. 
 
 *The sixth element represented by a, is a sound intermediate between 
 a. as heard in at, ask, and a, as in arm, art. 
 
 2 The third element represented by e, is e as heard in end, modified 01 
 softened by r. It is also represented by t, o, u, and y ; as in bird, word, 
 burn, myrrh. 
 
 * R may be trilled before a vowel. In that case, the tip of the tongue 
 is made rapidly to vibrate. 
 
ALPHABETIC EQUIVALENTS. 19 
 
 white, wh ...... wise, w. 
 
 save, s ...... seal, 3. 
 
 tfAade, sk ...... azure, z. 
 
 cAarm, cA ...... / om 5 / 
 
 tfartf, jf ...... did, d. 
 
 thing ill ...... fiiis, fh. 
 
 ALPHABETIC EQUIVALENTS. 
 1. TONIC ELEMENTS. 
 
 For a, aa, ai, an, ay, e, ee, ea, ei, ey ; as in Aaron, 
 gain, gauge, stray, melee', great, vein, they. 
 
 For a, ai, ua ; as in plaid, gt^ranty. 
 
 For a, #?/, e, ea, ua; as in haunt, sergeant, heart, 
 guard. 
 
 For a, <zw, aw, <?o, o, oa, ou; as in fawlt, h#wk, G^OTge, 
 cork, bro^d, bought. 
 
 For a, ai, e, e'a, ei' as in ch^'r, th^re, sw^ar, heir. 
 
 For e, ea, ee, ei, eo, ey, i, ie; as in read, deep, ceil, 
 people, hey, vak'se, field. 
 
 For &, a, ai, ay, ea, ei, eo,'ie, u, ue; as in any, said, 
 says, head, liefer, leopard, fr^nd, hury, guess. 
 
 For e, ea, i, o, ou, u, ue, y as in earth, girl, word, 
 scourge, hum, guerdon, myrrh. 
 
 For i, ai, ei, eye, ie, oi, ui, uy, y, ye; as in <mle, slight, 
 eye, die, choir, guide, huy, my, ry0. 
 
 For !, ai, e, ee, ie, o, oi, u, ui, y as in capto'n, pretty, 
 been, sieve, women, tortoise, b^sy, bmld, hymn. 
 
 For b, au, eau, eo, ew, oa, oe, oo, ou, ow ; as in haut- 
 boy, heau, y^man, sew, coal, foe, door, soul, hlow. 
 
 For o, a, ou, ow / as in what, hough, knowledge. 
 
 For 6, ew, oe, oo, ou, u, ui; as in gmtf, sh<90, spoon, 
 soup, rude, fruit. 
 
 For u, eau, eu, ew, ieu, iew, ue, ui; as in heauty, feud, 
 new, adieu, view, hue, juice. 
 
 For u, o, oe, oo, ou; as in love, do<?s, blood, young. 
 
20 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 For u, 0, 00, ouj wolf, b00k, could. 
 For ou, 0z0 / as in now. 
 For oi (ai), oy ; as in boy. 
 
 2. SUBTONIC AND ATONIC ELEMENTS. 
 
 For f, gh,ph; as in cou^A, nyrn>A. 
 For j, 07 as in own, 0in. 
 
 For k, c, c/i, #:A, 57 as in cole, concA, lou^A, etiquette 
 For s, Of as in cell. 
 
 For t, d, th-iphth; as in danced, Thames, p Anisic. 
 For \\f. ph; as in o/", Ste^Aen. 
 For y, fc/ as in pinion. 
 For z, c, s, a? / as in suffice, rose, aebec. 
 For z, 1 , 5/ as in rou^e, osier. 
 For ng, 7i / as in a/iger, ba?ik. 
 For cli, tj as in fustian. 
 
 For sh, c, cA, s, ss, <y as in ocean, cAaise, sure, assure, 
 martial. 
 
 SPELLING BY SOUNDS. 
 
 
 
 The following words are arranged for an exercise in Spelling, by 
 sounds. The names of the letters are not to be given ; but the elements 
 are to be produced separately, and then pronounced in connection, thus : 
 vast, pronounced vast ; a r m arm ; h 6 s t host ; m 6 v move. &c. 
 The attention of the pupil should be especially directed to silent letters, 
 or those that are not sounded in words where they occur. In the fol- 
 lowing exercise they appear in italics. We would impress it especially 
 upon the teacher, that the best way to secure a distinct and forcible ar- 
 ticulation is to give the pupil a daily exercise of this kind. 
 
 sav, wave, fat, man, arm, part. 
 
 halZ, warm, pare, tarc, grass, vast, 
 
 scene, glebe, te"st, dJt, her, f<rn. 
 
 pine, bide, l!m&, ring, gold, host, 
 
 grot, bond, m6ve, pr6ve, mute, pure. 
 
 dum, hunt, fulZ, push, loud, house, 
 
 blaze, bland, glide, glimpse, brass, branch, 
 
 drouth, grand, grant, skulk, spark, spend, 
 
 start, stare, flash, flesh, plum, slide. 
 
EKKOK8 IN ARTICULAllON. 
 
 21 
 
 fra-mg, print, tramp, smash, strand 
 vein, cork, Aeir, said, girl, 
 been, beau, what, blood, wolf, 
 
 , swarm, 
 word, 
 prow. 
 
 ERRORS IN ARTICULATION. 
 
 
 ERRORS IN ARTICULATION arise chiefly, 
 1. From the omission of one or more elements in a 
 
 word ; as, 
 
 
 an' for and. 
 
 w'irl for 
 
 wAirl. 
 
 frien's " friends. 
 fieFs " fields. 
 wiPs " wilds, 
 col'ly coldly, 
 kin' ly " kind ly. 
 blin' ness " blind ness. 
 
 w'is per " 
 be in' " 
 sing in' " 
 chick'n " 
 kitch'n " 
 trav'l " 
 
 wAis per. 
 be in^. 
 sing in*?, 
 chick en. 
 kitch en. 
 trav el. 
 
 fac's " facfe. 
 
 nov'l 
 
 nov el. 
 
 raf's " rafts. 
 
 learn'd " 
 
 learn ed. 
 
 sof'ly " 'softly, 
 bol's " bolfe. 
 cen's " cenfe. 
 ac cep's " ac cepfe. 
 at temp's " at tempos. 
 p6s's " posfe. 
 sto'm r " storm. 
 
 wing'd " 
 his fry " 
 cor p'ral " 
 lib' ral " 
 won d'ring " 
 of ring " 
 av' rice " 
 
 wing ed. 
 his to ry. 
 cor p0 ral. 
 lib er al. 
 wondering. 
 offer ing. 
 av a rice. 
 
 swa'm " swarm, 
 wa'm " warm. 
 
 dang' rous " 
 min' ral " 
 
 dan ger o us. 
 min er al. 
 
 s'rewd " sArewd. 
 s'riU " sArill. 
 
 mem' ry " 
 bois t'rous " 
 
 mem o ry. 
 bois ter ous. 
 
 2. From uttering one or more elements 
 not be sounded ; as, 
 
 that should 
 
 driv en for driv'n. 
 
 brok en for 
 
 brok'n. 
 
 ev en " eVn. 
 
 sev en " 
 
 sev'n. 
 
 heav en " heav'n. 
 
 sof?5 en " 
 
 sof'n. 
 
 tak en " tik'n. 
 
 tok en " 
 
 tok'n. 
 
 sick cr\ " sick'n. shak en " 
 
 shak'n. 
 
2*2 
 
 NATIONAL FIFTH RKAHKK. 
 
 driv el for 
 grov el " 
 rav el u 
 
 driv'l. 
 grov'l. 
 rav'l. 
 
 shov el for shov'l. 
 
 shri-v el " shr v'l. 
 sniv el " siri v'l. 
 
 3. From substituting one denjient for another; as, 
 
 sfit for 
 
 sit. 
 
 carse 
 
 for 
 
 course (core) 
 
 s6nce " 
 
 since 
 
 re part 
 
 u 
 
 re port. 
 
 Bhet " 
 
 shut. 
 
 truf f v 
 
 u 
 
 tro plry. 
 
 git 
 
 get. 
 
 pa rent 
 
 u 
 
 par ent. 
 
 for git " 
 
 for gfit. 
 
 bun net 
 
 a 
 
 bon net. 
 
 hSrth " 
 
 hearth (harth). 
 
 chil drwn 
 
 a 
 
 chil dr^n. 
 
 ben " 
 
 been (bin). 
 
 sul lar 
 
 u 
 
 eel lar. 
 
 a gan " 
 
 a gain (a gen). 
 
 mel \er 
 
 u 
 
 mel low. 
 
 a ganst " 
 
 a gainst (agenst). 
 
 pil ler 
 
 u 
 
 ^ 
 
 pil low. 
 
 care " 
 
 care. 
 
 wil ler 
 
 u 
 
 wil low. 
 
 dance " 
 
 dance. 
 
 yelkr 
 
 u 
 
 yel 16^. 
 
 past " 
 
 past. 
 
 mo mwnt 
 
 a 
 
 mo m<mt. 
 
 ask " 
 
 ask. 
 
 treat mwnt " 
 
 treat ment. 
 
 last " 
 
 last. 
 
 harm Kss 
 
 a 
 
 harm less. 
 
 fijrass " 
 
 grass. 
 
 home k'ss 
 
 a 
 
 home less. 
 
 draft 
 
 draft. 
 
 kind ntss 
 
 a 
 
 kind ness. 
 
 staff " 
 
 staff. 
 
 harsh n^ss 
 
 u 
 
 harsh ness. 
 
 EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION. 
 
 For a further exercise in ARTICULATION, let the pupils, separately and 
 in concert, read each of the following sentences several times, uttering 
 the Elements in italics with force and distinctness. 
 
 1. He accepfo the office, amZ attempts by his acto to conceaJ 
 his faulfe. 
 
 2. The boW, blustering boys broke bolts and bars. 
 
 3. He trod bolrfly the halls of his ances/ors. 
 
 4. These^acte of government will result in a general and grea/ 
 increase of crime. 
 
 5. There are ra^s, %. and drugs in these ba^5. 
 
 6. He was atfackerf wifli spas7?i5 ant? c?ie^ miserab/y by the 
 roac? sic?e. 
 
 7. He Idn^s to sling the t5n^s wifli all his strength. 
 
KXKRCI8E8 IN ARTICULATION. 23 
 
 8. Regardless of trou&^s and wr6ngs, he curft'd the an^er of 
 that distur&'d rabble. 
 
 9. He reacts the acte of the government, and expect to learn 
 the facte in the case. 
 
 10. If he reflect, he will ta&e prompt means to secure their 
 clu&s and save his rifts. 
 
 11. Death ravaged for mon^s ^roughoui the whole lenp'h 
 and breadth of the land. 
 
 12. For the hundred^ time, he spo&e of lengths, breadths, 
 widths, and depths. 
 
 13. JF7iispers of revenge passed silendy around among the 
 troops. 
 
 14. He lau^As, and quaffs his ale, knowing that the rafts and 
 skiffs are on the reefs near the clip's. 
 
 15. What thou wouldsi highly thai fhou wouldsi holily. 
 
 16. Your false friends aim, by steaZ^A, to secure the wealth for 
 which you delv'd, and lost your health. 
 
 17. As the water gusk'd forth, he wisA'd he had pusAW the 
 do^ from the path, and husA'c? the child. 
 
 18. Her faults were aggravated, and held up to universal scorn 
 and reproach. 
 
 19. The ra^ed mad;?ian, in his ram&fe, did madly ransack 
 every pantry in the parish. 
 
 20. Directly after these accidents, numerous attempts were 
 made to emigrate. 
 
 21 The peevisA,/ee6/e/reeman/eeWy/ough^ for freedom. 
 
 22. It will paw nobody, if the sad dangler regain neither 
 rope. 
 
 23. Fame, fortune, and friends favor the fair. 
 
 24. Theodore Thickthong thrust three iAousand iAistles trough 
 the Aic& of his ^Aumb. 
 
 25. Beneafih the boofh, I found baths, lafh.s, cloths, mofibs, 
 paths, sheatbs, and wreaths. 
 
 26. Prithee, blithe youth, do not mouth your words when you 
 wreathe your face with smiles. 
 
 27. The best defe?iders of liberty do not common/y vociferate 
 most loudly IP its praise. 
 
 28. That fellow shoi a sparrow on a willow, in the narrow 
 meadow, near the yellow house. 
 
24 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 29. The rival robbers rode round and round the rough and 
 nigged rocks that rear their hoary heads Aigh in the air. 
 
 30. Amidst the iniste and coldest frosts, with barest wrists and 
 stoutest boasfc, he thrusts his fists against (agenst) the poste, and 
 still insist he sees the ghosfc. 
 
 31. The iAoughtless, helpless, homeless girl did not resent his 
 rudeness and harshness. 
 
 32. That blessed and learned man says that that winged thing 
 is striped or streaked. 
 
 33. For thee are the cAaplefs of cAainless cAarity and the 
 chalice of cAildlike cAeeffulness. Change can not change thee : 
 from cAildhood to the cAarnel-house, from our first childish 
 chirpings to the cAills of the cAurcA-yard, thou art our cAeery, 
 changeless cAieftamess. 
 
 34. What whim led JFAite IFAituey to u-Aittle, whistle, whis- 
 per, and wAimper near the wAarf, where a floundering whale 
 migh/ .w^Aeel and wAirl ? 
 
 35. With Aorrid howls, he heaved the heavens above. 
 
 36. He has printe of an ice-house, an ocean, and wastes and 
 deserts. 
 
 37. At that rime, the lame man, who begaw rcobly, having 
 made a bad point, wep bitterly. 
 
 38. Wlien. loud surges lasA the soundift<7 sAore, the hoarse, 
 rough verse sAould Zike the torrent roar. 
 
 39. The corporations of the Middle Ages were intended to 
 resist the encroachment of Idngs and nobles. 
 
 4. He had respecfa&Ze talent, but was fornudaWe to the 
 people from his want of princij9/e, and his- readiness to ruc&le to 
 men in power. 
 
 41. Thou laicTs^ dowra and slepfst. 
 
 42. As thou found'st, so thou keep's^ me. 
 
 43. He said ceaseth, approacheth, rejoiceiA; falVn, 
 curvet; halt^t^infst, attemp^si; bar6'ds^, swertfdst, 
 karcCri'dst, blactfridst, mangVdst. 
 
 44. She au^AoriteriveZy led us, and disinterestedly labored for 
 us, and we unhesiteriji^ly admitted her reasonableness. 
 
 45. A storm arise th on the sea. A model vessel is 
 amidst the war of elements, quiveri?i<7 and sAiverwy, 
 
 like a thinking beiw^. The merciless, rackirc<7 v^Airl- 
 
FORMATION Oi<' SYLLABLES. 2,5 
 
 winds, like /rightful fiends, how/ and moan, and se?*d sharp, 
 shrill shrieks through the creakmy cordage, snapping the sheets 
 and mas/s. The sturdy sailors steind to their tas&s, and weather 
 the severest storm of the season. 
 
 SECTION II. SYLLABICATION. 
 
 1. A SYLLABLE is a word, or part of a word, littered 
 by a single impulse of the voice. 
 
 2. A MONOSYLLABLE is a word of one syllable; as, 
 home. 
 
 3. A DISSYLLABLE is a word of two syllables; as, 
 home-less. 
 
 4. A TEISYLLABLE is a word of three syllables ; as, 
 
 5. A POLYSYLLABLE is a word of four or more sylla- 
 bles ; as, in-no-cen-cy, un-in-tel-li-girbil-i-ty. 
 
 6. THE ULTIMATE is the lost syllable of a word ; as/Z, 
 in peace-fid. 
 
 7. THE PENULT, or penultimate, is the last syllable but 
 one of a word ; as mdk, in peace-ma^-er. 
 
 8. THE ANTEPENULT, or antepenultimate, is the last 
 syllable but two of a word ; as peace, m peace-msk-er. 
 
 9. THE PKEANTEPENULT, or preantepenultimate, is^the 
 last syllable but three of a word ; as mat, in ma^-ri-mo-ny 
 
 FORMATION OF SYLLABLES. 
 
 1. A single impulse of the voice can produce but one radical 
 or opening and vanishing or gradually diminishing movement. 
 Since a syllable is produced by a single impulse of the voice, it 
 follows that only such an oral element, or order 6f oral elements, 
 as gives but one radical and vanish movement, can enter into 
 its formation. As the tonics can not be uttered separately with- 
 out producing this movement, but one of them can enter into a 
 single syllable ; and, as this movement is all that is essential, 
 each of the tonics may, by itself, form a syllable. Consistently 
 with this, we find, whenever two tonics adjoin, they always be- 
 
26 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 long to separate syllables in pronunciation, as in i-e-ri-al, t-o-ta, 
 o-a-sis, 
 
 2. Though elements can not be combined with a view to 
 lengthen a syllable, by the addition of one tonic to another, as 
 this would produce a new and separate impulse, yet a syllable 
 may be lengthened by prefixing and affixing any number of sub- 
 tonics and atonies to a tonic, that do not destroy its singleness 
 of impulse ; as, a, an, and, land, gland, glands. 
 
 3. A tonic is usually regarded as indispensable in the forma- 
 tion of a syllable. A few syllables, however, are formed exclu- 
 sively by subtonics. In the words bidde-n, rive-?i, rhyth-m, schis-m 
 fic-/e, \-dle, lit-tle, and words of like construction, the last ylla- 
 ble is either pure subtonic, or a combination of subtonic and 
 atonic. These final syllables go through the radical and vanish 
 movement, though they are far inferior in quality, euphony, and 
 force, to the full display of these properties on the tonics. 
 
 In combining the oral elements into syllables, students should 
 carefully observe the following 
 
 KULES FOB THE FORMATION OF SYLLABLES. 
 
 1. The elements of consonants that commence words 
 should be uttered distinctly, but should not be much 
 prolonged. 1 
 
 2. Elements that are represented by final consonants 
 should be dwelt upon, and uttered with great distinct- 
 ness; as, 
 
 He accept the office, anc? attempt by his acte to conceal his 
 faulte. 
 
 3. When one word of a sentence ends and the next 
 oegins with the same consonant, or another that is 
 hard to produce after it, a difficulty in utterance arises 
 that should be obviated by dwelling on the final conso- 
 
 1 On this point, Dr. Rush mentions the error of a distinguished actor, 
 who, in order to give force to his aiticulation, dwelt on the initial let- 
 ters, as marked in the following lines : 
 
 " Canst thou not n-inister to a m ind diseased, 
 PZ-uck from the m-emory a r-ooted sorrow ?" 
 Such mouthing defeats its object. 
 
RULES FOE, T1IK\ FORMATION OF SYLLABLES. 27 
 
 nant, and then taking up the one at the beginning of the 
 next word, in a second impulse of the voice, without 
 pausing between them ; as, 
 
 It will pain nobody, if the sac? dangle?' regain neither rope. 
 After erecting a field tent, on that bright day, he wep ftitterly. 
 
 4. In uttering the elements that are represented by 
 the final consonants 0, J9, d, t, g, and k, the organs of 
 speech should not remain closed -at the several pauses 
 of discourse, but should be smartly separated by a kind 
 of echo / as, 
 
 I took down my hat-?, and put it upon my head-d. 
 
 5. Unaccented syllables should be pronounced as dis- 
 tinctly as those which are accented : they should merely 
 have less force of voice and less prolongation ; as, 
 
 The thought/ess, helpless, homeZm girl did not resent his 
 rudeness and harshness. Every one says, that avarice did not 
 deter him from paying a liberal price for that rare mineral. 
 
 Very many of the prevailing faults of articulation result from 
 a neglect of these rules, especially the second, the third, and the 
 last. He who gives a full and definite sound to final consonants 
 and to unaccented vowejs, if he does it without stiffness or for 
 mality, can hardly fail to articulate well. 
 
 Let students give the number and names of the syllables, in words 
 of more than one syllable, and tell what rule for the formation of sylla- 
 bles each letter that appears in italics is designed to illustrate, in the 
 following 
 
 EXERCISE. 
 
 1. THIRTY years ago, Marseilles lay burning in the sun, one 
 day. A blazing sun, upon a fierce August day, was no greater 
 rarity in Southern France then, than at any other time, before 
 or since. Every thin^ in Marseilles, and about Marseilles, had 
 eJared at the fervid sky, and been scared at in return, until a 
 jStariw? habit had become universal there. 
 
 2. Grangers were scared out of countenance by staring white 
 houses, staring white walls, staring white street, staring tracts of 
 arid road, stariw^r hills from whic& verdure was burnt away. 
 The only things to be seen not firedly staring and glaring were 
 the vines drooping under their load of grapes. These did occa 
 
28 NATIONAL FIITH READER. 
 
 sionallj win& a little, as the hot air barely moved their faint 
 leaves. 
 
 3. There was no wind to make a ripple on the foul water 
 within the harbor, or on the beautiful sea without The line of 
 demarkation between the two colors, blac& and blue, showed the 
 point which the pure sea would not pass ; but it lay as quiet as 
 the abominable pool, wifh which it never mixed. Boafc without 
 awnitt^rs were too ho to touch ; ships blistered at their moor- 
 inys ; the stones of the quays had not cooled, night or day, for 
 
 4. The universal stare made the eyes ache. Toward the dis- 
 tant line of Italian coas, indeed, it was a little relieved by light 
 clouds of mis?, slowly rising from the evaporation of the sea; 
 but it softened nowhere else. Far away the stari72# roads, deep 
 in dus, stared from the hillside, stared from the hollow, stared 
 from the interminable plain. 
 
 5. Far away the dusty vines overhangm^ wayside cottages, 
 and the monotonous wayside avenues of parched frees without 
 sAade, drooped beneafh the stare of earth and sky. So did the 
 horses with drowsy bells, in long files of carte, creeping slowly 
 toward the interior ; so did their recumbent drivers, when they 
 were awae, which rarely happened ; so did the exhausted la- 
 borers in the fields. 
 
 6. Every thing that Zived or </rew was oppressed by the glare ; 
 except the lizard, passing swiftly over rough stone walls, and tho 
 cicada, chirping his dry hot chirp, like a rattZe. The very dust 
 was scorched 6rown, and somethi?i<7 quivered in the atmosphere 
 as if the air itself were panting. Blinds, shutters, curtains, awn- 
 ings, were all closed and drawn to keep out the stare. Grant it 
 but a chin& or keyhole, and it shot in like a white-hot arrow. 
 
 7. The churches were freest from it. To come out of the 
 twilight of pillars and arches dreamily dotted with winkiwy 
 lamps, dreamily peopled with ugly old sAadows piously dozing, 
 spitting, and begging was to plxmge, into a fiery river, and swim 
 for life to the nearest sfrip of shade. So, with people lounging 
 and lyw^ wherever shade was, with but little hum of tongues or 
 barkiw^ of do^s, with occasional jangling of discordant church 
 bells, and rattliw^r of vicious drums, Marseilles, a fact to be strong- 
 ly smelt and fasted, lay broiling in the sun one day. 
 
WORDS DISTINGUISHED BY ACCENT. 29 
 
 SECTIOF III. ACCENT. 
 
 1. ACCENT is the peculiar force given to one or more 
 syllables of a word. 
 
 2. A mark like this ' is often used to show which syllable is 
 accented; as, read'ing, eat'ing, reward', compel', mis' chiev ous, 
 vi o lin', fire '-eat' er, in' cense-breath' ing. 
 
 3. In many trisyllables and polysyllables, of two syllables ac- 
 cented, one is uttered with greater force than the other. The 
 more forcible accent is called primary, and the less forcible, 
 secondary. 
 
 4. A mark like this v is sometimes used to indicate secondary 
 accent ; as, ed v u ca' tion, ed' u cate\ mul v ti pli ca' tion. 
 
 In words of more than one syllable, let the pupils tell on what syLla- 
 bles primary and secondary accents fall, in the following 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. When the weary seaman, on the dreary deep, sees a beacoc 
 gleaming on the seashore, he is eager for the seaside. 
 
 2. If the marine force besiege the fort, we will march to its 
 relief, when your friends can make a sortie and retrieve their loss. 
 
 3. The brigadier, cavalier, chevalier, grenadier, and volunteer 
 were armed cap-a-pie. 
 
 4. On that momentous occasion, the majestic polemic made a 
 pathetic speech for the prevention of oppression. 
 
 5. If you make an amicable arrangement with your adversary, 
 he will be an admirable ac'cessary to the felony. 
 
 6. The aristocratic ecclesiastic addressed the people of that 
 municipality in enthusiastic strains. 
 
 7. Impenetrability and indestructibility are two essential prop- 
 erties of matter. 
 
 8. The incommunicability and incomprehensibility of the 
 
 ways of Providence are no obstacles to the eye of faith. 
 ^ 
 
 WORDS DISTINGUISHED BY ACCENT. 
 
 Many words, or parts of speech, having the same form, are 
 distinguished by accent alone. Nouns and adjectives are often 
 thus distinguished from verbs. 
 
80 MAT1ONAL FIFTH KEADEB. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Why does your ab'sent friend absent' himself? 
 
 2. Did he abstract' an ab'stract of your speech from the desk f 
 
 3. Note the mark of ac'cent^ and accent' the right syllable. 
 
 4. Buy some ctm'ent and cement' the glass. 
 
 5. Desert' us not in the dts'trt. 
 
 6. If that proj'ect fail, he will project' another. 
 
 7. My tVcreose is taken to increase' your wealth. 
 
 8. Perfume' the room with rich per'Jume* 
 
 9. If they reprimand' that officer, he will not regard their 
 
 10. If they rebel', and overthrow' the government, even the 
 reb'els can not justify the o'verthrow. 
 
 which are at once nouns and adjectives, are 
 distinguished by accenting the nouns on the first syllable and 
 the adjectives on the fa-st. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. In Au'gust, the august' writer entered into a comfpact to 
 prepaie a compact' discourse, 
 
 In'sttnct, not reason, rendered the herd instinct' with spirit 
 
 3. Within a min'ute from this time, I will find a minute' piece 
 of gold. 
 
 ACCENT CHJLNGED BY COXTK 
 
 The ordinary accent of words is sometimes changed by a con- 
 trast in sense, or to express opposition of thought. 
 
 EXAMF 
 
 1. He mvit Mi'crease, but I must de'cv 
 
 .Edition, but a new c'dition. 
 -ell what yon have done, and what you have left 
 
 4. 1 she will s.v/peet ibe truth 01 y, not that 
 she v 
 
 5. He that- < \e that as'ceuded. 
 
 6. This corruptible must put on in 'corruption ; and this mor- 
 tal must put on tm 'mortality. 
 
EMPHASIS. 31 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 EXPRESSION. 
 
 EXPRESSION OF SPEECH is the utterance of thought, 
 feeling, or passion, with due significance or force. Its 
 general divisions are EMPHASIS, SLTJR, INFLECTION, MOD- 
 ULATION, MONOTONE, PERSONATION, and PAUSES. 
 
 Orthoepy is the mechanical part of Elocution, consisting in 
 the discipline and use of the organs of voice for the production 
 of the alphabetic elements and their combination into separate 
 words. It is the basis the subsoil, which, by the mere force of 
 will and patient practice, may be broken and turned up to the 
 sun, and from which spring the flowers of expression. 
 
 Expression is^ the soul of elocution. By its ever-varying and 
 delicate combinations, and its magic and irresistible power, it 
 wills and the listless ear stoops with expectation ; the vacant 
 eye burns with unwonted fire ; the dormant passions are aroused, 
 and all the tender and powerful sympathies of the soul are called 
 into vigorous exercise. 
 
 SECTION I. EMPHASIS. 
 
 1. EMPHASIS is the peculiar force given to one or more 
 words of a sentence. 
 
 2. To give a word emphasis, means to pronounce it in a loud 
 or forcible manner. No peculiar tone, however, is necessary, as 
 a word or phrase may be rendered emphatic or peculiarly sig- 
 nificant by prolonging the vowel sounds, by a pause, or even by 
 a whisper. 
 
 3. Emphatic words are often printed in italics ; those more 
 emphatic, in small CAPITALS ; and those that receive the greatest 
 force, in large CAPITALS. 
 
 4. By the proper use of emphasis, we are enabled to impart 
 animation and interest to conversation and reading. Its. import- 
 ance can not be over-estimated, as the meaning of a sentence 
 often depends upon the proper placing of the emphasis. If 
 readers have a desire to produce an impression on hearers, and 
 
32 
 
 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 read what they understand and FEEL, they will generally place 
 emphasis on the right words. Pupils, however, should be re- 
 quired to observe carefully the following 
 
 RULES FOE THE USE OF EMPHASIS. 
 
 1. Words and phrases peculiarly significant, or im- 
 portant in meaning, are emphatic ; as, 
 
 Whence and what art thou, execrable shape! But see! the 
 enemy retire. My first reason for the adoption of this measure 
 is, the people demand it ; my second reason is, THE PEOPLE DE- 
 MAND rr. 
 
 2. Words and phrases that contrast, or point out a 
 difference, are emphatic; as, 
 
 I did not say a better soldier, but an elder. Take courage! 
 let your motto be, "Ever 'onward? not, "Never constant" 
 
 3. The repetition of an emphatic word or phrase usu- 
 ally requires an increased force of utterance ; as, 
 
 You injured my child YOU, sir ! 
 
 Charge home brave men, at Freedom's call ; 
 CHARGE HOME your bleeding comrades fall ; 
 CHARGE HOME avenge them one and all ; 
 God will protect the right ! 
 
 4. A succession of important words or phrases usually 
 requires a gradual increase of emphatic force, though 
 emphasis sometimes falls on the last word of a series 
 only; as, 
 
 His disappointment, his AXGUISH, his DEATH, were caused by 
 your carelessness. These misfortunes are the same to the poor, 
 the ignorant, and the weak, as to the rich, the wise, and the 
 powerful. 
 
 Require pupils to tell which of the preceding rules is illustrated by 
 each of the following 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 1 . Speak little and well, if you wish to be considered as pos- 
 sessing merit. 
 
 2. Boisterous in speech, in action prompt and bold. 
 
EMPHASIS. 33 
 
 3. He buys, he sells, lie STEALS, he KILLS for gold. 
 4. t But here I stand for right, for ROMAN right. 
 . 5. I shall know but one country. I was born an American ; 
 I live an American ; I shall die an American. 
 
 6. He that trusts you, where he should find you liqns finds 
 you HARES; where foxes, GEESE. 
 
 7. A good man loves HIMSELF too well to lose an estate by 
 gaming, and his NEIGHBOR too well to win one. 
 
 8. The GOOD man is honored^ but the EVIL man is despised. 
 
 9. The young are slaves to novelty: the old, to custom: the 
 middle-ag&d, to both : the dead, to neither. 
 
 10. The wicked flee when no man pursueth; but the righteous 
 are bold as a lion. 
 
 11. They come! to arms! TO ARMS! TO ARMS! 
 
 12. None but the brave, none but the BRAVE, none but the 
 BRAVE deserve the fair. 
 
 13. A day, an HOUR, of virtuous liberty, is worth a whole 
 ETERNITY in bondage. 
 
 14. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it 
 shall be my dying sentiment Independence NOW, and independ 
 ence FOREVER. 
 
 15. Strike. till the last arm'd foe expires ; 
 STRIKE for your altars and your fires ; 
 STRIKE for the green graves of your sires ; 
 
 GOD and your native land ! 
 
 16. See how beauty is excelled by manly grace, and wisdom, 
 which alone is truly fair. 
 
 17. The thunders of heaven are sometimes heard to ro^inthe 
 voice of a united people. 
 
 1 8. Let us fight for our country, OUR WH5LE COUNTRY, and 
 NOTHING BUT OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 19. What STRONGER breastplate than a heart untainted f 
 THRICE is he armed that hath his quarrel JUST ; and he but 
 naked, though locked up in STEEL, whose conscience with IN- 
 JUSTICE is corrupted. 
 
 20. Son of night, RETIRE ; call thy winds, and fly. WHY dost 
 thou come to my presence wifh thy shadowy arms? Do I FEAP 
 thy gloomy form, dismal spirit of Loda? WEAK is thy shield of 
 clonds ; FEEBLE is that meteor, thy sword. 
 
 3 * 
 
34: NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 21. What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 
 Hath a DOG money? is it possible, 
 
 A CUR can lend three thousand duc'ats ? 
 
 22. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounce it to you 
 tiippingly on the tongue; but if you moufo. it, as many of our 
 players do, I had as lief the town-crier spake my lines. Nor do 
 not saw the air too much with your hand thus, but use all gently ; 
 for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) WHIRLWIND of 
 your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that will 
 give it smoothness. 
 
 23. If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of 
 Ccei&r's, to him I say, that Brutus' love to Caesar was no less 
 than riis. If, then, that friend demand why Brutus rose against 
 Ciesar, this is my answer : not that I loved Coesar LESS^but that 
 I loved Rome MORE. Had you rather Caesar were living, and 
 die all SLAVES, than that Caesar were dead, to live all FREEMEN ? 
 
 '2 4. As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he va& fortunate, 
 I rejoice at^it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but as he was 
 AMBITIOUS, I slew him. There is tears for his love, joy for his 
 fortune, honor for his valor, and DEATH for his ambition. 
 
 25. 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' dag- 
 ger through : see what a rent the envious CASCA made. Through 
 THIS, the well-beloved BRUTUS stabbed ; and, as he plucked his 
 cursed steel away, mark ,how the blood of Caesar followed it ! 
 THIS was the most unJcindest cut of all ! for, when the noble 
 Cajsar saw HIM stab, INGRATITUDE, more strong than 
 traitors 9 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. O WHAT a fall was THERE, niy countrymen ! Then /, 
 and YOU, and ALL of us, fell down ; whilst bloody TREASON 
 flourished over us. 
 
 26. 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 ye 
 here ! Here is HIMSELF, MARRED, as you see, by TRAITORS 
 
SLUK. 
 
 SECTION II. SLUE. 
 
 1. SLUR is that smooth, gliding, subdued movement 
 of the voice, by which those parts of a sentence of less 
 comparative importance are rendered less impressive to 
 the ear, and emphatic words and phrases set in stronger 
 relief. 
 
 2. When a word or part of a sentence is emphasized, it is 
 usually pronounced wifh a louder and more forcible effort of the 
 voice, and is frequently prolonged. But when a sentence or 
 part of a sentence is slurred, it must generally be read in a 
 lower and less forcible tone of voice, more rapidly, and with all 
 the words pronounced nearly alike. 
 
 3. I order to communicate clearly and forcibly the whole 
 signification of a passage, it must be subjected to a rigid analysis. 
 It will then be found, that one paramount idea always pervades 
 the sentence, although it may be associated wife incidental 
 statements, and qualified in every possible manner. Hence, 
 on the proper management of slur, much of the beauty and 
 propriety of enunciation depends, as thus the reader is enabled 
 to bring forward the primary idea, or more important parts, into 
 a strong light, and throw other portions into shade ; thereby en 
 tirely changing the character of the sentence, and making it ap 
 pear lucid, strong, and expressive. 
 
 4. Slur must be employed in cases of parenthesis, contrast, 
 repetition, or explanation, where the phrase or sentence is of 
 small comparative importance ; ancf often when qualification of 
 lime, place, or manner is made. 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 The parts which are to be slurred in these exercises are printed in 
 italic letters, the prominent ideas appear in Eomto, and the more em- 
 phatic words in CAPITALS. 
 
 1. The stomach (crammed from every dish, a tomb of boiled 
 and roast, and flesh and fish, where bile, and wind, and phlegm, 
 and acid jar, and all the man is one intestine war] remembers 
 6ft the school-boy's simple fare, the temperate sleeps, and spirits 
 light as air. 
 
86 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 2. Ingenious boys, who are idle, think, with the hare in th& 
 fable, that, running with SNAILS (so they count the rest of ilieir 
 school-fellows), they shall come soon enough to the post; though 
 sleeping a good while before their starting. 
 
 3. The rivulet sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its 
 bed of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, seerns with con- 
 tinuous laughter to rejoice in its own bejng. 
 
 4. The devout heart, penetrated with large and affecting views 
 of the immensity of the works of God, the harmony of his laws^ 
 and the extent of his benejicence, bursts into loud and vocal ex- 
 pressions of praise and adoration ; and from a full and overflow- 
 ing sensibility, seeks to expand itself to the utmost limits of 
 creation. 
 
 5. If there's a Power above us (and that tfare is, all nature 
 cries aloud through all her works), He must delight in virtue. 
 
 6. CAN HE, who, not satisfied with the wide range of animated 
 existence, calls for the sympathy of the inanimate creation, RE- 
 FUSE TO WORSHIP with his fellow-men ? 
 
 7. But let me ask, By WHAT RIGHT do you involve yourself in 
 this multiplicity of cares ? WHY do you weave around you this 
 web of occupation^ and then complain that you can not break it ? 
 
 8. The massy rocks themselves, tlw old and ponderous trunks 
 of prostrate trees, that lead from knoll to knoll, a causey rude, or 
 bridge the sunken brook, and their dark roots with all their earth 
 upon them, TWISTING HIGH, breathe FIXED TRANQUILLITY. 
 
 9. When therefore the Lord knew how the Pharisees ha'J 
 heard that Jesus made and baptized more disciples than John 
 though Jesus himself baptized, not, but his disciples, he left Judea, 
 and departed again into Galilee. 
 
 10. The calm shade shall bring a KINDRED calm, and the sweet 
 breeze, that makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm to thy 
 sick heart. 
 
 11. A few hours^nore, and /she will move in stately grandeur 
 on, cleaving her path majestic through the flood, as if she were a 
 
 GODDESS Of the DEEP. 
 
 12. Falsely luxurious, will not MAN awake, and springing from 
 the bed, of sloth, enjoy the cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour, 
 to meditation due, and sacred song ? 
 
 13. STRANGER, if thou hast learnt a truth which needs expe 
 
SLUK. 37 
 
 rience more than reason, that the world is full of guilt and mis- 
 ery, and hast known enough of al' its sorrows, crimes, and cares, 
 to tire thee of it, ENTER THIS WILD WOOD, and view the haunts 
 of nature. 
 
 14. The smoothness of flattery can not NOW avail can not 
 SAVE us in this rugged and awful crisis. 
 
 15. IN THEE, FIRST LIGHT, the bounding ocean smiles, when 
 the quick winds uprear it in a swell, that rolls in glittering green 
 around the isles, where ever-springing fruits and blossoms dwell. 
 
 16. No! DEAR as FREEDOM is, and in my hearts just estima- 
 tion prized above all price, I would much rather be MYSELF the 
 SLAVE, and WEAR the BONDS, than fasten them on HIM. 
 
 17. May the LIKE SERENITY, in such dreadful circumstances, 
 and a DEATH EQUALLY GLORIOUS, be the lot of ALL whom TYRAN- 
 NY, of whatever denomination or description, SHALL, in any age or 
 in any country, CALL to expiate their virtues on the scaffold. 
 
 18. YE STARS ! which are the poetry of heaven, if in your bright 
 leaves we would read the fate of men and empires, 'tis to be for- 
 given, that, in our aspirations to be great, our destinies o'erleap 
 their mortal state, and claim a kindred wifh you ; for ye are a 
 BEAUTY and a MYSTERY, and create in us such love and reverence 
 from afar, that FORTUNE, FAME, POWER, LIFE, have named them- 
 selves a STAR. 
 
 19. But yonder comes the powerful KING OF DAY, rejoicing in 
 the east. The lessening cloud, the kindling azure, and the moun- 
 tain's brow illumed with fluid gold, his near approach betoken 
 glad. Lo, NOW, APPARENT ALL, aslant the dew-bright earth and 
 colored air, he looks in BOUNDLESS MAJESTY' abroad, and sheds 
 the shining day, that burnished plays on rocks, and hills, and 
 towers, and wandering streams, HIGH GLEAMING from afar. 
 
 20. And thus, in silent waiting, stood the piles of stone and 
 piles of wood ; TILL DEATH, who, in his vast affairs, ne'er puts 
 things off as men in theirs and thus, if I the truth must tell, 
 does his work FINALLY and WELL, WINKED at our hero as he 
 passed, "Your house is FINISHED, sir, at last; a NARROWER house 
 a house of CLAY your palace for another day." 
 
 21. And when the prodigal son canie to himself, he said, 
 **How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough 
 and to spare, and I perjsh wifh hunger! I will arise, and GO to 
 
38 NATIONAL FIFTH READER 
 
 my father ; and will say unto him, * Father, I have sinned against 
 heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called 
 thy son : make me as one of thy hired servants.' " And he 
 arose, and was coming to his father; but while he was yet a 
 great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, 
 and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And the son SAID unto 
 him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and 
 am no more worthy to be called thy son" 
 
 22. THOU GLORIOUS MIRROR, where the Almighty's form 
 glasses itself in tempests in ALL time (calm or convulsed, in 
 breeze, or gale, or storm, icing the pole, or in the torrid clime dark 
 heaving), BOUNDLESS, ENDLESS, and SUBLIME THE IMAGE OF 
 ETERNITY THE THRONE OF THE INVISIBLE ; even from out thy 
 slime the monsters of the deep are made; each zone obeys thee 
 thou goest forth, DREAD, FATHOMLESS, ALONE. 
 
 23. WINTER ! RULER OF THE INVERTED YEAR ! thy scat- 
 tered hair with sleet-like ashes filled, thy breath congealed upon 
 thy lips, thy cheeks fringed with a beard made white with other 
 snows than those of age, thy forehead wrapped in clouds, a leaf- 
 less branch thy scepter, and thy throne a sliding car, indebted to 
 no WHEELS, but urged by STORMS along its slippery way, I LOVE 
 THEE, ALL UNLOVELY as thou seem'st, and DREADED as 
 
 thou ART. 
 
 24. Lo ! the UNLETTERED HIND, who never knew to raise his 
 mind excursive to the heights of abstract contemplation, as he sits 
 on the green hillock by the hedge-row side, wliat time the insect 
 swarms are murmuring, and marks, in silent thought, the broken 
 clouds, that fringe with loveliest hues the evening sky, FEELS in 
 his soul the hand of nature rouse the thrill of GRATITUDE to Him 
 who FORMED the goodly prospect ; he beholds the GOD THRONED 
 in the WEST ; and his reposing ear hears sounds ANGELIC in the 
 fitful breeze, that floats through neighboring copse or fairy brake, 
 or lingers, playful, on the haunted stream. 
 
 25. They shall hear of my VENGEANCE, that would scorn to 
 LISTEN to the story of my WRONGS. The MISERABLE HIGHLAND 
 DROVER, bankrupt, barefooted, stripped of all, dishonored, and 
 hunted down, because the avarice of others grasped at more than 
 that poor all could pay, shall BURST on them in an AWFUL 
 
 CHANGE. 
 
INFLECTIONS. 39 
 
 SECTION III. INFLECTIONS. 
 
 1. INFLECTIONS are the bends or slides of the voice, 
 used in reading and speaking. 
 
 There are three inflections or slides of the voice : the RISING 
 INFLECTION, the FALLING INFLECTION, and the CIRCUMFLEX. A 
 mark inclining to the right 'is sometimes used to indicate the 
 Rising Inflection ; a mark inclining to the left, N the Falling In- 
 flection. When the Circumflex commences with a rising and 
 ends with a falling slide of the voice, it is indicated thus, A ; 
 but when it commences with a falling and ends with a rising 
 slide, it is indicated thus, v , which the pupil will perceive is the 
 same mark inverted. 
 
 Though each of the above marks always indicates an inflec- 
 tion of the same kind, yet the slides differ greatly in the degree, 
 or extent of their rise or fall. In some, the voice has a very 
 slight, and in others, a very marked upward or downward move- 
 ment, depending on the nature of what is expressed. We do 
 not give definite rules touching these shades of difference in the 
 degree of inflection, as they would rather perplex than aid the 
 learner. In a few examples, however, this difference is indicated 
 by the use of italics and CAPITAL LETTERS. 
 
 2. THE RISING INFLECTION is the upward bend or slide 
 of the voice ; as, Do you love your home' f 
 
 3. THE FALLING INFLECTION is the downward bend or 
 slide of the voice ; as, When will you go hom& f 
 
 The rising inflection carries the voice upward from the gen- 
 eral pitch, and suspends it on the highest tone required ; while 
 the falling inflection commences above the general pitch, and 
 
 ^ -fi 
 falls down to it ; as, Did you say ^ or *&/ At the end, or 
 
 final close, of a declarative sentence, when the falling slide com- 
 mences on the general pitch, and falls below the key, it is some- 
 times called the Cadence, or falling slide of termination ; as, God 
 
 < 
 
 4 THF OIBOUMFLEX is the union of the two inflections 
 
iO NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 of the voice on the same syllable or word, either com- 
 mencing with the rising and ending with the falling, 
 or commencing with the falling and ending with the 
 rising, thus producing a slight wave of the voice ; as, 
 Mother, you have m~y father much offended. 
 
 Inflection, or the slide, is one of the most important divisions 
 of elocution, because all speech is made up of slides, and because 
 the right or wrong formation of these gives a pervading charac- 
 ter to the whole delivery. It is to the graceful formation of the 
 slides that we are chiefly indebted for that easy and refined ut- 
 terance which prevails in polished society ; while the coarse and 
 rustic tones of the vulgar are. commonly owing to some early 
 and erroneous habit in this respect. Most of the schoolboy 
 faults in delivery, such as drawling, whining, and a monotonous 
 singing sound, result from a wrong formation of the slide, and 
 may be anticipated or corrected by a proper course of practice 
 on this element of speech. 
 
 A slide consists of two parts, viz. : the radical, or opening 
 sound, and the vanish, or gradual diminution of force, until the 
 sound is lost in silence. Three things are necessary to the per- 
 fect formation of a slide, 
 
 1st. The opening sound must be struck with a full and lively 
 impulse of voice. 
 
 2d. The diminution of force must be regular and equable 
 not more rapid in one part than another, but naturally and 
 gracefully declining to the last. 
 
 3d. The final vanish must be delicately formed, without being 
 abrupt on the one hand, or too much prolonged on the other. 
 
 Thus, a full opening, a gradual decrease, and a delicate term** 
 ination are requisite to the perfect formation of a slide. 
 
 Let the pupils pronounce the following words wifii contrasted inflec 
 tior.s. using great pains to form the slides in the manner just indicated 
 
 1 . Call', call' ; far', far' ; fame', fame' ; shame', shame v ; air', 
 air' ; scene', scene' ; mile', mile' ; pile', pile'. 
 
 2. Roam', roam' ; tool', tool v ; school', school' ; pure', pure" ; 
 mule', mule v ; join', join'; our', our\ 
 
 3. Land', land x ; barb', barb' ; made', made'; tribe', tribe' 
 road', road'; mood', mood'; tube', tube'; loud', loud'. 
 
INFLECTIONS. 4:1 
 
 4. Will', will v ; right', right x ; hope', hope x ; love', love N ; pros- 
 per', prosper^ ; higher', higher N ; safety', safety v ; power', power v ; 
 talents', talents v ; wisdom', wisdom v ; virtue', virtue v . 
 
 RULES FOR THE USE OF INFLECTIONS. 
 
 1. Direct questions, or those that can be answered by 
 yes or no, usually require the rising inflection ; but their 
 answers, the falling. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Do you love that laughing child' ? I do\ 
 
 2. Are those purple plums and red-cheeked peaches ripe'? 
 Yes\ 
 
 3. May I eat some of the sweet grapes that hang in clusters 
 by the wall' ? Yes\ 
 
 4. Has any one sailed around the earth' ? Yes\ Captain 
 Cook\ 
 
 5. Will you forsake us' ? and will you favor us no more'? 
 
 6. Is not this the carpenter's son'? and 'is not his mother 
 called Mary' ? and his brethren, James', and Joses,' and Simon', 
 and Judas' ? and his sisters, are they not all with us' ? 
 
 EXCEPTIONS. The falling inflection is required when the 
 direct question becomes an earnest appeal, and the answer is 
 anticipated ; and when a direct question, not at first understood, 
 is repeated with marked emphasis. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Are* you, my dear sir, willing to forgive^ ? 
 
 2. James, cart you ever forget the kindness of your mother^ ? 
 
 3. Was" the lady that first visited us as beautiful as the one 
 that just left the house v ? 
 
 4. Will* her love survive your neglect^ ? and may* not you 
 expect the sneers, both of your wife\ and of her parents^ ? 
 
 5. Do you reside in the city' ? What did you say, sir' ? Do 
 you reside in the city'- ? 
 
 6. Do yon think peace and honor sweet words' ? I beg your 
 pardon, sir. Do you think peace and honor sweet words* ? 
 
42 NATIONAL FIFTH EEADEB. 
 
 2. Indirect questions, or those that can not be an- 
 swered by yes or no, usually require the falling inflec- 
 tion, and their answers the same. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Who can reward you for your kindness v ? 
 
 2. Who will pay for those beautiful flowers x ? My mother\ 
 
 3. Where can you see such rivers and lakes v ? In America^. 
 
 4. Whose watch is this x ? and what do you suppose it might 
 be bought for x ? 
 
 5. Whither have you led me v ? and to whom do these beauti- 
 ful creatures belong v ? 
 
 6. Who said, "A wise man is never less alone than when he 
 isalone x ?" Swift\ 
 
 EXCEPTIONS. The rising inflection is required when an indi- 
 rect question is used to ask a repetition of what was not at first 
 understood ; and when the answers to questions, whether direct 
 or indirect, are given in an indifferent or careless manner. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. What bird did you say that is'? 
 
 2. Whither did you say you would lead me'? 
 
 3. Where did you find those young birds x ? In the meadow\ 
 Where did you say' ? 
 
 4. Shall I send James and Henry to visit you' ? As you please'. 
 
 5. Will you be displeased if your friends desert you'? Not 
 much'. 
 
 6. How many scholars did you see in the yard" ? Some fifteen 
 or twenty'. 
 
 3. Questions, words, and clauses, connected by the 
 disjunctive or, usually require the rising inflection be- 
 fore, and the falling after it ; though, when or is used 
 conjunctively y it takes the rising inflection after, as well 
 as before it. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Did you do that kind act on the Sabbath day', or on 
 Monday x ? 
 
INFLECTIONS. 43 
 
 2. Does that beautiful lady deserve praise', or blame v ! 
 
 3. It was large' or small\ ripe' or unripe\ sweet' or sour\ 
 
 4. You saw an old' man or a young v man, a tall' man or a 
 short v man. 
 
 5. Can youth', or health', or strength', or honor', or pleasure', 
 satisfy the soul' ? 
 
 6. Hast thou entered into the springs of the sea'? or hast 
 thou walked in search of the depths'? Hast thou an arm like 
 God'? or canst thou thunder like him'? 
 
 4. When words or clauses are contrasted or com- 
 pared, the first part usually has the rising, and the last 
 the falling inflection ; though, when one side of the 
 contrast is affirmed, and the other denied, generally the 
 latter has the rising inflection, in whatever order they 
 occur. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. I have seen the effects of love' and hatred\ joy' and grief \ 
 hope' and despair\ 
 
 2. A wise' son maketh a glad father' ; but a foolish x son is the 
 heaviness of his mother\ 
 
 3. Men's words' are like leaves\ and their deeds' like fruits\ 
 
 4. We should judge of others, not by our' light, but by their 
 own\ 
 
 5. The first object of a true zeal is that we may do right\ not 
 that we may prosper 7 . 
 
 6. The supreme law of a State is not its safety', its power', its 
 prosperity' : there is a higher law, even Virtue\ Rectitude\ the 
 WillofGod\ 
 
 5. Familiar address, and the pause of suspension, de- 
 noting condition, supposition, or incompleteness, usually 
 require the rising inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Officers', soldiers', friends', Americans', our country must 
 bo free. 
 
 2. If thine enemy hunger', give him bread to eat ; if he 
 th.rst', give him water to drink. 
 
- NATIONAL FIFTH BLADES. 
 
 3. To sit up late at night', to use intoxicating dunks', and to 
 indulge evil passions', are things not permitted in this school. 
 
 4. Consider (and may the consideration sink deep into your 
 heart' !) the fatal consequences of a wicked life. 
 
 5. The sun being risen', and the discourse being ended', we 
 resumed our march. 
 
 6. His adventures', his toils', his privations', his sufferings', his 
 hair-breadth escapes', and his struggles for victory and liberty', 
 are all remembered. 
 
 6. The language of concession, politeness, admiration, 
 entreaty, and tender emotions, usually requires the losing 
 inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Your remark is true': the manners of this countiy have 
 not all the desirable ease and freedom'. We are improving, 
 however, in this respect. 
 
 2. My dear sir'', we ought not to be discouraged at the fickle- 
 ness of fortune'. 
 
 3. O noble friend'! Thy self-denial is wonderful'! thy deeds 
 of charity are innumerable' ! Never will I forget thee' ! 
 
 4. Then Judah came near unto him, and said', my lord', 
 let thy servant', I pray thee', speak a word in my lord's ears', 
 and let not thine anger burn against thy servant', for thou art 
 even as Pharaoh\ 
 
 5. O my son Absalom'! my son', my son Absalom'! Would 
 God I had died for thee', Absalom', my son', my son' ! 
 
 7. The end of a sentence that expresses completeness, 
 conclusion, or result, usually requires the falling slide 
 of termination, which commences on the general pitch 
 and falls below it ; as, The rose is beautify 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. That industrious scholar has finished his task. 
 
 2. The great end of society is to give free scope to the exer- 
 tions of all. 
 
 3. The idea of right can never be effaced from the human 
 mind. 
 
INFLKCTIONS. 45 
 
 8. At each complete termination of thought, before 
 the close of a sentence, the falling inflection is usually 
 required ; though, when several pauses occur, the last 
 but one generally has the rising inflection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Every human being has the idea of duty v ; and to unfold 
 this idea, is the end for which life was given him. 
 
 2. The nocks crumble' ; the trees fall v ; the leaves fade', and 
 the grass withers. 
 
 3. The tears of the sufferers are already dried', their rage is 
 hushed\ their complaints are silenced', and they no longer claim 
 our pity. 
 
 9. The language of command, rebuke, contempt, ex 
 clamation, and terror, usually requires the falling in- 
 flection. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. Go to the ant\ thou sluggard, consider her ways, and be 
 wise'. 
 
 2. Awake''/ ye sons of Spain. Awake^l Advance^! 
 
 3. If ye are men, follow me' ! Strike down yon guard', gain 
 the mountain passes', and then do bloody work\ 
 
 4. Thou slave', thou wretch', thou coward' ! Away' from my 
 sight' ! 
 
 5. Mercy' on me ! breathe it not aloud', the wild winds must 
 not hear' it, 'tis a foul murder'. 
 
 6. What a piece of work is man'! what a subject of contra- 
 diction' ! how noble' ! how mean' ! the glory and the scandal of 
 the universe'. 
 
 10. The last member of a commencing series, and the 
 last but one of a concluding series, usually require the 
 rising inflection ; and all others the falling. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. In eloquence we see sublimity', beauty', genius', anc 
 power', in their noblest exercise'. 
 
4:6 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 2. It is this depth', this weight', this elevation of principle 
 this purity of motive 7 , which makes them the admiration of th 
 world\ 
 
 3. But the fruit of the Spirit is love', joy', peace', long-suffer- 
 * n g\ gentleness', goodness', faith', meekness', temperance\ 
 
 4. In most armies, the ranks are filled with the depraved', the 
 desperate', the cruel', the bloody', and the rapacious'. 
 
 5. The youth longs to be at age v , then to be a man of busi- 
 ness', then to make up an estate', then to arrive at honors', and 
 then to retire\ 
 
 11. Emphatic repetition, and the pointed enumeration 
 of particulars, require the fatting inflection. 
 
 The stress of voice should be gradually increased on each 
 repetition, or succession of particulars. The preceding rule with 
 regard to a commencing and a concluding series, should be duly 
 observed. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. If I were an American, while a foreign troop was landed 
 in my country, / never would lay down my arms never''! 
 NEVER' ! NEVER' ! 
 
 2. His first cry was, God and liberty*. His second ciy was, 
 GOD AOT LIBERTY\ His third cry was, GOD AND LIBERTY'. 
 
 3. He aspired to be the highest ; above the people', above 
 the laws', above his country', above surrounding nations'. 
 
 4. They, through faith, subdued kingdoms', wrought right- 
 eousness', obtained promises', stopped the mouth of lions', 
 quenched the violence of fire', escaped the edge of the sword', 
 out of weakness were made strong', waxed valiant in fight', 
 turned to flight the armies of the aliens'. 
 
 12. THE CIRCUMFLEX is used in language of irony, 
 sarcasm, derision, condition, and contrast. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. He is a rSre pattern of humanity. 
 
 2. That lulled them as the north wind does the sea. 
 
 3. One may be wise, though he be poor. 
 
 4. No doubt ye are the people, and wisdom will die with rod 
 
MODULATION. 4:7 
 
 5. They tell us to be moderate ; but they, they are t( "evel 
 in profusion. 
 
 *>. Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great thj~g ? 
 
 7. They will give us pace! Yes; such pace as the wolf 
 gives to the lamb the kite to the dove. 
 
 8. Talk to me of danger ? Death and shame ! Is not my 
 race as high, as ancient, and as prou4 as thine ? 
 
 9. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a 
 power which they hate; we" serve a monarch whom we love, 
 a God whom we adore. 
 
 10. ,"'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye!" 
 " Gren !" cries the other, in a fury ; 
 
 " Why, sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes 2" 
 
 SECTION IV. MODULATION. 
 
 MODULATION is the act of varying the voice in reading 
 ind speaking. Its general divisions are, PITCH, FORCE, 
 QUALITY, and RATE. 
 
 The four general divisions, or modes of vocal sound, presented 
 in this section, are properly the elements of Expression ; as, by 
 the combination of the different forms and varieties of these 
 modes, Emphasis, Slur, Monotone, and other divisions of Ex- 
 pression are produced. 
 
 PITCH. 
 
 PITCH refers to the key-note of the voice its general 
 degree of elevation or depression, in reading and speak- 
 ing. * We mark three general distinctions of Pitch : 
 HIGH, MODERATE, and Low. 
 
 1. HIGH PITCH is that which is heard in calling to a 
 person at a distance. It is used in expressing elevated 
 and joyous feelings and strong emotion ; as, 
 
 1. Go ring the bells, and fire the guns, 
 
 And fling the starry banners out ; 
 
48 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 Shout " Freedom !" till your lisping ones 
 Give back their cradle shout. 
 
 2. Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again 1 
 I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 
 To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 
 A spirit in your echoes answer me, 
 And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
 Again ! O, sacred forms, how proud ye look 
 How high you lift your heads into the sky ! 
 How huge you are ! how mighty and how free ! 
 Ye are the things that tower, that shine, whose smile 
 Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms, 
 Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear 
 Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty ! 
 I'm with you once again ! I call to you 
 "With all my voice ! I hold my hands to you 
 To show they still are free. I rush to you, 
 As though I could embrace you ! 
 
 8, First came renowned Warwick, 
 
 Who cried aloud, "Wliat scourge for perjury 
 Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?" 
 And so he vanish'd. Then came wandering by 
 A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
 Dabbled in blood ; and he shriek'd out, aloud, 
 u CLARENCE is come false, fleeting, perjured Clarence ; 
 SEIZE on him, ye furies, take him to your torments" 
 
 2. MODERATE PITCH is that which is heard in common 
 conversation. It is used in expressing ordinary thought 
 and moderate emotion ; as, 
 
 1. The morning itself, few people, inhabitants of cities, know 
 any thing about. Among all our good people, not one- in a 
 thousand sees the sun rise once in a year. They know nothing 
 of the morning. Their idea of it is, that it is that part of the 
 day that comes along after a cup of coffee and a beef-steak, or a 
 piece of toast. 
 
 2. The way to wealth, if you desire it, is as plain as the way 
 to market. It depends chiefly on two words, in'dustry and fru- 
 
men. 49 
 
 gality : that is, waste neither time nor money, but make the best 
 use of both. Without industry and frugality, nothing will do, 
 and with them, every thing. He that gets all he can honestly, 
 and saves all he gets, will certainly become rich if that Being, 
 who governs the world, to whom all should look for a blessing 
 on their honest endeavors, doth not, in his wise providence, oth- 
 erwise determine. 
 
 3 Low PITCH is that which is heard when the voice 
 falls below the common speaking key. It is used in 
 expressing reverence, awe, sublimity, and tender emo- 
 tions ; as, 
 
 1. 'Tis midnight's holy hour, and silence now 
 Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er 
 
 The still and pulseless world. Hark 1 on the wind* 
 The bells' deep tones are swelling ; 'tis the knell 
 Of the departed year. No funeral train 
 Is sweeping past, ySt, on the stream and wood, 
 Wifh melancholy light, the moonbeams rest, 
 Like a pale, spotless shroud ; the air is stirr'd 
 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. 
 
 2. Softly woo away her breath, 
 
 Gentle Death ! 
 
 Let her leave thee with no strife, 
 Tender, mournful, murmuring Life I 
 She hath seen her hapjty day : 
 
 She hath had her bud and blossom : 
 Now she pales and sinks away, 
 
 Earth, into thy gentle bosom ! 
 
 EXERCISE ON PITCH. 
 
 Select a sentence, and deliver it on as low a key as possible ; 
 then repeat it, gradually elevating the pitch, until the top of the 
 voice shall have been reached ; when the exercise may be re- 
 versed. So valuable is this exercise, that it should be repeated 
 as Sften a? possible. 
 
 8 
 
50 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 FORCE. 
 
 FORCE is the volume or loudness of voice, used on the 
 same key or pitch, when reading or speaking. 
 
 Though the degrees of force are numerous, varying from a 
 s(5ft whisper to a shout, yet they may be considered as three : 
 LOUD, MODERATE, and GENTLE. 
 
 1. LOUD FORCE is used in strong, but suppressed pas 
 sions, and in emotions of sorrow, grief, respect, venera- 
 tion, dignity, apathy, and contrition ; as, 
 
 1. How like a fawning publican he looks! 
 I hate him, for that he is a Christian. 
 If I but catch him once upon the hip, 
 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 
 2. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
 
 From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 
 We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, 
 But we left him alone in his glory ! 
 
 3. thou that wifh surpassing glory crown'd 
 Look'st from thy sole dominion, like the God 
 Of this new world ; at whose sight all the stars 
 Hide their diminish'd heads ; to thee I call, 
 But with no friendly veice, and add thy name, 
 
 Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams, 
 That bring to my remembrance from what state 
 
 1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere ; 
 Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, 
 Warring in heaven against heaven's matchless King. 
 
 2. MODERATE FORCE, or a medium degree of loudness, 
 is used in ordinary assertion, narration, and descrip- 
 tion; as, 
 
 1. Remember this saying, " The good paymaster is lord ol an- 
 other man's purse." He that is known to pay punctually, and 
 exactly at the time he promises, may, at any time, and on any 
 occasion, raise all fhe money his friends can spare. This is 
 sometimes of great use. After in'dustry and frugality, nothing 
 
FORCE. 51 
 
 contributes more to the raising of a young man in the world, 
 than punctuality and justice in all his dealings ; therefore, never 
 keep borrowed money an hour beyond the time you promised, 
 lest a disappointment shut up your friend's purse forever. 
 
 2. If the Bible should perish out of our language, it could 
 almost be gathered up again, in substance, from out of our 
 hymns that take flight from the very period of creation, and 
 fold their wings only when they touch the crystal battlements. 
 When the birds begin to look from the north southward, in au- 
 tumnal weather, a few, springing from the reeds and shrubs of 
 Labrador, begin the aerial car'avan, and, as they wind south- 
 ward, out of every tree and every copse, from orchard and gar- 
 den, come forth new singers, increasing in numbers at every 
 furlong, until at length, coming down from their high pathways 
 in innumerable flocks, they cover provinces and fill forests, and 
 are heard triumphing through unfrosted orchards, amidst the 
 vines, the olives, and the oranges, wifh such wondrous bursts of 
 song, that, as one lies between sleep and waking, he might think 
 the Advent renewed, and God's angels to be in the air. And so 
 it has pleased us often, in thought, to liken the rise, and spread, 
 and flight, and multitude of hymns that have come down from 
 the beginnings of time into God's pleasant gardens and vine- 
 yards, in our days, increasing as they flew. Only, there is no 
 bird that can sing like a hymn. There are no meanings in all 
 the mingled sounds of all the singers of the grove, or hedge, or 
 lawn, like the voices of hymns that utter all the mysteries ot 
 Christ's love in the human soul. 
 
 3. GENTLE FORCE, or a slight degree of loudness, is 
 used to express caution, fear, secrecy, and tender emo- 
 tions; as, 
 
 1. Heard ye the whisper of the breeze, 
 
 As s5ftly it murmur'd by, 
 Amid the shadowy forest trees ? 
 
 It tells, with meaning sigh, 
 Of the bowers of bliss on that viewless shore, 
 Where the weary spirit shall sin no more. 
 3. They are sleeping ! Who are sleeping ? 
 
 Pause a moment so'ftly tread ; 
 
52 NATIONAL FIFi'H READER, 
 
 Anxious friends are fondly keeping 
 
 Vigils by the sleeper's bed ! 
 Other hopes have all for -aken : 
 
 One remains that sl-.mber deep: 
 Speak not, lest the slunuerer waken 
 
 From that sweet, that saving sleep. 
 
 EXERCISE ON FORCE. 
 
 Select a sentence, and deliver it on a given key, wifh voice 
 just sufficient to be heard : then gradually increase the quantity, 
 until the whole power of the voice is brought into play. Re- 
 verse the process, without change of key, ending with a whisper. 
 This exercise is- so valuable that it can not be too frequently re- 
 peated. 
 
 QUALITY. 
 
 QUALITY has reference to the kinds of tone used in 
 reading and speaking. They are the PUKE TONE, the 
 OROTUND, the ASPIRATED, the GUTTURAL, and the TREM- 
 BLING. 
 
 1. THE PURE TONE is a clear, smooth, round, flowing 
 Bound, accompanied wifli moderate pitch ; and is used 
 to express peace, cheerfulness, joy, and love ; as, 
 
 1. Methinks I love all common things; 
 
 The common air, the common flower ; 
 The dear, kind, common thought, that springs 
 
 From hearts that have no other dower, 
 
 No other wealth, no other power, 
 Save love ; and will not that repay 
 For all else fortune tears away ? 
 
 2. It is the hour, when from the boughs 
 
 The nightingale's high note is heard ; 
 It is the hour when lovers' vows 
 
 Seem sweet in every whisper'd word ; 
 And gentle winds, and waters near, 
 Make music to the lonely ear. 
 Each flower the dews have lightly wet. 
 
QUALITY. 63 
 
 ./ind in the sky the stars are met, 
 
 And on the wave is deeper bine, 
 
 And on the leaf a browner hue, 
 
 And in the heaven that clear obscure, 
 
 So softly dark, and darkly pure, 
 
 Which follows the decline of day, 
 
 As twilight rnelts beneath the moon away. 
 
 2. THE OROTUND is the pure tone deepened, enlarged, 
 and intensified. It is used in all energetic and vehe- 
 ment forms of expression, and in giving utterance to 
 grand and sublime emotions ; as, 
 
 1. Strike till the last arm'd foe expires; 
 STRIKE for your altars and your fires ; 
 STRIKE for the green graves of your sires ; 
 
 GOD and your native land ! 
 
 2. The sky is changed ! and such a change ! O Night, 
 And Storm, and Darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
 Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
 
 Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
 From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
 Leaps the live thunder ! not from one lone cloud, 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue ; 
 And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
 Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 
 8 Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; 
 Or close the wall up wifih our English dead. 
 Oh, when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
 Then imitate the action of the tiger : 
 Stiffen the sinews summon up the blood 
 Disguise fair nature with hard-favor'd rage; 
 Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
 Ay, set the teeth and stretch the nostrils wide, 
 Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 
 To its full height ! On, on, you noble English, 
 Whose blood is set from fathers of war-proof ! 
 Cry, Heaven for Harry, England, and St. George \ 
 
 3. THE ASPIRATED TOXE is an expulsion of the breath 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 more or less strong, the words being spoken in a whis- 
 per. It is used to express amazement, fear, terror, hor- 
 ror, revenge, and remorse ; as, 
 
 1. How ill this taper burns ! 
 Ha! icho comes here? 
 
 Cold drops of sweat hang on my trembling flesh, 
 My blood grows chilly, and \freeze with horror! 
 
 2. The ancient Earl, with stately grace, 
 Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
 And whisper, in an under-tone, 
 
 "Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown? 
 
 4. THE GUTTURAL is a deep under-tone, used to express 
 hatred, contempt, and loathing. It usually occurs on 
 the emphatic words ; as, 
 
 1. Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward! 
 Thou cold-blooded slave! 
 
 Thou wear a lion's hide ? 
 
 Doff it, for shame, and hang 
 
 A calf-skin on those recreant limbs. 
 
 2. Thou stand'st at length before me undisguised, 
 Of all earth's groveling crew the most accursed , 
 Thou worm ! thou viper ! to thy native earth 
 Return \ Away ! Thou art too base for man 
 To tread upon. Thou scum ! thou reptile ! 
 
 5. THE TREMULOUS TONE, or tremor, consists of a trem- 
 ulous iteration, or a number of impulses of sound of the 
 least assignable duration. It is used in excessive grief, 
 pity, plaintiveness, and tenderness ; in an intense de- 
 gree of suppressed excitement, or satisfaction; and 
 when the voice is enfeebled by age. 
 
 The tremulous tone should not be applied throughout the 
 whole of an extended passage, but only on selected emphatic 
 words, as otherwise the effect would be monotonous. In the 
 second of the following examples, where the tremor of age is 
 supposed to be joined with that of supplicating distress, the 
 tremulous tone may be applied to every emphatic syllable capa- 
 
QUALITY. 55 
 
 ble of prolongation, which is the case with all except those of 
 pity and shortest ; but even these may receive it in a limited 
 degree. The third example, which is taken from PARADISE 
 LOST, in the tenth book, calls for a marked tremulous movement 
 on emphatic words ; as speech attended with tears always ex- 
 hibits more or less tremor, and Eve is said, in the lines that fol- 
 low, to have " ended weeping," and her supplication to have 
 been accompanied " with tears that ceased not flowing." Some 
 of the syllables, however, embracing the deepest feeling of con- 
 trition, have not sufficient quantity to allow the eminent intona- 
 tion of the tremor. The word leg and the accented syllable of 
 uttermost are of this nature. The tremulous tone may be effect- 
 ually placed on bereave, only, forlorn, thee, more, and other 
 words, which, through their indefinite quantity, give ample 
 measure to intonation. 
 
 EXAMPLES. 
 
 1. love, remain ! It is not yet near day ! 
 It was the nightingale, and not the lark, 
 That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear ; 
 Nightly she sings in yon pomegranate-tree. 
 T&elieve me, love, it was the nightingale. 
 
 2. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, 
 
 Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, 
 Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span : 
 
 give relief, and Heaven will bless your store. 
 
 3. Forsake me not thus, Adam ! Witness, Heaven, 
 What love sincere and reverence in my heart 
 
 1 bear thee, and unwitting have offended, 
 Unhappily deceived ! Thy suppliant, 
 
 I beg, and clasp thy knees : bereave me not, 
 
 Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid,, 
 
 Thy counsel in this uttermost distress, 
 
 My only strength and stay. Forlorn of thee, 
 
 Whither should I betake me, where subsist ? 
 
 While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps, 
 
 Between us two let there be peace ; both joining, 
 
 As join'd in injuries, one enmity 
 
 Against a foe by doom express assign'd us, 
 
56 NATION AX, FIFTH READER. 
 
 That cruel serpent. On me exercise not 
 Thy hate for this misery befallen ; 
 On me already lost, me than thyself 
 More miserable ! Both have sinn'd ; but thou 
 Against God only ; I against God and thee, 
 And to the place of judgment will return, 
 ' There with my cries importune Heaven, that all 
 The sentence, from thy head removed, may light 
 On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe ; 
 Me, me only, just object of his ire ! 
 
 KATE. 
 
 HATE refers to movement, and is QUICK, MODERATE, 
 or SLOW. 
 
 1. QUICK KATE is used to express joy, mirth, con- 
 fusion, violent anger, and sudden fear ; as, 
 
 1 . Away ! away ! our fires stream bright 
 
 Along the frozen river, 
 And their arrowy sparkles of brilliant light 
 On the forest branches quiver. 
 
 2. Away ! away to the rocky glen, 
 
 Where the deer are wildly bounding ! 
 And the hills shall echo in gladness again, 
 
 To the hunter's bugle sounding. 
 8. The lake has burst ! The lake has burst ! 
 
 Down through the chasms the wild waves flee : 
 They gallop along, with a roaring song, 
 
 Away to the eager awaiting sea ! 
 4. And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 
 The mustering squadron, and the clattering car 
 Went pouring forward wifh impetuous speed, 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of war. 
 
 2. MODERATE BATE is used in ordinary assertion, nar- 
 ration, and description ; in cheerfulness, and the gentler 
 forms of the emotions ; as, 
 
 1. AVhen the sun walks upon the blue sea-waters, 
 Smiling the shadows from yon purple hills. 
 
RATE. 57 
 
 We pace this shore, I and nay brother here, 
 Good Gerald. We arise with -the shrill lark, 
 And both unbind our brows from sullen dreams ; 
 And then doth my dear brother, who hath worr 
 His cheek all pallid with perpetual thought, 
 Enrich me with sweet words ; and oft a smile 
 Will stray amidst his lessons, as he marks 
 New wonder paint my cheek, or fondly reads, 
 Upon the burning page of my black eyes, 
 The truth reflected which he casts on me : 
 For he is like the sun, giving me light ; 
 , Pouring into the caves of my young brain 
 
 Knowledge from his bright fountains ! Thus it is 
 
 I drink in the starry truth. Science and Art, 
 
 And Learning pale, all crown my thoughts with flowers; 
 
 And Music waiteth on me, sad and sweet ; 
 
 And great Imagination, for my sake, 
 
 Lets loose her dreams, and bids her wonders flow 
 
 By me, until I talk in poetry ! 
 
 2. Warriors and statesmen have their meed of praise, 
 
 And what they do, or suffer,, men record ; 
 But the long sacrifice of woman's days 
 
 Passes without a thought, without a word ; 
 And many a lofty struggle for the sake 
 
 Of duties sternly, faithfully fulfill'd 
 For which the anxious mind must watch and wake, 
 
 And the strong feelings of the heart be still'd 
 Goes by unheeded as the summer wind, 
 And leaves no memory and no trace behind ! 
 Yet it may be, more lofty courage dwells 
 
 In one meek heart which braves an adverse fate, 
 Than his whose ardent soul indignant swells 
 
 Warm'd by the fight, or cheer'd through high debate. 
 The soldier dies surrounded : could he live. 
 Alone to suffer, and alone to strive ? 
 
 3. SLOW RATE is used to express grandeur, vastness, 
 pathos, solemnity, adoration, horror, and consterna- 
 tion; as, 
 
58 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 1. O thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright 
 
 All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 
 Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight ; 
 Thou only God ! There is no God beside ! 
 
 2. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; 
 
 The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 
 The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 3. Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean roll ! 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in -vain : 
 Man marks the earth with ruin his control 
 Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain 
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
 When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
 
 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
 Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. 
 
 EXERCISE ON RATE. 
 
 Select a sentence, and deliver it as slow as may be possible 
 without drawling. Repeat the sentence with a slight increase 
 of rate, until you shall have reached a rapidity of utterance at 
 ephich distinct articulation ceases. Having done this, reverse the 
 process, repeating slower and slower. This exercise will enable 
 pupils to acquire the ability to increase and diminish rate at 
 pleasure, which is one of the most important elements of good 
 reading and speaking. 
 
 SECTION V. MONOTONE. 
 
 MONOTONE consists of a degree of sameness of sound \ 
 or tone, in a number of successive words or syllables. 
 
 It is very seldom the case that a perfect sameness is to be ob- 
 served in reading any passage or sentence. But very little 
 variety of tone, or in other words, the MONOTONE, is to be used 
 in reading either prose or verse which contains elevated descrip- 
 tions, or emotions of solemnity, sublimity, or reverence. The 
 
MONOTONE. 59 
 
 monotone usually requires a low tone of the voice, loud or pro- 
 Itfnged force, and a slow rate of utterance. 
 
 EXERCISES. 
 
 1. Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. 
 Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst 
 formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to ever 
 lasting, Thou art God. 
 
 2. Then the earth shook and trembled ; the foundations, also, 
 of the hills moved, and were shaken, because he was wroth. 
 There went up a smoke out of his nostrils, and fire out of his 
 mouth devoured. He bowed the heavens, also, and came down, 
 and darkness was under his feet ; and he rode upon a cherub, 
 and did fly ; yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind. 
 
 3. Man dieth, and wasteth away : yea, man giveth up the 
 ghost, and where is he ? As the waters fail from the sea, and 
 the flood decayeth and drieth up, so man lieth down, and riseth 
 not ; till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, nor be 
 raised out of their sleep. 
 
 4. High on a throne of royal state, which far 
 Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind, 
 
 Or where the gorgeous east, with richest hand, 
 Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, 
 Satan exalted sat ! 
 
 6. How reverend is the face of this tall pile, 
 
 Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, 
 To bear aloft its arch'd and ponderous roof, 
 By its own weight made steadfast and immovable, 
 Looking tranquillity ! It strikes an awe 
 And terror on my aching sight : the tombs 
 And monumental caves of death look cold, 
 And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. 
 
 6. Sky, mountains, r ver, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye, 
 With night, and ciouds, and thunder, and a soul 
 To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
 Things that have made me watchful : the far roll 
 Of your departing voices is the knell 
 Of what in me is sleepless, if I rest. 
 
60 
 
 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 But where, of ye, tempests ! is the goal ? 
 
 Are ye like those within the human breast ? 
 
 Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest f 
 *7. O thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright 
 
 All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 
 
 Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight ; 
 
 Thou only God ! There is no God beside ! 
 
 Being above all beings ! Mighty One ! 
 
 Whom none can comprehend and none explore ; 
 
 Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone,- 
 
 Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er : 
 
 Being whom we call God and know no more. 
 8. In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep 
 falleth on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made 
 all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face : 
 the hair of my flesh stood up. It stood still, but I could not 
 discern the form thereof: an image was before mine eyes : there 
 was silence, and I heard a voice saying, Shall mortal man be 
 more just than God ? Shall a man be more pure than his 
 Maker? 
 
 SECTION VI. PERSONATION. 
 
 PERSONATION consists of those modulations or changes 
 of the voice necessary to represent two or more persons 
 as speaking. 
 
 This principle of expression, upon the correct application of 
 which much of the beauty and efficiency of delivery depends, is 
 employed in reading dialogues and other pieces of a conversa- 
 tional nature. The student should exercise his discrimination 
 and ingenuity in studying the characters of persons to be repre- 
 sented, fully informing himself with regard to their tempera- 
 ment, condition, and feelings, and so modulate his voice as best 
 to personate them. 
 
 EXERCISE. 
 
 He. Dost thou love wandering ? Whither wouldst thou go 
 Dream'st thou, sweet daughter, of a knd more fair? 
 
PAUSES. 61 
 
 Dost thou not love these aye-blue streams that flow ? 
 
 These spicy forests ? and this golden air ? 
 She. Oh, yes, I love the woods,, and streams, so gay ; 
 
 And more than all, father, I love thee; 
 Yet would I fain be wandering far away, 
 
 Where such things never were, nor e'er shall be. 
 Be. Speak, mine own daughter with the sun-bright locks I 
 
 To what pale, banish'd region wouldst thou roam ? 
 She. O father, let us find our frozen rocks ! 
 
 Let's seek that country of all countries Home ! 
 He. Seest thou these orange flowers ? this palm that rears 
 
 Its head up toward heaven's blue and cloudless dome ? 
 She. I dream, I dream ; mine eyes are hid in tears ; 
 
 My heart is wandering round our ancient home. 
 He. Why, then, we'll go. Farewell, ye tender skies, 
 
 Who shelter'd us, when we were forced to roam ! 
 She. On, on ! Let's pass the swallow as he flies 1 
 
 Farewell, kind land ! Now, father, now for Home 1 
 
 SECTION VII. PAUSES. 
 
 PAUSES are suspensions of the voice in reading and 
 speaking, used to mark expectation and uncertainty, and 
 to give effect to expression. They are often more elo- 
 quent than words. 
 
 Pauses differ greatly in their frequency and their length, ac- 
 cording to the nature of the subject. In lively conversation, 
 and rapid argument, they are comparatively few and short. In 
 serious, dignified, and pathetic speaking, they are far more nu- 
 merous and more prolonged. 
 
 The pause is marked thus ~i, in the following illustrations and 
 exercises. 
 
 KULES FOB THE USE OF PAUSES. 
 
 1. A pause is required after a compound nominative, 
 in all cases ; and after a nominative consisting of a single 
 
02 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 word, when it is either emphatic, or is the leading sub- 
 ject of discourse ; as, 
 
 Joy and sorrow H move him not. No people **i can claim him. 
 No country M can appropriate him. 
 
 2. A pause is required after words which are in appo- 
 sition withy or opposition to, each other ; as, 
 
 Solomon *\ the son of David ^i was king of Israel. False del 
 icacy is affectation H not politeness. 
 
 3. A pause is required after "but, hence, and other 
 words denoting a marked transition, when they stand at 
 the beginning of a sentence ; as, 
 
 But ^ it was reserved for Arnold.^ to blend all these bad 
 qualities into one. Hence **i Solomon calls the fear of the 
 Lord ^ the beginning of wisdom. 
 
 4. A pause is required before that, when a conjunc- 
 tion or relative, and the relatives who, which, what; 
 together with when, whence, and other adverbs of time 
 and place, which involve the idea of a relative ; as, 
 
 He went to school ^i that he might become wise. This is the 
 man **\ that loves me. We were present <*i when La Fayette 
 embarked at Havre for New York. 
 
 5. A pause is required before the infinitive mood, 
 when governed by another verb, or when separated by 
 an intervening clause from the word which governs 
 it; as, 
 
 He has gone H to convey the news. He smote me with a 
 rod ^i to please my enemy. 
 
 6. In cases of ellipsis, a pause is required where one 
 or more words are omitted ; as, 
 
 So goes the world ; if ^i wealthy, you may call this <*i friend, 
 that *i brother. A poor fellow ^5 witty and wise, entered the 
 room. He walked on this side **\ and then on that **) he tried 
 to introduce a social chat ; but some ^ formally and freezingly 
 replied **j and some ^i said b} their silence, <-i better stay at home. 
 
SUSPENSIVE QUANTITY. 68 
 
 7. Pauses are used to set off qualifying clauses by 
 themselves; to separate qualifying terms from each 
 other, when a number of them refer to the same word ; 
 and when an adjective follows its noun ; as, 
 
 The rivulet sends forth glad sounds, and ^ tripping o'er its 
 bed of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks **\ seems ^i with 
 continuous laughter ^ to rejoice in its own being. He had a 
 mind ^i deep *i active ^i well stored with knowledge. 
 
 These rules, though important, if properly applied, are by no 
 means complete ; nor can any be invented which shall meet all 
 the cases that arise in the complicated relations of thought. A 
 good reader or speaker pauses, on an average, at every fifth or 
 sixth word, and in many cases much more frequently. His only 
 guide, in many instances, is a discriminating taste in grouping 
 ideas, and separating by pauses those which are less intimately 
 allied. In doing this, he will often use what may be called 
 
 SUSPENSIVE QUANTITY. 
 
 SUSPENSIVE QUANTITY means prolonging the end of a 
 word, without actually pausing after it ; and thus sus- 
 pending, without wholly interrupting the progress of 
 sound. 
 
 The prolongation on the last syllable of a word, or Suspensive 
 Quantity, is indicated thus ~, in the following examples. It is 
 used chiefly for three purposes : 
 
 1st. To prevent too frequent a recurrence of pauses ; as, 
 Her lover~sinks she sheds no ill-timed tear ; 
 
 He r chief ~is slain she fills his fatal post ; 
 Her fellows~flee she checks their base career ; 
 
 The foe~retires she heads the rallying host. 
 
 2d. To produce a slighter disjunction than would be 
 made by a pause ; and thus at once to separate and 
 unite ; as, 
 
 Would you kill~~your friend and benefactor? Would you 
 practice hypocrisy" and smile in his face, while your conspiracy 
 is ripening ? 
 
 o* i'-f 
 
61 NATION AL FIFTH READER. 
 
 3d. To break up the current of sound into small por- 
 tions, which can be easily managed by the speaker, 
 without the abruptness which would result from pausing 
 wherever this relief was needed ; and to give ease in 
 speaking; as, 
 
 1. Warms~in the sun, refreshes~in the breeze, 
 Glows~"in the stars, and blossoms~in the trees ; 
 Lives~through all life, extends~through all extent, 
 Spreads~undivided, operates~~unspeut 
 
 2. That larne~man, by the field~~tent, is untainted~~with the 
 crime of blood, and free~~from any stain of treason. 
 
 GENERAL RULE. 
 
 Whenever a preposition is followed by as many as 
 three or four words which depend upon it, the word 
 preceding the preposition will either have suspensive 
 quantity, or else a pause ; as, 
 
 He is the pride~of the whole country. 
 
 Require students to tell which of the preceding rules or principles is 
 illustrated, wherever a mark, representing the pause or suspensive 
 quantity, is introduced in the following 
 
 EXERCISE. 
 
 1. It matters very little i what immediate~spot **] may have 
 been the birth-place~~of such a man as Washington. j\ 7 o people 
 **) can claim **x no country ^ can appropriate him. The 
 boon~of Providence to the human race ^ his fame **j is eter- 
 nity *< ^ and his dwelling-place ~i creation. 
 
 2. Though it was the defeat wi of our arms **i and the dis- 
 grace ~i of our policy ^^1 almost bless~the convulsion ^ in 
 which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered **i and the 
 earth~rocked ^ *< yet, *< when the storm passed, * how pure" was 
 the climate ^i that it cleared *<^ how bright **, in the brow o' 
 the firmament <* was the planet ^, which it revealed to us ! 
 
 3. In the production of Washington ^ it does really appear *> 
 
PAUSES. 65 
 
 as if nature M was endeavoring to improve~upon herself w^j and 
 that all the virtues~~of the ancient world *\ were but so many 
 studies **j preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual in- 
 stances | no doubt there were **j splendid exemplifications *| of 
 some single qualification. Ca3sar **| was merciful *| *i Scipio ^ 
 was continent ^i *j Hannibal *i was patient. But vj it was re- 
 served for Washington *| to blencPthem all in one ^1^1 and like 
 the lovely master-piece~~of the Grecian artist ^ to exhibit <*j in 
 one glow~"of associated beauty **| the pride~~of every model **i 
 and the perfection~of every master. 
 
 4. As a general *i ^ he marshaled the peasant <*i into a vet- 
 eran ^i^j and supplied by discipline -**i the absence of experience. 
 As a statesman | *\ he enlarged the policy~of the cabinet wj into 
 the most comprehensive system~~of general advantage. And 
 such M was the wisdom of his views ^ and the philosophy~~of 
 his counsels **i **i that to the soldier ^ and the statesmen ^ he 
 almost added **i the character of the sage. 
 
 5. A conqueror **i he was untainted~~wifh the crime of blood 
 wj ^i a revolutionist *i he was free from any stain of treason <* 
 for aggression commenced the contest ^ and his country~called 
 him to the field. Liberty v| unsheafhed his sword wj ^ neces- 
 sity ^] stained ^i ^i victory ^i returned it. 
 
 6. If he had paused here *\ history might have doubted * 
 what station~~to assign him %*j <*i whether at the head of her citi- 
 zens w| or her soldiers *i <*] her heroes ~] or her patriots. But 
 the last glorious act M crowns~\ii$ career *i and banish es~all 
 hesitation. Who **j like Washington ^ after having ernauci- 
 pated~~a hemisphere ^i resigned its crown ^^i and preferred 
 the retirement of domestic life **i to the adoration of a land y 
 he might almost be said to have created ? 
 
 7. How {(ball we rank thee ^ upon glory's~page, 
 Thou ??ior<f~than soldier *i and just less than sage ! 
 All thou 7ios^~been **j reflects less praise **i on thee, 
 Far~less ^ than all thou hast forborne~to be. 
 
 5 
 
66 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 OBSEKVATION TO TEACHERS. 
 
 IN order to form finished readers, it will be necessary, aftei 
 students have thoroughly mastered Part First, for them fre- 
 quently to review the more important elements of elocution. 
 In Part Second, they should be required to study each reading 
 lesson, and learn the definitions and pronunciation of the words 
 given at the bottom of the pages, and the important facts em- 
 braced in the biographical sketches, before attempting to read. 
 The judgment and taste of students should constantly be called 
 into exercise, by requiring them to determine what principle, or 
 principles, of elocution, each reading lesson is best adapted to 
 illustrate. 
 
 KEY 
 
 TO THE SOUNDS OF MA TOTTED LETTEES. 
 
 age or age, at or at, art, all, bare, ask ; w& or we, e'nd or 
 end, her ; ice or ice, in or in ; old or old, 6n or on, do ; 
 mute or mute, up or iip, full ; fliis ; azure ; real ; aged. 
 
THE 
 
 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 EXEKCISES IN READING. 
 
 1. THE MONTHS. 
 
 TANUARY! Darkness and light reign alike. Snow is on 
 / the ground. Cold is in the air. 1 The winter is blossoming 
 in frost-flowers. Why is the ground hidden ? Why is the earth 2 
 white ? So hath God wiped out the past ; 8 so hath he spread 
 the earth like an unwritten page, for a new year ! Old sounds 
 are silent in the forest and in the air. Insects are dead, birds 4 
 are gone, leaves have perished, and all the foundations of soil 
 remain. Upon this lies, white and tranquil, the emblem of 
 newness and purity, the virgin 5 robes of the yet unstained year ! 
 2. FEBRUARY ! The day gains upon the night. The strife of 
 heat and cold is scarce 6 begun. The winds that come from the 
 desolate north wander through forests of frost-cracking boughs, 
 and shout in the air the weird 7 cries of the northern bergs 8 and 
 ice-resounding oceans. Yet, as the month wears on, the silent 
 work begins, though storms rage. The earth is hidden yet, but 
 not dead. The sun is drawing near. The storms cry out. But 
 the sun is not heard in all the heavens. Yet he whispers words 
 of deliverance into the ears of every sleeping seed and root 9 that 
 lies beneath the snow. The day opens, but the night shuts the 
 earth with its frost-lock. They strive together, but the Dark- 
 
 1 Air (ar). a Earth (Irth). * Past. * Birds (bSrdz). 6 Virgin (veVjin). 
 e Scarce. 7 Weird, like witches ; skilled in witchcraft. 8 BSrgs, hills ; 
 an iceberg is a hill <r mountain of ice, or a vast body of ice floating on 
 the ocean. 9 Itfot. 
 
6S NATIONAL, FIFTH READER. 
 
 ness and the Cold are growing weaker. On some nights they 
 forget to work. 
 
 3. MARCH ! The conflict is more turbulent, 1 but the victory 
 is gained. The world awakes. There come voices from long- 
 hidden birds. The smell of the soil is in the air. The sullen 
 ice retreating from open field, and all sunny places, has slunk 
 to the north of every fence and rock. The knolls and banks 
 that face the east or south sigh for release, and begin to lift up 
 a thousand tiny palms. 
 
 4. APRIL ! The singing month. Many voices of many birds 
 call for resurrection over the graves of flowers, and they come 
 forth. Go, see what they have lost. What have ice, and snow, 
 and storm, done unto them ? How did they fall into the earth, 
 stripped and bare ? 2 How do they come forth opening and glo 
 rifled ? Is it, then, so fearful a thing to lie in the grave ? In its 
 wild career, shaking and scourged of storms through its orbit, 
 the earth has scattered away no treasures. The Hand that 
 governs in April governed in January. You have not lost what 
 God has only hidden. You lose nothing in struggle, in trial, in 
 bitter distress. If called to shed thy joys as trees their leaves ; 
 if the affections be driven back into the heart, as the life of 
 flowers to their roots, yet be patient. Thou shalt lift up thy 
 leaf-covered boughs again. Thou shalt shoot forth from thy 
 roots new flowers. Be patient. Wait. When it is February, 
 April is not far off. . Secretly the plants love each other. 
 
 5. MAY ! Flower-Month, perfect' the harvests of flowers ! 
 Be not niggardly. Search 3 out the cold and resentful nooks 4 that 
 i-efused the sun, casting 5 back its rays from disdainful ice, and 
 plant flowers even there. There is goodness in the worst. 8 
 There is warmth in the coldness. The silent, hopeful, unbreath- 
 ing sun, that will not fret or despond, but carries a placid brow 
 through the unwrinkled heavens, at length conquers the very 
 rocks, and lichens grow and inconspicuously blossom. What 
 shall not Time do, that carries in its bosom Love ? 
 
 6. JUNE ! Rest ! This is the year's bower. Sit down within 
 it. Wipe from thy brow the toil. The elements are thy ser- 
 
 1 Turbulent (tlr' bu lent), raising cogitation ; violent. * Bare. * S&zrcb. 
 Nook.- - Cast' ing. 8 Worst (wlrst). 
 
THE MONTHS. 69 
 
 rants.' The dews bring thee jewels. The winds bring per'fume. 
 The earth shows thee all her treasure. The forests sirig to thee. 
 The air is all sweetness, as if all the angels of God had gSne 
 through it, bearing spices homeward. The storms are but as 
 flocks.of mighty birds that spread their wings and sing in the 
 high heaven ! Speak to God, now, and say, " Father, where 
 art thou ?" And out of every flower, and tree, and silver pool, 
 and twined thicket, a voice will come, "God is in me." The 
 earth cries to the heavens, " God is here." And the heavens cry 
 to the earth, " God is here." The sea claims Him. The land 
 hath Him. His footsteps are upon the deep ! He sitteth upon 
 the Circle of the Earth ! O sunny joys of the sunny month, yet 
 soft and temperate, how soon will the eager months that come 
 burning from the equator, scorch you ! 
 
 7. JULY ! Rouse up ! The temperate heats that filled the 
 air are raging forward to glow and overfill the earth wifh hot- 
 ness. Must it be thus in every thing, that June . shall rush to- 
 ward August ? Or, is it not that there are deep and unreached 
 places for whose sake the probing 1 sun pierces down its glowing 
 hands ? There is a deeper work than June can perform. The 
 earth shall drink of the heat before she knows her nature or her 
 strength. Then shall she bring forth to the uttermost the treas- 
 ures of her bosom. For, there are things hidden far down, and 
 the deep things of life are not known till the fire reveals them. 
 
 8. AUGUST ! Reign, thou Fire-Month ! What canst thou do? 
 Neither shalt thou destroy the earth, whom frosts and ice could 
 not destroy. The vines droop, the trees stagger, the broad- 
 palmed leaves give thee their moisture, and hang down. But 
 every night the dew pities them. Yet, there are flowers that 
 look thee in the eye, fierce Sun, all day long, and wink not. 
 This is the rejoicing month for joyful insects. If our unselfish 
 eye would behold it, it is the most populous and the happiest 
 month. The herds plash in the sedge; fish seek the deeper 
 pools ; forest fowl lead out their young ; the air is resonant 2 of 
 insect orchestras, 3 each one carrying his part in Nature's grand 
 
 1 Pr6b' ing, scrutinizing ; searching to the bottom. Eesonant (rez'- 
 o nant), resounding ; returning -sound. 'Orchestra (ar' kes tra), a baud 
 of musicians ; a place prepared for the performers in a concert. 
 
70 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 harmony. August, thou art the ripeness of the year ! Thou art 
 the glowing center of the circle ! 
 
 9. SEPTEMBER! There are thoughts in thy heart of death. 
 Thou art doing a secret work, and heaping up treasures for an- 
 other year. The unborn infant-buds which thou art tending 
 are more than all the living leaves. Thy robes are luxuriant, but 
 worn with softened pride. More dear, less beautiful than June, 
 thou art the heart's month. Not till the heats of summer are 
 gone, while all its growths remain, do we know the fullness of 
 life. Thy hands are stretched out, and clasp 1 the glowing palm 
 of August, and the fruit-smelling hand of October. Thou di- 
 videst them asunder, and art thyself molded of them both. 
 
 10. OCTOBER! Orchard of the year! Bend thy boughs to 
 the earth, redolent 8 of glowing fruit ! Ripened seeds shake in 
 their pods. Apples drop in the stillest hours. Leaves begin to 
 let go when no wind is out, and swing in long waverings to the 
 earth, which they touch without sound, and lie looking up, till 
 winds rake them, and heap them in fence corners. When the 
 gales come through the trees, the yellow leaves trail, like sparks 
 at night behind the flying engine. The woods are thinner, so 
 that we can see the heavens plainer, as we lie dreaming on the 
 yet warm moss by the singing spring. The days are calm. The 
 nights are tranquil. The year's work is done. She walks in 
 gorgeous apparel, looking upon her long labor, and her serene 
 eye saith, " It is good." 
 
 11. NOVEMBER! Patient watcher, thou art asking 3 to lay 
 down thy tasks*. 4 Life, to thee, now, is only a task accomplished. 
 In the night-time thou liest down, and the messengers of winter 
 deck thee with, hoar-frosts for thy burial. The morning looks 
 upon thy jewels, and they perish while it gazes. Wilt thou not 
 come, O December? 
 
 12. DECEMBER! Silently the month advances. 5 There is 
 nothing 5 to destroy, but much to bury. Bury, then, thou snow, 
 that slumberously fallest through the still air, the hedge-rows of 
 leaves ! Muffle thy cold wool about the feet of shivering trees ! 
 Bury all that the year hath known, and let thy brilliant stars, 
 
 1 Clasp. a K&d' o lent, having or diffusing a rich scent or odor. * Ask- 
 ing (ask' ing). 4 Tasks.* Ad vane 7 eg. 8 Nothing (nuth' ing) 
 
HTMN TO THK SEASONS. 71 
 
 that never shine as they do in thy frostiest nights, behold the 
 work ! But know, O month of destruction, that in thy constel- 
 lation 1 is set that Star, whose rising is the sign, for evermore, 
 that there is life in death ! Thou art the month of resurrection. 
 In thee, the Christ came. Every star, that looks down upon thy 
 labor and toil of burial, knows that all things shall come forth 
 again. 2 Storms shall sob themselves to sleep. Silence shall find 
 a voice. Death shall live, Life shall rejoice, Winter shall break 
 forth and blossom into Spring, Spring shall put on her glorious 
 apparel and be called Summer. It is life ! it is life ! through 
 the whole year ! H. W. BEECHER. 
 
 REV. HENRY WARD BEECHER, son of Dr. Lyman Beecher, was born in Litch- 
 field, Connecticut, June 24th, 1813. He was graduated at Arnherst College in 
 1834. He studied theology at Lane Seminary, Cincinnati, which was under the 
 direction of his father ; and was first settled as a Presbyterian minister at Law- 
 renceburg, Dearborn county, Indiana, where he remained two years. From 
 thence he removed to Indianapolis, the capital of the State, where he labored 
 with great acceptation till he accepted the unanimous call of a new Congrega- 
 tional Society, in Brooklyn, New York. He was installed pastor of the church, 
 October, 1847. His eloquent sermons, which are never common-place, attract 
 very large and attentive audiences. He is equally favored as a lecturer on topics 
 of the day, usually lecturing about eighty times a year, in various parts of the 
 country. Mr. Beecher generally avoids doctrinal topics. He preaches the truth 
 of to-day applied to the temptations, the errors, and the wants of to-day. His 
 sympathy with nature, acute observation of men and things, remarkable analy- 
 sis of character, apt illustration, mental elasticity, soul-strength, and affluence 
 and power of diction, are equally apparent in his writings and his extemporane- 
 ous speeches. 
 
 2. HYMN TO THE SEASONS. 
 
 1. FTIHESE, as they change, Almighty Father! these 
 J- Are but the varied God. The rolling year 
 
 Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring 
 . Thy beauty walks, Th]* tenderness, and love. 
 Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; 
 Echo the mountains round ; the forest smiles ; 
 And every sense and every heart is joy. 
 
 2. Then comes Thy glory in the Summer months, 
 With light and heat refulgent. 8 Then Thy sun 
 
 1 Con stel la' tion, a cluster of fixed stars. 1 Again (a gen'). Re f&l' 
 gent, casting a very bright light ; splendid. 
 
72 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Shoots full perfection through the swelling year ; 
 And 6ft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks, 
 And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 
 By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales. 
 Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, 
 And spreads a common feast for all that live. 
 In Winter awful Thou, with clouds and storms 
 Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll'd, 
 Majestic darkness ! On the whirlwind's wing, 
 Riding sublime, Thou bidst the world adore, 
 And humblest Nature with Thy northern blast. 
 
 8. Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine, 
 Deep felt, in these appear L a simple train, 
 Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art, 
 Such beauty and beneficence 1 combined ; 
 Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade ; 
 And all so forming a harmonious whole, 
 That, as they still succeed, they ravish 2 still. 
 But wandering 6ft, with brute 3 unconscious gaze, 
 Man marks not Thee ; marks not the mighty Hand, 
 That, ever busy, wheels the silent sphere ; 
 Works in the secret deep ; shoots, steaming, thence 
 The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; 
 Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; 
 Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; 
 And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, 
 With transport touches all the springs of life. 
 
 4. Nature, attend ! join, every living soul, 
 Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 
 In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
 One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales, 
 Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes : 
 Oh, talk of Him in solitary glooms ! 
 Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine 
 
 1 Be nef i cence, the practice of doing good ; active goodness, kind- 
 ness, or charity. ' Rav' ish, enrapture; transport with delight 
 Brute (brot). 
 
HYMN TO THIS SEASONS. 
 
 78 
 
 Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. 
 
 And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 
 
 Who shake the astonish'd world, lift high to heaven 
 
 The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 
 
 5. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; 
 And let me catch it as I muse along. 
 
 Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; 
 
 Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 
 
 Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 
 
 A secret world of wonders in thyself, 
 
 Sound His stupendous 1 praise, whose greater voice 
 
 Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. 
 
 Soft roll your incense, Aerbs, and fruits, and flowers, 
 
 In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts, 
 
 Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints, 
 
 6. Ye forests, bend ; ye harvests, wave to Him ; 
 Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, 
 As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 
 Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep 
 Unconscious lies, effuse 2 your mildest beams ; 
 Ye constellations, while your angels strike, 
 Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 
 Great source of day ! best image here below 
 Of thy Creator, ever pquring wide, 
 
 From world to world, the vital ocean round, 
 On Nature write with every beam His praise. 
 
 7. The thunder rolls : be hush'd the prostrate world, 
 While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. 
 Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye mossy rocks, 
 Retain the sound : the broad responsive low, 
 
 Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns, 
 And His unsuffering kingdom yet will come. 
 Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song 
 Burst from the groves ! and when the restless day, 
 
 1 Stu pSn' dous, literally, striking dumb by its greatness of size or im- 
 portance ; hence, astonishing; wonderful. "Effuse (effuz'), to spill; 
 to pour out. 
 
 4 
 
74 NATIONAL FIFTH READKR. 
 
 Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, 
 
 Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, 1 charm 
 
 The listening shades, and teach the night His praise. 
 
 8. Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, 
 At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, 
 Crown the great hymn. ! in swarming cities vast, 
 Assembled men, to the deep organ join 
 The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, 
 At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass ; 
 And, as each mingling flame increases each, 
 In one united ardor rise to heaven. 
 Or, if you rather choose the rural 2 shade, 
 And find a fane in every sacred grove, 
 There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, 
 The prompting seraph 3 , and the poet's lyre, 
 Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. 
 
 0. For me, when I forget the darling theme, 
 Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray 
 Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, 
 Or Winter rises in the blackening east, 
 Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, 
 And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! 
 Should fate command 4 me to the furthest verge 
 Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, 
 Rivers unknown to song,- -where first the sun 
 Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
 Flames on the Atlantic isles, 'tis naught to me ; 
 Since God is ever present, ever felt, 
 In the void waste as in the city full ; 
 And where He vital breathes, there must be joy. 
 
 10. When even at last 5 the solemn hour shall come, 
 And wing my mystic 6 flight to future worlds, 
 
 1 Phil o me la. from Philomela, dar.jrhtev of Paiidion. kinar of Athene, 
 who \v;;s supposed to u ave been changed hjto a nightingale ; hence, f he 
 nightingale. * Rural <rS ral). *S6v'aph, an angel of tiie highest order. 
 4 Com mind'. 'List. Mys' tic, obscure ; involving some hidden 
 meaning. 
 
ON READING. 75 
 
 I cheerful will obey ; there, with new powers, 
 
 Will rising wondeis sing. I can not go 
 
 "Where Universal Love not smiles around, 
 
 Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; 
 
 From seeming evil still educing good, 
 
 And better thence again, and better still, 
 
 In infinite progression. But I lose 
 
 Myself in Ilim, in Light ineffable !' 
 
 Come then, expressive Silence, muse His praise. 
 
 JAMES THOMSON. 
 
 JAMES THOMSON was born at Ednam, near Kelso, Roxburgh county, England, 
 September Nth, 1700, and died August 27th, 1748. He was the author of the 
 " Seasons," a work which alone would have perpetuated his name. Though 
 born a poet, he seems to have advanced but slowly, and by reiterated efforts, tc 
 refinement of taste. The first edition of tlie "Reasons" differs materially from 
 the second, and the second still more from the third. Every alteration was an 
 improvement in delicacy of thought and language. That the genius of Thom- 
 son was purifying and working off its alloys up to the termination of his exist- 
 ence, may be seen from the superiority in style and diction of his last poem, the 
 "Castle of Indolence," to which he brought not only the full nature, but the 
 perfect art of a poet. As a dramatic writer he was unsuccessful. He was in 
 poverty in early life, but through the influence of Lord Lyttleton, he obtained a 
 pension of 100 a year, from the Prince of Wales, and an office which brought 
 him 300 per annum. He was now in comparative opulence, and his residence 
 at Kew-Iaue, near Richmond, was the scene of social enjoyment and lettered 
 sase. He was friendly, shy, and indolent. His noted lines in favor of early 
 rising, commencing 
 
 Falsely luxurious, will not man awake, 
 And springing from the bed of sloth, &c., 
 were written in bed. 
 
 3. ON HEADING. 
 
 ~P EADING is the nourishment of the unind ; for, by reading, 
 J-t we know our Creator, his works, ourselves chiefly, and our 
 fellow-creatures. But this nourishment is easily converted into 
 poison. Salmasius 3 had read as much as Grotius, 3 perhaps 
 
 1 Iii ef fa Lie, untold ; unspeakable ; that can not be expressed in 
 K.)nls. a SALMASIUS, an eminent French scholar. When only ten years 
 of age he composed Latin and Greek verses. He was born in 1588, 
 and died in 1053. 'GROTIUS, Hugh de Groot, or Hugo Grotius, an emi- 
 nent scholar, born at Delft, in Holland, 1583, and died in 1645. He 
 adopted the profession of law, but is better known as the author of an 
 often quoted work, "On the Truth of the Christian Religion." 
 
76 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 more; but the r different modes of reading made the one an 
 enlightened philosopher, and the other, to speak plainly, a 
 pedant, 1 puffed up with a useless erudition. 2 
 
 2. Let us read with method, and propose to ourselves an end 
 to which all our studies may point. Through neglect of thia 
 rule, 3 gross ignorance often disgraces great readers, who, by skip- 
 ping hastily and irregularly from one subject to another, render 
 themselves incapable of combining their ideas. So many de- 
 tached parcels of knowledge can not form a whole. 
 
 3. But what ought we to read ? Each individual must answer 
 this question for himself, agreeably to the object of his studies. 
 The only general precept that I would venture to give is that of 
 Pliny, 4 " to read much, rather than many things ;" to make a 
 careful selection of the best works, and to render them familiar 
 to us by attentive and repeated perusals. 
 
 4. Without expatiating on the authors so generally known 
 and approved, I would simply observe, that in matters of reason- 
 ing, the best are those who have augmented the number of use- 
 ful truths; who have discovered truths, of whatever nature they 
 may be ; in one word, those bold spirits, who, quitting the beaten 
 track, prefer being in the wrong alone, to being in the right wife 
 the multitude. 
 
 5. Such authors increase the number of our ideas, and even 
 their mistakes are useful to their successors. With all the re- 
 spect due to Mr. Locke, 5 1 would not, however, neglect the works 
 of those academicians 6 who destroy errors without hoping to sub- 
 stitute truth in their stead. 
 
 1 Pd' ant, one who makes a vain display of learning. * Erudition 
 (er u dish' un), learning ; knowledge gained by study.' Rule (r8l). 
 * PLINY, the Elder, a distinguished Eoman writer on natural history 
 and botany, was born A. D. 23, and died in 79. PLINY, the Younger, 
 nephew of the preceding, a distinguished writer, orator, and states- 
 man, was born A. D. 61 or 62. * JOHN LOCKE, one of the greatest 
 philosophers and metaphysicians that England ever produced, was 
 born 1632, and died 1704. His " Essaj 1 on the Human Understanding" 
 was for a long time a text-book in our colleges. But he is perhaps 
 entitled to greater respect for his powerful defense of civil and reli- 
 gious liberty. Academician (ak a de mish' an), a member of an asso- 
 ciation of scholars or artists. The term originated in Athens (ath' enz), 
 from the place where Plato gave instruction to his followers. There 
 
NEVER DESPAIR. 77 
 
 6. I* works of fancy, invention ought to bear away the palm: 
 chiefly that invention which creates a new kind of writing ; and 
 next, that which displays the charms of novelty in its subject, 
 characters, situation, pictures, thoughts, and sentiments. Yet 
 this invention will miss its effect, unless it be accompanied with 
 a genius capable of adapting itself to every variety of the subject, 
 successively sublime, pathetic, flowery, majestic, and playful ; 
 and with a judgment which admits nothing indeco'rous, 1 and a 
 style which expresses well whatever ought to be said. 
 
 7. As to compilations which are intended merely to treasure 
 up the thoughts of others, I ask whether they are written with 
 perspicuity 2 whether superfluities are lopped off, and dispersed 
 observations skillfully collected ; and agreeably to my answers to 
 those questions, I estimate the merit of such performances. 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON. 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON, one of the most celebrated historians of any age or country, 
 was born at Putney, Surrey, England, 27th of April, 1737, and died January 
 16th, 1794. His reputation as a writer and scholar is founded on the celebrated 
 "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." The design of this great work he 
 conceived in 1765, published the first volume in February, 1776, and completed 
 it on the 27th of June, 1787. They who have read it, so far from wondering at 
 the time consumed in its preparation, a period of twenty-one years, are amazed 
 at the indefatigable industry, which, in a lifetime, could execute a work of such 
 vast erudition. The style of Gibbon has great merits, mixed with some not 
 trivial defects. His diction is precise, energetic, massive splendid where the 
 pictorial demands of the narrative require' it and sometimes, where profound 
 reflections are to be concisely expressed, remarkably sententious and graphic. 
 Yet, the value of his learned work is much depreciated by the insidious attacks 
 he so frequently made on every thing sacred. This is the more to be regretted, 
 as he was one of the most strikingly eloquent writers of the English language. 
 
 4. NEVER DESPAIR. 
 
 FT1HERE is no trait of human character so potential 3 for wea A 
 JL or woe as firmness. To the business man it is all-important. 
 Before its irresistible energy the most formidable obstacles be- 
 
 were different academies in the various countries of Europe, as in France, 
 Sweden, and Russia. They who embraced the principles of these acad- 
 emies were called academicians. ' In de c6' rous, indecent; contrary to 
 good-breeding or established rules. a Per spi cu' i ty, in writing, is 
 writing in such a style that the meaning may easily be understood or 
 teen through. * Potential (po t&n' ghal), efficacious ; powerful. 
 
78 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 come as cobweb barriers in its path. Difficulties, the terror of 
 which causes the pampered 1 sons of luxury to shrink back wifih 
 dismay, provoke from the man of lofty determination only a 
 smile. The whole history of our race all nature, indeed 
 teems with examples to show what wonders may be accom- 
 plished by resolute perseverance and patient toil. 
 
 2. It is related of Tamerlane, 2 the celebrated warrior, the terror 
 of whose arms spread through all the Eastern nations, and whom 
 victory attended at almost every step, that he once learned from 
 an insect a lesson of perseverance, which had a striking effect on 
 his future character and success. 
 
 3. When closely pursued by his enemies as a contemporary 
 tells the anecdote he took refuge in some old ruins, where, le& 
 to his solitary musings, he espied an ant tugging and striving to 
 carry a single grain of corn. His unavailing efforts were re- 
 peated sixty-nine times, and at each several time, so soon as he 
 reached a certain point of projection, he fell back with his bur- 
 den, unable to surmount it; but the seventieth time he bore 
 away his spoil in triumph, and left the wondering hero reani- 
 mated and exulting in the hope of future victory. 
 
 4. llow pregnant the lesson this incident conveys ! new- 
 many thousand instances there are in which inglorious defeat 
 ends the career of the timid and desponding, when the same 
 tenacity of purpose would crown it with triumphant success ! 
 Resolution is almost omnipotent. Sheridan 3 was at first timid, 
 and obliged to sit down in the midst of a speech. Convinced 
 of, and mortified at, the cause of his failure, he said one day 
 to a friend, " It is in me, and it shall cpme out." From that 
 
 1 Pam' pered, highly fed. TAMERLANE, called also Tiinour the Tar- 
 tar, was born 1335. He became sovereign of Tartary, and subdued 
 Persia, India, and Syria. With an army of 200,000 men, in a battle 
 fought at Angora, on the 20th July, 1402, he defeated the Turkish 
 army, composed of 300,000 men, and made their emperor, Bajazet, 
 prisoner. He was on the point of invading China, wheu he was 
 seized with a violent fever, and died soon after taking the field, 18th 
 February. 1405. 3 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN was born at Dublin, in 
 1751. He was unrivaled in wit and had few equals as an orator. Ho 
 was a member of the British parliament for thirty-two years. In the 
 latter part of his life he was dissipated, involved in debt, and drank 
 deeply of the cup of bitterness. He died in 1816. 
 
PENNSYLVANIA. 79 
 
 moment he rose, and shone, and triumphed in a consummate 1 
 eloquence. Here was true -moral courage. And it was well 
 observed by a heathen moralist, that it is not because things are 
 difficult that we dare not undertake them. 
 
 5. Be, then, bold in spirit. Indulge no doubts they are 
 traitors. 2 In the practical pursuit of our high aim, let us never 
 lose sight of it in the slightest instance ; for it is more by a dis- 
 regard of small things, than by open and flagrant offences, that 
 men come short of excellence. There is always a right and a 
 wrong ; and if you ever doubt, be sure you take not the wrong. 
 Observe this rule, and every experience will be to you a means 
 of advancement. 
 
 5. PENNSYLVANIA. 
 
 1. T?AIR Pennsylvania^ than thy midland vales, 
 -L Lying 'twixt hills of green, and bound afar 
 By billowy mountains rolling in the blue, 
 
 No lovelier landscape meets the traveler's eye. 
 There Labor sows and reaps his sure reward, 
 And Peace and Plenty walk amid the glow 
 And per'fume of full garners. 
 
 2. I have seen 
 
 In lands less free, less fair, but far more known, 
 The streams which flow through history and wash 
 The legendary 3 shores and cleave in twain 
 Old capitals and towns, dividing 6ft 
 Great empires and estates of petty kings 
 And princes, whose domains full many a field, 
 Rustling with maize along our native West, 
 Out-measures and might put to shame ! and yet 
 Nor Rhine, like Bacchus 4 crown'd, and reeling through 
 
 1 Con sum' mate, accomplished ; perfect. 1 Traitors : Shakspeare has 
 most beautifully expiessed this idea: "Our doubts are traitors, and 
 make us lose the good \ve oft might win, by flaring to attempt." ' Leg- 
 endary (led' jen da re), connected with some legend or story. 4 BACCHUS, 
 or rather Dionysus, the youthful, beautiful, but effeminate god of wine, 
 In heathen mythology, represented as crowned with vine leaves. 
 
80 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 His hills nor Danube, marr'd with tyranny, 
 His dull waves moaning on Hungarian shores 
 Nor rapid Po, his opaque 1 waters pouring 
 Athwart the fairest, fruitfulest, and worst 
 Enslaved of European lands nor Seine, 8 
 Winding uncertain through inconstant France 
 Are half so fair as thy broad stream, whose breast 
 Is gemm'd with many isles, and whose proud name 
 Shall yet become among the names of rivers 
 A synonym 3 of beauty Susquehanna ! 
 
 3. But where, fair land, thy smaller streams invite 
 With music among plenteous farms, I turn, 
 
 As to a parent's' 1 fond embrace, and lay, 
 
 Well pleased, my way-worn mantle by, and shed, 
 
 With grateful heart, from off my weary feet 
 
 The white dust gathcr'd in the world's highway 
 
 Here my young muse first learn'd to love and dreaiu 
 
 To love the simplest blossom by the road 
 
 To dream such dreams as will not come again. 
 
 And for one hour of that unletter'd time 
 
 One hour of that wild music in the heart, 
 
 When Fancy, like the swallow's aimless wing, 
 
 Flitted eccentric 5 through all moods of nature 
 
 I would exchange, thrice told, this weary day. 
 
 4. Then were yon hills, still beautiful and blue, 
 Great as the Andes ; and this rushy brook, 
 Which the light foot-board, fallen, turns aside, 
 A flood considerable, with noisy falls 
 
 And gulfy pools profound ; and yonder stream, 
 The fisher wades with ease to throw his bait 
 Into the larger ripple, was a river 
 To measure Jordan 6 by ! For then my thoughts 
 Were fiill of scriptural lore, oft heard at morn, 
 
 1 Opaque (o pak'), impervious to light ; not transparent. * Seine (sin). 
 * Syn' o nyrn, a word which has the same signification or meaning aa 
 another, is its zynonym. * Par' ent. 6 Eccentric (ek sen' trik), deviating 
 from the center; iiregular. 'Jor'dan, a famous river of Asiatic Tur- 
 key, forming the east boundary of Palestine. 
 
SABBATH MORNING. 81 
 
 And in the evening heard, until the place 
 Became a Palestine, while o'er the hills 
 The blue horl'zon compass'd all the world. 
 
 T. BUCHANAN READ. 
 
 THOMAS BUCHANAN READ was born in Chester county, Pennsylvania, March 
 2lh, 1822. In 1839 he went to Cincinnati, where he was employed in the studio 
 of CLEVENGER, the sculptor, and here his attention was first called to painting, 
 which he chose for his profession, and soon practiced with marked skill and suc- 
 cess. He settled in IS'ew York city in 1841. After a few months he removed to 
 Boston, where he remained until 184(5, and then went to Philadelphia, where he 
 practiced his profession, writing occasionally for periodicals, until 1850, when he 
 first visited Kurope. In the summer of 1853 he went abroad a second time, and 
 settled in Florence, where he now resides. In 1853 he issued an illustrated edi- 
 tion of his poems, comprising, with some new pieces, all lie wished to preserve 
 of volumes previously printed. In 1855 he published "The House by the Sea" 
 and "The New Pastoral," the latter, in thirty-seven books, from which the 
 above extract is taken, being the longest of his poems. Mr. Read's distinguishing 
 characteristic is a delicate and varied play of fancy. His verse, though some- 
 times irregular, is always musical. He excels in homely descriptions. Tho 
 flowers by the dusty wayside, the cheerful murmur of the meadow brook, the 
 village tavern, and rustic mill, and all tender impulses and affections, are his 
 choice sources of inspiration. 
 
 6. SABBATH MOKNING. 
 
 1. TTOW still the morning of the hallow'd day!- 
 -11 Mute is the voice of rural 1 labor, hush'd 
 The plowboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song. 
 The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath 
 Of tedded 2 grass, mingled with fading flowers, 
 That yestcr-morn bloom'd, waving in the breeze. 
 Sounds, the most faint, attract the ear, the hum 
 Of early bee, the trickling of the dew, 
 
 The distant bleating, midway up the hill. 
 Calmness sits throned on yon umnoving cloud. 
 
 2. To him who wanders o'er the upland leas, 
 
 The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale; 
 And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark 
 Warbles with heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook 
 Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen ; 
 
 1 Rural (r&' ral). a Ted' ded, spread out after being mowed down. 
 
 6 
 
82 NATIONAL FIFfH READER. 
 
 While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke 
 O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals, 
 The voice of psalms, the simple soru' of praise. 
 
 3. With dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon village broods : 
 The dizzying mill-wheel rests ; the anvil's din 
 Hath ceased ; all, all around is quietness. 
 
 Le<s fearful, on this day, the limping hare 
 
 Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man, 
 
 Tier deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free, 
 
 Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large ; 
 
 And as his stiff, unwieldy bulk he rolls, 
 
 His iron-arm'd hoofs gleam in the morning ra\. 
 
 4. But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys. 
 
 Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor man's day. 
 
 On other days, the man of toil is doom'd 
 
 To eat his joyless bread lonely, the ground 
 
 Both seat and board, screened from the winter's coll 
 
 And summer's heat by neighboring hedge or tree ; 
 
 But on this day, embosom'd in his home, 
 
 He shares the frugal meal with those he loves ; 
 
 AVith those he loves, he shares the heart-felt joy 
 
 Of giving thanks to God, not thanks of form, 
 
 A word and a grimace', but reverently, 
 
 "With cover'd face, and upward, earnest eye. 
 
 5. Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor man's day : 
 The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe 
 The morning air, pure from the city's smoke ; 
 "While, wandering slowly up the river's side, 
 He meditates on Him, whose power he marks 
 
 In each green tree that proudly spreads the tough, 
 As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom 
 Around its roots ; and while he thus surveys, 
 Wifh elevated joy, each rural charm, 
 He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope, 
 That heaven may be one Sabbath without end. 
 
 6. But now his steps a welcome sound recalls : 
 Solemn the knell, from yonder fincftnt pile, 
 
SABBATH MORNING. 3O 
 
 Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe : 
 
 Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-paved ground; 
 
 The aged man, the bowed down, the blind 
 
 Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes 
 
 With pain, and eyes the new-made grave, well-pleased ; 
 
 These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach 
 
 The house of God these, spite of all their ills, 
 
 A glow of gladness feel ; with silent praise 
 
 They enter in ; a placid stillness reigns, 
 
 Until the man of God, worthy the name, 
 
 Opens the book, and reverentially 
 
 The stated portion reads. A pause ensues. 
 
 7. The organ breathes its distant thunder-notes, 
 Then swells into a diapason 1 full : 
 The people rising sing, " wifh harp, with harp, 
 And voice of psalms ;" harmoniously attuned, 
 The various voices blend ; the long-drawn aisles, 
 At every close, the' lingering strain prolong. 
 
 And now the tubes a softcn'd stop controls ; 
 In softer harmony the people join, 
 While liquid whispers from yon orphan band 
 Recall the soul from adoration's trance, 
 And fill the eye with pity's gentle tears. 
 
 &- Again the organ-peal, loud, rolling, meets 
 The halleluiahs 2 of the choir. Sublime 
 A thousand notes symphoniously ascend, 
 As if the whole were one, suspended high 
 In air, soaring heavenward : afar they float, 
 Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch : 
 Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close, 
 Yet thinks he hears it still : his heart is cheer'd ; 
 He smiles on death ; but ah ! a wish will rise 
 " Would I were now beneath that echoing roof ! 
 No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow ; 
 My heart would sing ; and many a sabbath-day 
 
 1 Diapason (dl a pa' zon), in music, the octave or interval which in- 
 cludes all the tones.-- 8 Halleluiah (hal le li' ya), praise ye the Lord. 
 
84 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 My steps should thither turn ; or, wandering far 
 In solitary pafhs, where wild flowers blow, 
 There would I bless His name who led me forth 
 From death's dark vale, to walk amid those sweets 
 Who gives the bloom of health once more to glow 
 Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye." 
 
 JAMES GRAHAMS. 
 
 REV. JAMES GRAHAME was born in Glasgow, Scotland, in the year 17G5. He 
 studied law and practiced at the Scottish bar several years, but afterward took 
 orders in the Church of England, and was successively curate of Shipton.in 
 Gloucestershire, and of Sedgefield, in the county of Durham. Ill health com- 
 pelled him to abandon his curacy when his virtues and talents had attracted 
 notice and rendered him a popular and useful preacher; and on revisiting Scot- 
 land, he died on the 14th of September, 1811. His works consist of " Mary, 
 Queen of Scotland," a dramatic poem, published in 1801; "The Sabbath," 
 from which the above selection is taken; " Sabbath Walks," "biblical Pic- 
 tures," " The Birds of Scotland," and " British Georgics," all in blank verse. 
 " The Sabbath" is the best of his productions. The poet was modest and de- 
 vout, though sometimes gloomy in his seriousness. His prevailing tone, how- 
 ever, is that of implicit trust in the goodness of God, and enjo/tnen* in his 
 creation. 
 
 7. MATERNAL AFFECTION. 
 
 WOMAN'S charms are certainly many and powerful. The 
 expanding rose just bursting into beauty has an irresistible 
 bewitchingness ; the blooming bride led triumphantly to the 
 hymenS 'al altar awakens admiration and interest, and the blush 
 of her cheek fills with delight ; but the charm of maternity is 
 more sublime than all these. Heaven has imprinted in the 
 mother's face something beyond this world, something which 
 claims kindred with the skies, the angelic smile, the tender 
 look, the waking, watchful eye, which keeps its fond vigil over 
 her slumbering babe. 
 
 2. These are objects which neither the pencil nor the chisel 
 can touch, which poetry fails to exalt, which the most eloquent 
 tongue in vain would eulogize, and on which all description be- 
 comes ineffective. In the heart of man lies this lovely picture ; 
 it lives in his sympathies; it reigns in his affections; his eye 
 looks round in vain for such another object on earth. 
 
^ SHAKING HANDS. 85 
 
 3. Maternity, ecstatic 1 sound! so twined round our hearts, 
 tliat they must cease to throl ere we forget it ! 'tis our first 
 love ; 'tis part of our religion. Nature has set the mother upon 
 such a pinnacle, that our infant eyes and arms are first uplifted 
 to it ; we cling to it in manhood ; we almost worship it in old age. 
 
 4. He who can enter an apartment, and behold the tender 
 babe feeding on its mother's beau,ty nourished by the tide of 
 life which flows through her generous veins, without a panting 
 bosom and a grateful eye, is no man, but a monster. He who 
 can approach the cradle of sleeping innocence without thinking 
 that " of such is the kingdom of heaven !" or see the fond parent 
 hang over its beauties, and half retain her breath lest she should 
 break its slumbers, without a veneration beyond all common 
 feeling, is to be avoided in every intercourse of life, and is fit 
 only for the shadow of darkness and the solitude of the desert. 
 
 SCRAP BOOK. 
 
 8. SHAKING HANDS. 
 
 THERE are few things of more common occurrence than shak- 
 ing 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. It is a theme on which I have myself theo- 
 rized considerable ; and I beg leave to offer a few remarks on 
 the origin of the practice, and the various forms in which it is 
 exercised. 
 
 2. I have been unable to find in the ancient writers any dis- 
 tinct mention of shaking hands. They followed the heartier 
 practice of hugging or embracing, which has not wholly disap- 
 peared among grown persons in Europe, and children in our own 
 country, and has unquestionably the advantage on the score oi 
 cordiality. When the ancients trusted the business of salutation 
 to the hands alone, they joined but did not shake them. 
 
 1 EC slit' ic, ravishing ; very delightful. 
 
86 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 3. I am inclined to think that the practice grew up hi the 
 ages of chivalry, 1 when the cumbrous iron mail, in which the 
 knights were cased, prevented their embracing; 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 junc- 
 tion was a natural resort, to express cordiality ; and, as it would 
 have been awkward to keep the hands unemployed in this posi- 
 tion, a gentle agitation or shaking might have been naturally 
 introduced. 
 
 4. How long the practice may have remained in this incipient 8 
 stage, it is impossible, in the silence of history, to say ; nor is 
 there any thing in the Chronicles, in Philip de Comines, 3 or the 
 Byzantine historians, 4 which enables us to trace the progress of 
 the art into the forms in which it now exists among us. With- 
 out, therefore, availing myself of the privilege of theorists to 
 sv.pply by conjecture the absence of history or tradition, I shall 
 pass immediately to the enumeration of these forms. 
 
 5. 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 performed with a fair, steady motion. No attempt 
 should be made to o-ive it ^raee, and still less vivacity; 5 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. On the contrary, persons who are partial to 
 the pump-handle shake should be at some pains to give an equa- 
 ble, 6 tranquil 7 movement to the operation, which should on no 
 
 'Chivalry (shiv'al ry), a military dignity, founded on the services of 
 soldiers on horseback, called knights. Ages of chivalry extend from the 
 eleventh to the fifteenth century.* In dp'i ent. beginning ; commenc- 
 ing ; early. * PIIILIP DK COMINES, lord of Argent jn. born at Comines, 
 in Flanders, in 1445, and died in 1509. He was a correct and dislin- 
 guibhed historian of his own times. 4 Byzantine historians, a series if 
 Greek authors whose works relate to the history of the lower Guv'.c 
 empire from ttie fourth century to the conquest of Constantinople by 
 the Turks, and to the Turkish history until the end of the sixteenth 
 century. * Vi vie' i ty. liveliness, or spvightliness of temper or behav- 
 ior.' Equable (e' kwa bl), even ; uniform. T Tranquil (trank' wil* 
 mini ; undisturbed- 
 
SHAKING HANDS. 87 
 
 account be continued after perspiration on the part ot your friend 
 has commenced. 
 
 6. The pendulum shake may be mentioned next, as being 
 somewhat similar in character; but moving, as the name indi- 
 cates, in a horizontal instead of a perpendicular 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. 
 The only caution in its use, which needs particularly to be given, 
 is not to insist on performing it in a plane, strictly parallel to the 
 hori'zon, 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. 
 
 7 I had two acquaintances, both es'timable 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, 2 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. 
 
 8. The tourniquet* 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 yon have induced any degree of 
 compression you may propose in the hand of your friend. Par- 
 ticular care ought to be taken, if your own hand is hard and big 
 
 1 Composition of Forces. It is a principle in mechanics, that when a 
 body is influenced by two forces in different directions, as it can not 
 obey both, it will move in a direction between the two, but nearer in a 
 line with the greater force. "Diag'onal, a straight line drawn from 
 angle to angle of a square. "Tourniquet (tr'neket) 
 
88 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 as a frying-pan, and that of your friend as small and soft as a 
 young maiden's, not to make use of the tourniquet 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. 
 
 9. 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 hammer, on returning from a 
 scientific excursion, gave his gouty uncle the tourniquet shake 
 with such severity as nearly reduced the old gentleman's fingers 
 to powder ; for which my friend had the pleasure of being dis- 
 inherited, as soon as his uncle's finger got well enough to hold 
 a pen. 
 
 10. 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 wel- 
 come. It is an excellent traveling shake, and well adapted to 
 make friends. It is indiscriminately performed. The Peter 
 Grievous touch is opposed to the cordial grapple. It is a pen- 
 sive, tranquil junction, followed by a mild subsuTtory 1 motion, a 
 cast-down look, and an inarticulate inqui'ry after your friend's 
 health. 
 
 11. 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 
 performing 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. 
 
 12. I might go through a list of the gripe royal, the saw-mill 
 shake, and the shake with malice prepense' ; 3 but these are only 
 factitious 4 combinations of the three fundamental forms already 
 described, under the pump-handle, the pendulum, and the tour 
 niquet; as the loving pat, the touch romantic, and the sentimental 
 
 1 Sub sul' to ry. twitching : moving by sudden leaps or starts. 2 Prude 
 (prod). s Prepense', aforethought: premeditated: contrived before- 
 hand. * Factitious (fak tlsh' us), unnatural ; artificial 
 
THE DREAM OF THE REVELER 89 
 
 clasp, may be reduced, in their main movements, to various com- 
 binations and modifications of the cordial grapple, the Peter 
 Grievous touch, and the prude major and minor. I should 
 trouble the reader with a few remarks, in conclusion, on the 
 mode of shaking hands, as an indication of characters ; but as I 
 see a friend corning up the avenue who is addicted to the pump- 
 handle, I dare not tire my wrist by further writing. 
 
 EDWARD EVERETT. 
 
 EDWARD EVERETT, one of the most eminent of American scholars and rhet- 
 oricians, was born in Dorchester, near Boston, in 1794. He entered Harvard 
 College at the age of thirteen, where he graduated in 1811, with a rare reputa- 
 tion for acquirements and abilities. He at first turned his attention to law, but 
 soon decided to study theology, and had been two years in the divinity school at 
 Cambridge, when he was settled as minister of the church in Brattle-street, as 
 the successor of the lamented Buckrni lister. In 1815, before he was twenty-one 
 years of age, he was elected professor of Greek Literature in Harvard College. 
 Before entering upon the duties of his new office, he visited Europe for the im- 
 provement of his health, which had been impaired by severe application to his 
 pastoral duties. He passed several months at Gottingen, where he acquired the 
 German language, visiting also, before his return, most of the countries of Eu- 
 rope. Here he acquired the friendship of the most eminent men of the age. 
 He has subsequently been a member of both houses of Congress, Governor of 
 Massachusetts, President of Harvard University, Secretary of State, and Em- 
 bassador to England. 
 
 9. THE DREAM OF THE REVELER. 
 
 i. 
 A ROUND the board the guests were met, the lights above 
 
 *- them beaming, 
 
 And in their cups, replenish'd oft, the ruddy wine was streaming; 
 
 Their cheeks were flush'd, their eyes were bright, their hearts 
 with pleasure bounded, 
 
 The song was sung, the toast was given, and loud the revel 
 sounded. 
 
 I drain'd a goblet w^th the rest, and cried, " Away with sorrow ! 
 
 Let us be happy for to-day ; what care 1 we for to-morrow ?" 
 
 But as I spoke, my sight grew dim, and slumber deep came o'er 
 me, 
 
 And, mid the whirl 2 of mingling tongues, this vision pass'd 3 be- 
 fore me. 
 
 1 C&re. 9 Whirl (whSrl). 5 Passed (past). 
 
#0 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 II. 
 
 Alethought I saw a demon rise : he held a mighty bicker/ 
 
 Whose burnish'd 2 sides ran brimming o'er with floods of burn- 
 ing 3 liquor ; 
 
 Around him press'd a clamorous crowd, to taste this liquor 
 greedy, 
 
 But chiefly came the poor and sad, the suffering and the needy ; 
 
 All those oppress'd by grief or debt, the dissolute, the lazy, 
 
 Blear-eyed old men and reckless youths, 4 and palsied women 
 crazy ; 
 
 54 Give, give!" they cried "Give, give us drink, to drown all 
 thought of sorrow ; 
 
 If we are happy for to-day, we care not for to-morrow !" 
 
 in. 
 
 The first 5 drop warm'd their shivering skins, and drove away 
 their sadness ; 
 
 The second lit their sunken eyes, and fill'd their souls wifh gladness ; 
 
 The third drop made them shout and roar, and play each furi- 
 ous antic ; 
 
 The fourth drop boil'd their very blood ; and the fifth drop 
 drove them frantic. 
 
 "Drink !" said the Demon, " Drink your fill ! drink of these wa- 
 ters mellow ; 
 
 They'll make your eyeballs sear and dull, and turn your white 
 skins yellow ; 
 
 They'll fill your homes with care and grief, and clothe your 
 backs with tatters ; 
 
 They'll fill your hearts with evil thoughts : but never mind ! 
 what matters ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Though virtue* sink, and reason fail, and cial ties dissever, 
 Fll be your friend in hour of need, and find you homes forever ; 
 For I have built three mansions high, three strong and goodly 
 
 houses, 
 To lodge at last 7 each jolly soul who all his life carouses. 
 
 1 Bick' er, a bowl or cup. ' Burnished (beY nisht). * Burning (blrn 
 ing). 4 Yfoths. F : rst (first). 6 Virtue (vlrf yu). T list. 
 
THE DREAM OF THE REVELER. 91 
 
 The first, it is a spacious house, to all but sots appalling, 
 Where, by the parish bounty fed, vile, in the sunshine crawling, 
 The worn-out drunkard ends his days, and eats the dole of others, 
 A plague and burden 1 to himself, an eyesore to his brothers. 
 
 v. 
 
 " The second is a lazar-house, 2 rank, fetid, and unholy ; 
 Where, smitten by diseases foul and hopeless melancholy, 
 The victims of potations deep pine on the couch of sadness, 
 Some calling Death to end their pain, and others wrought to 
 
 madness. 
 
 The third and last is black and high, the abode of guilt and an- 
 guish, 
 And full of dungeons deep and fast, 8 where death-doom'd felom 
 
 languish. 
 
 So drain the cup, and drain again ! One of my goodly house* 
 Shall lodge at last each jolly soul who to the dregs carouses !" 
 
 vi. 
 But well he knew that Demon old how vain was all his 
 
 preaching, 
 The ragged crew that round him flock'd were heedless of his 
 
 teaching; 
 Even as they heard his fearful words, they cried, with shouts 01 
 
 laughter 4 
 
 " Out on the fool who mars to-day with thought of a hereafter ! 
 We care not for thy houses three : we live but for the present ; 
 And merry will we make it yet, and quaff 5 our bumpers pleasant." 
 Loud laugh'd the fiend to hear them speak, and, lifting high his 
 
 bicker, 
 " Body and soul are mine !" said he, " I'll have them both foi 
 
 liquor." CHARLES MACKAY. 
 
 CHARLES MACKAY, LL. D., a British poet and journalist, was born in Perth, 
 181*2. He was editor of the Morning Chronicle for five years, and the Glasgow 
 Anjus for three. He is an author of considerable fame, ranking among the first 
 9( the present British poets, and still writes for the illustrated London News. 
 
 1 Burden (beV dn). a Li' zar-house, a house for lazars, or persons af- 
 fected with nauseous or pestilential disease. s Fast. * Laughter (lif- 
 ter). Quaff. 
 
92 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 10. PETER POUNCE AOT> PARSON ADAMS.* 
 
 T)ETER POUNCE, being desirous of having some one to 
 JL whom he might communicate his grandeur, told the parson 
 he would convey him home in his chariot. This favor was, by 
 Adams, with many bows and acknowledgments, accepted, though 
 he afterward said he ascended the chariot rather that he might 
 not offend, than from any desire of riding in it, for that in his 
 heart he preferred the pedestrian even to the vehicular expedi- 
 tion. 
 
 2. The chariot had not proceeded far, before Mr. Adams ob- 
 served it was a very fine day. " Ay, and a very fine country, 
 too," answered Pounce. 
 
 3. "I should think so more," returned Adams, "if I had not 
 lately traveled over the Downs, which I take to exceed this, and 
 all other prospects in the universe." "A fig for prospects," 
 answered Pounce ; " one acre here is worth ten there : for my 
 part, I have no delight in the prospect of any land but my own." 
 
 4. " Sir," said Adams, " you can indulge yourself in many fine 
 prospects of that kind." " I thank God I have a little," replied 
 the other, " wifli which I am content, and envy no man. I have 
 a little, Mr. Adams, with which I do as much good as I can." 
 
 5. Adams answered, "that riches, without charity, were 
 nothing worth ; for that they were a blessing only to him who 
 made them a blessing to others." "You and I," said Peter, 
 "have different notions of charity. I own, as it is generally 
 used, I do not like the word, nor do I think it becomes one of 
 us gentlemen ; it is a mean, parson-like quality ; though I would 
 not infer that many parsons have it neither." 
 
 6. " Sir," said Adams, "my definition of charity is, a generous 
 disposition to relieve the distressed." " There is something in 
 that definition," answered Peter, " which I like well enough ; it 
 
 1 In the following conversation, which is one of the most exquisite in 
 all novel-writing, the reader experiences a delightful triumph in seeing 
 how a vulgar upstart is led to betray his haseness while he thinks he is 
 most exalting himself; the poor, but virtuous and manly parson, on 
 the other hand, rising and becoming glorious out of the depths of his 
 humble honesty. This is an admirable exercise in Personation see p. 60. 
 
PETER POUNCE AND PARSON ADAMS. 93 
 
 is, as you say, a disposition and does not so much consist in 
 the act as in the disposition to do it : but, alas ! Mr. Adams, 
 who are meant by the distressed ? believe me, the distresses of 
 .mankind are mostly imaginary, and it would be rather folly than 
 goodness to relieve them." 
 
 7. " Sure, sir," replied Adams, " hunger and thirst, cold and 
 nakedness, and other distresses which attend the poor, can never 
 be said to be imaginary evils." " How can any man complain 
 of hunger," said Pounce, " in a country where such excellent 
 salads are to be gathered in almost every field ? or of thirst, 
 where every stream and river produce such delicious potations ? 
 and as for cold and nakedness, they are evils introduced by 
 luxury and custom. A man naturally wants clothes no more 
 than a horse or any other animal ; and there are whole nations 
 who go without them. But these are things, perhaps, which 
 you, who do not know the world ' 
 
 8. " You will pardon me, sir," returned Adams ; " I have read 
 of the Gymnos'ophists" 1 "A plague of your Jehosaphats," 
 cried Peter ; " the greatest fault in our constitution is the pro- 
 vision made for the poor, except that perhaps made for some 
 others. Sir, I have not an estate which doth not ' contribute al- 
 most as much again to the poor as to the land-tax; and I do 
 assure you I expect myself to come to the parish in the end." 
 
 9. To which Adams giving a dissenting smile, Peter thus pro- 
 ceeded : " I fancy, Mr. Adams, you are one of those who ima- 
 gine I am a lump of money ; for there are many who I fancy 
 believe that not only my pockets, but my whole clothes are lined 
 wifh bank bills ; but, I assure you, you are all mistaken ; I am 
 not the man the world esteems me. If I can hold my head 
 above water, it is all I can. I have injured myself by purchas- 
 ing ; I have been too liberal of my money. Indeed I fear my 
 heir will find my affairs in a worse situation than they are re- 
 puted to be. Ah ! he will have reason to wish I had loved 
 money more and land less. Pray, my good neighbor, where 
 
 1 Gym n6-s' o phists, philosophers of India, so called because they went 
 with bare feet and little clothing. They never drank wine, nor mar- 
 ried. Some of them practiced medicine. They believed in the trans- 
 migration of souls, and placed the chief happiness of man in the con- 
 tempt of pleasures of sense and goods of fortune. 
 
94 NATIONAL, FIFTH READER. 
 
 should [ have that quantity of money the world is so liberal tc 
 bestow on me ? Where could I possibly, without I had stole it, 
 acquire such a treasure ?" 
 
 10. "Why truly," said Adams, "I have been always of youi 
 opinion ; I have wondered, as well as yourself, with what confi- 
 dence they could report such things of you, which have to me 
 appeared as mere impossibilities; for you know, sir, and 1 have 
 often heard you say it, that your wealth is of your own acquisi- 
 tion ; and can it be credible that in your short time you should 
 have amassed such a heap of treasure as these people will have 
 you are worth ? Indeed, had you inherited an estate like Sir 
 Thomas Booby, which had descended in your family through 
 many generations, they might have had a color for their asser- 
 tions." 
 
 11. "Why, what do they say I am worth?" cries Peter, wifh 
 a malicious sneer. "Sir," answered Adams, "I have heard some 
 aver you are not worth less than twenty thousand pounds." At 
 which Peter frowned. " Nay, .sir," said Adams, " you ask me 
 only the opinion of others ; for my own part, I have always de- 
 nied it, nor did I ever believe you could possibly be worth half 
 that sum." 
 
 12. "However, Mr. Adams," said he, squeezing him by the 
 hand, "I would not sell them all I am worth for double that 
 sum ; and as to what you believe, or they believe, I care not a 
 fig. I am not poor, because you think me so, nor because you 
 attempt to undervalue me in the country. I know the envy of 
 mankind very well ; but I thank heaven I am above them. It 
 is true, my wealth is of my own acquisition. I have not an es- 
 tate like Sir Thomas Booby, that hath descended in my family 
 through many generations ; but I know heirs of such estates, 
 who are forced to travel about the country, like some people in 
 torn cassocks, 1 and might be glad to accept of a pitiful curacy,* 
 for what I know ; yes, sir, as shabby fellows as yourself, whom 
 no man of my figure, without that vice of good-nature about 
 him, would suffer to ride in a chariot with him." 
 
 1 Cas' sock, a kind of long frock-coat worn by a priest ; close garment 
 or gown. a Cu' ra cy, the office of a curate, who performs the duties in 
 the place of the vicar, parson, or incumbent 
 
NOBLE REVENGE. 95 
 
 13. "Sir," said Adams, "I value not your chariot of a rush; 
 and if I had known you had intended to affront me, I woulc} 
 have walked to the world's end on foot, ere I would have ac- 
 cepted a place in it. However, sir, I will soon rid you of that 
 inconvenience !" And so saying, he opened the chariot door, 
 without calling to the coachman, and leaped out into the high- 
 way, forgetting to take his hat along with him ; which, however, 
 Mr. Pounce threw after him with great violence. 
 
 HENRY FIELDING. 
 
 HENRY FIELDING was born at Sharpham, Somersetshire, England, April 22, 
 1707. He was educated at Eaton, and afterward studied law at Leyden. Ho 
 was the author of "Joseph Andrews," "A Journey from this World to the 
 Next," "Jonathan Wild," "Tom Jones," and " Amelia." He received 600 
 for the copyright of " Tom Jones," and such was its success, that Miller, the 
 publisher, presented 100 more to the author. For " Amelia" he received 1000- 
 In 1749 Fielding was appointed one of the justices of Westminster and Middle- 
 sex, and was a zealous and active magistrate. He was a kind-hearted man ; 
 but improvident, and in early life dissipated. He ranks as one of the first among 
 English novelists. His style is marked for light humor, lively description, and 
 keen, yet sportive satire. Endowed with little of the poetical or imaginative 
 faculty, his study lay in real life and every-day scenes, which he depicted with 
 a truth and freshness, a buoyancy and vigor, and such an exuberance of prac- 
 tical knowledge, easy raillery, and lively fancy, that in his own department he 
 stands unrivaled. lie died at Lisbon, on the 8th of October, 1754. 
 
 11. KOBLB REVENGE. 
 
 A YOUNG officer (in what army no matter) had so far forgot- 
 -^JL ten himself, in a moment of irritation, as to strike a private 
 soldier, full of personal dignity (as sometimes happens in all 
 ranks), and distinguished for his courage. The inex'orable' laws 
 of military discipline forbade to the injured soldier any practical 
 redress he could look for no retaliation by acts. Words only 
 were at his command, and, in a tumult of indignation, as lie 
 turned away, the soldier said to his officer that he would " mako 
 him repent it." This, wearing the shape of a menace, naturally 
 rekindled the officer's anger, and intercepted any disposition 
 whit h might be rising within him toward a sentiment of re- 
 morse; and thus the initation between the two young men 
 grew hotter tiuin before. 
 
 1 In ex' o ra ble, immovable ; that can not be made to bend. 
 
#O NATIONAL FIFTH KEADER. 
 
 2. Some weeks after this a partial action took place wifli the 
 enemy. Suppose yourself a spectator, and looking down into a 
 valley occupied by the two armies. They are facing each other, 
 you see, in martial array. But it is no more than a skirmish 
 which is going on ; in the course of which, however, an occasion 
 suddenly arises for a desperate service. A redoubt, which has 
 fallen into the enemy's hands, must be recaptured at any price, 
 and under circumstances of all but hopeless difficulty. 
 
 3. A strong party has volunteered for the service ; there is a 
 cry for somebody to head them ; you see a soldier step out from 
 the ranks to assume this dangerous leadership ; the party moves 
 rapidly forward ; in a few minutes it is swallowed up from your 
 eyes in clouds of smoke; for one half hour, from behind these 
 clouds you receive hieroglyphic 2 reports of bloody strife fierce 
 repeating signals, flashes from the guns, rolling musketry, and 
 exulting hurrahs advancing or receding, slackening or redoubling. 
 
 4. At length all is over; the redoubt has been recovered; 
 that which was lost is found again ; the jewel which had been 
 made captive^ is ransomed with blood. Crimsoned with glorious 
 gore, the wreck of the conquering party is relieved, and at lib- 
 erty to return. From the river you see it ascending. The 
 plume-crested officer in command rushes forward, with his left 
 hand raising his hat in homage to the blackened fragments of 
 what once was a flag, whilst with his right hand he seizes tljat 
 of the leader, though no more than a private from the ranks. 
 Tliat perplexes you not; mystery you see none 3 in that. For 
 distinctions of order perish, ranks are confounded ; " high and 
 low" are words without a meaning, and to wreck goes every 
 notion or feeling that divides the noble from the noble, or the 
 brave man from the brave. 
 
 5. But wherefore 4 is it that now, when suddenly they wheel 
 into mutual recognition, 5 suddenly they pause? This soldier, 
 this officer who are they? O reader! once before they had 
 stood face to face the soldier that was struck, the officer that 
 struck him. Once again 6 they are meeting ; and the gaze of 
 
 -Half. 2 Hi e ro glyph' ic, expressive of meaning by characters, pic- 
 tures, or figures. 'None (nun). 4 Wherefore (whar' for). "Recogni- 
 tion (rek ognlsh' un), acknowledgment; knowledge arowed or con- 
 fessed. 'Again 
 
LIFE IN THE WEST. 97 
 
 armies is upon them. If for a moment a doubt divides them, 
 in a moment the doubt has perished. One glance exchanged 
 between them publishes the forgiveness that is sealed forever. 
 
 G. As one who recovers a brother whom he has accounted 
 dead, the officer sprang forward, threw his arms around the 
 neck of the soldier, and kissed him, as if he were some martyr 
 glorified by that shadow of death from which he was returning ; 
 whilst, on his part, the soldier, stepping back, and carrying his 
 open hand through the beautiful motions of the military salute 
 to a superior, makes this immortal answer that answer which 
 shut up forever the memory of the indignity offered to him, 
 even while for the last time alluding to it : " Sir," he said, " I 
 told you before, that I would make you repent it." 
 
 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. 
 
 THOMAS DE QUINCEY was bom at Manchester, England, on the 15th of Au- 
 gust, 1785. He passed his childhood in rural retirement. He was matriculated 
 at Oxford, at Christmas, 1803, being then in his nineteenth year, where he re- 
 mained till 1808. He resided for twenty years, between 1808 and 1829, among 
 the lakes and mountains of Westmoreland, and occupied Wordsworth's cottage 
 seven years of the time. De Quincey's first work, " Confessions of an English 
 Opium-Eater," which appeared in the London Magazine, in 1821, and was 
 printed in book form in 1822, was immediately and immensely popular. It 
 passed through several editions in Europe and this country, and at once placed 
 its author in the front rank of vivid and powerful writers. After this period, his 
 numerous contributions to the periodical press were paid for at a large price. 
 He has written upon a wider and more diversified range of subjects than any 
 other author of his time. He is noted for his original genius, stores of learn- 
 ing, depth of insight, and subtlety of thought. His matter is always good. He 
 has acquired a style of the rarest brilliancy and richness, but his force is often 
 diminished by his capricious use of words, and the weary length of his digres- 
 sions. 
 
 12. LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 HO ! brothers come hither and list to my stdry 
 Mgrry and brief will the narrative be : 
 Here, like a monarch, I reign in my glory 
 
 Master 1 am I, boys, of all that I see. 
 Where 5 once frown'd a forest a garden is smiling 
 The meadow and moorland are marshes no more ; 
 And there 3 curls 4 the smoke of my cottage, beguiling 
 
 1 Ulster.' Where (whar).- "There (th&r). 4 Curls (kflrla). 
 5 
 
98 NATIONAL FIFril RKADKR. 
 
 The children who cluster like grapes at the door. 
 Then enter, boys ; cheerly, boys, enter and rest ; 
 The land of the heart is the land of the West 
 
 2. Talk not of the town, boys give me the broad prairie, 
 
 Where man like the wind roams impulsive and free ; 
 Behold how its beautiful colors all vary, 
 
 Like those of the clouds, or the deep-rolling sea. 
 A life in the woods, boys, te even as changing ; 
 
 With proud independence we season our cheer, 
 And those who the world are for happiness ranging, 
 
 Won't find it all, if they don't find it here. 
 Then enter, boys ; cheerly, boys, enter and rest ; 
 Til show you the life, boys, we live in the West. 
 
 3. Here, brothers, secure from all turmoil 2 and danger, 
 
 We reap what we sow, for the soil is our own ; 
 We spread hospitality's board for the stranger, 
 
 And care 5 not a fig for the king on his throne. 
 We never know want, 4 for we live by our labor, 
 
 And in it contentment and happiness find ; 
 We do what we can for a friend or a neighbor, 
 
 And die, boys, in peace and good-will to mankind. 
 Then enter, boys ; cheerly, boys, enter and rest ; 
 You know how we live, boys, and die in the West ! 
 
 GEORGE P. MORRIS. 
 
 GEORGE P. MORRIS, the popular song-writer, was born at Philadelphia, in IgOl. 
 He commenced his literary career by contributions to the journals at the early 
 age of fifteen. In 18-23, with Mr. Woodworth, he established the " New York 
 Mirror," a weekly miscellany, which was conducted with much taste and abili- 
 ty for nearly nineteen years. In conjunction with Mr. Willis, he reestablished 
 " The Mirror" hi 18*3, and he is now associated with that popular author uj 
 conducting " The Home Journal." In 1827, his play, in five acts, entitled " Brier 
 Cliff, a tale of the American Revolution," was brought out by Mr. Wallack, 
 and acted forty nights successively. So great was its popularity, that it waa 
 played at four theaters in New York on the same evening, to full houses, and 
 yielded its author a profit of three thousand five hundred dollars. A complete 
 collection of his " Poetical Works" appeared in 1852. Several of Morris's songs 
 are nearly faultless. Their style is chaste, and their tone simple, entire, and 
 glowing. Mr. N. P. Willis, the associate of General Morris for more than twenty 
 years, in one of his letters gives the following estimate of his literary ability : 
 
 " MORRJB is the best known poet of the country, by acclamation, not by criti- 
 
 1 Prairie (pra ; rl). Turmoil (t4r' mall). 8 Care. 4 Want 
 
A GOLDEN COPPERSMITH. 99 
 
 cism. He is just what poets would be if they sang, like birds, without criticism ; 
 and it is a peculiarity of his fame, that it seems as regardless of criticism as a 
 bird in the air. Nothing can stop a song of his. It is very easy to say that they 
 are easy to do. They have a momentum, somehow, that it is difficult for others 
 to give, and that speeds them to the far goal of popularity, the best proof con- 
 sisting in the fact that he can, at any moment, get fifty dollars for a song un- 
 read, when the whole remainder of the American Parnassus could not sell one 
 to the same buyer for a shilling. It may, or may not, be one secret of his popu- 
 larity, but it is the truth that MORRIS'S heart is at the level of most other people's, 
 and his poetry flows out by that door. He stands breast-high in the common 
 stream of sympathy, and the fine oil of his poetic feeling goes from him upon an 
 element it is its nature to float upon, and which carries it safe to other bosoms. 
 with little need of deep-diving or high-flying. His sentiments are simple, hon- 
 est, truthful, and familiar; his language is pure and eminently musical, and he 
 is prodigally full of the poetry of every-day feeling. These are days when poets 
 try experiments ; and while others succeed by taking the world's breath away 
 with flights and plunges, MORRIS uses his feet to walk quietly with nature. 
 Ninety -nmo people in a hundred, taken as they come in the census, would find 
 more to admire in MORRIS'S songs than in the writings of any other American 
 poet ; and that is a parish in the poetical episcopate well worthy a wise man's 
 nurture and prizing. 
 
 13. A GOLDEN COPPERSMITH. 
 
 BASIL GAVRILOFF MARINE, a Russian crown-slave, and by 
 trade a coppersmith, was, at the beginning of March, return- 
 ing to St. Petersburg from visiting his family at his native village. 
 He arrived at Mos'cow on the night of the eleventh, with ten of 
 his companions ; and as the railway train was already gone, they 
 were obliged to pass the night there, and remain till three the 
 next afternoon. "The villagers are curious," Marine himself 
 relates, " and as we had never been at Moscow before, we de- 
 termined to see all the curiosities of that ancient town. We 
 entered the Cathedral of the Assumption, and kissed all its holy 
 relics. We ascended to the top of the belfryof d'lvan-Veliky, 
 and then proceeded to the Bird-market. Here we heard that a 
 terrible fire was raging that the Great Theater was burning. 
 As it was only noon, we determined to be spectators, and has- 
 tened to the spot." 
 
 2. They arrived just as the fire was at its height ; the theater 
 burnt from the interior, and the flames spread rapidly, bursting 
 from the roof and the windows in savage fur p. At the time the 
 fire broke out, three workmen were engaged at the top of the 
 buildii\g : it gained upon them so fast, they had only time from 
 
100 NATIONAL, FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 a window to reach the roof; when they frantically rushed about 
 without hope of escape, surrounded by the flames, which each 
 moment gained upon them. Two of them in wild despair 
 threw themselves from the roof, and were killed on the pave- 
 ment below. 
 
 3. The third remained; and, suffocating with the smoke, 
 screamed for assistance in a manner that struck agony in the 
 hearts of all who heard him. His death seemed inevitable. 
 There was not a ladder of sufficient length to reach the roof of 
 the building, and the miserable man had the alternative of per- 
 ishing by the flames or leaping down, as his comrades had done. 
 But even in this extremity his confidence did not forsake him, 
 and he sought refuge on that side where the wind blew the 
 flames away from him. Marine and his companions all this 
 time were spectators of the scene. "I held my tongue," said 
 Marine, " but my heart beat painfully, and I asked myself how I 
 could save this poor soul." 
 
 4. " Companions," cried the brave fellow, suddenly, " wait for 
 me here, while I try and save that man." His comrades looked 
 at him with surprise, but without dissuading him from his pur- 
 pose. " God be with you," said they, " for it is a good deed you 
 are about to do." Without losing another moment, Marine ap- 
 proached the authorities present, and solicited permission to try 
 and rescue the man from the frightful death which menaced him. 
 Permission obtained, he took off his cap and sheepskin coat, and 
 confided them to the care of the police. Accompanied by his 
 brother, and provided with a stout cord, he rushed to a ladder 
 that was placed against the wall, but which was very far from 
 reaching the roof. Marine made the sign of the Cross, and be- 
 gan to ascend. ^VTien he reached the summit, he fastened the 
 cord around his waist, and, once more devoutly crossing himself, 
 began to climb one of the pipes that led from the roof. 
 
 5. The crowd below, breathless wiflb. astonishment and fear, 
 eagerly watched each movement. Around him the flames were 
 playing with intense fury ; and above the terrible noise of the 
 falling timbers were heard the fearful shrieks of the unfortunate 
 man ; who, though he saw assistance coming to him, dreaded it 
 might be too late. Nothing daunted, Marine continued his per- 
 ilous ascent.' " It \* as cold," said he, " and there was a terrible 
 
A GOLDEN COPPERSMITH. 101 
 
 wind, but yet I felt it not; for, from the moment I determined 
 upon trying to save the fellow, my heart was on fire, and I was 
 like a furnace." His burning hands kept continually sticking to 
 the frozen pipes, which somewhat retarded his progress ; but 
 still he courageously continued his waj. "The pipe* cracked,'' 
 said he ; " it was no longer firm this dear pipe ; but happily I 
 arrived at the cornice, where there was foot-room." 
 
 6. His brother, who had remained all this time on the ladder, 
 had made a hook fast to one end of the cord. Marine passed it 
 to the man on the roof, and desired him to fasten it somehow 
 securely ; this he did by fixing it round one of the ornaments of 
 the cornice. Marine doubled it, to make it more secure, and 
 then made him slide down the pipe, holding the cord in his 
 hand, and his knees firmly round the pipe himself giving the 
 example. At the moment Marine reached the ladder, and the 
 man he had so nobly preserved was seen to glide down in safety, 
 a remarkable movement was manifested by the crowd- a move- 
 ment truly Russian all heads were simultaneously uncovered, 
 and all hands made the sign of the Cross. 
 
 7. When Marine reached the ground, the man was already 
 half-way down the ladder, and out of all danger. " I had hardly 
 reached the ground," relates Marine, " when a gentleman, in a 
 cloak and military casque, approached me, and gave me twenty- 
 five silver rubles." 1 A great number of others surrounded him, 
 and each gave him according to his means some ten kopecks 2 
 silver, others a ruble, and some only copper. "Thanks, brave 
 man !" was cried on all sides ; " you are a courageous and good 
 Christian ; and may God long grant you health, and bless you !'' 
 
 8. "What became of the man I rescued," said Marine, "I do 
 not know ; but that is not my affair. Thanks to God, he is 
 saved. A gentleman an aid-de-camp 3 came to me, gave me 
 a ticket, and took me in his sledge to the ofSce of the Chan- 
 cellerie, where he wrote down all that had taken place." During 
 this time Marine did not lose his presence of mind ; he was only 
 anxious about one thing that the railway should not leave with- 
 
 1 Ruble (r6' bl), a Russian coin about the value of seventy-five cents. 
 a K6' peck, a Russian coin worth about a cent. * Aid-de-camp (ad* e 
 king), an attendant on a high military officer to cot vey his orders. 
 
102 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 out hin. At three o'clock he was in the wagon ; and, on Friday, 
 the thirteenth, he arrived at his destination, where he was waited 
 for by his master, Monsieur 1 Flottoff. 
 
 9. He requested permission for one day's leave, to visit his 
 aunt, 2 whe kept a small shop in the Yassili Ostroff, which was 
 readily granted ; when, leaving her to return home, he was as- 
 tonished at being called to the house of the Grand Master of the 
 Police, who accompanied him to the palace. The courage of 
 which he had so lately given so strong a proof, had been 
 brought to the knowledge of the Emperor, who desired to see 
 him. Never had he thought, even in his wildest dreams, that 
 such an honor would be accorded to him, a simple man of the 
 people. 
 
 10. The Emperor received Marine in his cabinet, and, with 
 the greatest kindness, said, " Marine, I thank thep for the good 
 and great action thou hast performed ; but I wish to hear from 
 thy own mouth how, with God's assistance, thou didst it." Ma- 
 rine related the adventure to him in his own simple manner, 
 and when he had finished, the Czar, who had listened to him 
 with the greatest attention, embraced him, and said : " My son, 
 may God bless you ! and remember, if you ever stand in need ol 
 my assistance, come to me and it shall be accorded you." The 
 Emperor then presented him with a medal and one hundred and 
 fifty silver rubles. Marine left the Emperor's presence a happy 
 man. 
 
 14:. THE HER:MTT OF NIAGARA. 
 
 ABOUT fifteen years since, in the glow of early summer, a 
 young stranger, of pleasing countenance and person, made 
 his appearance at Nlag'ara. It was at first conjectured that he 
 might be an artist, as a large "portfolio, with books and musical 
 instruments, were observed among his baggage. He was deeply 
 impressed by the majesty and sublimity of the cataract and its 
 surrounding scenery, and expressed an intention to remain a 
 week, that he might examine it accurately. But the fascination 
 which all minds of sensibility feel in the presence of that glorious 
 
 'Monsieur (moss&r'), Sir ; Mr. Aunt (&nt). 
 
THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA. 103 
 
 work of the Creator, grew strongly upon him, and he was hoard 
 to say, that six weeks were inadequate to become acquainted 
 with its outlines. 
 
 2. At the end of that period, he was still unable to tear him- 
 self away, and desired to "build there a tabernacle," that he 
 might both indulge in his love of solitary musings, and of na- 
 ture's sublimity. He applied for a spot upon the island of the 
 "Three Sisters," where he might construct a cottage after his 
 own model, which comprised, among other peculiarities, isola- 
 tion, 1 by means of a drawbridge. Circumstances forbidding a 
 compliance with his request, he took up his residence in an old 
 house upon Iris Island, which he rendered as comfortable as the 
 state of the case would admit. Here he continued about twenty 
 months, until the intrusion of a family interrupted his recluse 
 habits. He then quietly withdrew, and reared for himself a less 
 commodious shelter, near Prospect Point. His simple and fa- 
 vorite fare of bread and milk was readily purchased, and when- 
 ever he required other food, he preferred to prepare it with his 
 own hands. 
 
 3. When bleak winter came, a cheerful fire of wood blazed 
 upon his hearth, 2 and by his evening lamp he beguiled the hours 
 with the perusal of books in various languages, and with sweet 
 music. It was almost surprising to hear, in such depth of soli- 
 tude, the long-drawn, thrilling tones of the viol, OP the softest 
 melodies of the flute, gushing forth from that low-browed hut, 
 or the guitar', breathing out so lightly amid the rush and thun- 
 der of the never-slumbering tprrent. 
 
 4. Yet, though the world of letters was familiar to his mind, 
 and the living world to his observation, for he had traveled 
 widely, both in his native Europe and the East, he sought not 
 association with mankind, to unfold or to increase his stores of 
 knowledge. Those who had heard him converse, spoke with 
 surprise and admiration of his colloquial 3 powers, his command 4 
 of language, and the spirit of eloquence that flowed from his lips. 
 But he seldom, and sparingly, admitted this intercourse, studi- 
 ously avoiding society, though there seemed in his nature noth- 
 
 1 Isola' tion, situated like an island ; separation from every thing. 
 Ile&rth. Colloquial (kol lo ; kwe al), conversational. 4 Com mind'- 
 
104 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 ing of moroseness or misanthropy. On the contrary, he showed 
 kindness to even the humblest animal. Birds instinctively 
 learned it, and freely entered his dwelling, to receive from his 
 hand? crumbs or seeds. 
 
 5. But the absorbing delight of his existence was communion 
 with the mighty Niagara. Here, at every hour of the day or 
 night, he might be seen, a fervent worshiper. At gray dawn 
 he went to visit it in its fleecy vail ; at high noon he banqueted 
 on the rail splendor of its glory ; beneath the soft tinting of the 
 lunar bow, he lingered, looking for the angel's wing whose pen- 
 cil had painted it ; and at solemn midnight, he knelt, soul-sub- 
 dued, as on the footstool of Jehovah. Neither storms, nor the 
 piercing cold of winter, prevented his visits to this great temple 
 of his adoration. 
 
 6. When the frozen mists, gathering upon the lofty trees, 
 seemed to have transmuted 1 them to columns of alabaster, 8 when 
 every branch, 3 and shrub, and spray, glittering with transparent 4 
 ice, waved in the sunbeam its coronet of diamonds, he gazed, 
 unconscious of the keen atmosphere, charmed and chained by 
 the rainbow-cinctured cataract. His feet had worn a beaten 
 path from his cottage thither. There was, at that time, an ex- 
 tension of the Terrapin Bridge, by a single shaft 5 of timber, car- 
 ried out ten feet over the fathomless abyss, where it hung trem- 
 ulously, guarded only by a rude parapet. To this point he often 6 
 passed and repassed, amid the darkness of night. He even took 
 pleasure in grasping it with his hands, and thus suspending him- 
 self over the awful gulf; so rnucji had his morbid enthusiasm 
 learned to feel, and even to revel amid the terribly sublime. 
 
 7. Among his favorite daily gratifications was that of bathing. 
 The few who interested themselves in his welfare supposed that 
 he pursued it to excess, and protracted it after the severity of 
 the weather rendered it hazardous to health. He scooped out, 
 and arranged for himself a secluded and romantic bath, 7 between 
 
 1 Trans mute', change from one nature or substance to another. 
 1 AT a bas ter, a compact variety of sulphate of lime or gypsum, of fine 
 texture, and usually white and semi-pellucid, but sometimes yellow, 
 red, or gray. It is carved into vases, mantel ornaments, &c. s Branch 
 4 Trans par' ent, transmitting rays of light ; clear ; pervious to light 
 Shaft.* Often (of fn). ' Bath 
 
THE HERMIT OF NIAGARA. 105 
 
 Moss and Iris islands. Afterward, he formed the hat it of bath- 
 ing below the principal fall. One bright, but rather chill day, 
 in the month of June, 1831, a man employed about the ferry 
 saw him go into the water, and, a long time after, observed his 
 clothes to be still lying upon the bank. 
 
 8. Inqui'ry was made. The anxiety was but too well founded 
 The poor hermit had indeed taken his last bath. It was sup 
 posed that cramp might have been induced by the unwonted 1 
 chill of the atmosphere or water. Still, the body was not found; 
 the depth and force of the current just below being exceedingly 
 great. In the course of their search, they passed onward to the 
 whirlpool. There, amid those boiling eddies, was the pallid 
 corpse, making fearful and rapid gyrations 2 upon the face of the 
 black waters. At some point of suction, it suddenly plunged 
 and disappeared. Again emerging, it was fearful to see it leap 
 half its length above the Hood, and with a face so deadly pale, 
 play among the tossing billows ; then float motionless, as if ex- 
 hausted ; and anon, returning to the encounter, spring, struggle, 
 and contend, like a maniac battling with mortal foes. 
 
 9. It was strangely painful to think that he was not permitted 
 to find a grave, even beneafh the waters he had loved ; that all 
 the gentleness and charity of his nature should be changed by 
 death to the fury of a madman ; and that the king of terrors, who 
 brings repose to the despot and the man of blood, should teach 
 warfare to him who had ever worn the meekness of the lamb. 
 For days anx^nights this terrible purgatory 3 was prolonged. It 
 was on the 21st of June that, after many efforts, they were ena- 
 bled to bear' the weary dead back to his desolate cottage. 
 
 10. There they found his faithful dog guarding the door. 
 Heavily must the long period have worn away, while he watched 
 for his only friend, and wondered why he delayed his coming. 
 He scrutinized the approaching group suspiciously, and would 
 not willingly have given them admittance, save that a low, stifled 
 wail at length announced his intuitive knowledge of the master, 
 whom the work of death had effectually disguised from the eyes 
 of men. 
 
 1 Unwonted (un\vunt'ed). a Gyration (jlra'shun), a whirling, cir- 
 cular motion! * Purgatory (peYga toil), a place of temporary punish- 
 ment, or purification. 
 
106 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 11. Iii his chair lay the guitar', whose melody was probably 
 the last that his ear heard on earth. There were, also, his flute 
 and violin, his portfolio and books, scattered and open, as if re 
 cently used. On the spread table was the untasted meal for 
 Qoon, which he had prepared against his return from that bath 
 <vhich had proved so fatal. It was a touching sight^ the dead 
 aeriiiit mourned by his humble retainers, the poor animals who 
 -oved him, and ready to be laid by stranger hands in a foreign grave. 
 
 12. So fell this singular and accomplished being, at the early 
 age of twenty-eight. Learned in the languages, in the arts and 
 sciences, improved by extensive travel, gifted with personal 
 beauty and a feeling heart, the motives for this estrangement 
 from his kind are still enveloped in mystery. It was, however, 
 known that he was a native of England, where his father was a 
 clergyman ; that he received from thence ample remittances for 
 his comfort ; and that his name was Francis Abbot. T Dese ^ acts 
 had been previously ascertained; but no written papers were 
 found in his cell, to throw additional light upon the obscurity in 
 which he had so effectually wrapped the history of his pilgrimage. 
 
 MRS. SIGOURNEY. 
 
 MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY was born at Norwich, Connecticut, 1791. Her maiden 
 name was Lydia Huntley. She was married to Charles Sigourney in 1819. She 
 is one of the most voluminous oi' American female writers, and equally happy hi 
 prose and verse. Her rare and highly cultivated intellect, her fine sensibilities, 
 and her noble heart, have enabled her, in all her works, to plead successfully 
 the cause of humanity and religion. 
 
 15. THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 
 
 WITH fingers weary and worn, 
 With eyelids heavy and red, 
 A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 
 Plying her needle and thread 
 Stitch! stitch! stitch! 
 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 1 
 And still, with a voice of dol'orous 8 pitch, 
 She sang the " Song of the Shirt !" 3 
 
 'Dirt (dSrt). D&i' o rous. doleful ; dismal ; sorrowful.' Shirt (ehM). 
 
THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 107 
 
 2. "Work! 1 work! work! 
 
 While the cock is crowing aloof ! . 
 And work work work ! 
 
 Till the stars shine through the roof I 
 It's oh ! to be a slave 
 
 Along with the barbarous Turk, 8 
 Where woman has never a soul to save, 
 
 If THIS is Christian work ! 
 
 3. "Work work work! 
 
 Till the brain begins to swim ! 
 Work work work ! 
 
 Till the eyes are heavy and dim 1 
 Seam, and gusset, and band, 
 
 Band, and gusset, and seam, 
 Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 
 
 And sew 3 them on in my dream ! 
 
 > 
 
 4. u Oh ! men with sisters dear ! 
 
 Oh ! men with mothers and wives ! 
 It is not linen you're wearing out, 
 
 But human creatures' lives ! 
 Stitch stitch stitch ! 
 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
 Sewing at once, with a double thread, 
 
 A SHROUD as well as a shirt ! 
 
 5. " But why do I talk of death, 
 
 That phantom of grisly bone ? 
 I hardly fear his terrible shape, 
 
 It seems so like my own 
 It seems so like my own, 
 
 Because of the fast 4 I keep : 
 O God ! that bread should be so dear, 
 
 And flesh and blood so cheap ! 
 
 6. "Work work work! 
 
 My labor never flags ; 
 And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, 
 
 Work (wrk). 'Turk (trk). 'Sew (s6). * F&st. 
 
108 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 A crust of bread and rags : 
 A shatter'd roof and this naked floor 
 
 A table a broken chair 1 
 And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank^ 
 
 For sometimes falling there I s 
 
 7. "Work work work! 
 
 From weary chime to chime ; 
 Work work work ! 
 
 As prisoners work for crime ! 
 Band, and gusset, and seam, 
 
 Seam, and gusset, and band, 
 Till the heart is sick and the brain benumb'd, 
 
 As well as the weary hand ! 
 
 8. "Work work work, 
 
 In the dull December light ; 
 And work work work ! 
 
 When the weather is warm and bright : 
 While underneath the eaves 
 
 The brooding swallows cling, 
 As if to show me their sunny backs, 
 
 And twit me with the Spring. 
 
 9. "Oh ! but to breathe the breath 
 
 Of the cowslip and primrose sweet ; 
 With the sky above my head, 
 
 And the grass beneath my feet : 
 For only one short hour 
 
 To feel as I used to feel, 
 Before I knew the woes of want, 
 
 And the walk that costs a meal ! 
 
 10. " Oh ! but for one short hour ! 
 
 A respite, however brief! 
 No blessed leisure for love Dr hope, 
 
 But only time for grief! 
 A little weeping would ease my heart 
 
 But in their briny bed 
 
 1 Ch4ir. There (th&r). 
 

 BROKEN HEARTS. 109 
 
 My tears must stop, for every drop 
 Hinders needle and thread !" 
 
 1 1 . Wifh fingers weary and worn, 
 
 With eyelids heavy and red, 
 A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 
 
 Plying her needle and thread ; 
 Stitch stitch stitch ! 
 
 In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; 
 And still with a voice of dol'orous pitch 
 Would that its tone could reach the rich ! 
 
 She sung this " Song of Hie Shirt !" 
 
 THOMAS HOOD. 
 
 THOMAS HOOD, humorist and poet, was born at London, in 1798. The best in- 
 cident of his early boyhood was his instruction by a schoolmaster who appre- 
 ciated his talents, and was so interested in teaching as to render it impossible 
 not to interest his pupil. At this period he earned his first fee a few guineas 
 by revising for the press a new edition of " Paul and Virginia." In his fifteenth 
 year, after receiving a miscellaneous education, he was placed in the counting- 
 house of a Russian merchant ; but, soon after learned the ar; of engraving. In 
 1821, having already written fugitive papers for periodicals, he became sub- 
 editor of the " London Magazine," a position which at once introduced him to 
 the best literary society of the time. " Odes and Addresses" soon after appear- 
 ed. " Whims and Oddities," " National Tales," " Tylnev Hall," a novel, and 
 " The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies," followed. In these, the humorous fac- 
 ulty not only predominated, but expressed itself with a freshness, originality, 
 and power, which the poetical element could not claim. There was, however, 
 much true poetry in the verse, and much sound sense and keen observation in 
 the prose of these works. After publishing several annuals, he started a maga- 
 zine in his own name. Though aided by men of reputation and authority, this 
 work, which he conducted with surprising energy, was mainly sustained by his 
 own intellectual activity. At this time, confined to a sick-bed, from which he 
 never rose, in his anxiety to provide for his wife and children, he composed 
 those poems, too few in number, but immortal in the English language, such as 
 the "Song of the Shirt," the " Bridge of Sighs," and the " Song of the Laborer M 
 His death occurred on the 3d of May, 1845. 
 
 16. BROKEN HEARTS. 
 
 MAN is the creature of interest and ambition. His nature 
 leads him forth into the struggle and bustle of the world. 
 Love is but the embellishment of his early life, or a song piped 
 in the intervals of the acts. He seeks for fame, for fortune, for 
 
110 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 space in the world's 1 thought, and dominion over his fellow-men. 
 But a woman's whole life is a. history of the affections. The 
 heart is her world : it is there her ambition strives for empire ; 
 it is there her avarice seeks for hidden treasures. She sends 
 forth her sympathies on adventure ; she embarks her whole 
 soul in the traffic of affection ; and if shipwrecked, her case is 
 hopeless for it is a bankruptcy of the heart. 
 
 2. To a man, the disappointment of love may occasion sonu 
 bitter pangs : it wounds some feelings of tenderness it blasts* 
 some prospects of felicity ; but he is an active being he may 
 dissipate his thoughts in the whirl 3 of varied occupation, or may 
 plunge into the tide of pleasure ; or, if the scene of disappoint- 
 ment be too full of painful associations, he can shift, his abode at 
 will, and taking as it were the wings of the morning, can " fly to 
 the uttermost parts of the earth, 4 and be at rest." 
 
 3. But woman's is comparatively a fixed, a secluded, and a 
 meditative life. She is more the companion of her own thoughts 
 and feelings; and if they are turned to ministers of sorrow, 
 where 5 shall she look for consolation ? Her lot is to be wooed 
 and won ; and if unhappy in her love, her heart is like some 
 fortress that has been captured, and sacked, and abpndoned, 
 and left desolate. 
 
 4. How many bright eyes grow dim how many soft cheeks 
 grow pale how many lovely forms fade away into the tomb, 
 and none 6 can tell the cause that blighted their loveliness ! As 
 the dove will clasp 7 its wings to its side, and cover and conceal 
 the arrow that is preying on its vitals, so it is the nature oi 
 woman to hide from the world the pangs of wounded affection. 
 
 5. The love of a delicate female is always shy and silent. 
 Even when fortunate, she scarcely 8 breathes it to herself; but 
 when otherwise, she buries it in the recesses of her bosom, and 
 there lets it cower and brood among the ruins 9 of her peace. 
 With her the desire of the heart has failed. The great charm 
 of existence is at an end. She neglects all the cheerful exer- 
 cises which gladden, the spirits, quicken the pulses, and send the 
 tide of life^in healthful currents through the veins. Her rest is 
 
 1 World (wSrld). a Blasts. 8 Whirl (whirl). 4 Earth (5rth). Whero 
 (wh&r). None (nftti - 7 Clisp. ' Sc&rce' ly. Ruins (rS ; inz). 
 
BROKEN UK ARTS. Ill 
 
 * 
 
 broken the sweet refreshment of sleep is poisoned by melan- 
 choly dreams "dry sorrow drinks her blood," untii her en- 
 feebled frame sinks under the slightest external injury. 
 
 0. Look for her, after a little while, and you will find friend- 
 ship weeping over her untimely grave, and wondering that one 
 who but lately glowed with all the radiance of health and 
 beauty, should so speedily be brought down to " darkness and 
 the worm." You will be told of some wintry chill, some casual 
 indisposition that laid her low ; but no one knows of the mental 
 malady that previously sapped her strength, and made her so 
 easy a prey to the spoiler. 
 
 7. She is like some tender tree, the pride and beauty of the 
 grove ; graceful in its form, bright in its foliage, but wifh the 
 worm 1 preying at its heart. We find it suddenly withering 
 when it should be most fresh and luxuriant. 2 We see it droop- 
 ing its branches 3 to the earth 4 and shedding leaf by leaf; until, 
 wasted and perished away, it falls even in the stillness of the 
 fQrest ; and as we muse over the beautiful ruin, we strive in 
 vain to recollect the blast or thunderbolt that could have smitten 
 it with decay. 
 
 8. I have seen many instances of women running to waste 
 and self-neglect, and disappearing gradually from the earth, 
 almost as if they had been exhaled to heaven ; and have repeat- 
 edly fancied that I could trace their death through the various 
 declensions of consumption, cold, debility, languor, melancholy, 
 until I reached the first symptom of disappointed love. But an 
 instance of the kind was lately told to me : the circumstances 
 are well known in the country where they happened, and I shall 
 but give them in the manner they were related. 
 
 E 
 
 17. BROKEN HEARTS CONCLUDED. 
 
 VERY one must recollect the tragical story of young Emmett,* 
 the Irish patriot : it was too touching to be soon forgotten. 
 
 1 Worm (\verm) . - 2 Luxuriant (lug zu' re ant). * Branch. - 4 Earth 
 (firth).' ROBERT EMM KIT, the Irish patriot, was born in 1?80 He was 
 executed on the 20th of September, 1803. ' 
 
112 NATIONAL FIFTH READKIl. 
 
 During the troubles in Ireland he was tried, condemned, and 
 executed, on a charge of treason. 1 His fate made a deep impres- 
 sion on public sympathy. lie was so young so intelligent so 
 generous so braye so every thing that we are apt to like in a 
 young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty and in - 
 trepid I 3 The noble indignation with which he repelled the 
 charge of treason against his country the eloquent vindication* 
 of his name and his pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless 
 hour of condemnation all these entered deeply into every gen- 
 erous bosom, and even his enemies lamented the stern policy 
 that dictated his execution. 
 
 2. But there was one heart, whose anguish it would be impos- 
 sible to describe. In happier days and fairer fortunes, he had 
 won the affections of a beautiful and interesting girl, the daugh- 
 ter of a late celebrated Irish barrister. 4 She loved him with the 
 disinterested fervor of a woman's first and early love. When 
 every worldly maxim arrayed itself against him ; when blasted 
 in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened around his name, 
 she loved him the more ardently for his very sufferings. If, then, 
 his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must 
 have been the agony of her, whose whole soul was occupied by 
 his image ? Let those tell who have had the portals of the tomb 
 suddenly closed Between them and the being they most loved 
 on earth who have sat at its threshold, as one shut out in a 
 cold and lonely world, from whence all that was most lovely and 
 loving had departed. 
 
 3. But then -the horrors of such a grave! so frightful, so dis- 
 honored 1 There was nothing 5 for memory to dwell on that 
 could soothe the pang of separation none of those tender 
 though melancholy circumstances that endear the parting scene 
 nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, sent, like the 
 dews of heaven, to revive -the heart in the parting hour of anguish. 
 
 1 Treason (tre' zn) , the offence of attempting to overthrow the govern- 
 ment of the State to which the offender owes allegiance, or of betraying 
 the State into the hands of a foreign power. 2 In trep' id. undaunted : 
 fearless; brave. 3 Yin di ca' tion, justification against censure, objec- 
 tions, or accusations: defence by proof, force, or otherwise. * JOHN 
 PHIL POT CURKAN, celebrated for his doqiu-nee. \vit. and sarcasm, born 
 near Cork, 1750. and died 1817. 'Nothing (niith'ing). 
 

 BROKEN HEARTS. 113 
 
 4. To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had 
 incurred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, 
 and was an exile from the paternal roof. But could the sympa- 
 thy and kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so shocked 
 and driven in by horror, she would have experienced no want of 
 consolation, for the Irish are a people of quick and generous sen- 
 sibilities. The most delicate and cherishing attentions were paid 
 her by families of wealth and distinction. She was led into so-- 
 ciety, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement 
 to dissipate her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of 
 her love. 
 
 5. But it was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity 
 that scath and scorch the soul that penetrate to the vital seat 
 of happiness, and blast 1 it, never again to put forth bud or blos- 
 som. She never objected to frequent the haunts 2 of pleasure, but 
 she was as much alone there as in the depths of solitude. She 
 walked about in a sad reverie, apparently unconscious of the 
 world around her. She carried with her an inward woe that 
 mo'cked at all the blandishments of friendship, and " heeded not 
 the song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely." 
 
 6. The person 3 who told me her story had seen her at a mas 
 querade." There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness 
 more striking and painful than to meet it in such a scene. To 
 find it wandering like a specter, lonely and joyless, where all 
 around is gay to see it dressed out in the trappings of mirth, 
 and looking so wan and woe-begone, as if it had tried in vain to 
 cheat the poor heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. 
 After strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd with 
 an air of utter abstraction, she sat herself down on the steps of 
 an orchestra, 5 and looking about for some time with a vacant. air ? 
 that showed her insensibility to the gairish 6 scene, she bcganj 
 with the capriciousness of a sickly heart, to warble a little plain- 
 tive air. She had an ex'quisite voice ; but on this occasion it 
 was so simple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul of 
 
 1 BlUst. a Haunts (hantz). 3 PeY son. 4 Masquerade (mas ker ad'), 
 an evening assembly of persons wearing masks, and amusing themselves 
 with dancing, conversation, and other diversions. 5 Orchestra (ar' kes- 
 tra), a place appropriated to musicians, or to the performers in a con 
 cert ; a band of musicians. * GiV ish, gaudy ; showy ; very fine. 
 
 8 
 
114 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 wretchedness, that she drew a crowd mute and silent around 
 her, and melted every one into tears. 
 
 7. The story of one so true and tender could not but excite 
 great interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It com- 
 pletely won the heart of a brave officer, who paid his addresses 
 to her, and thought that one so true to the dead could not but 
 prove affectionate to the living. She declined his attentions, for 
 her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed by the memory of her 
 former lover. He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited 
 not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her 
 conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and 
 dependent situation, for she was existing on the kindness of 
 friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in gaining her hand, 
 though wifh the solemn assurance that her heart was unaltera- 
 bly another's. 
 
 8. He took her wifh him to Sicily, hoping that a change of 
 scene might wear out the remembrance of early woes. She was 
 an amiable and exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy 
 one ; but nothing could cure the silent and devouring melancholy 
 that had entered into her very soul. She wasted away in a slow 
 but hopeless decline, and at length sunk into the grave, the vic- 
 tim of a broken heart. WASHINGTON IKVING. 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING, who has delighted the readers of the English language 
 for more than half a century, was bora in the city of New York, on the third of 
 April, 1783. His father, a respectable merchant, originally from Scotland, died 
 while he was quite young, and his education was superintended by his elder 
 brothers, some of whom have gained considerable reputation for acquirements 
 and literature. His first essays were a series of letters under the signature of 
 Jonathan Oldstyle, Gent., published in the Morning Chronicle, of which one of 
 his brothers was editor, in. 18U-2. In 1806, after his retuni from a European tour, 
 he joifltd Mr. Pauldiug in writing " Salmagundi," a. whimsical miscellany, 
 which captivated the town and decided the fortunes of its authors. Soon after, 
 he produced "The History of New York, by Diedrick Knickerbocker," the most 
 original and humorous work of the age. After the appearance of this work, he 
 wrote but little for several years, having engaged with his brothers in foreign 
 commerce ; but, fortunately for American literature, while in England, in 1615, 
 a reverse of fortune changed the whole tenor of his life, causing him to resort to 
 literature, which had hitherto been his amusement, for solace and support. The 
 first fruit of this change was " The Sketch Book," which was published in New 
 York and London a 1819 and 1820, and which met a success never before re- 
 ceived by a book of unconnected tales and essays. Mr. Irving subsequently 
 published " Bracebridge Hal!," the " History of the Life and Voyages of Colum- 
 bus," "The Alhambra," and many other works that we have not room to euu- 
 inorate While in England, he received one of the gold medals of fifty guinea* 
 
115 
 
 In value, provided by George the Fourth, for eminence in historical composition. 
 In 1832, after an absence of seventeen years, he returned to the United States 
 His style has the ease and purity, and more than the grace and polish of Frank 
 lin. His carefully selected words, his variously constructed periods, his remark- 
 able elegance, sustained sweetness, and distinct and delicate painting, place him 
 in the very front rank of the masters of our language. 
 
 18. LlNES RELATING TO ClJRRAN's DAUGHTER. 
 
 'S 
 
 HE is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, 
 
 And lovers around her are sighing ; 
 But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, 
 For her heart in his grave is lying. 
 
 2. She sings the wild song of her dear native plains, 
 
 Every note which he loved awaking 
 Ah ! little they think, who delight in her strains, 
 How the heart of the minstrel is breaking. 
 
 8. He had lived for his love for his country he died ; 
 
 They were all that to life had entwined him 
 Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 
 Nor long will his love stay behind him. 
 
 4. Oh ! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 
 
 When they promise a glorious morrow ; 
 They'll shine o'er her sleep like a smile from the west, 
 From her own loved island of sorrow. THOMAS MOORK. 
 
 THOMAS MOORE, the poet, was born in 1780, in Dublin, where his father car 
 ried on business as a wine-merchant. He showed from boyhood an imaginative 
 and musical turn ; and various circumstances combined in impressing him early 
 with that deep sense of the wrongs and sufferings of Ireland to which his poetry 
 owes so many of its most powerful touches. He was educated at Trinity College, 
 where he took his degree in 1798, after which he went to London to keep his 
 terms for the bar. Poetry however had taken possession of his mind ; and his 
 gay translation of Anacreon was published in 1800. In 1804, having obtained a 
 registarship in Bermuda, he went out to discharge the duties of the office. It 
 proved much less lucrative than he expected ; and in a few months he returned 
 home, from which time his course of life was very uneventful. In 1811 he mar- 
 ried Miss Dyke, an amiable, attractive, and domestic lady. He soon after estab- 
 lished himself permanently at Sloperton, near Devizes, visiting London, how- 
 ever, frequently, and making other excursions. In 1835 he received from gov- 
 ernment a pension of 300 a year; and in 1850, when his health was completely 
 broken, Mrs. Moore obtained a pension of a hundred pounds. He died in thf 
 
116 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 beginning of 1852. Of his serious po<rms, " Irish Melodies" and " Lalla Rookh" 
 best support his fame. Many pieces of the former are exquisite for grace of dic- 
 tion, for beauty, and for a refined and ideal kind of pathos, 'the latter evinces 
 great skill and care of execution, with marvelous richness of fancy, and singular 
 correctness of costume, and establishes his claim to an important place among 
 the great painters of romantic narrative. Moore's political satires, perhaps, show 
 his genius in a more brilliant light than any of his other works. Of his prose 
 writings, the most noted and worthy is the gorgeous romance o! " The Epi- 
 curean," which appeared in 1^27. 
 
 i. m 
 
 19. THANATOPSIS. 1 
 
 10 him, who, in the love of nature holds 
 
 Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
 A various language ; for his gayer hours, 
 She has a voice of gladness, and a smile, 
 And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
 Into his darker musings with a mild, 
 And gentle sympathy, that steals away 
 Their sharpness, ere he is aware. 
 
 I. When thoughts 
 
 Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight 
 Over thy spirit, and sad images 
 Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 
 And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
 Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart; 
 Go forth into the open sky, and list 
 To nature's teaching, while, from all around, 
 Comes a still voice : 
 
 3. " Yet a few days, and thee, 
 
 The all-beholding sun shall see no more, 
 In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 
 Where thy pale form was laid, with' many tears, 
 Nor in the embrace of ocean shall exist 
 Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall cUim 
 
 1 Than a top' sis, this Greek word means a view or contemplation of 
 death. 
 
THANATOPSia. 117 
 
 Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 
 And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
 Thine individual being, shalt thou go, 
 To mix forever with the elements, 
 To be a brother to the insensible rock, 
 And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
 Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
 Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. 
 
 4 " Yet not, to thy eternal resting-place, 
 
 Shalt thou retire, alone nor couldst thou wish 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
 Wifjh patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, 
 The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, 
 Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
 All in one mighty sepulchre. 
 
 5. "The hills, 
 Rock-ribb'd, and ancient as the sun ; the vales, 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
 
 The venerable woods ; rivers that move 
 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 
 That make the meadow green ; and, pour'd roun 
 
 Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, 
 
 Are but the solemn decorations all 
 
 Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
 
 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
 
 Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
 
 Through the still lapse of ages. 
 
 6. " All that tread 
 The globe, are but a handful, to the tribes 
 ThM slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
 Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 
 Or, lose thyself in the continuous woods, 
 Where rolls the Or'egon, and hears no sound, 
 Save its own dashings yet the dead are there ; 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 
 The flight of years began, have laid them down 
 IT their last sleep : the dead reign there alone. 
 
118 NATIONAL FIFTH READKR. 
 
 7. " So shalt thou rest ; and what, if thou shalt fall, 
 Unnoticed by the living, and no friend 
 
 Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay will langh, 
 When thou art gone ; the solemn brood of care 
 Plod on ; and each one, as before, will chase 
 His favorite phantom ; yet, all these shall leave 
 Their mirth, and their enjoyments, and shall come 
 And make their bed wifh thee. 
 
 8. " As the ISng train 
 Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
 
 The youth, in life's green spring, and he, who goes 
 In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, 
 The bow'd wifih age, the infant, in the smiles 
 And beauty of its innocent age cut off 
 Shall, one by one, be gather' d to thy side, 
 By those- who, in their turn, shall follow them. 
 
 9. " So live, that when thy summons comes, to join 
 The innumerable caravan that moves 
 
 To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 
 His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
 Thou go, not like the quarry-slave at night, 
 Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustain'd and soothed 
 By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
 Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams !" 
 
 W. C. BRYANT. 
 
 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT was born in Cummington, Massachusetts, on the 
 third day of November, 1794. He gave indications of superior genius at a very 
 early age ; and fortunately received the most careful and judicious instruction 
 from his father, a learned and eminent physician. At ten years of age, he 
 made very creditable translations from some of the Latin poets, which were 
 printed in a newspaper at Northampton. At thirteen, he wrote " The Embargo," 
 a political satire, which was never surpassed by any poet of that age. BRYANT 
 entered an advanced class of Williams College in the sixteenth year of his age, 
 in which he soon became distinguished for his attainments generally, and espe- 
 cially for his proficiency in classical learning. He was admitted to the bar in 
 1815, and commenced the practice of his profession in the village of Great Bar- 
 rington, where he was soon after married. He wrote the above noble poem 
 "Thanatopsis" when but little more than eighteen years of age. In 1821 he 
 delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard College his longest 
 
EUTHANASIA. 119 
 
 poem, " The Ages," which is in the stanza of SPENSER, and in its versification 
 is not inferior to " The Faerie Queene." " To a Waterfowl," " Inscription for 
 an entrance to a Wood," and several other pieces of nearly equal merit were 
 likewise written during his residence at Great Barrington. After passing ten 
 years in successful practice in the courts, he determined to abandon the uncon- 
 genial business of a lawyer, and devote his attention more exclusively to litera- 
 ture. With this view, he removed to the city of New York in 1825, and, with a 
 friend, established "The New York Review and Athenaeum Magazine," in 
 which he published several of his finest poems. In 1826 he assumed the chief 
 direction of the " Evening Post," one of the best gazettes in this country, with 
 which he has ever since been connected. In the summer of 1834, Mr. BRYANT 
 visited Europe, with his family, where he remained till 1836, when the illness of 
 his partner and associate, the late WILLIAM LEGGETT, caused his hasty return. 
 A splendid edition of his complete poetical works was published in 1846. He is 
 a favorite with men of every variety of tastes. He has passages of profound re- 
 flection for the philosopher, and others of such simple beauty as to please the 
 most illiterate. He has few equals in grace and power of expression. Every 
 line has compactness, precision, and elegance, and flows with its fellows in ex- 
 quisite harmony. Mr. BRYANT is the poet of nature. He places before us, in 
 pictures warmly colored by the hues of the imagination, the old and shadowy 
 forests, the sea-like prairies, the lakes, rivers, and mountains of our own coun- 
 try. To the thoughtful critic every thing in his verse belongs to America, and 
 is as different from what marks the poetry of England as it is from that which 
 most distinguishes the poetry of France or Germany. 
 
 20. EUTHANASIA. 1 
 
 1. 1\/TETHINKS, when on the languid eye 
 -L'JL Life's autumn scenes grow dim, 
 When evening's shadows veil the sky, 
 
 And pleasure's siren 2 hymn 
 Grows fainter on the tuneless ear, 
 Like echoes from another sphere, 
 
 Or dream of seraphim, 3 
 It were not sad to cast 4 away 
 This dull and cumbrous load of clay. 
 
 2. It were not sad to feel the heart 
 
 Grow passionless and cold ; 
 
 1 Euthanasia (yu than a' ze a), an easy or happy death. 'Sl'ren, io 
 undent mythology, a goddess who enticed men into her power by the 
 charms of music, and devoured them. Hence, in modern use, an enticing 
 woman ; a female rendered dangerous by her enticements. * Ser' a phim, 
 angels of the highest order. * Cast. 
 
120 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEB, 
 
 To feel those longings to depart 
 
 That cheer'd the good of old ; 
 To clasp 1 the faith which looks on high, 
 Which fires the Christian's dying eye, 
 
 And makes the curtain-fold, 
 That falls upon his wasting breast, 
 The door that leads to endless rest. 
 
 8. It were not lonely thus to lie 
 
 On that triumphant bed, 
 Till the pure spirit mounts on high, 
 
 By white- wing'd seraphs led : 
 Where glories earth 2 may never know 
 O'er " many mansions" lingering glow, 
 
 In peerless 3 luster shed ; 
 It were not lonely thus to soar, 
 Where sin arid grief can sting no more. 
 
 4. And, though the way to such a goal 
 
 Lies through the clouded tomb, 
 If on the free, unfetter'd soul 
 
 There rest no stains of gloom, 
 How should its aspirations rise 
 Far through the blue, unpillar'd skies, 
 
 Up to its final home ! 
 Beyond the journeyings of the sun, 
 Where 4 streams of living waters run. 
 
 W. G. CLARK. 
 
 WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK, a journalist, poet, and miscellaneous writer, was born 
 at Otisco, an agricultural town in Central New York, in the year 1810. Stimu- 
 lated by the splendid scenery outspread on every side around him, he began to 
 feel the poetic impulse at an early age; and, in numbers most musical, painted 
 the beauties of nature with singular fidelity. As he grew older, a solemnity and 
 gentle sadness of thought pervaded his verse, and evinced his desire to gather 
 from the scenes and images its reflected lessons of morality. When about 
 twenty years of age, he repaired to Philadelphia, where he commenced a 
 weekly miscellany, which was abandoned after a brief period. He then 
 assumed, with the Reverend Doctor BRAXTLEY, the charge of the " Columbian 
 Star," a religious and literary periodical, of high character, hi which he printed 
 many brief poems of considerable merit. Some years later, he took charge of 
 
 1 Clasp. 'Earth (Srth). * Per' less, matchless; having no equal. 
 Where (whar). 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSF 121 
 
 the " Philadelphia Gazette," one of the oldest and most respectable journals in 
 Pennsylvania, of which he ultimately became proprietor, and from that time 
 until his death continued to conduct it In 1836 he married ANNE POYNTELL 
 CALDCLEUGH, the daughter of one of the wealthiest citizens of Philadelphia, and 
 a woman of great personal beauty, rare accomplishments, and affectionate dis- 
 position, who soon after died of Consumption, leaving her husband a prey tc the 
 deepest melancholy. From this time his health gradually declined, though he 
 continuod to write for his paper until the last day of his life, the twelfth of June, 
 1841. His metrical writings, which are pervaded by a gentle religious melan- 
 choly, are all distinguished for a graceful and elegant diction, thoughts morally 
 and poetically beautiful, and chaste and appropriate imagery. His prose writ- 
 ings, on the other hand, were usually marked by passages of irresistible humor 
 and wit. His perception of the ludicrous was acute, and his jests and " cranks 
 and wanton wiles" evinced the fullness of his powers and the benevolence of his 
 feelings. 
 
 21. SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE. 
 i. 
 
 SUCCESSION OF HUMAN BEINGS. 
 Like leaves on trees the life of man is found, 
 Now green in youth, now withering on the ground ; 
 Another race the following spring supplies, 
 They fall successive, and successive rise : 
 So generations in their course decay ; 
 So flourish these, when those have pass'd away. 
 
 n. 
 
 DEATH OF THE YOUNG AND FAIR. ANON. 
 She died in beauty, like a rose blown from its parent stem; 
 She died in beauty, like a pearl dropp'd from some diadem ; 
 She died in beauty, like a lay along a moonlit lake ; 
 She died in beauty, like the song of birds amid the brake ; 
 She died in beauty, like the snow on flowers dissolved away ; 
 She died in beauty, like a star lost on the brow of day ; 
 She lives in glory, like Night's gems set round the silver moon 
 She lives in glory, like the sun ^amid the blue of June. 
 
 in. 
 A LADY DROWNED. PROCTER. 
 
 Is she dead ? . . . 
 
 Why BO shall I be, ere these autumn blast* 
 6 
 
122 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 
 
 Have blown on the beard of Winter. Is she dead ? 
 Ay, she is dead, quite dead ! The wild Sea kiss'd hoi 
 With its cold white lips, and then put her to sleep : 
 She has a sand pillow, and a wa^er sheet, 
 And never turns her head or knows 'tis morning ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE LIFE OF MAN. BEAUMONT. 
 
 Like to the falling of a star, 
 Or as the nights of eagles are, 
 Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 
 Or silver drops of morning dew, 
 Or like a wind that chafes the flood, 
 Or bubbles which on water stood : 
 E'en such is man, whose borrow'd light 
 Is straight call'd in and paid to-night : 
 The wind blows out, the bubble dies ; 
 The spring entomb'd in autumn lies ; 
 The dew's dried up, the star is shot, 
 The flight is past, and man forgot. 
 
 v. 
 
 CoRONACH. 1 SCOTT. 
 
 He is gone on the mountain, he is lost to the forest, 
 Like a summer-dried fountain, when our need was the sorest 
 The fount, reappearing, from the rain-drops shall borrow, 
 But to us comes no cheering, to Duncan no morrow ! 
 The hand of the reaper takes the ears that are hoary, 
 But the voice of the weeper wails manhood in glory ; 
 The autumn winds rushing waft the leaves that are serest, 
 But our flower was in flushing when blighting was nearest. 
 Fleet foot on the correi, 2 sage counsel in cumber, 3 
 Red hand in the foray, 4 how sound is thy slumber ! 
 Like the dew on the mountain, like the foam on the river, 
 Like the bubble on the fountain, thou art gone, and forever 1 
 
 1 Coronach (kor'onak), a song of lamentation; a lament. * Ccirei 
 (kor* ra), the side of a hill where game usually lies. * i. um' ber, per- 
 plexity ; distress. * F6' ray a sudden pillaging incursion in peace of 
 war. 
 
SELECTED EXTRACTS. 123 
 
 VI. 
 
 IMMORTALITY. R. H. DANA. 
 " Man, thou shalt^never die !" Celestial voices 
 Hymn it unto our souls : according harps, 
 By angel fingers touch' d, when the niild stars 
 Of morning sang together, sound forth still 
 The song of our great immortality ! 
 Thick-clustering orbs on this our fair domain, 
 The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, 
 Join in this solemn, universal song. 
 Oh listen, ye our spirits ! drink it in 
 From all the air ! 'Tis in the gentle moonlight ; 
 'Tis floating mid day's setting glories ; night, 
 Wrapp'd in her sablfc robe, with silent step, 
 Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears. 
 Night and the dawn, bright day and thoughtful eve, 
 All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, 
 As one vast mystic 1 instrument, are touch'd 
 By an unseen, living hand, and conscious chords 
 Quiver with joy in this great jubilee : 2 
 The dying hear it ; and, as sounds of earth 
 Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls 
 To mingle in this heavenly harmony. 
 
 22. SELECTED EXTRACTS. 
 
 HHHE man who carries a lantern in a dark night, can have 
 J- friends .all around him, walking safely by the help of its rays, 
 and he be not defrauded. So he who has the God-given light 
 of hope in his breast, can help on many others in this world's 
 darkness, not to his own loss, but to his precious gain. 
 
 2. As a rose after a shower, bent down by tear-drops, waits 
 'for a passing breeze or a kindly hand to shake its branches, 
 
 1 Mys' tic, obscure ; involving some secret meaning. a Ju' Li lee, a 
 great festival among the Jews every fiftieth year, when the bondsmen 
 were all set free and lands restored to their former owners. 
 
NATION AL FIFl'H READER. 
 
 that, lightened, it may stand once more upon its stem, so one 
 who is bowed down with affliction longs for a friend to lift him 
 out of his sorrow, and bid him once more rejoice. Happy is the 
 man who has that in his soul whiclx acts upon the dejected like 
 April airs upon violet roots. 
 
 3. Have you ever seen a cactus growing? What a dry, ugly, 
 spiny thing it is ! But suppose your gardener takes it when 
 just sprouting forth with buds, and lets it stand a week or two, 
 and then brings it to you, and lo ! it is a blaze of light, glorious 
 above all flowers. So the poor and lowly, when God's time 
 comes, and they begin to stand up and blossom, how beautiful 
 they will be ! 
 
 4. The sun does not shine for a few trees and flowers, but for 
 the wide world's joy. The lonely pine upon the mountain-top 
 waves its somber boughs, and cries, M Thou art my sun." And 
 the little meadow-violet lifts its cup of blue, and w 7 hispers with 
 its perfumed breath, " Thou art my sun." And the grain in a 
 thousand fields rustles in the wind, and makes answer, " Thou 
 art my sun." And so God sits effulgent in heaven, not for a fa- 
 vored few, but for the universe of life ; and there is no creature 
 so poor or so low that he may not look up with child-like con- 
 fidence and say, " My Father ! Thou art mine." 
 
 5. I think the human heart is like an artist's studio. You 
 can tell what the artist is doing, not so much by his completed 
 pictures, for they are mostly scattered at once, but by the half- 
 finished sketches and designs which are hanging on his wall. 
 And so you can tell the course of a man's life, not so much by 
 his well-defined purposes, as by the half-formed plans the faint 
 day-dreams, which are hung in all the chambers of his heart. 
 
 6. Men are like birds that build their nests in trees that hang 
 over rivers. And the birds sing in the tree-top, and the river 
 sings underneath, undermining and undermining, and in the mo- 
 ment when the bird thinks not, it comes crashing down, and the 
 nest is scattered, and all goes floating down the flood. If we 
 build to ambition, we are like men who build before the track 
 of a volcano's eruption, sure to be overtaken and burnt up by its 
 hot lava. If we build to wealth, we are as those who build 
 upon the ice. The spring will melt our foundations from un- 
 der us. 
 
SELECTED BXTEACTS. 125 
 
 7. Shall we build to earthly affections ? If we can not trans- 
 figure 1 those whom we love if we can not behold the eternal 
 world shining through the faces of father and mother, of hus- 
 band and wife if we can not behold them all irradiated with 
 the glory of the supernal 2 sphere, it were not best to build for 
 love. Death erects his batteries right over against our homes, 
 and in the hour when we think not, the missile flies and explodes, 
 carrying destruction all around. 
 
 8. I think it is a sad sight to look at one of the receiving 
 hulks at the Navy Yard. To think that that was the ship which 
 once went so fearlessly across the ocean! It' has come back to 
 be anchored in the quiet bay, and to roll this way and that with 
 the tide. Yet that is what many men set before them as the 
 end of life that they may come to that pass where they may 
 be able to cast out an anchor this way and an anchor that way, 
 and never move again, but rock lazily with the tide without 
 a sail without a voyage waiting simply for decay to take their 
 timbers apart. And this is what men call, " retiring from busi- 
 ness" to become simply an empty old hulk. 
 
 9. We are beleaguered by Time, and parallel after parallel is 
 drawn around us, and then a change is made, and we sec the 
 enemy's flag waving on some outpost. And as the sense of 
 hearing, and touch, and sight fails, and a man finds all these 
 marks of time upon him, oh woe ! if he has no Hereafter, as a 
 final citadel into which to retreat. 
 
 10. Would that I could break this Gospel as a bread of life 
 to all of you ! My best presentations of it to you are so incom- 
 plete ! Sometimes, when I am alone, I have such sweet and 
 rapturous visions of the love of God and the truths of His word, 
 that I think if I could speak to you then, I should move your 
 hearts. I am like a child, who, walking forth some sunny sum- 
 mer's morning, sees grass and flowers all shining with drops of 
 dew, that reflect every hue of the rainbow. " Oh !" he cries, 
 " I'll carry these beautiful things to my mother," and eagerly 
 shakes them off into his little palm. But the charm is gone 
 they are no more water-pearls. 
 
 Transfigure (trans fig' yer), change the outward form or appearance, 
 f Su peV nal, being in a higher region or place ; celestial ; heavenly. 
 
126 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 11. There are days when my blood flows like w!ac; when all 
 is ease and prosperity ; when the sky is blue, and the birds sing, 
 and flowers blossom, and every thing speaks to me ; and my 
 life is an anthem, walking in time and tune; and then this 
 world's joy and affection suffice. But when a change comes 
 when I am weary and disappointed when the skies lower into 
 the somber night when there is no song of bird, and the per'- 
 fume of flowers is but their dying breath breathed away when 
 all is sunsetting and autumn, then I yearn for Him who sits with 
 the summer of love in His soul, and know that all earthly affec- 
 tion is but a glow-worm light compared to that which blazes 
 with such effulgence in the heart of God. 
 
 12. I think that in the life to come my heart will have feel- 
 ings like God's. The little bell that a babe can hold in its fin- 
 gers may strike the same note as the great bell of Mos'cow. 1 Its 
 note may be soft as a bird's whisper, and yet it is the same. 
 And so God may have a feeling, and I, standing by him, shall 
 have the same feeling. Where he loves, I shall love. All the 
 processes of the Divine mind will be reflected in mine. And 
 there will be this companionship with him to eternity. What 
 else can be the meaning of those expressions that all we have is 
 Christ's, and God is ours, and we are heirs of God I To inherit 
 God who can conceive of it 1 It is the growing marvel, and 
 will be the growing wonder of eternity. 
 
 13. We are glad that there is a bosom of God to which we 
 can go and find refuge. As prisoners in castles look out of their 
 grated windows at the smiling landscape, where the sun comes 
 and goes, so we from this life, as from dungeon bars, look forth 
 to the heavenly land, and are refreshed with sweet visions of 
 the home that shall be ours when we are free. 
 
 HENRY WARD BEECHER.* 
 
 1 Mos' c6zr, a famous city of Russia, formerly capital of the whole Rus- 
 sian Empire. It is situated four hundred miles S. E. of St. Petersburg, 
 with which it is connected by a first-class railroad. The stupendous 
 bell here alluded to, called Czar Kolokol, or the Monarch, weighing 
 nearly 180 tons, is about 21 feet in height, and^2- in diameter. A 
 huge fragment was broken from it, more than a century ago, when the 
 tower in which it was suspended was burned. * See Biographical Sketch, 
 p. 71. 
 
127 
 
 23. FULLER'S BIRD.* 
 
 1. fTlHE wild-wing'd creature, clad in gore 
 J- (His bloody human meal being o'er), 
 
 Comes down to the water's brink : 
 'Tis the first time he there hath gazed, 
 And straight he shrinks alarm'd amazed, 
 
 And dares 2 not drink. 
 
 2. " Have I till now," he sadly said, 
 
 " Prey'd on my brother's blood, and made 
 
 His flesh my meal to-day ?" 
 Once more he glances 3 in the brook, 
 And once more sees his victim's look ; 
 
 Then turns 4 away. 
 
 3. With such sharp pain as human hearts 
 May feel, the drooping thing departs 
 
 Unto the dark, wild wood ; 
 And there, midst briers and sheltering weeds, 
 He hideth his remorse, and feeds 
 
 No more on blood. 
 
 4. And in that weedy brake he lies, 
 And pines, and pines, until he dies ; 
 
 And, when all's o'er, 
 
 What follows ? Naught ! his brothers slake 
 Their thirst 5 in blood in that same brake, 
 
 Fierce as before ! 
 
 5. So fable flows ! But would you find 
 Its moral wrought in human kind, 
 
 Its tale made worse ; 6 
 
 1 " I have read of a bird, which hath a face like, and yet will proy 
 upon, a man ; who, coming to the water to drink, and finding there by 
 reflection that he had killed one like himself, pineth away by degrees, 
 and never afterward enjoy eth itself." Fuller's Worthies. 3 Dares (darz). 
 
 -'Glances (glans'ez'.. 4 Turns (tlrnz). 6 Thirst (thirst). 'Worse 
 
 wfirs). 
 
128 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Turn straight to Man, and in his fame 
 And forehead 1 read " The Harpy V' 2 name ; 
 
 But no remorse ! B. W. PROCTER. 
 
 BRYAN WALTER PROCTER, better known by his assumed name of Barry Corn- 
 wall, is a graceful and accomplished writer, and a true poet. " If it be the 
 province of poetry to give delight," says Lord Jeffrey, " this author should rank 
 very high among the poets." He is a genuine poet of love. There is an intense 
 and passionate beauty, a depth of affection, in his little dramatic poems, which 
 appear even in the affectionate triflings of his gentle characters. He is chiefly 
 noted, however, as a song-writer. " The fair blossoms of his genius, though 
 light and trembling as the breeze, spring from a wide, and deep, and robust 
 stock, which will sustain far taller branches without being exhausted." 
 
 24. THE BARBARITIES OF WAR. 
 
 THE first great obstacle to the extinction of war, is the way in 
 which the heart of man is carried off from its barbarities 
 and its horrors by the splendor of its deceitful accompaniments. 
 There is a feeling of the sublime in contem 'plating the shock of 
 armies, just as there is in contemplating the devouring energy of 
 a tempest ; and this so elevates and engrosses the whole man, 
 that his eye is blind to the tears of bereaved parents, and his ear 
 is deaf to the piteous moan of the dying, and the shriek of their 
 desolated families. 
 
 2. There is a gracefulness in the picture of a youthful warrior, 
 burning for distinction on the field, and lured by this generous 
 aspiration to the deepest of the animated throng, where, in the 
 fell work of death, the opposing sons of valor struggle for a re- 
 membrance and a name ; and this side of the picture is so much 
 the exclusive object of our regard, as to disguise from our view 
 the mangled carcases of the fallen, and the writhing agonies of 
 the hundreds and the hundreds more who have been laid on the 
 cold ground, where they are left to languish and to die. 
 
 3. There no eye pities them. No sister is there to weep over 
 
 1 Forehead (for' ed.) a Har'py, in antiquity, the harpies were fabulous 
 winged monsters, ravenous and filthy, having the face of a woman and 
 the body of a vulture, with their feet and ringers armed with sharp 
 claws. They were three in number, Aello, Ocypete, and Celeno. The 
 name harpy is often applied to an extortioner, a plunderer, or ravenous 
 animals. 
 
THE BARBARITIES OF WAR. 129 
 
 them. There no gentle hand is present to ease the dying pos- 
 ture, or bind up the wounds which, in the maddening fury of the 
 combat, haye been given and received by the children of one 
 common Father. There death spreads its pale ensigns over ev- 
 ery countenance, and when night comes on, and darkness around 
 them, how many a despairing wretch must take up with the 
 bloody field as the untended bed of his last sufferings, without 
 one friend to bear the message of tenderness to his distant home, 
 without one companion to close his eyes ! 
 
 4. I avow it. On every side of me I see causes at work which 
 go to spread a most delusive . coloring over war, and to remove 
 its shocking barbarities to the background of our contempla'- 
 tions altogether. I see it in the history, which tells me of the 
 superb appearance of the troops, and the brilliancy of their suc- 
 cessive charges. I see it in the poetry, which lends the magic 
 of its numbers to the narrative of blood, and transports its many 
 admirers, as by its images, and its figures, and its nodding plumes 
 of chivalry it throws its treacherous embellishments over a scene 
 of legalized slaughter. 
 
 5. I see it in the music, which represents the progress of the 
 battle ; and where, after being inspired by the trumpet-notes of 
 preparation, the whole beauty and tenderness of a drawing-room 
 are seen to bend over the sentimental entertainment : nor do I 
 hear the utterance of a single sigh to interrupt the death-tones 
 of the thickening contest, and the moans of the wounded men 
 as they fade aAvay upon the ear and sink into lifeless silence. 
 All, all goes to prove what strange and half-sighted creatures we 
 are. Were it not so, war could never have been seen in any 
 other aspect than that of unmingled hatefulness : and I can look 
 to nothing but to the progress of Christian sentiment upon earth 
 to arrest the strong current of its popular and prevailing par- 
 tiality for war. 
 
 6 Then only will an imperious sense of duty lay the check ot 
 severe principle on all the subordinate tastes and faculties of our 
 nature. Then will glory be reduced to its right estimate, and 
 the wakeful benevolence of the Gospel, chasing away every spell, 
 \> '11 be turned by the treachery of no delusion whatever from its 
 sublime enterprises for the good of the species. Then the reign 
 of truth and quietness will be ushered into the world, and war, 
 
130 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 cruel, atrocious, unrelenting war, will be stripped of its many and 
 its bewildering fascinations. THOMAS CHALMERS. 
 
 THOMAS CHALMERS, D. D., LL. D., the celebrated pulpit orator and divine, 
 was born on 17th March, 17SO, at Anstruther, in Fifeshire, Scotland, of respecta- 
 ble and pious, though humble, parents. He was entered a student in S. 
 Andrews College at the early agef*f twelve ; and soon gave indications of (V.U 
 strong predilection for the physical sciences which he retained through life. He 
 obtained license to preach in connection with the Established Church of Scot- 
 land, while only 19, on the express ground that he was " a lad of pregnant parts ;" 
 though, at that early age, he considered the functions of the sacred office to be 
 subordinate to scientific pursuits. By long personal illness, and severe domestic 
 bereavements, he was brought from making religion a secondary concern with 
 him to regard it as a subject of paramount importance. In 1815 he took charge 
 of the Tron Church and Parish, Glasgow, from which time his reputation con- 
 tinued to advance, until the sensation produced by his preaching surpassed all 
 that was ever known or heard of in the annals of pulpit eloquence. In 1824 he 
 became professor of moral philosophy in the University of St. Andrews ; and in 
 1828 he was translated to the chair of divinity in the university at Edinburgh. 
 Dr. Chalmers now commenced a career of authorship, by which he still further 
 extended his reputation as a divine. The most nattering honors were now 
 heaped upon him ; for he was chosen President of the Royal Society of Edin- 
 burgh, create*! Doctor of Laws by the University of Oxford, and appointed cor- 
 responding member of the Royal Institute of France a compliment which no 
 clergyman in Britain had ever previously enjoyed. His collected works, including 
 sermons, theological lectures, <fec., amount to 25 volumes. Died May 30, 1847. 
 
 25. BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 
 
 i. 
 
 A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 
 J-J- There was lack of woman's nursing, 1 there was dearth* of 
 
 woman's tears ; 
 
 But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebb'd away, 
 And bent, with pitying glances, 3 to hear what he might say. 
 The dying soldier falter'd, as he took that comrade's hand, 
 And he said, " I never more shall see my own, my native land ; 
 Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, 
 For I was born at Bingen 4 at Bingen on the Rhine. 
 
 1 Nursing (nlrs' ing). In reading this most beautiful poem, let the 
 
 Student be careful to utter the modified elements correctly. * Dearth. 
 
 Glances (glans' ez). 4 Bingen (bfng'en), a town of Germany, noted for 
 
 its superior wines, situr.ted on the left bank of the Rhine, at the influx 
 
 of the Nahe (mVIJ. 
 
BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 131 
 
 II. 
 
 " Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd 
 
 around 
 
 To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground, 
 That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, 
 Full many a corse lay ghastly 1 pale, beneath the setting sun. 
 And midst the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, 
 The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last 2 of many scars 
 But some were young and. suddenly beheld life's morn decline ; 
 And one had come from Bingen fair 3 Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 in. 
 
 " Tell my mother that her 4 other sons shall comfort her old age, 
 And I was aye a truant bird, 5 that thought his home a cage : 
 For my father was a soldier, and even as a child 
 My heart leap'd forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild; 
 And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 
 I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword, 
 And* with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to 
 
 shine, 
 On the cottage-wall at Bingen calm Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, 
 When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gal- 
 lant tread ; 
 
 But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, 
 For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die. 
 And if a comrade seek her love, I ask 8 - her in my name 
 To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame; 
 And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine), 
 For the honor of old Bingen dear Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 v. 
 
 "There's another not a sister; in the happy days gone by, ' 
 You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye; 
 Too innocent for coquetry, too fond for idle scorning, 
 Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest 
 mourning ; 
 
 ly. a U*t. s F&r. 4 HSr. Bird (bird).- 9 Ask (&sk) 
 
132 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen 
 My body will be out of pain my soul be out of prison), 
 I dream' d I stood wifh. her, and saw the ySllow sunlight shine 
 On the vine-clad hills of Bingen fair Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 " I saw the blue Rhine sweep along I heard, or seem'd to heai 
 The German s5ngs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear; 
 And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, 
 The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still ; 
 And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly 
 
 talk 
 
 Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remember'd walk, 
 And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine : 
 But we'll meet no more at Bingen loved Bingen on the Rhine !" 
 
 VII. 
 
 His voice grew faint and hoarser, his grasp was childish wea, 
 His eyes put on a dying look, he sigh'd and ceased to speak : 
 His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled, 
 The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land was dead ! 
 And the sSft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she look'd down 
 On the red sand of the battJe-field, wifh bloody corpses strown ; 
 Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seem'd to shine, 
 As it shone on distant Bingen fair Bingen on the Rhine ! 
 
 MRS. NORTON. 
 
 MRS. NORTON, Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Sheridan, was grand-daughter ol 
 Richard Brinsley Sheridan. The family of Sheridan has been prolific of genius 
 and she has well sustained the family honors. In her seventeenth year, this lady 
 had composed her poem, " The Sorrows of Rosalie." She termed her next poem, 
 founded on the ancient legend of the Wandering Jew, " The Undying One.'' 
 Her third volume, entitled " The Dream, and other Poems," appeared in 1840. 
 " This lady," says a writer in the Quarterly Review, " is the Byron of our modern 
 poetesses. She has very much of that intense personal passion by which Byron's 
 poetry is distinguished from the larger grasp and deeper communion with man 
 and nature of Wordsworth. She has also Byron's beautiful intervals of tender- 
 ness, his strong practical thought, and his forceful expression. It is not an arti- 
 ficial imitation, but a natural parallel." She was married at the age of nineteen 
 to the Hon. George Chappie Norton, brother to Lord Grantley, and himself a 
 police magistrate in London. After being the object of suspicion and persecution 
 of the most painful description, the union was dissolved in 1840. 
 
THE COST OF MILITARY GLORY. 133 
 
 26. THE COST OF MILITARY GLORY. 
 
 WE can inform Brother Jonathan 1 what are the inevitable 
 consequences of being too fond of glory Taxes upon every 
 article which enters into the mouth, or covers the back, or is 
 placed under the foot taxes upon every thing which it is 
 pleasant to see, hear, feel, smell, or taste taxes upon warmth, 
 light, arid locomotion taxes on every thing on earth, and 
 the waters under the earth on every thing that comes from 
 abroad, or is grown at home taxes on the raw material taxes 
 on every fresh value that is added to it by the in'dustry of man 
 taxes on the sauce which pampers man's appetite,- and the 
 drug that restores him to health on the ermine which decorates 
 the judge, and the rope which hangs the criminal on the poor 
 man's salt, and the rich man's spice on the brass nails of the 
 cfiffin, and the ribbons of the bride at bed or board, couchant 9 
 or levant, we must pay. 
 
 2. The schoolboy whips his taxed top ; the beardless youth 
 manages his taxed horse, with a taxed bridle, on a taxed road ; 
 and the dying Englishman, pouring his medicine, which has 
 paid seven per cent., into a spoon that has paid fifteen per cent., 
 flings himself back upon his chintz bed, which has paid 
 twenty-two per cent., and expires in the arms of an apothecary 
 who has paid a license of a hundred pounds for the privilege ot 
 putting him to death. His whole property is then immediately 
 taxed from two to ten per cent. Besides the probate, 3 large fees 
 are demanded for burying him in the chancel ; 4 his virtues are 
 handed down to posterity on taxed marble ; and he is then 
 gathered to his fathers to be taxed no more. 
 
 1 Brother Jonathan is a name sportively given by the English to the 
 Americans ; and on the other hand, the English themselves are frequent- 
 ly called, in the same style, by the familiar name of John Bull. 3 Le- 
 vant and couchant in law, lying down and rising up ; applied to beasts, 
 and indicating that they have been long enough on land to lie down 
 and rise up to feed, or one night at least. 9 Pro' bate, the probate of a 
 will or testament is the proving of its genuineness and validity, or the 
 exhibition of the will to the proper officer, with the witnesses, if neces- 
 sary, and the process of determining its validity ; the right or jurisdic- 
 tion of proving wills. 4 Chin' eel, that part of a church which contains 
 the altar or communion-table. 
 
134 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 3. In addition to all this, the habit of dealing wifjh large 
 suras will make the government avaricious and profuse ; and the 
 system itself will infallibly generate the base vermin of spies and 
 informers, and a still more pestilent race of political tools and 
 retainers of the meanest and most odious description ; while the 
 prodigious patronage which the collecting of this splendid rev- 
 enue will throw into the hands of government, will invest it \vitL 
 so vast an influence, and hold out such means and temptations 
 to corruption, as all the virtue and public spirit, even of republi- 
 cans, will be unable so resist. SIDNEY SMITH. 
 
 REV. SIDNEY SMITH, who, for half a century, rendered himself conspicuous as 
 a political writer and critic, was born at Woodford, in Essex, in the year 1769 ; 
 received his education at Winchester College, and was then elected to New 
 College, Oxford, in 1780. He was ordained to a curacy in Wiltshire ; but soon 
 after left for Edinburgh, where he was minister of the Episcopal church for five 
 years. He was the projector of the " Edinburgh Review," and edited the first 
 number before leaving for London, where he became, in every sense of the 
 word, " a popular preacher." oNor were his oral eloquence, wit, and learning 
 confined to the pulpit alone ; with equal success he displayed his abilities as a 
 lecturer on the BELLES-LETTRES at the Royal Institution, his fame increasing 
 with every fresh effort of his genius. His contributions to the " Edinburgh Re- 
 view," and various other productions, have been collected, and have gone 
 through several editions ; and, more recently, his " Sketches of Moral Philoso- 
 phy," or lectures upon that subject, delivered at the Royal Institution, have 
 been published. He died Feb. 21, 1845, aged 7G. 
 
 27. LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 
 WIZARD. 
 
 1. T OCHIEL, Lochiel, beware 1 of the day 
 
 Jj When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! 
 For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 
 And the clans of Cullo'den 2 are scatter'd in fight; 
 They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; 
 Woe, woe, to the riders that trample them down ! 
 
 1 Be ware. In this, as in most exquisite poems, modified dements frequent- 
 ly occur ; and when correctly uttered, produce a most happy effect. See 
 notes to the "Table of Oral Elements," p. 17. "Cullo'den, a wide, 
 moory ridge of Scotland, county of Inverness, in the parish of Croy, 
 memorable for the total defeat of Prince Charles's army, on the 16th oi 
 April, 1746, by the royal troops under the Duke of Cumberland. 
 
135 
 
 Proud Cumberland prances, 1 insulting the slain, 
 And their hoof-beaten 5 bosoms are trod to the plain. 
 But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war 
 What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
 "Pis thine,, O Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, 
 Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
 A steed comes at morning no rider is there ; 8 
 But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 4 
 Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
 Oh weep ! but thy tears can not number the dead ; 
 For a merciless 5 sword on Culloden shall wave 
 Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave ! 
 
 LOCHIEL. 
 
 Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer ! 
 Or, if gory Cullo'den so dreadful appear, 
 Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, 
 This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 
 
 WIZARD. 
 
 Ha ! laugh'st 6 thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? 
 Proud bird 7 of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! 
 Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth 
 From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north ? 
 Lo ! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode 
 Companionless, bearing 8 destruction abroad ; 
 But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
 Ah ! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. 
 Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast 9 
 Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 10 
 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
 From his eyry," that beacons 12 the darkness of heaven. 
 crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
 Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, 
 
 'Prances (prans'ez). a Hoof-beaten (h6f -be' tn). There (thar). 
 1 De spair'. * MeV ci less. 6 Laugh'st (lafst). 7 Bird (bSrd). "Bearing. 
 " Blast. 10 Cast. 11 Eyri (ar' I), a place where birds of prey build their 
 nests ; the nest of a bird of prey. u Beacons (be' knz), affords light as a 
 beacon, or signal-fire, on an eminence. 
 
136 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Heaven's fire is around thee to blast and to burn :' 
 Return 2 to thy dwelling ; all lonely return ! 
 For the blackness of ashes shall mark where 3 it stood, 
 And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood ! 
 
 LOCHIEL. 
 
 False wizard, avaunt ! 4 I have marshall'd my clan : 
 Their swords are a thousand ; their bosoms are one. 
 They are true to the last 5 of their blood and their breath, 
 And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
 Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
 Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock ! 
 But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
 When Albin her claymore 6 indignantly draws ; 
 When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
 Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, 
 All plaided and plumed in their tartan array 
 
 WIZARD. 
 
 Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day ! 
 
 For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
 
 Yet man can not cover what God would reveal ! 
 
 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
 
 And coming events cast their shadows before. 
 
 I tell thee, Cullo 'den's 'dread echoes shall ring 
 
 With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. 
 
 Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, 7 
 
 Behold where he flies on lils desolate path ! 8 
 
 Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight : 
 
 Fuse ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight ! 
 
 'Tis finish'd. Their 9 thunders are hush'd on the moors ; 
 
 Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. 
 
 But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? Where ? 
 
 For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
 
 Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banish'd, forlorn, 
 
 Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ? 
 
 1 Burn (blrn). 8 Return (re tern'). * Where (whar). 4 A 
 
 'Last. 6 Clay' in6re, a large, two-handed sword, formerly used by frbe 
 Scottish Highlanders. 7 Wrath (rath). Path. 'Their (thir). 
 
LOCHLEI/8 WARNING. 187 
 
 All ! no ; for a darker departure is near ; 
 The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier ; 
 His death-bell is tolling : 0, mercy, dispel 
 Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
 Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs, 
 And his blood-streaming nSstril in agony swims ! 
 Accursed 1 be the fagots that blaze at his feet, 
 Where his heai\ shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, 
 With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale 
 
 LocniEL. 
 
 Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale 1 # 
 
 For never shall Albin a destiny meet 
 So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat ! 
 Though his perishing ranks should be strew'd in their gore, 
 Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten 2 shore, 
 Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
 While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
 Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 
 With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe ! 
 And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
 Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame ! 
 
 THOMAS CAMPBELL. 
 
 THOMAS CAMPBELL, the distinguished poet, a cadet of the respectable family of 
 Campbell, of Kirnan, in Argyleshire, was born in Glasgow, on the 27th of July, 
 1777. Owing to the straitened circumstances of his father, young Campbell 
 was obliged, while attending college, to have recourse to private teaching as a 
 tutor. Notwithstanding this additional labor, he made rapid progress in his 
 studies, and attained considerable distinction at the university of his native city 
 He very early gave proofs of his aptitude for literary composition, especially in 
 the department of poetry. At the age of twenty, he occasionally labored for the 
 booksellers, while attending lectures at the university in Edinburgh. In 1799, 
 his first extended poem, "The Pleasures of Hope," was published. Its success 
 was instantaneous and without parallel. It is not too much to say, that it is, 
 without an exception, the finest didactic poem in the English lang*age. In 
 1809, he published "Gertrude of Wyoming," which holds the second place 
 among his lengthier poems, and to which were attached the most celebrated of 
 his grand and powerful lyrics. Though Campbell was too frequently timid, and 
 noted more for beauties of expression than for high inventive i>ower and vigorous 
 execution, yet his lyrical pieces, particularly " The Battle of the Baltic," " Mari- 
 ners of England," " Hohenlinden," and " Lochiel's Warning," which appear to 
 have been struck off at a heat, pro? a conclusively that his concepti ins, when not 
 
 1 Accursed (ak kerst'). Surf- beaten (slrf bA'tn). 
 
138 NATIONAL FLFTIl KKADER. 
 
 too much subjected to elaboration, were glowing, bold, and powerful. In tho 
 latter part of the poet's life hi circumstances were materially improved. In 
 1826, he was elected Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow. He died on the 
 15th of July, 1844, at the age of sixty-seven, and his remains were solemnly in- 
 terred in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 28. BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB HAYS. 
 
 WHERE the subject of the present mera'oit 1 was born, can be 
 but of little consequence ; who were his father and mother, 
 of still less ; and how he was bred and educated, of none at all. 
 I shall therefore pass over this division of his existence in elo- 
 quent silence, and come at once to the period when he attained 
 the ac'me 2 of constabulary 3 power and dignity by being created 
 high-constable of this city and its suburbs ; and it may be re- 
 marked, in passing, that the honorable the corporation, during 
 their long and unsatisfactory career, never made an appointment 
 more creditable to themselves, more beneficial to the city, more 
 honors^' a) the country at large, more imposing in the eye of 
 foreign nations, more disagreeable to all rogues, nor more grati- 
 fying to honest men, than that of the gentleman whom we are 
 biographizing, to the high office he now holds. 
 
 2. His acuteness and vigilance have become proverbial; and 
 there is not a misdeed committed by any member of this com- 
 munity, but he is speedily admonished that he will "have old 
 /lays (as he is affectionately and familiarly termed) after him." 
 Indeed, it is supposed by many that he is gifted with supernatu- 
 ral attributes, and can see things that are hid from mortal ken ; 
 or how, it is contended, is it possible that he should, as he does, 
 " bring forth the secret'st man of blood ?" That he can discover 
 " undivulged crime" that when a store has been robbed, he ? 
 without hesitatiou/can march directly to the house where the 
 goods are concealed, and say, " These are they" or, when a gen- 
 tleman's pocket has been picked, that, from a crowd of unsavory 
 miscreants he can, with unerring judgment, lay his Land upon 
 one and exclaim, " You're wanted !" or, how is it that he is gift- 
 
 Memoir (mem' 'wiir), a biography; a kind of familiar history. 
 * Ac' me, the height or tup of a thing. * Con stab' u la ry, relating to a 
 constable, or poliee-oiiio'r. 
 
BIOGRAPHY OF JACOB HAYS. 189 
 
 cd with that strange principle of ubiquity 1 that makes him "here, 
 and there, and everywhere" at the same moment ? No matter 
 how, so long as the public reap the benefit; and well may that 
 public apostrophize him in the words of the poet 
 
 Long may he live ! our city's pride ! 
 
 Where lives the rogue, but flies before him ! 
 With trusty crabstick by his side, 
 
 And staff of office waving o'er him. 
 
 3. But it is principally as a literary man that we would speak 
 of Mr. Hays. True, his poetry is " unwritten," as is also his 
 prose ; and he has invariably expressed a decided contempt for 
 philosophy, music, rhetoric, the belles-lettres? the fine arts, and 
 in fact all species of composition excepting bailiffs' warrants and 
 bills of indictment : but what of that ? The constitution of his 
 mind is, even unknown to himself, decidedly poetical. And here 
 I may be allowed to avail myself of another peculiarity of mod- 
 ern biography, namely, that of describing a man by what he is 
 not. 
 
 4. Mr. Hays has not the graphic power or antiquarian 8 lore of 
 Sir Walter Scott nor the glittering imagery or voluptuous ten- 
 derness of Moore nor the delicacy and polish of Rogers nor the 
 spirit of Campbell nor the sentimentalism of Miss Landon nor 
 the depth and purity of thought and intimate acquaintance with, 
 nature of Bryant nor the brilliant style and playful humor of 
 Halleck : no, he is more in the petit larceny 4 manner of Crabbe, 
 with a slight touch of Byronic power and gloom. He is famil- 
 iarly acquainted with all those in'teresting scenes of vice and 
 poverty so fondly dwelt upon by that reverend chronicler of lit- 
 tle villainy, and if ever he can be prevailed upon to publish, 
 there will doubtless be found a remarkable similarity in their 
 works. 
 
 5. His height is about five feet seven inches, but who makes 
 his clothes we have as yet been unable to ascertain. His coun- 
 
 ' iniquity (yu blk' we ti), existence everywhere at once. * Belles-let- 
 tres (bel-lef ter), elegant literature. * An ti qua' ri an, pertaining to an- 
 tiquity. 4 Pet' it lar' ce ny, small thefts. In England, the stealing of 
 any thing of the value of twelve pence, or under that amount ; and in 
 New York, under twenty-five dollars. 
 
140 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 % 
 
 tenance is strongly marked, and forcibly brings to mind the line* 
 of Byron when describing his Corsair 
 
 There was a laughing devil in his sneer 
 That raised emotions both of hate and fear ; 
 And where his glance of " apprehension" fell, 
 Hope withering fled, and mercy sigh'd, farewell ! 
 
 6. Yet with all his great qualities, it is to be doubted whetl er 
 he is much to be envied. His situation certainly has its disad- 
 vantages. Pure and blameless as his life is, his society is not 
 courted no man boasts of his friendship, and few indeed like 
 even to own him for an intimate acquaintance. Wherever he 
 goes his slightest action is watched and criticised ; and if he 
 happen carelessly to lay his hand upon a gentleman's shoulder 
 and whisper something in his ear, even that man, as if there 
 were contamination in his touch, is seldom or never seen after^ 
 ward in decent society. Such things can not fail to prey upon 
 his feelings. But when did ever greatness exist without some 
 penalty attached to it ? 
 
 7. The first time that ever Hays was pointed out to me, was 
 one summer afternoon, when acting in his official capacity in the 
 City Hall. The room was crowded in every part, and as he en- 
 tered with a luckless wretch in his gripe, a low suppressed mur- 
 mur ran through the hall, as if some superior being had alighted 
 in the midst of them. He placed the prisoner at the bar a 
 poor coatless individual, with scarcely any edging and no roof 
 to his hat to stand his trial for bigamy, 1 and then, in a loud, 
 authoritative tone, called out for " silence," and there was silence. 
 Again he spoke " Hats off there !" and the multitude became 
 uncovered ; after which he took his handkerchief out of his left- 
 hand coat-pocket, wiped his face, put it back again, looked stern- 
 ly around, and then sat down. 
 
 8. The scene was awful and impressive ; but the odor was dis- 
 agreeable in consequence of the heat acting upon a large quan- 
 tity of animal matter congregated together. My olfactory 2 or- 
 gans were always lain'entably acute : I was obliged to retire, 
 
 'Bfg'amy, the crime of having two wives or two husbands at the 
 same time.* 01 fac' to 17, pertaining to smelling. 
 
A MODEST WIT. 14:1 
 
 and from that time to' this, I have seen nothing, though I have 
 heard much of the subject of this brief and imperfect, but, I trust, 
 honest and impartial memoir. 
 
 9. Health and happiness be with thee, thou prince of consta- 
 bles thou guardian of innocence thou terror of evil-doers and 
 little boys ! May thy years be many and thy sorrows few may 
 thy life be like a long and cloudless summer's day, and may thy 
 salary be increased ! And when at last the summons comes 
 from which there is no escaping when the warrant arrives 
 upon which no bail can be put in when thou thyself, that hast 
 ** wanted" so many, art in turn " wanted, and must go," 
 
 Mayst thou fall 
 
 Into the grave as softly as the leaves 
 Of the sweet roses on an autumn eve, 
 Beneath the small sighs of the western wind, 
 Drop to the earth ! WILLIAM Cox. 
 
 WILLIAM Cox, author of two volumes, entitled " Crayon Sketches," published 
 m New York, in 1833, an Englishman by birth, came to America at an early 
 age to practice his calling of a printer. He was employed on the " Mirror," 
 conducted by General MORRIS, and gained a literary reputation by contributing 
 a series of essays to its columns. These, in a happy vein of humor and criticism, 
 satirizing the literary infirmities of the times, pleased men of taste and good 
 Bense. The above sketch, " written during an awful prevalence of biographies," 
 gained great celebrity at the time. His "Crayon Sketches" are full of original- 
 ity, pleasantry, and wit, alternately reminding the reader of the poetical elo- 
 quence of Hazlitt, and the quaint humor and eccentric tastes of Charles Lamb. 
 After writing a number of years for the Mirror, he returned to England, where 
 ha died in 1851. 
 
 29. A MODEST Wrr. 
 
 1. A SUPERCILIOUS 1 nabob 2 of the East 
 
 A Haughty, being great purse-proud, being rich 
 A governor, or general, at the least, 
 
 I have forgotten which 
 Had in his family a humble youth, 
 
 Who went from England in his patron's suite, 
 
 * Supercilious (su per sll' yus), haughty ; lofty with pride. 8 Na' bob, 
 a deputy or prince in India ; a rich man. 
 
14:2 NATIONAL FttTH READER. 
 
 An unassuming boy, and in truth 
 
 A lad of decent parts, and good repute, 
 
 2. This youth had sense and spirit ; 
 
 But yet, with all his sense, 
 Excessive diffidence 
 Obscured his merit. 
 
 3. One day, at table, flush'd with pride and wine, 
 
 His honor, proudly free, severely merry, 
 Conceived it would be vastly fine 
 To crack a joke upon his secretary. 
 
 4. "Young man," he said, "by what art, craft, or trade, 
 
 Did your good father gain a livelihood ?" 
 " He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, 
 And in his time was reckoned good." 
 
 5. " A saddler, eh ! and taught you Greek, 
 
 Instead of teaching you to sew ! 
 Pray, why did not your father make 
 A saddler, sir, of you ?" 
 
 6. Each parasite, 1 then, as in duty bound, 
 
 The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. 
 
 At length Modestus, bowing low, 
 Said (craving pardon, if too free he made), 
 
 " Sir, by your leave, I fain would know 
 Your father's trade!" 
 
 7. " My father's trade ! by heaven, that's too bad ! 
 My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you madf 
 My father, sir, did never stoop so low 
 
 He was a gentleman, I'd have you know." 
 
 8. " Excuse the liberty I take," 
 
 Modestus said, with archness on his brow, 
 44 Pray, why did not your father make 
 
 A gentleman of you ?" ANON. 
 
 1 Par' a site, an eater with ; a hanger-on ; one who fawns on the rich. 
 In botany, a plant that grows and lives on another. 
 
THE USES OF mSTORY. 
 
 30. THE USES OF HISTOIIY. 
 
 HOW vain, bow fleeting, how uncertain are all those gaudy 
 bubbles after which we are panting and toiling in this world 
 of fair delusion ! The wealth which the miser has amassed with 
 so many weary days, so many sleepless nights, a spendthrift heir 
 may squander away in joyless prodigality. The noblest monu- 
 ments which pride has ever reared to perpetuate a name, tho 
 hand of time will shortly tumble into ruins and even tho 
 brightest/ laurels, gained by feats of arms, may wither and be 
 forever blighted by the chilling neglect of mankind. 
 
 2. " How many illustrious heroes," says the good Boethius, 1 
 " who were once the pride and glory of the age, hath the silence 
 of historians buried in eternal oblivion !" And this it was that 
 induced the Spartans, when they went to battle, solemnly to 
 sacrifice to the Muses, 2 supplicating that their achievements 
 should be worthily recorded. Had not Homer 3 tuned his lofty 
 lyre, observes the elegant Cicero, 4 the valor of Achilles 5 had re- 
 mained unsung. And such, too, after all the toils and perils he 
 had braved, after all the gallant actions he had achieved, such 
 too had nearly been the fate of the chivalric 6 Peter Stuyvesant, 7 
 but that I fortunately stepped in and engraved his name on the 
 indelible tablet of history, just as the caitiff 8 Time was silently 
 brushing it away forever. 
 
 1 Bo E' THI us, a Latin statesman, philosopher, and writer, 'was born 
 at Rome, of a rich and noble family, about 470. His writings are nu- 
 merous, and on a variety of subjects, the most famous work, " De Con- 
 solatione Philosophize," being written in prison, where he was unjustly 
 beheaded, October 23, 526. 'Muses (rnu'zez), in mythology, the nine 
 sister goddesses presiding over the liberal arts. * HOMER, the most dis- 
 tinguished of poets, called the "Father of Song." He is supposed to 
 have been an Asiatic Greek, though his birth-place, and the period in 
 which he lived, are not known. * MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO, Consul of 
 Rome, a distinguished orator, writer, rhetorician, and philosopher, born 
 at Arpinum, in B. c. 106, beheaded B. c. 43. 5 ACHILLES (a kll' lez), the 
 bravest of the Grecian princes, described by Homer in the Iliad, and his 
 death in the 24th book of the Odyssey. Chival.ic (shlv'al rlk). 
 1 PETER STUYVESANT, the last Dutch governor of New York, appointed in 
 1647, born in Holland. He remained in New York after it fell into the 
 hands of the English, and died there. 1 Cat' tiff, a base fellow ; a villain. 
 
144 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 3. The more I reflect, the more am I astonished at the im- 
 portant character of the historian. He is the sovereign censor 
 to decide upon the renown or infamy of his fellow-men he is 
 the patron of kings and conquerors, on whom it depends 
 whether they shall live in after ages, or be forgotten, as were 
 their ancestors before them. The tyrant may oppress while the 
 object of his tyranny exists, but the historian possesses superior 
 might, for his power extends even beyond the grave. 
 
 4. The shades of departed and long-forgotten heroes anxiously 
 bend down from above, while he writes, watching each move- 
 ment of his pen, whether it shall pass by their names with 
 neglect, or inscribe them on the deathless pages of renown. 
 Even the drop of ink that hangs trembling on his pen, which he 
 may either dash upon the floor or waste in idle scrawlings that 
 very drop, which to him is not worth the twentieth part of a 
 farthing, may be of incalculable value to some departed wor- 
 thy may elevate half a score in one moment to immortality, 
 who would have given worlds, had they possessed them, tc 
 insure the glorious meed. 
 
 5. Let not my readers imagine, however, that I am indulging 
 in vain-glorious boastings, or am anxious to blazon forth the 
 importance of my tribe. On the contrary, I shrink when I re- 
 flect on the awful responsibility we historians assume I shudder 
 to think what direful commotions and calamities we occasion in 
 the world I swear to thee, honest reader, as I am a man, I 
 weep at the very idea ! 
 
 6. Why, let me ask, are so many illustrious men daily tearing 
 themselves away from the embraces of their families slighting 
 the smiles of beauty despising the allurements of fortune, and 
 exposing themselves to the miseries of war ? Why are kings 
 desolating empires and depopulating whole countries ? In short, 
 what induces all great men, of all ages and countries, to commit 
 so many victories and misdeeds, and inflict so many miseries 
 upon mankind and on themselves, but the mere hope that some 
 historian will kindly take them into notice, and admit them into 
 a corner of his volume. For, in short, the mighty object of all 
 their toils, their hardships, and privations, is nothing but im- 
 mortal fame. And what is immortal fame ? Why, half & page of 
 dirty paper ! Alas ! alas ! how humiliating the idea that the 
 
ANCIENT AND MODERN WKITEEo. 145 
 
 renown of so great a man as Peter Stuyvesant should depend 
 upon the pen of so little a man as Diedrich Knickerbocker !' 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING.' 
 
 31. ANCIENT AND MODEKN WRITERS. 
 
 THE classics possess a peculiar charm, from the circumstance 
 that they have been the models, I might almost say the 
 masters, of composition and thought in all ages. In the con- 
 templation of these august teachers of mankind, we are filled 
 with conflicting emotions. 
 
 2. They are the early voice of the world, better remembered 
 and more cherished still than all the intermediate words that 
 have been uttered ; as the lessons of childhood still haunt us 
 when the impressions of later years have been effaced from the 
 mind. But they show with most unwelcome frequency the to- 
 kens of the world's childhood, before passion had yielded to the 
 sway of reason and the affections. They want the highest charm 
 of purity, of righteousness, of elevated sentiments, of love to God 
 and man. 
 
 3. It is not in the frigid philosophy of the Porch and the 
 Academy that we are to seek these; not in the marvelous 
 teachings of Socrates, 3 as they come mended by the mellifluous 4 
 words of Plato ; 5 not in the resounding line of Homer, on whose 
 inspiring tale of blood Alexander 6 pillowed his head ; not in the 
 animated strain of Pindar, 7 where virtue is pictured in, the suc- 
 
 1 Diedrich Knickerbocker, the name given by the accomplished au- 
 thor to a fictitious satirical historian of New York. a See Biographic- 
 al Sketch, p. 114. SOCRATES, an illustrious Grecian philosopher and 
 teacher of youth, was born at Athens, in the year 468 B. c. Though 
 the best of all the men of his time, and one of the wisest and most 
 just of all men, he unjustly suffered the punishment of death for im- 
 piety, at the age of seventy. 4 Mel llf lu ous, flowing with honey ; 
 sweetly flowing ; smooth. B PLATO, whose name stands first in specula- 
 tive philosophy, born at Athens or Egina about 430 B. c. ; died in his 
 eightieth year. 6 ALEXANDER the Great, son of Philip, king of Macedo 
 nia, one of the States of Greece, was born in the autumn, B. c. 356. He 
 made so many conquests, that he was styled the Conqueror of the World. 
 He died in May or June, B. c. 323.' PINBAR, the greatest of the Greek, 
 lyric poets, born B. c. 518, and died B. c. 439. 
 
 7 
 
146 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 cessfiil strife of an athlete 1 at the Isthmian games ; not in the 
 torrent of Demosthenes, 2 dark with self-love and the spirit ol 
 vengeance; not in the fitful philosophy and intemperate elo- 
 quence of Tully ; 3 not in the genial libertinism of Horace, 4 or the 
 stately atheism of Lucretius. 5 No : these must not be our mas- 
 ters ; in none of these are we to seek the way of life. 
 
 4. For eighteen hundred years the spirit of these writers has 
 been engaged in weaponless contest wifh the Sermon on the 
 Mount, and those two sublime commandments on which hang 
 all the law and the prophets. The strife is still pending. 
 Heathenism, which has possessed itself of such siren forms, is 
 not yet exorcised. It .still tempts the young, controls the affairs 
 of active life, and haunts the meditations of age. 
 
 5. Our own productions, though they may yield to those of 
 the ancients in the arrangement of ideas, in method, in beauty 
 of form, and in freshness of illustration, are immeasurably supe- 
 rior in the truth, delicacy, and elevation of their sentiments; 
 above all, in the benign recognition of that great Christian reve- 
 lation, the brotherhood of man. How vain are eloquence and 
 poetry, compared with this heaven-descended truth ! Put in 
 one scale that simple utterance, and in the other the lore of an- 
 tiquity, with its accumulating glosses and commentaries, and the 
 last will be light and trivial in the balance. Greek poetry has 
 been likened to the song of the nightingale, as she sits in the 
 rich, symmetrical crown of the palm-tree, trilling her thick- 
 warbled notes ; but even this is less sweet and tender than the 
 music of the human heart. CHARLES SUMNER. 
 
 CHARLES SUMNER, son of Charles Pinckney Stunner, sheriff of Suffolk, Massa- 
 chusetts, was born in Boston, 1811. He is widely known for the extent of his 
 legal knowledge and general attainments. As an orator and writer, he stands 
 ieservedly high. His style is rapid and energetic, with much fullness of thought 
 
 1 Ath lete', a contender for victory in wrestling or other games. 
 * DEMOSTHENES, the greatest of the Greek orators, bora at Athens about 
 the year B. c. 382. His orations present to us the models which ap- 
 proach the nearest to perfection of all human productions. * TTJLLT, 
 Marcus Tullius Cicero. * HORACE, the Roman poet, born on the 8th of 
 December, B. c. 65, and died on the 19th of November, B. c. 8. 'Lu- 
 cre' ti us, an eminent philosopher and poet, born at Rome about 96 B c., 
 and said to have died by his own hands in the forty-fourth year of his 
 age, about 52. 
 
THE POETIC FACULTY. 14:7 
 
 and illustration. He has a great deal of enthusiasm and ctnrage, as is shown 
 by his discourse on the " True Grandeur of Nations." On the death of Judge 
 Story, in 1845, he was offered the vacant seat on the bench of the Supreme 
 Court of the United States, which honor he persisted in declining. He was 
 elected to the Senate of the United States in 1851, to fill the vacancy created by 
 the resignation of Daniel Webster. 
 
 32. THE POETIC FACULTY. 
 
 1. " rpHREE little ships I saw come up the steep 
 
 -1- Far out at sea : they nearer drew to shore : 
 I saw him land wifti glad, exulting leap, 
 
 Who found this new world for mankind once more i 
 Stretching upon thy thought so far away, 
 It lies in my sight but as yesterday ! 
 
 2. " Last eve I rose from the Pacific's side, 
 
 And wifh the wind's swift pinions to me lent, 
 With mighty swoop with one flight, vast and wide, 
 
 Swept o'er the bosom of the Continent. 
 I saw all budding fields, all Nature's boast, 
 Spread like a fiower'd robe, from coast to coast ! 
 
 3. " Old forests, that all winter stripp'd and bare, 
 
 Wail'd to the tempest and were fill'd wifh gloom, 
 Wide desolate wastes that icy garments wear, 
 
 And silent glens were springing into bloom. 
 Unnumber'd lovely haunts not known to men, 
 As one bower waken into life again !" 
 
 4. "In thy discourse," I ask'd, "what shall I find?" 
 
 "Hearken," the voice replied, "and know my name, 
 I am that Spirit of the deathless mind, 
 
 Which men do worship when they thirst for fame. 
 I am that Genius, given but to few, 
 Which yet, all never cease to seek and woo. 
 
 6. ** This is the lesson my discourse would teach, 
 
 That though my vision pierceth through all time, 
 Though to the gates of heaven my pinions reach, 
 Though I may lift thy name to heights sublime, 
 
148 
 
 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Y6t all these gifts, though they do seem to oless, 
 Can not alone bring thee true happiness. 
 
 6. "Each rational soul each insect of the air, 
 
 Each sparrow midst a summers forest leaves, 
 Hath its appointed place. He form'd them there, 
 
 Whose purpose lives in every thing that breathes. 
 Thee, also, to thy task He now would bring, 
 Prepared by gifts humbled by suffering !" GOLD FEX. 
 
 GOLD PEN. This assumed name is prefixed to a volume of poems ou various 
 subjects, recently published. The author will be sure to be received with favoz 
 whenever he pleases to lay aside his disguise. 
 
 33. RETURN OF COLUMBUS. 
 
 TN the spring of 1493, while the court was still at Barcelona, 
 J- letters were received from Christopher Columbus, announcing 
 his return to Spain, and the successful achievement of his great 
 enterprise, by the discovery of land beyond the western ocean. 
 The delight and astonishment, raised by this intelligence, were 
 proportioned to the skepticism with which his project had been 
 originally viewed. The sovereigns 2 were now filled with a 
 natural impatience to ascertain the extent and other particulars 
 of the important discovery ; and they transmitted instant instruc- 
 tions to the admiral to repair to Barcelona, as soon as he should 
 have made the preliminary arrangements for the further prose- 
 cution of his enterprise. 
 
 2. The great navigator had succeeded, as is well known, after 
 a voyage, the natural difficulties of which had been much aug- 
 mented by the distrust and mutinous spirit of his followers, in 
 descrying land on Friday, the 12th of October, 1492. After 
 some months spent in exploring the delightful regions, now for 
 the first time thrown open to the eyes of .a European, he em- 
 barked in the month of January, 1493, for Spain. One of his 
 vessels had previously foundered, and another had deserted him 
 BO that he was left alone to retrace his course across the 
 Atlantic. 
 
 * 
 
 1 Barcelona (bar s& 16' na). * Sovereign (suv ; er in) 
 
RETURN OF COLUMBUS. 149 
 
 3. After a most tempestuous voyage, he was compelled to take 
 shelter in the Tagus, sorely against his inclination. He expe- 
 rienced, however, the most honorable reception from the Portu- 
 guese monarch, John the Second, who did ample justice to the 
 great qualities of Columbus, although he had failed to profit by 
 them. After a brief delay, the admiral resumed his voyage, and 
 crossing the bar of Saltes, entered the harbor of Palos about 
 noon, on the 15th of March, 1493, being exactly seven months 
 and eleven days since his departure from that port. 
 
 4. Great was the agitation in the little community of Palos, 
 as they beheld the well-known vessel of the admiral reentering 
 their harbor. Their desponding imaginations had long since 
 consigned him to a watery grave ; for, in addition to the preter- 
 natural horrors which hung over the voyage, they had expe- 
 rienced the most stormy and disastrous winter within the recol- 
 lection of the oldest mariners. Most of them had relatives or 
 friends on board. They thronged immediately to the shore, to 
 assure themselves with their own eyes of the truth of their return. 
 
 5. When they beheld their faces once more, and saw them 
 accompanied by the numerous evidences which they brought 
 back of the success of the expedition, they burst forth in accla- 
 mations of joy and gratulation. They awaited the landing of 
 Columbus, when the whole population of the place accompanied 
 him and his crew to the principal church, where solemn thanks- 
 givings were offered up for their return ; while every bell in the 
 village sent forth a joyous peal in honor of the glorious event. 
 
 6. The admiral was too desirous of presenting himself before 
 the sovereigns, to protract his stay long at Palos. He took with 
 him on his journey specimens of the multifarious products of the 
 newly-discovered regions. He was accompanied by several of 
 the native islanders, arrayed in their simple barbaric costume', 
 and decorated, as he passed through the principal cities, wifti 
 collars, bracelets, and other ornaments of gold, rudely fashioned : 
 he exhibited, also, considerable quantities of the same metal in 
 dust, or in crude masses, numerous vegetable exotics, 1 possessed 
 of aromatic 2 or medicinal virtue, and several kinds of quadrupeds 
 
 'Exotic (egz&t'ik), a foreign plant or production. a Arom&t'ic, 
 spicy; fragrant. 
 
150 NATIONAL FIFTH 
 
 unknown in Europe, and birds, whose varieties of gaudy plu- 
 mage gave a brilliant effect to the pageant 1 
 
 7. The admiral's progress through the country -was every- 
 where impeded by the multitudes thronging forth to gaze at the 
 extraordinary* spectacle, and the more extraordinary man, who, 
 in the emphatic language of that tune, which has now lost its 
 force from its familiarity, first revealed the existence of a tt New 
 World." As he passed through the busy, populous city of 
 SeVille, every window, baTcony, and housetop, which could 
 afford a glimpse of him, is described to have been crowded with 
 spectators. 
 
 8. It was the middle of April before Columbus reached Bar- 
 celona, The nobility and cavaliers in attendance on the court, 
 together with the authorities of the city, came to the gates to 
 receive him, and escorted him to the royal presence. Ferdinand 
 and Isabella were seated, with their son, Prince John, under a 
 superb canopy of state, awaiting his arrival. On his approach, 
 they rose from their seats, and extending their hands to him to 
 salute, caused him to be seated before them. 
 
 9. These were unprecedented marks of condescension to a 
 parson of Columbus's rank, in the haughty and ceremonious 
 court of Castile. It was, indeed, the proudest moment in the 
 life of Columbus. He had fully established the truth of his 
 long-contested theory, in the face of argument, sophistry, sneer, 
 skepticism, and contempt. He had achieved this, not by 
 chance, but by calculation, supported through the most adverse 
 circumstances by consum'mate conduct. The honors paid 
 him, which had hitherto been reserved only for rank, or fortune, 
 or military success, purchased by the blood and tears of thou- 
 sands, were, in his case, a homage to intellectual power, success- 
 folly exerted in behalf of the noblest interests of humanity. 
 
 10. After a brief interval, the sovereigns requested from 
 Columbus a recital of his adventures. His manner was sedate 
 and dignified, but warmed by the glow of natural enthusiasm. 
 He enumerated the several islands which he had visited, expa- 
 
 on the temperate character of the climate, and the capacity 
 
 1 Pageant (pi'jent), a spectacle; pompons show. * Extraordinary 
 
RETURN OF COLUMBUS. 151 
 
 of the soil for every variety of agricultural production, appealing 
 to the samples imported by him, as evidence of their natural 
 fruitfulness. He dwelt more at large on the preeious metals to 
 be found in these islands, which he inferred, less from the speci- 
 mens actually obtained, than from the uniform testimony of the 
 natives to their abundance in the unexplored regions of the in- 
 terior. Lastly, he pointed out the wide scope afforded to 
 Christian zeal, in the illumination of a race of men, whose 
 minds, far from being wedded to any system of idolatry, were 
 prepared, by their extreme simplicity, for the reception of pure 
 and uncorrupted doctrine. 
 
 11. The last consideration touched Isabella's heart most sensi- 
 bly ; and the whole audience, kindled with various emotions by 
 the speaker's eloquence, filled up the perspective with the gor- 
 geous coloring of their own fancies, as ambition, or avarice, or 
 devotional feeling predominated in their bosoms. When Colum- 
 bus ceased, the king and queen, together with all present, pros- 
 trated themselves on their knees in grateful thanksgivings, while 
 the solemn strains of the Te Deum 1 were poured forth by the 
 choir of the royal chapel, as in commemoration of some glorious 
 victory. WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT. . 
 
 WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT, the eminent historian, was born iu Salem, Massachu- 
 setts, on the 4th of May, 1796. His father, William Prescott, LL. D., a distin- 
 guished lawyer and judge, noted for intellectual and moral worth, died in the 
 last month of 1844, at the advanced age of 84. His grandfather was the cele- 
 brated Colonel William Prescott, who commanded the American forces at Bun- 
 ker Hill on the memorable 17th of June, 1775. But Mr. Prescott needs none of 
 the pride of ancestry to stamp him as one of nature's noblemen. An untoward 
 accident in college, by which he lost the sight of one eye, and the sympathy 
 subsequently excited in the other, have rendered him almost totally blind ; but, 
 notwithstanding, his indefatigable industry, united with fine taste and a well- 
 stored mind, has elevated him to the highest rank in that difficult department, 
 historical composition. Indeed, it is the concurrent judgment of the best European 
 critics that he has no superior, if he has an equal, among contemporary historians. 
 His first work, " Ferdinand and Isabella," was published in the beginning of 1838. 
 and was soon republished in nearly all the great cities of Europe. That, with 
 his second work, "The Conquest of Mexico," are not only among the finest 
 rmxbls of historical composition, but in a very genuine sense they are national 
 worKs. The choicest words of panegyric can not do injustice to the exquisite 
 " beiuty of Mr. Prescott's descriptions, the just proportion and dramatic interest 
 of his narrative, his skill as a character writer, the expansiveness and complete- 
 
 *Te Deum (te de' urn), a hymn of thanksgiving, so called from tbo 
 first words, " Te Deum laudamus" Thee, God, we praise. 
 
152 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 ness of his views, and that careful and intelligent research which enabled him 
 to make his works as valuable for their accuracy as they are attractive by all 
 the graces of style." In private life, no man is more beloved than Mr. Prescc t. 
 He is as much admired for his amiability, simplicity, and highbred courtesy 
 for his remarkable abilities and acquirements. 
 
 34. DESTINT OF AMERICA. 
 
 1. fTHHE Muse, disgusted at an age and clime 
 JL Barren of every glorious theme, 
 
 In distant lands now waits a better time 
 Producing subjects worthy fame : 
 
 2. In happy climes, where, from the genial sun 
 
 And virgin earth, such scenes ensue ; 
 The force of art by nature seems outdone, 
 And fancied beauties by the true : 
 
 3. In happy climes, the seat of innocence, 
 
 Where nature guides, and virtue rules ; 
 Where men shall not impose for truth and sense 
 The pedantry of courts and schools : 
 
 4. There shall be sung another golden age, 
 
 The rise of empire and of arts ; 
 The good and great inspiring epic rage, 
 The wisest heads and noblest hearts. 
 
 5. Not such as Europe breeds in her decay : 
 
 Such as she bred when fresh and young, 
 When heavenly flame did animate her clay, 
 By future poets shall be sung. 
 
 6. Westward the course of empire takes its way : 
 
 The four first acts already past, 
 A fifth shall close the drama with the day : 
 
 Time's noblest offspring is the last. BERKELEY. 
 
 GEORGE BERKELEY, Bishop of Cloyne, was born at Thomastown, county of 
 Kilkenny, Ireland, in 1684, and died at Oxford, England, in 1753. He was the 
 author of several works, principally on metaphysical science. He visited Amer- 
 ica in 17-,'S for the purpose of founding a college for the conversion of the In- 
 dians ; but failing to obtain the promised funds from the government, after re- 
 maining seven 7ars in Rhode Island, he returned to Europe. While inspired 
 with his transatlantic mission, he penned the above fine moral verses, so truN 
 Dronhetic of the progress of the United States. 
 
CHARACTER OF LOUIS FOURTEENTH. 153 
 
 35. CHARACTER OF Louis FOURTEENTH 
 
 CONCERNING Louis the Fourteenth, 1 the world seems, at last, 
 \J to have formed a correct judgment. He was not a great 
 general ; he was not a great statesman ; but he was, in one sense 
 of the word, a great king. Never was there so consum'mate a 
 master of what James the First of England called kingcraft ; ol 
 all those arts which most advantageously display the merits of a 
 prince, and most completely hide his defects. 
 
 2. Though his internal administration was bad ; though the 
 military triumphs which gave splendor to the early part of his 
 reign were not achieved by himself; though his later years were 
 crowded with defects and humiliations ; though he was so igno- 
 rant that he scarcely understood the Latin of his mass-book ; 
 though he fell under the control of a cunning Jesuit, and of a 
 more cunning old woman ; he succeeded in passing himself off 
 on his people as a being above humanity. And this is the more 
 extraordinary, because he did not seclude himself from the public 
 gaze, like those Oriental despots whose faces are never seen, and 
 whose very names it is a crime to pronounce lightly. 
 
 3. It has been said, that no man is a hero to his val'et ; and 
 all the world saw as much of Louis the Fourteenth as his valet 
 could see. Five hundred people assembled to see him shave and 
 put on his clothes in the morning. He then kneeled down at 
 the side of his bed, and said his prayers, while the whole assem- 
 bly awaited the end in solemn silence, the ecclesiastics on their 
 knees, and the laymen with their hats before their faces. He 
 walked about his gardens with a train of two hundred courtiers 
 at his heels. All Versailles came to see him dine and sup. He 
 was put to bed at night, in the midst of a crowd as great as that 
 which had met to see him rise in the morning. He took his 
 very emetics in state, and vomited majestically in the presence 
 of all his nobles. Yet, though he constantly exposed himself to 
 the public gaze, in situations in which it is scarcely possible for 
 any man to preserve much personal dignity, he, to the last, im- 
 
 1 Louis the Fourteenth, who was hut four years of age when he 
 cended the throne, reigned from 1G43 to 1715. 
 
154 NATIONAL FIFTH READEK. 
 
 pressed those who surrounded him with the deepest awe and 
 reverence. 
 
 4. The illusion 1 which he produced on his worshipers, can be 
 compared only to those illusions to which lovers are proverbially 
 subject during the season of courtship. It was an illusion which 
 affected even the senses. The contemporaries 2 of Louis thought 
 him tall. Voltaire, 3 who might have seen him, and who had 
 lived with some of the most distinguished members of his court, 
 speaks repeatedly of his majestic stature. Yet it is as certain as 
 any fact can be, that he was rather below than above the mid- 
 dle size. 
 
 5. He had, it seems, a way of holding himself, a way of walk- 
 ing, a way of swelling his chest and rearing his head, which de- 
 ceived the eyes of the multitude. Eighty years after his death, 
 the royal cemetery was violated by the revolutionists ; his coffin 
 was opened ; his body was dragged out ; and it appeared that 
 the prince whose majestic figure had been so long and loudly 
 extolled, was in truth a littk- man. 
 
 6. His person and government have had the same fate. He 
 had the art of making both appear grand and august, in spite of 
 the clearest evidence that both were below the ordinary standard. 
 Death and time have exposed both the deceptions. The body 
 of the great king has been measured more justly than it was 
 measured by the courtiers, who were afraid to look above his 
 shoe-tie. His public character has been scrutinized by men free 
 from the hopes and fears of Boileair 4 and Moliere. 5 In the grave, 
 the most majestic of princes is only five feet eight. In history, 
 the hero and the politician dwindle into a vain and feeble tyrant, 
 the slave of priests and women, little in war, little in government, 
 little in every thing but the art of simulating greatness. 
 
 1 II lu r sion, false show by which one may be disappointed ; deceptive 
 appearance. 2 Con tern' po raries, persons living at the same time. 
 * VOLTAIRE, the assumed name of Francois Marie Arouet, a distinguished 
 French poet, novelist, historian, and philosopher, born at a village near 
 Prfris. in 1694. and died at Paris in 1778. * BOILEAU, a distinguished 
 French poet and satirist, born in 1636, and died in 1711. 'MouisB, 
 the assumed name of Jean Baptiste Poquelin, a poet, actor, and drama- 
 tist, celebrated as the best comic writer of France, born in Paris, in 
 1620. and died in 1673. 
 

 QUEEN ELIZABETH. 155 
 
 7. He left to his infant successor a famished and miserable 
 people, a beaten and humble army, provinces turned into deserts 
 by misgovernment and persecution, factions dividing the army, 
 u schism 1 raging in the court, an immense debt, an innumerable 
 household, inestimable jewels and furniture. All the sap and 
 nutriment of the State seemed to have been drawn, to feed one 
 bloated and unwholesome excrescence. 2 
 
 8. The nation was withered. The court was morbidly flour- 
 ishing. Yet, it does not appear that the associations which 
 attached the people to the monarchy had lost strength during 
 his reign. He had neglected or sacrificed their dearest interests, 
 but he had struck their imaginations. The very things which 
 ought to have made him unpopular, the prodigies of luxury and 
 magnificence with which his person was surrounded, while, be- 
 yond the inclosure of his parks, nothing was to be seen but star- 
 vation and despair, seemed to increase the respectful attachment 
 which his people felt for him. T. B. MACAULAY. 
 
 THOMAS BABBINGTON MACAULAY, the most attractive, and one of the most learn- 
 ed and eloquent of the essayists and critics of the age. He was educated at the 
 University of Cambridge, England, where he took his degree in 1822, after hav- 
 ing achieved the highest honors of the university. After leaving the university, 
 he studied law at Lincoln's Inn, and was admitted to the bar in 1826. He has 
 been distinguished in politics, as an orator in parliament, and as an able officer 
 of the Supreme Council in Calcutta, India. He returned to England in 1838, 
 and a few years later was elected Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow. 
 He is very meritorious as a poet ; but his poetical merit .dwindles into insignifi- 
 cance m comparison with the unrivaled brilliancy of his prose. His " Essays from 
 the Edinburgh Review" have been published in three volumes. They have at- 
 tained a greater popularity than any other contributions to the periodical works 
 of the day. His last publication, the " History of England," is written in a style 
 of great clearness, force, and eloquence, and is as popular among all classes as 
 any history of the present century. 
 
 36. QUEEN ELIZABETH. 
 
 are few great personages in history who have been 
 - more exposed to the calumny 3 of enemies, and the adulation 4 
 
 1 Schism (siz'm), a division in a party or chinch. 2 Ex cr&e' cence, that 
 frhich grows unnaturally, and without use, out of something else. 
 Cal' urn ny, slander ; the utterance of a false and malicious report 
 tgainst the reputation of another. * Ad u la' tion, servile flattery. 
 
156 NATIONAL FlFl'H READER. 
 
 of friends, than Queen Elizabeth ;' and yet there scarcely is any 
 whose reputation has been more certainly determined by the 
 unanimous consent of posterity. The unusual length of her ad- 
 ministration, and the strong features of her character, were able 
 to overcome all prejudices ; 'and, obliging her detractors to abate 
 much of their invectives, and her admirers somewhat of their 
 panegyr'ics, 2 have, at last, in spite of political factions, and, what 
 is mo^e, of religious animosities, produced a uniform judgment 
 wifih regard to her conduct. 
 
 2. Few sovereigns of England 3 succeeded to the throne in 
 more difficult circumstances ; and none ever conducted the gov> 
 eminent with such uniform success and felicity. Though unac- 
 quainted with the practice of toleration, the true secret for man- 
 aging religious factions, sh* preserved her people, by her supe- 
 rior prudence, from those confusions in which theological con- 
 troversy had involved all the neighboring nations ; and though 
 her enemies were the most powerful princes of Europe, the 
 most active, the most enterprising, the least scrupulous, she 
 was able, by her vigor, to make deep impressions on their States. 
 Her own greatness, meanwhile, remained unimpaired. 
 
 3. The wise ministers and brave warriors who nourished un- 
 der her reign share the praise of her success ; but, instead of 
 lessening the applause due to her, they make great addition to 
 it They owed, all of them, their advancement to her choice ; 
 they were supported by her constancy ; and, with aD their abil- 
 ities, they were never able to acquire any undue ascendant over 
 her. In her family, in her court, in her kingdom, she remained 
 equally mistress ; the force of the tender passions was great over 
 her, but the force of her mind was still superior ; and the com- 
 bat which her victory visibly cost her serves only to display the 
 firmness of her resolution, and the loftiness of her ambitious 
 sentiments. 
 
 4. The fame of this princess, though it has surmounted the 
 prejudices both of faction and bigotry, yet lies still exposed to 
 another prejudice, which is more durable, because more natural, 
 and which, according to the different views in which we survey 
 
 1 QUBBN ELIZABETH reigned in England from 1558 to 1603. * Panegyric 
 (panejlr'ik), formal praise. 3 England (In 
 
THE KING AND THE NIGHTINGALES. 157 
 
 her, is capable either of exalting beyond measure,, or diminish- 
 ing the luster of her character. This prejudice is founded on 
 the consideration of her sex. 
 
 5. When we contem 'plate her as a woman, we are apt to be 
 .struck with the highest admiration of her great qualities and ex- 
 tensive capacity ; but we are also apt to require some more soft- 
 ness of disposition, some greater lenity of temper, some of those 
 amiable weaknesses by which her sex is distinguished. But the 
 true method of estimating her merit is, to lay aside all these 
 considerations, and consider her merely as a rational being, 
 placed in authority, and intrusted with the government of man- 
 kind. DAVID HUME. 
 
 DAVID HUME, or HOME, as the name was originally spelt, one of the most cele- 
 brated historians and philosophers of Great Britain, was born at Edinburgh, Scot- 
 land, April 26th, 1711. At the early age of fifteen he was sent to the University of 
 Edinburgh, where he passed a course of study with unusual success. So fully was 
 he possessed, even at that early age, with an intense love of literature, and tha 
 ambition of literary distinction which was the ruling passion of his life, that they 
 overmastered every thing in the shape of pleasure or interest, that could be 
 brought into competition with them. His first work, "Treatise of Human 
 Nature," was completed by his twenty-fifth year, and published in London, in 
 1737. This, as the production of so young a mind, must certainly be regarded as 
 a prodigy of metaphysical acuteness. The last volumes of his " History of 
 England," or rather the first, as it was published in the retrograde course, 
 appeared in 1761. His fame as a philosopher rests rather on what he was capa- 
 ble of, than of what he achieved ; and, as a historian, he is much more indebted 
 for his success to his manner, or style, than to his matter. Though his " History 
 of England" is everywhere disfigured with gross defects, inaccuracies, and preju- 
 dices, still the narrative is so lucid, the grouping so admirable, the reflections so 
 unforced and natural combining so much of flexible grace and natural dignity 
 that it will ever stand high in the estimation of every cultivated taste. The 
 private character of Mr. Hume exhibited many virtues. He was very amiable, 
 and well merited the admiration of his friends. Though a confirmed skeptic, 
 the phihtsophic fortitude and tranquillity of his death, which occurred in August, 
 1776, is well attested. This, however, is truly a rare phenomenon. 
 
 37. THE KING AND THE NIGHTINGALES. 
 
 1. T/~ING Edward dwelt at Havering-atte-Bower 1 -- 
 -iV Old, and enfeebled by the weight of power 
 
 1 Havering-atte-Bower, in Essex, was the favorite retirement of King 
 Edward the Confessor, who so delighted in its solitary woods, that he 
 shut himself up in them for weeks at a time. -Old legends say that he 
 met with but one annoyance in that pleasant seclusion the continual 
 
158 NATIONAL FIFTH READEE. 
 
 Sick of the troublous majesty of kings -. 
 Weary of duty and all mortal things 
 Weary of day weary of night forlorn 
 Cursing, like Job, 1 the hour that he was born ; 
 Thick woods environ'd him, and in their shade 
 He roarn'd all day, and told his beads, and pray'd. 
 Men's faces pain'd him, and he barr'd his door 
 That none might find him ; even the sunshine bore 
 No warmth or comfort to his wretched sight ; 
 And darkness pleased no better than the light 
 
 2. He scorn'd himself for eating food like men, 
 And lived on roots 2 and water from the fen ; 
 And aye he groan'd, and bow'd his hoary head 
 Did penance, and put nettles in his bed 
 
 Wore sackcloth on his loins, and smote his breast 
 
 fold all his follies, all his sins confess' d 
 
 Made accusations of himself to Heaven, 
 
 And own'd to crimes too great to be forgiven, 
 
 Which he had thought, although he had not done 
 
 Blackening his blackness ^ numbering one by one ^* 
 
 Unheard-of villanies without a name, 
 
 As if he gloried in inventing shame, 
 
 Or thought to win the grace of Heaven by lies, 
 
 And gain a saintship in a fiend's disguise. 
 
 3. Long in these woods he dwelt a wretched man, 
 Shut from all fellowship, self-placed in ban 
 Laden with ceaseless prayer and boastful vows, 
 Which day and night he breathed beneafh the boughs. 
 But sore distress'd he was, and wretched quite, 
 
 For every evening with the waning light 
 A choir of nightingales, the brakes among, 
 
 warbling of the nightingales, pouring such floods of music upon his ear 
 during his midnight meditations, as to disturb his devotions. He there- 
 fore prayed that never more within the bounds of that forest might 
 nightingale's song be heard. His prayer, adds the legend, was granted. 
 The following versification of the story shows a different result to hi 
 prayers a result which, if it contradict tradition, does not, it is pro* 
 sumed, contradict poetical justice. 1 See Job, chap. iii. * Root. 
 
THE KINO AND THE NIGHTINGALES. 159 
 
 Deluged the woods with overflow of s5ng. 
 
 " Unholy birds," he said, " your throats be riven, 
 
 You mar iny prayers, you take my thoughts from heaven.** 
 
 4. But still the sdng, magnificent and loud, 
 
 Pour'd from the trees like rain from thunder-cloud. 
 Now to his vex'd and melancholy ear 
 Sounding like bridal music, pealing clear; 
 Anon it deepen'd on his throbbing brain 
 To full triumphal march or battle strain ; 
 Then seem'd to vary to a choral hymn, 
 Or De Projundis 1 from cathedral dim, 
 " Te De'um,' or " Hosanna to the Lord? 
 
 Chanted by deep-voiced priests in full accord. 
 f 
 
 He shut his ears, he stamp'd upon the sod 
 
 " Be ye accursed, ye take my thoughts from God 
 
 And thou, beloved saint, to whom I bend, 
 
 Lamp of my life, my guardian and friend, 
 
 Make intercession for me, sweet St. John, 
 
 And hear the anguish of thy suffering son. 
 
 May nevermore within these' woods be heard 
 
 The song of morning or of evening bird, 
 
 May nevermore their harmonies awake 
 
 Within the precincts of this lonely brake, 
 
 For I am weary, old, and full of woe, 
 
 And their songs vex me. This one boon bestow, 
 
 That I may pray ; and give my thoughts to thee, 
 
 Without distraction of their melody ; 
 
 And that within these bowers rny groans and sighs 
 
 And ceaseless prayers be all the sounds that rise. 
 
 Let God alone possess me, last and first ; 
 
 And, for His sake, be all these birds accursed." 
 
 This having said, he started where he stood, 
 And saw a stranger walking in the ^ood ; 
 A purple glory, pale as amethyst, 2 
 
 1 +)e profundis, the Latin commencement of a psalm, which has given 
 its i>ame to the psalm itself. 2 Am' e thyst, a precious stone of a violet 
 blue ooloi 
 
160 NATIONAL FDJTfl READER. 
 
 Clad him all o'er. He knew the Evangelist ; l 
 And, kneeling on the earth with reverence meet, 
 He kiss'd his garment's hem, 'and clasp'd his feet. 
 
 7. " Rise," said the saint, " and know, unhappy king, 
 That true Religion hates no living thing ; 
 
 It loves the sunlight, loves the face of man, 
 And takes all virtuous pleasure that it can 
 Shares in each harmless joy that Nature gives, 
 Bestows its sympathy on all that lives, 
 Sings with the bird, rejoices with the bee, 
 And, wise as manhood, sports with infancy. 
 Let not the nightingales disturb thy prayers, 
 But make thy thanksgiving as pure as theirs ; 
 So shall it mount on wings of love to Heaven, 
 And thou, forgiving, be thyself forgiven." 
 
 8. The calm voice ceased; King Edward dared not .ook, 
 But bent to earth, and blush'd at the rebuke ; 
 
 And though he closed his eyes and hid his face, 
 
 He knew the saint had vanish'd from the place. 
 
 And when he rose, ever the wild woods rang 
 
 With the sweet song the birds of evening sang. 
 
 No more he cursed them ; loitering on his way 
 
 He listen'd pleased, and bless'd them for their lay ; 
 
 And on the morrow quitted Havering 
 
 To mix with men, and be again a king, 
 
 And fasting, moaning, scorning, praying less, 
 
 Increased in virtue and in happiness. CIIARLES MACKA?.* 
 
 38. THE GOOD WIFE. 
 
 THE heart of a man, wifh whom affection is not a name, add 
 love a mere passion of the hour, yearns 3 toward the quiet of 
 a home, as toward the goal of his earthly 4 joy and hope. Ami 
 
 1 E van' gel 1st, one of the writers of Gospel history ; one who preach- 
 es the Gospel. a See Biographical Sketch, p. 91. 3 Y&zra. * Earthlj 
 (Irth' 1?). 
 
THE GOOD WIFE. 161 
 
 at \'ou fasten 1 there 8 your thought, an indulgent, yet dreamy 
 fancy paints the loved image that is to adorn 3 it, and to make it 
 sacred. 
 
 2. She is there to bid you God speed ! and an adieu, that 
 hangs like music on your ear, as you go out to the every-day 
 labor of life. A evening, she is there to greet you, as you come 
 back wearied with a day's toil ; and her look so full of gladness, 
 cheats you of your fatigue; and she steals her arm around you, 
 with a soul of welcome, that beams like sunshine on her brow 
 and that fills your eye with tears of a twin gratitude to her, 
 and Heaven. 
 
 3. She is not unmindful of those old-fashioned virtues of clean- 
 liness and of order, which give an air 4 of quiet, and which secure 
 content. Your wants are all anticipated ; the fire is burning 5 
 brightly ; the clean hearth 6 flashes under the joyous blaze ; the 
 old elbow-chair 7 is in its place. Your very unworthiness of all 
 th's haunts 8 you like an accusing spirit, and yet penetrates your 
 heart with a new devotion, toward the loved one who is thus 
 watchful of your comfort. 
 
 4. She is gentle ; keeping your love, as she has won it, by a 
 thousand nameless and modest virtues, which radiate from her 
 whole life and action. She steals upon your affections like a 
 summer wind breathing softly over sleeping valleys. She gains 
 a mastery 9 over your sterner 10 nature, by very contrast ; and wins 
 you unwittingly to her lightest wish.- And yet her wishes are 
 guided by that delicate tact, which avoids conflict with your 
 manly pride ; she subdues, by seeming to yield. By a single 
 soft word of appeal, she robs your vexation of its anger ; and 
 with a slight touch of that fair 11 hand, and one pleading look of 
 that earnest 12 eye, she disarms your sternest pride. 
 
 5. She is kind ; shedding her kindness, as Heaven sheds clew. 
 Who indeed could doubt it ? least of all, you who are living on 
 her kindness, day by clay, as flowers live on light ? There is 
 none of that officious parade which blunts the point of benevo- 
 lence : but it tempers every action with a blessing. 
 
 1 Fasten (fs ; sn). a There (thar). 3 Adorn (a dim'). 4 Air (ar). 
 Burning (bSrn'ing) . Hearth. 7 Chair. 8 Haunts. - Mas' ter y.~ 
 10 Stern'er.-- 11 Fair. 13 Earnest (8rn' est). 
 
 11 
 
162 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 6. If trouble has come upon you, she knows that her voice, 
 beguiling you into cheerfulness, will lay your fears ; and as she 
 draws her chair beside you, she knows that the tender and con- 
 fiding way with which she takes your hand, and looks up into 
 your earnest face, will drive away from your annoyance all its 
 weight. As she lingers, leading off your thought with pleasant 
 words, she knows well that she is redeeming you from care, 1 and 
 soothing you to that sweet calm, which such home and such 
 wife can alone bestow. 
 
 7. And in sickness, sickness that you almost covet for the 
 sympathy it brings, that hand of hers resting on your fevered 
 forehead, or those fingers playing wifti the scattered locks, are 
 more full of kindness than the loudest vaunt 2 of friends ; and 
 when your failing strength will permit no more, you grasp 3 that 
 cherished hand, with a fullness of joy, of thankfulness, and of 
 love, which your tears only can tell. 
 
 8. She is good ; her hopes live where the angels live. Her 
 kindness and gentleness are sweetly tempered with that meek- 
 ness and forbearance which are born of Faith. Trust comes into 
 her heart as rivers come to the sea. And in the dark hours of 
 doubt and foreboding, you rest fondly upon her buoyant 4 faith, 
 as the treasure of your common life ; and in your holier musings, 
 you look to that frail hand, and that gentle spirit, to lead you 
 away from the vanities of worldly ambition, to the fullness of 
 that joy which the good inherit. D. G. MITCHELL. 
 
 DONALD G. MITCHELL was born in Norwich, Connecticut, April, 1822. His 
 father was the pastor of the Congregational church of that place, and his grand- 
 father a member of the first Congress at Philadelphia, and for many years 
 Chief-justice of the Supreme Court of Connecticut. Mr. Mitchell graduated in 
 due course, at Yale, in J841. His health being feeble, he passed the three fol- 
 lowing years in the country, where he became much interested in agriculture, 
 and wrote a number of letters to the " Cultivator," at Albany. He gained a 
 silver cup from the New York Agricultural Society, as a prize for a plan of farm 
 buildings. He next crossed the ocean, and after remaining about two years in 
 Europe, returned home, and soon after published " Fresh Gleanings." In 1850, 
 after his return from a second visit to Europe, he published " The Battle Sum- 
 mer," containing personal observations in Paris during the year 1848. He has 
 since published the " Reveries of a Bachelor," " Dream Life," and " Fudge 
 Doings." His works have usually been well received. His style is quiet, pure, 
 and effective. In 1853, Mr. Mitchell received the appointment of United State* 
 consul at Venice. He is at present residing in the vicinity of New Haven. 
 
 J Care. * Vaunt. 1 Grasp. 4 Buoyant (bwai'ant). 
 
SCENE WITH A PANTHER. 163 
 
 39. SCENE WITH A PANTHER. 
 
 AS soon as I had effected iny dangerous passage, I screened 
 myself behind a cliff, and gave myself up to reflection. 
 While thus occupied, my eyes were fixed upon the opposite 
 steeps. The tops of the trees, waving to and fro in the wildest 
 commotion, and their trunks occasionally bending to the blast, 
 which, in these lofty regions, blew with a violence unknown in 
 the tracts below, exhibited an awful spectacle. 
 
 2. At length my attention was attracted by the trunk which 
 lay across the gulf, and which I had converted into a bridge. I 
 perceived that it had already somewhat swerved from its original 
 position, that every blast broke or loosened some of the fibers by 
 which its roots was connected wifh the opposite bank, and that, 
 if the storm did not speedily abate, there was imminent danger 
 of its being torn from the rock and precipitated into the chasm. 
 Thus my retreat would be cut off, and the evils from which I was 
 endeavoring to rescue another, would be experienced by myself. 
 
 3. I believed my destiny to hang upon the expedition wi& 
 which I should recross this gulf. The moments that were spent 
 in these deliberations were critical, and I shuddered to observe 
 that the trunk was held in its place by one or two fibers which 
 were already stretched almost to breaking. To pass along the 
 trunk, rendered slippery by the wet and unsteadfast by the 
 wind,, was eminently dangerous. To maintain my hold in pass* 
 ing, in defiance of the whirlwind, required the most vigorous 
 exertions. For this end, it was necessary to discommode myself 
 of my cloak. 
 
 4. Just as I had disposed of this encumbrance, and had risen 
 from my seat, my attention was again called to the opposite 
 steep, by the most unwelcome object that at this time could 
 possibly present itself. Something was perceived moving among 
 the bushes and rocks, which, for a time, I hoped was no more 
 than a raccoon or opossum, but which presently appeared to be 
 a panther. His gray coat, extended claws, fiery eyes, and a cry 
 which he at that moment uttered, and which, by its resemblance 
 tc the human voice, is peculiarly terrific, denoted him to be the 
 most ferocious and untamable of that detested race. 
 
 5. The in'dustry of our hunters has nearly banished animals 
 
164 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 of prey from these precincts. The fastnesses of Noiwalk, how- 
 ever, could not but afford refuge to some of them. Of late I had 
 met them so rarely, that my fears were seldom alive, and I trod, 
 without caution, the ruggedest and most solitary haunts. Still, 
 however, I had seldom been unfurnished in my rambles with the 
 means of defense. 
 
 6. The unfrequency with which I had lately encountered this 
 foe, and the encumbrance of provision, made me neglect, on thia 
 occasion, to bring with me my usual arms. The beast that was 
 now before me, when stimulated by hunger, was accustomed to 
 assail whatever could provide him with a banquet of blood. He 
 would set upon man and the deer with equal and irresistible 
 ferocity. His sagacity was equal to his strength, and he seemed 
 able to discover when his antagonist was armed. 
 
 7. My past experience enabled me to estimate the full extent 
 of my danger. He sat on the brow of the steep, eyeing the 
 bridge, and apparently deliberating whether he should cross it. 
 It was probable that he had scented my footsteps thus far, and 
 should he pass over, his vigilance could scarcely fail of detecting 
 my asy'lum. 
 
 8. Should he retain his present station, my danger was 
 scarcely lessened. To pass over in the face of a famished tiger 
 was only to rush upon my fete. The falling of the trunk, which 
 had lately been so anxiously deprecated, was now, with no less 
 solicitude, desired. Every new gust I hoped would tear asunder 
 its remaining bands, and, by cutting off all communication be- 
 tween the opposite steeps, place me in security. My hopes, 
 however, were destined to be frustrated. The fibers of the 
 prostrate tree were obstinately tenacious of their hold, and 
 presently the animal scrambled down the rock and proceeded to 
 cross it. 
 
 9. Of all kinds of death, that which now menaced me was the 
 most abhorred. To die by disease, or by the hand of a fellow- 
 creature, was lenient in comparison with being rent to pieces by 
 the tangs of this savage. To perish in this obscure retreat, by 
 means so impervious to the anxious curiosity of my friends, to 
 lose my portion of existence by so untoward and ignoble a 
 destiny, was insupportable. I bitterly deplored my rashness in 
 coming hither unprovided for an encovnter like this. 
 
SCENE WITH A PANTHER. 165 
 
 10. The evil of my present circumstances consisted chiefly in 
 mspense. My death was unavoidable, but my imagination had 
 leisure to torment itself by anticipations. One foot of the 
 savage was slowly and cautiously moved after the other. He 
 struck his claws so deeply into the bark that they were wifh 
 difficulty withdrawn. At length he leaped upon the ground. 
 We were now separated by an interval of scarcely eight feet. 
 To leave the spot where I crouched was impossible. Behind 
 and beside me the cliff rose perpendicularly, and before me was 
 this grim and terrific visage. I shrunk still closer to the ground 
 and closed my eyes. 
 
 11. From this pause of horror I was aroused by the noise 
 occasioned by a second spring of the animal. He leaped into 
 the pit in which I had so deeply regretted that I had not taken 
 refuge, and disappeared. My rescue was so sudden, and so 
 much beyond my belief or my hope, that I doubted for a 
 moment whether my senses did not deceive me. This oppor- 
 tunity of escape was not to be neglected. I left my place and 
 scrambled over the trunk wifih a precipitation which had liked 
 to have proved fatal. The tree groaned and shook under me, 
 the wind blew with unexampled violence, and I had scarcely 
 reached the opposite steep when the roots were severed from 
 the rock, and the whole fell thundering to the bottom of the 
 chasm. 
 
 12. My trepidations were not speedily quieted. I looked back 
 wifh wonder on my hair-breadth escape, and on that singulai 
 concurrence of events which had placed me in so short a period 
 in absolute security. Had the trunk fallen a moment earlier, I 
 should have been imprisoned on the hill or thrown headlong. 
 Had its fall been delayed another moment, I should have been 
 pursued ; for the beast now issued from his den, and testified his 
 surprise and disappointment by tokens, the sight of which made 
 my blood run cold. 
 
 13. He saw me, and hastened to the verge of the chasm. He 
 squatted on his hind-legs, and assumed the attitude of one pre- 
 paring to leap. My consternation was excited afresh by these 
 appearances. It seemed, at first, as if the rift was too wide for 
 any power of muscles to carry him in safety over; but I knew 
 the unparalleled agility of this animal, and that his experience 
 
166 NATIONAL FIFTH RKADEE. 
 
 had made him a better judge of the practicability of this exploit 
 than I was. 
 
 14. Still, there was hope that he would relinquish this design 
 as desperate. This hope was quickly at an end. He sprung, 
 and his fore-legs touched the verge of the rock on which I stood. 
 In spite of ve'hement exertions, however, the surface was too 
 smooth and too hard to allow him to make good his hold. He 
 fell, and a piercing cry, uttered below, showed that nothing had 
 obstructed his descent to the bottom. C. B. BROWN. 
 
 CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN, the first American who chose literature as a pro- 
 fession, was born in Philadelphia on the 17th of January, 1771, and died the 22d 
 of February, 1810. He was a gentle, unobtrusive enthusiast, who, though he 
 resided principally in cities, passed a large portion of his life as a recluse. He 
 lived in an ideal, and had little sympathy with the actual world. He had more 
 genius than talent, and more imagination than fancy. His works, which were 
 rapidly written, are incomplete, and deficient in method. Though he disregard- 
 ed rules, and cared little for criticism, his style was clear and nervous, with 
 little ornament, free of affectations, and indicated a singular sincerity and depth 
 of feeling. " Wieland, or the Transformed," the first of a series of brilliant nov- 
 els by which Brown gained his enduring reputation, was published in 1798. It 
 is in all respects a remarkable book. Its plot, characters, and style are original 
 and peculiar. The novel from which the above extract was taken is entitled, 
 " Edgar Huntley, the Memoirs of a Somnambulist." The scene is located near 
 the forks of the Delaware, in Pennsylvania. Clithero, the sleep-walker, has be- 
 come insane, and has fled into one of the wild mountain fastnesses of Norwalk 
 Edgar Huntley, when endeavoring to discover his retreat, meets with the ad- 
 venture described above. This description is written with a freedom, minute- 
 ness, and truthfulness to nature, that render it fearfully interesting and effective 
 
 40. ^ATTIRE'S TEACHINGS. 
 
 1. fTlHE Seasons came and went, and went and 
 
 J- To teach men gratitude ; and as they pass'd, 
 Gave warning of the lapse of time, that else 
 Had stolen unheeded by. The gentle flowers 
 Retired, and, stooping o'er the wilderness, 
 Talk'd of humility, and peace, and love. 
 The dews came down unseen at evening-tide, 
 And silently their bounties shed, to teach 
 Mankind unostenta/tious charity. 
 
 2. With arm in arm the forest rose on high, 
 And lesson gave of brotherly regard. 
 
167 
 
 And, on the rugged mountain-brow exposed, 
 
 Bearing the blast alone, the ancient oak 
 
 Stood, lifting high his mighty arm, and still 
 
 To courage in distress exhorted load. 
 
 The flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams, the breeze 
 
 Attuned the heart to melody and love. 
 
 3. Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept 
 Essential love ; and, from her glorious bow, 
 Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace. 
 With her own lips, her gracious lips, which God 
 Of sweetest accent made, she whisper'd still, 
 She whisper'd to Revenge Forgive, forgive ! 
 The sun, rejoicing round the earth, announced 
 Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God. 
 The moon awoke, and from her maiden face 
 Shedding her cloudy locks, look'd meekly forth, 
 And with her virgin stars walk'd in the heavens, 
 Walk'd nightly there, conversing, as she walk'd, 
 Of purity, and holiness, and God. 
 
 4. In dreams and visions, sleep instructed much. 
 Day utter'd speech to day, and night to night 
 Taught knowledge. Silence had a tongue ; the grave, 
 The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each 
 
 A tongue, that ever said Man ! think of God ! 
 
 Think of thyself! think of eternity ! 
 
 Fear God, the thunders said ; Fear God, the waves. 
 
 Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied. 
 
 Fear God, deep loudly answer'd back to deep. POLLOK. 
 
 ROBERT POLLOK was born in 1799, in Renfrewshire, Scotland, where his father 
 was a small farmer. After receiving the usual elementary education, he enter- 
 ed, at the age of nineteen, on a five years' course of study in the University ot 
 Glasgow. His ambitious and energetic poem, " Course of Time," appeared in 
 the spring of 1827, and speedily obtained a popularity which it is not likely soon 
 to lose. Its deeply religious character recommended it to serious persons ; and 
 it was admired by critics for the many flashes of original genius which light up 
 the crude and unwieldy design, and atone for the narrow range of thought and 
 knowledge, as well as for the stiff pomposity that pervades the diction. A few 
 of its passages are strikingly and most poetically imaginative, and some are 
 beautifully touching. Immediately after the publication of his poem, he was 
 admitted as a preacher in the United Secession Church. He died of consump- 
 tion in September of the same year, before the age of thirty. 
 
168 NATIONAL FIFrH READER. 
 
 41. WORK. 
 
 is a perennial 1 nobleness, ar^d even sacredness, in work.* 
 J- Were he never so benighted, forgetful of his high calling', 
 there is always hope in a man that actually and earnestly works; 
 in idleness alone is there perpetual despair. Work, n^ 
 Mammonish, 3 mean, is in communication wifh Nature: tl 
 desire to get work done will itself lead one more and more to 
 truth, 4 to Nature's appointments and regulations which are truth. 
 
 2. Blessed is he who has found his work ; let him ask no 
 other blessedness. He has a work, a life-purpose ; he has found 
 it, and will follow it ! How, as a free flowing channel, dug and 
 torn by noble force through the sour mud-swamp of one's exist- 
 ence, like an ever-deepening river there, it runs and flows ! drain- 
 ing off the sour festering water gradually from the root 5 of the 
 remotest grass blade ; making, instead of pestilential swamp, a 
 green, fruitful meadow with its clear flowing stream. How 
 blessed for the meadow itself, let the stream and its value be 
 great or small ! 
 
 3. Labor is life ; from the inmost heart of the worker rises his 
 God-given force, the sacred celestial life-essence, breathed into 
 him by Almighty God ; from his inmost heart awakens him to 
 all nobleness, to all knowledge, "self-knowledge," and much else, 
 so soon as work fitly begins. Knowledge! the knowledge that 
 will hold good in working, cleave thou to that ; for Nature her- 
 self accredits that, says Yea to that. Properly, thou hast no 
 other knowledge but what thou hast got by working : the rest 
 is yet all a hypothesis 6 of knowledge ; a thing to be argued of 
 in schools, a thing floating in the clouds in endless logic vor'tices, 7 
 till we try it and fix it. " Doubt, of whatever kind, can be ended 
 by action alone." 
 
 Per en' ni al, literally, through or beyond a year ; hence, enduring ; 
 lasting perpetually. a Work (\vlrk). * Mam' mon ish, relating to Mam- 
 mon, the Syrian god of .riches. The word here implies mercenary, or 
 procured by means of money. * Truth (trSth). Root, Hy poth' e sis, 
 a proposition or principle assumed for the purpose of argument ; a sup- 
 position. 7 Log' ic vor' ti ces. intricate logical arguments. Vortices 
 (var'tisez), whirlpools. 
 
WORK. 169 
 
 4. Older than all preached gospels' was this unpreached, in- 
 articulate, but ineradicable, 2 for-ever-enduring gospel : work, and 
 therein have well-being. Man, Son of Earth and of Heaven, lies 
 there not, in the innermost heart of thee, a spirit of active meth- 
 od, a force for work ; and burns like a painfully smoldering 
 fire, giving thee no rest till thou unfold it, till thou write it down 
 in beneficent 3 facts aroiind thee ! What is immethodic, 4 waste, 
 thou shalt make methodic, regulated, arable, 5 obedient and pro- 
 ductive to thee. Wheresoever thou findest disorder, there is 
 thy eternal enemy : attack him swiftly, subdue him ; make order 
 of him, the subject not of chaos, but of intelligence, divinity, and 
 thee ! The thistle that grows in thy path, dig it out that a 
 blade of useful grass, a drop of nourishing milk, may grow there 
 instead. The waste cotton-shrub, gather its waste wliite down, 
 spin it, weave it ; that, in place of idle litter, there may be fold- 
 ed webs, and the naked skin of man be covered. 
 
 5. But, above all, where thou findest ignorance, stupidity, 
 brute-mindedness attack it, I say ; smite it wisely, unweariedly, 
 and rest not while thou livest and it lives ; but smite, smite in the 
 name of God ! The highest God, as I understand it, does audi- 
 bly so command thee : still audibly, if thou have ears to hear. 
 He, even He, with his unspoken voice, is fuller than any Slriai 6 
 thundery or syllabled speech of whirlwinds ; for the SILENCE of 
 deep eternities, of worlds from beyond the morning stars, does it 
 not speak to thee ? The unborn ages ; the old graves, with 
 their long-moldering dust, the very tears that wetted it, now all 
 dry do not these speak to thee what ear hath not heard ? The 
 deep death-kingdoms, the stars in their never-resting courses, all 
 space and all time, proclaim it to thee in continual silent admo- 
 nition. Thou, too, if ever man should, shalt work while it is 
 called to-day ; for the night cometh, wherein no man can work. 
 
 6. All true work is sacred ; in all true work, were it but true 
 
 G6V pel, good news, hence the four books which relate the history 
 of the Saviour are called gospels ; divine truth. 8 In e rad' i ca ble, that 
 cannot be uprooted or destroyed. 8 Be nef i cent, doing good ; abound- 
 ing in acts of goodness ; charitable. * Im me thod'ic, having no meth- 
 od ; without systematic arrangement, order, or regularity. * Ar' a ble, 
 fit for tillage or plowing ; plowed ; productive. a Si' nit, a mountain of 
 Arabia Petraea, famous in Scripture. Height above the sea, 7,407 feet. 
 
 8 
 
170 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 hand-labor, there is something of divineness. Labor, wide as 
 the earth, has its summit in heaven. Sweat of the brow; and 
 up from that to sweat of the brain, sweat of the heart ; which 
 includes all Kepler 1 calculations, Newton 8 meditations, all scien- 
 ces, all spoken epics, all acted heroism, martyrdoms up to that 
 " agony of bloody sweat," which all men have called divine 1 
 brother, if this is not " worship," then I say, the more pity for 
 worship; for this is the noblest thing yet discovered under 
 Grid's sky. 
 
 7. Who art thou that coinplainest of thy life of toil? Com 
 plain not. Look up, my wearied brother ; see thy fellow-work- 
 men there, in God's eternity ; surviving there, they alone surviv- 
 ing : sacred band of the immortals, celestial body-guard of the 
 empire of mind. Even in the weak human memory they sur- 
 vive so long, as saints, as heroes, as gods ; they alone surviving : 
 peopling, they alone, the immeasured solitudes of Time! To 
 thee Heaven, though severe, is not unkind ; Heaven is kind as 
 a noble mother ; as that Spartan mother, saying while she gave 
 her son his shield, " WITH IT, MY SON, OR UPON IT !" Thou, too, 
 shalt return home, in honor to thy far-distant home, in honor ; 
 doubt it not if in the battle thou keep thy shield ! Thou, in 
 the eternities and deepest death-kingdoms, art not an alien; 8 
 thou everywhere art a denizen] 4 Complain not ; the very Spar- 
 tans did not complain. THOMAS CARLYLE. 
 
 THOMAS CARLYLE, the eminent essayist, reviewer, and historian, was born at 
 Middlebie, in Dumfriesshire, Scotland, in 1796. He received the rudiments of a 
 classical education at a school in Annan, a town about sixty miles south of Ed- 
 inburgh. At the University of Edinburgh, which he entered at the age of seven- 
 teen, he was distinguished for his attainments in mathematics. For some yeara 
 after leaving the university, lie supported himself by teaching, and writing foi 
 booksellers. He is the author of various works and translations " Life of Schil- 
 ler," "vSartor Resartus," 1S:><>; "The French Revolution," a history in three 
 volumes, 1837; "Chartism," 1839; "Critical and Miscellaneous Essays," from 
 reviews and magazines, in 5 vols., 1839 ; " Hero Worship," a series of lectures, 
 
 1 JoHN KEPLER, a distinguished mathematician and astronomer, was 
 born at Wiel, in Wirtemberg, on the 21st of December, 1571, and died 
 November 5th, o. s., 1631. 3 ISAAC NEWTON, a celebrated mathemati- 
 cian and natural philosopher, was born at Woolsthorpe, Lincolnshire, 
 England, on the 25th of December, 1642, o. s., and died the 20th March, 
 1727. 'Alien (al'yen), a foreigner who has not been naturalized; a 
 stranger. * Denizen (dfen' e zn), a naturalized foreigner. 
 
NOW. 171 
 
 1811; "Past and Present," 1843; "Life of Oliver Comwell," "Latter-day 
 Pamphlets," " Life of John Sterling," &c. <Src. The peculiar style and diction 
 of 31 r. Cariyle have with some retarded, and with others advanced his popularity; 
 It is more German than English, angular, objective, and unidiomatic : at times, 
 however, highly graphic, and swelling out into periods of fine imagery and elo- 
 quence. He is an original and subtle thinker, and combines with his powers of 
 analysis and reasoning a vivid and brilliant imagination. His opinions and 
 writings tend to enlarge our sympathies and feelings to stir the heart with 
 benevolence and affection to unite man to man and to build upon this love of 
 our fellow-beings a system of mental energy and purity far removed from the 
 operations of sense and pregnant with high hopes and aspirations. 
 
 42. Now. 
 
 1. fpHE venerable Past 1 is past; 
 
 -L 'Tis dark, and shines not in the ray : 
 'Twas good, no doubt 'tis gone at last 2 
 
 There dawns another day. 
 Why should we sit where ivies creep, 
 And shroud ourselves in charnels deep ? 
 Or the world's yesterdays deplore, 
 Mid crumbling ruins mossy hoar ? 
 
 2. Why should we see with dead men's eyes, 
 
 Looking at WAS from morn to night, 
 When the beauteous Now, the divine To BE, 
 
 Woo with their charms our living sight ? 
 Why should we hear but echoes dull, 
 When the world of sound, so beautiful, 
 
 Will give us music of our own ? 
 Why in the darkness should we grope, 
 When the sun, in heaven's resplendent cope. 
 
 Shines as bright as ever it shone ? 
 
 3 Abraham 3 saw no brighter stars 
 
 Than those which burn 4 for thee and me. 
 When Homer 5 heard 6 the lark's sweet song 
 
 1 Past.* Last. * ABRAHAM, the patriarch of the Jews, born and died 
 more than 2,000 years B. c. 4 Burn (b^rn). 'HOMER, the most distin- 
 guished of poets, called the " Father of Song." He is supposed to have 
 been an Asiatic Greek, though his birth-place, and the period in which 
 he lived, are not kaown H&zrd. 
 
172 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Or i ight-bird's lovelier melody, 
 They were such sounds as Shakspeare 1 heard, 
 Or Chaucer, 2 when he bless'd the bird ; s 
 Such lovely sounds as we can hear. 
 
 4. Great Plato 4 saw the vernal year 
 
 Send forth its tender flowers and shoots, 
 And luscious autumn pour its fruits ; 
 And we can see the lilies blow, 
 The corn-fields wave, the rivers flow ; 
 For us all bounties of the earth, 
 For us its wisdom, love, and mirth, 
 If we daily walk in the sight of God, 
 And prize the gifts he has bestow'd. 
 
 5. We will not dwell amid the graves, 
 
 Nor in dim twilights sit alone, 
 To gaze at rnolder'd architraves, 6 
 
 Or plinths 6 and columns overthrown ; 
 We will not only see the light 
 
 Through painted window's cobwebb'd o'er, 
 Nor know the beauty of the night 
 
 Save by the moonbeam on the floor : 
 But in the presence of the sun, 
 
 Or moon, or stars, our hearts shall glow ; 
 We'll look at nature face to face, 
 
 And we shall LOVE because we KNOW. 
 
 \J. The present needs us. Every age 
 Bequeaths the next for heritage 
 No lazy luxury or delight . 
 But strenuous labor for the right ; 
 
 SHAKSPEARE, the distinguished poet and dramatist, was 
 born iu 1564, and died in 1616.* GEOFFREY CHAUCER, called the day- 
 Btar and father of English poetry, born about 1328, and died in 1400. 
 His great work is "The Canterbury Tales." 'Bird (bird). 4 PLATO, a 
 very celebrated philosopher of ancient Greece, was born about 430 B. c., 
 and died in his eightieth year. B Architrave (ark' i trav), the part of a 
 roof which rests on the top of a column, designed to represent the beam 
 which supports the roof. ' ?linth, a flat, round, or square base or 
 foundation for a column. 
 
STUDY. 173 
 
 For Now, the child and sire of Time, 
 
 Demands 1 the deeds of earnest men 
 To make it better than the past, 
 
 And stretch the circle of its ken. 
 Now is a fact that men deplore, 
 Though it might bless them evermore, 
 Would they but fashion it aright : 
 J Tis ever new, 'tis ever bright. 
 
 7. Time, nor Eternity, hath seen 
 A repetition of delight 
 
 In all its phases : ne'er hath been 
 For men or angels that which is ; 
 
 And that which is hath ceased to be 
 Ere we have breathed it, and its place 
 
 Is lost in the Eternity. 
 But Now is ever good and fair, 
 Of the Infinitude the heir, 
 And we of it. So let us live 
 That from the Past we may receive 
 Light for the Now from Now a joy 
 That Fate nor Time shall e'er destroy. C. MACKAY.* 
 
 43. STUDY. 
 
 THE favorite idea of a genius among us, is of one who never 
 studies, or who studies, nobody can tell when at midnight, 
 or at odd times and intervals and now and then strikes out, at 
 a heat, as the phrase is, some wonderful production. This is a 
 character that has figured largely in the history of our literature, 
 in the persons of our Fieldings, 3 our Savages, 4 and our Steeles 5 
 "loose fellows about town," or loungers in the country, who 
 
 1 Demand'. a See Biographical Sketch, p. 91. 'FIELDING, see Bio- 
 graphical Sketch, p. 95. * SAVAGE, a poet of considerable merit, born 
 1698, in London, died 1743. He was int ; riate with Johnson, who 
 wrote an admirable Life of him. 6 STEELE, the principal author of the 
 "Tattler," the "Spectator," the "Guardian," and other periodical 
 papers, an Irishman by birth, born in 1671, and died in 1729. 
 
174 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 slept in ale-lionses and -wrote in bar-rooms, who took up the pen 
 as a magician's 1 wand to supply their wants, and when the 
 pressure of necessity was relieved, resorted again to their ca- 
 rousals. 
 
 2. Your real genius is an idle, irregular, vagabond sort of 
 personage, who muses in the fields or dreams by the fireside ; 
 whose strSng impulses that is the cant of it must needs hurry 
 him into wild irregularities or foolish eccentricity ; w r ho abhors 
 order, and can bear no restraint, and eschews all labor : such a 
 one, for instance, as Newton 2 or Milton! 3 What! they must 
 have been irregular, else they were no geniuses ! 
 
 3. " The young man," it is often said, " has genius enough, if 
 he would only study." Now the truth is, as I shall take the 
 liberty to state it, that genius will study, it is that in the mind 
 which does study ; that is the very nature of it. I care not to 
 say that it will always use books. All study is not reading, any 
 more than all reading is study. Study, says Cicero, 4 is the 
 voluntary and vigorous application of the mind to any subject. 
 
 4. Such study, such intense mental action, and nothing 5 else, 
 is genius. And so far as there is any native predisposition about 
 this enviable character of mind, it is a predisposition to that 
 action. That is the only test of the original bias ; and he who 
 does not come to that point, though he may have shrewdness, 
 and readiness, and parts, never had a genius. 
 
 5. No need to waste regrets upon him, as that he never could 
 be induced to give his attention or study to any thing; he 
 never had that which ht is supposed to have lost. For atten- 
 tion it is though other qualities belong to this transcendent 8 
 
 1 Magician (ma j!sh'an), one who is skilled in the art and science of 
 putting into action the power of spirits or the secret operation of natu- 
 ral causes. * SIR ISAAC NEWTON, the greatest of philosophers and math- 
 ematicians, was born in Lincolnshire, England, December 25, 1G42. 
 Hi.- investigations have completely revolutionized modern science. His 
 three great discoveries, of fluxions, the nature of light and colors, and 
 the laws of gravitation, have given him a name which will last as long 
 as rivilizat* >n exists. His " Principia" unfolds the theory of the uni- 
 verse. He died in 1727. * MILTON, see Index of Authors. * CICERO, 
 see p. 143, note 4. 6 Nothing (nuth' ing). Transcend' eut, surpass 
 i*vg ; very excellent. 
 
STUDY. 175 
 
 power attention :it is, that is the v8ry soul of genius : not the 
 fixed eye, not the poring- over a book, but the fixed thought. It 
 is, in fact, an action of the mind which is steadily concentrated 
 upon one idea or one series of ideas, which collects in one 
 point the rays of the soul till they search, penetrate, and fire the 
 whole train of its thoughts. 
 
 6. And while the fire burns within, the outward man may 
 indeed be cold, indifferent, and negligent, absent in appear 
 ance ; he may be an idler, or a wanderer, apparently without 
 aim or intent ; but still the fire burns within. And what though 
 "it hursts forth" at length, as has been said, "like volcanic fires, 
 with spontaneous, original, native force?" It only shows the 
 intenser action of the elements beneafli. What though it breaks 
 like lightning from the cloud ? The electric fire had been col- 
 lecting in the firmament through many a silent, calm, and 
 clear day. 
 
 7. What though the might of genius appears in one decisive 
 blow, struck in some moment of high debate, or at the crisis of 
 a nation's peril ? That mighty energy, though it may have 
 heaved in the breast of a Demosthenes, 1 was once a feeble in- 
 fant's thought. A mother's eye watched over its dawning. A 
 father's care guarded its early growth. It soon trod with youth- 
 ful steps the halls of learning, and found other fathers to wake 
 and to watch for it, even as it finds them here. 
 
 8. It went on ; but silence was upon its path, and the deep 
 strugglings of the inwavd soul marked its progress, and the 
 cherishing powers of nat are silently ministered to it. The ele- 
 ments around breathed upon it and " touched it to finer issues." 
 The golden ray of heaven fell tipon it, and ripened its expanding 
 faculties. The slow revolutions of years slowly added to its col- 
 lected treasures and energies ; till in its hour of glory, it stood 
 forth embodied in the form of living, commanding, irresistible 
 eloquence ! 
 
 9. The world wonders at the manifestation, and says, "Strange, 
 strange, that it should come thus unsought, unpremeditated, un- 
 
 1 DEMOSTHENES, the greatest of Greek orators, was born at Athens, u. c. 
 382, and died B. c. about 322. His orations present to us the models 
 *hich approach the nearest to perfection of all human productions. 
 
176 NATIONAL, FIFTH READER. 
 
 prepared !" But the truth is, there is no more a miracle in it, 
 than there is in the towering of the preeminent iorest-tree, or in 
 the flowing of the mighty and irresistible river, or in the wealth 
 and the waving of the boundless harvest. ORVILLB DEWEY. 
 
 ORVILLE DEWEY, D. D M was born in Sheffield, Berkshire county, Massachu- 
 setts, March 28th, H94. His father was a farmer, occupying a highly respecta- 
 ble position as a citizen. He entered Williams College, in his native county, at 
 the age of seventeen, where he gained a high position. He was thorough in all 
 his studies. Rhetoric he cultivated with uncommon perseverance. He was 
 critical and severe upon his own literary productions, revising and pruning with 
 a fidelity which gained him preeminence in his class, as already attaining a 
 style of classic strength and purity. H*e was graduated in 1814, with the highest 
 honors of the institution, having received the appointment of Valedictorian. He 
 pursued his professional studies at Audover Theological Seminary. In 1823 he 
 received and accepted a call to become pastor of a Unitarian church in New 
 Bedford, where he remained ten years. During this period he lectured frequent- 
 ly, and wrote for the press. He first visited Europe for the improvement of his 
 health in June, 1833, where he spent a year. After his return, he published 
 some results of his travels in a volume entitled, " The Old World and the New." 
 This book contains some of the best criticisms on painting, on music, en sculp- 
 ture, on men, things, and places ; and more than all, views of society, of govern- 
 ment, of the tendency of monarchical institutions, and of the condition of the 
 European people, which are sound, comprehensive, and deeply interesting. On 
 his return from Europe he was settled over " The Second Congregational Unita- 
 rian Society" of New York. In 1842 he again went abroad for his health, tak- 
 ing his family with him. He passed two years in France, Italy, Switzerland, 
 and England. In 1848, his health again failing, he dissolved his connection 
 with his church. Since that time he has occasionally preached and lectured in 
 nearly all the large cities of the Union. All, except his late writings, are bound 
 hi one volume, published at London in 1844. His productions since that period 
 are published in New York, in three volumes. Dr. Dewey has great depth of 
 thought. His imagination is rich, but not superfluous ; ready, but not obtrusive. 
 His style is artistic and scholarly. His periods are perfectly complete and 
 rounded, yet filled by the thought ; the variety is great, yet a symmetry pre- 
 vails ; and in general we find that harmony between the thoughts and their 
 form irhich should always obtain. 
 
 4A. THE POWER OF ART. 
 
 1. TTTHEN, from the sacred garden driven, 
 W Man fled before his Maker's wrath, 
 An angel left her place in heaven, 
 
 And cross' d the wanderer's sunless path. 
 Twas Art ! sweet Art ! new radiance broke 
 Where her light foot flew o'er the ground; 
 
THE POWER OF ART. 177 
 
 And thus with seraph voice she spoke, 
 " The curse a blessing shall be found/' 
 
 2. She led him through the trackless wild, 
 
 Where noontide sunbeams never blazed ; 
 The Thistle shrank, the harvest smiled, 
 
 And nature gladden'd as she gazed. 
 Earth's thousand tribes of living things, 
 
 At Art's command to him are given ; 
 The village grows, the <dt^ springs, 
 
 And point their spires of faith to heaven. 
 
 3. He rends the oak, and bids it ride, 
 
 To guard the shores its beauty graced ; 
 He smites the rock, upheaved in pride, 
 
 See towers of strength and domes of taste ! 
 Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal ; 
 
 Fire bears his banner on the wave; 
 He bids the mortal poison heal ; 
 
 And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. 
 
 4. He plucks the pearls that stud the deep, 
 
 Admiring beauty's lap to fill ; 
 He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep, 
 
 And mocks his own Creator's skill. 
 Wifih thoughts that fill his glowing soul, 
 
 He bids the ore illume the page ; 
 And, proudly scorning Time's control, 
 
 Commerces with an unborn age. 
 
 5. In fields of air he writes his name, 
 
 And treads the chambers of the sky; 
 He reads the stars, and grasps the flame 
 
 That quivers round the throne on high. 
 In war renown'd, in peace sublime, 
 
 He moves in greatness and in grace ; 
 His power, subduing space and time, 
 
 Links realm to realm, and race to race. SPRAQUB. 
 
 CHARLES SPRAGUE was bora in Boston, on the 2Cth day of October, 1791. He 
 was educated in the schools of his native city, which he left at an early period 
 to acquire a practical knowledge of trade. At twenty-one years of age, he com- 
 
 12 
 
178 m NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 menced the business of merchant on his own account, and continued in it untL 
 1F-JO, \vhen lie \vtus elected cashier of the Globe Bank. He is still connected 
 with that institution. In this period he has found leisure to study the woiks of 
 the greatest authors, particularly those of the masters of English poetry, and to 
 write the admirable poems on which is based his own reputation. Mr. SPRAGUE'S 
 first productions that attracted much attention, were a series of brilliant pro- 
 logues, the first of whic!: T^- written for the Park Theater, in New York, in 
 16~1. " Shakspeare Ou?," delivered in Boston Theater, in 1823, at" the exhibi- 
 tion of a pageant in honor of SHAKSPEARE, is one of the most vigorous and ex- 
 quisite lyrics in the English language. " Curiosity," the longest and best of his 
 poems, was delivered before the Phi Beta Kappa Society, at Cambridge, in Au- 
 gust, 1829. Several of his short poems evince great skill in the use of language, 
 and show him to be a master of the^x>etic art. 
 
 45. WANTS. 
 
 TjWERYBODY, young and old, children and gray-beards, has 
 J-J heard of the renowned Haroun Al Raschid,' the hero of 
 Eastern history and Eastern romance, and the most illustrious of 
 the caliphs 8 of Bagdad, 3 that famous city on which the light of 
 learning and science shone, long ere it dawned on the benighted 
 regions of Europe, which has since succeeded to the diadem that 
 once glittered on the brow of Asia. 4 Though as the successor of 
 the Prophet he exercised a despotic sway over the lives and for- 
 tunes of his subjects, yet did he not, like the Eastern despots of 
 more modern times, shut himself up within the walls of his pal- 
 ace, hearing nothing but the adulation of his dependents ; seeing 
 nothing but the shadows which surrounded him ; and knowing 
 nothing but what he received through the medium of interested 
 deception or malignant falsehood. 
 
 2. That he might see with his own eyes and hear with his 
 own ears, he was accustomed to go about through the streets of 
 
 1 HAROUN AL RASCHID, a celebrated caliph of the Saracens, ascended 
 the throne in 786, and was a contemporary of Charlemagne. He was 
 brave, munificent, and fond of letters, but cruel and perfidious. * Ca'- 
 liph. a successor or representative of Mohammed ; one vested with su- 
 preme dignity and power in all matters relating to religion and civil 
 policy. This title is borne by the grand seignior in Turkey, and by the 
 sophi of Persia.' Bag dad', a large and celebrated city of Asiatic Tur- 
 key, formerly capital of the empire of the caliphs, now capital of the 
 pashalic of the same name, on both banks of the Tigris, about 190 
 miles above its junction with the Euphrates. 4 Asia (a' she a). 
 
WANTS. 179 
 
 Bagdad' by night, in disguise, accompanied by Giafer the Bar- 
 mecide, his grand vizier, and Mesrour, his executioner ; one to 
 give him his counsel, the other to fulfil his commands promptly, 
 on all occasions. If he saw any commotion among the people, 
 he mixed with them and learned its cause ; and if in passing a 
 house he heard the moanings of distress or the complaints of 
 suffering, he entered, for the purpose of administering relief. 
 Thus he made himself acquainted with the condition of his sub- 
 jects, and often heard those salutary truths which never reached 
 his ears through the walls of his palace, or from the lips of the 
 slaves that surrounded him. 
 
 3. On one of these occasions, as Al Raschid was thus peram- 
 bulating the streets at night, in disguise, accompanied by his 
 vizier and his executioner, in passing a splendid mansion he 
 overheard, through the lattice of a window, the complaints of 
 some one who seemed in the deepest distress, and silently ap- 
 proaching, looked into an apartment exhibiting all the signs of 
 wealth and luxury. On a sofa of satin embroidered with gold, 
 and sparkling with brilliant gems, he beheld a man richly dressed, 
 in whom he rec'ognized his favorite boon-companion Bedreddin, 
 on whom he had showered wealth and honors with more than 
 Eastern prodigality. He was stretched out on the sofa, slapping 
 his forehead, tearing his beard, and moaning piteously, as if in 
 the extremity of suffering. At length starting up on his feet, he 
 exclaimed in tones of despair, " O Allah !' I beseech thee to re- 
 lieve me from my misery, and take away my life !" 
 
 4. The Commander 2 of the Faithful, who loved Bedreddin, 
 pitied his sorrows, and being desirous to know their cause, that 
 he might relieve them, knocked at the door, which was opened 
 by a black slave, who, on being informed that they were stran- 
 gers in want of food and rest, at once admitted them, and in- 
 formed his master, who called them into his presence and bade 
 them welcome. A plentiful feast was spread before them, at 
 which the master of the house sat down with his guests, but of 
 which he did not partake, but looked on, sighing bitterly all the 
 while. 
 
 5. The Commander of the Faithful at length ventured to ask 
 
 Al lah, the Ar'abic name of the Supreme Being.' Com mand'er. 
 
180 NATIONAL FIFfH READER. 
 
 him what caused his distress, and why he refrained from partak- 
 ing in the feast with his guests, in proof that they were welcome. 
 u Has Allah afflicted thee with disease, that thou canst not enjoy 
 the blessings he has bestowed ? Thou art surrounded by all the 
 splendor that wealth can procure ; thy dwelling is a palace, and 
 its apartments are adorned with all the luxuries which captivate 
 the eye, or administer to the gratification of the senses. Why 
 is it then, my brother, that thou art miserable ?" 
 
 6. " True, stranger," replied Bedreddin. " I have all these 
 I have health of body ; I am rich enough to purchase all that 
 wealth can bestow, and if I required more wealth and honors, I 
 am the favorite companion of the Commander of the Faithful", -QQ 
 whose head lie the blessings of Allah, and of whom I have only 
 to ask, to obtain all I desire, save one thing only." 
 
 7. "And what is that?" asked the caliph. "Alas! I adore 
 the beautiful Zuleima, whose face is like the full moon, whose 
 eyes are brighter and softer than those of the gazelle, and whose 
 mouth is like the seal of Solomon. But she loves another, and 
 all my wealth and honors are as nothing. The want of one 
 thing renders the possession of every other of no value. I am 
 the most wretched of men ; my life is a burden, and my death 
 would be a blessing." 
 
 8. " By the beard of the Prophet," cried the caliph, " I swear, 
 thy case is a hard one. But Allah is great and powerful, and 
 will, I trust, either deliver thee from thy burden or give thee 
 strength to bear it." Then thanking Bedreddin for his hospi- 
 tality, the Commander of the Faithful departed, with his com- 
 panions. 
 
 46. WANTS CONTINUED. 
 
 rriAKING their way toward that part of the city inhabited by 
 J- the poorer classes of people, the caliph stumbled over some- 
 thing, in the obscurity of night, and was nigh falling to the 
 ground : at the same moment a voice cried out, " Allah, preserve 
 me ! Am I not wretched enough already, that I must be trodden 
 under foot by a wandering beggar like myselfj in the darkness of 
 night !" 
 
WANT8. 181 
 
 2. Mezrour the executioner, indignant at this insult to the 
 Commander of the Faithful, was preparing to cut off his head, 
 when Al Raschid interposed, and inquired of the beggar his 
 name, and why he was there sleeping in the streets, at that hour 
 of the night. 
 
 3. " Mashallah," replied he, " I sleep in the street because I 
 have nowhere else to sleep ; and if I lie on a satin sofa, my pains 
 
 " and infirmities would rob me of rest. Whether on divans of 
 silk or in the dirt, all one to me, for neither by day nor by night 
 do I know any rest. If I close my eyes for a moment, my 
 dreams are of nothing but feasting, and I awake only to feel 
 more bitterly the pangs of -hunger and disease." 
 
 4. " Hast thou no home to shelter thee, no friends or kindred 
 to relieve thy necessities, or administer to thy infirmities ?" 
 
 5. " No," replied the beggar ; " my house was consumed by 
 fire ; my kindred are all dead, and my friends have deserted me. 
 Alas ! stranger, I am in want of every thing health, food, cloth- 
 ing, home, kindred, and friends. I am the most wretched of 
 mankind, and death alone can relieve me." 
 
 6. "Of one thing, at least, I can relieve thee," said the caliph, 
 giving him his purse. " Go and provide thyself food and shelter, 
 and may Allah restore thy health." 
 
 7. The beggar took the purse, but instead of calling down 
 blessings on the head of his benefactor, exclaimed, " Of what use 
 is money ? it cannot cure disease ;" and the caliph again went 
 on his way with Giafer his vizier, and Mesrour his executioner. 
 
 47. WANTS CONCLUDED. 
 
 "PASSING from the abodes of want and misery, they at length 
 J- reached a splendid palace, and seeing lights glimmering 
 from the windows, the caliph approached, and looking through 
 the silken curtains, beheld a man walking backward and forward, 
 with languid step, as if oppressed with a load of cares. At length 
 casting himself down on a sofa, he stretched out his limbs, and 
 yawning desperately, exclaimed, " Allah ! what shall I do ? 
 what will become of me! I am weary of life; it is- nothing but 
 
182 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 a cheat, promising what it never purposes, and affording only 
 hopes that end in disappointment, or, if realized, only in dis- 
 gust." 
 
 2. The curiosity of the caliph being awakened to know tho 
 cause of his despair, he ordered Mcsrour to knock at the door ; 
 which being opened, they pleaded the privilege of strangers to 
 enter, for rest and refreshments. Again, in accordance with the 
 precepts of the Ko'ran 1 and the customs of the East, the stran 
 gers were admitted to the presence of the lord of the palace, 
 who received them with welcome, and directed refreshments to 
 be brought. But though he treated his guests with kindness, 
 he neither sat down with them nor asked any questions, nor 
 joined in their discourse, walking back and forth languidly, and 
 seeming oppressed with a heavy burden of sorrows. 
 
 3. At length the caliph approached him reverently, and said : 
 " Thou seemest sorrowful, O my brother ! If thy suffering is of 
 the body, I am a physician, and peradventure can afford thee re- 
 lief; for I have traveled into distant lands, and collected very 
 choice remedies for human infirmity." 
 
 4. " My sufferings are not of the body, but of the mind," an- 
 swered the other. 
 
 5. " Hast thou lost the beloved of thy heart, the friend of thy 
 bosom, or been disappointed in the attainment of that on which 
 thou hast rested all thy hopes of happii 
 
 6. " Alas ! no. I have been disappointed, not in the means, 
 but in the attainment of happiness. I want nothing but a want. 
 I am cursed wife the gratification of all my wishes, and the frui- 
 tion of all my hopes. I have wasted my life in the acquisition 
 of riches, that only awakened new desires, and honors that no 
 longer gratify my pride or repay me for the labor of sustaining 
 them. I have been cheated in the pursuit of pleasures that 
 weary me in the enjoyment, and am perishing for lack of the 
 excitement of some new want. I have every thing I wish, yet 
 enjoy nothing." 
 
 7. " Thy case is beyond my skill," replied the caliph ; and 
 the man cursed wifli the fruition of all his desires turned his 
 back on him in despair. "The caliph, after thanking him for his 
 
 1 E6' ran, the Mohammedan book of faith. 
 
TIIE DESERTED VILLAGE. 183 
 
 hospitality, departed with his companions, and when they had 
 reached the street exclaimed 
 
 8. "Allah preserve me! I will no longer fatigue myself in a 
 
 vain pursuit, for it is impossible to confer happiness on such a 
 
 'perverse generation. I see it is all the same, whether a man 
 
 wants one thing, every thing, or nothing. Let us go home and 
 
 sleep." J. K. PAULDLNG. 
 
 JAMES KIRKE PAULDING was born August 22, 1779, in the town of Pawling, on 
 the Hudson, so named from one of his ancestors. After receiving a liberal edu- 
 cation, he removed to New York City, where he has since principally resided. 
 After writing some trifles for the gazettes, Mr. PAULDING, with Washington 
 Irving, established a periodical entitled " Salmagundi," in 1807. It met with 
 extraordinary success, and was, perhaps, the determining cause of the author's 
 subsequent devotion to literature. In 1819, Mr. PAULDING published a second 
 series of the " Salmagundi," of which he was the sole author. He is a voluminous 
 writer. His various works, including stories, essays, and other papers, which he 
 has published in periodicals, make more than thirty volumes. "The Dutch- 
 man's Fireside," published in 1831, and " Westward Ho," published the next 
 year, are regarded as his best novels. They are distinguished for considerable 
 descriptive powers, skill in character-writing, natural humor, and a strong na- 
 tional feeling, which gives a tone to all his works. Mr. PAULDING was many 
 years navy agent for the port of New York. When President Van Buren 
 formed his cabinet, in the spring of 1837, he was selected to be the head of the 
 navy department, in which office he continued for four years. Though this vet- 
 ercn author is now nearly eighty, he still retains his intellectual vigor. 
 
 48. THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 
 
 1. OWEET Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, 
 
 ^ Where 1 health and plenty cheer'd the laboring swam, 
 
 Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid, 
 
 And parting Summer's lingering blooms delay'd ; 
 
 Dear, lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 
 
 Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, 
 
 How tfften 8 have I loiter'd o'er thy green, 
 
 Where humble happiness endear'd each scene ! 
 
 How often have I paused on every charm, 
 
 The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm, 
 
 The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 
 
 The decent church 3 that topp'd the neighboring hifl, 
 
 1 Where (ui.&r). Often <6f fu). Church (chSrch). 
 
18 i NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, 
 For talking age and whispering lovers made 1 
 
 2. How often have I bless'd the corning day, 
 When toil remitting lent its aid to play, 
 And all the village train, from labor free, 
 
 Led up their sports beneafh the spreading tree ! 
 
 While many a pastime 1 circled 2 in the shade, 
 
 The young contending as the old survey'd ; 
 
 And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, 
 
 And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. 
 
 And still, as each repeated pleasure tired, 
 
 Succeeding sports the mirthful 3 band inspired : 
 
 The dancing 4 pair, 5 that simply sought renown 
 
 By holding out to tire each other down ; 
 
 The swain, mistmstless of his smutted face, 
 
 While secret laughter 6 titter'd round the place ; 
 
 The bashful virgin's 7 sidelong looks of love, 
 
 The matron's glance 8 that would those looks reprove : 
 
 These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, 
 
 With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please ; 
 
 These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, 
 
 These were thy charms; but all these charms are fled. 
 
 3. Sweet, smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, 
 
 Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn : 
 
 Amid thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
 
 And desolation saddens all thy green ; 
 
 One only master grasps 9 the whole domain, 
 
 And half 10 a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 
 
 No more thy glassy" brook reflects the day, 
 
 But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way ; 
 
 Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 
 
 The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 
 
 Amid thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 
 
 And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. 
 
 1 Pis' time.- 8 Circled (sir* kid). 3 Mirthful (tnerth'ful). 4 DSn'cing, 
 * Pitr. Laughter (l&f ter). 7 Virgin (v8r f jin). Gl&nce. Gr5.ps. 
 f.- 1J Gla 
 
THE DESERTE1 VILLAGE. 186 
 
 Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 
 And the long grass 1 o'ertops the moldering wall ; 
 And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 
 Far, far away thy children leave the land. 
 
 4. Ill fares? the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
 Where wealth accumulates, and men decay : 
 Princes and lords may flourish or may fade ; 
 
 A breath can make them, as a breath has made 
 But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
 When once destroy'd can never be supplied. 
 A time there was, ere 3 England's griefs began, 
 When every rood of ground maintain'd its man ; 
 For him light labor spread her wholesome store, 
 Just gave what life required, but gave no more j 
 His best companions, innocence and health ; 
 And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 
 But times are alter'd : trade's unfeeling train 
 Usurp 4 the land, and dispossess the swain ; 
 Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, 
 Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose j 
 And every want to luxury allied, 
 And every pang that -folly pays to pride. 
 Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
 Those calm desires that ask'd 5 but little room, 
 Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, 
 Lived in each look, and brighten'd all the green ; 
 These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
 And rural 6 mirth and manners are no more. 
 
 5. Sweet Auburn ! parent 7 of the blissful hour, 
 Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
 Here, as I take my solitary rounds, 
 
 Amid thy tangling walks and ruin'd 8 grounds, 
 And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
 Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 
 Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, 
 
 1 Gr&ss. - Fares (firz) . ' Ere (&r) . * Usurp (y4 z8rp') . B Asked 
 (Jskt) -^ Rural (rfi'ral). ' P&r' ent. 8 Ruined (rS'ind). 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Swells at my breast, and turns' the past* to pain* 
 In all my wanderings round this world 3 of care, 4 
 In all my griefs and God has given my share 6 
 I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 
 Amid these humble bowers to lay me down ; 
 To husband out life's taper at the close, 
 And keep the flame from wasting by repose : 
 I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, 
 Amid the swains to show my book-learn' d 5 skill ; 
 Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
 And tell of all I felt and all I saw ; 
 And as a hare/ whom hounds and horns pursue, 
 Pants 8 to the place from whence at first she flew, 
 I still had hopes, my long vexations past, 
 Here to return 9 and die at home at last. 10 
 
 6. O bless'd retirement ! friend to life's decline, 
 Retreat from care, that never must be mine, 
 How bless'd is he who crowns, in shades like these, 
 A youth 11 of labor with an age of ease ; 
 Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 
 And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! 
 For him no wretches, born to work 12 and weep, 
 Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 
 Nor surly 13 porter stands, in guilty state, 
 To spurn 14 imploring famine from the gate ; 
 But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
 Angels around befriending virtue's 15 friend ; 
 Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, 
 While resignation gently slopes the way ; 
 And all his prospects brightening to the last, 
 His heaven commences ere the world be past. 
 
 7 Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, 
 Up yonder hill the village murmur 16 rose : 
 
 1 Turns (tlrnz). a Pst. 8 World (wlrld). 4 C&re. 6 Sh&re. ' Book- 
 learn' d (buk'-lSrnd). 7 H&re. 8 Pants. "Return (r& tlrn'). 10 List. 
 11 YSuti.. ia Work (wSrk). 13 Surly (sSr' H). " Spurn (spSrn). 
 l * Virtue (vlrt' yu). 16 Marmnr (mr' mer). 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 187 
 
 There,' as I pass'd 2 wifli careless steps and slow 
 The mingling notes came soften'd from below ; 
 The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 
 The sober herd 3 that low'd to meet their young; 
 The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
 The playful children just let loose from school ; 
 The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, 
 And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind : 
 These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, 
 And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made. 
 
 8 But now the sounds of population fail, 
 No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 
 
 O ' 
 
 No busy steps the grass-growE footway tread, 
 
 But all the bloomy flush of life is fled : 
 
 All but yon widow'd, solitary thing, 
 
 That feebly bends beside the plashy spring : 
 
 She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread, 
 
 To strip the brook wifh mantling cresses spread, 
 
 To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, 
 
 To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn 
 
 She only left of all the harmless train, ' 
 
 The sad historian of the pensive plain. 
 
 49. THE DESEKTED TILLAGE CONTTNTJED. 
 
 EAR yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
 And still 'where many a garden-flower grows wild 
 There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
 The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
 A man he was to all the country dear, 
 And passing rich wifh forty pounds a year ; 
 Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
 Nor e'er 4 had changed, nor wish'd to change, his place. 
 Unskillful he to fawn or seek for power, 
 By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour : 
 
 * There (thin - ' Passed (p&st>. HeVd *E'or (b). 
 
188 NATIONAL FIFTH READEK. 
 
 Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize, 
 More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
 
 2. His house was known to all the vagrant train : 
 He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; 
 The long-remember' d beggar was his guest, 
 Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast ; 
 The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
 Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd. 
 The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
 
 Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away, 
 Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
 Shoulder' d his crutch, and show'd how fields were won, 
 Pleased with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, 
 And quite forgot their 1 vices in their woe ; 
 Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
 His pity gave ere charity began. 
 
 3. Thus, to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
 And even his failings lean'd to virtue's side ; 
 But in his duty prompt at every call, 
 
 He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for alL 
 And, as a bird 2 each fond endearment tries 
 To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
 He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
 Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
 And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismay'd, 
 The reverend champion stood. At his control, 
 Despair 3 and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
 Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
 And his last faltering accents whisper'd praise. 
 
 4. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
 His looks adorn'd the venerable place ; 
 Truth 4 from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
 And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. 
 The service 5 past, around the pious man, 
 
 ' Their (thlr). Bird (bgrd . ' De sp&r 1 . 4 Truth (trfith) . SSr' vice, 
 
THE DESEKTED VILLAGE. 189 
 
 With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
 
 Even children folio w'd with endearing wile, 
 
 And pluck'd his gown to share the good man's smile. 
 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd ; 
 
 Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed : 
 
 To them his heart^ his love, his griefs, were given, 
 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
 
 As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, 
 
 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 
 
 Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
 
 Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 
 
 6. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts' the way, 
 With blossom'd furze 2 unprofitably gay, 
 There, in his noisy mansion, skill' v to rule, 3 
 The village master 4 taught his little bchool : 
 A man severe he was, and stern 5 to view : 
 I knew him well, and every truant 6 knew ; 
 Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace 
 The day's disasters 7 in his morning face ; 
 Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee 
 At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
 Full well the busy whisper, circling round, 
 Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd. 
 
 6. Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 
 The love he bore to learning 8 was in fault ; 
 The village all declared how much he knew 
 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too ; 
 Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
 And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. 
 In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, 
 For e'en though vanquish'd, he could argue still ; 
 While words of learned length and thundering sound 
 Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 
 And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 
 That one small head could carry all he knew. 
 
 Skirts (skirts). 2 Furze (ffirz). 3 Kule(r6l). *Mas' ter. 6 St&rn. 
 Truant (trS' ant). T Disasters (diz as' terz). 8 LSarn' ing. 
 
190 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 But past is all his fame. The vgry spot 
 Where many a time he triumph' d is forgot. 
 
 7. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 
 Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 
 
 Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts' inspired, 
 
 Wliere graybe"ard mirth and smiling toil retired, 
 
 Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound, 
 
 And news much older than their ale went round. 
 
 Imagination fondly stops to trace 
 
 The parlor splendors of that festive place ; 
 
 The whitewash'd wall, the nicely-sanded floor, 
 
 The varnish'd clock that clicked behind the door ; 
 
 The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, 
 
 A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 
 
 The pictures placed for ornament and use, 
 
 The twelve good rules, 2 the royal game of goose ; 
 
 The hearth, 3 except when winter chill'd the day, 
 
 With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay ; 
 
 While broken teacups, wisely kept for show, 
 
 Ranged o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. 
 
 8. Yain, transitory splendors! could not all 
 Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall ? 
 Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 
 
 An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ; 
 Thither no more the peasant shall repair 4 
 To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 
 No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
 No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; 
 No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 
 Relax his ponderous strength, and learn to hear ; 
 The host himself no longer shall be found 
 Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 
 Nor the coy maid, half willing to be press'd, 
 Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 
 
 9. YSs ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
 These simple blessings of the lowly train ; 
 
 1 Draught (drift).' Rules (rfllz). He&rth. Be pfcr'. 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 191 
 
 To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
 One native charm than all the gloss of art ; 
 Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 
 The sou] adopts, and owns their first-born sway , 
 Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
 Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. 
 But the I5ng pomp, the midnight masquerade, 
 With all the freaks of wanton wealth array'd, 
 In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, 
 The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; 
 And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy, 
 The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy. 
 
 '"I 
 
 50. THE DESEKTED TILLAGE CONCLUDED. 
 
 E friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey 
 
 The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 
 'Tis yours 1 to judge how wide the limits stand 
 Between a splendid and a happy land. 
 Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 
 And shouting Folly hails them from her 2 shore ; 
 Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, 
 And rich men flock from all the world around. 
 Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name, 
 That leaves our useful products still the same. 
 Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 
 Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; 
 Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, 
 Space for his horses, equipage, 3 and hounds ; 
 The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
 Has robb'd the neighboring fields of half their growth ; 
 His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
 Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ; 
 Around the world each needful product flies, 
 For all the luxuries the world supplies, 
 
 1 Yours (y6rz). H$r. Equipage (&k' vre pij). 
 
192 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure all, 
 In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 
 
 2 As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, 
 
 Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 
 
 Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies. 
 
 Nor shares with, art the triumph of her eyes ; 
 
 But when those charms are past for charms are frail 
 
 When time advances, and when lovers fail, 
 
 She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
 
 In all the glaring 1 impotence of dress ; 
 
 Thus fares the land by luxury betray'd, 
 
 In nature's simplest charms at first array'd ; 
 
 But, verging 2 to decline, its splendors rise, 
 
 Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 
 
 While, scourged 3 by famine from the smiling land, 
 
 The mournful peasant leads his humble band ; 
 
 And while he sinks, without one arm to save, 
 
 The country blooms a garden and a grave. 
 
 8. Where, then, ah ! where shall Poverty reside, 
 To escape the pressure of contiguous Pride ? 
 If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, 
 He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, 
 Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 
 And e'en the bare-worn common is denied. 
 If to the city sped what waits him there ? 
 To see profusion that he must not share ; 
 To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
 To pamper luxury and thin mankind ; 
 To see each joy the sons of Pleasure know 
 Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
 Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, 
 There, the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 
 Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomp display, 
 There, the black gibbet glooms beside the way; 
 The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign, 
 Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train ; 
 
 1 Gl&r' ing. 8 VSrg' ing. Scourged (skSrjd). 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 198 
 
 Tumultuous Grandeur crowds the blazing square, 1 
 The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
 
 4. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! 
 Sure these denote one universal* joy ! 
 Are these thy serious thoughts? Ah! turn thine eye* 
 Where the poor, houseless, shivering female lies : 
 She once, perhaps, in village plenty bless'd, 
 Has wept at tales of innocence distrest ; 
 Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 
 Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 
 Now lost to all, her friends, her, virtue fled, 
 Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, 
 And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, 
 With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 
 When idly first, 3 ambitious of the town, 
 She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 
 
 6. Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, 
 Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 
 E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, 
 At proud men's doors they ask a little bread ! 
 Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, 
 Where half the convex world intrudes between, 
 Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, 
 Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 
 Far different there from all that charm'd before, 
 The various terrors of that horrid shore ; 
 Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 
 And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 
 Those^matted woods where birds forget to sing, 
 But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 
 Those poisonous fields wifih rank luxuriance crown'd, 
 Where the dark scorpion gathers death around : 
 Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 
 The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 
 Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 
 
 1 Square (skwar) - U ni v5r' gal. First (fSrst). 
 9 
 
194 NATIONAL FIFTH READkK. 
 
 And savage men, more murderous 1 still than they ; 
 While 6ft in whirls 2 the mad tornado flies, 
 Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
 
 6. Far different these from every former scene, 
 The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 
 The breezy coverl of the warbling grove, 
 That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 
 
 Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day 
 That call'd them from their native walks away ; 
 When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 
 Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last, 
 And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain 
 For seats like these beyond the western main ; 
 And shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
 Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep ! 
 
 7. The good old sire the first prepared to go 
 
 To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; 
 But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 
 He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave. 
 His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 
 The fond companion of his helpless years, 
 Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 
 And left a lover's for her father's arms. 
 With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 
 And bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose ; 
 And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear, 
 And clasp'd 3 them close, in sorrow doubly dear ; 
 While her fond husband strove to lend relief, 
 In all the silent manliness of grief. 
 
 8. Oh, Luxury ! thou cursed 4 by Heaven's decree, 
 How ill-exchanged are things like these for tbee ! 
 How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 
 Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! 
 Kingdoms by thee to sickly greatness grown, 
 Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 
 
 1 Murderous (mSr' der us).' Whirls (whirls). ClJsped. 4 Cursed 
 (kfirst). 
 
THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 195 
 
 At every .Iraught more large and large they grow, 
 A bloated mass 1 of rank, unwieldy woe ; 
 Till, sapp'd their strength, and every part unsound, 
 Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 
 
 9. E'en now the devastation is begun, 
 
 And half the business of destruction -done ; 
 E'en now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, 
 I see the rural virtues leave the land. 
 Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, 
 That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale, 
 Downward they move, a melancholy band, 
 Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 
 Contented Toil, and hospitable Care, 
 And kind connubial Tenderness, are there ; 
 And Piety, with wishes placed above, 
 And steady Loyalty, and faithful Love. 
 
 10. And thou, sweet Poetry ! thou loveliest maid, 
 Still first to fly, where sensual joys invade ! 
 Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, 
 
 To catch the heart, or strike for honest Fame : 
 Dear, charming nymph, neglected and decried, 
 My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; 
 Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, 
 That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so 
 Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, 
 Thou nurse 2 of every virtue, fare thee well. 
 
 11. Farewell; and oh! where'er thy voice be tried, 
 On Torno's cliffs or Pambamarca's side, 
 Whether where equinoctial fervors 3 glow, ^ 
 Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 
 
 Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 
 Redress the rigors of the inclement clime ; 
 And slighted Truth, with thy persuasive strain, 
 Teach grring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 
 Teach him, that States, of native strength possessed, 
 
 1 Miss.' Nurse (n$rs). 8 FSr' vor. 
 
196 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Though very poor, may still be very bless'd ; . 
 That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, 
 As ocean sweeps the labor'd mole away ; 
 "While self-dependent power can time defy, 
 As rocks resist the billows and the sky. . 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 
 
 OLIVER GOLDSMITH, one of the most pleasing English writers of the eighteenth 
 century, was bom at Pallas, Ireland, in November, 1728. He was of a Protestant 
 and Saxon family which had long been settled in Ireland. At the time of Oli- 
 ver's birth, his father with difficulty supported his family on what he could earn, 
 partly as a curate and partly as a farmer. Soon after, he was presented with a 
 living, worth about -200 a-year, near the village of Lissoy, in Westmeath coun- 
 ty, where the boy passed his youth and received his preparatory instruction. In 
 his seventeenth year Oliver went up to Trinity College, Dublin, as a sizar. He 
 was quartered, not alone, in a garret, 011 the window of which his name, scrawl 
 ed by himself, is still read with interest. He neglected the studies of the place, 
 stood low at the examinations, and led a life divided between squalid distress 
 and squalid dissipation. His father died, leaving a mere pittance. Oliver ob- 
 tained his bachelor's degree, and left the university. He was now in his twenty- 
 first year; it was necessary that he should do something; and his education 
 seemed to have fitted him to do nothing of moment. He tried rive or six profes- 
 sions, in turn, without success. He went to Edinburgh in his twenty-fourth 
 year, where he passed eighteen months in nominal attendance on lectures, and 
 picked up some superficial information about chemistry and natural history. 
 Thence he went to Leyden, still pretending to study physic. He left that cele- 
 brated university in his twenty-seventh year, without a degree, and with no 
 property but his clothes and his flute. His flute, however, proved a useful friend. 
 He rambled on foot through Flanders, France, and Switzerland, playing tunes 
 which everywhere set the peasantry dancing, and which often procured for him 
 a supper and a bed. In 1756 the wanderer landed at Dover, England, without a 
 shilling, without a friend, and without a calling. After several expedients 
 failed, the unlucky adventurer, at thirty, took a garret in a miserable court in 
 London, and sat down to the lowest drudgery of literature. In the succeeding 
 six years he produced articles for reviews, magazines, and newspapers ; chil- 
 dren's books ; "An Inquiry into the State of Polite Learning in Europe ;" a 
 " Ufe of Beau Nash," an excellent work of its kind ; a superficial, but very 
 readable " History of England ;" and " Sketches of London Society." All thess 
 works were anonymous ; but some of them were well known to be Goldsmith's. 
 He gradually rose in the estimation of the booksellers, and became a popular 
 writer. He t<5bk chambers in the more civilized region of the Inns of Court, and 
 became intimate with Johnson, Reynolds, Burke, and other eminent men. In 
 1764 he published a poem, entitled "The Traveler." It was the first work to 
 which he put his name ; and it at once raised him to the rank of a legitimate 
 English classic. Its execution, though deserving of much praise, is far inferior 
 to the design. No philosophic poem, ancient or modern, has a plan so noble, 
 and at the same time so simple. Soon after his novel, the " Vicar of Wakefield," 
 appeared, and rapidly obtained a popularity which is likely to last as long as our 
 language. This was followed by a dramatic piece, entitled the " Good-natured 
 Man." It was acted at Coveut Garden in 1768, but was coldly received. The 
 author, however, cleared by his benefit nights, and by the sale of the copyright, 
 no less than 500. In 1770 appeared the " Desert'nl Village." In diction and 
 
LETTERS 197 
 
 versification, this celebrated poem is fully equal, perhaps superior, to "The 
 Traveler." In 1773, Goldsmith tried his chance at Covent Garden with "She 
 Stooos to Conquer," an incomparable farce in five acts, which met with unpre- 
 cedented success. While writing the " Deserted Village" and " She Stoops to 
 Conquer," he compiled, for the use of schools, a " History of Rome," by which 
 he made 300 ; a " History of England," by which he made 600 ; a " History 
 of Greece," for which he received 250 ; and a " Natural History," for which 
 the booksellers covenanted to pay him 800 guineas. He produced these works by 
 selecting, abridging, and translating into his own clear, pure, and flowing lan- 
 guage, what he found in books well known to the world, but too bulky or too dry 
 Jbr boys and girls. His compilations are widely distinguished from the compila- 
 tions of ordinary bookmakers. He was a great, perhaps an unequaled master of 
 the arts of selection and condensation. He died on the 4th of April, 1774, in hi* 
 forty-sixth year. 
 
 51. LETTERS. 
 
 "DLESSED be letters ! they are the monitors, they are also 
 JD the comforters, and they are the only true heart-talkers. 
 Your speech, and their speeches, are conventional ; they are 
 moulded by circumstances ; they are suggested by the observa- 
 tion, remark, and influence of the parties to whom the speaking 
 is addressed, or by whom it may be overheard. Your truest 
 thought is modified half through its utterance by a look, a sign, 
 a smile, or a sneer. It is not individual ; it is not integral : it 
 is social and mixed, half of you, and half of others. It bends, 
 it sways, it multiplies, it retires, and it advances, as the talk of 
 others presses, relaxes, or quickens. 
 
 2. But it is not so with Letters : there you are, with only 
 the soulless pen, and the snow-white, virgin paper. Your soul 
 is measuring itself by, itself, and saying its own sayings: there 
 are no sneers to modify its utterance, no scowl to scare ; 
 nothing is present but you and your thought. Utter it then 
 freely write it down stamp it burn it in the ink ! There it 
 is, a true soul-print ! 
 
 3. Oh, the glory, the freedom, the passior of a letter! It is 
 worth all the lip-talk of the world. Do you say, it is studied, 
 made up, acted, rehearsed, contrived, artistic? Let me see it 
 then ; lot me run it over : tell me age, sex, circumstances, and I 
 will teli you if it be studied or real ; if it be the merest lip-slang 
 put into words, or heart-talk blazing on the paper. 
 
 4. I have a little packet, not very large, tied up with narrSw 
 
198 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 crimson ribbon, now soiled with frequent handling, which far 
 into some winter's night I take down from its nook upon my 
 shelf* and untie, and open, and run over, with such sorrow and 
 such joy, such tears and such smiles, as I am sure make me, for 
 weeks after, a kinder and holier man. 
 
 5. There are in this little packet letters in the familiar hand 
 of a mother : what gentle admonition what tender affection 1 
 God have mercy on him who outlives the tears that such ad- 
 inouitians and such affection call up to the eye! There are 
 others in the budget, in the delicate and unformed hand of a 
 loved and lost sister ; written when she and you were full of 
 glee, and the best mirth of youthfulness : does it harm you to 
 recall that mirthfulness ? or to trace again, for the hundredth 
 time, that scrawling postscript at the bottom, with its i's so care- 
 fully clotted, and its gigantic ?s so carefully crossed, by the child- 
 ish hand of a little brother ? 
 
 6. I have added latterly to that packet of letters : I almost 
 need a new and longer ribbon ; the old one is getting too short. 
 Not a few of these new and cherished letters, a former Reverie 
 has brought to me ; not letters of cold praise, saying it was well 
 done, artfully executed, prettily imagined no such thing; but 
 letters of sympathy of sympathy which means sympathy. 
 
 7. It would be cold and dastardly work to copy them ; I am 
 too selfish for that. It is enough to say that they, the kind 
 writers, have seen a heart in the Reverie have felt that it was 
 real, true. They know it : a secret influence has told it. What 
 matters it, pray, if literally there was no wife, and no dead child, 
 and no coffin, in the house? Is 'not feeling, feeling; and heart, 
 heart? Are not these fancies thronging on my brain, bringing 
 tears to my eyes, bringing joy to my soul, as living as any thing 
 human can be living ? What if they have no material type no 
 objective form? All that is crude, a mere reduction of ideality 
 to sense a transformation of the spiritual to the earthy a lev- 
 eling of soul to matter. 
 
 8. Are we not creatures of thought and passion? Is any 
 thing about us more earnest than that same thought and passion ? 
 Is there any thing more real, more characteristic of that great 
 and dim destiny to which we are born, and which may be writ- 
 ten down in that terrible word FOREVER ? Let those who will, 
 
LETTERS. 199 
 
 then, sneer at what in their wisdom they call untruth at what 
 is false, because it has no material presence : this does not create 
 falsity ; would to Heaven that it did ! 
 
 9. And yet, if there was actual, material truth, superadded to 
 Reverie, would such objectors sympathize the more? No! a 
 thousand times, no ; the heart that has no sympathy with 
 thoughts and feelings that scorch the soul, is dead also what- 
 ever its mocking tears and gestures may say to a coffin or a 
 grave ! Let them pass, and we will come back to these cher- 
 ished letters. 
 
 10. A mother who has lost a child, has, she sayss, shed a tear 
 not one, but many over the dead boy's coldness. And 
 another, who has not, but who trembles lest she lose, has found 
 the words failing as she reads, and a dim, sorrow-borne mist 
 spreading over the page. Another, yet rejoicing in all those 
 family ties that make life a charm, has listened nervously to 
 careful reading, until the husband is called home, and the coffin 
 is in the house " Stop !" she says ; and a gush of tears tells the 
 rest. Yet the cold critic will say " It was artfully done." A 
 curse on him ! it was not art ; it was nature. 
 
 11. AnotKer, a young, fresh, healthful girl-mind, has seen 
 something in the love-picture albeit so weak of truth ; and 
 has kindly believed that it must be earnest. Ay, indeed is it, 
 fair and generous one, earnest as life and hope ! Who, indeed, 
 wifih a heart at all, that has not yet slipped away irrep'arably 
 and forever from the shores of youth from that fairy-land 
 which young enthusiasm creates, and over which bright dreams 
 hover but knows it to be real ? And so such things will be 
 real, till hopes are dashed, and Doath is come. Another, a 
 father, has laid down the book in tears. God bless them all ! 
 How far better this, than the cold praise of newspaper para- 
 graphs, or the critically contrived approval of colder friends ! 
 
 12. Let me gather up these letters carefully, to be read 
 when the heart is faint, and sick of all that there is unreal and 
 selfish in the world. Let me tie them together, wifh a new, 
 and longer bit of ribbon, not by a love knot, that is too hard 
 but by an easy slipping knot, that so I may get at them the 
 better. And now they are all together, a snug packet, and we 
 will label them, not sentimentally (I pity the one who thinks it), 
 
200 NATIONAL FIFTH READKR. 
 
 but earnestly, and in the best meaning of the term- - 
 
 BRANCERS OF THE HJE ART. D. G. MITCHELL. 1 
 
 52. THE SETTLER. 
 
 1. TTIS echoing ax the settler swung 
 -LL Amid the sea-like solitude, 
 
 And rushing, thundering, down were flung 
 
 The Titans 2 of the wood ; 
 Loud shriek'd the eagle as he dash'd 
 From out his mossy nest, which crash'd 
 
 With its supporting bough, 
 And the first sunlight, leaping, flashed 
 
 On the wolf's haunt below. 
 
 2. Rude was the garb, and strong the frame 
 
 Of him who plied his ceaseless toil : 
 To form that garb, the wild-wood game 
 
 Contributed their spoil ; 
 The soul that warm'd that frame, disdainM 
 The tinsel, gaud, and glare, that reign'd 
 
 Where men their crowds collect; 
 The simple far, untrimm'd, unstain'd, 
 
 This forest-tamer deck'd. 
 
 8. The paths which wound mid gorgeous trees, 
 
 The streams whose bright lips kissM their flowers, 
 The winds that swell'd their harmonies 
 
 Through those sun-hiding bowers, 
 The temple vast the green arcade, 
 The nestling vale, the grassy glade, 
 
 Dark cave and swampy lair ; 
 These scenes and sounds majestic, made 
 
 His world, his pleasures, there. 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 162. "Titans, in heathen mythology, 
 men of gigantic stature and force, said to be the sons of Crelus and Term. 
 The wars of the Titans against the gods are very celebrated in mythol- 
 ogy. The name Titan is now applied to any thing gigantic, as in tbi 
 line to the large trees of the wood. 
 
THE SETTLER. 201 
 
 4. His roof adorn'd, a pleasant spot, 
 
 Mid the black logs green glow'd the grain, 
 And herbs and plants the woods knew not, 
 
 Throve in the sun and rain. 
 The smoke-wreath curling o'er the dell, 
 The low the bleat the tinkling bell, 
 
 All made a landscape strange, 
 Which was the living chronicle 
 
 Of deeds that wrought the change. 
 
 6. The violet sprung at Spring's first tinge, 
 
 The rose of summer spread its glow, 
 The maize hung on its Autumn fringe, 
 
 Rude Winter brought his snow ; 
 And still the settler labor'd there, 
 His shout and whistle woke the air, 
 
 As cheerily he plied 
 His garden spade, or drove his share 
 
 Along the hillock's side. 
 
 6. He mark'd the fire-storm's blazing flood 
 
 Roaring and crackling on its path, 
 And scorching earth, and melting wood, 
 
 Beneafh its greedy wrath ; 
 He mark'd the rapid whirlwind shoot, 
 Trampling the pine-tree with its foot, 
 
 And darkening thick the day 
 With streaming bough and sever'd root, 
 
 Hurl'd whizzing on its way. 
 
 7. His gaunt hound yell'd, his rifle flash'd, 
 
 The grim bear hush'd its savage growl, 
 In blood and foam the panther gnash'd 
 
 Its fangs with dying howl; 
 The fleet deer ceased its flying bound, 
 Its snarling wolf foe bit the ground, 
 
 And with its moaning cry, 
 The beaver sank beneath the wound, 
 
 Its pond-built Venice 1 by. 
 
 Pond-built Venice. The city of Venice, one of the finest in Europe, 
 
202 NATIONAL Fimi READER. 
 
 8. Humble the lot, yet his the race, 
 
 When Liberty sent forth her cry, 
 Who throng' d in conflict's deadliest place, 
 
 To fight to bleed to die ; 
 Who cumber'd Bunker's 1 height of red, 
 By hope, through weary years were led, 
 
 And witness'd YorktownV sun 
 Blaze on a nation's banner spread, 
 
 A nation's freedom won. A. B. STREET. 
 
 ALFRED B. STREET was born in Poughkeepsie, a large and beautiful town on 
 the Hudson, on the 18th of December, 1811. His father, Gen. RANDALL S. 
 STREET, was an officer in active service during our second war with England, 
 and subsequently several years a representative in Congress. When the poet 
 was about fourteen years of age his father removed to Monticello, Sullivan 
 county, then what is called a " wild county," though extremely fertile. Its 
 magnificent scenery, deep forests, eir ur streams, gorges of piled rocks and black 
 shade, and mountains and valleys, called into life all the faculties that slumber- 
 ed in the brain of the young poet. He studied law in the office of his father, 
 and attended the courts of Sullivan county for one year after his admission to 
 the bar; but in the winter of 1839 he removed to Albany, where he successfully 
 practiced his profession. For several years past he has been State Librarian. 
 The most complete edition of his j>oetns was published in New York, in 1845. 
 Mr. STREET is a descriptive poet, and in his peculiar department he has, perhaps, 
 no superior in this country. He writes with apparent ease and freedom, from 
 the impulses of his own heart, and from actual observations of life and nature 
 
 53. THE AMERICAN FLAG. 
 
 "HEN Freedom, from her mountain height^ 
 
 Unfurl'd her standard to the air, 
 She tore the azure robe of night, 
 And set the stars of glory there ! 
 
 is built on 82 small islands, separated by 150 canals, which are crossed 
 by 360 bridges. The beaver constructs his habitation in the water, and 
 the different parts have no communication except by water, and henco 
 the poetical allusion. l Bunker Hill, a height near Charlestown, Mas- 
 sachusetts, celebrated as the place where the first great battle was 
 fought between the British and Americans, on the memorable 17th of 
 June, 1775. * Yorktown, a port of entry in Virginia, celebrated as the 
 theater of one of the most important events in American history the 
 final battle of the Revolutionary war, which resulted in the surrender 
 of Lord Cornwall is to General Washington, on the 19th of October, 1781. 
 
THE AMERICAN FLAG. 
 
 She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
 The milky baldric of the skies, 
 And striped its pure, celestial white, 
 With streakings of the morning light ; 
 Then from his mansion in the sun 
 She call'd her eagle-bearer down, 
 And gave into his mighty hand 
 The symbol of her chosen band! 
 
 I Majestic monarch of the cloud ! 
 
 Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
 To hear the tempest trumping loud, 
 And see the lightning lances driven, 
 
 When strive the warriors of the storm. 
 And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven I 
 Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given 
 
 To guard the banner of the free, 
 To hover in the sulphur smoke, 
 To ward away the battle-stroke, 
 And bid its blendings shine afar, 
 Like rainbows on the cloud of war 
 
 The harbingers of victory ! 
 
 B Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
 Phe sign of hope and triumph high, 
 When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 
 And the long line comes gleaming on. 
 Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
 Has dimm'd the glistening bayonet, 
 Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
 To where thy meteor glories burn ; 
 And as his springing steps advance, 
 Catch war and vengeance from the glance 
 And when the cannon-mouthings loud 
 Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud, 
 And gory sabers rise and fall 
 Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall ; 
 There shall thy meteor glances glow, 
 And cowering foes shall sink beneaiih. 
 
204 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Each gallant arm that strikes below 
 That lovely messenger of death. 
 
 4. Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
 Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave, 
 When Death, careering on the gale, 
 Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
 And frighted waves rush wildly back, 
 Before the broadside's reeling rack ; 
 Each dying wanderer of the sea 
 Shall look at once to heaven and thoe. 
 And smile to see thy splendors fly, 
 In triumph o'er his closing eye. 
 
 j. Flag of the Tree heart's hope and home, 
 
 By angel hands to valor given ! 
 Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 
 
 And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
 Forever float that standard sheet I 
 
 Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
 With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 
 
 And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ? 
 
 J. R. DRAKB. 
 
 JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE, author of " The Culprit Fay," was bora in the city o 
 New York, on the 7th of August, 1795. He entered Columbia College at an 
 early period, through which he passed with a reputation for scholarship, taste, 
 and admirable social qualities. He soon after made choice of the medical pro- 
 fession, and completed his professional studies in his native city. Immediately 
 after he was married to Miss SARAH ECKFORD, a daughter of the noted marine 
 architect, HENRY ECKFORD, through whom he inherited a moderate fortune. 
 His health, about the same time, began to decline ; and in the winter of 1819 he 
 visited New Orleans. He had anticipated some benefit from the sea-voyage and 
 the mild climate of Louisiana, but was disappointed, and in the spring of 18*20, 
 he returned to New York. His disease consumption had now become deeply 
 seated. He lingered through the summer, and died near the close of September, 
 in the twenty-sixth year of his age. He began to write verses when very 3'oung, 
 and was a coutributor to several gazettes before he was sixteen years old. Tho 
 secrets of his authorship, however, were only known to his most intimate friends. 
 His longest poem, " The Culprit Fay," was composed in the summer of 1819, 
 though it was not printed until several years after his death. It exhibits the 
 most delicate fancy, and much artistic taste. DRAKE placed a very modest esti- 
 mate on his own productions, and it is thought that but a small portion of them 
 has been preserved. A collection of them appeared in 1836. It includes, be 
 Bides " The Culprit Fay," eighteen short pieces, some of which are very 
 tifu). 
 
WASHINGTON AND NAPOLEON. 205 
 
 54. WASHINGTON AND NAPOLEON. 
 
 NO one, in tracing the history of our struggle, can deny that 
 Providence watched over our interests, and gave us the only 
 man who could have conducted the car of the Revolution to the 
 goal it finally reached. Our Revolution brought to a speedy 
 crisis the one that must sooner or later have convulsed France. 
 One was as much needed as the other, and has been productive 
 of equal good. 
 
 2. But in tracing the progress of each, how striking is the 
 contrast between the instruments employed Napoleon 1 and 
 Washington ! 8 Heaven and earth are not wider apart than were 
 their mSral characters, yet both were sent of Heaven to perform 
 a great work. God acts on more enlarged plans than the 
 bigoted and ignorant have any conception of, and adapts his in- 
 struments to the work he wishes to accomplish. 
 
 3. To effect the regeneration of a comparatively religious, vir- 
 tuous, and intelligent people, no better man could have been 
 selected than Washington. To rend asunder the feudal system 8 
 of Europe, which stretched like an iron frame-work over the 
 people, and had rusted so long in its place, that no slow corro- 
 sion or steadily wasting power could effect its firmness, there 
 could have been found no better than Bonaparte. 
 
 4. Their missions were as different as their characters. Had 
 
 1 NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, first emperor of the French, one of the great- 
 est of warriors and statesmen, was born at Ajaccio, in Corsica, on the 
 6th of February, 1768, and died a prisoner, on the island of St. Helena, 
 May 5th, 1821. From thence his remains were, in December, 1841. 
 translated to Paris, where, on the 15th of that month, they were inter- 
 red in a mausoleum under the dome of the Invalids. 3 GEORGE WASH- 
 INGTON, commander-in-chief of the army of independence during the 
 American Revolution, first President of the United States, styled the 
 " Father of his Country," was born in Westmoreland, in the State of 
 Virginia, on the 22d of February, 1732. He retired from public life in 
 1796, and died on the 14th of December, 1799, leaving a reputation 
 without a stain. 'Feudal system, a system by which a kingdom or 
 country was divided into different portions, among the chiefs or com- 
 panions of the monarch, with the right of subdividing their respective 
 portions among their immediate followers. The monarch was called 
 the liege-lord, and his dependents, vassals or feudatories. 
 
206 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Bonaparte been put in the place of Washington, he would have 
 overthrown the Congress, as he did the Directory, 1 and taking 
 supreme power into his hands, developed the resources and 
 kindled the enthusiasm of this country with such astonishing 
 rapidity, that the war would scarcely have begun ere it was 
 ended. But a vast and powerful monarchy, instead of a repub- 
 lic, would have occupied this continent. Had Washington been 
 put in the place of Bonaparte, his transcendent virtues and un- 
 swerving integrity would not have prevailed against the tyr'anny 
 of faction, and a prison would have received him, as it did 
 Lafayette. 2 
 
 5. Both were children of a revolution, both rose to the chief 
 command of the army, and eventually to the head of the nation. 
 One led his country step by step to freedom and prosperity ; the 
 other arrested at once, and with a strong hand, the earthquake 
 that was rocking France asunder, and sent it rolling under the 
 thrones of Europe. The office of -one was to defend and build 
 up Liberty ; that of the other to break down the prison walls in* 
 which it lay a captive, and rend asunder its century-bound fetters. 
 
 6. To suppose that France could have been managed as 
 America was, by any human hand, shows an ignorance as blind 
 as it is culpable. That, and every other country of Europe, will 
 have to pass through successive stages before they can reach the 
 point at which our revolution commenced. Here Liberty needed 
 virtue and patriotism, as well as strength ; on the Continent it 
 needed simple power concentrated and terrible power. Europe 
 at this day trembles over that volcano Napoleon kindled, and 
 the next eruption will finish what he began. Thus does Heaven, 
 selecting its own instruments, break up the systems of oppression 
 men deemed eternal, and out of the power and ambition, as weL 
 as out of the virtues of men, work the welfare of our race. 
 
 J. T. HEADLEY. 
 
 1 Di reef o ry, a form of government adopted in France during the 
 revolution, in which the executive power was vested in five persons. 
 'LAFAYETTE (laf aySt'), a French nobleman, one of the most illustri- 
 ous names in the annals of modern history, was horn in 1757. He aid- 
 ed the Americans in their revolutionary war. He held several offices in 
 France ; and though unfortunate during the French revolution, was 
 evei a faithful advocate of constitutional liberty. He died in 1834. 
 
NAPOLEON AND THE SPHINX. 207 
 
 J. T. HEADI.EY was bom on the 13th of December, 1814, at Walton, in New 
 Fork, where his father was settled as a clergyman. He commenced his studies 
 with the law in view, but changed his plan, and after graduating at Union 
 College, became a student of theology at Auburn. He was licensed in New 
 York, and offered a church in that city ; but his health not permitting, he took 
 charge of a small church in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. After two years and a 
 half he planned a European tour and residence for the recovery of his health. 
 He went to Italy in the summer of 1842, where he remained about eight months, 
 traveled some time in Switzerland, passed through Germany and the Nether- 
 lands, went into Belgium, thence to France, then over England and Wales, and 
 finally home, having been absent less than two years. His health being worse, 
 he gave up his profession, and turned his attention to literature. His first work, a 
 translation from the German, appeared anonymously in 1844. In the following 
 year he gave to the press " Letters from Italy, the Alps, and the Rhine," and in 
 1846, " Napoleon and his Marshals," and " The Sacred Mountains." He has 
 shown his capacity to write an agreeable book, and to write a popular one. His 
 Letters from Italy is a work upon which a man of taste will delight to linger. 
 The style is natural, familiar, and idiomatic. It approaches the animation, 
 variety, and ease of spoken language. His later works appear to have been 
 written more for popularity and effect than to satisfy literary men's ideas of 
 excellence. Mr. HEADLEY is at present Secretary of State, in the State of New 
 York. 
 
 55. NAPOLEON AND THE SPHINX. 
 
 1. "DENEATH him stretch'd the sands of Egypt's burning lands, 
 -D The desert panted to the sweltering ray ; 
 
 The camel's plashing feet, wifih slow, uneasy beat, 
 Threw up the scorching dust like arrowy spray, 
 
 And fierce the sunlight glow'd, as young Napoleon rode 
 Around the Gallic camp, companionless that day. 
 
 2. High thoughts were in his mind, unspoken to his kind ; 
 
 Calm was his face his eyes were blank and chill ; 
 His thin lips were compress'd : the secrets of his breast 
 
 Those portals never pass'd, for good or ill ; 
 And dreaded yet adored his hand upon his sword, 
 
 He mused on Destiny, to shape it to his will. 
 
 3. "Ye haughty Pyramids! thou Sphinx! 1 whose eyeless lids 
 
 On my presumptuous youth seem bent in scorn, 
 
 1 Sphinx, a monster both in Grecian and Egyptian mythology, usually 
 represented with the body of a lion and the face of a young woman. 
 The Grecian sphinx was cruel and bloodthirsty, proposing riddles to the 
 passers-by, whom she devoured if they could not explain them. The 
 
208 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 What though thou hast stood coeval 1 wife the flood 
 Of all earth's monuments the earliest born ; 
 
 And I so mean and small, with armies at my call, 
 Am recent in thy sight as grass of yester-inorn ! 
 
 4. " Yet in this soul of mine is strength as great as thine, 
 
 O dull-eyed Sphinx, that wouldst despise me now ; 
 Is grandeur like thine own, melancholy stone, 
 
 With forty centuries f&rrow'd on thy brow : 
 Deep in my heart I feel what time shall yet reveal, 
 
 That I shall tower o'er men, as o'er these deserts thou. 
 
 5. " I shall upbuild a name of never-dying fame, 
 
 My deeds shall fill the, world wifli their renown : 
 To all succeeding years, the populous hemispheres 
 
 Shall pass the record of my glories down ; 
 And nations yet to be, surging from Time's deep sea, 
 
 Shall teach their babes the name of great Napoleon. 
 
 6. " On History's deathless page, from wondering age to age, 
 
 New light and reverence o'er that name shall glow. 
 My deeds already done, are histories begun, 
 
 Whose great conclusion centuries shall not know. 
 O melancholy Sphinx ! Present with Future links, 
 
 And both shall yet be mine. I feel it as I go !" 
 
 7. Over the mighty chief a shadow came of grief. 
 
 The lips gigantic secm'd to move, and say 
 tt Know'st thou his name that bid arise yon Pyramid ? 
 
 Know'st thou who placed me where I stand to-day ? 
 Thy deeds are but as sand, strewn on the heedless land : 
 
 Think, little mortal, think ! and pass upon thy way ! 
 
 8. " Pass, little mortal, pass ! grow like the vernal grass 
 
 The autumn sickle shall destroy thy prime. 
 
 Egyptian sphinx is the figure of a lion, without wings, in a lying attitude, 
 the upper part of the body being that of a human being. The sphinxes 
 appear in Egypt to have been set up in avenues forming the approaches 
 to temples. A colossal image of the sphinx has been discovered near 
 the group of pyramids at Gheezeh, in Egypt. * Co &' val, existing at 
 the same time ; of the same age. 
 
A CONQUEROR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 209 
 
 Bid nations shout the word whicn ne'er before they hoard, 
 
 The name of Glory, fearful yet sublime. 
 The Pharaohs' are iorgot, their works confess them not : 
 
 Pass, Hero ! pass ! poor straw upon the gulf of Time." 
 
 CHAKLES MACKAT." 
 
 56. A CONQUEROR'S ACCOUNT OF HIMSELF. 
 
 1. rpHE good of France and mine are mix'd. I am 
 -L The leaf of laurel on her tree, no more : 
 One of her sons. I stand, indeed, the First, 
 Because necessity will have a man 
 
 To front the aspect of alarming times. 
 
 Still I am one o' the people. I claim not 
 
 A line stretch'd backward beyond NimrodV reign ; 
 
 Nor call on Cajsar, 4 or Semiramis, 5 
 
 To answer for a weak or daring son. 
 
 2. I am myself; the first, perhaps the last ^ 
 Of all my race who won or wore a crown. 
 Yet have I ambition still ; for I would feel 
 My soldiers' tears raining upon my grave ; 
 And have, on lasting brass, my nobler deeds 
 Thus written : 
 
 "HERE LIES 
 NAPOLEON, EMPEROR; 
 
 WHO ROSE BY COURAGE AND A PEOPLE'S WILL 
 
 UP TO A THRONE : HE WON A HUNDRED BATTLES 
 
 AT ARCOLA, AT RIVOLI, AT MARENGO, 
 
 AT AUSTERLITZ, AT JENA, AND BY THE SNOWS 
 OF MOSCOW, AND THE LlBYAN PYRAMIDS I 
 
 1 PHARO, a name common to all the kings of Egypt. See Biograph- 
 ical Sketch, p. 91. 8 See Bible, Genesis, 10th chapter, 8th verse. 
 * CAIUS JULIUS C^SAR, Dictator of Kome, was born on the 12th of July, 
 B. c. 100, and died by the hands of assassins, in the Senate House, on 
 the 15th of March, in the fifty-sixth year of his age. As a warrior, a 
 statesman, and a man of letters, CAESAR was one of the most remarkable 
 men of any age.- - 5 SEMIRAMIS, a queen of Assyria, wife of Ninus, who 
 put him to death She \*ag called RRA. on account of her atrocities 
 
 14 
 
210 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 HE CUT, LIKE HANNIBAL, THE WHITE ALPS THROUGH : 
 LEARNING HE RAISED ; BUILT PUBLIC ROADS AND FOUNTAINS ; 
 AND MADE ONE EQUAL LAW FOR ALL THE LAND." 
 
 W. B. PROCTER * 
 
 57. RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND IN 1763. 
 
 BUT if aristocracy was not excluded from towns, still more did 
 it pervade the rural life of England. The climate not only 
 enjoyed the softer atmosphere that belongs to the western side 
 of masses of land, but was further modified by the proximity of 
 every part of it to the sea. It knew neither long-continuing 
 heat nor cold; and was more friendly to daily employment 
 throughout the whole year, within doors or without, than any 
 in Europe. 
 
 2. The island was "a little world" of its own; with a "happy 
 breed of men" for its inhabitants, in whom the hardihood of the 
 Norman was intermixed with the gentler qualities of the Celt 
 and the Saxon, just as nails are rubbed into steel to temper and 
 harden the Damascus blade. They loved country life, of which 
 the mildness of the clime increased the attractions ; since every 
 grass and flower and tree that had its home between the remote 
 
 O 
 
 north and the neighborhood of the tropics would lire abroad, 
 and such only excepted as needed a hot sun to unfold their 
 bloom, or concentrate their aro'ina, or ripen their fruit, would 
 thrive in perfection ; so that no region could show such a varied 
 wood. The moisture of the sky favored a soil not naturally 
 very rich ; and so fructified the earth, that it was clad in per- 
 petual verdure. 
 
 3. Nature had its attractions even in winter. The ancient 
 trees were stripped indeed of their foliage; but sho\ved more 
 clearly their fine proportions, and the undisturbed nests of the 
 noisy rooks among their boughs ; the air was so mild, that the 
 flocks and herds still grazed on the freshly springing Aerbagc ; 
 ana the deer found shelter enough by crouching amongst the 
 fern ; the smoothly shaven grassy walk was soft and yielding 
 
 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 128. 
 
RURAL LIFE IN ENGLAND. 211 
 
 under the foot ; nor was there a month in the year in which the 
 plow was idle. 
 
 4. The large landed proprietors dwelt Sften in houses which 
 had descended to them from the times when England was 
 gemmed all over wifh the most delicate and most solid struc- 
 tures of Gpthic art. The vgry lanes were memorials of early 
 days, and ran as they had been laid out before the Conquest ; 
 and in mills for grinding corn, water-wheels revolved at their 
 work just where they had been doing so for at least eight hun 
 dred years. Hospitality also had its traditions ; and for untold 
 centuries Christmas had been the most joyous of the p^asons. 
 
 5. The system was so completely the ruling element in Eng- 
 lish history and English life, especially in the country, that it 
 seemed the most natural organization of society, and was even 
 endeared to the dependent people. Hence the manners of the 
 aristocracy, without haughtiness or arrogance, implied rather 
 than expressed the consciousness of undisputed rank ; and female 
 beauty added to its loveliness the blended graces of dignity and 
 humility most winning, where acquaintance wifh sorrow had 
 softened the feeling of superiority, and increased the sentiment 
 of compassion. 
 
 6. Yet the privileged class defended its rural pleasures and its 
 agricultural interests with impassioned vigilance. The game 
 laws parceling out among the large proprietors the exclusive 
 right of hunting, which had been wrested from the king as too 
 grievous a prerogative, were maintained with relentless severity ; 
 and to steal or even to hamstring a sheep was as much punished 
 by death as murder or treason. During the reign of George the 
 Second, sixty-three new capital offences had been added to the 
 criminal laws, and five new ones, on the average, continued to 
 be discovered annually ; so that the criminal code of England, 
 formed under the influence of the rural gentry, seemed written 
 in blood, and owed its mitigation only to executive clemency. 
 
 7. But this cruelty, while it encouraged and hardened offend- 
 ers, did not revolt the instinct of submission in the rural popu- 
 lation. The tenantry, for the most part without permanent 
 leases, holding lands at a moderate rent, transmitting the occu- 
 pation of them from father to son through many generations, 
 clung to the lord of the manor as ivy to massive old wall* 
 
212 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 They loved to live in his light, to lean on his support, to gathef 
 round him with affectionate deference rather than base cowering ; 
 and, by their faithful attachment, to win his sympathy and care ; 
 happy when he was such a one as merited their love. They 
 caught refinement of their superiors, so that their cottages were 
 carefully neat, with roses and honeysuckles clambering to their 
 roofs. They cultivated the soil in sight of the towers of the 
 church, near which reposed the ashes of their ancestors for al- 
 most a thousand years. 
 
 8. The whole island was mapped out into territorial parishes, 
 as well as into counties, and the affaire of local interest, the a~ 
 sessment of rates, the care of the poor and of the roads, were 
 settled by elected vestries or magistrates, with little interference 
 from the central government. The resident magistrates were 
 unpaid, being taken from among the landed gentry ; and the lo- 
 cal affairs of the county, and all criminal affairs of no uncommon 
 importance, were settled by them in a body at their quarterly 
 sessions, where a kind-hearted landlord often presided, to appall 
 the convicted offender by the solemn earnestness of his rebuke, 
 and then to show him mercy by a lenient sentence. Thus the 
 local institutions of England shared the common character; 
 they were at once the evidence of aristocracy and the badges of 
 liberty. GEORGE BANCROFT. 
 
 Mr. BANCROFT was born in 1800, in Worcester, ."Massachusetts, where his 
 father was long distinguished as a learned and pious clergyman, and was grad- 
 uated Bachelor of Arts, at Harvard College, at the early age of seventeen. The 
 next year he went to Europe, and studied for four years at Gottingen and Berlin, 
 and traveled in Germany, Italy, Switzerland, and England. On his return, in 
 1823, he published a volume of poems, which were principally written while he 
 was abroad. He soon after established the academy of Round Hill, at North- 
 ampton. He was appointed collector of Boston in 1838 ; was made secretary of 
 the navy in 1845 ; was sent as minister plenipotentiary to England in 1846 ; and 
 on his return, in 1849, became a resident of New York, where he has since de- 
 voted himself principally to the composition of his " History of the United 
 States," the fifth volume of which appeared in 1854. He has also lately pub- 
 lished a volume of " Literary and Historical Miscellanies." His "History of 
 the United States" has been published in its original language in London and 
 Paris, and has been translated into several foreign languages. It is a work of 
 ureat labor, originality, and ability, and eminently American, in the best sense 
 uf i'.'.at word as used in regard to literature. It is the most accurate and philo- 
 sophical account that has been given of the United States; elaborately and 
 strongly, yet elegantly written ; and, though the style is not altogether free 
 from affectation, contains parts that may be reckoned among the most splendid 
 jn all historical literature. 
 
PANEGYKIC ON ENGLAND. 213 
 
 58. PANEGYRIC ON ENGLAND. 
 
 |\TO character is perfect among nations, more than among men; 
 J-M but it must needs be conceded, that, of all the States of 
 Europe, England has been, from an early period, the most 
 favored abode of liberty ; the only part of Europe, where, for 
 any length of time, constitutional liberty can be said to have a 
 stable existence. We can scarcely contem'plate wih patience 
 the idea, that we might have been a Spanish colony, a Portu- 
 guese colony, or a Dutch colony. What hope can there be for 
 the colonies of nations which possess themselves no spring of 
 improvement, and tolerate none in the regions over which they 
 rule ; whose administration sets fio bright examples of parlia- 
 mentary independence ; whose languages send out no reviving 
 lessons of sound and practical science, of manly literature, of 
 sound philosophy ; but repeat, with every ship that crosses the 
 Atlantic, the same debasing voice of despotism, bigotry, and 
 antiquated superstition ? 
 
 2. What citizen of our Republic is not grateful, in the con 
 trast which our history presents ? Who does not feel, what re- 
 flecting American does not acknowledge, the incalculable advan- 
 tao-es derived to this land out of the deep fountains of civi], 
 
 i 
 
 intellectual, and moral truth, from which we have drawn in 
 England ? What American does not feel proud that his fathers 
 were the countrymen of Bacon, 1 of Newton, 2 and of Locke? 3 
 
 1 FRANCIS BACON, Lord Chancellor of England under James I., author 
 of the " Instauratio Magna," was born in London on 22d of January, 
 1561, and died in 1626. The immortal Englishman possessed a mind so 
 vast, with powers so varied, that it can not be said that any one depart-* 
 nient of labor, or species of activity, belonged to him peculiarly. From 
 early manhood Bacon was immersed in public affairs, intrusted with 
 very onerous functions : in the first rank of jurisconsult, he moved in 
 the work of reforming and arranging the laws of England ; as a states- 
 man, he labored effectively in promotion of the British treaty of Union ; 
 as a historian, he produced the first meritorious history in English 
 literature, viz., the " Reign of Henry VII. ;" as orator and writer, he 
 had no equal in his age ; and, besides, he renovated Philosophy. 2 ISAAC 
 NEWTON, the celebrated mathematician and natural philosopher, author 
 of the " Principia," was born at Woolsthorpe, Lincolnshire, England, 
 on the 25th December, 1642, o. s., and died the 20th March, 1727. 
 * TOUN LOCKE, a name than which there is none higher in English philr 
 
214: NATIONAL FIFfU READER. 
 
 Who does not know, that, while every pulse of civil liberty in 
 the heart of the British empire beat warm and full in the bosom 
 of our ancestors, the sobriety, the firmness, and the dignity, with 
 which the cause of free principles struggled into existence here, 
 constantly found encouragement and countenance from the 
 friends of liberty there ? 
 
 3. Who does not remember, that, when the Pilgrims went 
 over the sea, the prayers of the faithful British confessors, in all 
 the quarters of their dispersion, went over with them, while their 
 aching eyes were strained till the star of hope should go up in 
 the western 'skies? And who will ever forget, that, in that 
 eventful struggle which severed these youthful republics from 
 the British crown, there was*not heard, throughout our conti- 
 nent in arms, a voice which spoke louder for the rights of 
 America, than that of Burke 1 or of Chatham 5 within the walls 
 of the British Parliament, and at the foot of the British tfjrone ? 
 
 4. No : for myself, I can truly say, that, after my native land, 
 I feel a tenderness and a reverence for that of my fathers. The 
 pride I take in rny own country makes me respect that from 
 which we are sprung. In touching the soil of England, I seem 
 to return, like a descendant, to the old family seat ; to come 
 back to the abode of an aged and venerable parent. I acknowl- 
 edge this great consanguinity of nations. The sound of my 
 native language, beyond the sea, is a music to my ear, beyond 
 the richest strains of Tuscan softness or Castilian majesty. I 
 am not yet in a land of strangers, while surrounded by the man- 
 ners, the habits, and the institutions under which I have been 
 brought up. 
 
 * 5. I wander delighted through a thousand scenes, which the 
 historians and the poets have made familiar to us, of which the 
 names are interwoven wifh our earliest associations. I tread 
 
 osophical literature, author of the celebrated ' ' Essay Concerning thej 
 Human Understanding," was bora at Wrington, near Bristol, England,! 
 on 29th August, 1632, and died at Gates, in Essex, on 28th October, 1704.1 
 l liDMim> BURKE, a celebrated British orator, statesman, and philoso- 
 pher, was born at Dublin on 1st of January, 1730, and died July 8th, 
 1797. * WILLIAM PITT, Earl of CHATHAM, one of the most celebrated of 
 British statesmen and orators, born on the 15th of November, 1708, and 
 died on the llth of May, 1778. 
 
PANEGYRIC ON ENGLAND. 215 
 
 nth reverence the spots where I can retrace the footsteps of 
 our suffering fathers : the pleasant land of their birth has a 
 claim on my heart. It seems to me a classic, yea, a holy land ; 
 rich in the memory of the great and good, the champions and 
 the martyrs of liberty, the exiled heralds of truth ; and richer as 
 the parent of this land of promise in the West. 
 
 0. I am not I need not say I am not the panegyrist of 
 England. I am not dazzled by her riches, nor awed by her 
 power. The scepter, the miter, and the coronet, stars, garters, 
 and blue ribbons, seem to me poor things for great men to 
 contend for. Nor is my admiration awakened by her armies 
 mustered for the battles of Europe, her navies overshadowing 
 the ocean, nor her empire grasping the farthest East. It is 
 these, and the price of guilt and blood by which they are too 
 Cften maintained, which are the cause why no friend of liberty 
 can salute her wifli undivided affections. 
 
 7. But it is the cradle and the refuge of free principles, 
 though often persecuted ; the school of religious liberty, the 
 more precious for the struggles through which it has passed ; 
 the tombs of those who have reflected honor on all who speak 
 the English tongue ; it is the birthplace of our fathers, the home 
 of the Pilgrims; it is these which I love and venerate in 
 England. I should feel ashamed of an enthusiasm for Italy and 
 Greece, did I not also feel it for a land like this. In an Ameri- 
 can, it would seem to me degenerate and ungrateful to hang 
 with passion upon the traces of Homer 1 and Virgil, 2 and follow 
 without emotion the nearer and plainer footsteps of Shakspearo 3 
 
 and Milton. 4 I should think him cold in his love for his native 
 
 : 
 
 1 HOMER, the most distinguished of poets, entitled "The Father of 
 Song." He is supposed to have been an Asiatic Greek, though his 
 birth-place, and the period in which he lived, are unknown. a VIRGIL, 
 the most distinguished of the Koman poets, was born at Andes, a small 
 village of Mantua, on the 15th of October, B. c. 70. He died on the 
 22d of September, B. c. 19, before completing his fifty-first year. His 
 body lies buried at the distance of two miles from the city of Naples. 
 8 WILLIAM SHAKSPKARE, the most celebrated of all dramatists, was born 
 at Stratford-upon-Avon, England, in 1564, and died in 1616. 4 JouN 
 MILTON, the most illustrious English poet, was born in London, on the 
 9th of December, 1G08, and died on Sunday, the 8th of November, 
 1676. 
 
216 NATIONAL FIFTH 
 
 la^d who felt no melting in his heart for that other native 
 orintry which holds the ashes of his forefathers. 
 
 EDWABD EVERETT.* 
 
 59. LANGUAGE. < 
 
 1. QOME words on Language may be well applied ; 
 
 ^ And take them kindly, though they touch your prido. 
 Words lead to things ; a scale is more precise, 
 Coarse speech, bad grammar, swearing, drinking, vice. 
 Our cold Northeaster's icy fetter clips 
 The native freedom of the Saxon lips : 
 See the brown peasant of the plastic South, 
 How all his passions play about his mouth ! 
 Wifti us, the feature that transmits the soul, 
 A frozen, passive, palsied breathing-hole. 
 
 2. The crampy shackles of the ploughboy's walk 
 Tie the small muscles, when he strives to talk ; 
 Not all the pumice of the polish'd town 
 
 Can smooth this roughness of the barnyard down ; 
 Rich, honor'd, titled, he betrays his race 
 By this one mark he's awkward in the face ; 
 Nature's rude impress, long before he knew 
 The sunny street that holds the sifted few. 
 
 8. It can't be help'd ; though, if we're taken young, 
 ^ We gain some freedom of the lips and tongue : 
 But school and college often try in vain 
 To break the padlock of our boyhood's chain ; 
 One stubborn word will prove this axiom true 
 No late-caught rustic can enunciate view? 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 89. 8 The poet here humorously alludes 
 to the difficulty which many persons, bred in retirement, find in pro- 
 nouncing this word correctly. It will be difficult to express in letters 
 the manner in which it is frequently mispronounced, but it is a sound 
 somewhat similar to v6. The proper pronunciation is vu. They also 
 who give the second sound of o in the words soap, road, coat, boat, and 
 most, come in for a small share of his lash. 
 
LANGUAGE. ' 217 
 
 4. A few brief stanzas may be well employed 
 To speak of errors we can all avoid. 
 Learning condemns beyond the reach of hope 
 The careless churl that speaks of sfiap for soap ; 
 Her edict exiles from her fair abode 
 
 The clownish voice that utters road for road , 
 Less stern to him who calls his coat a coat, 
 And steers his boat believing it a boat. 
 She pardon'd one, our classic city's boast, 
 Who said, at Cambridge, most instead of mSst ; 
 But knit her brows, and stamp'd her angry foot, 
 To hear a teacher call a root 1 a root. 2 
 
 5. Once more : speak clearly, if you speak at all ; 
 Carve every word before you let it fall ; 
 Don't, lifce a lecturer or dramatic star, 
 
 Try over hard to roll the British R ; 
 
 Do put your accents in the proper spot ; 
 
 Don't let me beg you don't say "How?" for "What?" 
 
 And when you stick on conversation's burs, 
 
 Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs.* 
 
 0. W. HOLMES. 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, son of the late ABIEL HOLMES, D. D., was born 
 at Cambridge, Massachusetts, on the 29th of August, 1809. He received his 
 early education at Phillips Exeter Academy, and entered Harvard University in 
 1825. On being graduated, after a year's application to the study of law, he re- 
 linquished it, and devoted himself with ardor and industry to the pursuit of 
 medicine. He visited Europe in the spring of 1833, principally residing at Paris 
 while abroad, where he attended the hospitals, became personally acquainted 
 with many of the most eminent physicians of France, and acquired an intimate 
 knowledge of the language. He returned to Boston near the close of 1835, and 
 in the following spring commenced the practice of medicine in that city. He 
 was elected Professor of Anatomy and Physiology in the medical institution 
 connected with Dartmouth College, in 1838, but resigned the place on his mar- 
 riage, two years later. He soon acquired a large and lucrative practice, and in 
 1847 succeeded Dr. WARREN as Professor of Anatomy in the medical depart- 
 ment of Harvard University. His earlier poems appeared in " The Collegian," 
 
 l R6ot. 2 Root (rut). 'The drawling style in which many persons 
 are in the habit of talking, heedlessly hesitating to think of a word, 
 and the meanwhile supplying its place by the unmeaning syllable " wr,' 
 is here happily condemned. Such habits may easily be corrected by a 
 little presence of mind, and particularly by following the direction, 
 Think twice before you speak once. 
 
 10 
 
21S NATIONAL FIFTH KKADKK. 
 
 a monthly miscellany, published in 1830, by the under-graduates at Cambridge 
 His longest poem, " Poetry, a Metrical Essay," delivered before a literary society 
 at Cambridge, in 1835, is in the heroic measure, and in its versification is not 
 surpassed by any poem written in this country. He published " Terpsichore," 
 a poem read at the annual dinner of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, in 1843 ; and 
 in 1846, " Urania, a Rhyme Lesson," pronounced before the Mercantile Library 
 Association. Dr. HOLMES is a poet of art and humor and genial sentiment, with 
 a style remarkable for its purity, terseness, and point, and for an exquisite finish 
 and grace. He possesses the rare distinction of blending ludicrous ideas with 
 fancy and imagination, and displaying in their conception and expression the 
 same poetical qualities usually exercised in serious composition. " His lyrics ring 
 and sparkle like cataracts of silver, and his serious pieces arrest the attention by 
 touches of the most genuine pathos and tenderness." 
 
 60. SOUND AND SENSE. 
 
 THAT, in the formation of language, men have been much 
 influenced by a regard to the nature of the Aings and ac- 
 tions meant to be represented, is a fact of which every known 
 speech gives proof. In our own language, for instance, who 
 does not perceive in the sound of the words thunder, boundless, 
 terrible, a something appropriate to the sublime ideas intended 
 to be conveyed ? In the word crash we hear the very action 
 implied. Imp, elf, how descriptive of the miniature beings to 
 which we apply them! Fairy, how light and tripping, just 
 like the fairy herself! the word, no more than the thing, seems 
 fit to bend the grass-blade, or shake the tear from the blue-eyed 
 flower. 
 
 2. Pea is another of those words expressive of light, diminu- 
 tive objects; any man born without sight and touch, if such 
 ever are, could tell what kind of thing a pea was from the 
 sound of the word alone. Of picturesque 1 words, sylvan and 
 crystal are among our greatest favorites. Sylvan ! what vis- 
 ions of beautiful old sunlit forests, with huntsmen and bugle- 
 horns, arise at the sound ! Crystal ! does it not glitter like 
 the very thing it stands for ? Yet crystal is not so beautiful as 
 its own adjective. Crystalline! why, the whole mind is light- 
 ened up with its shine. And this superiority is as it should be ; 
 
 1 Picturesque (pikt yer esk'), expressing that peculiar kind of beauty 
 Uiat is pleasing in a picture. 
 
SOUND AND SENSE. 219 
 
 for crystal can only be one comparatively small object, while 
 crystalline may refer to a mass to a world of crystals. 
 
 3. It will be found that natural objects have a larger propor- 
 tion of expressive names among them than any other things. 
 The eagle, what appropriate daring and sublimity ! the dove, 
 what softness ! the linnet, what fluttering gentleness ! " That 
 which men call a rose" would not by any other name, or at least 
 by many other names, smell as sweet. Lily, what tall, cool, 
 pale, lady-like beauty have we here! Violet, jessamine, hya- 
 cinth, a-nem'on, geranium ! beauties, all of them, to the ear as 
 well as the eye. 
 
 4. The names of the precious stones have also a beauty and 
 magnificence above most common things. Diamond, sapphire, 
 am'ethyst, ber'yl, ruby, ag' ate, pearl, jasper, topaz, garnet, emerald, 
 what a caskanet of sparkling sounds! - Diadem and coronet 
 glitter with gold and precious stones, like the objects they rep- 
 resent. It .is almost unnecessary to bring forward instances of 
 the fine things which are represented in English by fine words. 
 Let us take any sublime passage of our poetry, and we shall 
 hardly find a word which is inappropriate in sound. For ex- 
 ample : 
 
 The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
 And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack 1 behind. 
 
 The " gorgeous palaces," " the solemn temples," how ad'mira 
 bly do these lofty sounds harmonize with the objects ! 
 
 5. The relation between the sound and sense of certain words 
 is to be ascribed to more than one cause. Many are evidently 
 imitative representations of the things, movements, and acts, 
 which are meant to be expressed. Others, in which we only 
 find a general relation, as between a beautiful thing and a beau- 
 tiful word, a ridiculous thing and a ridiculous word, or a sublime 
 idea and a sublime word, must be attributed to those faculties, 
 
 1 Rack, vapor, or flying broken clouds. This line is frequently read, 
 " Leave not a wreck behind." It is manifest, however, that Shakspeare 
 wrote rack, & more poetical and descriptive epithet. 
 
220 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 native to every mind, which enable us to perceive and enjoy the 
 beautiful, the ridiculous, and the sublime. 
 
 6. Doctor Waliis, who wrote upon English grammar in the 
 reign of Charles II., represented it as a peculiar excellence of 
 our language, that, beyond all others, it expressed the nature of 
 the objects which it names, by employing sounds sharper, softer, 
 weaker, stronger, more obscure, or more stridulous, 1 according 
 as the idea which is to be suggested requires. He gives various 
 examples. Thus, words formed upon st always denote firmness 
 and strength, anal'ogous 2 to the Latin sto ; as, stand, stay, staff, 
 stop, stout, steady, stake, stamp, &c. 
 
 7. Words beginning with str intimate violent force and en- 
 ergy ; as, strive, strength, stress, stripe, &c. Thr implies forcible 
 motion ; as, throw, throb, thrust, threaten, thraldom, thrill : gl 
 smoothness or silent motion ; as, glib, glide : wr, obliquity or 
 distortion ; as, wry, wrest, wrestle, wring, wrong, wrangle, wrath, 
 &c. : sw, silent agitation, or lateral 3 motion ; as, sway, swing, 
 swerve, sweep, swim : si, a gentle fall or less observable mo- 
 tion ; as, slide, slip, sly, slit, slow, slack, sling : sp, dissipation 
 or expansion ; as, spread, sprout, sprinkle, split, spill, spring. 
 
 8. Terminations in ash indicate something acting nimbly and 
 sharply ; as, crash, dash, rash, flash, lash, slash : terminations in 
 ush, something acting more obtusely and dully; as, crush, brush, 
 hush, gush, blush. The learned author produces a great many 
 more examples of the same kind, which seem to leave no doubt 
 that the analogies of sound have had some influence on the 
 formation of words. At the same time, in all speculations o. J 
 this kind, there is so much room for fancy to operate, that they 
 ought to be adopted wifh much caution in forming any general 
 theory. ROBERT CHAMBERS. 
 
 ROBERT CHAMBERS, a noted Scottish writer and publisher, remarkable for his 
 energy and industry, was born in 1801. He, with his brother William, com- 
 menced trade in book-shops in Edinburgh ; and, subsequently, became author 
 and publisher. The brothers are completely identified \vith the cheap and useful 
 literature of the day, in this country, as well as in the United Kingdom. 
 
 1 Strld' u lous, making a creaking sound. * A nal' o gous, correspond- 
 ent ; having a similarity with regard to form, design, effects, &c., or in 
 the relations borne to other objects. 9 Lat' er al, pertaining or belonging 
 to the side ; from side to side. 
 
THE POWER OF WORDS. 
 
 61. THE POWER OF WORDS. 
 
 WORDS arc most effective when arranged in that Order 
 wliich is called style. The great secret of a good style, we 
 are told, is to have proper words in proper places. To marshal 
 one's verbal battalions in such order that they must bear at once 
 upon all quarters of a subject, is certainly a great art. This is 
 done in different ways. Swift, 1 Temple, 2 Addison, 3 Hume, 4 Gib- 
 bon, 5 Johnson, 6 Burke, 7 are all great generals in the discipline of 
 their verbal armies, and the conduct of their paper wars. Each 
 has a system of tactics of his own, and excels in the use of some 
 particular weapon. 
 
 X2. The tread of Johnson's style is heavy and sonorous, resem- 
 bling that of an elephant or a mail-clad warrior. He is fond of 
 leveling an -obstacle by a polysyllablic battering-ram. Burke's 
 words are continually practicing the broad-sword exercise, and 
 sweeping down adversaries with every stroke. Arbuthnot 8 
 " plays his weaponlike a tongue of flame." Addison draws up 
 his light infantry in orderly array, and marches through sen- 
 tence after sentence, without having his ranks disordered or his 
 line broken. C 
 
 3. Luther 9 is different. His words are "half battle;" "his 
 smiting idiomatic phrases seem to cleave into the very secret of 
 the matter." Gibbon's legions are heavily armed, and march 
 
 1 JONATHAN SWIFT, of English descent, author of the " Travels of Lem- 
 uel Gulliver," was born at Dublin, in November, 1667. In the spring 
 of 1713 he was appointed Dean of St. -Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin. 
 As a writer of plain, pure, vigorous, idiomatic English, SWIFT has no 
 equal ; and he has hardly any superior as a satirist. He died in Octo- 
 ber, 1745. 2 SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE, an eminent statesman and writer, 
 born at London, in 1628, and died in 1700. 3 JOSEPH ADDISON, see Bio- 
 graphical Sketch, p. 513. 4 DAVID HUME, see Biographical Sketch, p. 
 157. 8 EDWARD GIBBON, See Biographical Sketch, p. 77. 8 SAMUEL 
 JOHNSON, see Biographical Sketch, p. 230. * BURKE, see note 1, p. 214. 
 8 JOHN ARBUTIINOT, an eminent English physician of the 17th century, 
 but more distinguished as a man of wit and letters ; the associate of 
 Pope and Swift, and the companion of Bolingbroke at the court of 
 Queen Anne : born in 1675, and died 1735. * MARTIN LUTHER, the great 
 German reformer, was born 10th November, 1483, and died 18th of 
 February. 1546. 
 
222 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 with precision and dignity to the music of their own tramp. 
 They are splendidly equipped, but a nice eye can discern a little 
 rust beneafh their fine apparel, and there are suttlers in his 
 camp who lie, cog, and talk gross obscenity. Macaula^, 1 brisk, 
 lively, keen, and energetic, runs his thoughts rapidly through 
 his sentence, and kicks out of the way every word which ob- 
 structs his passage. He reins in his steed only when he has 
 reached his goal, and then does it with such celerity that he is 
 nearly thrown backward by the suddenness of his stoppage. 
 
 4. Gifford's 2 words are moss-troopers, that waylay innocent 
 travelers and murder them for hire. Jeffrey 3 is a fine " lance," 
 with, a sort of Ar'ab swiftness in his movement, and runs an 
 iron-clad horseman through the eye before he has had time to 
 close his helmet. John Wilson's 4 camp is a disorganized mass, 
 who might do effectual service under better discipline, but who 
 under his lead are suffered to carry on a rambling and predatory 
 warfare, and disgrace their general by flagitious excesses. Some- 
 times they steal, sometimes swear, sometimes drink, and some- 
 times pray. 
 
 5. Swift's words are porcupine's quills, which he throws with 
 unerring aim at whoever approaches his lair. All of Ebenezer 
 Elliot's 5 words are gifted with huge fists, to pummel and bruise. 
 Chatham 6 and Mirabeau 7 throw hot shot into their opponents' 
 magazines. Talfourd's 8 forces are orderly and disciplined, and 
 
 1 T. B. MACAULAY, see Biographical Sketch, p. 155. a WILLIAM GIF- 
 FORD, a celebrated English writer, for sixteen years editor of the " Quar- 
 terly Review," was born in 1756, and died in 1826. * FRANCIS JEFFREY, 
 one of the most masterly critics, and most eloquent writers and orators 
 in the English language, an eminent advocate and judge, Lord Rector 
 of the University of Glasgow, for twenty-seven years editor of the ' ' Ed- 
 inburgh Review," was born at Edinburgh in October, 1773, and died at 
 his birth-place, the 26th of January, 1850. * JOHN WILSON, a well- 
 known and very eminent Scottish writer, was born in 1785, and died in 
 1854. 6 EBEXEZER ELLIOT, a genuine poet, the celebrated English "Com 
 Law Rhymer." was born in 1781. and died in 1849. 'CHATHAM, see 
 note 2, p. 214. 7 MIRABEAU, one of the greatest orators and writers of 
 France, and the leader of the revolution, was born in 1749, and died hi 
 1791. 8 THOMAS Xoox TALFOURD. an able English poet and prose writer, 
 an advocate, judge, and member of parliament, beloved for his sociaJ 
 virtues and kindness of heart, was born in 1795, and died in 1854. 
 
THE POWER OF WORDS. 223 
 
 march to the music of the Dorian flute ; those of Keats' keep 
 time to the tones of the pipe of Phoebus ; 2 and the hard, harsh- 
 featured battalions of Maginn, 3 are always preceded by a brass 
 band. HallamV word-infantry can do much execution, when 
 they are not in each other's way. Pope's 5 phrases are either 
 daggers or rapiers. 
 
 6. Willis's 6 words are often tipsy with the champaign of the 
 fancy, but even when they reel and stagger they keep the line 
 of grace and beauty, and though scattered at first by a fierce 
 onset from graver cohorts, soon reunite without wound or loss. 
 John Neal's 7 forces are multitudinous, and fire briskly at every 
 thing. They occupy all the provinces of letters, and are nearly 
 useless from being spread over too much ground. Everett's 8 
 weapons are ever kept in good order, and shine well in the sun, 
 but they are little calculated for warfare, and rarely kill when 
 they strike. Webster's 9 words are thunder-bolts, which some- 
 times miss the Titans at whom they are hurled, but always leave 
 enduring marks when they strike. 
 
 7. Hazlitt's 10 verbal army is sometimes drunk and surly, some- 
 times foaming with passion, sometimes cool and malignant ; but 
 drunk or sober, are ever dangerous to cope with. Some of Tom 
 Moore's" words are shining dirt, which he flings with excellent 
 aim. This list might be indefinitely extended, and arranged 
 with more regard to merit and chronology. My own words, in 
 this connection, might be compared to ragged, undisciplined 
 
 1 JOHN KEATS, a true poet, born in London, in 1796, and died at 
 Koine, in 1820. 2 PHCEBUS, the BRIGHT or PURE, an epithet of APOLLO, 
 used to signify the brightness and purity of youth, also applied to him 
 as the Sun-god. 8 WILLIAM MAGINN, LL. D., an able British writer of 
 prose and -poetry, a frequent contributor to "Blackwood's Magazine," 
 the founder of "Frazer's Magazine," was born at Cork, in 1794, and 
 died at Walton-on-the-Thames, in 1842. * HENRY HALLAM, a profound 
 tcholar, the greatest living British historian. 'ALEXANDER POPE, gee 
 Biographical Sketch, p. 227. 8 N. P. WILLIS, see Biographical Sketch, 
 p. 341. 7 JOHN NEAL, an able American novelist, poet, and miscella- 
 neous writer, born in Portland, Maine, about the year 1794. 8 EDWARD 
 EVERETT, see Biographical Sketch, p. 89. 'DANIEL WEBSTER, see Bio- 
 graphical Sketch, p. 280. I0 WILLIAM HAZLMT, a well-known and very 
 able British essayist and critic of art and poetry, born in 1778, and died 
 in 1830. " THOMAS MOORE, see Biographical Sketch, p. 115. 
 
224 NATIONAL, FIFTH READER. 
 
 militia, which could be easily routed by a charge of horse, and 
 which are apt to fire into each other's faces. E. P. WHIFFLE. 
 
 E. P. WHIPPLE, one of the youngest and most brilliant of American writers, 
 was born iu Gloucester, Massachusetts, on the 8th of March, 1819. When four 
 years of age, his family removed to Salem, where he attended various schools 
 until he was fifteen, when he entered the Bank of General Interest in that city 
 as a clerk. In his eighteenth year, he went to Boston, where he has ever since 
 been occupied mainly with commercial pursuits. Although, from the age of 
 fourteen, Mr. WHIPPLE has been a writer for the press, occasionally writing re- 
 markably well, he was only known as a writer to his few associates and confi- 
 dants until 1843, when he published in the Boston Miscellany a paper on 
 Macaulay, rivaling in analysis, and reflection, and richness of diction, the best 
 productions of that brilliant essayist. He has since published, in the North 
 American Review, articles on the Puritans, American Poets, Daniel Webster 
 as an Author, Old Engh'sh Dramatists, British Critics, South's Sermons, Byron, 
 Wordsworth, Talfourd, Sydney Smith, and other subjects ; in the American 
 Review, on Beaumont and Fletcher, English Poets of the Nineteenth Century, 
 &c. ; and iu other periodicals, essays and reviewals enough to form several vol- 
 umes. As a critic, he writes with keen discrimination, cheerful confidence, and 
 unhesitating freedom ; illustrating truth with almost unerring precision, and 
 producing a fair and distinct impression of an author. His style is sensuous, 
 flowing, and idiomatic, abounding in unforced antitheses, apt illustrations, and 
 natural grace. 
 
 62. EXTRACT FROM THE ESSAY ON CRITICISM. 
 
 1. TT7" HOEVER thinks a faultless P iece to see 
 
 Y Y Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. 
 In every work regard the writer's end, 
 Since none can compass more than they intend ; 
 And, if the means be just, the conduct true, 
 Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due. 
 As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit, 
 To avoid great errors must the less commit ; 
 Neglect the rules each verbal critic lays ; 
 For not to know some trifles, is a praise. 
 Most critics, fond of some subservient art, 
 Still make the whole depend upon a part : 
 They talk of principles, but notions prize, 
 And all to one loved folly sacrifice. 
 
 2. Some to conceit alone their taste confine, 
 
 And glittering thoughts struck out at evp.ry line ; 
 
EXTRACT FROM THE ESSAY ON CRITICISM. 225 
 
 Pleased with a work where nothing's just or fit ; 
 One glaring chaos and wild heap of wit. 
 Poet*, like painters, thus unskilled to trace 
 The naked nature, and the living grace, 
 With gold and jewels cover every part, 
 And hide with ornaments their want of art. 
 True wit is Nature to advantage dress'd, 
 > What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd ; 
 Something, whose truth convinced at sight we find, 
 That gives us back the image of our mind. 
 As shades more sweetly recommend the light, 
 So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit ; 
 For works may have more wit than does them gooa 
 As bodies perish through excess of blood. 
 
 3. Others for language all their care express, 
 And value booka, as women men for dress : 
 Their praise is still the style is excellent : 
 The sense, they humbly take upon content. 
 Words are, like leaves ; and where they most abound, 
 Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. 
 False eloquence, like the prismatic glass, 
 Its gaudy colors spreads on every place ; 
 The face of Nature we no more survey, 
 All glares alike, without distinction gay : 
 But true expression, like the unchanging sun, 
 Clears and improves whate'er it shines upon ; 
 It gilds all objects, but it alters none. 
 
 4 Expression is the dress of thought, and still 
 Appears more decent, as more suitable : 
 A vile conceit in pompons words express'd,, 
 Is like a clown in regal purple dress'd ; 
 For different styles with different subjects sort, 
 As several garbs, with country, town, and court 
 In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold ; 
 Alike fantastic, if too new or old : 
 Be not the first by whom the new are tried, 
 Nor yet the last to lay the old aside. 
 15 
 
226 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 5. But most by numbers judge a poet's song ; 
 
 And smooth or rough, with them, is right or wrSng. 
 
 In the bright Muse though thousand charms conspire, 
 
 Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire ; 
 
 Who haunt Parnassus 1 but to please their ear, 
 
 Not mend their minds ; as some to church repair, 
 
 Not for the doctrine, but the music there. 
 
 These, equal syllables alone require, 
 
 Though oft the ear the open vowels tire ; 
 
 While expletives their feeble aid do join, 
 
 And ten low words oft creep in one dull line : 
 
 While they ring round the same unvaried chimes, 
 
 With sure returns of still-expected rhymes ; 
 
 Where'er you^find the "cooling western breeze," 
 
 In the next line it " whispers through the trees : w 
 
 If crystal streams "with pleasing murmurs creep," 
 
 The reader's threatened (not in vain) with "sleep:" 
 
 Then at the last and only couplet, fraught 
 
 With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, 
 
 A needless Alexandrine 8 ends the s5ng* 
 
 That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow lengtJ along 
 
 6. Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know 
 What's roundly smooth or languishingly slow ; 
 And praise the easy vigor of a line, 
 
 Where DenhainV strength and Waller's 4 sweetness join. 
 
 True ease in writing comes froin art, not chance, 
 
 As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance. 
 
 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence ; 
 
 The sound must seem an echo to the sense : 
 
 Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, 
 
 And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; 
 
 But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, 
 
 The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. 
 
 1 Par nas' sus, a celebrated mountain in Greece, considered in my thol 
 ogy as sacred to Apollo and the Muses. * Al ex an'drlne, a vei^e or line 
 of twelve syllables. *SiR J. DENHAM, an English writer of verse, born 
 in 1615, and died in 1668. * EDMUND WALLER, one of the most famous 
 of English poets, born in 1605, and died in 1687. 
 
EXTRACT ROM THE ESSAY OF CRITICISM. 227 
 
 7. When Ajax 1 strives some rock's vast weight to throw, 
 The line too labors, and the words move slow : 
 Not so when swift Camilla 2 scours the plain, 
 Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main : 
 Hear how Timotheus' 3 varied lays surprise, 
 And bid altern'ate passions fall and rise ! 
 While, at each change, the son of Libyan Jove 4 
 + Now burns with glory, and then melts with love; 
 Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow ; 
 Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow : 
 Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found, 
 And the world's victor stood subdued by sound. 
 
 ALEXANDER POPE. 
 
 ALEXANDER POPE, the poet, to whom English poetry and the English language 
 are greatly indebted, was born May 22d, 1688, in London. He was a very sickly 
 child ; and his bodily infirmities remained through life. He never grew to be 
 taller than about four feet ; and his deformity and weakness of limbs were so 
 great, that, for several years before his death, he could not dress or undress him- 
 self. Yet, after his twelfth year, he attended no school, but educated himself. 
 The whole of his early life was that of a severe student. He was a poet in 
 infancy. The " Ode to Solitude" dates from his twelfth year. At the age of 
 sixteen he wrote his Pastorals, and his imitation of Chaucer. He soon became 
 acquainted with most of the eminent persons of the day, both in politics and 
 literature. His " Essay on Criticism," which was composed when* he was 
 only twenty-one, is regarded by many as the finest piece of argumentative poetry 
 in the English language. His celebrity was effectually and deservedly secured 
 in 1712, by his first edition of the " Rape of the Lock." He soon after published 
 "The Messiah," "The Temple of Fame," "Ode on St. Cecilia's Day," and 
 " Windsor Forest." His Translation of the Iliad, published by subscription, 
 from 1715 to 1720, produced to the author more than 5,000. His edition of 
 Shakspeare, and his Odyssey, appeared in 1725. The " Essay on Man," and 
 several other valuable poems, appeared in 1738. He died in May, 1744. For a 
 description of POPE'S fine poetic endowments, see the next exercise. 
 
 1 AJAX, one o'f the Grecian princes in the Trojan war, and, next to 
 Achilles, the bravest. a CAMILLA, daughter of King Metabus, of the 
 Volscian town of Trivernum, was one of the swift- footed servants of 
 Diana, accustomed to the chase and to war. Virgil represents her 
 as KO swift and light of foot, that she could run over a field of corn with- 
 out bending the stalks, or over the sea without wetting her feet. 
 * TIMOTHEUS, a famous musician and poet, born at Miletus, B. c. 446, 
 and died in 357, in the ninetieth year of his age. Also the name of a 
 distinguished flute-player, the favorite of Alexander the Great. 4 SON 
 OF LIBYAN *JovE, a name which Alexander the Great arrogated. 
 
228 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 63. PARALLEL BETWEEN POPE AND DRYDEN. 
 
 T)OPE professed to have learned his poetry from Dryden,' 
 JL whom, whenever an opportunity was presented, he praised 
 through his whole life with unvaried liberality ; and perhaps his 
 character may receive some illustration, if he be compared with 
 his master. 
 
 2. Integrity of understanding, and nicety of discernment, were 
 not allotted in a less proportion to Dryden than to Pope. The 
 rectitude of Dryden's mind was sufficiently shown by the dis- 
 mission of his poetical prejudices, and the rejection of unnatural 
 thoughts and rugged numbers. But Dryden never desired to 
 apply all the judgment that he had. He wrote, and professed 
 to write, merely for the people ; and when he pleased others, he 
 contented himself. 
 
 3. He spent no time in struggles to rouse latent powers ; he 
 never attempted to make that better which was already good, 
 nor Sften to mend what he must have known to be faulty. He 
 wrote, as he tells us, wifh very little consideration : when occa- 
 sion or necessity called upon him, he poured out what the pres- 
 ent montent happened to supply, and, when once it had passed 
 the press, ejected it from his mind; for, when he had no pecu- 
 niary interest he had no further solicitude. 
 
 4. Pope was not content to satisfy ; he desired to excel, and 
 therefore always endeavored to do his best ; he did not court 
 the candor, but dared the judgment of his reader, and, expecting 
 no indulgence from others, he showed none to himself. He ex- 
 amined lines and words with minute and punctilious observation, 
 and retouched every part with indefatigable diligence, till he 
 had left nothing to be forgiven. 
 
 5. For this reason he kept his pieces very long in his hands, 
 while he considered and reconsidered them. The only poema 
 which can be supposed to have been written wifh such regard 
 to the times as might hasten their publication, were the two- 
 satires of Thirty-eight : of which Dodsley 2 told me, that they 
 
 J JOHN DRYDEX was born in 1631, and died in 1700. ' 
 LEY, an able miscellaneous writer and well-known London bookseller 
 wo* born at Mansfield, 1703, and died 1764. 
 
PARALLEL BETWEEN POPE AND DRYDEN: 229 
 
 were brought to him by the author, that they might be fairly 
 copied. " Every line," said he, " was then written twice over : 
 I gave him a clean transcript, which he sent some time after- 
 ward to me for the press, with every line written twice over a 
 second time." 
 
 6. His declaration, that his care for his works ceased at their 
 publication, was not strictly true. His parental attention never 
 abandoned them : what he found amiss in the first edition, he 
 silently corrected in those that followed. He appears to have 
 revised the Iliad, and freed it from some of its imperfections ; 
 and the Essay on Criticism received many improvements after 
 its first appearance. It will seldom be found that he altered 
 without adding clearness, elegance, or vigor. Pope had perhaps 
 the judgment of Dryden ; but Dryden certainly wanted the dili- 
 gence of Pope. 
 
 7. In acquired knowledge, the superiority must be allowed to 
 Dryden, whose education was more scholastic, and who, before 
 he became an author, had been allowed more time for study, 
 with better means of information. His mind has a larger range, 
 and he collects his images and illustrations from a more exten- 
 sive circumference of science. Dryden knew more of man in 
 his general nature, and Pope in his local manners. The notions 
 of Dryden were formed by comprehensive speculation, and those 
 of Pope by minute attention. There is more dignity in the 
 knowledge of Dryden, and more certainty in that of Pope. 
 
 8. Poetry was not the sole praise of either ; for both excelled 
 likewise in prose ; but Pope did not borrow his prose from his 
 predecessor. The style of Dryden is capricious and varied ; that 
 of Pope is cautious and uniform. Dryden obeys the motions of 
 his own mind ; Pope constrains his mind to his own rules of 
 composition. Dryden is sometimes ve'hement and rapid ; Pope 
 is always smooth, uniform, and gentle. Dryden's page, is a nat- 
 ural field, rising into inequalities, and diversified by the varied 
 exuberance of abundant vegetation ; Pope's is a velvet lawn, 
 shaven by the scythe, and leveled by the roller. 
 
 9. Of genius, that power which constitutes a poet that qual- 
 ity without which judgment is cold, and knowledge is inert 
 that energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates, 
 the superiority must, with some hesitation, be allowed to Dry- 
 
230 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 den. It is not to be inferred, that of this poetical vigor Pope 
 had only a little, because Dryden had more ; for every other 
 writer since Milton 1 must give place to Pope ; and even of Dry- 
 den it must be said, that if he has brighter paragraphs, he has 
 not better poems. 
 
 10. Dryden' s performances were always hasty, either excited 
 by some external occasion or extorted by domestic necessity; 
 he composed without consideration, and published without cor 
 rection. What his mind could supply at call, or gather in on 
 excursion, was all that he sought, and all that he gave. The 
 dilatory caution of Pope enabled him to condense his sentiments, 
 to multiply his images, and to accumulate all that study might 
 produce, or chance might supply. If the flights of Dryden, 
 therefore, are higher, Pope continues longer on the wing. If of 
 DrydeVs fire the blaze is brighter, of Pope's the heat is more 
 regular and constant. Dryden often surpasses expectation, and 
 Pope never falls below it. Dryden is read with frequent aston- 
 ishment, and Pope with perpetual delight. 
 
 11. This parallel will, I hope, when it is well considered, be 
 found just ; and if the reader should suspect me, as I suspect 
 myself, of some partial fondness for the memory of Dryden, let 
 him not too hastily condemn me ; for meditation and inqui'ry 
 may, perhaps,- show him the reasonableness of my determination. 
 
 SAMUEL JOHNSON. 
 
 Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON, one of the greatest, if not the greatest, of the literary men of 
 the eighteenth century, was bora at Litchfiehl, England, on the 18th of Septem- 
 ber, 1709. In the child, the peculiarities which afterward distinguished the man 
 were plainly discernible ; great muscular strength, accompanied by much awk- 
 wardness, and many infirmities ; great quickness of parts, with a morbid pro- 
 pensity to sloth and procrastination ; a kind and generous heart, with a gloomy 
 and irritable temper. Indolent as he was, lie acquired knowledge with such 
 ease and rapidity, that at every school to which he was sent he was soon the 
 best scholar. From sixteen to eighteen he resided at home, and learned much, 
 though his studies were without guidance and without plan. When the young 
 bcholar presented himself at Pembroke College, Oxford, he amazed the rulers of 
 that society not more by his ungainly figure and eccentric manners than by the 
 quantity of his extensive and curious information. While here, he early made 
 himself known by turning Pope's Messiah into Latin verse. He was poor, how- 
 ever, even to raggeduess ; and his appearance excited a mirth and a pity which 
 were equally intolerable to his haughty spirit. After residing at Oxford about 
 tliree years, JOHNSON'S resources failed ; and he was under the necessity of quit- 
 
 1 MILTON, see note 4, p. 215. 
 
THE PURITANS. 231 
 
 ting the university without a degree, in the autumn of 1731. In the following 
 winter his father died. The old man left but a pittance; and of that pittance, 
 Samuel received not more than twenty pounds. With many infirmities of body 
 and mind, this celebrated man was thus left, at two-and-twenty, to fight his way 
 through the world. He became usher of a grammar-school in Leicestershire ; 
 he soontifter married, took a house in the neighborhood of his native town, and 
 advertisjd for pupils. But eighteen months passed away, and only three pupils 
 came to his academy, one of whom was the celebrated DAVID GARRICK. At 
 length, in the twenty-eighth year of his age, he went to London to seek his for- 
 tune as a literary adventurer. Some time elapsed before he was able to form 
 any literary connection from which he comd expect more than bread for the day 
 that was passing over Him. The effect of the privations and sufferings which he 
 endured at this time was discernible to the last in his temper and deportment. 
 His manners had never been courtly. They now became almost savage. About 
 a year after JOHNSON had begun fo reside in London, he fortunately obtained 
 regular employment as a reporter, or rather writer of parliamentary speeches for 
 the " Gentleman's Magazine." A few weeks after he had entered on these ob- 
 scure labors, he published a stately and vigorous poem, entitled " London," 
 which at once placed him high among the writers of his age. From this period 
 till 176^ he was subjected to anxiety and drudgery ; and was only able to gain a 
 bare subsistence by the most intense daily toil. This was, however, in part ow- 
 ing to his having been singularly unskillful and unlucky in his literary bargains, 
 as in the inetn time he had published the " Vanity of Human Wishes," in 1749 ; 
 a " Dictionary of the English Language," in 1755; and " Rasselas," in 1759. 
 He also published a paper, entitled the " Rambler," every Tuesday and Satur- 
 day, from March, 1750, to March, 1752; and a series of weekly essays, entitled 
 "The Idler," for two years, commencing in the spring of 1758. Able judges 
 have pronounced these periodicals equal, if not superior to the " Spectator." In 
 1762, through the influence of Lord Bute, he received a pension of 300 a year ; 
 and from that period a great change in his circumstances took place. The Uni- 
 versity of Oxford honored him with a doctor's degree, and the Royal Academy 
 With a professorship. He was now free to indulge his constitutional idleness ; 
 still, though he wrote but little, his tongue was active. The influence exercised 
 by his conversation, directly upon the members of the celebrated club over 
 which he predominated, and indirectly upon the whole literary world, was alto- 
 gether without a parallel. His colloquial powers were of the highest order. He 
 had strong sense, quick discernment, humor, wit, immense knowledge of litera- 
 ture and of life, and an infinite store of curious anecdotes. Every sentence that 
 fell from his lips was correct in structure. All was simplicity, ease, and vigor. 
 Of all his numerous writings, those that are now most popular are the " Vanity 
 of Human Wishes" and the " Lives of the Poets." In a serene frame of mind, 
 he died on the 13th of December, 1784 ; and a week later was laid in Westmin- 
 ster Abbey. 
 
 64. THE PURITANS. 
 
 fTlHE Puritans 1 were men whose minds had derived a peculiar 
 -JL character from the daily contemplation of superior beings 
 
 1 Pu' ri tans, persons, in the time of Queen Elizabeth and her immedi- 
 ate Buccossors, so called in derision, became they professed to follow the 
 
232 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 and eternal interests. Not content with acknowledging, in gen- 
 eral terms, an overruling Providence, they habitually ascribed 
 every event to the will of the Great Being, for whose power 
 nothing was too vast, for whose inspection nothing was too mi- 
 nute. To know him, to serve him, to enjoy him, was with them 
 the great end of existence. 
 
 2. They rejected with contempt the ceremonious homage 
 which other sects substituted for the pure worship of the soul. 
 Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the Deity through an 
 obscuring vail, they aspired to gaze full on the intolerable bright 
 ness, and to commune with him face to face. Hence originated 
 their contempt for terrestrial distinctions. The difference be- 
 tween the greatest and meanest of mankind seemed to vanish, 
 when compared with the boundless interval which separated the 
 whole race from Him on whom their own eyes were constantly 
 fixed. They recognized no title to superiority but his favor ; 
 and, confident of that favor, they despised all the accomplish- 
 ments and all the dignities of the world. 
 
 3. If they were unacquainted with the works of philosophers 
 and poets, they were deeply read in the oracles of God ; if their 
 names were not found in the registers of heralds, they felt as- 
 sured that they were recorded in the Book of Life ; if their steps 
 were not accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of 
 ministering angels had charge over them. Their palaces were 
 houses not made with hands : their diadems, crowns of glory 
 which should never fade away 1 
 
 4. On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests, they 
 looked down with contemp f * for they esteemed themselves rich 
 in a more precious treasure, and eloquent in a more sublime lan- 
 guage nobles by the right of an earlier creation, and priests by 
 the imposition of a mightier hand. The very meanest of them 
 was a being to whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance 
 belonged on whose slightest actions the spirits of light and 
 darkness looked with anxious interest who had been destined, 
 before heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity which 
 should continue when heaven and earth should have passed away. 
 
 pure word of God, and rejected the ceremonies and government of the 
 Episcopal church. 
 
ADVANTAGES OF ADVERSITY. 233 
 
 5. Events whhh short-sighted politicians ascribed to earthly 
 causes, had been ordained on his account. For his sake, em- 
 pires had risen, and flourished, and decayed ; for his sake, the 
 Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the evangelist 
 and the harp of the prophet. He had been rescued by no com- 
 mon deliverer from the grasp of no common foe ; he had been 
 ransomed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no 
 earthly sacrifice. It was for him that the sun had been dark- 
 ened, that the rocks had been rent, that the dead' had arisen, 
 that all nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring 
 
 God! T. B. MACAULAY. 1 
 
 .* 
 
 65. THE EOCK OF THE PILGRIMS. 
 
 1. A ROCK in the wilderness welcomed our sires, 
 A From bondage far over the dark-rolling sea : 
 On that holy altar they kindled the fires, 
 
 Jehovah, which glow in our bosoms for thee. 
 
 2. Thy blessings descended in sunshine and shower, 
 
 Or rose from the soil that was sown by thy hand; 
 The mountain and valley rejoiced in thy power, 
 And heaven encircled and smiled on the land. 
 
 3. The Pilgrims of old an example have given 
 
 Of mild resignation, devotion, and love, 
 Which beams like a star in the blue vault of heaven ; 
 A beacon-light hung in their mansion above. 
 
 4. In church and cathedral we kneel in our prayer 
 
 Their temple and chapel were valley and hill ; 
 But God is the same in the aisle or the air, 
 And he is the Rock that we lean upon still. 
 
 GEORGE P. MORRIS.* 
 
 66. ADVANTAGES OF ADVERSITY TO OUR FOREFATHERS. 
 
 FROM the dark portals of the star-chamber, and in the stern 
 text of the acts of uniformity, the Pilgrims received a com- 
 
 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 155. "See Biographical Sketch, p. 98. 
 
234 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 mission, more efficient than any that ever bore the royal seaL 
 Their banishment to Holland was fortunate ; the decline of their 
 little company in the strange land was fortunate ; the difficulties 
 which they experienced in getting the royal consent to banish 
 themselves to this wilderness were fortunate ; all the tears and 
 heart-breakings of that ever memorable parting at Delfthaven 1 
 had the happiest influence on the rising destinies of New En- 
 gland. 
 
 2 All this purified the ranks of the settlers. These rough 
 touches of fortune brushed off the light, uncertain, selfish spiiits. 
 They made it a grave, solemn, self-denving expedition, and re- 
 quired of those who engaged in it to Tie so too. They cast a 
 broad shadow of thought and seriousness over the cause; and, if 
 this sometimes deepened into melancholy and bitterness, can we 
 find no apology for such a human weakness ? 
 
 3. It is sad, indeed, to reflect on the disasters which the little 
 band of Pilgrims encountered ; sad to see a portion of them, the 
 prey of unrelenting cupidity, treacherously embarked in an un- 
 sound, unseaworthy ship, which they are soon obliged to aban- 
 don, and crowd themselves into one vessel ; one hundred per- 
 sons, besides the ship's company, in a vessel of one hundred and 
 sixty tons. One is touched at the story of the long, cold, and 
 weary autumnal passage ; of the landing on the inhSspitable 
 rocks at this dismal season ; where they are deserted, before 
 long, by the ship which had brought them, and which seemed 
 their only hold upou the world of fellow-men, a prey to the ele- 
 ments and to want, and fearfully ignorant of the numbers, the 
 power, and the temper of the savage tribes, that filled the unex- 
 plored continent, upon whose verge they had ventured. 
 
 4. But all this wrought together for good. These trials of 
 wandering and exile, of the ocean, the winter, the wilderness, 
 and the savage foe, were the final assurances of success. It was 
 these that put far away from our fathers' cause all patrician 
 softness, all hereditary claims to preeminence. No effeminate 
 nobility crowded into the dark and austere ranks of the Pilgrims. 
 
 1 Delft ha' ven, a fortified town in South Holland (now Belgium), be- 
 tween Rotterdam and Schiedam. At this place the Pilgrims of New 
 England took their last farewell of their European friends. 
 
ADVANTAGES OF ADVERSITY. 235 
 
 No Carr nor Villiers 1 would lead on the ill-provided band of 
 despised Puritans. No well-endowed clergy were on the alert 
 to quit their cathedrals, and set up a pompous hierarchy in the 
 frozen wilderness. No craving governors were anxious to be 
 sent over to our cheerless El Dorados 2 of ice and snow. 
 
 5. No ; they could not say they had encouraged, patronized, 
 or helped the Pilgrims : their own cares, their own labors, their 
 own councils, their own blood, contrived all, achieved all, bore 
 all, sealed all. They could not afterward fairly pretend to reap 
 where they had not strewn; and, as our fathers reared this 
 broad and solid fabric with pains and watchfulness, unaided, 
 barely tolerated, it did not fall when the favor, which had always 
 been withholden, was changed into wrath ; when the arm, which 
 had never supported, was raised to destroy. 
 
 6. Methinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous ves- 
 sel, the Mayflower 3 of a forlorn hope, freighted with the prospects 
 of a future State, and bound across the unknown sea. I behold 
 it pursuing, with a thousand misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious 
 voyage. Suns rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and 
 winter surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the 
 sight of the wished-for shore. 
 
 7. I see them now scantily supplied wifh provisions ; crowded 
 almost to suffocation in their ill-stored prison ; delayed by calms, 
 pursuing a circuitous route, and now driven in fury before the 
 raging tempest, on the high and giddy waves. The awful voice 
 of the storm howls through the rigging. The laboring masts 
 seem straining from their base ; the dismal sound of the pumps 
 is heard ; the ship leaps, as it were, madly, from billow to bil- 
 low ; the ocean breaks, and settles with ingulfing floods over the 
 floating deck, and beats, with deadening, shivering weight, 
 against the staggered vessel. 
 
 8. I see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their all but 
 desperate undertaking, and landed at last, after a five months' 
 
 1 CARR and VILLIERS, the unworthy favorites of James I., the English 
 monarch. Villiers is better known in history as the Duke of Bucking- 
 ham, and Carr, as the Earl of Somerset. * El Do ra' do, a fabulous re- 
 gion in the interior of South America, supposed to be immensely rich in 
 gold, gems, &c. 8 Mayflower, the name of the vessel in which the set- 
 tlers of Plymouth, in Massachusetts, came to America, in 1620. 
 
236 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth, weak and weary 
 from the voyage, poorly armed, scantily provisioned, depending 
 on the charity of their shipmaster for a draught of beer on 
 board, drinking nothing but water on shore, without shelter, 
 without means, surrounded by hostile tribes. 
 
 9. Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any prin- 
 ciple of human probability, what shall be the fate of this handfiu 
 of adventurers. Tell me, man of military science, in how many 
 months were they all swept off by the thirty savage tribes, enu- 
 merated within the early limits of New England? Tell me, 
 politician, how long did this shadow of a colony, on which youi 
 conventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on the distant 
 coast? Student of history, compare for me the baffled projects, 
 the deserted settlements,, the abandoned adventures of other 
 times, and find the parallel of this. 
 
 10. Was it the winter's storm, beating upon the houseless 
 heads of women and children ; was it hard labor and spare 
 meals ; was it disease ; was it the tomahawk ; was it the deep 
 malady of a blighted hope, a ruined enterprise, and a broken 
 heart, aching in its last moments at the recollection of the loved 
 and left beyond the sea ; was it some, or all of these united, 
 that hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy fate ? 
 And is it possible that neither of these causes^ that not all com- 
 bined, were able to blast this bud of hope ? Is it possible, that, 
 from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so worthy, not so much of 
 admiration as of pity, there has gone forth a progress so steady, 
 a growth so wonderful, an expansion so ample, a reality so im- 
 portant, a promise, yet to be fulfilled, so glorious ? 
 
 EDWARD EVERETT 1 
 
 67. THE GRAVES OF THE PATRIOTS. 
 
 HERE rest the great and good. Here they repose 
 After their generous toil. A sacred band, 
 They take their sleep together, while the year 
 Comes wifh its early flowers to deck their graves, 
 And gathers them again, as Winter frowns. 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p 89. 
 
THE GKAVES OF THE PATKIOT8. 237 
 
 Theirs is no vulgar sepulchre green sods 
 Are all their monument, and yet it tells 
 A nobler history than pillar'd piles, 
 Or the eternal pyramids. 
 
 2. They need 
 No statue nor inscription to reveal 
 
 Their greatness. It is round them ; and the joy 
 Wifh which their children tread the hallo w'd ground 
 That holds their venerated bones, the peace 
 That smiles on all they fought for, and the wealth 
 That clothes the land they rescued, these, though mute 
 As feeling ever is when deepest these 
 Are monuments more lasting than the fanes 
 Rear'd to the kings and demigods of old. 
 
 3. Touch not the ancient elms, that bend their shade 
 Over their lowly graves ; beneafh their boughs 
 There is a solemn darkness even at noon, 
 Suited to such as visit at the shrine 
 
 Of serious Liberty. No factious voice 
 
 Call'd them unto the field of generous fame, 
 
 But the pure consecrated love of home. 
 
 No deeper feeling sways us, when it wakes 
 
 In all its greatness. It has told itself 
 
 To the astonish'd gaze of awe-struck kings, 
 
 At Marathon, 1 at Bannockburn, 2 and here, 
 
 Where first our patriots sent the invader back 
 
 Broken and cow'd. Let these green elms be all 
 
 To tell us where they fought, and where they lie. 
 
 4. Their feelings were all nature, and they need 
 No art to make them known. They live in ns, 
 
 1 Mir' a thon, a hamlet, small river, and plain of Greece, gorernment 
 of Attica. The hamlet is 18 miles N. E. of Athens. The plain, bound- 
 ed S. by Mount Pentelicus, is renowned for the victory of Miltiades over 
 the army of Xerxes, B. c. 490. a Ban' nock burn, a town of Scotland, 
 famous for the great victory gained here 24th of June, 1314, by the 
 Scots, under Bruce, over the English, commanded by Edward II., and 
 his generals v 
 
238 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 While we are like them, simple, haidy, bold, 
 Worshiping nothing but our own pure hearts, 
 And the one universal Lord. They need 
 No column pointing to the heaven they sought. 
 To tell us of their home. The heart itself; 
 Left to its own free purpose, hastens there, 
 And there alone reposes. 
 
 5. Let these elms 
 
 Bend their protecting shadow o'er their graves, 
 And build wifli their green roof the only fane, 
 Where we may gather on the hallow'd day 
 That rose to them in blood, and set in glory. 
 Here let us meet, and while our motionless lips 
 Give not a sound, and all around is mute 
 - In the deep Sabbath of a heart too full 
 For words or tears here let us strew the sod 
 With the first flowers of spring, and make to them 
 An offering of the plenty Nature gives, 
 And they have rendered ours perpetually. 
 
 J. G. PERCIVAL. 
 
 JAMES GATES PERCIVAL, the poet, was born in Berlin, near Hartford, in Con- 
 necticut, on the 15th of September, 1795. He entered Yale College when fifteeii 
 years of age, and graduated in 1815, with the reputation of being the first scholai 
 of his class. From Yale Medical School, in 1820, he received the degree of Dr 
 of Medicine. He wrote verses at an early age, and in his fourteenth year pro- 
 duced an able satire. He composed " Zamor, a Tragedy," while in college 
 He first appeared before the public, as an author, in 1821, when he published 
 some minor poems, and the first part of his " Prometheus," which at once at- 
 tracted attention, and was favorably noticed by EDWARD EVERETT, in the N. 
 A. Review. In 1822 he published two volumes of miscellaneous poems and 
 prose writings, entitled " Clio," and the second part of " Prometheus," the lat- 
 ter of which is a poem containing nouty four hundred stanzas, in the Spense- 
 rian measure. An edition of his principal poetical writings soon after appeared 
 in New York, and was republished in London. He was appointed assistant 
 surgeon in the U. S. army in 1824, and acted as Professor of 'Chemistry in the 
 Military Academy at West Point. The duties of his office infringing too much 
 upon his favorite studies, after a few months he resigned his commission. The 
 third volume of " Clio" appeared in New York early in 1827. For two years 
 subsequent he superintended the printing of the first quarto edition of Dr. WEB- 
 STER'S American Dictionary, a situation for which his ripe scholarship, and 
 critical acquaintance with ancient and modern languages, rendered him emi- 
 nently qualified. In 1835 he was employed by the government of Connecticut 
 to make a geological survey of that State, an elaborate and very able report of 
 which was printed in 1842. While engaged in these duties he published poetic- 
 al translations from eleven modern languages, and wrote a portion of " The 
 
PROGRESS OF FREEDOM. 239 
 
 Dream of Day and other Poems," which appeared in 1813 In 1854 lie was ap- 
 pointed State Geologist of Wisconsin. He died in 1856. Few men possessed 
 higher poetical qualities than PERCIVAL. His learning was comprehensive and 
 thorough. He had a rich imagination, a remarkable command of language, 
 and wrote with a facility rarely equaled ; but he shrunk from the labor of thor- 
 oughly revising his writings, and giving them the polished excellence that can 
 only be attained by a slow and laborious process. 
 
 68. PROGRESS OF FREEDOM. 
 
 VARIOUS have been the efforts in the Old World at popular 
 forms of government, b.ut, from some cause or other, they 
 have failed; and however time, a wider intercourse, a greater 
 familiarity with the practical duties of representation, and, not 
 least of all, our own auspicious example, may prepare the Euro- 
 pe'an mind for the possession of republican freedom, it i? very 
 certain that, at the present moment, Europe is not the place for 
 republics. 
 
 2. The true soil for these is our own continent, the New 
 World. This is the spot on which the beautiful theories of the 
 Europe'an philosopher who had risen to the full freedom of 
 speculation, while action was controled have been reduced to 
 practice. The atmosphere here seems as fatal to the arbitrary 
 institutions of the Old World as that has been to the democratic 
 forms of our own. It seems scarcely possible that any other 
 organization than these latter should exist here. 
 
 3. In three centuries from the discovery of the country, the 
 various races by which it is tenanted some of them from the 
 least liberal of the Europe'an monarchies have, with few excep- 
 tions, come into the adoption of institutions of a republican 
 character. Toleration, civil and religious, has been proclaimed, 
 and enjoyed to an extent unknown since the world began, 
 throughout the wide borders of this vast continent. Alas for 
 those portions which have assumed the exercise of these rights 
 without fully comprehending their import who have been in- 
 toxicated with the fumes of freedom, instead of di awing nourish- 
 ment from its living principle ! 
 
 4. It was fortunate, or, to speak more properly, a providential 
 thing, that the discovery of the New World was postponed to 
 
 Of 
 
240 NATIONAL FEFTH KKADEK, 
 
 the precise period when it occurred. Had it taken place dt an 
 earlier time during the flourishing period of the feudal ages, 
 for example the old institutions of Europe, with their hallowed 
 abuses, might have been ingrafted on this new stock, and, in- 
 stead of the fruit of the tree of life, we should have furnished 
 only varieties of a kind already far exhausted and hastening to 
 decay. 
 
 5. But, happily, some important discoveries in science, and, 
 above all, the glorious Reformation, gave an "electric shock to 
 the intellect, long benumbed under the influence of a tyranni- 
 cal priesthood. It taught men to distrust authority, to trace 
 effects back to their causes, to search for themselves, and to take 
 no guide but the reason which God had given them. It taught 
 them to claim the right of free inqui'ry as their inalienable birth- 
 right, and, with free inquiry, freedom of action. The sixteenth 
 and seventeenth centuries were the period of the mighty strug- 
 gle between the conflicting elements of religion, as the eight- 
 eenth and nineteenth have been that of the great contest for 
 civil liberty. 
 
 6. It .was in the midst of this universal fer'ment, and in con- 
 sequence of it, that these shores were first peopled by our Puritan 
 ancestors. Here they found a world where they might verify 
 the value of those theories which had been derided as visionary, 
 or denounced as dangerous, in their own land. All around was 
 free free as nature herself: the mighty streams rolling on in 
 their majesty, as they had continued to roll from the creation ; 
 the forests, which no hand had violated, flourishing in primeval 
 grandeur and beauty their only tenants the wild animals, or 
 the Indians, nearly as wild, scarcely held together by any tie of 
 social polity. 
 
 7. Nowhere was the trace of civilized man or of his curious 
 contrivances. Here was no star-chamber nor court of high 
 commission ; no racks, nor jails, nor gibbets ; no feudal tyrant, 
 to grind the poor man to the dust on which he toiled ; no inqui- 
 sition, to pierce into the thought, and to make thought a crime. 
 The only eye that was upon them was the eye of Heaven. 
 
 8. True, indeed, in the first heats of suffering enthusiasm, 
 they did not extend that charity to others which they claimed 
 >r themselves. It was a blot on their characters, but one 
 
PKOGKES8 OF FREEDOM. 241 
 
 which they share in common with most reformers. The zeal 
 requisite for great revolutions, whether in Church or State, is 
 rarely attended by charity for difference of opinion. Those 
 who are willing to do and to suffer bravely for their own doc- 
 trines, attach a value to them which makes them impatient of 
 opposition from others. 
 
 9. The martyr for conscience' sake can not comprehend the 
 necessity of leniency to those who denounce those truths for 
 which he is prepared to lay down his own life. If he set so 
 little value on his own life, is it natural he should set more on 
 that of others? The Dominican, who dragged his victims to 
 the fires of the inquisition in Spain, freely gave up his ease and 
 his life to the duties of a missionary among the heathen. The 
 Jesuits, who suffered martyrdom among the American savages 
 in the propagation of their faith, stimulated those very savages 
 to their horrid massacres of the Protestant settlements of New 
 England. God has not Sften combined charity with enthusiasm. 
 When he has done so, he has produced his noblest work a 
 More, 1 or a Fenelon. 8 
 
 10. But if the first settlers were intolerant in practice, they 
 brought with them the living principle of freedom, which would 
 survive when their generation had passed away. They could 
 not avoid it ; for their coming here was in itself an assertion of 
 that principle. They came for conscience' sake to worship 
 G5d in their own way. Freedom of political institutions they 
 at onoe avowed. Every citizen took his part in the political 
 scheme, and enjoyed all the consideration of an equal participa- 
 tion in civil privileges ; and liberty in political matters gradually 
 brought with it a corresponding liberty in religious concerns. 
 
 SIB, THOMAS MORE, author of "Utopia," able and profound in law 
 and divinity, an illustrious statesman, was born in London, in 1480. 
 Ill 1521 he was knighted and made treasurer of the exchequer. He be- 
 came speaker of the House of Commons in 1523, and succeeded Wolsey, 
 as Lord Chancellor, in 1529. Having refused to take an oath to main- 
 tain tho lawfulness of the wicked marriage of Henry VIII. with Anne 
 Boleyn, this virtuous man was condemned to death, and beheaded on 
 the 6th of July, 1535. 9 FENELON, an eminent and pious Frenchman, 
 Archbishop of Cambray, author of "Telemachus," was born in 1651, 
 and died in the sixty -third year of hifc age. 
 
 11 
 
242 NATIONAL FIFfH READER. 
 
 11. In their subsequent contest wi6h the mother ^>untry they 
 learned a reason for their faith, and the best manner of defending 
 it. Their liberties struck a deep root in the soil, amid storms 
 which shook but could not prostrate them. It is this struggle 
 with the mother country, this constant assertion of the right of 
 self-government, this tendency feeble in its beginning, increas- 
 ing with increasing age toward republican institutions, which 
 connects the colonial history with that of the Union, and forms 
 the true point of view from which it is to be regarded. 
 
 W. H. PRBSCOTT. 1 
 
 69. THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. 
 
 1 TTERE are old trees, tall oaks, and gnarled pines, 
 
 J-JL That stream with gray-green mosses ; here the ground 
 
 Was never touch'd by spade, and flowers spring up 
 
 Unsown, and die ungather'd. It is sweet 
 
 To linger here, among the flitting birds 2 
 
 And leaping squirrels, 3 wandering brooks, and winds 
 
 That shake the leaves, and scatter as they pass 4 
 
 A fragrance from the cedars thickly set 
 
 With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades 
 
 Peaceful, unpruned, 5 immeasurably old 
 
 My thoughts go up the long dim path 6 of years, 
 
 Back to the earliest 7 days of Liberty. 
 
 2. O FREEDOM ! thou art not, as poets dream, 
 
 A fair 8 young girl, 9 "wifh light and delicate limbs, 
 And wavy tresses gushing from the cap 
 With which the Roman master 10 crown'd his slave, 
 When he took off the gyves. 11 A be"arded man, 
 Arm'd to the teeth, art thou : one mailed hand 
 Grasps 12 the broad shield, and one the sword ; thy brow, 
 Glorious in beauty though it be, is scarr'd 
 
 1 Sec Biographical Sketch, p. 151. Birds (bSrdz). * Squirrel (skwer 1 - 
 rel). 4 Pass.' Unpruned (un pr^nd'). Path.- T Earliest (&' U est). 
 Far. Girl (gSrl). 10 Mas' ter. " Gyves, fetters for the legs.- 
 12 Grasps. 
 
THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. 243 
 
 With tokens of old wars ; thy massive 1 limbs 
 Are strong and struggling. 
 
 3. Power at thee has launch d a 
 His bolts, and wifh his lightnings smitten thee ; 
 
 They could not quench the life thou hast from Heaven. 
 
 Merciless 3 Power has dug thy dungeon deep, 
 
 And his swart 4 armorers, by a thousand fires, 
 
 Have forged thy chain ; yet while he deems thee bound, 
 
 The links are shiver'd, and the prison walls 
 
 Fall outward : terribly thou springest forth, 
 
 As springs the flame above a burning 5 pile, 
 
 And shoutest to the nations, who return 
 
 Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor flies 
 
 4. Thy birth-right 6 was not given by human hands : 
 Thou wert twin-born with man. In pleasant fields, 
 While yet our race was few, thou sat'st with him, 
 To tend the quiet flock and watch the stars, 
 
 And teach the reed to utter simple airs. 7 
 Thou by his side, amid the tangled wood, 
 Didst war upon the panther and the wolf, 
 His only foes ; and thou with him didst draw 
 The earliest furrows on the mountain side, 
 Soft with the Deluge. Tyranny himself, 
 The enemy, although of reverend look, 
 Hoary with many years, and far obeyM, 
 Is later born than thou ; and as he meets 
 The grave defiance of thine elder eye, 
 The usurper 8 trembles in his fastnesses. 
 
 5. Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years, 
 But he shall fade into a feebler age ; 
 
 Feebler, y8t subtler : he shall weave his snares, 9 
 And spring them on thy careless 10 steps, and clap 
 His wither'd hands, and from their ambush call 
 
 s' Ive. 'Launched (lancht). MeV ci less. 4 Swart, dark of hue ; 
 tawny ; moderately black. Burning (be"rn ; ing). e Birth-right (bSrth'- 
 rit). 'Airs (arz). 6 Usurper (yu zlrp' er) . Snares (snarz). 10 C&re'- 
 less. 
 
244 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 His hordes to fall npon thee. He shall send 
 
 Quaint maskers, 1 forms of fair and gallant mien, 
 
 To catch thy gaze, and uttering graceful words 2 
 
 To charm thy ear ; while his sly imps, by stealth, 
 
 Twine round thee threads of steel, light thread on thread, 
 
 That grow to fetters ; or bind down thy arms 
 
 With chains concealed in chaplets. 
 
 6. Oh! not yet 
 
 Mayst thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by 
 Thy sword, nor yet, O Freedom ! close thy lids 
 In slumber ; for thine enemy never sleeps. 
 And thou must watch and combat, till the day 
 Of the new Earth 3 and Heaven. But wouldst thou rest 
 Awhile from tumult and the frauds of men, 
 These old and friendly solitudes invite 
 Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees 
 Were young upon the unviolated earth, 
 And yet the moss-stains on the rock were new, 
 Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced. 
 
 W. C. BRYANT.' 
 
 70. LIBERTY. 
 
 T EBERTY, gentlemen, is a solemn thing a welcome, a joyous ; 
 JLJ a glorious thing, if you please ; but it is a solemn thing. A 
 free people must be a thoughtful people. The subjects of a 
 despot may be reckless and gay if they can. A free people 
 must be serious ; for it has to do the greatest thing that ever 
 was done in the world 5 to govern itself. 
 
 2. That hour in human life is most serious, when it passes 
 from parental 6 control, into free manhood : then must the man 
 bind the righteous law upon himself more strongly than fathei 
 or mother ever bound it upon him. And when a people leaves 
 the leading-strings of prescriptive authority, and enters upon the 
 ground of freedom, that ground must be fenced with law ; it 
 
 1 Mask' ere. a Words (wSvdz) . 8 Earth (Srth). 4 See Biographical 
 Sketch, p. 118. 'World >4rl 1 ). Pii-'ental. 
 
LIBERTY. 245 
 
 must be tilled w.th wisdom ; it must bt hallowed with prayer. 1 
 The tribunal of justice, the free school, the holy church, 2 must 
 be built there, 3 to intrench, to defend, and to keep the sacred 
 heritage. 
 
 3. Liberty, I repeat, is a solemn thing. The world, up to this 
 time, has regarded it as a boon not as a bond. And there is 
 nothing, 4 I seriously believe, in the present crises of human af- 
 fairs 5 there is no point in the great human welfare, on which 
 men's ideas so much need to be cleared up to be advanced 6 
 to be raised to a higher standard, as this grand and terrible re- 
 sponsibility of freedom. * 
 
 4. In the universe there is no trust so awful as moral freedom ; 
 and all good civil freedom depends upon the use o|" that. But 
 look at it. Around every human, every rational being, is drawn 
 a circle ; 7 the space within is cleared from obstruction, or, at 
 least, from all coercion ; it is sacred to the being himself who 
 stands there ; it is secured and consecrated to his own responsi- 
 bility. May I say it? God himself does not penetrate there 
 with any absolute, any coercive power ! He compels the winds 
 and waves to obey him ; he compels animal instincts to obey 
 him ; but he does not compel man to obey. That sphere he 
 leaves free; he brings influences to bear upon it ; but the last, 
 final, solemn, infinite question between right and wrong, he 
 leaves to man himself. 
 
 5. Ah ! instead of madly delighting in his freedom, I could 
 imagine a man to protest, to complain, to tremble that such a 
 tremendous prerogative 8 is accorded to him. But it is accorded 
 to him ; and nothing but willing obedience can discharge that 
 solemn trust ; nothing but a heroism greater than that which 
 fights battles, and pours out its blood on its country's altar the 
 heroism of self-renunciation and self-control. 
 
 6. Come that liberty ! I invoke it with all the ardor of the 
 poets and orators of freedom ; with Spenser 9 and Milton, 10 with 
 
 ] Prayer (prar). 'Church (chercb). 3 There (thar). 4 Nothing (nuth'- 
 ing). 'Affairs (affarz'). 6 Advanced (ad vanst') . ' Circle (seYkl). 
 B Pre rog' a live, an exclusive or peculiar privilege or right. 'EDMUND 
 SPENSER, excepting Shakspeare, the greatest poet of his time, author of 
 the "Faerie Queene," was born in London about 1553, where he died 
 on the 16th of January, 1599. ' MILTON, see Biographical Sketch, p 682 
 
24:6 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Hampden 1 and Sydney, 8 with Rienzi 3 and Dante/ with Hamilton 1 
 and Washington, 6 I invoke it. Corne that liberty ! come none 1 
 that does not lead to that ! Come the liberty that shall strike 
 off every chain, not only of iron, and iron-law, but of painful 
 constriction, of fear, of enslaving passion, of mad self-will ; the 
 liberty of perfect truth and love, of holy faith and glad obedience! 
 
 ORVILLE DEWEY." 
 
 71. SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE. 
 
 THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE. BEATTIE. 
 
 Oh how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
 Of charms that nature to her votary yields ? 
 
 1 JoHN r HAMPDEX, celebrated for his resistance to the imposition of 
 taxes without authority of parliament, and to the royal prerogative of 
 Charles I., commander of a troop in the parliamentary army, was born 
 at London, in 1594, and was mortally wounded in an affair with Prince 
 Rupert on 18th of June, 1643. "ALGERNON SYDNEY, second son of Rob- 
 ert, Earl of Leicester, England, was born about the year 1621. In early 
 youth he fought in the ranks of the parliamentary forces. A thorough 
 republican, he was inimical to all monarchy, and opposed to the ascend- 
 ancy of Cromwell. He was abroad at the Restoration, and was permit- 
 ted to return to England in 1677. For his supposed connection with 
 the Ryehouse Plot, he was beheaded on the 7th of December, 1683. He 
 met death with iron resolution. His very able " Discourses concerning 
 Government" was a posthumous work. 3 RIENZI, the orator, famous in 
 Roman history for his assumption of dictatorship in that capital, was 
 born about 1310, and was distinguished by his love of the ancient re- 
 publican institutions of Rome, and by his profound knowledge of an- 
 tiquity. He was massacred on the 8th of October, 1354. 4 DANTE, the 
 poet, author of the " Divina Commedia," was bora at Florence in 1265, 
 and died at Ravenna in 1321. 5 ALEXANDER HAMILTON, distinguished as 
 a statesman, jurist, soldier, and financier, one of the ablest officers of 
 the American Revolution, was born in the West Indies, in 1757. In 
 1782 he was a member of Congress from New York In 1789. Wash- 
 ington, the first President, placed him at the head of the treasury. On 
 the death of Washington, in 1799, his rank made him commander-in- 
 chief of the American army. He was challenged by Aaron Burr, and 
 a duel was the consequence, in which ho was mortally wounded, at the 
 age of 47. 6 WASHINGTON, see note 2, p. 205. 'None (nun) -"See 
 Biographical Sketch, p 176. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN VEBBE. 247 
 
 The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 
 The pomp of groves, the garniture of fields ; 
 
 All that the geniul ray of morning gilds, 
 And all that echoes to the song of even, 
 
 All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields, 
 
 And all the dread magnificence of heaven, 
 Oh how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven ? 
 
 ii. 
 BEAUTY. GAT. 
 
 What is the blooming tincture of the skic 
 To peace of mind and harmony within ? 
 What the bright sparkling of the finest eye 
 To the soft soothing of a calm reply ? 
 Can comeliness 1 of form, or shape, or air, 
 With comeliness of words or deeds compare ? 
 No ! those at first the unwary heart may gain, 
 But these, these only, Can the heart retain. 
 
 in. 
 THE POET. SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 
 Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, 
 
 And, as imagination bodies forth 
 
 The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 
 
 Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing* 
 
 A local habitation and a name. 
 
 IV. 
 
 FLOWERS. HUNT. 
 
 We are the sweet flowers, born of sunny showers 
 (Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty saith) ; 
 Utterance mute and bright, of some unknown delight, 
 We fill the air with pleasure by our simple breath ; 
 All who see us love us, we befit all places ; 
 Unto sorrow we give smiles, and unto graces, graces. 
 Mark our ways, how noiseless all, and sweetly voiceless, 
 
 1 Comeliness (kfon' le nes). 9 Nothing (nith' ing). 
 
248 NATIONAL, FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 Though the March winds pipe, to make our passage clear ; 
 
 Not a whisper tells where our small seed dwells, 
 Nor is known the moment green when our tips appear. 
 We thread the earth in silence, in silence build our bowers, 
 And leaf by leaf in silence show, till we laugh a-top, sweet flowers, 
 
 v. 
 SUMMER WIND. BRYANT. 
 
 It is a sultry day ; the sun has drunk 
 The dew that lay upon the morning grass ; 
 There is no rustling in the I6fty elm 
 That canopies my dwelling, and its shade 
 Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint 
 And interrupted murmur of the bee, 
 Settling on the sick flowers, and then again 
 Instantly on the wing. The plants around 
 Feel the too potent fervors ; the tall maize 
 Rolls up its long, green leaves ; the clover droops 
 Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms. 
 But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills, 
 With all their growth of woods, silent and stern, 
 As if the scorching heat and dazzling light 
 Were but an element they loved. Bright clonds. 
 Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven, 
 Their bases on the mountains, their white tops 
 Shining in the far ether, fire the air 
 With a reflected radiance, and make turn 
 The gazer's eye away. For me, I lie 
 Languidly in the shade, where the thick turfj 
 Y6t virgin from the kisses of the sun, 
 Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind 
 That still delays its coming. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. MOORE. 
 
 Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming alone , 
 All her lovely companions are faded and gone ; 
 No flower of her kindred, no rose-bud, is nigh, 
 To reflect back her blushes, or give sigh for sigh I 
 
INFLUENCE OF HOME. 249 
 
 Fll not leave thee, tliou lone one ! to pine DH the stem ; 
 Since the lovely are sleeping, go, sleep thoa wifih them; 
 Thus kindly I scatter thy leaves o'er thy bed, 
 Where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead. 
 So soon may I follow, when friendships decay, 
 And from Love's shining circle the gems drop away ! 
 When true hearts lie withered, and fond ones are flown, 
 Oh ! who would inhabit this bleak world alone ? 
 
 72. INFLUENCE OF HOME. 
 
 HOME gives a certain serenity to the mind, so that everything 
 is well defined, and in a clear atmosphere, and the lesser 
 beauties brought out to rejoice in the pure glow which floats 
 over and beneath them from the earth and sky. In this state 
 of mind afflictions come to us chastened ; and if the wrongs of 
 tlMi world cross us in our door-path, we put them aside without 
 anger. Vices are about us, not to lure us away, or make us 
 morose, but to remind us of our frailty and keep down our pride. 
 
 2. We are put into a right relation with the world ; neither 
 holding it in proud scorn, like the solitary man, nor being car- 
 ried along by shifting and hurried feelings, and vague and care- 
 less notions of things, like the world's man. We do not take 
 novelty for improvement, or set up vogue for a rule of conduct ; 
 neither do we despair, as if all great virtues had departed with 
 the years gone by, though we see new vices and frailties taking 
 growth in the very light which is spreading over the earth. 
 
 3. Our safest way of coming into communion with mankind 
 is through our own household. For there our sorrow and regret 
 at the failings of the bad are in proportion to our love, while our 
 familiar intercourse with the good has a secretly assimilating in- 
 fluence upon our characters. The domestic man has an indo 
 pendence of thought which puts him at ease in society, and a 
 checifulness and benevolence of feeling which seem to fay out 
 from him, and to diffuse a pleasurable sense over those near him, 
 like a soft, bright day. 
 
 4. As domestic life strengthens a man's virtue, so does it help 
 to a sound judgment and a right balancing of things, and gives 
 at integrity and propriety to the whole character. God, in his 
 
250 NATIONAL FIFfH READER. 
 
 goodness, has ordained that virtue should make its own enjoy- 
 ment, and that wherever a vice or frailty is rooted out, some- 
 thing should spring up to be a beauty and delight in its stead. 
 But a man of a character rightly cast, has pleasures at home, 
 which, though fitted to his highest nature, are common to him as 
 his daih food; and he n.oves about his house under a continued 
 sense of them, and is happy almost without heeding it. 
 
 5. Women have been called angels in love-tales and sonnets, 
 till we have almost learned to think of angels as little bettei 
 than woman. Yet a man who knows a woman thoroughly, and 
 loves her truly, and there are women who may be so known 
 and loved, will find, after a few years, that his relish for the 
 grosser pleasures is lessened, and that he has grown into a fond- 
 ness for the intellectual and refined without an effort-, and almost 
 unawares. 
 
 6. He has been led on to virtue through his pleasures ; and 
 the delights of the eye, and the gentle play of that passion which 
 is the most inward and romantic in our nature, and which keeps 
 much of its character amidst the concerns of life, have held him 
 in a kind of spiritualized existence : he shares his very being 
 with one who, a creature of this world, and with something of 
 the world's frailties, 
 
 Is yet a spirit still, and bright, 
 With something of an angel light. 
 
 With all the sincerity of a companionship of feeling, cares, 
 sorrows, and enjoyments, her presence is as tbe presence of a 
 pnrer being, and there is that in her nature which seems to bring 
 him nearer to a better world. She is, as it were, linked to 
 angels, and in his exalted moments he feels himself held by the 
 same tie. 
 
 7. In the ordinary affairs of life, a woman has a greater influ- 
 ence over those near her than a man. While our feelings are, 
 for the most part, as retired as anchorites, hers are in play before 
 us. We hear them in her varying voice ; we see them in the 
 beautiful and harmonious undulations of her movements in the 
 quick shifting hues of her face in her eye, glad and bright, then 
 fond and suffused ; her frame is alive and active with what is at 
 her heart, and all the outward form speaks. 
 
AN OLD HAUST. 251 
 
 8. She seems of a finer mould than we, and cast in a form of 
 beauty, which, like all beauty, acts with a mQral influence upon 
 our hearts; and as she moves about us, we feel a movement 
 within which rises and spreads gently over us, harmonizing us 
 with her own. And can any man listen to this can his eye, 
 day after day, rest upon this and he not be touched by it, and 
 made better ? 
 
 9. The dignity of a woman has its peculiar character ; it awes 
 more than that of man. His is more physical, bearing itself up 
 with an energy of courage which we may brave, or a strength 
 which we may struggle against : he is his own avenger, and we 
 may stand the brunt. A woman's has nothing of this force in 
 it ; it is of a higher quality, and too delicate for mortal touch. 
 
 R. H. DANA. 
 
 RICHARD HENRY DANA was born at Cambridge, Massachusetts, on the 15th 
 of November, 1787. He graduated at Harvard in 1807. He opened a law-office 
 in Newport, II. I., in 1811, and became a member of the legislature ; but his 
 constitutional sensitiveness and feeble health compelled him to abandon his pro- 
 fession soon after. For two years, from 1818, he aided in editing the N. A. Re- 
 view; and in 1821 began the publication of "The Idle Man," a periodical in 
 which he communicated to the public his Tales and Essays. After the discon- 
 tinuance of that paper, he wrote able articles for several of the best periodicals 
 of the country. The first volume of his poems, containing " The Bucaneer," 
 was printed in 1827. An edition of his writings, in two volumes, was published 
 in New York in 1850. Mr. DANA at present passes his time between his town 
 residence at Boston and his country retirement at Cape Ann, where he can in- 
 dulge in his love of nature. He is regarded always, by as many as have the 
 honor of his acquaintance, with admiration and the most reverent affection. 
 All of his writings belong to the permanent literature of the country, and yearly 
 rind more and more readers. They are distinguished for profound philosophy 
 simple sentiment, and pure and vigorous diction. 
 
 73. AN OLD HAUNT. 
 
 1. FT1HE rippling water, with its drowsy tone ; 
 
 -L The tall elms, towering in their stately pride ; 
 And sorrow's type the willow, sad and lone, 
 Kissing in graceful woe the murmuring tide ; 
 
 2. The gray church-tower ; and dimly seen beyond, 
 
 The faint hills gilded by the parting sun ; 
 All were the same, and seem'd with greeting fond 
 To welcome me as they of old had done. 
 
252 NATIONAL FIFfH READER. 
 
 3. And for a while I stood as in a trance, 1 
 
 On that loved spot, forgetting toil and pain ; 
 Buoyant 2 my limbs, and keen and bright my glance :* 
 For that brief space I was a boy again ! 4 
 
 4 Again with giddy mates I careless 5 play'd, 
 
 Or plied the quivering oar, on conquest 5 bent : 
 Again, beneafh the tall elans' silent shade, 
 I woo'd the fair, 7 and won the sweet consent. 
 
 6. But brief, alas ! 8 the spell ; for suddenly 
 
 Peal'd from the tower the old familiar chimes, 
 And wifh their clear, heart-thrilling melody, 
 Awaked the spectral forms of darker times. 
 
 6. And I remember'd all that years had wrought : 
 
 How bow'd my care-worn 9 frame, how dimm'd my eye I 
 How poor the gauds by Youth 10 so keenly sought! 
 How quench'd and dull Youth's aspirations high ! 
 
 7. And in half ' mournful, half upbraiding host, 
 
 Duties neglected high resolves unkept 
 
 And many a heart by death or falsehood lost 
 
 In lightning current o'er my bosom swept. 
 
 8. Then bow'd the stubborn knees, as backward sped 
 
 The self-accusing thoughts in dread array, 
 And slowly, from their long-congealed bed, 
 Forced the remorseful tears their silent way. 
 
 9. Bitter, yet healing drops ! in mercy" sent, 
 
 Like soft dews falling on a thirsty 13 plain, 
 And ere those chimes their last 14 faint notes had spent, 
 Strengthen'd and calrn'd, 15 1 stood erect again. 
 
 10. Strengthen'd, the task 16 allotted to fulfill; 
 
 Calm'd, the thick-coming sorrows to endure ; 
 Fearful of naught but of my own frail will, 
 I, His almighty strength and aid secure. 
 
 1 Trance. 3 Buoyant (bwai 'ant). 9 Glance. 4 Again (a gen'). ' Care'- 
 less. Conquest (kong' kwest). ' Fair. Alas'. Care' w6rn. 
 w Yfluth. - Hatf. MeV cy. 1S Thirsty (thgrsf !). - " Last. - - 
 Claimed (kamd). Task. 
 
THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 253 
 
 11. For a sweet voice had whisper'd hope to me, 
 Had through my darkness shed a kindly ray : 
 It said : " The past is fixV in) jiutably, 
 Yet is there comfort in me coming day !" 
 
 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 
 
 74. THE "WIDOW AND HER SON. 
 
 DURING my residence in the country, I used frequently to 
 attend at the old village church. Its shadowy aisles, its 
 moldering monuments, its dark oaken panneling, all reverend 
 with the gloom of departed years, seemed to fit it for the haunt 
 of solemn meditation. A Sunday, too, in the country, is so holy 
 in its .repose \ such a pensive quiet reigns over the face of nature, 
 that every restless passion is charmed down, and we feel all the 
 natural religion of the soul gently springing up within us. 
 
 2. I do not pretend to be what is called a devout man, but 
 there are feelings that visit me in a country church, amidst the 
 beautiful serenity of nature, which I experience nowhere else ; 
 and if not a more religious, I think I am a better man on Sun- 
 day than on any other day of the seven. But in this church I 
 felt myself continually thrown back upon the world by the fri- 
 gidity and pomp of the poor worms around me. 
 
 3. The only being that seemed thoroughly to feel the humble 
 and prostrate piety of a true Christian, was a poor decrepit old 
 woman, bending under the weight of years and infirmities. She 
 bore the traces ^of something better than abject poverty. The 
 lingerings of decent pride were visible in her appearance. Her 
 dress, though humble in the extreme, was scrupulously clean. 
 Some trivial respect, too, had been awarded her, for she did not 
 take her seat among the village poor, but sat alone on the steps 
 of the altar. 
 
 4. She seemed to have survived all love, all friendship, all 
 society, and to have nothing left her but the hopes of heaven. 
 When I saw her feebly rising and bending her aged form in 
 prayer, habitually conning her prayer-book, which her palsied 
 hand and failing eyes could not permit her to read, but which 
 she evidently knew by heart, I felt persuaded that the falter- 
 
254 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 ing voice of that poor woman arose to heaven far before the re- 
 sponses of the clerk, the swell of the organ, or the chanting of 
 the choir. 
 
 5. I am fond of loitering about country churches, and this 
 was so delightfully situated, that it frequently attracted me. It 
 stood on a knoll, round which a small stream made a beautiful 
 bend, and then wound its way through a long reach of so^ 
 meadow scenery. The church was surrounded by yew-trees, 
 which seemed almost coeval with itself. Its tall Gothic spire 
 shot up lightly from among them, with rooks and crows generally 
 wheeling about it. 
 
 6. I was seated there one still sunny morning, watching two 
 laborers who were digging a grave. They had chosen one of 
 the most remote and neglected corners of the church-yard, 
 where, by the number of nameless graves around, it would ap- 
 pear that the indigent and friendless were hurried into the earth. 
 I was told that the new-made grave was for the only son of a 
 poor widow. While I was meditating on the distinctions of 
 worldly rank, which extend thus down into the very dust, the 
 toll of the bell announced the approach of the funeral. 
 
 7. They were the obsequies of poverty, wifti which pride had 
 nothing to do. A coffin of the plainest materials, without pall 
 or other covering, was borne by some of the villagers. The 
 sexton walked before, with an air of cold indifference. Ther^ 
 were no mock mourners in the trappings of affected woe, but 
 there was one real mourner, who feebly tottered after the corpse. 
 It was the aged mother of the deceased the poor old woman 
 whom I had seen seated on the steps of the. altar. She was 
 supported by a humble friend, who was endeavoring to comfort 
 
 her. A few of the neighboring poor had joined the train, and 
 some children of the village were running hand in hand, now 
 shouting with unthinking mirth, and sometimes pausing to gaze 
 with childish curiosity on the grief of the mourner. 
 
 8. As the funeral train approached the grave, the parson 
 issued out of the church porch, arrayed in the surplice, with 
 prayer-Dook in hand, and attended by the clerk. The service, 
 however, was a mere act of charity. The deceased had been 
 destitute, and the survivor was pennyless. It was shuffled 
 through, therefore, in form, but coldly and unfeelingly. The 
 
THE WIDOW AJ*D HER SCXN. 255 
 
 well-fed priest scarcely moved ten steps from the church door ; 
 his voice could scarcely be heard at the grave ; and never did I 
 hear the funeral service, that sublime and touching ceremony, 
 turned into such a frigid mummery of words. 
 
 9. I approached the grave. The coffin was placed on the 
 ground. On it were inscribed the name and age of the deceased 
 "GEORGE SOMERS, AGED 26 YEARS." The poor mother had 
 been assisted to kneel down at the head of it. Her withered 
 hands were clasped as if in prayer ; but I could perceive, by a 
 feeble rocking of the body and a convulsive motion of the lips, 
 that she was gazing on the last relics of her son with the yearn- 
 ings of a mother's heart. 
 
 10. The service being ended, preparations were made to de- 
 posit the coffin in the earth. There was that bustling stir that 
 breaks so harshly on the feelings of grief and affection : direc- 
 tions given in the cold tones of business ; the striking of spades 
 into sand and gravel, which at the grave of those we love is of 
 all sounds the most withering. The bustle around seemed to 
 awaken the mother from a wretched reverie. She raised her 
 glazed eyes, and looked about with a faint witdnessl As the 
 men approached with cords to lower the coffin into the grave, 
 she wrung her hands and broke into an agony of grief. ' The 
 poor woman who attended her took her by the arm, endeavored 
 to raise her from the earth, and to whisper something like con- 
 solation "Nay, now nay, now don't take it so sorely to 
 heart." She could only shake her head and wring her hands as 
 one not to be comforted. 
 
 11. As they lowered the body into the earth, the creaking of 
 the cords seemed to agonize her ; but when, on some accidental 
 obstruction, there was a jostling of the coffin, all the tenderness 
 of the mother burst forth ; as if any harm could come to him 
 who was far beyond the reach of worldly suffering. I could see 
 no more my heart swelled into my throat my eyes filled with 
 tears I felt as if I were acting a barbarous part in standing by 
 and gazing idly on this scene of maternal anguish. I wandered 
 to another pail of the church-yard, where I remained until the 
 funeral train had dispersed. 
 
 12. When I saw the mother slowly and painfully quitting the 
 grave, leaving behind her the remains of all that was dear to her 
 
256 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 on earth, and returning to silence and destitution, my heart 
 ached for her. What, thought I, are the distresses of the rich ? 
 They have friends to soothe pleasures to beguile a world to 
 divert and dissipate their griefs. What are the sorrows of the 
 young ? Their growing minds soon close above the wound 
 their elastic spirits soon rise beneath the pressure their green 
 and ductile affections soon twine around new objects. But the 
 sorrows of the poor, who have no outward appliances to soothe 
 the sorrows of the aged, wifh whom life at best is but a win- 
 try day, and who can look for no after-growth of joy the sor- 
 rows of a widow, aged, solitary, destitute, mourning over an only 
 son, the last solace of her years, these are the sorrows which 
 make us feel the im 'potency of consolation. 
 
 75. THE WIDOW AND LIER SON CONCLUDED. 
 
 IT was some time before I left the church-yard. On my way 
 homeward, I met with the woman who had acted as com- 
 forter : she was just returning from accompanying the mother 
 to her lonely habitation, and I drew from her some particulars 
 connected with the affecting scene I had witnessed. 
 
 2. The parents of the deceased had resided in the village from 
 childhood. They had inhabited one of the neatest cottages, and 
 by various rural occupations, and the assistance of a small gar- 
 den, had supported themselves creditably and comfortably, and 
 led a happy and a blameless life. They had one son, who had 
 grown up to be the staf -ncl pride of their age. " 0, Sir !" 
 said the good woman, " he was such a likely lad, so sweet-tem- 
 pered, so kind to every one around him, so dutiful to his parents! 
 It did one's heart good to see him of a Sunday, drest out in his 
 best, so tall, so straight, so cheery, supporting his old mother to 
 church, for she was always fonder of leaning on George's arm, 
 than on her good man's; and, poor soul, she might well be 
 proud of him, for a finer lad there was not in the country 
 round." 
 
 3. Unfortunately, the son was tempted, during a year of 
 scarcity and agricultural hardship, to enter into the service of 
 one of the small craft that plied on a neighboring river. He 
 
THE WIDOW AND HER SON. 257 
 
 had not been long in this employ, when he was entrapped by a 
 press-gang, and carried off to sea. His parents received the 
 tidings of his seizure, but beyond that they could learn nothing. 
 It was the loss of their mam prop. The father, who was already 
 infirm, grew heartless and melancholy, and sunk into his grave. 
 
 4. The widow, left lonely in her age and feebleness, could no 
 longer support herself, and came upon the parish. Still there 
 was a kind feeling toward her throughout the village, and a cer- 
 tain respect as being one of the oldest inhabitants. As no one 
 applied for the cottage in which she had passed so many Itfippy 
 days, she was permitted to remain in it, where she lived solitary 
 and almost helpless. The few wants of nature were chiefly sup- 
 plied from the scanty productions of her little garden, which the 
 neighbors would now and then cultivate for her. 
 
 5. It was but a few days before the time at which these cir- 
 cumstances were told me, that she was gathering some vegeta- 
 bles for her repast, when she heard the cottage-door, that faced the 
 garden, suddenly opened. A stranger came out, and seemed to 
 be looking eagerly and^wildly around. He was dressed in sea- 
 man's clothes, was emaciated and ghastly pale, and bore the air 
 of one broken by sickness and hardships. He saw her, and hast- 
 ened toward her ; but his steps were faint and faltering : he sank 
 on his knees before her, and sobbed like a child. The poor 
 woman gazed upon him wifh a vacant and wandering eye 
 " O my dear, dear mother ! don't you know your son ! your 
 poor boy George !" It was, indeed, the wreck of her once noble 
 lad ; who, shattered by wounds, by sickness, and foreign impris- 
 onment, had, at length, dragged his wasted limbs homeward, to 
 repose among the scenes of his childhood. 
 
 6. I will not attempt to detail the particulars of such a meet- 
 ing, where joy and sorrow were so completely blended : still he 
 wtis alive 1 he was come home ! he might yet live to comfort 
 and cherish her old age! Nature, however, was exhausted in 
 him ; and if any thing had been wanting to finish the work of 
 fate, the desolation of his native cottage would have been suf- 
 ficient. He stretched himself on the pallet where his widowed 
 mother had passed many a sleepless night, and he never rose 
 from it again. 
 
 7. The villagers, when they heard that George Somcrs had 
 
 * 
 
258 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 returned, crowded to see him, offering every comfort and assist- 
 ance that their humble means afforded. He, however, was too 
 weak to talk he could only look his thanks. His mother was 
 his constant attendant, and he seemed unwilling to be helped by 
 any other hand. 
 
 8. There is something in sickness that jreaks down the pride 
 of manhood ; that sfiftens the heart, and brings it back to the 
 feelings of infancy. Who that has suffered, even in advanced 
 life, in sickness and despondency who that has pined on a 
 weary bed in the neglect and loneliness of a foreign land but 
 has thought on the mother "that looked on his childhood," 
 that smoothed his pillow, and administered to his helplessness ! 
 
 9. Oh! there is an enduring tenderness in the love of a 
 mother to a son, that transcends all other affections of the 
 heart. It is neither to be chilled by selfishness, nor daunted by 
 danger, nor weakened by worthlessness, nor stifled by ingrati- 
 tude. She will sacrifice every comfort to his convenience ; she 
 will surrender every pleasure to his enjoyment ; she will glory 
 in his fame, and exult in his prosperity ; and, if adversity over- 
 take him, he will be the dearer to her by misfortune ; and, if 
 disgrace settle upon his name, she will still love and cherish 
 him ; and, if all the world besides cast him off, she will be all the 
 world to him. 
 
 10. Poor George Somers had known well what it was to be 
 in sickness, and none to soothe lonely and in prison, and none 
 to visit him. He could not endure his mother from his sight ; 
 if she moved away, his eye would follow her. She would sit for 
 hours by his bed, watching him as he slept. Sometimes he 
 would start from a feverish dream, look anxiously up until he 
 saw her venerable form bending over him, when he would take 
 her hand, lay it on his bosom, and fall asleep with the tranquil- 
 lity of a child. In this way he died. 
 
 11. My first impulse, on hearing this humble tale of affliction, 
 was to visit the cottage of the mourner, and administer pecuni- 
 ary assistance, and, if possible, comfort. I found, however, on 
 inqui'ry, that the good feelings of the villagers had prompted 
 them to do every thing that the case admitted ; and as the poor 
 know best how to console each other's sorrows, I did not von 
 ture to intrude. 
 
PASSING AWAY. 25S 
 
 12. The next Sunday I was at the village church; when, to 
 my surprise, I saw the poor old woman tottering down the ais.e 
 to her accustomed seat on the steps of the altar. She had made 
 an effort to put on something like mourning for her son ; and 
 nothing could be more touching than this struggle between 
 pious affection and utter poverty : a black ribbon or so a faded 
 black handkerchief and one or two more such humble attempts 
 to express by outward signs that grief which passes show. 
 When I looked round upon the storied monuments, the stately 
 hatchments, the cold marble pomp, with which grandeur mourn- 
 ed magnificently over departed pride ; and turned to this poor 
 widow, bowed down by age and sorrow at the altar of her God, 
 and offering up the prayers and praises of a pious, though a 
 broken heart, I felt that this living monument of real grief was 
 worth them all. 
 
 13. I related her story to some of the wealthy members of 
 the congregation, and they were moved at it. They exerted 
 themselves to render her situation more comfortable, and to 
 lighten her afflictions. It was, however, but smoothing a few 
 steps to the grave. In the course of a Sunday or two after, she 
 was missed from her usual seat at church, and before I left the 
 neighborhood, I heard, with a feeling of satisfaction, that she 
 had quietly breathed her last, and gone to rejoin those she 
 loved, in that world where sorrow is never known, and friends 
 are never parted. WASHINGTON 
 
 76. PASSING AWAY. 
 
 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 2 are witching the deep, 
 She dispensing her silvery light, 
 And he his notes as silvery quite, 
 
 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 114.-' Fairy (far'!). 
 
260 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 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 was 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, 2 for a pendulum, swung ; 
 (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 enjoy'd it,- she seem'd to say, 
 " PASSING AWAY ! PASSING AWAY !" 
 
 3. Oh, how bright were the wheels, tnat told 
 
 Of the lapse of time as they moved round slow ! 
 And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold, 
 
 Seem'd 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 outstretch'd hands, and flung 
 This way and that, as she, dancing," 1 swung 
 In the fullness of grace and womanly pride, 
 That told me she soon was to be a bride ; 
 
 Yet then, when expecting her happiest da}, 
 In tho 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, 5 stole softly over, 
 Like that by a cloud in a summer's day made, 
 Looking down on a field of blossoming clover. 
 
 1 P4ss' ing. * Girl (gSrl). 'Bouquet (bS ki'). 4 D&nc' ing. C&re 
 
PASSING AWAY. 261 
 
 The rose ygt lay on her cheek, but its 
 Had something lost of its brilliant blush ; 
 
 And the light in her eye, and the light on tho wheels, 
 That march'd so calmly round above her, 
 
 Was a little dimm'd as when evening steals 
 Upon noon's hot face : yet one couldn't but love her ; 
 For she look'd like a mother whose first 1 babe lay 
 Rock'd on her breast, as she swung all day ; 
 And she seem'd in the same silver tone to say, 
 " PASSING AWAY ! PASSING AWAY !" 
 
 6. While yet I look'd, what a change there came ! 
 
 Her eye was quench'd, and her cheek was wan ; 
 Stooping and staff 'd 2 was her wither'd frame, 
 
 Yet just as busily swung she on : 
 The garland beneath her had fallen to dust ; 
 The wheels above her were eaten wifih rust; 
 The hands, that over the dial swept, 
 Grew crook'd and tarnish'd, but on they kept ; 
 And still there came that silver tone 
 From the shrivel'd 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 !" j. PIERPONT. 
 
 REV. JOHN PIERPONT, author of the "Airs of Palestine," was born at Litch- 
 field, Connecticut, April G, 1785. He entered Yale College when fifteen years 
 old, graduated in 1804, and passed the four subsequent years as a private tutor in 
 the family of Col. Wm. Allston, of South Carolina. He then returned home, 
 studied law in the celebrated school of his native town, and was admitted to 
 practice in 1812. About the same period he delivered his poem entitled "The 
 Portrait," before the Washington Benevolent Society, of Newburypprt, to which 
 place he had removed. Impaired health, and the unsettled state of affairs pro- 
 duced by the war, induced him soon after to relinquish his profession. He be- 
 came a merchant, first in Boston, and afterward in Baltimore. The " Airs of 
 Palestine," which he published in Baltimore, in 181C, was well received, and 
 twice reprinted in the course of the following year. In 1819 he was ordained 
 minister of the Hollis-street Unitarian Church, in Boston. He passed a portion 
 of the years 1835-6 in Europe, and in 18-10 published a choice edition of his 
 poems. At different periods, he also published several very able discourses. In 
 1851 he delivered a poem of considerable length at the centennial celebration in 
 Litchfield. He has written in almost every meter, and many of his poems are 
 remarkably elevated, spirited, and melodious. 
 
 'First (fgrst). 'Staffed (stiff). 
 
262 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 77. GLORY. 
 
 THE crumbling tombstone and the gorgeous mausole'um,' the 
 sculptured marble, and the venerable cathedral, all bear wit- 
 ness to the instinctive desire within us to be remembered by 
 corning generations. But how short-lived is the immortality 
 which the works of our hands can confer ! The noblest monu- 
 ments of art that the world has ever seen are covered with the 
 soil of twenty centuries. The works of the age of Pericles 8 lie 
 at the foot of the Acrop'olis 3 in indiscriminate ruin. The plow- 
 share turns up the marble which the hand of Phidias 4 had chis- 
 eled into beauty, and the Mussulman has folded his flock beneath 
 the falling columns of the temple of Minerva. 5 
 
 2. But even the works of our hands too frequently survive the 
 memory of those who have created them. And were it other- 
 wise, could we thus carry down to distant ages the recollection 
 of our existence, it were surely childish to waste the energies of 
 an immortal spirit in the effort to make it known to other times, 
 that a being whose name was written with certain letters of the 
 alphabet, once lived, and flourished, and died. Neither sculp- 
 tured marble, nor stately column, can reveal to other ages the 
 lineaments of the spirit ; and these alone can embalm our mem- 
 ory in the hearts of a grateful posterity. 
 
 3. As the stranger stands beneath the dome of St. Paul's, 6 or 
 
 1 Mau so le' um, a magnificent tomb or monument. 'PERICLES, the 
 greatest of Athenian statesmen, was born soon after the beginning of 
 the fifth centuiy B. c. Though an able warrior, and constantly ready 
 for action, he preferred cultivating the arts of peace. The public funJs, 
 which he had greatly increased by his management, were expended in 
 erecting magnificent temples and public buildings, which rendered 
 Athens the wonder and admiration of Greece. During his administra- 
 tion architecture and sculpture attained a degree of perfection that has 
 not since been equaled, and poetry reached the highest excellence. He 
 died, B. c. 429. 3 A crop' o lis, the citadel of Athens, built on a rock, and 
 accessible only on one side. * PHIDIAS, a Gresk sculptor, and the most 
 celebrated of antiquity, was born at Athens about 490 B. c., and died 
 432 B. c. MINEBYA, called ATHENA by the Greeks, was usually regard- 
 ed, in heathen mythology, as the goddess of wisdom, knowledge, and 
 art.* St. Paul's, a celebrated church in London, of great size. It was 
 begun in 1675, and finish d by Sir Christopher Wren in 1718. 
 
GLORY. 263 
 
 treads, wifh religious awe, the silent aisles of Westminster Ab- 
 bey, 1 the sentiment, which is breathed from every object around 
 him, is, the utter emptiness of sublunary 2 glory. The fine arts, 
 obedient to private affection or public gratitude, have here em- 
 bodied, in every form, the finest conceptions of which their age 
 was capable. Each one of these monuments has been watered 
 by the tears of the widow, the orphan, or the patriot. 
 
 4. But generations have passed away, and mourners and 
 mourned have sunk together into forgetfulness. The aged crone, 
 or the smooth-tongued beadle, as now he hurries you through 
 aisles and chapel, utters, wifh measured cadence and unmean- 
 ing tone, for the thousandth time, the name and lineage of the 
 once honored dead ; and then gladly dismisses you, to repeat 
 again his well-conned lesson to another group of idle passers-by. 
 
 5. Such, in its most august form, is all the immortality that 
 matter can confer. It is by what we ourselves have done, and 
 not by what others have done for us, that we shall be remem- 
 bered by after ages. It is by thought that has aroused my in- 
 tellect from its slumbers, which has " given luster to virtue, and 
 dignity to truth," or by those examples which have inflamed my 
 soul wifh the love of goodness, and not by means of sculptured 
 marble, that I hold communion with Shakspeare 3 and Milton, 4 
 with Johnson 5 and Burke, 6 with Howard 7 and Wilberforce. 8 
 
 DR. WAYLAND. 
 
 1 Westminster Abbey, a church in Westminster, built by Edward the 
 Confessor, in 1050. Henry III. made additions and rebuilt a part be- 
 tween 1220 and 1269. Many of the most distinguished statesman, war- 
 riors, scholars, and artists of England lie buried here. Westminster is 
 always spoken of as a part of London, although it is under a different 
 municipal authority. a Sub' lu na ry, being under the moon ; terrestri- 
 al ; earthly. 8 SHAKSPEARE, see Biographical Sketch, p. 348. * MILTON, 
 see Biographical Sketch, p. 528. 6 JOHNSON, see Biographical Sketch, p. 
 230. "BURKE, see note 1, p. 214. 'JOHN HOWARD, the celebrated 
 Christian philanthropist, was born at Hackney, London, in 1726. With 
 a view to the amelioration of prisoners, in 1777 he visited all the pris- 
 ons of the United Kingdom ; and in 1778, and the four following years, 
 he inspected the principal public prisons of Europe. On a second tour 
 of inquiry, he was seized with a malignant fever, of which he died, at 
 Kherson, a fortified town of South Russia, and was buried in a spot 
 marked by himself, about eight miles from that place. A rude obelisk, 
 erected over his grave, bears the Latin inscription, " VIXIT PROPTEB 
 
264 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 DR. FRANCIS WAYLAND was bom in the city of N. York on the llth of Match, 
 1796, and in the seventeenth year of his age he was graduated at Union College, 
 in Schenectady. After studying medicine for three years, and his admission to 
 practice, he entered the Theological Seminary at Andover, which he left at the 
 end of a year, to become a tutor in Union College. In 1821 he became pastor of 
 the First Baptist Church, in Boston, where he continued five years. He was 
 elected to the presidency of Brown University in 1826, and entered upon his 
 duties at Providence in 1827. President Wayland's first publication was a ser- 
 mon on the Moral Dignity of the Missionary Enterprise, delivered in Boston, in 
 1823, which had an extraordinary success, passing through many editions, in 
 England and this country. Very many of his discourses, since that period, have 
 been equally popuiar. He has also written numerous articles in the journals and 
 quarterly reviews. His works on Moral Science, Political Economy \ and In- 
 tellectual Philosophy, have deservedly met with great success. His very in- 
 teresting " Life of the Missionary, Dr. Judson," appeared in 1853. This able 
 thinker is equally popular as an orator and a writer. Clear, exact, and searching 
 in his analysis, he penetrates to the very heart of his subject, and enunciates its 
 ultimate principles in a style of transparent clearness, and classical purity and 
 elegance, and not uufrequeutly rises to strains of impassioned eloquence. 
 
 78. THE WORLD FOR SALE. 
 
 1. mHE WORLD FOR SALE t Hang out the sign ; 
 -L Call every traveler here to me : 
 
 Who'll buy this brave estate of mine, 
 
 And set me from earth's bondage free ? 
 
 Tis going ! yes, I mean to fling 
 The bauble from iny soul away ; 
 
 I'll sell it, whatsoe'er it bring ; 
 The World at Auction here to-day I 
 
 2. It is a glorious thing to see, : 
 
 Ah, it has cheated me so sore ! 
 It is not what it seems to be : 
 
 For sale ! It shall be mine no more. 
 Come, turn it o'er and view it well ; 
 
 I would not have you purchase dear : 
 'Tis going ! GOING I I must sell ! 
 
 Who bids? Who'll buy the splendid Tear? 
 
 ALIOS," he lived for the good of others. 8 WILLIAM WLLBERFORCE, a 
 distinguished British statesman, author, and Christian philanthropist, 
 woe born at Hull, in 1759, and died July 28, 1833. 
 
THE WORLD FOR SALE. 265 
 
 8. Here's WEALTH in glittering heaps, of gold ; 
 
 Who bids ; But let me tell you fair, 
 A baser lot was never sold ; 
 
 Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care ? 
 And here, spread out in broad domain, 
 
 A goodly landscape all may trace ; 
 Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill, and plain ; 
 
 Who'll buy himself a burial-place ! 
 
 4. Here's LOVE, the dreamy potent spell 
 
 That beauty flings around the heart ; 
 I know its power, alas ! too well ; 
 
 'Tis going, Love and I must part ! 
 Must part ? What can I more with Love ! 
 
 All over the enchanter's reign ; 
 Who'll buy the plumeless, dying dove, 
 
 An hour of bliss, an age of pain ! 
 
 5. And FRIENDSHIP, rarest gem of earth, 
 
 (Who e'er htith found the jewel his ?) 
 Frail, fickle, false, and little worth, 
 
 Who bids for Friendship as it is ! 
 'Tis going ! GOING ! Hear the call : 
 
 Once, twice, and THRICE ! 'tis very low I 
 'Twas once my hope, my stay, my all, 
 
 But now the broken staff must go ! 
 
 6 FAME ! hold the brilliant meteor high ; 
 
 How dazzling every gilded name ! 
 Ye millions, now's the time to buy ! 
 
 How much for Fame ? How much for Fame ? 
 Hear how it thunders ! Would you stand 
 
 On high Olympus, 1 far renown'd, 
 Now purchase, and a world command ! 
 
 And be with a world's curses crown'd ! 
 
 1 Olympus, a mountain range of Thessaly, on the border of Macedo- 
 nia. Its summit, famed by Homer and other poets as the throne of the 
 gode, is estimated to be 9,745 feet high. 
 
 12 
 
2 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 7. Sweet star of HOPE ! with ray to shine 
 
 In every sad foreboding biv 
 Save this desponding one of mine, 
 
 Who bids for man's last friend and best? 
 Ah ! were not mine a bankrupt life, 
 
 This treasure should my soul sustain ; 
 But Hope and I are now at strife, 
 
 Nor ever may unite again. 
 
 8. And SONG ! For sale my tuneless lute ; 
 
 Sweet solace, mine no more to hold ; 
 The chords that charm'd my soul are mute^ 
 
 I can not wake the notes of old ! 
 Or e'en were mine a wizard shell, 
 
 Could chain a world in rapture high ; 
 V"et now a sad farewell ! farewell ! 
 
 Must on its last faint echoes die. 
 
 9. Ambition, fashion, show, and pride, 
 
 I part from all forever now ; 
 Grief, in an overwhelming tide, 
 
 Has taught my haughty heart to bow. 
 Poor heart ! distracted, ah, so long, 
 
 And still its aching throb to bear ; 
 How broken, that was once so strong ! 
 
 How heavy, once so free from care ! 
 
 10. No more for me life's fitful dream ; 
 
 Bright vision, vanishing away ! 
 My bark requires a deeper stream ; 
 
 My sinking soul a surer stay. 
 By Death, stern sheriff ! all bereft, 
 
 I weep, yet humbly kiss the rod ; 
 The best of all I still have left, 
 
 My FAITH, my BIBLE, and my GOD. RALPH Hew. 
 
 REV. RALPH HOYT is a clergyman of the Protestant Episcopal Church in New 
 York. He is a native of the city. After passing several years as a teacher, and 
 a writer for the gazettes, he studied theology, and took orders in the church in 
 184-2. Mr. HOYT may have written much, but he has acknowledged little 
 " The Chant of Life and other Poems," appeared in 1844, and the second por- 
 tion of the same, in 1845. These works are principally occupied with 
 
WliSTMINSTKK AliliEY. 267 
 
 of personal sentiment and reflection. His pieces, entitled "Snow," "The 
 World for Sale," "New,'' and "Old, "have attracted considerable attention, 
 and become popular. A simple, natural current of feeling runs through them; 
 the versification grows out of the subject, and the whole clings to us as some- 
 thing written from the heart of the author. He has latterly resided at a cottage 
 pleasantly situated on the high ground in the rear of the Palisades, at the vil- 
 lage of Fort Lee, New Jersey, opposite New York. 
 
 79. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 IN one of those sober and rather melancholy days, in the lat- 
 ter part of autumn, when the shadows of morning and even- 
 ing almost mingle together, and throw a gloom over the decline 
 of the year, J passed several hours in rambling about' West- 
 minster Abbey. 1 There was something congenial to the season 
 in the mournful magnificence of the old pile ; and, as I passed 
 its threshold, it seemed like stepping back into the region of an- 
 tiquity, and losing myself among the shades of former ages. 
 
 2. I entered from the inner court of Westminster school, 2 
 through a long, low, vaulted passage, that had an almost subter- 
 ranean look, and pursued my walk to an arched door, opening 
 to the interior of the Abbey. On entering here, the magnitude 
 of the building breaks fully upon the mind, contrasted with the 
 vaults of the cloisters. The eye gazes with wonder at clustered 
 columns of gigantic dimensions, with arches springing from 
 them to such an amazing height; and man wandering about 
 their bases, shrinks into insignificance in comparison with his 
 own handiwork. 
 
 3. It seems as if the awful nature of the place presses down 
 upon the soul, and hushes the beholder into noiseless reverence. 
 We feel that we are surrounded by the congregated bones 01 
 the groat men of past times, who have filled history with their 
 deeds, and the earth with their renown. And yet it almost 
 provokes a smile at the vanity of human ambition, to see how 
 
 note 1, p. 263. Westminster School is situated within the 
 walls of the Abbey. It was founded by Queen Elizabeth for forty boys, 
 denominated the Queen's scholars. Many of the nobility and gentry 
 send their boys also for instruction, so that this institution stands in 
 the highest repute, and vies with the celebrated school at Eaton. 
 
268 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 they are crowded together and jostled in the dust ; what pars 1 , 
 mony is observed in doling out a scanty nook, a gloomy corner, 
 a little portion of earth, to those whom, when alive, kingdoms 
 could not satisfy ; and how many shapes, and forms, and artifices 
 are devised to catch the casual notice of the passenger, and save 
 from forgetfulness, for a few short years, a name which once 
 aspired to occupy ages of the world's thoug-ht and admiration. 
 
 4. I passed some time in Poet's Corner, which occupies an 
 end of one of the transepts or cross aisles of the Abbey. The 
 monuments are generally simple ; for the lives of literary men 
 afford no striking theme for the sculptor. Shakspeare 1 and 
 Addison 1 have statues erected to their memories ; but the 
 greater part have busts, medallions, and sometimes mere in- 
 scriptions. 
 
 5. Notwithstanding the simplicity of these memorials, I have 
 always observed that the visitors to the Abbey remain longest 
 about them. A kinder and fonder feeling takes place of the 
 cold curiosity or vague admiration, wifh which they gaze on the 
 splendid monuments of the great and heroic. They linger 
 about these as about the tombs of friends and companions ; for 
 there is something of companionship between the author and 
 the reader. Well may posterity be grateful to his memory ; for 
 he has left it an inheritance, not of empty names and sounding 
 actions, but whole treasures of wisdom, bright gems of thought, 
 and golden veins of language. 
 
 6. I entered that part of the Abbey which contains the sep 
 ulchers of the kings. I wandered among what were onco 
 chapels, but which are now occupied by the tombs and monu- 
 ments of the great. At every turn I met wifh some illustrious 
 name, or the cognizance 3 of some powerful house, renowned in 
 history. 
 
 *7. As the eye darts into these dusky chambers of death, it 
 catches glimpses of quaint effigies : some kneeling in niches, as 
 if in devotion ; others stretched upon tombs, wifh hands piously 
 pressed together : warriors in armor, as if reposing after battle ; 
 
 1 SHAKSPEARE. see Biographical Sketch, p. 348. 2 ADDISOX, see Bio- 
 graphical Sketch, p. 513. 8 C6g' ni zaiice, knowledge or notice ; juris- 
 diction ; acknowledgment, as of a fine. 
 
WESJMIN8TEK ABBEY. 269 
 
 prelates, with crosiers and mitres ; and nobles in robes and cor- 
 onets, lying as it were in state. In glancing over this scene, so 
 strangely populous, yet where every form is so still and silent, it 
 seems almost as if we were treading a mansion of that fabled 
 city, where every being had been suddenly transranted into 
 stone. 
 
 8. In the opposite transept to Poet's Corner, stands a monu- 
 ment which is one of the most renowned achievements of modern 
 art; but which, to me, appears horrible, rather than sublime. 
 It is the tomb of Mrs. Nightingale, by Roubilliac. 1 The bottom 
 of the monument is represented as throwing open its marble 
 doors, and a sheeted skeleton is starting forth. The shroud is 
 falling from his fleshlcss frame as he launches his dart at his vic- 
 tim. She is sinking into her affrighted husband's arms, who 
 strives, with vain and frantic effort, to avert the blow. 
 
 9. The whole is executed with terrible truth and spirit. We 
 almost fancy we hear the gibbering yell of triumph, bursting 
 from the distorted jaws of the specter. But why should we 
 thus seek to clothe death with unnecessary terrors, and to spread 
 horrors around the tomb of those we love ? The grave should 
 be surrounded by every thing that might inspire tenderness and 
 veneration for the dead, or that might win the living to virtue. 
 It is the place, not of distrust and dismay, but of sorrow and 
 meditation. 
 
 80. WESTMINSTER ABBKY CONCLUDED. 
 
 TWO small aisles on each side of one of the chapels present a 
 touching instance of the equality of the grave. In one is 
 the supulcher of the haughty Elizabeth ; 2 in the other is that of 
 
 1 Louis FRANCIS ROUBILLIAC, an eminent French sculptor, born at 
 Lyons, but came to England in the reign of George I., and was employ- 
 ed on many great works, in various parts of the kingdom ; among 
 which are, the statue of the Duke of Argyle, in Westminster Abbey ; 
 the statue of Handel, at Vauxhall ; and that of Sir Isaac Newton, at 
 Trinity College, Cambridge. He stood at the head of his profession, 
 and also had a talent for poetry. Died, 1762. "ELIZABETH, queen of 
 England from 1558 to 1603. 
 
270 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 her victim, the lovely and unfortunate Mary. 1 Xot an hour in 
 the day, but some ejaculation of pity is uttered over the fate of 
 the latter, mingled with indignation at her oppressor. The 
 walls of Elizabeth's sepulcher continually echo with the sighs of 
 sympathy, heaved at the grave of her rival. 
 
 2. A peculiar melancholy reigns over the place where Mary 
 lies buried. The light struggles dimly through windows, dark- 
 ened by dust. The greater part of the place is in deep shadow, 
 and the walls are stained and tinted by time and weather, A 
 marble figure of Mary is stretched upon the tomb, around which 
 is an iron railing, much corroded, bearing her national emblem, 
 the thistle. I was weary with wandering, and sat dowm to rest 
 myself by the monument, revolving in my mind the checkered 
 and disastrous story of poor Mary. 
 
 3. The sound of casual footsteps had ceased from the Abbey. 
 I could only hear, now and then, the distant voice of the priest, 
 repeating the evening service, and the faint responses of the 
 choir. These paused for a time, and all w y as hushed. Suddenly, 
 the notes of the deep-laboring organ burst upon the ear, falling 
 wifh. doubled and redoubled intensity, and rolling, as it were, 
 huge billows of sound. How well do their volume and grandeur 
 accord with this mighty building ! With what pump do they 
 swell through its vast vaults, and breathe their awful harmony 
 through these caves of death, and make the silent sepulcher 
 vocal ! And now, they rise in triumphant acclamation, heaving 
 higher and higher their accordant notes, and piling sound on 
 sound. 
 
 4. And now, they pause, and the soft voices of the choir break 
 out into sweut gushes of melody ; they soar aloft and warble 
 along the roof, and seem to play about these lofty vaults like the 
 pure airs of heaven. Again, the pealing organ heaves its thrill- 
 ing thunders, compressing air into music, and rolling it forth 
 upon the soul. What long-drawn cadences ! What solemn, 
 sweeping concords! It grows mor. and more dense and pow- 
 
 1 MARY, queen of Scots, the cousin in the fourth degree of Elizabeth, 
 was burn ill 1042. After the latter had retained her in captivity for 
 nineteen years, she was beheaded for treason on the 8th of February, 
 1587. 
 
1 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 271 
 
 erful ; it fills the vast pile, and seems to jar the very walls ; the 
 ear is stunned ; the senses are overwhelmed. And now, it is 
 winding up in full jubilee; it is rising from earth to heaven; 
 the very soul seems rapt away, and floating upward on this 
 swelling note of harmony ! 
 
 5. I sat for some time lost in that kind of reverie which a 
 strain of music is apt sometimes to inspire. The shadows of 
 evening were gradually thickening around me ; the monuments 
 began to cast a deeper and deeper gloom ; and the distant clock 
 gave token of the slowly waning day. I rose, and retraced my 
 morning's walk, and as I passed out at the portal of the cloisters, 
 the door closing with a jarring noise behind me, filled the whole 
 building with echoes. 
 
 6. I endeavored to form some arrangement in my mind of the. 
 objects I had been contemplating, but found they were already 
 passing into indistinctness and confusion. What, thought I, is 
 this vast assemblage of sepulchers but a treasury of humiliation ; 
 a huge pile of reiterated homilies on the emptiness of renown, 
 and the certainty of oblivion? It is, indeed, the empire of 
 Death ; his great and shadowy palace ; where he sits in state, 
 mocking at the relics of human glory, and spreading dust aiid 
 forge tfulness on the monuments of princes. 
 
 7. How idle a boast, after all, is the immortality of a name ! 
 Time is ever silently turning over his pages. We are too much 
 engrossed by the story of the present to think of the character 
 and anecdotes that gave interest to the past ; and each age is a 
 volume thrown aside to be speedily forgotten. The idol of to- 
 day pushes the hero of yesterday out of our recollection ; and 
 will, in turn, be supplanted by his successor of to-morrow. 
 
 8. What then is to insure this pile, which now towers above 
 me, from sharing tlie fate of mightier mausole'ums ? The time 
 must come, when its gilded vaults, which now spring so loftily, 
 shall lie in rubbish beneath the feet ; when, instead of the sound 
 of melody and praise, the wind shall whistle through the broken 
 arches, and the owl hoot from the shattered tower; when the 
 gairish 1 sunbeam shall break into these gloomy mansions of 
 death ; and the ivy twine around the fallen columns ; and the 
 
 1 G&ir' ish, gaudy ; showy ; very fine. 
 
272 
 
 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 fox-glove hang its blossoms about the nameless urn, as if in 
 mockery of the dead. Thus man passes away ; his name per- 
 ishes from record and from recollection : his history is a tale 
 that is told, and his very monument becomes a ruin. 1 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING.* 
 
 81. A GREAT MAN DEPARTED. 
 
 1. rpHERE was a festive hall wifti mirth resounding; 
 -L Beauty and wit, and friendliness surrounding ; 
 With minstrelsy above, and dancing feet rebounding. 
 
 2. And at the height came news, that held suspended 
 The sparkling glass ! till slow the hand descended 
 
 And ruddy cheeks grew pale and all the mirth was ended. 
 
 3. Beneafh a sunny sky, 'twas heard with wonder, 
 A flash had cleft a lofty tree tree asunder, 
 
 Without a previous cloud, and with no rolling thunder. 
 
 4. -Strong was the stem its boughs above all 'thralling 
 
 And in its roots and sap no cankers galling 
 Prosperity was perfect, while Death's hand was falling. 
 
 6. Man's body is less safe than any tree ; 
 
 We build our ship in strong security 
 A Finger, from the dark, points to the trembling sea. 
 
 6. Man, like his knowledge, and his soul's endeavor, 
 Is framed for no fix'd altitude ; but ever 
 
 Moves onward : the first pause, returns all to the Giver. 
 
 7. Riches and health, fine taste, all means of pleasure ; 
 Success in highest efforts fame's best treasure 
 
 All these were thine, o'ertopp'd and overweigh'd tha 
 measure. 
 
 8. But in recording thus life's night-shade warning, 
 
 We hold the memory of thy kind heart's morning : 
 Man's intellect is not man's sole nor best adorning. 
 
 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 
 
 Ruin (rfl'in). 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 114 
 
DANIEL WEBSTKR. 278 
 
 82. DANIEL WEBSTER. 1 
 
 BOIIN upon the verge of civilization, his father's house the 
 furthest by four miles on the Indian trail to Canada, Mr. 
 Webster retained to the last his love for that pure fresh nature 
 in which he was cradled. The dashing streams, which conduct 
 the waters of the queen of New Hampshire's lakes 2 to the noble 
 Merrimac ; the superb group of mountains 3 (the Switzerland of 
 the United States), among which those waters have their sources; 
 the primeval forest, whose date runs back to the twelfth verse of 
 the first chapter of Genesis, 4 and never since creation yielded to 
 the settler's ax ; the gray buttresses of granite which prop the 
 eternal hills ; the sacred alternation of the seasons, with its ma- 
 gic play on field and forest and flood ; the gleaming surface of 
 lake and stream in summer; the icy pavement with which they 
 are floored in winter ; the verdure of spring, the prismatic tints 
 of the autumnal woods, the leafless branches of December, glit- 
 tering like arches and corridors of silver and crystal in the en- 
 chanted palaces of fairy-land^ sparkling in the morning sun 
 with winter's jewelry, diamond and amethyst, and ruby and 
 sapphire ; the cathedral aisles of pathless woods, the mournful 
 hemlock, the " cloud-seeking" pine, hung with drooping creep- 
 ers, like funeral banners pendant from the roof of chancel or 
 transept over the graves of the old lords of the soil ; these all 
 retained for him to the close of his life an undying charm. 
 
 2. But though he ever clung with fondness to the wild moun- 
 tain scenery amidst which he was born and passed his youth, he 
 loved nature in all her other aspects. The simple beauty to 
 which he had brought his farm at Marshficld, 5 its approaches, 
 its grassy lawns, its well-disposed plantations on the hill-sides, 
 unpretending but tasteful, and forming a pleasing interchange 
 
 1 Extract from a speech at the Revere House, Boston, January 18th, 
 1856, in commemoration of the 74th anniversary of Mr. Webster's 
 birth-day. * Queen of New Hampshire's lakes, Wiunipiseogee. 3 Moun- 
 tains, the White Mountains, of which Mount Washington is the princi- 
 pal summit. * " And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding 
 seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, 
 after his kind. 6 Marsh' field, a village on Massachusetts Bay. 28 miles 
 8. E. by S. of Boston. 
 
 18 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 with its large corn-fields and turnip patches, showed his sensi- 
 bility to the milder beauties of civilized culture. 
 
 3. He understood, no one better, the secret sympathy of na- 
 nd art, and often conversed on the principles which govern 
 
 their relations with each other. He appreciated the infinite 
 bounty with which nature furnishes materials to the artistic pow- 
 ers f man, at once her servant and master; and he knew not 
 less that the highest exercise of art is but to imitate, interpret, 
 select, and combine the properties, affinities, and proportions of 
 nature; that in reality they are parts of one great system; for 
 nature is the Divine Creator's art, and art is rational man's 
 creation. 
 
 4. But not less than mountain and plain he loved the sea. 
 He loved to walk and ride and drive upon that magnificent 
 beach which stretches from Green Harbor 1 all round to the 
 Gurnet. He loved to pass hours, I may say days, in his little 
 boat. He loved to breathe the healthful air of the salt water. 
 He loved the music of the ocean, through all the mighty octaves 
 deep and high of its far-resounding register ; from the lazy plash 
 of a mklsumr: er's ripple upon the margin of some oozy creek to 
 the sharu ho'd of 'the tempest, which wrenches a light-house 
 from its ckmps and bolts, fathoms deep in the living rock, as 
 easily as gardener pulls a weed from his flower-border. 
 
 5. There was, in fact, a manifest sympathy between his great 
 mind arid this world-surrounding, deep-heaving, measureless, ev- 
 erlasting, infinite deep. His thoughts and conversation often 
 turned upon it, and its great organic relations with other parts 
 of nature and with man. I have heard him allude to the mys- 
 terious analogy between the circulation carried on by veins and 
 arteries, heart and lunga, and the wonderful interchange of ve- 
 nous and arterial blood, 2 that miraculous complication which 
 
 1 Green Harbor is the name of a small creek on the sea-shore of Marsh- 
 field. and the Gurnet is a projection or point on which the Plymouth 
 light-houses are erected. The distance between Green Harbor and the 
 Gurnet is between four and five miles. * " Venous and arterial blood." 
 The venous blood is that which runs in the small veins ; the arterial 
 blood runs in the large veins, called arteries. The arteries rise from 
 the Ueart and convey the blood to all parts of the body ; the veins re- 
 turn it 10 t.L<- heart. The blood in the arteries is a pure, red blood ; 
 
DANIEL WEBSTER. 275 
 
 lies at the basis of animal life, and that equally complicated 
 and more stupendous circulation of river, ocean, vapor, and rain, 
 which from the fresh currents of the rivers fills the depths of 
 the salt sea ; then by vaporous distillation carries the waters 
 which are under the firmament up to the cloudy cisterns of the 
 waters above the firmament ; wafts them on the dripping wings 
 of the wind against the mountain sides, precipitates them to the 
 earth in the form of rain, and leads them again through a thou 
 sand channels, open and secret, to the beds of the rivers, and so 
 back to the sea. 
 
 83. DANIEL WEBSTER CONCLUDED. 
 
 WERE I to fix upon any one trait as the prominent trait of 
 Mr. Webster's personal character, it would be his social 
 disposition, his loving heart. If there ever was a person who 
 felt all thii meaning of the divine utterance, " it is not good that 
 man should be alone," 1 it was he. Notwithstanding the vast re- 
 sources of his own mind, and the materials for self-communion 
 laid up in the storehouse of such an intellect, few men whom I 
 have known have been so little addicted to solitary and medita- 
 tive introspection ; 2 to few have social intercourse, sympathy, and 
 communion wifli kindred or friendly spirits been so grateful and 
 even necessary. 
 
 2. He loved to live with his friends, with "good, pleasant 
 men who loved him." This was his delight, alike when op- 
 pressed with the multiplied cares of office at Washington, and 
 when enjoying the repose and quiet of Marshfield. He loved to 
 meet his friends at the social board, because it is there that n en 
 most cast off the burden of business and thouglit ; there, as Ci- 
 
 -cero 3 says, that conversation is sweetest; there that the kindly 
 affections have the fullest play. 
 
 3. By the social sympathies thus cultivated, the genial con- 
 sciousness of individual existence becomes more intense. And 
 
 the venous blood is more or less loaded with impurities, and dep.ived 
 of some of its valuable properties, which cause the bluish hue of the 
 veins, especially in old persons. * See Genesis, chap, ii., v. 18. * In tro- 
 spec' tion, a view of the inside. ' CICERO, see p. 143, note 4. 
 
276 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 who that ever enjoyed it can forget the charm of his hospitality, 
 so liberal, so choice, so thoughtful ? In the very last days of 
 his life, and when confined to the couch from which he nevei 
 rose, he continued to give minute directions for the hospitable 
 entertainment of the anxious and sorrowful friends who came to 
 Marshfield. 
 
 4. If he enjoyed society himself, how much he contributed to 
 its enjoyment in others ! His colloquial powers were, I think, 
 quite equal to his parliamentary and forensic talent. He had 
 something instructive or ingenious to say on the most familiar 
 occasion. In his playful mood he was not afraid to trifle ; but 
 he never prosed, never indulged in common-place, never dog- 
 matized, was never affected. His range of information was so 
 vast, his observation so acute and accurate, his tact in separating 
 the important from the unessential so nice, his memory so re- 
 tentive, his command of language so great, that his common 
 table-talk, if taken down from his lips, would have stood the test 
 of publication. 
 
 5. He had a keen sense of the ludicrous, and repeated or 
 listened to a humorous anecdote wife infinite glee. He narrated 
 with unsurpassed clearness, brevity, and grace, no tedious, un- 
 necessary details to spin out the story, the fault of most pro- 
 fessed raconteurs, 1 but its main points set each in its place, so 
 as often to make a little dinner-table epic, but all naturally and 
 without -effort. He delighted in anecdotes of eminent men, es- 
 pecially of eminent Americans, and his memory was stored 
 with them. He would sometimes briefly discuss a question 
 in natural history, relative, for instance, to climate, or the races 
 and habits and breeds of the different domestic animals, or the 
 various kinds of our native game, for he knew the secrets of the 
 forest. 
 
 6. He delighted to treat a topic drawn from life, manner, 
 and the great industrial pursuits of the community ; and he did 
 it wifti such spirit and originality as to throw a charm around 
 subjects which, in common hands, are trivial and uninviting. 
 Nor were the stores of our sterling literature less at his command. 
 He had such an acquaintance with the great writers of our Ian- 
 
 1 B& con' teur, a relater or teller of stories. 
 
FROM A HISTORICAL ADDRESS. 277 
 
 guage, especially the historians and poets, as enabled him to en- 
 rich his conversation with the most apposite allusions and illus- 
 trations. When the occasion and character of the company 
 invited it, his conversation turned on higher themes, and some- 
 times rose to the moral sublime. 
 
 7. He was not fond of the technical language of metaphysics, 
 but he had grappled, like the giant he was, with its most formi- 
 dable problems. Dr. Johnson 1 was wont to say of Burke, 2 that 
 a stranger who should chance to meet him under a shed in a 
 shower of rain, would say, " This was an extraordinary man." 
 A stranger who did not know Mr. Webster, might have passed 
 a day with him, in his seasons of relaxation, without detecting 
 the jurist or the statesman; but he could not pass a half hour 
 with him without coming to the conclusion that he was one of 
 the best informed of men. 
 
 8. His personal appearance contributed to .the attraction of 
 his social intercourse. His countenance, frame, expression, and 
 presence, arrested and fixed attention. You could not pass him 
 unnoticed in a crowd ; nor fail to observe in him a man of high 
 mark and character. No one could see him and not wish to 
 see more of him, and this alike in public and private. 
 
 EDWARD EVERETT.* 
 
 84. FROM A HISTORICAL ADDRESS.* 
 
 I" INBORN ages and visions of glory crowd upon my soul, the 
 U realization of all which, however, is in the hands and good 
 pleasure of Almighty God ; but, under his divine blessing, it will 
 be dependent on the character and the virtues of ourselves, and 
 of our posterity. If classical history has been found to be, is 
 now, and shall continue to be, the concomitant 5 of free institu- 
 tions, and of popular eloquence, what a field is opening to 
 
 'DR. JOHNSON, see Biographical Sketch, p. 230. 'BURKE, see p. 214, 
 note 1. 3 See Biographical Sketch, p. 89. * Delivered before the Ne\v 
 York Historical Society, February 23, 1852. * Con com' i taut, an at- 
 tendant ; that which accompanies. 
 
278 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEfl. 
 
 us for another Herod'otus, 1 another Thucydides, 8 and another 
 Livy ! 3 
 
 2. And let me say, gentlemen, that if we and our posterity 
 shall be true to the Christian religion, if we and they shall live 
 always in the fear of God, and shall respect his commandments, 
 if we and they shall maintain just, moral sentiments, and such 
 conscientious convictions of duty as shall control the heart and 
 life, we may have the highest hopes of the future fortunes of 
 our country ; and if we maintain those institutions of govern- 
 ment and that political union, exceeding all praise as much as it 
 exceeds all former examples of political associations, we may be 
 sure of one thing tliat, while our country furnishes materials for 
 a thousand masters of the historic art, it will afford no topic 
 for a Gibbon. 4 It will have no Decline and Fall. It will go on 
 prospering and to prosper. 
 
 3. But, if we and our posterity reject religious instruction and 
 authority, violate the rules of eternal justice, trifle wifti the in- 
 junctions of morality, and recklessly destroy the political consti- 
 tution which holds ^us together, no man can tell how sudden a 
 catastrophe may overwhelm us, that shall bury all our glory in 
 
 1 HERODOTUS, called the " Father of History," a native of Halicarnas- 
 BUS, a Dorian city, in Asia Minor, was born B. c. 484. His history consists 
 of nine books, which bear the name of the nine Muses. In the complex- 
 ity of its plan, as compared with the simplicity of its execution in 
 the multiplicity and heterogeneous nature of its material, and the har- 
 mony of their combinations in the grandeur of its historical masses, 
 and the minuteness of its illustrative details it is without rival or 
 parallel. It may be regarded as the perfection of epic prose. * THU- 
 CYDIDES, the historian, an Athenian citizen, was born about B. c. 471. 
 His immortal history of the Peloponnesian war is divided into eight 
 books. He is regarded as first in the first rank of philosophical histo- 
 rians. His style is concise, vigorous, and energetic ; his moral reflec- 
 tions are searching and profound ; his speeches abound in political wis- 
 dom ; and the simple minuteness of his pictures is often striking and 
 tragic. ! LIVY, an illustrious Roman historian, was born in Italy, B. c. 
 59, and died, A. D. 18. He has erected to himself an enduring monu- 
 ment in his History of Rome. This great work contained the history 
 of the Roman State from the earliest period till the death of Drusus, 
 B. c. 9, and originally consisted of 142 bocks, of which only 35 have 
 descended to us. His style may be pronounced almost faultless. 
 GIBBON, see Biographical Sketch, p. 77. 
 
FROM A HISTORICAL ADDKESS. 279 
 
 profound obscurity. Should that catastrophe happen, let it have 
 no history ! Let the horrible narrative never be written ! Let 
 its fate be like that of the lost books of Livy, which no human 
 eye shall ever read ; or the missing Pleiad, 1 of which no man can 
 ever know more, than that it is lost, and lost forever ! 
 
 4. But, gentlemen, I will not take my leave of you in a tone 
 of despondency. We may trust that Heaven will not forsake 
 us, nor permit us to forsake ourselves. We must strengthen 
 ourselves, and gird up our loins wifh new resolution ; we must 
 counsel each other ; and, determined to sustain each other in 
 the support of the Constitution, prepare to meet manfully, and 
 united, whatever, of difficulty or of danger, whatever of effort 
 or of sacrifice, the providence of God may call upon us to meet. 
 
 5. Are we of this generation so derelict, have we so little of 
 the blood of our revolutionary fathers coursing through our 
 veins, that we cannot preserve what they achieved ? The world 
 will cry out " SHAME" upon us, if we show ourselves unworthy 
 to be the descendants of those great and illustrious men, who 
 fought for their liberty, and secured it to their posterity, by the 
 Constitution of the United States. 
 
 6. Gentlemen, inspiring auspices, this day, surround us and 
 cheer us. It is the anniversary of the birth of Washington. 
 We should know this, even if we had lost our calendars, for we 
 should be reminded of it by the shouts of joy and gladness. The 
 whole atmosphere is redolent of his name ; hills and forests, 
 rocks and rivers echo and reecho his praises. All the good, 
 whether learned or unlearned, high or low, rich or poor, feel, 
 this day, that there is one treasure common to them all, and that 
 is the fame and character of Washington. They recount his 
 deeds, ponder over his principles and teachings, and resolve to 
 be more and more guided by them in the future. 
 
 7. To the old and the young, to all born in the land, and to 
 all whose love of liberty has brought them from foreign shores 
 to make this the home of their adoption, the name of Washing- 
 
 1 Pleiad (pie' yad). The Pleiades, in heathen mythology, were the seven 
 daughters of Atlas, who were translated to the he-ivens, arid formed the 
 seven stars in the nock of the constellation Taurus. There are, however, 
 but six visible to the naked eye, and hence the expression, the loxt 
 Pleiad. 
 
280 NATIONAL FIFTH READEK. 
 
 ton is this day an exhilarating theme. Americans by birth are 
 proud of his character, and exiles from foreign shores are 
 to participate in admiration of him ; and it is true that he is, 
 this day, here, everywhere, all the world over, more an object oi 
 love and regard than on any day since his birth. 
 
 8. Gentlemen, on Washington's principles, and under the 
 guidance of his example, will we and our children uphold the 
 Constitution. Under his military leadership our fathers con- 
 quered ; and under the outspread banner of his political and con- 
 stitutional piinciples will we also conquer. To that standard we 
 shall adhere, and uphold it through evil report and through 
 good report. AVe will meet danger, we will meet death, it' they 
 come, in its protection ; and we will struggle on, in daylight 
 and in darkness, ay, in the thickest darkness, with all the 
 storms which it may bring with it, till 
 
 " Danger's troubled night is o'er 
 And the star of Peace return." 
 
 DANIEL WEBSTER. 
 
 DAXIEL WEBSTER, one of the greatest, it not the greatest of American orators, 
 jurists, and statesmen, was born in the town of Salisbury, New Hampshire, 
 January 18, 178-2. At the age of fifteen he entered Dartmouth College, where 
 he graduated in due course, exhibiting remarkable faculties of mind. When in 
 Ids nineteenth year, he delivered a Fourth of July oration, at the request of the 
 citizens of Hanover, which, energetic, and well stored with historical matter, 
 proved him, at that early age, something more than a sounder of empty words. 
 Upon graduating, in 1801, he assumed the charge of an academy for a year; 
 then commenced the study of law in his native village, which lie completed in 
 Boston in 1805. He first practiced his profession near his early home ; but, not 
 long after, feeling the necessity of a wider sphere of action, he removed to Ports- 
 mouth, where he soon gained a prominent position. In 181'2 i.e was elected to a 
 seat in tl'<? National Congress, v.tere he displayed remarkable powers both as a 
 debater and an orator. In 1817 he removed to Boston, and resumed the practice 
 of his profession with the highest distinction. In 18-2-2 he was elected to a seat 
 in Congress fiom the city of Boston ; and in le-27 was chosen senator of the 
 United States, from Massachusetts. From that period he was seldom out of 
 public life, having been twice Secretary of State, in which office he died. In 
 1839 he visited England and France, and was received with the greatest distinc- 
 tion in both countries. His works, arranged by his friend, Edward Everett, 
 \v. :o published in six volumes, at Boston, in 1851. They bear the impress of a 
 comprehensive intellect and exalted patriotism. He died at Marshrield, sur- 
 rounded by his friends, October 24th, 185-2, in the 71st year of his age. The last 
 words he uttered were, " I still live." Funeral honors were paid to his memory, 
 ill the chief cities of the Union, by processions and orations. A marble block, 
 placed in front of his tomb, bears the inscription: " LORD, I BELIEVE, HELP THOU 
 
 MY UNBELIEF." 
 
TO THE EVENING WIND. 281 
 
 85. To THE EVENING WIND. 
 
 J OPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, tlou 
 O That cool'st the twilight of the sultry day, 
 Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow : 
 
 Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 
 Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, 
 
 Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray 
 And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 
 To the scorch'd land, thou wanderer of the sea ! 
 
 "2. Nor I alone a thousand bosoms round 
 
 Inhale thee in the fullness of delight ; 
 And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 
 
 Livelier, at coming of the wind of night ; 
 And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound, 
 
 Lies the vast 1 inland stretch'd beyond the sight. 
 Go forth, into the gathering shade ; go forth, 
 God's blessing breathed upon the fainting earth ! 2 
 
 3. Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, 
 
 Curl 3 the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse 
 The wide old wood from his majestic rest, 
 
 Summoning from the innumerable boughs 
 The strange, deep harmonies that haunt 4 his breast : 
 
 Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows 
 The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, 5 
 And where the o'ershadowing branches sweep the grass. 
 
 4. Stoop o'er the place of graves, and softly sway 
 
 The sighing herbage 7 by the gleaming stone ; 
 That they who near the church-yard willows stray, 
 
 And listen in the deepening gloom, alone, 
 May think of gentle souls that pass'd away, 
 
 Like thy pure breath, into the vast unknown, 
 Sent forth from heaven among the sons of men, 
 And gone into the boundless heaven again. 
 
 1 Vist a Earth (Srth). Curl (klrl) . * H&mt. 6 Tiss. 6 Gl4ss. 
 '/^rb'age. 
 
282 NATIONAL FIFTH KKADEK. 
 
 5. The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
 
 To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, 
 
 And dry the moisten' d curls that overspread 
 
 His temples, while his breathing grows more deep ; 
 
 And they who stand about the sick man's bed 
 Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweeo, 
 
 And softly pail his curtains' to allow 
 
 Thy visit, grateful to his burning 2 brow. 
 
 0. Go but the circle 3 of eternal 4 change, 
 
 Which is the life of nature, shall restore, 
 With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, 
 
 Thee to thy birth-place of the deep once more ; 
 Sweet odors in the sea-air, sweet and strange, 
 
 Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore ; 
 And, listening to thy murmur, 5 he shall deem 
 He hears the rustling leaf and running stream. 
 
 W. C. BRYANT.* 
 
 86. GIL BLAS AND THE OLD AKCHBISHOP. 
 
 Arch. WELL, young man, what is your business with me ? 
 Gil Bias. I am the young man whom your nephew, Don 
 Fernando, was pleased to mention to you. 
 
 Arch. Oh ! you are the person, then, of whom he spoke so 
 handsomely. I engage you in my service, and consider you a 
 valuable acquisition. From the specimens he showed me of 
 vour powers, you must be pretty 7 well acquainted with the 
 Greek and Latin authors. It is very evident your education has 
 not been neglected. I am satisfied with your handwriting, and 
 still more with your understanding. I thank my nephew, Don 
 Fernando, for having given me such an able young man, whom 
 I consider a rich acquisition. You transcribe so well, you must 
 certainly understand grammar. Tell me, ingenuously, my friend, 
 did you find nothing 3 that shocked you in writing over the horn- 
 Curtains (keVtiuz). 'Burning (bSrn' ing) . 8 Circle (seVkl). 
 E teY nal. Murmur (meV mer). See Biographical Sketch, p. 118. 
 T Pretty (prlf ty) . Nothing (nuth' ing). 
 
GIL BLAS AND THE OLD ARCHBISHOP. 283 
 
 ily I sent you on trial, some neglect, perhaps, in style, or some 
 improper term ? 
 
 (til B. Oh ! Sir, I am not learned enough to make critical 
 observations ; and if I was, I ain persuaded the works of your 
 grace would escape my censure. 
 
 Arch. Young man, you are disposed to flatter; but tell me, 
 which parts of it did you think most strikingly beautiful. 
 
 Gil B. If, where all was excellent, any parts were particular- 
 ly so, I should say they were the personification of hope, and the 
 dcscHotion of a good man's death. 
 
 Arch. I see you have a delicate knowledge of the truly beau- 
 tiful. This is what I call having taste and sentiment. Gil Bias, 1 
 henceforth give thyself no uneasiness about thy fortune, I will 
 take care of that. I love thee, and as a proof of my affection, 
 I will make thee my confidant : yes, my child, thou shalt be the 
 repository of my most secret thoughts. Listen with attention 
 to what I am going to say. My chief pleasure consists in 
 preaching, and the Lord gives a blessing to my homilies, but J 
 confess my weakness. The honor of being thought a perfect 
 orator has charmed my imagination; my performances are 
 thought equally nervous and delicate ; but I would of all things 
 avoid the fault of good authors, who write too long. Where- 
 fore, 2 my dear Gil Bias, one thing that I exact of thy zeal, is, 
 whenever thou shalt perceive my pen smack of old age, and my 
 genius flag, don't fail to advertise' me of it, for I don't trust to 
 my own judgment, which may be seduced by self-love. That 
 observation must proceed from a disinterested understanding, 
 and I make choice of thine, which I know is good, and am re- 
 solved to stand by thy decision. 
 
 Gil B. Thank heaven, sir, that time is far off. Besides, a 
 genius like that of your grace, will preserve its vigor much bet- 
 ter than any other; or, to speak more justly, will be always jthe 
 same. I look upoi\ you as another Cardinal -Ximines, 3 whose 
 
 1 Gil Bias (zel blil). * Wherefore (whir' for). 3 FRANCIS XIMIKES, arch- 
 bishop of Toledo, confessor to Queen Isabella of Spain, was born in 
 1437. He received the cardinal's hat in 1507. ' His chief influence arose 
 from his efforts to reform the Romish Church. He was a great patron 
 of letters, and by his exertions and expenditure produced the earliest 
 edition of a polyglot Bible. He died November 8, 1517. 
 
284: NATIONAL FIFTH KEADKK. 
 
 superior genius, instead of being weakened, seemed to acquire 
 new strength by age. 
 
 Arch. No flattery, friend : I know I am liable to sink all at 
 once. People at my age begin to feel infirmities, and the in- 
 firmities of the body often 1 affect the understanding. I repeat 
 it to thee again, Gil Bias, as soon as thou shalt judge mine in 
 the least impaired, be sure to give mo notice. And be not 
 afraid of speaking freely and sincerely, for I shall receive thy 
 advice as a mark of thy affection. 
 
 Gil B. Your grace may always depend upon my fidelity. 
 
 Arch. I know thy sincerity, Gil Bias; and now tell me plain- 
 ly, hast thou not heard the people make some remarks upon my 
 late homilies ? 
 
 Gil B. Your homilies have always been admired, but it seems 
 to me that the last 2 did not appear to have had so powerful an 
 effect upon the audience as former ones. 
 
 Arch. How, sir, has it met with any Ari starch us ? 3 
 
 Gil B. No, sir, by no means, such works as yours are not to 
 be criticised ; everybody is charmed wifh them. Nevertheless, 
 since you have laid your injunctions upon me to be free and sin- 
 cere, I will take the liberty to tell you that your last discourse, 
 in my judgment, has not altogether the energy of your othei 
 performances. Did you not think so, sir, yourself? 
 
 Arch. So, then, Mr. Gil Bias, this piece is not to your taste ? 
 
 Gil B. I don't say so, sir : I think it excellent, although a little 
 inferior to your other works. 
 
 Arch. I understand you ; you think I flag, don't you ? Come, 
 be plain ; you believe it is time for me to think of retiring. 
 
 Oil B. I should not have been so bold as to speak so freely, 
 if your grace had not commanded 4 me ; I do no more, there- 
 fore, 5 than obey you; and I most humbly beg that you will not 
 be offended at my freedom. 
 
 Arch. God forbid ! God forbid that I should find fault wifh it, 
 I don't at all take it ill that you should speak your sentiments, 
 
 1 Often (of fni. - Last. 3 AEISTARCHUS was a celebrated grammarian 
 of Sarnos. He was famous for his critical powers ; and he revised the 
 poems of Homer with such severity, that, ever after, all severe critics 
 were called Arisiarchi. * Com mand' ed. 5 Thlre' fore. 
 
CHARGE AGAINST LORD BYRON. 285 
 
 it is your sentiment itself, only, that I find bad. I have been 
 most egregiously deceived in your narrow understanding. 
 Gil B. Your grace will pardon me for obeying 
 Arch. Say no more, my child, you are yet too raw to make 
 proper distinctions. Be it known to you, I never composed a 
 better homily than that which you disapprove ; for, my genius, 
 thank Heaven, hath, as yet, lost nothing of its vigor : henceforth 
 I will make a better choice of a confidant. Go ! go, Mr. Gil 
 Bias, and tell my treasurer to give you a hundred ducats, and 
 may Heaven conduct you with that sum. Adieu, Mr. Gil Bias ! 
 I wish you all manner of prosperity, with a little more taste. 
 
 LE SAGE. 
 
 ALAIN LE SAGE, a French novelist and dramatist, was born in 1668. In 1692, 
 after having studied at the Jesuit College of Vannes, he came to Paris, where 
 he was admitted as an advocate, but soon betook himself exclusively to litera- 
 ture. Few of his plays were successful ; and for many years his career was very 
 obscure. Entering on the study of Spanish literature, he used models from that 
 language for his comic novels, some of which are among the liveliest and witti- 
 est of their class. His most celebrated work is " Gil Bias," from which the 
 above is taken. He died at Boulogne, in 1747. 
 
 87. CHARGE AGAINST LORD BYRON. 
 
 THE charge we bring against Lord Byron is, that his writing* 
 have a tendency to destroy all belief in the reality of virtue, 
 and to make all enthusiasm and constancy of affection ridicu- 
 lous : and this, not so much by direct maxims and examples, of 
 an imposing or seducing kind, as by the constant exhibition of 
 the most profligate heartlessness in the persons who had been 
 transiently represented as actuated by the purest and most ex- 
 alted emotions ; and in the lessons of that very teacher who had 
 been, but a moment before, so beautifully pathetic in the expres- 
 sion of the loftiest conceptions. 
 
 2. When a gay voluptuary descants, somewhat too freely, on 
 the intoxications of love and wine, we ascribe his excesses to the 
 effervescence of youthful spirits, and do not consider him as se- 
 riously impeaching either the value or the reality of the severer 
 virtues ; and, in the same way, when the satirist deals out his 
 sarcasms against the sincerity of human professions, and un- 
 masks the secret infirmities of our bosoms, we consider this as 
 aimed at hypocrisy, and not at mankind : or, at all events, and 
 
286 NATIONAL FIFTH REA.ER. 
 
 in either case, we consider the sensualist and misanthrope as 
 wandering, each in his own delusion, and are contented to pity 
 those who have never known the charms of a tender or gener- 
 ous affection. 
 
 3. The true antidote to such seductive or revolting views of 
 human nature, is to turn to the scenes of its nobleness and at- 
 traction ; and to reconcile ourselves again to our kind, by listen- 
 ing to the accents of pure affection and incorruptible honor. 
 But, if those accents have flowed in all their sweetness from the 
 very lips that instantly open again to mock and blaspheme 
 them, the antidote is mingled with the poison, and the draught 
 is the more deadly for the mixture ! 
 
 4. The reveler may pursue his orgies, and the wanton display 
 her enchantments, with comparative safety to those around 
 them, as long as they know or believe, that there are purer and 
 higher enjoyments, and teachers and followers of a happier way. 
 But, if the priest pass from the altar, with persuasive exhorta- 
 tions to peace and purity still trembling on his tongue, to join 
 familiarly in the grossest and most profane debauchery if the 
 matron, who has charmed all hearts by the lovely sanctimonies 
 of her con'jugal and maternal endearments, glides out from the 
 circle of her children, and gives bold and shameless way to the 
 most abandoned and degrading vices, our notions of right and 
 wrong are at once confounded, our confidence in virtue shaken 
 to the foundation, and our reliance on truth and fidelity at an 
 end forever. 
 
 5. This is the charge which we bring against Lord Byron. 
 We say, that under some strange misapprehension as to the 
 truth, and the duty of proclaiming it, he has exerted all the 
 powers of his powerful mind to convince his readers, both di- 
 rectly and indirectly, that all ennobling pursuits and disinter- 
 ested virtues are mere deceits or illusions hollow and despica- 
 ble mockeries, for the most part, and, at best, but laborious fol- 
 lies. Religion, love, patriotism, valor, devotion, constancy, am- 
 bition all are to be laughed at, disbelieved in, and despised! 
 and nothing is really good, so far as we can gather, but a suc- 
 cession of dangers to stir the blood, and of banquets and in- 
 trigues to soothe it again ! 
 
 6. If this doctrine stood alone with its examples, it would re- 
 
LORD 1YRON. 287 
 
 volt, we believe, more than it would seduce. But the author 
 has the unlucky gift of personating all those sweet and lofty 
 illusions, and that with such grace and force, and truth to nature, 
 that it is impossible not to suppose, for the time, that he ia 
 among the most devoted of their votaries till he casts off the 
 character with a jerk, and, the moment after he has moved and 
 exalted us to the very height of our conception, resumes his 
 mockery at all things serious or sublime, and lets us down at 
 once on some coarse joke, hard-hearted sarcasm, or fierce and 
 relentless personality, as if on purpose to show " whoe'er was 
 edified, himself was not," or to demonstrate, practically as it 
 were, and by example, how possible it is to have, all fine and 
 noble feelings, or their appearance, for a moment, and yet re- 
 tain no particle of respect for them, or of belief in their intrinsic 
 worth or permanent reality. FRANCIS JEFFREY. 
 
 FRANCIS JEFFREY, one of the most eloquent writers and most masterly critics 
 in the English language, an eminent jurist and orator, was bom at Edinburgh, 
 Scotland, on the 23d of October, 1773. He passed six years at the High School 
 of Edinburgh, studied at the University of Glasgow for two sessions of six montlis 
 each, and in his eighteenth year resided for a few months at Oxford. His read- 
 ing in his youth embraced classics, history, ethics, criticism, and the belles- 
 lettres : he was indefatigable in practicing composition, and in early manhood 
 wrote many verses. He was admitted to the Scottish bar at the age of twenty- 
 one. The first numbe; of the " Edinburgh Review," which contained five pa- 
 pers of JEFFREY'S, appeared in October, 1802, when he was twenty-nine yeara 
 old ; and he became its editor after the first two or three numbers. The celeb- 
 rity which the Review at once attained, was owing far more to him than any 
 other of the contributors. His professional practice became very great ; and 
 from 181fi till he ceased to practice, he was the acknowledged leader of the Scot- 
 tish bar. In 1820, and again in 1821, he was elected Lord Hector of the Uruver- 
 Bity of Glasgow. He was appointed president of the Faculty of Advocates in 
 1829, when he resigned the editorship of the Review, a position which he had 
 held for twenty-seven years. During that period he contributed more than two 
 hundred articles. In 1830 he was appointed Lord Advocate, an office which, 
 besides many other duties, involved those of Secretary of State for Scotland. lie 
 thus entered parliament in his fifty-eighth yeai. In 1834 he was raised to tha 
 bench, and became an eminent judge, assuming the title of Lord Jeffrey. In 
 1843 he published three volumes, containing selections from his " Contributions 
 to the Edinburgh Review." He died at Edinburgh, on the 26th of Ja::nary 
 1850. 
 
 88. LORD BYRON. 
 
 1. A MAN of rank, and of capacious soul, 
 
 -t Who riches had, and fame, beyond desire ; 
 An heir of flattery, to titles born, 
 
288 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 And reputation, and luxurious life : 
 Yet, not content wrh ancestorial name, 
 Or to be known, because his fathers were, 
 He xm this height hereditary stood, 
 And, gazing higher, purposed in his heart 
 To take another step. 
 
 2. Above him seem'd, 
 
 Alone, the mount of song, the lofty seat 
 Of canonized bards, and thitherward, 
 By Nature taught, and inward melody, 
 In prime of youth, he bent his eagle eye. 
 No cost was spared. What books he wishM, he read; 
 What sage to hear, he heard ; what scenes to see, 
 He saw. And first in rambling school-boy days, 
 Britannia's mountain-walks, and heath-girt lakes, 
 And story-telling glens, and founts, and brooks, 
 And maids, as dew-drops, pure and fair, his soul 
 Wifli grandeur fill'd, and melody, and love. 
 
 8. Then travel came, and took him where he wishM. 
 He cities saw, and courts, and princely pomp ; 
 And mused alone on ancient mountain-brows ; 
 And mused on battle-fields, where valor fought 
 In other days ; and mused on ruins gray 
 With years ; and drank from old and fabulous wells, 
 And pluck'd the vine that first-born prophets pluck'd ; 
 And mused on famous tombs, and on the wave 
 Of ocean mused, and on the deert waste ; 
 The heavens and earth of every country saw. 
 Where'er the old inspiring Genii dwelt, 
 Aught that could rouse, expand, refine the soul, 
 Thither he went, and meditated there. 
 
 4. He touch'd his harp, and nations heard entranced. 
 As some vast river of unfailing source, 
 Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers fiow'd, 
 And oped new fountains in the human heart. 
 Where fancy halted, weary in her flight, 
 In other men, his, fresh as morning, rose, 
 And soar'd untrodden heights, and seem'd At home, 
 
LOBD BYRON. 289 
 
 Where angels bashful look'd. Others, though great, 
 Beneath their argument seem'd struggling ; whiles 
 He from above descending, stoop'd to touch 
 The loftiest thought ; and proudly stoop'd, as though 
 Tt scarce deserved his verse. 
 
 5. Wifli Nature's self 
 
 He seem'd an old acquaintance, free to jest 
 At will with all her glorious majesty. 
 He laid his hand upon " the Ocean's mane," 
 And play'd familiar with his hoary locks. 
 Stood on the Alps, stood on the Apennines,* 
 And with the thunder talk'd, as friend to friend ; 
 And wove his garland of the lightning's wing, 
 In sportive twist, the lightning's fiery wing, 
 Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful God, 
 Marching upon the storm in vengeance seem'd : 
 Then turn'd, and with the grasshopper, that sung 
 His evening s8ng beneafti his feet, conversed. 
 
 5. Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds his sisters were ; 
 Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms, 
 His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce 
 As equals deem'd. All passions of all men, 
 The wild and tame the gentle and severe ; 
 All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane ; 
 All creeds ; all seasons, Time, Eternity ; 
 All that was hated, and all that was dear ; 
 All that was hoped, all that was fear'd by man, 
 He toss'd about, as tempest-wither'd leaves, 
 Then smiling look'd upon the wreck he made. 
 
 7. With terror now he froze the cowering blood ; 
 And now dissolved the heart in tendernesr : 
 YSt would not tremble, would not weep himself; 
 But back into his soul retired, alone, 
 Dark, sullen, proud, gazing contemptuously 
 On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet. 
 So Ocean from the plains his waves had late 
 To desolation swept, retired in pride, 
 13 
 
290 NATIONAL FIFTH DEADER. 
 
 Exulting in the glory of his might, 
 
 And seem'd to mock the ruin he had wrought, 
 
 8. As some fierce comet of tremendous size, 
 
 To which the stars did reverence as it pass'd, 
 
 So he through learning and through fancy took 
 
 His flight sublime ; and on the loftiest top 
 
 Of Fame's dread mountain sat : not soil'd, and worn, 
 
 As if he from the earth had labor'd np ; 
 
 But, as some bird of heavenly plumage fair 
 
 He look'd, which down from higher regions came, 
 
 And perch'd it there, to see what lay beneath. 
 
 9. The nations gazed, and wonder'd much, and praised ; 
 Critics before him fell in humble plight, 
 Confounded fell, and made debasing signs 
 
 To catch his eye ; and stretch'd, and swell'd themselves, 
 
 To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words 
 
 Of admiration vast : and many, too, 
 
 Many that aim'd to imitate his flight, 
 
 With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made, 
 
 And gave abundant sport to after days. 
 
 10. Great man ! The nations gazed, and wonder'd much, 
 And praised; .and many call'd his evil good. 
 
 Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness ; 
 
 And kings to do him honor took delight. 
 
 Thus full of titles, flattery, honor, fame, 
 
 Bey5nd desire, beyond ambition, full, 
 
 He died : he died of what ? Of wretchedness. 
 
 Drank every cup" of joy, heard every trump 
 
 Of fame ; drank early, deeply drank ; drank draughts 
 
 That common millions might have quench'd, then died 
 
 Of thirst, because there was no more to drink. 
 
 His goddess, Nature, woo'd, embraced, enjoy'd, 
 
 Fell from his arms, abhorr'd ; his passions died, 
 
 Died, all but dreary, solitary pride ; 
 
 And all his sympathies in being died. 
 
 11. As some ill-guided bark, well built, and tall, 
 Which angry tides cast out on desert shore, 
 
MIDNIGHT THE COLISEUM. 291 
 
 Ard then, retiring, left it there to rot 
 
 And molclcr in the winds and rains of heaven ; 
 
 So he, cut from the sympathies of life, 
 
 And cast ashore from pleasure's boisterous surge, 
 
 A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing, 
 
 Scorch'd, and desolate, and blasted soul, 
 
 A gloomy wilderness of dying thought, 
 
 Repined and groan'd, and wither'd from the earth. 
 
 His groanings fill'd the land his numbers fill'd ; 
 
 And yet he seem'd ashamed to groan : Poor man ! 
 
 Ashamed to ask, and yet he needed help. 
 
 ROBERT POLLOK * 
 
 89. MIDNIGHT THE COLISEUM. 
 
 .. fpHE stars are forth, the moon above the tops 
 -L Of the snow-shining mountains. Beautiful ! 
 I linger yet wifh Nature, for the night 
 Hath been to me a more familiar face 
 Than that of man ; and in her starry shade 
 Of dim and solitary loveliness, 
 I learn'd the language of another world. 
 
 2. I do remember me, that in my youth, 
 When I was wandering, upon such a night 
 I stood within the Colise 'urn's 2 wall, 
 'Midst the chief relics of all-mighty Rome : 
 The trees which grew along the broken arches 
 Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars 
 Shone through the rents of ruin ; from afar 
 The watch-dog bay'd beyond the Tiber ; and 
 More near, from out the Caesar's palace came 
 The owl's long cry, and, interruptedly, 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 167. a Col i se' um, the amphitheatre of 
 Vespasian, at Rome, said to have held 110,000 spectators. The ruins 
 are still standing. It is said to have been built in one year, by the 
 compulsory labor of twelve thousand Jews. It was called the Coliseum, 
 from the colossal statue of Nero, which was placed in it. In this am- 
 phitheatre were exhibited the contests of gladiators and wild animals, 
 and other savage spectacles in which the Romans delighted. 
 
292 NATIONAL, FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 Of distant sentinels the fitful song 
 Begun and died upon the gentle wind. 
 
 8 Some cypresses beyond the time-worn breach 
 Appeared to skirt the horl'zon, yet they stood 
 Within a bow-shot. Where the Caesars dwelt, 
 And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst 
 A grove which springs through level'd battlements, 
 And twines its roots wifli the imperial hearths, 1 
 Ivy usurps the laurel's place of growth ; 
 But the glad'iiitor's 2 bloody circus stands 
 A noble wreck in ruinous perfection ! 
 While Caesar's chambers and the Angustan halls 
 Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. 
 
 4. And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon 
 All this, and cast a wide and tender light, 
 Which soften'd down the hoar austerity 
 Of rugged desolation, and fill'd up, 
 As 'twere anew, the gaps of centuries ; 
 Leaving that beautiful which still was so, 
 And making that which was not, till the place 
 Became religion, and the heart ran o'er 
 With silent worship of the great of old 
 The dead, but scepter'd sovereigns, who still rule 
 Our spirits from their urns ! LORD BYRON. 
 
 GEORGE GORDON BYRON, the descendant and head of an ancient and noble 
 family, was born in London, January 22d, 1788. He entered Trinity College, 
 Cambridge, 1805, with a rare reputation for general information, having read an 
 almost incredible list of works hi various departments of literature before the age 
 tf fifteen. He neglected the prescribed course of study at the university, but 
 his genius kept him ever active. His first work, " The Hours of Idleness," ap- 
 peared in 1807. It received a oastigation from the " Edinburgh Review," to 
 which we owe the first spirited outbreak of his talents, in the able and vigorous 
 satire entitled, " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," published in 1809. He 
 took his seat in the House of Lords a few days before the appearance of this 
 satire; but soon left for the Continent. He returned home in 1811, with two 
 cantos of" Childe Harold," which he had written abroad. They were publish- 
 ed in March, 1812, and were immediately received with such unbounded admi- 
 ration, as to justify the poet's terse remark, " I awoke one morning, and found 
 myself famous." In May of the next year, appeared his " Giaour ;" in Novem- 
 ber, the " Bride of Abydos," written in a week ; and, about three mouths after, 
 
 1 H<Arth. GlM'i & tor, a sword-player ; a prize-fighter. 
 
VIEW OF THE COLISEUM. 
 
 the " Coisair," written in he almost incredible space of ten days. January 2d, 
 1815, he was married to Miss Milbanke, the only daughter and heiress of Sir 
 Ralph Milbanke; and his daughter, Augusta Ada, was born in December of 
 that year. The husband and wife, for an unknown cause, separated forever, on 
 the 13th of January of the next year. He quitted En-gland for the last time on 
 the 25th of April, 1816, and passed through Flanders, and along the Rhine to 
 Switzerland, where he resided until the close of the year. He here composed 
 the third canto of "Childe Harold," the " Prisoner of Chillon," " Darkness," 
 "The Dream," and a part of "Manfred." The next year he went to Italy, 
 where he resided several years, and where he wrote the fourth canto of " Childe 
 Harold," " Mazeppa," " The Lament of Tasso," " Beppo," " Don Juan," and 
 his dramatic poems. In 1823 he interested himself in the struggle of the Greeks 
 to throw off the Turkish yoke and gain their independence. In December of 
 tli at year, after making his arrangements with judgment and generosity, he 
 sailed for Greece, and arrived at Missol^nghi on the 5th of January, 1824, where 
 he was received with great enthusiasm. In three montlis he did much to pro- 
 duce harmony and introduce order ; but he had scarcely arranged his plans to 
 aid the nation, when ho was seized with a fever, and expired on the 19th of 
 April, 1824, soon after having celebrated, in affecting verses, the completion of 
 his thirty-sixth year. 
 
 90. VIEW OF THE COLISEUM. 
 
 I WENT to see the Colise'um by moonlight. It is the mon- 
 arch, the majesty of all ruins ; there is nothing like it. All 
 the associations of the place, too, give it the most impressive 
 character. When you enter within this stupendous circle of 
 ruinous walls and' arches, and grand terraces of masonry, rising 
 one above another, you stand upon the arena of the old gladia- 
 torial combats and Christian martyrdoms ; and as you lift your 
 eyes to the vast amphitheater, you meet, in imagination, the 
 eyes of a hundred thousand Romans, assembled to witness these 
 bloody spectacles. What a multitude and mighty array of hu- 
 man beings ! and how little do we know in modern times of 
 great assemblies ! One, two, and three, and at its last enlarge- 
 ment by Constantine, 1 more than three hundred thousand per- 
 sons could be seated in the Circus Maximus ! 
 
 2. But to return to the Colise'um ; we went up under the con 
 duct of a guide, upon the walls and terraces, or embankments 
 which supported the ranges of scats. The scats have long since 
 disappeared ; and grass overgrows the spots where the pride, 
 and power, and wealth, and beauty of Rome sat down to its bar- 
 
 1 CONST ANTJNE I., called the Great, was born 274 proclaimed emperor 
 of Rome by the army 806, and died in 337. 
 
294: NATIONAL FIETII KEADEK. 
 
 barous entertainments. What thronging life was here then 
 what voices, what greetings, what hurrying footsteps up the 
 staircases of the eighty arches of entrance ! And now, as we 
 picked our way carefully through the decayed passages, or 
 cautiously ascended some moldering flight of steps, or stood by 
 the lonely walls ourselves silent, and, for a wonder, the guide 
 silent too there was no sound here but of the bat, and none 
 came from without, but the roll of a distant carriage or the con- 
 vent bell from the summit of the neighboring Esquiline. 
 
 3. It is scarcely possible to describe the effect of moonlight 
 upon this ruin. Through a hundred rents in the broken walls, 
 through a hundred lonely arches and blackened passage-ways, it 
 streamed in, pure, bright, soft, lambent, and yet distinct and 
 clear, as if it came there at once to reveal, and cheer, and pity 
 the mighty desolation. But if the Colise'um is a mournful and 
 desolate spectacle as seen from within without, and especially 
 on the side which is in best preservation, it is glorious. We 
 passed around it ; and, as we looked upward, the moon shining 
 through its arches, from the opposite side it appeared as if it 
 were the coronet of the heavens, so vast was it or like a glori- 
 ous crown upon the brow of night. 
 
 4. I feel that I do not and can not describe this mighty ruin. 
 I can only say that I came away paralyzed, and as passive as a 
 child. A soldier stretched out his hand for a gratuity, as we 
 passed the guard; and when my companion said I did wrong to 
 give, I told him that I should have given my cloak, if the man 
 had asked it. Would you break any spell that worldly feeling 
 or selfish sorrow may have spread over your mind, go and see 
 the Coliseum by moonlight. ORVLLLE DEWEY * 
 
 91. THE DYING GLADIATOR. 
 
 1 . rpTIE seal is set. Now welcome, thou dread power ! 
 J- Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here 
 Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour 
 With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear; 
 Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear 
 
 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 176. 
 
THE DYING GLADIATOR. 295 
 
 Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene 
 
 Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear, 
 That we become a part of what has been, 
 And grow unto the spot, all-seeing, but unseen. 
 2. And here the buzz of eager nations ran, 
 
 In munnur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause, 
 As man was slaughter'd by his fellow-man. 
 
 And wherefore slaughter'd ? wherefore, but because 
 Such were the bloody circus' genial laws, 
 And the imperial pleasure. Wherefore not ? 
 
 What matters where we fall to fill the maws 
 Of worms on battle-plains or listed spot ? 
 Both are but theaters where the chief actors rot. 
 8. I see before me the gladiator lie : 
 
 He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow 
 Consents to death, but conquers agony, 
 And his droop'd head sinks gradually low ; 
 And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
 From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
 
 Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
 The arena swims around him : he is gone, 
 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won 
 4. He heard it, but he heeded not ; his eyes 
 
 Were with his heart, and that was far away : 
 He reck'd not of the life he lost, nor prize ; 
 But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
 There wero his young barbarians all at play, 
 There was their Dacian ' mother he, their sire, 
 
 Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday. 
 All this rush'd with his blood. Shall he expire, 
 And unavenged ? Arise, ye Goths, 2 and glut your ire ! 
 
 LORD BYRON." 
 
 -Dacian (da' she an), from Dacia, a country of ancient Germany form- 
 ing the modern countries, Hungary, Wallachia, Moldavia, and Transyl- 
 vania. Many of the gladiators came from Dacia, especially after its 
 conquest by Trajan, in the year 103, after a war of fifteen years. 
 1 Goths, a celebrated nation of Germans, warriors by profession, who, 
 in the year 410, under their king, Alaric, plundered Rome. 4 See Bio- 
 graphical Sketch, p. 292. 
 
296 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 92. THE INQUIRY. 
 
 1. rpELL me, ye winged winds, that round my pathway roar, 
 -L Do ye 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 dwindled to a whisper low, 
 And sigh'd for pity as it answer'd " No." 
 
 ii. Tell me, thou mighty deep, whose billows round me play, 
 Know'st thou some favor'd spot, some island far away, 
 Where weary man may find the bliss for which he sighs,- 
 Where sorrow never lives, and friendship never dies ? 
 The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, 
 Stopp'd for a while, and sigh'd to answer " No." 
 
 3. And thou, serenest moon, that, with such lovely 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 voice, sweet, but sad, responded " No." 
 
 4. 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 mortals may be bless'd, 
 Where grief may find a balm, and weariness a rest ? 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, 
 Waved their bright wings, and whisper'd "Yss, IN 
 HEAVEN !" CHARLES MACK AY. 1 
 
 93. THE DEATH OF HAMILTON. 2 
 
 A SHORT time since, and he, who is the occasion of our so"r- 
 rdws, was the ornament of his country. He stood on an 
 eminence, and glory covered him. From tliat eminence he has 
 fallen : suddenly, forever fallen. His intercourse wifh the living 
 world is now ended ; and those who would hereafter find him, 
 
 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 91 .* ALEXANDER HAMILTON, see Bio 
 giaphical Sketch, p. 246, not-e 5. 
 
DEATH OF HAMILTON. 297 
 
 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 pro- 
 ceeds, methink?, 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 ap- 
 pears the majesty of grandeur! The bubble, which seemed to 
 have so much solidity, has burst ; and we again see, that all be- 
 low the sun is vanity. 
 
 3. True, the funeral eulogy has been pronounced, the sad and 
 solemn procession has moved, the badge of mourning has al- 
 ready been decreed, and presently the sculptured marblp will 
 lift up its front, proud to perpetuate the name of Hamilton, and 
 rehearse to the passing traveler his virtues (just tributes of re- 
 spect, and to the living useful); but to him, moldering in his 
 narrow and humble habitation, what are they ? How vain ! 
 how unavailing ! 
 
 4. 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. How 
 pale ! how* silent ! No martial bands admire the adroitness ot 
 his movements; no fascinating throng weep, and melt, and 
 tremble at his eloquence ! Amazing change ! a shroud ! a cof 
 fin ! a narrow, subterraneous cabin ! this is all that now re- 
 mains of Hamilton ! And is this all that remains of Hamilton ? 
 During a life so transitory, what lasting monument, then, can 
 our fondest hopes erect ! 
 
 5. My brethren, we stand on the borders of an awful gulfj 
 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 ? Ask the 
 hero, ask the statesman, whose wisdom you have been accus- 
 tomed to revere, and he will tell you. He will tell you, did I 
 say ? He has already told you, from his death-bed ; and his il- 
 lumined spirit still whispers from the heavens, wifih well known 
 
298 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 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 have recommend- 
 ed ; choose the Saviour I have chosen; live disinterestedly; 
 live for immortality ; and would you rescue any thing from final 
 dissolution, lay it up in God." PRESIDENT NOTT. 
 
 REV. EUPHALET NOTT was born in Ashford, Connecticut, in 1773, and passed 
 his youth as a teacher, thereby acquiring the means of properly educating him- 
 self. He received the degree of Master of Arts from Brown University in 1795. 
 He soon after established himself as clergyman and principal of an academy at 
 Cherry Valley, in the State of New York. From 1798 to his election as president 
 of Union College, in 1803, he was pastor of the Presbyterian Church, at Albany, 
 where he delivered a discourse " On the Death of Hamilton," from which the 
 above extract is taken. In 1854, the fiftieth anniversary of Dr. Nott's presidency 
 was celebrated at Union, at the Commencement in July. A large number of 
 graduates assembled, and addresses were delivered by President Wayland of 
 Brown University, and Judge Campbell of New York. Dr. Nott also spoke with 
 his old eloquence. His numerous papers in periodicals have been chiefly anony- 
 mous. His " Addresses to Young Men," " Temperance Addresses," and a col- 
 lection of" Sermons," are his only published volumes. 
 
 91. PASS ox. HELENTLESS WORLD. 
 
 1. OWIFTER and swifter, day by day, 
 
 O Down Time's unquiet' current hurl'd, 1 
 Thou passest 2 on thy restless way, 
 
 Tumultuous and unstable world ! 3 
 Thou passest on ! Time hath not seen 
 
 Delay upon thy hurried path ; 4 
 And prayers 5 and tears alike have been 
 
 In vain to stay thy course of wrath ! 6 
 
 2. Thou passest on, and wih thee go 
 
 The loves of youth, 7 the cares 8 of age ; 
 And smiles and tears, and joy and woe, 
 
 Are on thy history's troubled page ! 
 There, 9 every day, 'like yesterday, 
 
 Writes hopes that end in mockery ; 
 But who shall tear 10 the veil away 
 
 Before the abyss of things to be ? 
 
 1 Hurled (heTM). 2 Pass' est. s World (wgrld). 4 Pith. Prayers 
 (p-fcrz) Wilth. 7 Ydt/th. " Cares (kirz). 9 There (thir). " T<r 
 
PASS ON. fcELKNTLESS WORLD. 29 ( J 
 
 8. Thou passcst on, and at thy side, 
 
 Even as a shade, Oblivion treads, 
 And o'er the dreams of human pride 
 
 His misty shroud forever spreads ; 
 Where 1 all thine iron hand hath traced 
 
 Upon that gloomy scroll to-day, 
 With records ages since effaced, 
 
 Like them shall live, like them decay. 
 
 4. Thou passest on, with thee the vain, 
 
 Who sport upon thy flaunting 2 blaze, 
 Pride, framed of dust and folly's train, 
 
 Who court thy love, and run thy ways : 
 But thou and I, and be it so, 
 
 Press onward to eternity ; 
 YSt not together let us go 
 
 To that deep-voiced but shoreless sea. 
 
 5. Thou hast thy friends, I would have mine ; 
 
 Thou hast thy thoughts, leave me my own ; 
 I kneel not at thy gilded shrine, 
 
 I bow not at thy slavish throne : 
 I see them pass without a sigh, 
 
 They wake no swelling raptures now, 
 The fierce delights that fire thine eye, 
 
 The triumphs of thy haughty brow. 
 
 6. Pass on, relentless world ! I grieve 
 
 No more for all that thou hast riven ; 
 Pass on, in God's name, only leave 
 
 The things thou never ygt hast given 
 A heart at ease, a mind at home, 
 
 Affections fix'd above thy sway, 
 Faith set upon a world to come, 
 
 And patience through life's little day. 
 
 GEORGE LUNT. 
 
 GEORGE LUNT, born at Newburyport, Massachusetts, was graduated at Har- 
 vard iu 1824 ; was admitted to the bar in 1831 ; practiced for a while at his wa 
 ave place, and since 1848 has pursued the profession in Boston. He published 
 his first volume of poems in 1839, followed in 1843 by " The Age of Gold and 
 
 1 Where (wh&r). 9 Flatmt' ing. 
 
300 NATIONAL F1FIH READER. 
 
 other Poems," and in 1854 by " Lyric Poems, Sonnets, and Miscellanies." His 
 novel of New England life, entitled " Eastford, or Household Sketches, by West- 
 ley Brooke," was also published in 1834. 
 
 95. SELECT PASSAGES ra PROSE, 
 
 I. GOOD USE OF MEMORY. 
 
 I CAN not too strongly urge upon the young the advantage of 
 committing to memory the choicest passages in prose and poetry 
 in English literature. What we learn thoroughly when young, 
 remains by us through life. " Sir," said the great Dr. Johnson 1 
 to Boswell,* " in my early days I read very hard. It is a sad 
 reflection, but a true one, that I knew almost as much at eighteen 
 as I do now. My judgment, to be sure, was not so good ; but I 
 had all the facts. I remember very well when I was at Oxford, 
 an old gentleman said to me, i Young man, ply your book dili- 
 gently now, and acquire a stock of knowledge ; for when years 
 come unto you, you will find that poring upon books will be but 
 an irksome task.' " 
 
 II. INJUDICIOUS HASTE IN STUDY. LOCKE.' 
 
 THE eagerness and strong bent of the mind after knowledge, 
 if not warily "regulated, is Sften & hinderance to it It still 
 presses into further discoveries and new objects, and catches at 
 the variety of knowledge, and therefore 4 often stays not I6ng 
 enough on what is before it, to look into it as it should, for hasto 
 to pursue what is y6t out of sight. He that rides post through 
 a country may be able, from the transient view, to tell in general 
 how the parts lie, and may be able to give some loose descrip- 
 tion of here a mountain and there a plain, here a morass' and 
 there a river ; woodland in one part and savannas in another. 
 Such superficial ideas and observations as these he may collect 
 in galloping over it ; but the more useful observations of the 
 soil, plants, animals, and inhabitants, with their several sorts and 
 properties, must necessarily escape him ; and it is seldom men 
 ever discover the rich mines without some digging. Nature 
 
 1 DR. JOHNSON, see Biographical Sketch, p. 230.' JAMES BOSWELL, th 
 friend and biographer of Dr. Johnson, born 1740, and died 1795. 
 see p. 213, note 3. 4 Th|re'for. 
 
6ELECT PASSAGES IN PROSE. 301 
 
 commonly lodges her treasures and jewels in rocky ground. If 
 the matter be knotty, and the sense lies deep, the mind must 
 stop and buckle to it, and stick upon it wifh labor, and thought, 
 and close contemplation, and not leave it until it has mastered 
 the difficulty and got possession of truth. But here, care mtfst 
 be taken to avoid the other extreme : a man must not stick at 
 every useless nicety, and expect mysteries of science in every 
 trivial question or scruple that he may raise. He that will stand 
 to pick up and examine every pebble that conies in his way, ia 
 as unlikely to return enriched and laded with jewels, as the 
 other that traveled full speed. Truths are not the better nor the 
 worse for their obviousness or difficulty, but their value is to be 
 measured by their usefulness and tendency. Insignificant ob- 
 servations should not take up any of our minutes ; and those 
 that enlarge our view, and give light toward further and useful 
 discoveries, should not be neglected, though they stop our 
 course, and spend some of our time in a* fixed attention. 
 
 III. STUDIES. BACON.' 
 
 STUDIES serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their 
 chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring; for orna- 
 ment, is- in discourse ; and fof ability, is in the judgment and 
 disposition of business ; for expert men can execute, and perhaps 
 judge of particulars, one by one ; but the general counsels, and 
 the plots and marshaling of affairs, come best from those that 
 are learned. To spend too much time in studies, is sloth ; to 
 use them too much for ornament, is affectation ; to make judg- 
 ment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar : they per- 
 fect nature, and are perfected by experience for natural abili- 
 ties are like natural plants, that need pruning by study ; and 
 studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, 
 except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn 
 studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them ; for 
 they teach not their own use ; but that is a wisdom without 
 them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to con- 
 tradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor tc 
 find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some booki 
 
 1 BACON, see p. 213, note 1. 
 
302 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be 
 chewed and digested : that is, some books are to be read only in 
 parts; others "to be read, but not curiously ; and some few to be 
 read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books 
 also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by 
 others ; but that would be only in the less important arguments, 
 and the meaner sort of books; else distilled books are, like 
 common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading rnaketh a full 
 man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man : and, 
 therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memo- 
 ry ; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit ; and if 
 he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know 
 that he doth not. 
 
 IV. BOOKS. CHANNING.' 
 
 IT is chiefly through books that we enjoy intercourse wifh 
 superior minds, and these invaluable means of communication 
 are in the reach of all. In the best books great men talk to us, 
 give us their most precious thoughts, and pour their souls into 
 ours. God be thanked for books. They are the voices of the 
 distant and the dead, and make us heirs of the spiritual life of 
 past ages. Books are the true levelers. They give to all, who 
 will faithfully use them, the society, the spiritual presence of the 
 best and greatest of our race. No matter how poor I am, no 
 matter though the prosperous of my own time will not enter my 
 obscure dwelling, if the sacred writers will enter and take up 
 their abode under my roo^ if Milton 8 will cross my threshold to 
 sing to me of Paradise, and Shakspeare 5 to open to me the 
 worlds of imagination and the workings of the human heart, and 
 Franklin to enrich me with his practical wisdom, I shall not 
 pine for want of intellectual companionship, and I may become 
 a cultivated man, though excluded from what is called the best 
 society in the place where I live. 
 
 1 WILLIAM ELLERY CHAXXIXG, an able writer and eminent Unitarian 
 clergyman, was born at Newport, Rhode Island, April 7, 1780. The 
 collection of his works embraces six volumes. His writings are distin- 
 guished for literary elegance, directness, and moral energy. He died at 
 Bennington, Vermont, October 2, 1842. * MILTON, see Biographical. 
 |iketch, p. 582. "SHAKSPKARE. see Biographical Sketch, p. 348. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN PROSE. 303 
 
 V. THE BIBLE. HALL.' 
 
 THE Bible s the treasure of the poor, the solace of the sick, 
 and the support of the dying; and while other books -may 
 amuse and instruct in a leisure hour, it is the peculiar triumph 
 of that book to create light in the midst of darkness, to allevi- 
 ate the sorrow which admits of no other alleviation, to direct 
 beam of hope to the heart which no other topic of consolation 
 can reach ; while guilt, despair, and death vanish at the touch 
 of its holy inspiration. There is something in the spirit and 
 diction of the Bible which is found peculiarly adapted to arrest 
 the attention of the plainest and most uncultivated minds. The 
 simple structure of its sentences, combined wifh a lofty spirit of 
 poetry its familiar allusions to the scenes of nature and the 
 transactions of common life the delightful intermixture of nar- 
 ration with the doctrinal and preceptive parts and the profu- 
 sion of miraculous facts, which convert it into a sort of enchant- 
 ed ground its constant advertence to the Deity, whose perfec- 
 tions it renders almost visible and palpable unite in bestowing 
 upon it an interest which attaches to nd x other performance, and 
 which, after assiduous and repeated perusal, invests it with much 
 of the charm of novelty ; like the great orb of day, at which 
 we are wont 2 to gaze with unabated astonishment from infancy 
 to old age. What other book besides the Bible could be heard 
 in public assemblies from year to year, with an attention that never 
 tires, and an interest that never cloys ? With few exceptions, 
 let a portion of the sacred volume be recited in a mixed mul- 
 titude, and though it has been heard a thousand times, a univer- 
 sal stillness ensues, every eye is fixed, and every ear is awake 
 and attentive. Select, if you can, any other composition, and 
 let it be rendered equally familiar to the mind, and see whether 
 it will produce this effect. 
 
 1 ROBERT HALL, an eminent Baptist clergyman, was born at Arnsby, 
 England, in 1764. Splendid, graceful, and majestic, with a large and 
 various erudition, and a thorough intellectual training ; master alike of 
 the sternest weapons of logic, and " the dazzling fence of rhetoric ;" in 
 style, combining the sweetness of Addison with the sublimity of Burke ; 
 he wasTegarded as the most eloquent preacher of modem times. He 
 died is February, 1831, in the sixty-seventh year of his age. Wont 
 (wftot). 
 
304 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 96. BUYING BOOKS. 
 
 HOW easily one may distinguish a genuine lover ( f books 
 from the -worldly man ! With what subdued and yet glow- 
 ing enthusiasm does he gaze upon the costly front of a thousand 
 embattled volumes! How gently he draws them down, as if 
 they were little children ! how tenderly he handles them ! lie 
 peers at the title-page, at the text, or the notes, with the nicety 
 of a bird examining a flower. lie studies the binding: tho 
 leather, Russia, English calf, morocco; the lettering, the gild- 
 ing, the edging, the hinge of the cover ! He opens it, and shuts 
 it, he holds it off, and brings it nigh. It suffuses his whole body 
 with book-magnetism. He walks up and down, in amaze at 
 the mysterious allotments of Providence that gives so much 
 money to men who spend it upon their appetites, and so little 
 to men who would spend it in benevolence, or upon their refined 
 tastes ! It is astonishing, too, how one's necessities multiply in 
 the presence of the supply. One never knows how many things 
 it is impossible to do without till he goes to the house-furnishing 
 stores. One is surprised to perceive, at some bazaar, or fancy 
 and variety store, how many conveniences he needs. He is sat- 
 isfied that his life must have been utterly inconvenient aforetime. 
 And thus, too, one is inwardly convicted, at a bookstore, of 
 having lived for years without books which he is now satisfied 
 that one can not live without' 
 
 2. Then, too, the subtle process by which the man convinces 
 himself that he can afford t^ buy. No subtle manager or broker 
 ever saw through a maze of financial embarrassments half so 
 quick as a poor book-buyer sees his way clear to pay for what 
 he must have. He promises with himself marvels of retrench- 
 ment; he will eat less, or less costly viands, that he may buy 
 more food for the mind. He will take an extra patch, and go 
 on with his raiment ano'ther year, and buy books instead of 
 coats. Yea, he will write books, that he may buy books. He 
 will lecture, teach, trade he will do any honest thing for money 
 to buy books ! 
 
 3. The appetite is insatiable. Feeding does not satisfy it. It 
 rages by the fuel which is put upon it As a h jngrv -r^in pats 
 
BUYING BOOKS. 305 
 
 Gist, and pays afterward, so the book-buyer purchases, and then 
 works at the debt afterward. This paying is rather medicinal 
 It cures for a time. But a relapse takes place. The same long- 
 ing, the same promises of self-denial. He promises himself to 
 put spurs on both heels of his in'dustry ; and then, besides all 
 this, he will somehow get along when the time for payment 
 comes ! Ah ! this SOMEHOW ! That word is as big as a whole 
 world, and is stuffed with all the vagaries and fantasies that 
 Fancy over bred upon Hope. 
 
 4. And yet, is there not some comfort in buying books, to be 
 paid for ? We have heard of a sot, who wished his neck as long 
 as the worm of a still, that he might so much the longer enjoy 
 the flavor of the draught ! Thus, it is a prolonged excitement 
 of purchase, if you feel for six months in a slight doubt whether 
 the book is honestly your own or not. Had. you paid down, 
 that would have been the end of it. There would have been no 
 affectionate and beseeching look of your books at you, every 
 time you saw them, saying, as plain as a book's eyes can say, 
 "Do not let me be taken from you." 
 
 b. Moreover, buying books before you can pay for them, pro- 
 motes caution. You do not feel quite at liberty to take them 
 home. You are married. Your wife keeps an account-book. 
 She knows to a penny what you can and what you can not af- 
 ford. She has no "speculation" in her eyes. Plain figures 
 make desperate work with airy " somehows" It is a matter of 
 no small skill and experience to get your books home, and into 
 their proper places, undiscovered. Perhaps the blundering Ex- 
 press brings them to the door just at evening. " What is it, rny 
 dear ?" she says to you. " Oh ! nothing a few books that I 
 can not do without." 
 
 6. That smile! A true housewife that loves her husband, 
 can smile a whole arithmetic at him in one look ! Of course she 
 tisista in the kindest way, in sympathizing with you in your 
 literary acquisition. She cuts the strings of the bundle (and of 
 your heart), and out comes the whole story. You have bought 
 a complete set of costly English books, full bound in calf, extra 
 gilt ! You are caught, and feel very much as if bound in calf 
 yourself, and admirably lettered. 
 
 7. Now, this must tot happen frequently. The books must 
 
 20 
 
306 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 be smuggled home. Let them be sent to some near place, 
 Then, when your wife has a headache, or is out making a call, 
 or has lain down, run the books across the frontier and threshold, 
 hastily undo them, stop only for one loving glance as you put 
 them away in the closet, or behind other books on the shelf* or 
 on the topmost shelf. Clear away the twine and wrapping-paper, 
 nnd every suspicious circumstance. Be very careful not to be 
 too kind. That often brings on detection. Only the other day 
 we heard it said, somewhere, " Why, how good you have been, 
 lately ! I am really afraid that you have been carrying on mis- 
 chief secretly." Our heart smote us. It was a fact. That very 
 day we had bought a few books which " we could not do with- 
 out," 
 
 8. After a while, you can bring out one volume, accidentally, 
 and leave it on the table. " Why, my dear, what a beautiful 
 book ! Where did you borrow it ?" You glance over the news- 
 paper, with the quietest tone you can command : " That ! oh ! 
 that is mine. Have you not seen it before ? It has been in the 
 house these two months ;" and you rush on with anecdote and 
 incident, and point out the binding, and that peculiar trick of 
 gilding, and every thing else you can think of: but it all will not 
 do; you can not rub out that roguish, arithmetical smile. 
 People may talk about the equality of the sexes ! They are not 
 equal. The silent smile of a sensible, loving woman, will van- 
 quish ten men. Of course you repent, and in time form a habit 
 of repenting. 
 
 9. Another method, which will be found peculiarly effective, 
 is, to make a present of some fine work to your wife. Of .course, 
 whether she or you have the name of buying it, it will go into 
 your collection and be yours to all intents and purposes. But, 
 it stops remark in the presentation. A "rife could not reprove 
 you for so kindly thinking of her. No matter what she suspects, 
 she will say nothing. And then if there are three or four more 
 works, which have come "home wifh the gift-book they will 
 pass, through the favor of the other. 
 
 10. These are pleasures denied to wealth and old bachelors. 
 Indeed, one can not imagine the peculiar pleasure of buying 
 books, if one is rich and stupid. There must be some pleasure, 
 or to many would not do it. But the full flavor, the whole rol- 
 

 THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. 307 
 
 ish of delight only comes to those who are so poor that they 
 must engineer for every book. They set down before them, and 
 besiege them. They are captured. Each book has a secret 
 history of <vays and means. It reminds you of subtle devices 
 by which you insured and made it yours, in spite of poverty ! 
 
 H. W. BEECHER. 1 
 
 97. THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET. 
 i. 
 
 O'ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, 
 Where, in his last strong agony, a dying warrior lay, 
 The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent 
 By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. 
 
 ii. 
 
 " They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, 
 That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more ; 
 They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that 1, 
 Their own liege lord and master born, that I ha! ha! must die 
 
 in. 
 And what is death ? I've dared him 8ft, before the Painim* 
 
 spear ; 
 
 Think ye he's enter'd at my gate has come to seek me here ? 
 I've met him, faced him, scorn'd him, when the fight was raging 
 
 hot; 
 I'll try his might, I'll brave his power ! defy, and fear him not ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Ho ! sound the tocsin 3 from my tower, and fire the cul'verin/ 
 Bid each retainer arm with speed ; call every vassal in. 
 Up with my banner on the wall, the banquet-board prepare, 
 Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there !" 
 
 v. 
 
 A hundred hands were busy then : the banquet forth was spread, 
 And rung the heavy oaken floor wifli many a martial tread ; 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 71. 'Pit' nim, pagan; infidel. * T&c'- 
 sin, a bell for giving alarm. *Cfil'verin, along, slender cannon, to 
 carry a ball a great distance. 
 
308 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall, 
 Lights gleam'd on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old 
 Gothic hall 
 
 VI. 
 
 Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mail'd retainers pour'd^ 
 On through the portal's' frowning arch, and throng'd around the 
 
 board ; 
 
 While at its head, within his dark, carved, oaken chair of state, 
 Arm'd cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Fill every beaker up, my men ! pour forth the cheering wine ! 
 There's life and strength in every drop, thanksgiving to the 
 
 vine! 
 
 Are ye all there, my vassals true ? mine eyes are waxing dim : 
 Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim ! 
 
 vni. 
 "Ye're there, but yet I see you not! draw forth each trusty 
 
 sword, 
 
 And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board ! 
 I hear it faintly : Louder yet ! What clogs my heavy breath ? 
 Up, all ! and shout for Rudiger, * DEFIANCE UXTO DEATH !' " 
 
 IX. 
 
 Bowl rang to bowl, steel clang'd to steel, and rose a deafening cry, 
 That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high: 
 " Ho ! cravens ! do ye fear him ? Slaves ! traitors ! have ye 
 
 flown ? 
 Ho ! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone ? 
 
 x. 
 
 " But I defy him ! let him come !" Down rang the massy cup, 
 While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing half-way up; 
 And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his 
 
 head, 
 
 There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Rudiger sat dead ! 
 
 ALBERT G. GREENE. 
 
 MR. GREENE was bom at Providence, Rhode Island, February 10, 1802. He 
 was a graduate at Brown University in 1820, practiced law in his native city un- 
 til 1834, since which time he has held office under the city government. Oueof 
 
 

 SELECT PASSAGES LN PKO8E. 309 
 
 his earliest metrical compositions was the popular ballad of " Old Grimes." His 
 poems, which were principally written for periodicals, have never been publish- 
 ed in a collected form. One of his longest serious ballads, entitled " Canouchet." 
 ' published i/. Updike's " History of the Narraghansett Church." 
 
 98. SELECT PASSAGES IN PKOSE. 
 
 I. A TRUE MAN. SCOTT.' 
 
 THE man whom I call deserving the name, is one whose 
 thoughts and exertions are for others rather than himself, 
 whose high purpose is adopted on just principles, and never aban- 
 doned while heaven or earth affords means of accomplishing it. 
 He is one who will neither seek an indirect advantage by a spe- 
 cious road, nor take an evil path to secure a really good purpose. 
 Such a man were one for whom a woman's . heart should beat 
 constant while he breathes, and break when he dies. 
 
 II. A TRUE WOMAN. SCOTT. 
 
 HER very soul is in home, and in the discharge of all those 
 quiet virtues of which home is the center. Her husband will 
 be to her what her father is now the object of all her care, so- 
 licitude, and affection. She will see nothing, and connect her 
 self with nothing, but by or through him. If he be a man of 
 sense and virtue, she will sympathize in his sorrows, divert his 
 fatigues, and share his pleasures. If she become the portion of 
 a churlish or negligent husband, she will suit his taste also, for 
 she will not long survive his unkindness. 
 
 III. THE POWER OF A WORD. LANDCR.* 
 
 ON words, on quibbles, if you please to call distinctions so, 
 rest the axis of the intellectual world. A winged word hath 
 stuck ineradicably in a million hearts, and envenomed every 
 hour throughout their hard pulsation. On a winged word hath 
 hung the destiny of nations. On a winged word hath human 
 wisdom been willing to cast the immortal soul, and to leave it 
 
 1 SIR WALTER SCOTT, one of the ablest and most extensive writers of 
 prose and poetry in the English language, was born at Edinburgh, Scot- 
 land, August 15, 1771, and died in September, 1832. a LANDOE, see 
 Biographical Sketch, p. 833. 
 
310 NATIONAL FlFi'H READER. 
 
 dependent for all its future happiness. It is because a word i* 
 unsusceptible of explanation, or because they who employed it 
 were impatient of any, that enormous evils have prevailed, not 
 only against our common sense, but against our common hu- 
 manity. 
 
 IV. MORAL FORCE OF EXAMPLE. JUDGE 
 
 THE great principles of our republican institutions can not be 
 propagated by the sword. This can be done by moral force, 
 and not physical. If we desire the political regeneration of op- 
 pressed nations, we must show them the simplicity, the grandeur, 
 and the freedom of our own government. We must recommend 
 it to the intelligence and virtue of other nations by its elevated 
 and enlightened action, its purity, its justice, and the protection 
 it affords to all its citizens, and the liberty they enjoy. And i 
 in this respect, we shall be faithful to the high bequests of our 
 fathers, to ourselves, and to posterity, we shall do more to liber- 
 alize other governments, and emancipate their subjects, than 
 could be accomplished by millions of bayonets. This moral 
 power is what tyrants have most cause to dread. It addresses 
 itself to the thoughts and the judgment of men. No physical 
 force can arrest its progress. Its approaches are unseen, but its 
 consequences are deeply felt. It enters garrisons most strongly 
 fortified, and operates in the palaces of kings and emperors. 
 We should cherish this power, as essential to the preservation oi 
 our government, and as the most efficient means of ameliorating 
 the political condition of our race. And this* can only be done 
 by a reverence for the laws, and by the exercise of an elevated 
 patriotism. 
 
 Y. LAW. HOOKER.' 
 
 OF Law there can be no less acknowledged than that her seat 
 is the bosom of God ; her voice the harmony of the world. All 
 things in heaven and earth do her homage ; the very least as 
 
 1 RICHARD HOOKER, the famous author of "Ecclesiastical Polity," was 
 born about 1553, at the village of Heavitree, England. In 1577 he was 
 received Master of Arts at Oxford, and two years later appointed Pro 
 fessor of Hebrew. He took holy orders in 1584, and about two years 
 subsequent became master of the Temple, in London. He died in the 
 rectory of Bishopsbourne, Kent, 1600. 
 

 TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. dll 
 
 feeling her care, and the greatest as not exempted from her 
 power ; both angels and men,' and creatures of what condition 
 soever, though each in different sort and manner, yet all with 
 uniform consent, admiring her as the mother of their peace and 
 
 jy- 
 
 VI. TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. MILTON.' 
 
 THOUGH all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon 
 the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously, by licens- 
 ing and prohibiting, to doubt her strength. Let her and False- 
 hood grapple : who ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free 
 and open encounter ? who knows not that Truth is strong, next 
 to the Almighty ? She needs no policies, nor stratagems, nor 
 licensings, to make her victorious ; those are the shifts and de- 
 fences that error uses against her power. Give her but room, 
 and do not bind her when she sleeps ; for then she speaks not 
 true, but then rather she turns herself into all shapes, except her 
 own, and perhaps tunes her voice according to the time, until 
 she be adjured into her own likeness. 
 
 99. TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. AN AJ.LEGORY. 
 
 WHILE the world was yet in its infancy, Truth 2 came among 
 mortals from above, and Falsehood from below. Truth 
 was the daughter of Jupiter 3 and Wisdom ; Falsehood was the 
 progeny of Folly impregnated by the wind. They advanced 
 with equal confidence to seize the dominion of the new creation ; 
 and as their enmity and their force were well known to the 
 celestials, all the eyes of heaven were turned upon the contest. 
 
 2. Truth seemed conscious ofsuperior power and juster claim, 
 and therefore came on towering and majestic, unassisted, and 
 alone : Reason, indeed, always attended her, but appeared her 
 follower rather than companion. Her march was slow and 
 stately, but her motion was perpetually progressive ; and when 
 once she had grounded her foot, neither gods nor men could 
 force her to retire. 
 
 3. Falsehood always endeavored to copy the mien and atti- 
 
 MILTON, see Biographical Sketch, p. 582. a Truth (trflth). 
 the chief of the gods in heathen mythology. 
 
312 NATIONAL FIFTH RF.ADF.R. 
 
 tudes of Truth, and was very successful in the arts of mimicry. 
 She was surrounded, animated, and supported by innumerable 
 legions of Appetites and Passions, but, like other feeble com- 
 manders, was obliged often to receive law from her allies. Her 
 motions were sudden, irregular, and violent; for she had no 
 steadiness nor constancy. She often gained conquests by hasty 
 incursions, which she never hoped to keep by her own strength, 
 but maintained by the help of the Passions, whom she generally 
 found resolute and faithful. 
 
 4. It sometimes happened that the antagonists met in full op- 
 position. In these encounters, Falsehood always invested her 
 head with clouds, and commanded Fraud to place ambushes 
 about her. In her left hand she bore the shield of Impudence, 
 and the quiver of Sophistry rattled on her shoulder. All the 
 Passions attended at her call. Vanity clapped her wings before, 
 and Obstinacy supported her behind. Thus guarded and assist- 
 ed, she sometimes advanced against Truth, and sometimes waited 
 the attack ; but always endeavored to skirmish at a distance, 
 perpetually shifted her ground, and let fly her arrows in differ- 
 ent directions ; for she certainly found that her strength failed, 
 whenever the eye of Truth darted full upon her. 
 
 5. Truth had the awful aspect though not the thunder of her 
 father, and when the long continuance of the contest brought 
 them near to one another, Falsehood let the arms of Sophistry 
 fall from her grasp, and, holding up the shield of Impudence 
 wifli both her hands, sheltered herself amongst the Passions. 
 Truth, though she was often wounded, always recovered in a 
 short time ; but it was common for the slightest hurt received 
 by Falsehood, to spread its malignity to the neighboring parts, 
 and to burst open again when it seemed to have been cured. 
 
 6. Falsehood, in a short time, found by experience that her 
 superiority consisted only in the celerity of her course, and the 
 changes of her posture. She therefore ordered Suspicion to 
 beat the ground before her, and avoided with great care to cross 
 the way of Truth, who, as she never varied her point, but moved 
 constantly upon the same line, was easily escaped by the oblique 
 and des'ultory movements, the quick retreats and active doubles, 
 which Falsehood always practiced, when the enemy began to 
 raise terror by her approach. 
 
TRUTH AND FALSEHOOD. 313 
 
 7. By this procedure, Falsehood every hour encroache 1 upon 
 the world, arid extended her empire through all climes and re- 
 gions. Wherever she carried her victories, she left the Passions 
 in full authority behind her; who were so well pleased with 
 command, that they held out with great obstinacy, when Truth 
 came to seize their posts, and never failed to retard her progress, 
 though they could not always stop it : they yielded at last "w ith 
 great reluctance, frequent rallies, and sullen submission ; and al- 
 ways inclined to revolt when Truth ceased to awe them by her 
 immediate presence. 
 
 8. Truth, who, when she first descended from the heavenly 
 palaces, expected to have been received by universal acclama- 
 tion, cherished with kindness, heard with obedience, and invited 
 to spread her influence from province to province, now found, 
 that wherever she came, she must force her passage. Every in- 
 tellect was precluded by Prejudice, and every heart preoccupied 
 by Passion. She, indeed, advanced, but she advanced slowly , 
 and often lost the conquests which she left behind her, by sud 
 den insurrections of the Appetites, that shook 6ff their alle 
 giiince, and ranged themselves under the banner of her enemy. 
 
 9. Truth, however, did not grow weaker by the struggle, for 
 her vigor was unconquerable ; yet she was provoked to see her- 
 self baffled and impeded by an enemy, whom she looked on with 
 contempt, and who had no advantage but such as she owed to 
 inconstancy, weakness, and artifice. She therefore, in the anger 
 of disappointment, called upon her father Jupiter to reestablish 
 her in the skies, and leave mankind to the disorder and misery 
 which they deserved, by submitting willingly to the usurpation 
 of Falsehood. 
 
 10. Jupiter compassionated the world too much to grant her 
 request, yet was willing to ease her labors and mitigate her vex- 
 ation, lie commanded her to consult the Muses by what meth- 
 od she might obtain an easier reception, and reign without the 
 toil of incessant war. It was then discovered that she obstruct- 
 ed her own progress by the severity of her aspect ai\d the 
 solemnity of her dictates ; and that men would never willingly 
 admit her, till they ceased to fear her ; since, by giving them- 
 selves up to Falsehood, they seldom made any sacrifice of their 
 ease or pleasure, because she took the shape that was most en 
 
 14 
 
314 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 gaging, ana always suffered herself to be dressed and painted by 
 Desire. 
 
 11. The Muses wove, in the loom of Pallas, 1 a loose and 
 changeable robe, like that in winch Falsehood captivated her 
 admirers : with this they invested Truth, and named her Fiction. 
 She now went out again to conquer with more success; for 
 when she demanded entrance of the Passions, they often mis- 
 took her for Falsehood, and delivered up their charge; but 
 when she had once taken possession, she was soon disrobed by 
 Reason, and shone out, in her original form, with native efful- 
 gence and resistless dignity. DR. JOHNSON." 
 
 I 
 
 100. THE PHANTOM SHIP. 
 i. 
 
 THE breeze had sunk to rest, the noonday sun was high, 
 And ocean's breast lay motionless beneath a cloudless sky. 
 There was silence in the air, there was silence in the deep ; 
 And it seem'd as though that burning calm were nature's final 
 sleep. 
 
 n. 
 
 The mid-day watch was set, beneath the blaze of light, 
 When there came a cry from the tall mast-head, " A sail ! a sail, 
 
 in sight !" 
 
 And o'er the far hori'zon a snowy speck appear'd, 
 And every eye was strain'd to watch the vessel as she near'd. 
 
 in. 
 
 There was no breath of air, yet she bounded on her way, 
 And the dancing waves around her prow were flashing into spray. 
 She answer'd not their hail, alongside as she pass'd : 
 There were none who trod her spacious deck ; not a seaman on 
 the mast; 
 
 IV. 
 
 No hand to guide her helm : yet on she held her course ; 
 She swept along that waveless sea, as with a tempest's force : 
 
 1 PALLAS, one of the names of MINERVA, the goddess of wisdom, call- 
 ed also ATHENA and TRITOTONIA. 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 230. 
 
THK PHAJS'TOM SH1.P. 315 
 
 A silence, as of death, was o'er that vessel spread : 
 She seem'd a thing of another world, the world where dwell the 
 dead. 
 
 v. 
 
 She pass'd away from sight, the deadly calm was o'er, 
 
 And the spell-bound ship pursued her course before the breeze 
 
 once more ; 
 
 And clouds across the sky obscured the noonday sun, 
 And the winds arose at the tempest's call, before the day was done 
 
 VI. 
 
 Midnight and still the storm raged wrathfully and loud, 
 
 And deep in the trough of the heaving sea labor'd that vessel 
 
 proud : 
 
 There was darkness all around, save where lightning flashes keen 
 Play'd on the crests of the broken waves, and lit the depths be- 
 tween. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Around her and below, the waste of waters roar'd, 
 
 And answer'd the crash of the falling masts as they cast them 
 
 overboard. 
 
 At every billow's shock her quivering timbers strain ; 
 And as she rose on a crested wave, that strange ship pass'd again. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And o'er that stormy sea she flew before the gale, 
 
 Yt she had not struck her lightest spar, nor furl'd her loftiest sail. 
 
 Another blinding flash, and nearer yet she seem'd, 
 
 And a pale blue light along her sails and o'er her rigging gleam'd. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But it show'd no seaman's form, no hand her course to guide ; 
 And to their signals of distress the winds alone replied. 
 The Phantom Ship pass'd on, driven o'er her pathless way, 
 But helplessly the sinking wreck amid the breakers lay. 
 
 x. 
 
 The angry tempest ceased, the winds were hush'd to sleep, 
 And calm and bright the sun again shone out upon the deep. 
 But that gallant ship no more shall roam the ocean free ; 
 She has reach'd her final haven, beneath the dark blue sea. 
 
316 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And many a hardy seaman, who fears nor storm nor fight, 
 Yet trembles \vLn the Phantom Ship drives past his watch at 
 
 night; 
 
 For it augurs deatn and danger : it bodes a watery grave, 
 With sea-weeds for his pillow for his shroud, the wandering wave. 
 
 AHOB. 
 
 
 101. COUNT FATHOM'S ADYEXTUKE. 
 
 FATHOM departed from the village that same afternoon un- 
 der the auspices of his conductor, and found himself be- 
 nighted in the midst of a forest, far from the habitations of men. 
 The darkness of the night, the silence and solitude of the place, 
 the indistinct images of the trees that appeared on every side 
 stretching their extravagant arms athwart the gloom, conspired 
 with the dejection of spirits occasioned by his loss to disturb his 
 fancy, and raise strange phantoms in his imagination. Although 
 he was not naturally superstitious, his mind began to be invaded 
 with an aw r ful horror, that gradually prevailed over all the con- 
 solations of reason and philosophy ; nor was his heart free from 
 the terrors of assassination. 
 
 2. In order to dissipate these disagreeable reveries, he had re- 
 course to the conversation of his guide, by whom he was enter- 
 tained with the history of divers travelers who had been robbed 
 and murdered by ruffians, whose retreat was in the recesses of 
 that very wood. In the midst of this communication, which did 
 not at all tend to the elevation of our hero's spirits, the con- 
 ductor made an excuse for dropping behind, while our traveler 
 jogged on in expectation of being joined again by him iti a few 
 minutes. He was, however, disappointed in that hope : the sound 
 of the horse's feet by degrees grew more and more faint, and at 
 last altogether died away. 
 
 3. Alarmed at this circumstance, Fathom halted in the road, 
 and listened with the most fearful attention ; but his sense of 
 hearing was saluted with naught but the dismal sighings of the 
 trees, that seemed to foretell an approaching storm. According- 
 ly, the heavens contracted a more dreary aspect, the lightning 
 
317 
 
 began to gleam, the thunder to roll, and the tempest, raising its 
 voice to a tremendous roar, descended in a torrent of rain. 
 
 4. In this emergency, the fortitude of our hero was almost 
 'quite overcome. So many concurring circumstances of danger 
 
 and distress might have appalled the most undaunted breast ; 
 what impression then must they have made upon the mind of 
 Ferdinand, who was by no means a man to set fear at defiance! 
 Indeed, he had well-nigh lost the use of his reflection, and was 
 actually invaded to the skin, before he could recollect himself 
 so far as to quit the road, and seek for shelter among the thick- 
 ets that surrounded him. 
 
 5. Having rode some furlongs into the forest, he took his sta- 
 tion under a tuft of tall trees, that screened him from the storm, 
 and in that situation called a council with himself, to deliberate 
 upon his next excursion. He persuaded himself that his guide 
 had deserted him for the present, in order to give intelligence of 
 a traveler to some gang of robbers with whom ho was connect- 
 ed ; and that he must of necessity fall a prey to those banditti, 
 unless he should have the good fortune to elude their search, 
 and disentangle himself from the mazes of the wood. 
 
 6. Harrowed with these apprehensions, he resolved to com- 
 mit himself to the mercy of the hurricane, as of two evils the 
 leafet, and penetrate straight forward through some devious open- 
 ing, until he should be delivered from the forest. For this pur- 
 pose he turned his horse's head in a line quite contrary to the 
 direction of the high road which he had left, on the supposition 
 that the robbers would pursue that tract in quest of him, and that 
 they would never dream of his deserting the highway to traverse 
 an unknown forest amidst the darkness of such a boisterous 
 night. 
 
 7. After he had continued in this progress through a succes- 
 sion of groves, and bogs, and thorns, and brakes, by which not 
 only his clothes, but also his skin suffered in a grievous manner, 
 while every nerve quivered wifti eagerness and dismay, he at 
 K-ngth readied nn open plain, and pursuing his course, in full 
 ii(,}ie of arriving at some village where his life would be safe, he 
 descried a rushlight, at a distance, which he looked upon as the 
 star of his good fortune ; and riding toward it at full speed, ar- 
 rived at the door of a lone cottage, into which he was admitted 
 
318 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 bv an old woman, who, understanding he was a bewildered trav 
 eler, received him with great hospitality. 
 
 8. "When he learned from his hostess that there was not 
 another house within three leagues, and that she could accom- 
 modate him with a tolerable bed, and his horse with lodging 
 and oats, he thanked Heaven for his good fortune in stumbling 
 upon this humble habitation, and determined to pass the night 
 under the protection of the old cottager, who gave him to un- 
 derstand, that her husband, who was a fagot-maker, had gone to 
 the next town to dispose of his merchandise, and that in all prob- 
 ability he would not return till the next morning, on account of 
 the tempestuous night. 
 
 9. Ferdinand sounded the beldam wifli a thousand artful in- 
 terrogations, and she -answered with such an appearance of truth 
 and simplicity, that he concluded his person was quite secure;' 
 and, after having been regaled with a dish of eggs and bacon, 
 desired she would conduct him into the chamber where she pro- 
 posed he should take his repose. He was accordingly ushered 
 up by a sort of ladder into an apartment furnished with a stand- 
 ing bed, and almost half filled with trusses of straw. He seemed 
 extremely well pleased with his lodging, which in reality exceed- 
 ed his expectations ; and his kind landlady, cautioning him 
 against letting the candle approach the combustibles, took her 
 leave, and locked the door on the outside. 
 
 
 102. COUNT FATHOM'S ADVENTURE CONCLUDED. 
 
 FATHOM, whose own principles taught him to be suspicious, 
 and ever upon his guard against the treachery of his fellow- 
 creatures, could have dispensed with this instance of her care in 
 confining her guest to her chamber ; and began to be seized with 
 strange fancies, when he observed that there was no bolt on the 
 inside of the door, by which he might secure himself from intru- 
 sion. In consequence of these sui^e.stions, he proposed to take 
 an accurate sur'vey of every object in the apartment, and, in the 
 ?ourse of his ir.qui'rv, had the mortification to find the dead 
 body of a man, still warm, who had been lately stabbed, and con- 
 cealed beneath several bund log of straw. 
 
319 
 
 2. Such a discovery could not fail to fill the breast of our here 
 with unspeakable horror ; for he concluded that he himself would 
 undergo the same fate before morning, without the interposition 
 of a miracle in his favor. In the first transports-of his dread he 
 ran to the window, with a view to escape by that outlet, and 
 found his flight effectually obstructed by divers strong bars of 
 iron. Then his heart began to palpitate, his hair to bristle up 
 and his knees to totter : his thoughts teemed with presages o 
 death and destruction; his conscience rose up in judgment 
 against him ; and he underwent a severe paroxysm of dismay 
 and distraction. His spirits were agitated into a state of fer- 
 mentation that produced an energy akin to that which is inspired 
 by brandy or other strong liquors ; and, by an impulse that 
 seemed supernatural, he was immediately hurried into measures 
 for his own preservation. 
 
 3. What upon a less interesting occasion his imagination 
 durst not propose, he now executed without scruple or remorse. 
 He undressed the corpse that lay bleeding among the straw, and 
 conveying it to the bed in his arms, deposited it in the attitude 
 of a person who sleeps at his ease ; then he extinguished the 
 light, took possession of the place from whence the body had 
 been removed, and, holding a pistol ready cocked in each hand, 
 waited for the sequel with that determined purpose which is 
 Sften the immediate production of despair. 
 
 4. About midnight he heard the sound of feet ascending the 
 ladder ; the door was softly opened ; he saw the shadow of two 
 men stalking toward the bed ; a dark lantern being unshrouded, 
 directed their aim to the supposed sleeper ; and he that held it 
 thrust a poniard to his heart. The force of the blow made a 
 compression on the chest, and a sort of groan issued from the 
 windpipe of the defunct : the stroke was repeated without pro- 
 ducing a repetition of the note, so that the assassins concluded 
 the work was effectually done, and retired for the present, with 
 a design to return and rifle the deceased at their leisure. 
 
 5. Never had our hero spent a moment in such agony as he 
 felt during this operation. The whole surface of his body was 
 covered with a cold sweat, and his nerves were relaxed with a 
 universal palsy. In short, he remained in a trance, that in all 
 probability contributed to his safety ; for had he retained the use 
 
320 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADER. 
 
 of his senses, he might have been discovered by the transports 
 of his fear. The first use he made of his retrieved recollection, 
 was to perceive that the assassins had left the door open in their 
 retreat ; and he would have instantly availed himself of this their 
 neglect, by sallying out upon them at the hazard of his life, had 
 not he been restrained by a conversation he overheard in the 
 room below, importing that the ruffians were going to set out 
 upon another expedition, in hopes of finding more prey. 
 
 6. They accordingly departed, after having laid strong injunc- 
 tions on the old woman to keep the door fast locked during their 
 absence ; and Ferdinand took his resolution without further de- 
 lay. So soon as, by his. conjecture, the robbers were at a suf- 
 ficient distance from the house, he rose from his lurking-place, 
 moved softly toward the bed, and rummaging the pockets of the 
 deceased, found a purse well stored with ducats, of which, to- 
 gether with a silver watch and a diamond ring, he immediately 
 possessed himself without scruple ; and then, descending with 
 great care and circumspection into the lower apartment, stood 
 before the old beldam, before she had the least intimation of his 
 approach. 
 
 7. Accustomed as she was to the trade of blood, the hoary 
 hag did not behold this apparition without giving signs of infi- 
 nite terror and astonishment. Believing it was no other than 
 the spirit of her second guest, who had been murdered, she fell 
 upon her knees, and began to recommend herself to the protec- 
 tion of the saints, crossing herself with as much devotion as if she 
 had been entitled to the particular care and attention of Heaven. 
 Nor did her anxiety abate when she was undeceived in this her 
 supposition, and understood it was no phantom, but the real sub- 
 stance of the stranger ; who, without staying to upbraid her with 
 the enormity of her crimes, commanded her, on pain of imme- 
 diate death, to produce his horse ; to which being conducted, he 
 set her on the saddle without delay, and mounting behind, in- 
 vested her with the management of the reins, swearing, in a 
 most peremptory tone, that the only chance for her life was in 
 directing him to the next town ; and that as soon as she should 
 give him the least cause to doubt her fidelity in the perfoimancu 
 of that task, he would on the instant act the part of her execu- 
 tioner. 
 
 
COUNT FATHOM'S ADVKXTURE. 321 
 
 8. This declaration had its effect on the withered Hecate, 
 who, wifii many supplications for mercy and forgiveness, promised 
 to guide him in safety to a certain village at the distance of two 
 leagues, where he might lodge in security, and be provided with 
 a fresh horse, or other conveniences for pursuing his route. On 
 these conditions he told her she might deserve his clemency; 
 and they accordingly took their departure together, she being 
 placed astride upon the saddle, holding the bridle in one hand, 
 and a switch in the other, and our adventurer sitting on the 
 crupper superintending her conduct, and keeping the muzzle of 
 a pistol close to her ear. In this equipage 2 they traveled across 
 part of the same wood in which his guide had forsaken him ; and 
 it is not to be supposed that -he passed his time in the most 
 agreeable reverie, while he found himself involved in the laby- 
 rinth of those shades, which he considered as the haunts of rob- 
 bery and assassination. 
 
 . Common fear was a comfortable sensation to what he felt 
 in this excursion. 3 The first steps he had taken for his preser- 
 vation were the effect of mere instinct, while his faculties were 
 extinguished or suppressed by despair ; but now, as his reflection 
 began to recur, he was haunted by the most intolerable appre- 
 hensions. Every whisper of the wind through the thickets was 
 swelled into the hoarse menaces of murder ; the shaking of the 
 boughs was construed into the brandishing of poniards; and 
 every shadow of a tree became the apparition of a ruffian eager 
 for blood. In short, at each of these occurrences he felt what 
 was infinitely more tormenting than the stab of a real dagger ; 
 and at every fresh fillip of his fear, he acted as a remembrancer to 
 his conductress in a new volley of imprecations, importing, that 
 her life was absolutely connected wifli his opinion of his own safety. 
 
 1 HECATE, represented in mythology as a mysterious divinity who 
 xuled in heaven, on the earth, and in the sea, bestowing on movtala 
 wealth, victory, wisdom ; good luck to sailors and hunters, and pros- 
 perity to youth and to the flocks of cattle. She was afterward, how- 
 ever, regarded by tbe Athenians and others as a spectral being, regard- 
 less of demons and terrible phantoms from the lower world, who taught 
 sorcery, witchcraft, and dwelt at places where two roads crossed, on 
 tombs, and near the blood of murdered persons. 2 Equipage (Sk' we pij) 
 ''Excursion (eks k4V shun). 
 
 21 
 
322 NATIONAL FIFTH KKADKK. 
 
 10. Human nature could not long subsist undei such compli 
 catcd terror ; but at last he found himself clear of the forest, and 
 was blessed with a distant view of an inhabited place. He yield- 
 ed to the first importunity of the beldam, whom he dismissed at 
 a very small distance from the village, after he had earnestly ex- 
 horted her tc quit such an atrocious course of life, and atone for 
 her past crimes by sacrificing her associates to the demands of 
 justice. She did not fail to vow a perfect reformation, and to 
 prostrate herself before him for the favor she had found; then 
 she betook herself to her habitation, with the full purpose of 
 advising her fellow-murderers to repair with all dispatch to the 
 village and impeach our hero ; who, wisely distrusting her pro- 
 fessions, stayed no longer in the place than to hire a guide for 
 the next stage, which brought him to the city of Chalons-sur- 
 Marne. 1 SMOLLETT. 
 
 TOBIAS GEORGE SMOLLETT was born in the county of Dumbarton, Scotland, iu 
 17-21. His father, a younger son of Sir James Smollett, of Bonhill, having died 
 early, he was educated by his grand fat her, in Glasgow, for the medical profes- 
 sion. At nineteen, his grandfather having died without making a provision for 
 him, the 3'oung author proceeded to London with his first work, "The Regi- 
 cide," which he attempted to bring out at the theaters. Foiled in this juvenile 
 effort, in J741 he became a surgeon's mate in the navy, and was present in the 
 unfortunate expedition to Cart hagena, spent some time elsewhere in the West 
 Indies, and returned to England in 1746. Thenceforth he resided chiefly in 
 London, and became an author for life. His first novel, " Roderick Random," 
 appeared in 1748. From this date to that of his last production, SMOLLETT im- 
 proved in taste and judgment, but his power of invention, his native humor, and 
 his knowledge of life and character, are as conspicuous in this as in any of his 
 works. He had fine poetic talents, but wrote no extended j>oem. His novel of 
 *' Count Fathom" appeared in 1753. The above scene, extracted from this work, 
 \B universally regarded as a masterpiece of interest ; a mixture of the terrible and 
 the probable that has never been surpassed. The writing is as fine as the con- 
 ception. Iu 1770, SMOLLETT was compelled to seek for health in a warm climate. 
 He took up his residence in a cottage near Leghorn. Here, just before his death, 
 in the autumn of 1771, he finished his " Humphrey Clinker," the most rich, va- 
 ried, and agreeable of aj^his novels. 
 
 103. DAHKNESS. 
 
 HAD a dream, which was not all a dream. 
 The bright snn was extinguish'd, and the stars 
 
 1 Chalons-sur-Marne (slid lAng' s&'r marn), a city of France, capital of 
 the department of Marne. the right bank of the river Marne, 90 
 toilea E. of Paris. 
 
DARKNESS 323 
 
 Did wander, darkling, in the eternal space, 
 
 Rayless and pathless, and the icy earth 
 
 Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air. 
 
 Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day, 
 
 And men forgot their passions, in the dread ' 
 
 Of this their desolation ; and all hearts 
 
 Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light. 
 
 And they did live by watch-fires ; and the thrones, 
 
 The palaces of crowned kings, the huts, 
 
 The habitations of all things which dwell, 
 
 Were burnt for beacons : cities were consumed, 
 
 And men were gather'd round their blazing homes, 
 
 To look once more into each other's face. 
 
 Happy were those who dwelt within the eye 
 
 Of the volcanoes and their mountain torch. 
 
 2 A fearful hope was all the world contained : 
 Forests were set on fire ; but, hour by hour, 
 They fell and faded ; and the crackling trunks 
 Extinguished with a crash and all was black. 
 The brows of men, by the despairing light, 
 Wore an unearthly aspect, as, by fits, 
 The flashes fell upon them. Some lay down, 
 And hid their eyes, and wept ; and some did rest 
 Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled; 
 And others hurried to and fro, and fed 
 Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up, 
 With mad disquietude, on the dull sky, 
 The pall of a past world ; and then again, 
 With curses, cast them down upon the dust, 
 And gnash'd their teeth, and howl'd. The wild birds shriek d, 
 And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, 
 And flap their useless wings : the wildest brutes 
 Came tame, and tremulous ; and vipers crawl'd 
 And twined themselves among the multitude, 
 Hissing, but stingless they were slain for food 
 
 3. And War, which for a moment was no more. 
 Did glut himself again : a meal was bought 
 Wifli blood, and each sat sullenly apart, 
 
324 NATIONAL FIFIil HEADER. 
 
 Gorging himself in gloom : no love was left ; 
 
 All earth was but one thought and that was death, 
 
 Immediate and inglorious; and the pang 
 
 Of famine fed upon all entrails. Men 
 
 Died ; and their bones were tombless as their flesh : 
 
 The meager by the meager were devour'd. * 
 
 Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one, 
 
 And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 
 
 The birds, and beasts, and famish'd men at bay, 
 
 Till hunger clung them, or the drooping dead 
 
 Lured their lank jaws : himself sought out no food, 
 
 But, with a piteous, and perpetual moan, 
 
 And a quick, desolate cry, licking the hand 
 
 Which answer'd not with a caress he died. 
 
 4. The crowd was famish'd by degrees. But two 
 Of an enormous city did survive, 
 And they were enemies. They met beside 
 The dying embers of an altar-place, 
 Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things 
 For an unholy usage. They raked up, 
 And, shivering, scraped, with their cold, skeleton hands, 
 The feeble ashes ; and their feeble breath 
 Blew for a little life, and made a flame, 
 Which was a mockery. Then they lifted 
 Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld 
 Each other's aspects saw, and shriek'd, and died ; 
 Even of their mutual hideousness they died, 
 Unknowing who he was, upon whose brow 
 Famine had written Fiend. 
 
 o. The world was void : 
 
 The populous and the powerful was a lump, 
 Seasonless, Aerbless, treeless, manless, lifeless ; 
 A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay. 
 The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still, 
 And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths*. 
 Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea, 
 And their masts fell down piecemeal : as they dropped 
 They slept on the abyss, without a surge, 
 
THE RATTLESNAKE. . 325 
 
 The waves were dead ; the tides were in their grave ; 
 
 The moon, their mistress, had expired before ; 
 
 The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air, 
 
 And the clouds perish'd : Darkness had no need 
 
 Of aid from them she was the universe. LOED BYRON. * 
 
 104. THE RATTLESNAKE.* 
 
 does not come he does not come," she murmured, as 
 she stood contem 'plating the thick copse spreading before 
 her, and forming the barrier which terminated the beautiful 
 range of oaks which constituted the grove. How beautiful were 
 the green and garniture of that little copse of wood ! The leaves 
 were thick, and the grass around lay folded over and over in 
 bunches, wifh here and there a wild flower, gleaming from its 
 green, and making of it a beautiful carpet of the richest and 
 most various texture. A small tree rose from the center of a 
 clump, aixnmd which a wild grape gadded luxuriantly ; and, 
 with an incoherent sense of what she saw, she lingered before 
 the little cluster, seeming to survey' that which, though it seemed 
 to fix her eye, yet failed to fill her thought. Her mind wan- 
 dered her soul was far away; and the objects in her vision 
 were far other than those which occupied her imagination. 
 
 2. Things grew indistinct beneafh her eye. The eye rather 
 slept than saw. The musing spirit had given holiday to the 
 ordinary senses, and took no heed of the forms that rose, and 
 floated, or glided away before them. In this way, the leaf de- 
 tached made no impression upon tbfe sight that was yet bent 
 apon it ; she saw not the bird, though it whirled, untroubled bj 
 \ fear, in wanton circles around her head ; and the blacksnake, 
 with the rapidity of an arrow, darted over her path without 
 irousing a single terror in the form that otherwise would have 
 shivered at its mere appearance. And yet, though thus indistinct 
 ffsre all things around her to the musing eye of the maiden, her 
 syo was yet singularly fixed fastened, as it were, to a single 
 
 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 292. "From " The Yemassee." The 
 heroine, Bess Mathews, in the woods waits the coming of her lover. 
 
326 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 spot gathered and controled by a single object, and glazed, ap- 
 parently, beneath a curious fascination. 
 
 3. Before the maiden rose a little clump of bushes, bright 
 tangled leaves flaunting wide in glossiest green, wifh vines trail- 
 ing over them, thickly decked with blue and crimson flowers, 
 Her eye communed vacantly with these ; fastened by a star-liko 
 shining glance, a subtle ray, that shot out from the circle Oi 
 green leaves seeming to be their very eye and sending out a 
 lurid luster that seemed to stream across the space between, and 
 find its way into her own eyes. Very piercing and beautiful 
 was that subtle brightness, of the sweetest, strangest power. 
 And now the leaves quivered and seemed to float away, only to 
 return ; and the vines waved and swung around in fantastic 
 mazes, unfolding ever-changing varieties of form and color to 
 her gaze : but the star-like eye was ever steadfast, bright, and 
 gorgeous, gleaming in their midst, and still fastened, with strange 
 fondness, upon her own. How beautiful with wondrous intensi- 
 ty did it gleam and dilate, growing larger and more lustrous 
 with every ray which it sent forth ! 
 
 4. And her own glance became intense, fixed also ; but with 
 a dreaming sense that conjured up the wildest fancies, terribly 
 beautiful, that took her soul away from her, and wrapt it about 
 as with a spell. She would have fled, she would have flown ; 
 but she had not power to move. The will was wanting to her 
 flight. She felt that she could have bent forward to pluck the 
 gem-like thing from the bosom of the leaf in which it seemed to 
 grow, and which it irradiated with its bright white gleam ; but 
 ever as she aimed to stretch forth her hand, and bend forward, 
 she heard a rush of wings? and a shrill scream from the tree 
 above her, such a scream as the mock-bird makes, when angri- 
 ly it raises its dusky crest, and flaps its wings furiously against 
 its slender sides. Such a scream seemed like a warning, and 
 though yet unawakened to full consciousness, it startled her and 
 forbade her effort. More than once, in her sur'vey of this strange 
 object, had she heard that shrill note, and still had it carried to 
 her ear the same note of warning, and to her mind the same 
 vague consciousness of an evil presence. 
 
 5. But the star-like eye was yet upon her own a small, 
 bright eye, quick, like that of a bird, now steady in its 
 
THE KATTLKSNAKK. 327 
 
 and observant seemingly only of hers, now dating forward with 
 all the clustering leav js about it, and shooting up toward her, &g 
 if wooing- her to seize. At another moment riveted to the vine 
 which lay around it, it would whirl round and round, dazzlingly 
 bright and beautiful, evon as a torch, waving hurriedly by night 
 in the hands of some playful boy. But, in all this time, the 
 glance was never taken from her own : there it grew, fixed a 
 very principle of light; and such a light a subtle, burning, 
 piercing, fascinating gleam, such as gathers in vapor above the 
 old grave, and binds us as we look shooting, darting directly 
 into her eye, dazzling her gaze, defeating its sense of discrimina- 
 tion, and confusing strangely that of perception. 
 
 0. She felt dizzy, for, as she looked, a cloud of colors bright, 
 gay, various colors floated and hung like so much drapery 
 around the single object that had so secured her attention and 
 spell-bound her feet. Her limbs felt momently more and more 
 insecure : her blood grew cold, and she seemed to feel the 
 gradual freeze of vein by vein, throughout her person. At that 
 moment a rustling was heard in the branches of the tree beside 
 her, and the bird, which had repeatedly uttered a single cry 
 above her, as it were of warning, Hew away from his station 
 with a scream more piercing than ever. This movement had 
 the effect for which it really seemed intended, of bringing back 
 to her a portion of the consciousness she seemed so totally to 
 have been deprived of before. 
 
 7. She strove to move from before the beautiful but tgrriblc 
 presence, but for a while she strove in vain. The rich, star-like 
 glance still riveted her own, and the subtle fascination kept her 
 bound. The mental energies, howcvciywifli the moment of their 
 greatest trial, now gathered suddenly to her aid ; and, with a 
 desperate effort, but with a feeling still of annoying uncertainty 
 and dread, she succeeded partly in the attempt, and threw her 
 arms backward, her hands grasping the neighboring tree, feeble, 
 tottering, and depending upon it for that support which her own 
 limbs almost entirely denied her. With her movement, how- 
 ever, came the full development of the powerful spell and dread- 
 ful mystery before her. As her feet receded, though but a 
 single pace, to the tree against which she now rested, the 
 audibly articulated ring, like that of a watch when wound up 
 
328 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 with the verge broken, announced the nature of that splendid 
 yet dangerous presence, in the form of the monstrous rattle- 
 snake, now but a few feet before her, lying coiled at the bot- 
 tom of a beautiful shrub, with which, to her dreaming eye, 
 many of its own glorious hues had become associated. 
 
 8. She was, at length, conscious enough to perceive and to 
 feel all her danger; but terror had denied her the strength 
 necessary to fly from her dreadful enemy. There still the eye 
 glared beautifully bright and piercing upon her own ; and, seem- 
 ingly in a* spirit of sport, the insidious reptile slowly unwound 
 himself from his coil, but only to gather himself up again into 
 his muscular rings, his great flat head rising in the midst, and 
 slowly nodding, as it were, toward her, the eye still peering 
 deeply into her own ; the rattle still slightly ringing at inter- 
 vals, and giving forth that paralyzing sound, which, once heard, 
 is remembered forever. The reptile all this while appeared to 
 be. conscious of, and to sport wifti, while seeking to excite, her 
 te'Tors. Now, with his flat head, distended mouth, and curving 
 neck, would it dart forward its lo'ng form toward her, its fatal 
 teeth, unfolding on either side of its upper jaws, seeming to 
 threaten her with instantaneous death ; while its powerful eye 
 shot forth glances of that fatal power of fascination, malignantly 
 bright,, which, by paralyzing, with a novel form of terror and of 
 beauty, may readily account for the spell it possesses of binding the 
 feet of the timid, and denying to fear even the privilege of flight 
 
 9. Could she have fled ! She felt the necessity ; but the 
 power of her limbs was gone ! and there still it lay, coiling and 
 uncoiling, its arching ncc> glittering like a ring of brazed cop- 
 per, bright and lurid ; and the dreadful beauty of its eye still 
 fastened, eagerly contem 'plating the victim, while the pendulous 
 rattle still rang the death-note, as if to prepare the conscious 
 mind for the fate which is momently approaching to the blow. 
 Meanwhile the stillness became death-like with all surrounding 
 objects. The bird had gone, with its scream and rush. The breeze 
 was silent. The vines ceased to wave. The leaves faintly quiver- 
 ed on their stems. The serpent once more lay still ; but the eye 
 was never once turned away from the victim. Its corded mus- 
 cles are all in coil. They have but to unclasp suddenly, and the 
 dreadful folds will be upon her, its full length, and the 
 
THE RATTLESNAKE. 
 
 teeth will strike, and the deadly venom which they secrete will 
 mingle with the life-blood in her veins. 
 
 10. The terrified damsel, her full consciousness restored, but 
 not her strength, feels all the danger. She sees that the sport 
 of the terrible reptile is at an end. She can not now mistake 
 the horrid expression of its eye. She strives to scream, but the 
 voice dies away, a feeble gurgling in her throat. Her tongue is 
 paralyzed ; her lips are sealed. Once more she strives for flight, 
 but her limbs refuse their office. She has nothing left of life 
 
 & 
 
 but its fearful consciousness. It is in her despair, that, a last 
 effort, she succeeds to scream, a single wild cry, forced from her 
 by the accumulated agony : she sinks down upon the grass 
 before her enemy, her eyes, however, still open, and still look- 
 ing upon those which he directs forever upon them. She sees 
 him approach- -now advancing, now receding now swelling in 
 every part with something of anger, while his neck is arched 
 beautifully, like that of a wild horse under the curb; until, at 
 length, tired as it were of play, like the cat with its victim, she 
 aees the neck growing larger and becoming completely bronzed, 
 as about to strike, the huge jaws unclosing almost directly 
 above her, the long tubulated fang, charged with venom, pro- 
 truding from the cavernous mouth ; and she sees no more. 
 Insensibility came to her aid, and she lay almost lifeless under 
 the very folds of the monster. 
 
 11. In that moment the copse parted ; and an arrow, piercing 
 the monster through and through the neck, bore his head for- 
 ward to the ground, alongside the maiden, while his spiral ex- 
 trei lities, now unfolding in his own agony, were actually, in 
 part, writhing upon her person. The arrow came from the fu- 
 gitive Occonestoga, who had fortunately reached the spot in sea 
 son, on the way to the Block-House. He rushed from the copst* 
 as the snake fell, and, wifh a stick, fearlessly approached him 
 where he lay tossing in agony upon the grass. Seeing him ad- 
 vance, the courageous reptile made an effort to regain his coil 
 shaking the fearful rattle violently at every evolution which he 
 took for that purpose ; but the arrow, completely passing through 
 his neck, opposed an unyielding obstacle to the endeavor; and 
 finding it hopeless, and seeing the new enemy about to assault 
 him, with something of the spirit of the white man under like 
 
330 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 circumstances, he turned desperately round, and striking his 
 charged fangs, so that they were riveted in the wound they 
 made, into a susceptible part of his own body, he threw himself 
 over with a single convulsion,- and, a moment after, lay dead be- 
 side the utterly unconscious maiden. W. G. SIMMS. 
 
 WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS was born at Charleston, South Carolina, April 17, 
 1806. His mother died while he was an infant, and his father, failing soon alVr 
 as a merchant, emigrated to the West, leaving him to the care of an aged and 
 penurious grandmother, who withheld the appropriations necessary for his edu- 
 cation. His love of books, industry, and richly endowed intellect, however, 
 triumphed over every obstacle. He wrote for the press, at an early age, on a 
 great variety of subjects, and was admitted to the bar, in his native city, at the 
 age of twenty-one. He did not long practice law, but turned its peculiar train- 
 ing to the uses of literature. He became editor and proprietor of the " Charles- 
 ton City Gazette," which, though conducted with industry and spirit, proved a 
 failure, owing to his opposition to the then popular doctrine of nullification. He 
 published his first book, " Lyrical and other Poems," in 18-25, when about 
 eighteen years of age, followed the same year by " Early Lays." " Atalantis," 
 the third work following, a successful poem with the publishers, a rarity at the 
 time, was published in New York, in 1832. It is written in smooth blank verse, 
 interspersed with frequent lyrics. Thr. next year appeared in New York his 
 first tale, " Martin Faber," written in the intense passionate style, which se- 
 cured at once public attention. Since that period he has written numerous 
 novels, histories, biographies, and poems, 1 and has contributed largely to reviews 
 and magazines. In 1849 he became editor of " The Southern Quarterl} r Re- 
 view," which was revived by his able contributions and personal influence. Hia 
 writings are characterized by their earnestness, sincerity, and thoroughness. 
 His shorter stories are his best works. Though somewhat wanting in elegance, 
 they have unity, completeness, and strength. Mr. SIMMS has his summer resi- 
 dence at Charleston, and a plantation at Midway, where he passes his winters. 
 He received the degree of Doctor of Laws from the University of Alabama. He 
 has been for several years a prominent member of the legislature of his native 
 State. 
 
 105. ROGER ASCHAM* AKD LADY JANE GREY. 2 
 
 Ascfiam. Thou art going, my dear young lady, into a most 
 awful state ; thou art passing into matrimony and great wealth. 
 
 1 ROGER ASCHAM, a man of great learning, the instructor of Queen 
 Eb'zabeth, was born in 1515, and died in 1568. a LADY JAXE GREY, 
 daughter of the Marquis of Dorset, descended from the royal family of 
 England by both parents, was born in 1537. The Duke of Northumber- 
 land having prevailed on Edward VI. to name her his successor, mar- 
 ried his son, LORD GUILFORD DUDLEY, to her ; and, the nation having 
 declared in favor of MARY, they were both executed, after a phantom 
 royalty of nine days, on the 12th of February, 1554. LADY JAXB was 
 only in her seventeenth year, and was remarkable for her skill in the 
 
ROGEll A8CHAM AND LAM: JANE, OBEY. 331 
 
 God hath willed it : submit in thankfulness. Thy affections are 
 rightly placed and well distributed. Love is a secondary passion 
 in those who love most, a primary in those who love least. He 
 who is inspired by it in a high degree, is inspired by honor in a 
 higher: it never reaches its plenitude of growth and perfection 
 but in the most exalted minds. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Jane. What aileth my virtuous Ascham? what is amiss? 
 why do I tremble ? 
 
 Ascham. I remember a sort of prophecy, made three years 
 ago : it is a prophecy of thy condition and of my feelings on it. 
 Recollectcst thou who wrote, sitting upon the sea-beach the 
 evening after an excursion to the Isle of Wight, these verses? 
 
 " Invisibly bright water ! so like air, 
 On looking clown I fear'd thou couldst not bear 
 My little bark, of all light barks most light ; 
 And look'd again, and drew me from the sight, 
 And, hanging back, breathed each fresh gale aghast, 
 And held the bench, not to go on so fast." 
 Jane. I was very childish when I composed them ; and, if I 
 had thought any more about the matter, I should have hoped 
 you had been too generous to keep them in your memory as 
 witnesses against me. 
 
 Ascham. Nay, they are not much amiss for so young a girl, 
 and there being so few of them, I did not reprove thee. Half 
 an hour, I thought, might have been spent more unprofitably ; 
 and I now shall believe it firmly, if thou wilt but be led by them 
 to meditate a little on the similarity of situation in which thou 
 then wert to what thou art now in. 
 
 Jane. I will do it, and whatever else you command ; for I am 
 weak by nature and very timorous, unless where a strong sense 
 of duty holdeth and supporteth me. There God acteth, and not 
 his creature. Those were with me at sea who would have been 
 attentive to me if I had seemed to be afraid, even though wor- 
 shipful men and women were in the company; so that some- 
 thing more powerful threw my fear overboard. Yet I never will 
 go again upon the water. 
 
 classical, Oriental, and modern languages, and for the sweetness of het 
 disposition. 
 
FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 Ascham. Exercise that beauteous couple, that mind and body 
 much and variously, but at home, at home, Jane ! indoors, and 
 about things indoors ; for God is there, too. We have rocks and 
 quicksands on the banks of our Thames, 1 O lady ! such as Ocean 
 never heard of; and many (who knows how soon !) may be in- 
 gulfed in the current under their garden walls. 
 
 Jane. Thoroughly do I now understand you. Yes, indeed, I 
 have read evil things of courts ; but I think nobody can go out 
 bad who entereth good, if timely and true warning shall have 
 been given. 
 
 Ascham. I see perils on perils which thou dost not see, albeit 
 thou art wiser than thy poor old master. And it is not because 
 Love hath blinded thee, for that surpasseth his supposed omnip- 
 otence ; but it is because thy tender heart, having always leant 
 affectionately upon good, hath felt and known nothing ( r' evil. 
 I once persuaded thee to reflect much ; let me now persuade 
 thee to avoid the habitude of reflection, to lay aside books, and 
 to gaze carefully and steadfastly on what is under and before 
 thee. 
 
 Jane. I have well bethought me of my duties : oh, how ex- 
 tensive they are ! what a goodly and fair inheritance ! But tell 
 me, would you command me never more to read Cicero, 2 and 
 Epictetus, 3 and Plutarch, 4 and Polybius ? 5 The others I do re- 
 sign ; they are good for the arbor and for the gravel-walk ; yet 
 leave unto me, I beseech you, my friend and father, leave unto 
 me for my fireside and for my pillow, truth, eloquence, courage, 
 constancy. 
 
 1 Thames (teniz), the principal, though not the longest river of Eng- 
 land. 'CICERO, seep. 143, note 4. 3 EPICTE' TUS, a stoic philosopher, 
 the moralist of Rome, lived about 90 years after Christ. His moral 
 writings are justly very celebrated. * PLUTARCH, an eminent ancient 
 philosopher and writer, author of "Parallel Lives," which contains 
 the biography of forty-six distinguished Greeks and Romans, was born 
 in Chaerouea, a city of Boeotia, about 50 years after Christ. His writ- 
 omprehended under the title of "Moralia" or " Ethical Works," 
 amount to upward of .sixty. They are pervaded by a kind, humane 
 disposition, and a love of every thing that is ennobling and excellent. 
 *POLYB'IUS, a celebrated Greek historian and statesman, was born in 
 Arcadia, B. c. 203. He wrote a "Universal History" in forty bopks, of 
 which we have only five complete, and an abridgment of twelve others. 
 
ROGER ASCII AM AND LAl.)^. JANE GREY. 333 
 
 Ascham. Read them on thy marriage-bed, on thy child-bed, 
 on thy death-bed. Thou spotless, imdrooping lily, they have 
 fenced thee right well. These are the men for men ; these are 
 to fashion the bright and blessed creatures whom God one day 
 shall smile upon in thy chaste bosom. Mind thou thy hus- 
 band. 
 
 Jane. I sincerely love the youth who hath espoused me ; I 
 love him with the fondest, the most solicjtous affection ; I pray 
 to the Almighty for his goodness and happiness, and do forget, 
 at times unworthy supplicant! the prayers I should have 5f- 
 foriul for myself. Never fear that I will disparage my kind 
 religious teacher, by disobedience to my husband in the most 
 trying duties. 
 
 Ascham. Gentle is he, gentle and virtuous ; but time will 
 harden him : time must harden even thee, sweet Jane ! Do 
 thou, complacently and indirectly, lead him from ambition. 
 
 Jane. He is contented with me and with home. 
 
 Ascham. Ah, Jane ! Jane ! men of high estate grow tired of 
 contentedness. 
 
 Jane. He told me he never liked -books unless I read them tc 
 him: I will read them to him every morning; I will open new 
 worlds to him richer than those discovered by the Spaniard ; I 
 will conduct him to treasures oh what treasures! on which 
 he may sleep in innocence and peace. 
 
 Ascham. Rather do thou walk with him, ride with him, play 
 with him be his faery, his page, his every thing that love and 
 poetry have invented, but watch him well ; sport with his 
 fancies ; turn them about like the ringlets round his cheek ; and 
 if ever he meditate on power, go toss up thy baby to his brow, 
 and bring back his thoughts into his heart by the music of thy 
 discourse. Teach him to live unto God and unto thee ; and he 
 will discover that women, like the plants in woods, derive their 
 softness and tenderness from the shade. LANDOR. 
 
 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR was born in Warwick, England, on the 30th of Jan- 
 uary, 1775, and was educated at Rugby and Oxford. He first resided at Swan- 
 sea, in Wales, dependent on his father for a small income, where he commenced 
 his " Imaginary Conversations," a wrrk which alone establishes his fame. His 
 first publication was a small volume of poems, dated 17!)3. On succeeding to 
 the family estate lie became entirely independent, and was enabled to indulge 
 to the fullest his propensity to literature. He left England in 1806, married iii 
 1814, and went to Italy the following year, where he chiefly resided till his re- 
 
334 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 turn to England, about 1830. His collected works, of prose and verse, were pub- 
 lished in 184G, in two large volumes, Mr. LANDOR is a poet of great originality 
 and power. But he is most favorably known now, as he will be by posterity, foi 
 his prose productions, which, written in pure nervous English, are full of thought* 
 that fasten themselves on the mind, and are " a joy forever." His " Imaginary 
 Conversations," from which the preceding dialogue was selected, is a very valu- 
 able work. It is rich in scholarship; full of imagination, wit, and humor; cor 
 rect, concise, and pure in style ; various in interest, and universal in sympathy 
 
 106. ODE TO ADVERSITY. 
 
 1. "I DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless power, 
 U Thou tamer of the human breast, 
 Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 
 
 The bad affright, afflict the best ! 
 Bound in thy adamantine chain, 
 The proud are taught to taste of pain ; 
 And purple tyrants vainly groan 
 With pangs unfeit before, unpitied and alone. 
 
 2. When first thy sire to send on earth 
 
 Virtue, his darling child, design'd, 
 To thee he gave the heavenly birth, 
 
 And bade to form her infant mind. 
 Stern, rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore 
 With patience many a year she bore : 
 What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, 
 And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe. 
 
 3. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 
 
 Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
 Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 
 
 And leave us leisure to be good. 
 Light they disperse, and with them go 
 The summer friend, the flattering foe : 
 By vain Prosperity received, 
 To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. 
 
 4. Wisdom in sable garb array'd, 
 
 Immersed in rapturous thought profound, 
 And Melancholy, silent maid, 
 
 With leaden eye that loves the ground, 
 Still on thy solemn steps attend : 
 
ODE TO ADVER8ITY. 335 
 
 Warm Charity, the general friend, 
 With Justice, to herself severe, 
 And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 
 
 5. Oh ! gently on thy suppliant's head, 
 
 Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand ! 
 Not in thy Gorgon 1 terrors clad, 
 
 Nor circled wifh the vengeful band 
 (As by the irn'pious thou art seen), 
 With thundering voice, and threatening mien, 
 With screaming Horror's funeral cry, 
 Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty. 
 
 6. Thy form benign, O goddess, wear, 
 
 Thy milder influence impart ; 
 Thy philosophic train be there 
 
 To soften, not to wound, my heart. 
 The generous spark extinct revive ; 
 Teach me to love, and to forgive ; 
 Exact, my own defects to scan ; 
 What others are, to feel ; and know myself a man. 
 
 THOMAS GRA? 
 
 THOMAS GRAY, the son of a scrivener in London, was born there in 1716. He 
 was educated at Eton and Cambridge. When his college education was com- 
 pleted, HORACE WALPOLE induced him to accompany him in a tour through 
 France and Italy ; but a misunderstanding taking place, GRAY returned to Eng- 
 land in 1741. His father being dead, he went to Cambridge to take his degree 
 in civil law, though he was possessed of sufficient means to enable him to dis- 
 pense with the labor of his profession. He settled himself at Cambridge for the 
 remainder of his days, only leaving home when he made tours to Wales, Scot- 
 land, and the lakes of Westmoreland, and when he passed three years in Lon- 
 don for access to the library of the British Museum. His life thenceforth was 
 that of a scholar. His " Ode to Eton College," published in 1747, attracted 
 little notice ; but the " Elegy in a Country Church-yard," which appeared in 
 1749, became at once, as it will always continue to be, one of the most popular 
 of all poems. Most of his odes were written in the course of three years follow- 
 ing 1753 ; and the publication of the collection in 1757 fully established his repu- 
 tation. His poems, flowing from an intense, though not fertile imagination, in- 
 spired by the most delicate poetic feeling, and elaborated into exquisite terseness 
 of diction, are among the most splendid ornaments of English literature. His 
 
 1 GORGON : the gorgons, in heathen mythology, were frightful beings, 
 that had hissing serpents instead of hair upon their heads ; and they 
 had wings, brazen claws, and enormous teeth Their names were 
 STHENO, EURYALE, and MEDUSA. The head of the latter was so frightful 
 that every one who looked at it was changed into stone. 
 
336 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 " Letters," published after his death, are admirable specimens of English style, 
 full of quiet feimor, astute, though fastidious criticism, aud containing some 
 of the most p ; cturesque pieces of descriptive composition in the language. He 
 became professor of modern history at Cambridge, in 1768. He died by a severe 
 attack of the gout in 1771. 
 
 107. PAJRRHASIUS' AND THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 1 . HHHERE stood an unsold captive in the mart, 
 J- A gray-hair' d and majestical old man, 
 Chain'd to a pillar. It was almost night, 
 And the last seller from his place had gone, 
 And not a sound was heard but of a dog 
 Crunching beneath the stall a refuse bone, 
 
 Or the dull echo from the pavement rung, 
 As the faint captive changed his weary feet. 
 
 2. He had stood there since morning, and had borne 
 From every eye in Ath'ens the cold gaze 
 
 Of curious scorn. The Jew had taunted him 
 For an Olynthian slave. The buyer came 
 And roughly struck his palm upon his breast, 
 And touch'd his unheal'd wounds, and with a sneer 
 Pass'd on ; and when, with weariness o'erspent, 
 He bow'd his head in a forgetful sleep, 
 The inhuman soldier smote him, and, with threats 
 Of torture to his children, summon' d back 
 The ebbing blood into his pallid face. 
 
 3. 'Twas evening, and the half-descended sun 
 Tipp'd with a golden fire the many domes 
 Of Ath'ens, and a yellow atmosphere 
 
 Lay rich and dusky in the shaded street 
 Through which the captive gazed. He had borne up 
 With a stout heart that long and weary day, 
 Haughtily patient of his many wrongs ; 
 
 1 " PARRHASIUS, a painter of Athens, among those Olynthian captivca 
 Philip of Macedon brought home to sell, bought one very ol<l man ; 
 and when he hud him at his house, put him to death with extreme tor- 
 ture and torment, the better, by his example, to express the pains and 
 passions of his Prometheus, whom he was then about to paint. Bur- 
 ton' s Anatomy qf Melancholy. 
 
PAKRHA8ID3 AND THE CAPTIVB. 337 
 
 But now he was alone, and from his nerves 
 The needless strength departed, and he lean'd 
 Prone on his massy chain, and let his thoughts 
 Throng on him as they would. 
 4. Unmark'd of him, 
 
 Parrhasius' at the nearest pillar stood, 
 Gazing upon his grief. The Athenian's cheek 
 Flush'd as he measured with a painter's eye 
 The moving picture. The abandon'd limbs, 
 Stain'd with the oozing blood, were laced with veina 
 Swollen to purple fullness ; the gray hair, 
 Thin and disorder'd, hung about his eyes ; 
 And as a thought of wilder bitterness 
 Rose in his memory, his lips grew white, 
 And the fast workings of his bloodless face 
 Told what a tooth of fire was at his heart. 
 
 6. The golden light into the painter's room 
 StreamM richly, and the hidden colors stole 
 From the dark pictures radiantly forth, 
 And in the soft and dewy atmosphere 
 Like forms and landscapes magical they lay. 
 The walls were hung with armor, and about 
 In the dim corners stood the sculptured forms 
 Of Cytheris, 2 and Dian, 3 and stern Jove, 4 
 
 1 PARRHASIUS, a distinguished painter of antiquity, born about the 
 year 460 B. ct, was a native of Ephesus, though others say he was an 
 Athenian, where he flourished in the time of SOCRATES, and was the 
 rival of ZEUXIS. The latter painted grapes BO naturally that birds came 
 to pick them. PARRHASIUS having exhibited a piece, ZEUXIS said, " Re- 
 move your curtain that we may see your painting." The curtain rvas 
 the painting. ZEUXIS acknowledged his defeat, saying, ''ZEUXIS hag 
 deceived birds, but PARRHASIUS has deceived ZEUXIS." He was so ax- 
 cessively vain as to wear a crown of gold, and to carry a staff studded 
 with gold nails, to indicate that he was the prince of painters.* CYTU- 
 KRIS, a celebrated courtesan, the mistress of Antony, and subsequently 
 of the poet Gallus, who mentions her in his poems under the name of 
 LTCORIS. * DIANA (dl a'na), an ancient Italian divinity, whom the Ro- 
 mans identified with the Greek ARTEMIS. According to the most an- 
 cient accounts, she was the daughter of Jupiter and Leto, and the twin 
 sister of Apollo. 4 JOVE, Jupiter, the supreme deity of the Romans, 
 called ZEUS by the Greeks. 
 
 15 
 
338 NATIONAL FIF1U READER. 
 
 And from the casement soberly away 
 
 Fell the grotesque long shadows, full and true, 
 
 And, like a vail of filmy mellowness, 
 
 The lint-specks floated in the twilight air. 
 
 6. Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully 
 Upon his canvas. There Prometheus 1 lay, 
 Chain'd tc the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus 
 TLe vulture at his vitals, and the links 
 
 Of the lame Lemnian 2 festering in his flesh ; 
 And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim, 
 Rapt mystery, and pluck'd the shadows forth 
 With its far-reaching fancy, and with form 
 And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye, 
 Flash'd with a passionate fire, and the quick curl 
 Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip, 
 Were like the wing'd god's, breathing from his flight 
 
 7. " Bring me the captive now ! 
 
 My hand feels skillful, and the shadows lift 
 From my waked spirit airily and swift, 
 
 And I could paint the bow 
 Upon the bended heavens around me play 
 Colors of such divinity to-day. 
 
 8. " Ha ! bind him on his back ! 
 
 Look ! as Prometheus in my picture here ! 
 Quick or he faints ! stand with the coidial near ! 
 
 Now bend him to the rack ! 
 Press down the poison'd links into his flesh ! 
 And tear agape that healing wound afresh ! 
 
 9. " So let him writhe ! How long 
 
 Will he live thus ? Quick, my good pencil, now ! 
 
 1 PROME'THEUS, in heathen mythology, was son of the Titan Sapetua 
 and Clymene. His name signifies forethought. For offenses against JU- 
 PITER, he was chained to a rock on Mount Caucasus, where an eagle 
 consumed in the daytime his liver, which was rttored in each succeed- 
 ing night. * Lemuian, from Lemuos, now Stalimni, an island of the 
 Greek Archipelago, where the lame Hephaestus, or Vulcan, the god of 
 fire, is said to have fallen, when Jupiter hurled him down from heaven. 
 Hence the workshop of the god is sometimes placed in this island. 
 
PARRHASID8 AND TUK CAPTIVK. 
 
 What a fine agony works upon his brow! 
 
 Ha! gray-hair'd, and so strong! 
 How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! 
 Gods ! if I could but paint a dying groan ! 
 
 10. "'Pity' thee! Soldo! 
 
 I pity the dumb victim at the altar 
 
 But does the robed priest for his pity falter ? 
 
 I'd rack thee, though I knew 
 A thousand lives were perishing in thine 
 What were ten thousand to a fame like mine 
 
 11. " * Hereafter !' Ay hereafter ! 
 A whip to keep a coward to his track ! 
 What gave Death ever from his kingdom back 
 
 To check the skeptic's laughter ? 
 Come from the grave to-morrow wifli that story- 
 And I may take some softer path to glory. 
 
 12. " No, no, old man ! we die 
 
 Even as the flowers, and we shall breathe away 
 Our life upon the chance wind, even as they ! 
 
 Strain well thy fainting eye 
 For when that bloodshot quivering is o'er, 
 The light of heaven will never reach thee more. 
 
 13. " Yet there's a deathless name ! 
 
 A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn, 
 And like a steadfast planet mount and burn 
 
 And though its crown of flame 
 Consumed rny brain to ashes as it shone, 
 By all the fiery stars ! I'd bind it on ! 
 
 14. " Ay though it bid me rifle 
 
 My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst 
 Though every life-strung nerve be madden'd first- 
 Though it should bid me stifle 
 The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, 
 And taunt its mother till my brain went wild 
 
 ./>. " All I would do it ail- 
 
 Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to ret 
 Thrust foully into earth to be forgot ! 
 
34:0 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 O heavens ! but I appall 
 
 Your heart, old man ! forgive ha! on your lives 
 
 Let him not iaiiit ! rack him till he revives ! 
 
 , " Vain vain give o'er ! His eye 
 
 Glazes apace. He does not feel you now 
 Stand back ! I'll paint the death-dew on his brow ! 
 
 Gods ! if he do not die 
 But for one moment one till I eclipse 
 Conception with the scorn of those calm lips ! 
 
 17 " Shivering ! Hark ! he mutters 
 
 Brokenly now that was a difficult breath 
 Another ? Wilt thou never come, O Death ! 
 
 Look ! how his temple flutters ! 
 Is his heart still ? Aha ! lift up his head ! 
 He shudders gasps Jove help him ! so he's dead." 
 
 18. How like a mounting devil in the heart 
 Rules the unrein' d ambition/ Let it once 
 But play the monarch, and its haughty brow 
 Glows wifli a beauty that bewilders thought 
 And unthrones peace forever. Putting on 
 The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns 
 
 The heart to ashes, and with not a spring 
 
 Left in the bosom for the spirit's lip, 
 
 We look upon our splendor and forget 
 
 The thirst of which we perish ! Yet hath life 
 
 Many a falser idol. There are hopes 
 
 Promising well ; and love-touch'd dreams for some ; 
 
 And passions, many a wild one ; and fair schemes 
 
 For gold and pleasure yet will only this 
 
 Balk not the soul AMBITION only, gives, 
 
 Even of bitterness, a beaker full! 
 
 19. Friendship is but a slow-awaking dream, 
 Troubled at best Love is a lamp unseen, 
 Burning to waste, or, if its light is found, 
 Nursed for an idle hour, then idly broken 
 Gain is a groveling care, and Folly tires, 
 And Quiet is a hunger never fed 
 
PARRHASrUS AND THE CAPTIYE. 341 
 
 And from Love's very bosom, and from Gain, 
 Or Folly, or a Friend, or from Repose 
 From all but keen AMBITION will the soul 
 Snatch the first moment of forgetfulness 
 To wander like a restless child away. 
 
 20. Oh, if there were not better hopes than these 
 Were there no palm beyond a feverish fame 
 If the proud wealth flung back upon the heart 
 Must canker in its coffers if the links 
 Falsehood hath broken will unite no more 
 If the deep-yearning love, that hath not found 
 Its like in the cold world, must waste in tears 
 If truth, and fervor, and devotedness, 
 Finding no worthy altar, must return 
 And die of their own fullness if beyond 
 The grave there is no heaven in whose wide air 
 The spirit may find room, and in the love 
 Of whose bright habitants the lavish heart 
 May spend itself WHAT THRICE-MOCK'D FOOLS ARE WE! 
 
 N. P. WILLIS. 
 
 NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS, one of the most voluminous and successful of 
 American writers, was born in Portland, Maine, on the -Oth of January, 1807. 
 His father, a distinguished journalist, removed to Boston when he was six years 
 of age. He was prepared for college at the Latin School of Boston and at the 
 Phillips Academy at Andover. He graduated with high honors at Yale in 
 J827. While in college, he distinguished himself by a series of sacred poems, 
 and gained the prize of fifty dollars for the best poem, offered by Lockwood, the 
 publisher of " The Album." After his graduation he edited " The Legendary," 
 a scries of volumes of tales, and then established the " American Monthly Mag- 
 azine," which, after two years and a half, was merged in the "New York Mir- 
 ror," and the literary fraternity of N. P. WILLIS and GEORGE P. MORRIS began. 
 Immediately after the partnership was formed, he set sail for a tour in Europe, 
 palatable and piquant reports of which appeared in the "Mirror," entitled 
 " Ptncilings by the Way." This first and extended residence abroad led our 
 I'lvi-ler tl. rough all the capitals of Europe, and even to "the poetic altars of the 
 Orimt." In l8.Ti, after residing two years in Lomlon, and contributing to the 
 "New Monthly Magazine" tales and sketches, repuhlished under the title of 
 " Inklings of Adventure," he married Mary Leighton Stacy, the daughter of a 
 distinguished ofliccr who had won high honors at Waterloo, and was then Com- 
 mivary-geueral in command of the arsenal, Woolwich. In 18:t7, he returned 
 to his native land, and established himself at "Glenmary," in Central New 
 York, near the village of Owego. The porti.xit of this happy home and the 
 landscape around, is drawn in " Letters from under a Bridge." In IH.'iii, he be- 
 came one of the editors of " The Corsair," a literary gazette, and made a short 
 trip to England. On his return home, " The Corsair" 1 aving been discontinued 
 
34:2 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 he revived, with his former partner, Gen. Morris, the " Mirror." Upon the 
 death of his wife, in 1844, he again visited Europe for the improvement of his 
 health. Soon after, the " Mirror" having passed into other hands, the partners 
 established "The Home Journal," a pa|>er eminently successful, upon which 
 they are still employed. In October, 1S4G, he married Cornelia, only daughter 
 of the Hon. JOSEPH GRINXELL, of Massachusetts, since which time he has re- 
 sided at " Idlewild," a romantic place, which he has cultivated and embellish- 
 ed, near Newburg, on the Hudson. His poems have recently been published in 
 an elegant octavo volume, illustrated by Leutze. More recently, a uniform col- 
 lection of his prose writings, in twelve volumes, of some five hundred pages 
 each, has come from the press. His last and most extensive novel, " Paul 
 Fane," abounds in that dainty analysis of certain subtle traits of character and 
 social manner, in which he is alway so singularly successful. 3Ir WILLIS is 
 'xjuaily happy as a writer of prose and verse. With a felicitous style, a warm 
 and exuberant fancy, and a ready and sparkling wit, he wins the admiration of 
 readers of the most refined sentiment and the daintiest fancy, and at the same 
 lime commands the full sympathy of the 
 
 108. AMBITION. 
 
 I TT7HY should I serve thee, when I know so well 
 ' Thy promises are ne'er fulfill'd? No cheat 
 Or low impostor comes to me more bare 
 Of that on which we would rest our belief 
 Than thou not only to my sight disclosed 
 By mine own losses, but those who have worn 
 Thy yoke the longest, and received of thee 
 Thy richest gifts, declare them dross and poor. 
 Yet do I find so keen an appetite 
 For thy most empty banquet, that I still 
 Hunt round thy table for its meanest crumbs. 
 
 2. We do thee homage in our daily walks, 
 Ordering our dress and gait as to thy whim. 
 When we would speak for but the interchange 
 Of casual thought, if there be listeners near, 
 At thy command we measure every word : 
 If we sit silent, yet beneath some eye 
 Regarding us, then doth our care adjust 
 Each fold and feature, lest it thee offend. 
 Within the house of prayer, while we do kneel, 
 If not supreme, thou second art in power, 
 Abating from the hea^f thought of the flesh. 
 
AMBITION. 34:3 
 
 But when it cometh to life's chosen task, 
 Changing its purpose and its true design, 
 For thee we bear the burden put at risk 
 All God hath loan'd us to be used for him, 
 And pay a price to be enroll'd thy slaves ! 
 
 3. Where dost thou sit enthroned? What secret power 
 Is this of thine that doth throughout prevail 
 
 All heights all depths unto our being's end ? 
 
 It takes a tithe of virtue ; to its aim 
 
 Turneth each vice, uniting to one draught 
 
 What were abhorrent on another road. 
 
 It is my close companion to the gate 
 
 Of Heaven it lurketh after when I soar, 
 
 Or by the doors of Hell, gone on before, 
 
 It stands and beckons when I do descend. 
 
 I can not be alone ! The silent path 
 
 Of the mid-forest, where no foot doth tread 
 
 But softly mine, or the close-bolted room, 
 
 Alike do, as I enter, let it in. 
 
 Oh ! subtle foe, who now I rather give 
 
 Thy humbler, truer name, Self-love, by thee 
 
 How many wounds I have, and how great loss ! 
 
 4. I may not reach thee. Can I separate 
 From my full mind its Memory ? or at will 
 Pluck from Imagination her swift wings ? 
 So am I helpless mid a guilty soul. 
 
 If I can bind ambition, why not pierce 
 The sack of hatred's venom? or cut off 
 The talons keen of covetousncss ? Try 
 To raise a dam and boundary between 
 The sense of beauty and the evil eye ! 
 
 6, Enchurch. affection call the raven back 
 When it hath left the ark, gone to and fro ! 
 Sweep out each dusty spot within my soul, 
 And there, henceforth, be pure let not the thought 
 Nor secret act be to the test unclean ! 
 I may not conquer them they, separate, 
 Have power and strong dominion over me ; 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Yet is there not one that delights to roam 
 This bosom, but ray Father holds its chain ! 
 
 GOLD PEN. 
 
 109. SHAKSPEAKE. 
 
 OHAKSPEARE is, above all writers, at least above all 
 O modern writers, the poet of nature ; the poet that holds 
 up to his readers a faithful mirror of manners and of life. His 
 characters are not modified by the customs of particular places, 
 unpracticed by the rest of the world ; by the peculiarities of 
 studies or professions, which can operate but upon small num- 
 bers; or by the accidents of transient fashions or temporary 
 opinions; they are the genuine progeny of common humanity, 
 Biich as the world will always supply, and observation will always 
 find. His persons act and speak by the influence of those gen- 
 eral passions and principles by which all minds are agitated, 
 and the whole system of life is continued in motion. In the 
 writings of other poets a character is too often an individual : 
 in those of Shakspeare it is commonly a species. 
 
 2. It is from this wide extension of design that so much in- 
 struction is derived. It is this which fills the plays of Shak- 
 speare with practical axioms and domestic wisdom. It was said 
 of Euripides, 2 that every verse was a precept ; and it may be 
 said of Shakspeare, that from his works may be collected a sys- 
 tem of civil and economical prudence. Yet his real power is 
 not shown in the splendor of particular passages, but by the 
 progress of his fable, and the tenor of his dialogue : and he that 
 tries to recommend him by select quotations, will succeed like 
 
 'See p. 148. 'EURIPIDES, one of the three great Greek tragedians, 
 was born in Salamis, whither his parents retired during the occupation 
 of Attica by Xerxes, on the day of the glorious victory near that island, 
 B. c. 480. He was highly learned and accomplished, and on terms of 
 intimacy with Socrates. He gained two victories in the Eleusinian and 
 IThesean athletic games when only seventeen years old ; received the 
 third prize for his first tragedy, which appeared in his twenty-fifth year, 
 and the first prize on two subsequent occasions. According to sonia au- 
 thorities, EURIPIDES wrote 92 tragedies, according to others, 75. Of 
 these 19 are extant. He died B. c. 406. at the age of seventy-five, and 
 was buried at Pella. 
 
6HAKSPE^KE. 34 5 
 
 the pedant in IlieVocles, 1 who, when lie offered his house to 
 sale, carried a brick in his pocket as a specimen. 
 
 3. It will not easily be imagined how innch Shakspcare ex- 
 cels in accommodating his sentiments to real life, but by com- 
 paring him wifli other authors. It was observed of the ancient 
 schools of declciiiiation, that the more diligently they were fre- 
 quented, the more was the student disqualified for the world, 
 because he found nothing there which he should ever meet in 
 any other place. The same remark may be applied to every 
 stage but that of Shakspcare. The theater, when it is under 
 any other direction, is peopled by such characters as were never 
 seen, conversing in a language which was never heard, upon 
 topics which will never arise in the commerce of mankind. 
 But the dialogue of this author is often so evidently determined 
 by the incident which produces it, and is pursued with so much 
 ease and simplicity, that it seems scarcely to claim the merit of 
 fiction, but to have been gleaned by diligent selection out of 
 common conversation and common occurrences. 
 
 4. Upon every other stage the universal agent is love, by 
 whose power all good and evil is distributed, and every action 
 quickened or retarded. To bring a lover, a lady, and a rival 
 into the fable ; to entangle them in contradictory obligations, 
 perplex them with oppositions of interest, and harass them with 
 violence of desires inconsistent with each other ; to make them 
 meet in rapture, and part in agony ; to fill their mouths with 
 hyperbolical 2 joy and outrageous sorrow; to distress them as 
 nothing 3 human ever was distressed ; to deliver them as nothing 
 human ever was delivered ; is the business of a modern dramatist. 
 For this, probability is violated, life is misrepresented, and lan- 
 guage is depraved. 
 
 5. But love is only one of many passions ; and as it has no 
 great influence upon the sum of life, it has little operation in 
 the dramas of a poet, who caught his ideas from the living 
 world, and exhibited only what he saw before him. lie knew 
 that any other passion, as it was regular or exorbitant, was a 
 
 1 HIER'OCLKS, a Platonic philosopher of Alexandria, who wrote, among 
 other things, many facetious stories. 2 Hy per b6l' ic al, exaggerating 
 or diminishing greatly. * Nothing (nuth'ing.) 
 
346 NATIONAL, FIFTH READElt. 
 
 cause of happiness or calamity. This, therefore, 1 is the praise 
 of Shakspeare, that his drama is the mirror of life ; that he who 
 has rnazed his imagination, in following the phantoms which 
 other writers raise up before him, may here be cured of hia 
 delirious ecstasies, by reading human sentiments in human 
 language, by scenes from which a hermit may estimate the 
 transactions of the world, and a confessor predict the progress 
 of the passions. 
 
 6. Shakspeare's plays are not, in the rigorous and critical 
 sense, either tragedies or comedies, but compositions of a dist-nct 
 kind ; exhibiting the real state of sublunary nature, which par- 
 takes of good and evil, joy and sorrow, mingled with endless 
 variety of proportion, and innumerable modes of combination ; 
 and expressing the course of the world, in which the loss of one 
 is the gain of another ; in which, at the same time, the reveler 
 is hasting to his wine, and the mourner burying his friend ; in 
 which the malignity of one is sometimes defeated by the frolic 
 of another; and many mischiefs and many benefits are done 
 and hindered without design. 
 
 7. Shakspeare has united the powers of exciting laughter and 
 sorrow not only in one mind, but in one composition. Almost 
 all his plays are divided between serious and ludicrous charac- 
 ters, and, in the successive evolutions of the design, sometimes 
 produce seriousness and sorrow, and sometimes levity and laugh- 
 ter. That this is a practice contrary to the rules of criticism 
 will be readily allowed; but there is alway an appeal open 
 from criticism to nature. The end of writing is to instruct 
 the end of poetry is to instruct by pleasing. That the mingluu 
 drama may convey all the instruction of tragedy or comedy can 
 not be denied, because it includes both in its alternations of 
 exhibition, and approaches nearer than either to the appear- 
 ance of life, by showing how great machinations and slender 
 designs may promote or obviate one another, and the high and 
 the low cooperate in the general system by unavoidable concat 
 enation. 8 
 
 8. The force of his comic scenes has suffered little diminution 
 
 1 Th&W fore.* Con cat e na' tion, connection by links ; a series of 
 inks united, or of things depending on each other. 
 
HAMLET'S INSTRUCTION TO THE PLAYERS. 347 
 
 from the changes made by a century and a half, in manners or 
 in words. As his personages act upon principles arising from 
 genuine passion, very little modified by particular forms, their 
 pleasures and vexations are communicable to all times and to all 
 places ; they are natural, and therefore durable. The adventi- 
 tious peculiarities of personal habits are only superficial dyes, 
 bright and pleasing for a little while, yet soon fading to a dim 
 tinct, 1 without any remains of former luster ; but the discrimina- 
 tions of true passion are the colors of nature ; they pervade the 
 whole mass, and can only perish with the body that exhibits 
 them. The accidental compositions of heterogeneous modes 
 are dissolved by the chance which combined them ; but the 
 uniform simplicity of primitive qualities neither admits increase, 
 uor suffers decay. The sand heaped by one flood is scattered 
 by another ; but the rock alway continues in its place ; The 
 stream of time, which is continually washing the dis'soluble 
 fabrics of other poets, passes without injury by the adamant of 
 Shakspeare. DR. JOHNSON. 2 
 
 110. HAMLET'S INSTRUCTION TO THE PLAYERS. 3 
 
 SPEAK the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, 
 trippingly on the tongue ; but if you mouth it, as many of 
 our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spake my lines. Nor 
 do not saw the air too much with your hand thus, but use all 
 gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, 
 whirlwind of your passion', you must acquire and beget a tem- 
 perance, that may give it smoothness. Oh ! it offends me to 
 the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion 
 to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; 
 who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable 
 dumb show and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped 
 for o'erdoing Termagant : 4 it out-herods Herod. 5 Pray you, 
 avoid it. 
 
 1 Tinct (tlngkt), spot ; stain ; color s See Biographical Sketch, p. 230. 
 * See Rules for the Use of Emphasis, p. 32. * T8r' ma gant, a boister- 
 ous, brawling woman. ' HEROD : there were four persons of this name, 
 all of whom are mentioned in the New Testament. The Herod who 
 sent out and slew all the children in Bethlehem [Matthew, chap. 
 
348 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 2. Be not too tame neither, but let your own discretion bo 
 your tutor. Suit the action to the word; the word to the ac- 
 tion ; with this special observance that you o'erstep not the 
 modesty of nature : for any thing so over-done is from the pur- 
 pose of playing ; whose end, both at the first and now, was, and 
 is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue 
 her own feature ; scorn her own image ; and the very age and 
 body of the time, his form and pressure. Now this, overdone 
 or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, can 
 not but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of which one, 
 must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theater of others. 
 Oh ! there be players, that I have seen play, and heard others 
 praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither 
 having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, 
 or man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought 
 some of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made 
 them well, they imitated humanity so abominably ! 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 WILLIAM SIUKSPEARE, one of the greatest of all poets, was born at Stratford- 
 on-Avon, Warwick county, England, in April, 1564. His father, JOHN SHAK- 
 SPEARE, a woolcomber or glover, rose to be high bailiff and chief alderman of 
 Stratford. William is supposed to have received his early education at the 
 grammar-school in his native town. We have 110 trace how he was employed 
 between his school-days and manhood. Some hold that he was an attorney's 
 clerk. Doubtless he was a hard, thougu perhaps an irregular student He 
 married ANNE HATHAWAY in 1582, and soon after became connected with the 
 Blackfriar's Theater, in London, to which city he removed in 1586 or 1587. 
 Two years subsequent he was a joint proprietor of that theater, with four others 
 below him in the list. Though we know nothing of the date of his first play, he 
 had most probably begun to write long before he left Stratford. Of his thirty- 
 seven plays, the existence of thirty-one i? defined by contemporary records. He 
 became rich hi the theaters, with which he ceased to be connected about 1609. 
 He had previously purchased the principal house in his native town, where he 
 
 ii. v. 16] was Herod the Great, king of the Jews. Herod that be- 
 headed John the Baptist [Mark vi. 27] was Herod Autipas, son of Herod 
 the Great Herod who persecuted the Christians [Acts xii. 20] was 
 Hi- rod Agrippa, grandson of Herod the Great, and nephew of Herod 
 Antipas. The last of the four was Herod Agrippa II. [Acts xxv. xxvi.], 
 li:-,\.iv whom Paul pleaded, and "almost persuaded to be a Christian." 
 All of these noted characters were men of cruelty and blood, and par 
 tirulsirly H^rod the Great. To " oui-herod Herod" is to surpass Herod in 
 his enormities, and Shakspeare uses this strong language to expnvp hii 
 ubh -n-rence of the style of speaking which he condemns. 
 
CARDINAL WOL8EY. 349 
 
 passed the residue of his life, and died in April, 1616. We can only refer stu- 
 dents that wish to know more of this great poet, to his writings, an extended de- 
 scription of which is rendered unnecessary by the selection immediately prece- 
 ding the above. It is not too much to say, with JEFFREY, that he is " more full 
 of wisdom and ridicule and sagacity than all the moralists and satirists that 
 ever existed he is more wild, airy, and inventive, and more pathetic and fan- 
 tastic, than all the poets of all regions and ages of the world ; and has all those 
 elements so happily mixed up in him, and bears his high faculties so temperate- 
 ly, that the most severe reader cannot complain of him for want of strength or 
 of reason, nor the most sensitive for defect of ornament or ingenuity. Every- 
 thing in him is in unmeasured abundance and unequaled perfection ; but every 
 thing so balanced and kept in subordination, as not to jostle, or disturb, or take 
 the place of another. The most exquisite poetical conceptions, images, and de- 
 scriptions are given with such brevity, and introduced with such skill, as mere- 
 ly to adorn, without loading the sense they accompany. Although his sails are 
 purple and perfumed, and his prow of beaten gold, they waft him on his voyage, 
 not less, but more rapidly and directly, than if they had been composed of baser 
 materials. All his excellencies, like those of nature herself, are thrown out to- 
 gether ; and, instead of interfering with, support and recommend each other. 
 His flowers are not tied up in garlands, nor his fruits crushed into baskets, but 
 spring living from the soil, in all the dew and freshness of youth.; while the 
 graceful foliage in which they lurk, and the ample branches, the rough and vig- 
 orous stem, and the wide-spreading roots on which they depend, are present 
 along with them, and share, in their places, the equal care of their creator." 
 
 111. CARDINAL WOLSEY/ ON BEING CAST OFF BY KINO 
 HENRY VIII. <- 
 
 1. MAY, then, farewell, 
 
 1AI I have touch'd the highest point of all my greatness ; 
 And, from that full meridian of my glory, 
 I haste now to my setting : I shall fall 
 
 1 THOMAS WOLSEY, well known in history as Cardinal Wolsey, was 
 born at Ipswich, England, in 1471. He obtained an excellent educa- 
 tion, and a brilliant student reputation at Magdalen College, Oxford. 
 The turning point in his career was his appointment as one of the chap- 
 laine of Henry VII. He exercised an extraordinary influence ovei 
 Henry VIII. in the early part of his reign. He became king'b almoner, 
 after which preferment flowed in upon him. Possessed of lucrative liv- 
 ings in England and France, in 1514 he was made bishop of Lincoln, in 
 1515 cardinal, the next year legate a Lntere, a com mission that made 
 him virtually pope of England, and almost at the same time he received 
 the high ministerial and judicial office of lord chancellor. He was de- 
 feated in his chief aspiration, to become pope of Rome. His overthrow 
 was caused by his unwillingness to become the king's champion through 
 his entire course, when HENRY was divorced from ^he sister of CHARLF.S 
 
350 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADEK. 
 
 Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 
 And no man see me more. 
 So farewell to the little good you bear me. 
 Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
 
 2. This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow, blossoms, 
 And bears his blushing honors thick upon him : 
 The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; 
 And, when he thinks good, easy man full surely 
 His greatness is a ripening, nips his root, 
 And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
 Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
 These many summers in a sea of glory ; 
 But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
 At length broke under me ; and now has left me, 
 Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
 Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 
 
 S Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ! 
 I feel my heart new open'd. Oh, how wretched 
 Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! 
 There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and his ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have. 
 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
 Never to hope again ! 
 
 4. Cromwell, 1 I did not think to shed a tear 
 In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, 
 
 V., of Spain. He died in the abbey of Leicester, on the 28th of Novem- 
 ber, 1530. SHAKSPEARE gives his qualities and defects with matchless 
 truth and beauty, as follows : 
 
 " He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one ; 
 
 Exceeding wise, fair-spoken, and persuading ; 
 
 Lofty and sour to them that loved him not ; 
 
 But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer. 
 
 And though he was unsatisfied in getting 
 
 (Which was a sin), yet in bestowing, madam, 
 
 He was most princely." 
 
 1 THOMAS CROJIWELL, a statesman and adherent of Wolsey ; and after- 
 ward of Henry VIII., beheaded in 1640. 
 
NATIONAL SON 0. 351 
 
 Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 
 
 Let's dry our eyes : and thus far hear me, Cromwell ; 
 
 And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 
 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
 
 Of me must more be heard, say, then, I taught the,e, 
 
 Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 
 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, 
 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it. 
 
 5. Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me ! 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition ! 
 By that sin fell the angels : how can man, then, 
 The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't ? 
 Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee, 
 Corruption wins not more than honesty ; 
 Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
 Thy God's, and truth's : then, if thou fall'st, Cromwell, 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the king; 
 
 And, Prithee, lead me in : 
 
 There, take an inventory of all I have, 
 
 To the last penny ; 'tis the king's : my robe, 
 
 And my integrity to Heaven, is all 
 
 I dare now call mine own. O, Cromwell, Cromwell ! 
 
 Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
 
 I served my king, he would not, in mine age, 
 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies ! SHAKSPEARK.' 
 
 112. NATIONAL SONG. 
 
 YE sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought 
 For those rights, which unstain'd from your sires had 
 
 descended, 
 May you long taste the blessings your valor has bought, 
 
 And your sons reap the soil which their fathers defended. 
 Mid the reign of mild Peace may your nation increase, 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 348. 
 
352 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Wifh the glory of Rome, and the wisdom of Greece ; 
 And ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
 While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves. 
 
 2. In a clime whose rich vales feed the marts of the world, 
 Whose shores are unshaken by Europe's commotion, 
 The trident of commerce should never be huiTd, 
 To incense the legitimate powers of the ocean. 
 But should pirates invade, though in thunder array'd, 
 Let your cannon declare the free charter of trade. 
 For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
 While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves, 
 
 ^. The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway, 
 
 Had justly ennobled our nation in story, 
 'Till the dark clouds of faction obscured our young day, 
 
 And envelop'd the sun of American glory. 
 But let traitors be told, who their country have sold, 
 And barter'd their God for his image in gold, 
 That ne'er will the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
 While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves, 
 
 4. While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood, 
 
 And society's base threats with wide dissolution, 
 May Peace, like the dove who return'd from the flood, 
 
 Find an ark of abode in our mild constitution. 
 But though peace is our aim, yet the boon we disclaim, 
 If bought by our sovereignty, justice, or fame. 
 For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
 While the earth ber^b a plant, or the sea rolls its waves. 
 
 6. 'Tis the fire of the flint each American warms : 
 
 Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collision ; 
 
 Let them bring all the vassals of Europe in arms ; 
 We're a world by ourselves, and disdain a division. 
 
 While, with patriot pride, to our laws we're allied, 
 
 No foe can subdue us, no faction divide. 
 
 For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
 
 While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves 
 
 6. Our mountains are crown'd wifh imperial oak, 
 
 Whose roots, like our liberties, ages have noiirish'd , 
 
NATIONAL S^NO. 855 
 
 But long e'er our nation submits to the yoke, 
 
 Not a tree shall be left on the field where it flourish'd. 
 Should invasion impend, every grove would descend 
 From the hilltops they shaded our shores to defend. 
 For ne'er s. ia!I the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
 While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves. 
 
 7. Let our patriots destroy Anarch's pestilent worm, 
 
 Lest our liberty's growth should be check'd by corrosion ; 
 Then let clouds thicken round us ; we heed not the storm ; 
 
 Our realm fears no shock, but the earth's own explosion. 
 Foes assail us in vain, though their fleets bridge the main, 
 For our altars and laws wifli our lives we'll maintain, 
 
 For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
 
 While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves. 
 
 8. Should the tempest of war overshadow our land, 
 
 Its bolts could ne'er rend Freedom's temple asunder ; 
 For, unmoved, at its portal would WASHINGTON' stand, 
 
 And repulse, with his breast, the assaults of the thundei I 
 His sword from the sleep of its scabbard would leap, 
 And conduct with its point every flash to the deep ! 
 
 For ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
 
 While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves. 
 
 9. Let Fame to the world sound America's voice ', 
 
 No intrigues can her sons from their government sever, 
 Her pride is her ADAMS ; 2 her laws are his choice, 
 
 And shall flourish till Liberty slumbers forever. 
 Then unite heart and hand, like LEONID .\s' 3 band, 
 And swear to the God of the ocean and land, 
 
 That ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves, 
 
 While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves ' 
 
 R. T. PAINE. 
 
 1 WASHINGTON see p. 205, note 2. a JOHN ADAMS, a celebrated Amer- 
 ican statesman, the second president of the United States, one of the 
 chief movers of the Revolution, "the column of Congress, the pillar of 
 support to the Declaration of Independence, and its ablest advocate and 
 defender," was born at Braintree, Massachusetts, on the 19th of Octo- 
 ber, 1735, and died on the 4th of July, 1826. 'LEOXIDAS, the first of 
 the name, king of Sparta, immortalized by his glorious defence of the 
 pass of Thermopylae against Xei xes. reigned from 491 to 480 u. c. 
 
3M NATIONAL FIFl'H HEADER. 
 
 ROBERT TREAT PAINE, jr., once regarded as among the great masters of 
 English verse, was born at Taunton, Massachusetts, on the 9th of December, 
 1773. His father, an eminent lawyer, one of the signers of the Declaration of 
 Independence, held many honorable offices under the State and national govern- 
 ments. The family removed to Boston when the poet was about seven years 
 old. where he received his early education. He entered Harvard University in 
 1?--. where his career was brilliant and honorable : .no member of his class was 
 so familiar with elegant English literature, or with the ancient languages ; and 
 his poetical exercises won many and just praises. He was assigned the iost of 
 poet at the college exhibition in the autumn of 1791, and at the Commencement 
 in the following year. After receiving his diploma he entered the counting- 
 room of Mr. James Tisdale, in Boston ; but, as he was no way suited to the pur- 
 suit of business, he soon after abandoned the place, to rely upon his pen for the 
 means of living. In 1794 he established the " Federal Orrery," a political and 
 literary gazette, which he conducted for two years. At the opening of the Fed- 
 eral-street Theater, Boston, in 1794, he furnished a prize prologue, and after- 
 Jvard became intimate with persons connected with the stage, which led to his 
 marriage to Miss BAKER, an actress, in 1795. This having rendered him un- 
 popular, he unfortunately became intemperate. His poetical abilities, however, 
 again led to his temporary elevation. For the " Invention of Letters," written 
 at the request of the president of Harvard University, he received fifteen hun- 
 dred dollars; for "The Ruling Passion," a poem recited before the Phi Beta 
 Kappa Society, but little less; and for the above poem, which he entitled 
 *' Adams and Liberty," seven hundred and fifty dollars. He read law with 
 Chief-Justice PARSONS, was admitted in 1802, and commenced practice with 
 great success; but he unfortunately soon after returned to his unsettled mode of 
 life, and died on the 13th of November, 1811. His works were collected by 
 CHARLES PRENTISS, and published at Boston, in 1812, in one large vo. volume. 
 PAINE wrote with remarkable facility. On exhibiting the above poem, at the 
 house of a friend, it was pronounced imperfect, as the name of WASHINGTON was 
 omitted. The poet mused a moment, called for a pen, and immediately wrote 
 the 8th stanza, which is, perhaps, the best in the song. 
 
 113. THE MARSEILLES HYMN. 
 
 sons of France, awake to glory ! 
 Hark ! hark ! what myriads bid you rise ! 
 Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary, 
 
 Behold their tears, and hear their cries ! 
 Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding, 
 With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, 
 Affright and desolate the land, 
 While liberty and peace lie bleeding ? 
 To arms ! to arms ! ye brave ! 
 
 The avenging sword unsheathe ! 
 March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved 
 On victory or death ! 
 
THE MARSEILLES HYMN. 355 
 
 2. Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling, 
 
 Which treacherous kings, confederate raise 
 The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, 
 
 And, lo ! our fields and cities blaze. 
 And shall we basely view the ruin, 
 While lawless force, with guilty stride, 
 Spreads desolation far and wide, 
 With crimes and blood his hands imbruing ? 
 To arms ! to arms ! ye brave ! 
 
 The avenging sword unsheathe ! 
 March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved 
 On victory or death ! 
 
 4. With luxury and pride surrounded, 
 The vile insatiate despots dare 
 Their thirst of power and gold unbounded 
 
 To mete and vend the light and air. 
 Like beasts of burden would they load us, 
 Like gods, would bid their slaves adore ; 
 But man is man, and who is more ? 
 Then shall they longer lash and goad us? 
 To arms ! to arms ! ye brave ! 
 
 The avenging sword unsheathe ! 
 March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved 
 On victory or death ! 
 
 4. Liberty ! can man resign thee, 
 
 Once having felt thy generous flame ? 
 Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee, 
 
 Or whips thy noble spirit tame ? 
 Too long the world has wept, bewailing, 
 That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield ; 
 But freedom is our sword and shield, 
 And all their arts are unavailing. 
 To arms ! to arms ! ye brave ! 
 
 The avenging sword unsheathe ! 
 March on ! inarch on ! all hearts resolved 
 
 On victory or death ! ROUGET DE LISLB. 
 
 JOSEPH ROUGET DE LISLE was born May 10th, 1760, at Lons-le-Sauuier, in the 
 department of Jura. He was an officer in the Frencli Revolution, and ever 
 
 TO* 
 
356 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 cherished republican principles. He is best known as the author of the " Mar- 
 seillaise," or "Marseilles Hymn," which he wrote and set to music in one 
 night, at Strasburg, in the winter of 1791-1792. This became the national song 
 of the French patriots, and was famous in Europe and America. Its author, 
 however, was imprisoned in the Reism of Terror, and only escaped the scaffold 
 by the fall of Robespierre. On the restoration of the Bourbons it was suppressed 
 but the revolution of 1830 called it up anew, and Louis PHILIPPE bestowed on the 
 author a pension of fifteen hundred francs from his private purse. ROUGET DE 
 LISLE published other pieces, both in prose and verse. He died in 1836 
 
 . PAUL FLEMMLXQ RESOLVES. 
 
 AND now the sun was growing high and warm. A little 
 chapel, whose dpor stood open, seemed to invite Flemining 
 to enter and enjoy the grateful coolness. He went in. There 1 
 was no one there. The walls were covered wifh paintings and 
 sculpture of the rudest 2 kind, and with a few funeral tablets. 
 There was nothing 3 there to move the heart to devotion ; but in 
 that hour the heart of Fiemming was weak, weak as a child's. 
 He bowed his stubborn knees and wept. And oh ! how many 
 disappointed hopes, how many bitter recollections, how much of 
 wounded pride, and unrequited love, were in those tears, through 
 which he read on a marble tablet in the chapel wall opposite, 
 this singular inscription : " LOOK NOT MOURNFULLY INTO THE PAST : 
 
 IT COMES NOT BACK AGAIN. WlSELY IMPROVE THE PRESENT: IT 
 IS THINE. Go FORTH TO MEET THE SHADOWY FUTURE, WITHOUT 
 
 FEAR, AND WITH A MANLY HEART." 
 
 2. It seemed to him as if the unknown tenant of that grave 
 had opened his lips of dust, and spoken to him the words of con- 
 solation, which his soul needed, and which no friend had yet 
 spoken. In a moment the anguish of his thoughts was still. 
 The stone was rolled away from the door of his heart ; death 
 was no longer there, but an angel clothed in white. He stood 
 up, and his eyes were no more bleared with tears; and, looking 
 into the bright, morning heaven, he. said, "I WILL BE STRONG!" 
 
 3. Men sometimes go down into tombs, with painful longings 
 to behold once more the faces of their departed friends ; and as 
 they gaze upon them, lying there so peacefully with the sem- 
 blance that they wore on earth, the sweet breath of heaven 
 
 1 There (thar). 9 Rudest (r6d' est) .* Nothing (nuth'ing). 
 
PAUL FLEMMLNG RKSOLVE8. 357 
 
 touches them, and the features crumble and fall together, and 
 are but dust. So did his soul then descend for the last 1 time 
 into the great tomb of the past, 2 with painful longings to behold 
 once more the dear fares of those he had loved ; and the sweet 
 breath of heaven touched them, and they would not stay, but 
 crumbled away and perished as he gazed. They, too, were dust. 
 And thus, far-sounding, he heard 3 the great gate of the past shut 
 behind him as the divine poet did the gate of paradise, when 
 the angel pointed him the way up the holy mountain ; and to 
 him likewise was it forbidden to look back. 
 
 4. In the life of every man. there are sudden transitions of 
 feeling, which seem almost miraculous. At once, as if some 
 magician had touched the heavens and the earth, 4 the dark clouds 
 melt into the air, the wind falls, and serenity succeeds the storm. 
 The causes which produce these sudden changes may have been 
 l5ng at work within us, but the changes themselves are instan- 
 taneous, and apparently 5 without sufficient cause. It was so wiiii 
 Flemming, and from that hour forth he resolved that he would 
 no longer veer with every shifting wind of circumstance ; no 
 longer be a child's plaything in the hands of fate, which we our- 
 selves do make or mar. He resolved henceforward not to lean 
 on others ; but to walk self-confident and self-possessed: no 
 longer to waste his years in vain regrets, nor wait the fulfilment 
 of boundless hopes and indiscreet desires; but to live in the 
 present wisely, alike forgetful of the past, and careless 6 of what 
 the mysterious future might bring. And from that moment he 
 was calm, 7 and strong; he was reconciled with himself! 
 
 5. His thoughts turned tc his distant home beyond the sea. 
 An indescribable, sweet feeling rose within him. " Thithei will 
 I turn my wandering footsteps," said he ; " and be a man among 
 men, and no longer a dreamer among shadow's. Henceforth be 
 mine a life of action and reality ! I will work 8 in my own sphere 
 nor wish it other than it is. This alone is health and happiness. 
 This alone is life 
 
 ' Life that shall send 
 A challenge to its end, 
 And when it comes, say, Welcome, friend!' 
 
 1 List. 8 Past. 8 Heard (herd).* Earth (Srth). 6 Ap p&r' ent ly. 
 CWless. 7 ClZm. Work (wgrk). 
 
858 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 6. "Why have I not made these sage reflections, this wise 
 resolve, sooner ? Can such a simple result spring only from the 
 long and intricate process of experience ? Alas ! it is not till 
 time, with reckless hand, has torn out half the leaves from the 
 book of human life, to light the fires of passion with, from day 
 to day, that man begins to see that the leaves which remain are 
 
 J > 
 
 few in number, and to remember, faintly at first, and then more 
 clearly, that upon the earlier pages of that book was written a 
 story of happy innocence, which he would fain read over again. 
 Then come listless irresolution, and the inevitable inaction of 
 despair ; or else the firm resolve to record upon the leaves that 
 still remain, a more noble history than the child's story, with 
 which the book began." H. W. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW was born in the city of Portland, Maine, 
 on the 2?th of February, 1807. He entered Bowdoin College at fourteen, and 
 graduated in due course. He soon after commenced the study of law, in the 
 office of his father, the Hon. STEPHEN LONGFELLOW, but being appointed pro- 
 fessor of modern languages at Bowdoin, in 1826, he sailed for Europe to prepare 
 himself for the duties of his office, where he passed three years and a half. On 
 nis return, he entered upon the labors of instruction. Mr. LONGFELLOW being 
 elected professor of modem languages and literature in Harvard College, in 
 1835, resigned his place in Brunswick, and went a second time to Europe, to 
 make himself better acquainted with the subjects of his studies in Denmark, 
 Sweden, and Germany. On his return home, in 1836, he immediately entered 
 upon his labors at Cambridge, where he has since resided. In 1854 he resigned 
 his professorship at Harvard. His earliest poems were written for " The United 
 States Gazette," printed in Boston, while he was an under-graduate, from which 
 period he has been recognized as among the first writers of prose and verse of 
 the nineteenth century. During his subsequent residence at Brunswick, ho 
 wrote several elegant and very able papers for the " North American Review," 
 translated "Coplas de Manrique," and published " Outre Mar," a collection ot 
 agreeable tales and sketches, chiefly written during his first residence abroad. 
 "Hyperion," a romance, appeared in 1839, and " Kavanagh," another prose 
 work, in 1848. The first collection of his poems was published in 1839, entitled 
 " Voices of the Night." His " Ballads and other Poems" followed in 1841 ; 
 " The Spanish Student," a play, in 1843 ; " Poems on Slavery," in 1844 ; " The 
 Belfry of Bruges, and other Poems," in 1845 ; " Evangeline, a Tale of Arcadie," 
 m!847; "The Sea and Fireside," in 1849: "The Golden Legend," in 1851; 
 and " Hiawatha," in 1855. In 1845 he published " The Poets and Poetry of 
 Europe," the most complete and satisfactory work of the kind that has ever ap- 
 peared in any language. " The Skeleton in Armor" is one of the longest and 
 most unique of his original poems. " Hiawatha," his longest poem, which is 
 purely original and American, has been republished in England, and has met 
 with a popularity, both in Europe and America, not surpassed by any poem of 
 the present century. The high finish, gracefulness, and vivid beauty of his 
 style, and the moral purity and earnest humanity jiortrayet ir his verse, exciw 
 ;he sympathy and reach the heart of the public. 
 
FROCK ASTLNAT10N. 859 
 
 115. PROCRASTINATION. 
 
 1. T)E wise to-day ; 'tis madness to defer :' 
 
 JD Next day the fatal pre'cedent 2 will plead ; 
 Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. 
 Procrastination is the thief of time ; 
 Year after 3 year it steals, till all are fled, 
 And to the mercies 4 of a moment leaves 
 The vast 5 concerns 6 of an eternal 7 scene. 
 If not so frequent, would not this be strange ? 
 That 'tis so frequent, this is stranger still. 
 
 2. Of man's miraculous mistakes this bears 8 
 The palm, " that all men are about to live," 
 Forever on the brink of being- born ; 
 
 All pay themselves the compliment to think 
 
 They one day shall not drivel, 9 and their pride 
 
 On this reversion 10 takes up ready praise ; 
 
 At least their own ; their future selves applaud ; 
 
 How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! 
 
 Time lodged in their own hands is Folly's vails; 
 
 That lodged in Fate's to wisdom they consign ; 
 
 The thing they can't but purpose," they postpone. 
 
 'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool, 
 
 And scarce 12 in human wisdom to do more. 
 
 8. All promise is poor dilatory man, 
 
 And that through every stage. When young indeed, 
 
 In full content we sometimes nobly rest, 
 
 Unanxious for ourselves, and only wish, 
 
 As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. 
 
 At thirty man suspects himself a fool ; 
 
 Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; 
 
 At fifty chides his in'famous delay, 
 
 Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; 
 
 *De feV. 2 Prec'e dent, that which, going before, is a rule or exam- 
 ple for following times or practice. 8 After (aft' er). * Mercies (meV- 
 sez) . * Vast. Concerns (kon slrnz') . 7 E teV nal. 8 Bears (barz) . 
 Drivel (drlv' vl), slaver ; be weak or foolish- 10 Ee vlr' sion, act of re- 
 verting or changing. " Purpose (peYpos). 13 Scarce. 
 
360 NATIONAL FIFTH KSADE1L 
 
 In all the magnanimity of thought, 
 Resolves, and re-resolves ; then dies the same. 
 
 4 And why ? because he thinks himself immortal, 
 All men think all men mortal but themselves ; 
 Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate 
 Strikes through' their 9 wounded hearts the sudden dread : 
 But their hearts wounded, like the wounded air, 
 Soon close ; where 3 past 4 the shaft 3 no trace is found, 
 As from the wing no scar the sky retains, 
 The parted wave no furrow from the keel, 
 So dies in human hearts the thought of death : 
 E'en with the tender tear which nature sheds 
 O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave. 
 
 EDWARD YOUNG. 
 
 EOWARD YOUNG, author of the " Night Thoughts," was born at his father's 
 parsonage, in Hampshire, England, in 1G81. He was educated at Winchester 
 School, and at All Souls College, Oxford. In 1712 he commenced public life as 
 a courtier and poet, and continued both characters till he was past eighty. 
 From 1708 he held a fellowship at Oxford. In 1730 his college presented him to 
 he rectory of Welwyu, in Hertfordshire, valued at 300 a year. In 1731 he 
 married a widow, the daughter of the Earl of Lichfield, which proved a happy 
 union. Lady ELIZABETH YOUNG died in 1741 ; and her husband is supposed to 
 have begun soon afterward the composition of the " Night Thoughts." Of his 
 numerous works published previous to this period, the best are his satires, which 
 were collected in 1728, under the title of " The Love of Fame the Universal 
 Passion." and "The Revenge," a tragedy, which appeared in 1721. Sixty 
 years of labor and industry had strengthened and enriched his genius, and aug- 
 mented the brilliancy of his fancy, preparatory to writing " Night Thoughts." 
 The publication of this poem, taking place in sections, was completed in 1740. 
 It is written in a highly artificial style, and has more of epigramatic point than 
 any other work in the language. Though often brilliant at the expense of highei 
 and more important qualities, the poet introduces many noble and sublime pas- 
 sages, and enforces the truths of religion with a commanding energy and per- 
 suasion. The fertility of his fancy, the pregnancy of his wit and knowledge, the 
 striking and felicitous combinations everywhere presented, are truly remarkable 
 YOUNG died in April, 1765, at the advanced age of eighty-four. 
 
 116. BEAUTY. 
 
 THE high and divine beauty which can be loved without ef- 
 feminacy, is that which is found in combination wife the 
 human will, and never separate. Beauty is the mark God seta 
 
 1 Through (thro). 2 Their (thlr). * Where (whar). * Fist. Shift. 
 
BEAUT*. 361 
 
 upon virtue. Every natural action is graceful. Every heroic 
 act is also decent, and causes the place and the bystanders tc 
 shine. 
 
 2. We are taught by great actions that the universe is the 
 property of every individual in it. Every rational creature has 
 all nature for his dowry and estate. It is his, if he will. He 
 may divest himself of it ; he may creep into a corner, and abdi- 
 cate his kingdom, as most men do; but he is entitled to the 
 world by his constitution. In proportion to the energy of his 
 thought and will, he takes up the world into himself. "All 
 those things for which men plow, build, or sail, obey virtue," 
 said an ancient historian. " The winds and waves," said Gibbon, 1 
 " are alway on the side of the ablest navigators." So are the 
 sun and moon and all the stars of heaven. 
 
 3. When a noble act is done, perchance in a scene of great 
 natural beauty ; when Leonidas 2 and his three hundred martyrs 
 consume one day in dying, and the sun and moon come each 
 and look at them once in the steep defile of TherniopylaB ; when 
 Arnold Winkelried, 3 in the high Alps, under the shadow of the 
 avalanche, gathers in his side a sheaf of Austrian spears to break 
 the line for his comrades ; are not these heroes entitled to add 
 the beauty of the scene to the beauty of the deed ? When the 
 bark of Columbus 4 nears the shore of America, before it, the 
 beach lined wifli savages, fleeing out of all their huts of cane 
 the sea behind, and the purple mountains of the Indian 5 Archi- 
 pelago 6 around, can we separate the man from the living pic- 
 ture ? Does not the New World clothe his form with her palm- 
 groves and savannahs as fit drapery ? 
 
 'GIBBON, see Biographical Sketch, p. 77. ' LKONIDAS, see p. 853, 
 not* 3. 3 ARNOLD WINKELRIED, a Switzer of the fourteenth century, the 
 glory of whose heroic, voluntary death, is not surpassed in the annals 
 of history. In the battle of Shempach, perceiving that there was no 
 other means- of breaking the heavy-armed lines of the Austrians, he ran 
 with extended arms, and gathering as many of their spears as he 
 could grasp, thus opened a passage for his countrymen, who, with 
 hatchets and hammers, slaughtered the mailed men-at-arms, and won 
 the victory. * CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, the discoverer of the New World, 
 was born in Genoa, about the year 1435 or 1436, and died at Seville. 
 Spain, on the 20th of May, 1506. * Indian (fnd'yan). "Archipelago 
 (ar ke pil' a go). 
 
 16 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH UKADL'It. 
 
 4. Ever does natural beauty steal in liky air, and envelop 
 great actions. When Sir Harry Vane 1 was dragged up the 
 Tower-hill, sitting on a sled, to suffer death as the champion of 
 the English laws, one of the multitude cried out to him, " You 
 never sat on so glorious a seat." Charles II., to intimidate the 
 citizens of London, caused the patriot Lord Russell 2 to be drawn 
 in an open coach, through the principal streets of the city, on 
 hu way to the scaffold. " But," to use the simple narrative of 
 bis biographer, "the multitude imagined they saw liberty ard 
 virtue sitting by his side." 
 
 5. In private places, among sordid objects, an act of truth or 
 heroism seems at once to draw to itself the sky as its temple, 
 the sun as its candle. Nature stretch etk out her arms to em- 
 brace man, only let his thoughts be of equal greatness. Willing- 
 ly does she follow his steps with the rose and the violet, and 
 bend her lines of grandeur and grace to the decoration of her 
 darling child. Only let his thoughts be of equal scope, and the 
 frame will suit the picture. A virtuous man is in unison with 
 her works, and makes the central figure of the visible sphere. 
 
 EMERSON. 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON, a son of the Rev. WILLIAM EMERSON, was born in 
 Boston, about the year 1803, took his degree of bachelor of arts at Harvard Col- 
 lege in 1821, studied theology, and, in 18^9, was ordained the colleague of the 
 late Rev. HENRY WARE, jr., over the second Unitarian church of his native city ; 
 but subsequently, becoming independent of the control of set regulations of re- 
 ligious worship, retired to Concord, where, in 1835, he purchased the house iu 
 which he lias since resided, except two excursions in Europe, during the latter 
 of which, in 1847, he delivered a course of lectures in London, and other parts 
 of England. He has been a contributor to " The North American Review" 
 and " The Christian Examiner," and was two years editor of " The Dial," es- 
 tablished in Boston, by Mr. RIPLEY, in 1840. He published several orations and 
 addresses in 1837-38-39-40, and in 1841 the first series of his " Essays," in 1844 
 the second series of his " Essays," in 1846 a collection of his " Poems," in 1851 
 
 1 Sir HENRY VAXE, a republican and religionist, was born at Hadlow, 
 in Kent, England, in 1612. He was among the earliest of those whom 
 religious opinion induced to seek a home in America. He was appoint- 
 ed governor of Massachusetts in 1635, returned to England the follow- 
 ing year, married there, entered parliament, opposed the king, became 
 one of the council of state on the establishment of the commonwealth, 
 and, after the restoration, was condemned for tivason, and beheaded 
 June 14. 1662. He wrote several works, chiefly religious. 'Lord WIL- 
 LIAM RUSSELL, born on the 29th of September, 1PS9, and beheaded on 
 the 21st of July, 1683. 
 
THE C1.06LNG YLAJt. 363 
 
 ** Representative Men," in 1852, in connection with \\ . H.CHANNINU and JAMES 
 FREEMAN CLARKE, " Memoirs of JIARGARET FULLER Ossou," and in 1856 
 * English Traits." Mr. KMEKSON is an able lecturer, a most distinguished es- 
 sayist, and an eminent poet, lie perceives the evils in society, the falsehoods ol 
 popular opinions, and the unhappy tendencies of common feelings. He is an 
 original and independent thinker, and commands attention both by the novelty 
 cfliis views and the graces and peculiarities ol'liis style. 
 
 11T. THE CLOSING YEAR. 
 
 1. TT1IS midnight's holy hour and silence now 
 
 J- 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 stirr'doii YlMeuJt' k 
 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 solemr form, 
 And Winter with his aged locks, and breathe, 
 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 pass'd away, 
 And left no shadow of their loveliness 
 On the dead waste of life. 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 
 O'er what has pass'd to nothingness. 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READKR. 
 
 3 The year 
 
 Has gone, and, wifh it, many a glorious throng 
 Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, 
 Its shadow in each heart. 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 throng'd 
 The bright and joyous and the tearful wail 
 Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song 
 And reckless shout resounded. 
 
 4. It pass'd o'er 
 
 The battle-plain, where sword, and spear, and shield; 
 Flash'd in the light of mid-day, and the strength 
 Of serried hosts is shiver'd, and the grass, 
 Green from the soil of carnage, waves above 
 The crushed and moldering 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. 
 
 5. 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 down 
 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 pinions. 
 6* Revolutions sweep 
 
 O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast 
 
DEATH OB THE OLD TRAPPER. 365 
 
 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 blackcn'd 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, and the very stars, 
 Yon bright and burning blazonry of GOD, 
 Glitter a while in their eternal depths, 
 And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train, 
 Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away, 
 To darkle in the trackless void : yet Time- 
 Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, 
 Dark, stern, all-pitiless, and pauses not 
 Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, 
 To sit and muse, like other conquerors, 
 Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought. G. D. PRENTICE. 
 
 (IEOROE D. PRENTICE was born at Preslon, in Connecticut, December 18th, 
 1802, and was educated at Brown University, in Providence, where he gradu- 
 ated in 1823. In 18-8 he commenced "The New England Weekly Review," at 
 Hartford, which lie edited for two years, when, resigning its management to 
 Mr. WHITTIER, he removed to Louisville, Kentucky, where he lias since con- 
 ducted the "Journal," of that city, one of the most popular gazettes ever pub- 
 lished in this country. His numerous poetical writings have never been pub- 
 li^ied collectively. 
 
 118. DEATH OF THE OLD TRAPPER. 
 
 THE trapper was placed on a rude scat, which had been made 
 with studied care, to support his frame in an upright and 
 easy attitude. The first glance of the eye told his former friends 
 that the old man was at length called upon to pay the last tribute 
 of nature. His eye was glazed, and apparently as devoid of sight 
 as of expression. His features were a little more sunken and 
 strongly marked than formerly ; but there, all change, so far aa 
 exterior was concerned, might be said to have ceased. 
 
 2. His approaching end was not to be ascribed to any posi- 
 tive disease, but had been a gradual and mild decay of the phys- 
 
366 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADER. 
 
 ical powers. Life, it is true, still lingered in his system ; but it 
 was as if at times entirely ready to depart, and then it would 
 anpear to reanimate the sinking form, reluctant to give up the 
 --ion of a tenement that had never been corrupted by vice 
 or undermined by disease. It would have been no violent fancy 
 to have imagined that the spirit fluttered about the placid lips 
 of the old woodsman, reluctant to depart from a shell that had 
 BO long given it an honest and honorable shelter. 
 
 3. His body was placed so as to let the light of the setting 
 sun fall full upon the solemn features. His head was bare, the 
 long, thin locks of gray fluttering lightly in the evening breeze. 
 His rifle lay upon his knee, and the other accouterments of the 
 chase were placed at his side, within reach of his hand. Between 
 his feet lay the figure of a hound, with its head crouching to the 
 earth, as if it slumbered ; and so perfectly easy and natural was 
 its position, that a second glance was necessary to tell Middleton 
 he saw only the skin of Hector, stuffed, by Indian tenderness 
 and ingenuity, in a manner to represent the living animal. 
 
 4. The old man was reaping the rewards of a life remarkable 
 for temperance and activity, in a tranquil and placid death. His 
 vigor, in a manner, endured to the very last. Decay, when it 
 did occur, was rapid, but free from pain. He had hunted with 
 the tribe in the spring, and even throughout most of the sum- 
 mer; when his limbs suddenly refused to perform their cus- 
 tomary offices. A sympathizing weakness took possession of all 
 his faculties ; and the Pawnees believed they were going to lose, 
 in this unexpected manner, a sage and counsellor whom they 
 had begun both to love and respect. 
 
 5. But, as we have already said, the immortal occupant 
 seemed unwilling to desert its tenement. The lamp of life flick- 
 ered, without becoming extinguished. On the morning of the 
 day on which Middleton arrived, there was a general reviving 
 of the powers of the whole man. His tongue was again heard 
 in wholesome maxims, and his eye from time to time recognized 
 the persons of his friends. It merely proved to be a brief and 
 final intercourse with the world, on the part of one who had 
 already been considered, as to mental communion, to have taken 
 his leave of it forever. 
 
 6. When he had placed his guests in front of the dying man, 
 
DEATH OF THE OLD TRAPPER. 361 
 
 5Iard-Heait, after a pause, that proceeded as much from sorrow 
 as decorum, leaned a little forward, and demanded " Does my 
 father hear the words of his son ?" " Speak," returned the trap- 
 per, in tones that issued from his chest, but which were rendered 
 awfully distinct by the stillness that reigned in the place. " I 
 am about to depart from the village of the Loups, and shortly 
 shall be beyond the reach of your voice." 
 
 7. " Let the wise chief have no cares for his journey," contin- 
 ued Hard-Heart, wih an earnest solicitude that led him to for- 
 get, for the moment, that others were waiting to address his 
 adopted parent; "a hundred Loups shall clear his path from 
 briers." " Pawnee, I die, as I have lived, a Christian man !" re- 
 sumed the trapper, with a force of voice that had the same 
 startling effect on his hearers as is produced by the trumpet, 
 when its blast rises suddenly and freely on the air, after its ob- 
 structed sounds have been heard struggling in the distance: "as 
 I came into life so will I leave it. Horses and arms are not 
 needed to stand in the presence of the Great Spirit of my people. 
 He knows my color, and according to my gifts will he judge my 
 deeds." 
 
 8. "My father will tell my young men how many Mingoes he 
 has struck, and what acts of valor and justice he has done, that 
 they may know how to imitate him." "A boastful tongue is 
 not heard in the heaven of a white man !" solemnly returned the 
 old man. " What I have done He has seen. His eyes are al- 
 way open. That which has been well done will He remember ; 
 wherein I have been wrong will He not forget to chastise, 
 though He will do the same in mercy. No, my son, a pale-face 
 may not sing his own praises, and hope to have them acceptable 
 before his God !" 
 
 9. A little disappointed, the young partisan stepped modestly 
 .back, making way for the recent comers to approach. Middle- 
 ton took one of the meager hands of the trapper, and struggling 
 to command his voice, he succeeded in announcing his presence. 
 The old man listened like one whose thoughts were dwelling on 
 a very different subject ; but when the other had succeeded in 
 making him understand that he was present, an expression ot 
 joyful recognition passed over his faded features. " I hope you 
 have not so soon forgotten those whom you so materially 
 
368 - NATIONAL FIFTH KEAUKK. 
 
 served!" Middleton concluded. "It would pain me to think 
 my hold on your memory was so light." 
 
 10. "Little that I have ever seen is forgotten," returned the 
 trapper : " I am at the chose of many weary days, but there is 
 not one among them all that I could wish to overlook. 1 re- 
 member you, with the whole of your company ; ay, and your 
 gran'ther, that went before you. I am glad that you have come 
 back upon these plains, for I had need of one who speaks the 
 English, since little faith can be put in the traders of these re 
 gions. Will you do a favor to an old and dying man ?" 
 " Name it," said Middleton ; " it shall be done." " It is a far 
 journey to send such trifles," resumed the old man, who spoke 
 at short intervals, as strength and breath permitted ; " a far and 
 weary journey is the same ; but kindnesses and friendships are 
 things not to be forgotten. There is a settlement among the 
 Otsego hills" 
 
 11. "I know the place," interrupted Middleton, observing 
 that he spoke with increasing difficulty; "proceed to tell me 
 what you would have done." "Take this rifle, and pouch, and 
 horn, and send them to the person whose name is graven on the 
 plates of the stock, a trader cut the letters with his knife, for 
 it is long that I have intended to send him such a token of my 
 love !" " It shall be so. Is there more that you could wish ?" 
 u Little else have I to bestow. My traps I give to my Indian 
 son ; for honestly and kindly has he kept his faith. Let him 
 stand before me." Middleton explained to the chief what the 
 trapper had said, and relinquished his own place to the other. 
 
 12. "Pawnee," continued the old man, alway changing his 
 language to suit the pei-son he addressed, and not unfrequently 
 according to the ideas he expressed, "it is a custom of my people 
 for the father to leave his blessing with the son before he shuts 
 his eyes forever. This blessing I give to you : take it ; for the 
 prayers of a Christian man will never make the path of a just 
 warrior to the blessed prairies either longer or more tangled. 
 May the God of a white man look on your deeds with friendly 
 eyes, and may you never commit an act that sKall cause him to 
 darken his face. I know not whether we shall ever meet again. 
 There are many traditions concerning the place of Good Spirits. 
 It is not for one like me, old and experienced though I am, to 
 
DEATH OF THE OLD TRAPPER. 3<J9 
 
 set up my opinions against a nation's. You believe in the 
 blessed prairies, and I have faith in the sayings of my fathers. 
 If both are true, our parting will be final ; but if it should prove 
 that the same meaning is hid under different words, we shall yet 
 stand togethei, Pawnee, before the face of your Wahuondah, 
 who will then be no other than my God. 
 
 13. "There is much to be said in favor of both religions, for 
 each seems suited to its own people, and no doubt it was so in- 
 tended. I fear I have not altogether followed the gifts of my 
 color, inasmuch as I find it a little painful to give up forever the 
 use of the rifle, and the comforts of the chase. But then tho 
 fault has been my own, seeing that it could not have been His. 
 Ay, Hector," he continued, leaning forward a little, and feeling 
 for the ears of the hound, " our parting has come at last, dog, 
 and it will be a long hunt. You have been an honest, and a 
 bold, and a faithful hound. Pawnee, you can not slay the pup 
 on my grave, for where a Christian dog falls there \-. j lies for- 
 ever ; but you can be kind to him after I am gone, for the love 
 you bear his master." 
 
 14. "The words of my father are in my ears," returned the 
 young partisan, making a grave and respectful gesture of assent. 
 "Do you hear what the chief has promised, dog?" demanded 
 the trapper, making an effort to attract the notice of the insen- 
 sible effigy of his hound. Receiving no answering look, nor 
 hearing any friendly whine, the old man felt for the mouth, and 
 endeavored to force his hand between tire cold lips. The truth 
 then flashed upon him, although he was far from perceiving the 
 whole extent of the deception. Falling back in his seat, he hung 
 his head, like one who felt a severe and unexpected shock. 
 Profiting by this momentary forgetful ness, t\vo young Indians 
 removed the skin wifli the same delicacy of feeling that had in- 
 duced them to attempt the pious fraud. 
 
 
 119. DEATH OF THE OLD TRAPPER CONCLUDED. 
 
 u rrUIE dog is dead," muttered the trapper, after a pause of 
 
 J-. many minutes; u a hound has his time as well as a man; 
 
 and well has he filled his days! "Captain," he added, making 
 
 24 
 
870 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 an effort to wave his hand for Middleton, " I am glad you have 
 come ; for though kind, and well meaning according to the gifts 
 of their color, these Indians are not the men to lay the head of 
 a white man in his grave. I have been thinking, too, of this 
 dog at my feet : it will not do to set forth the opinion that a 
 Christian can expect to meet his hound again ; still there can be 
 little harm in placing what is left of so faithful a servant nigh 
 the bones of his master." " It shall be as you desire." ** I'm 
 glad you think with me in this matter. In order, then, to save 
 labor, lay the pup at my feet; or, for that matter, put him side 
 by side. A hunter need never be ashamed to be found in com- 
 pany with his dog !" " 1 charge myself with your wish." 
 
 2. The old man made a long, and apparently a musing pause. 
 At times he raised his eyes wistfully, as if he would again ad- 
 dress Middleton, but some innate feeling appeared ahvay to sup- 
 press his words. The other, who observed his hesitation, in- 
 quired in a way most likely to encourage him to proceed, 
 whether there was aught else that he could wish to have done. 
 44 1 am without kith or kin in the wide world !" the trapper an- 
 swered : " when I am gone there will be an end of my race. 
 ~\Vi have never been chiefs ; but honest, and useful in our way, 
 I hope it can not be denied we have alway proved ourselves. My 
 father lies buried near the sea, and the bones of his son will 
 whiten on the prairies." "Name the spot, and your remains 
 shall be placed by the side of your father," interrupted Middle- 
 ton. 
 
 3. " Not so, not so, Captain. Let me sleep where I have lived 
 beyond the din of the settlements ! Still I see no need why 
 the grave of an honest man should be hid, like a red-skin in his 
 ambushment. I paid a man in the settlements to make and put 
 a graven stone at the head of my father's resting-place. It was 
 of the value of twelve beaver-skins, and cunningly and curiously 
 was it carved ! Then it told to all comers that the body of such 
 a Christian lay beneath ; and it spoke of his manner of life, of 
 his years, and of his honesty. When we had done wifli the 
 Fivnchers, in the old war, I made a journey to the spot, in order 
 to see that all was rightly performed, and glad I am to sav, the 
 workman had not forgotten his faith." 
 
 4. " Air.l suoli a stone yon would have at your grave?" "II 
 
DKATII OF THE OLD TKAPPKR. 371 
 
 no, no, I have no son but Hard-Heart, and it is little that an In- 
 dian knows of white fashions and usages. Besides, I am his 
 debtor already, seeing it is so little I have done since I have 
 lived in his tribe. The rifle might bring the value of such a 
 thing but then I know it will give the boy pleasure to hang 
 the piece in his hall, for many is the deer and the bird that he 
 has seen it destroy. No, no, the gun must be sent to him whose 
 name is graven on the stock !" 
 
 5. "But there is one who would gladly prove his affection in 
 the way you wish ; he who owes you not only his own deliver- 
 ance from so many dangers, but who inherits a heavy debt of 
 gratitude from his ancestors. The stone shall be put at the head 
 of your grave." The old man extended his emaciated hand, and 
 gave the other a squeeze of thanks. " I thought you might be 
 willing to do it, but I was backward in asking the favor," lie 
 said, "seeing that you are not of my kin. Put no boastful 
 words on the same, but just the name, the age, and the time of 
 the death, wifti something from the holy book; no more, no 
 more. My name will then not be altogether lost on 'arth ; I 
 need no more." 
 
 6. Middleton intimated his assent, and then followed a pause 
 that was only interrupted by distant and broken sentences from 
 the dying man. He appeared now to have closed his accounts 
 with the world, and to await merely for the final summons to 
 quit it. Middleton and Hard-Heart placed themselves on the 
 opposite sides of his seat, and watched with melancholy solici- 
 tude the variations of his countenance. For two hours there 
 was no very sensible alteration. The expression of his faded 
 and time-worn features was that of a calm and dignified repose. 
 From time to time he spoke, uttering some brief sentence in the 
 way of advice, or asking some simple questions concerning those 
 in whose fortunes he still took a -friendly interest. During the 
 whole of that solemn and anxious period, each individual of the 
 tribe kept his place, in the most self-restrained patience. When 
 the old man spoke, all bent their heads to listen; and when his 
 words were uttered, they seemed to ponder on their wisdom and 
 usefulness. 
 
 7. As the flame drew nigher to the socket his voice was 
 hushed, and there were moments when his attendants doubted 
 
372 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 whether he still belonged to the living. Middleton, who watched 
 each wavering expression of his weather-beaten visage \\ifh the 
 interest of a keen observer of human nature, softened by the 
 tenderness of personal regard, fancied he could read the work- 
 ings of the old man's soul in the strong lineaments of his coun- 
 tenance. Perhaps what the enlightened soldier took tor the 
 delusion of mistaken opinion did actually occur for who has 
 returned from that unknown world to explain by what forms, 
 and in what manner, he was introduced into its awful precincts ? 
 Without pretending to explain what must ever be a mystery to 
 the quick, we shall simply relate facts as they occurred. 
 
 8. The trapper had remained nearly motionless for an houi. 
 His eyes alone had occasionally opened and shut. When opened, 
 his gaze seemed fastened on the clouds which hung around the 
 western hori'zou, reflecting the blight colors, and giving form 
 and loveliness to the glorious tints of an American sunset. The 
 hour the calm beauty of the season the occasion all con- 
 spired to fill the spectators wifh solemn awe. Suddenly, while 
 musing on the remarkable position in which he was placed, 
 Middleton felt the hand, which he held, grasp his own with in- 
 credible power, and the old man, supported on either side by 
 his friends, rose upright to his feet. For a moment he looked 
 about him, as if to invite all in his presence to listen (the lingering 
 remnant of human frailty), and then, with a fine military elevation 
 of the head, and with a voice that might be heard in every part 
 of that numerous assembly, he pronounced the word " HERE !" 
 
 9. A movement so entirely unexpected, and the air of grand- 
 eur and humility which were so remarkably united in the mien 
 of the trapper, together wifh the clear and uncommon force of 
 his utterance, produced a short period of confusion in the facul- 
 ties of all present. When Middleton and Hard-Heart, each of 
 jsdiom had involuntarily extended a hand to support the form of 
 the old man, turned to him again, they found that the subject of 
 their interest was removed forever beyond the necessity of their 
 care. They mournfully placed the body in its seat, and the 
 voice of the old Indian, who arose to announce th*> termination 
 of the scene to the tribe, seemed a sort of echo from that invisi- 
 ble world to which the meek spirit of tlu- trapper had just de- 
 parte'l. "A valiant, a just, and a \\isi- warrior has gone on the 
 
DEATH OF THE OLD TRAPPER. 373 
 
 patn which will lead him to the blessed grounds of his people !" 
 he said. "When the voice of the Wahcondah called him, he 
 was ready to answer. Go, my children ; remember the just 
 chief of the pale-faces, and clear your own tracks from briers !" 
 
 10. The grave was made bcneafli the shade of some noble 
 oaks. It has been carefully watched to the present hour by the 
 Pawnees of the Loup, and is often shown to the traveler and 
 the trader as a spot where a just white man sleeps. In due time 
 the stone was placed at its head, wifli the simple inscription 
 which the trapper had himself requested. The only liberty 
 taken by Middleton was to add " MAY NO WANTON HAND EVER 
 
 DISTURB HIS REMAINS." JAMES FfiXNlMOliE COOPJSR. 
 
 JAMKS FENNIMORE COOPER, the celebrated American novelist, was born at 
 Burlington, New Jersey, in 1789. His father, Judge WILLIAM COOPER, born in 
 Pennsylvania, became possessed, in 1785, of a large tract of land near Otsego 
 Lake, in the State of New York, where, in the spring of 1786, lie erected the 
 first house in Cooperstown. In 1 795 and 1799 he was elected to represent thai 
 district in Congress. Here the novelist chiefly passed his boyhood to his thir- 
 teenth year, and became perfectly conversant with frontier life. At that early 
 age he entered Yale College, where he remained three years, when he obtained 
 a midshipman's commission and entered the navy. He. passed the six following 
 years in that service, and thus became master of the second great field of his 
 future literary career. In 1811 he resigned his commission, married Miss De- 
 laucey, a descendant of one of the oldest and most influential families in Amer- 
 ica, and settled down to a home life in Westchester, near New York, where he 
 resided for a short time before removing to Cooperstown. Here he wrote his first 
 book, "Precaution." This was followed, in 1821, by " The Spy," one of the 
 best of all historical romances. It was almost immediately republished in all 
 parts of Europe. It was followed, two years later, by " The Pioneers." " The 
 Pilot," the first of his sea novels, next appeared. It is one of the most remark- 
 able novels of the time, and everywhere obtained instant and high applause. 
 In 1826 he visited Europe, where his reputation was already well established as 
 on s of the greatest writers of romantic fiction which our age has produced. He 
 pasued several years abroad, and was warmly welcomed in every country he 
 visited. His literary activity was not impaired by his change of scene, as sev- 
 eral of his best works were written while traveling. He returned home in 1833. 
 "The Prairie," from which the above touching and effective scene was taken, 
 the first of his works in Europe, published in 1827, was one of the most successful 
 of the novelist's productions. Leather-stocking closes his career in its pages. 
 " Pressed upon by time, he has ceased to be the hunter and the warrior, and has 
 become a trapper of the great West. The sound of the ax has driven him from 
 his beloved forests to seek a refuge, by a species of desperate resignation, on the 
 denuded plains that stretch to the Rocky Mountains. Here he passes the few 
 closing years of his life, dying, as he has lived, a philosopher of the wilderness, 
 with few of the failings, none of the vices, and all the nature and truth of his 
 position." Mr COOPER'S writings are, throughout, distinguished by purity and 
 brilliancy of no common merit. He was alike remarkable for his fine command- 
 ing person, his manly, resolute, independent nature, and his noble, generous, 
 heart. He died at Cooperstown, September II. 18.11, 
 
374 NATIONAL FIFTH READER 
 
 120. THE HOLY DEAD. 
 
 * 
 
 1. fTlHEY dread no storm that lowers 
 JL No perish'd joys bewail; 
 They pluck no thorn-clad flowers, 
 
 Nor drink of streams that fail : 
 There 1 is no tear-drop in their eye, 
 
 No change upon their brow; 
 Their placid bosom heaves no sigh, 
 
 Though all earth's idols bow. 
 
 2. Who are so greatly blest? 
 
 From whom hath sorrow fled ? 
 Who share 9 such deep, unbroken rest, 
 
 Where all things toil ? The dead ! 
 The holy dead. Why weep ye so 
 
 Above yon sable bier ? 
 Thrice blessed ! they have done wifh woe, 
 
 The living claim the tear. 
 
 3. Go to their sleeping bowers, 
 
 Deck their low couch of clay 
 Wifh earliest spring's soft breathing flowers; 
 
 And when they fade away, 
 TJiink of the amaranth 'me 3 wreath, 
 
 The garlands never dim, 
 And tell me why thou fly'st from death, 
 
 Or hld'st thy friends from him. 
 
 4. We dream, but they awake ; 
 
 Dread visions mar our rest ; 
 Through thorns and snares 4 our way we take, 
 
 And yet we mourn the blest ! 
 For spirits round the Eternal Throne 
 
 How vain the tears we shed ! 
 They are the living, they alone, 
 
 Whom thus we call the dead. MRS. SIGOURNEY.* 
 
 There (th&r). 'Shire.- 8 Am a r& it) '! IP. from amaranth, an im- 
 aginary flower that never fades: Lence, mfading. * Snares (sn&r/). 
 See Biographical Sketch, p. 106. ^ 
 
THE POET AND HIS CRITICS. 375 
 
 121. THE POET AND ins CRITICS. 
 
 THE poem was at length published. Alas, who that knows 
 the heart of an author of an aspiring one will need be 
 told what were the feelings of Maldura, when day after day, 
 week after week passed on, and still no tidings of his book. To 
 think it had failed, was wormwood to his soul. " No, that was 
 impossible." Still the suspense, the uncertainty of its fate were 
 insupportable. At last, to relieve his distress, he fastened the 
 blame on his unfortunate publisher; though how he was in 
 fault he knew not. Full of this thought, h^ was just sallying 
 forth to vent his spleen on him, when his servant announced the 
 Count Piccini. 
 
 2. " Now," thought Maldura, u I shall hear my fate : and he 
 was not mistaken ; for the Count was a kind of talking gazette. 
 The poem was soon introduced, and Piccini rattled on with all 
 he had heard of it. He had lately been piqued 1 by Maldura, arid 
 cared not to spare him. After a few hollow professions of re- 
 gard, and a careless remark about the pain it gave him to repeat 
 unpleasant things, Piccini preceded to pour them out one upon 
 another with ruthless volubility. Then, stopping as if to take 
 breath, he continued, " I see you are surprised at all this ; but 
 indeed, my friend, I can not help thinking it principally owing 
 to your ot having suppressed your name ; for your high repu- 
 tation, it seems, had raised such extravagant expectations as none 
 but a first-rate genius could satisfy." 
 
 3. " By which," observed Maldura, j* I am to conclude that 
 my work has failed?" "Why, no not exactly that; it has only 
 not been praised that is, I mean in the way you might have 
 wished. But do not be depressed ; there's no knowing but the 
 tide may yet turn in your favor." " Then I suppose the book is 
 hardly as yet known ?" " I beg your pardon quite the con- 
 trary. When your friend the Marquis introduced it at his last 
 conversazione 2 every one present seemed quite au fait 3 on it, at 
 least they all talked as if they had read it." 
 
 4. Maldura bit his lips. "Pray, who were the company?* 7 
 
 1 Piqued (pekt), offended. "Conversazione (k&n ver sat ze 6' na), a 
 meeting for conversation. * Au fait (6 fa'), expert ; well instructed. 
 
376 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 " Oh, all your friends, I assure you : Guattani, Martcllo, Pessuti, 
 the mathematician, Alficri, Benuci, the Venetian Casti Hi, and 
 the old Fcrrarcse Carnesccchi : these were the principal, but 
 there were twenty others who had each something to say." 
 Maldura could not but perceive the malice of this enumeration ; 
 but lie checked his rising choler. " Well," said he, " if I under- 
 stand you, there was but one opinion respecting my poem with 
 all this company ?" 
 
 o. U 0h, by no means. Their opinions were as various as 
 their characters." " Well, Pessuti what said he ?" " Why yon 
 know he's a mathematician, and should not regard him. But 
 yet, to do him justice, he is a very nice critic, and not unskilled 
 in poetry." " Go on, Sir, I can bear it." " Why then, it was 
 Pcssutfs opinion that the poem had more learning than genius. 1 ' 
 "Proceed, Sir." "Martelio denied it both; but he, you know, 
 is a disappointed author. Guattani differed but little from 
 Pessuti as to its learning, but contended that you certainly 
 showed great invention in your fable which was like nothing 
 that ever did, or could happen. But I fear I annoy you." 
 
 6. " Go on, I beg, Sir." " The next who spoke was old 
 Carnesecchi, who confessed that he had no doubt he should 
 have been delighted with the poem, could he have taken hold 
 of it ; but it was so en reylej and like a hundred others, that it 
 put him in mind of what is called a polished gentlcnUin, who 
 talks and bows, and slips through a great crowd without leaving 
 any impression. Another person, whose name I have forgotten, 
 praised the versification, but objected to the thoughts." 
 
 7. "Because they were ;.bsurd ?" "Oh, no, for the opposite 
 reason because they had all been long ago known to be o'ood. 
 Castelli thought that a bad reason ; for his part, he said, he liked 
 them all the better for that it was like shaking hands wifh an 
 old acquaintance in every line. Another observed, that at least 
 no critical court could lawfully condemn them, as they could 
 each plead an alibi* Not an alibi, said a third, but a double ; 
 so they should be burnt for sorcery. With all my heart, said a 
 
 'En regie, according to rule; set; stiff. 'Al'ibl, elsewhere. To 
 vltad an alibi is to show thai the accused was in some other place when 
 the crime was committed. 
 
THE POET AJSTD HIS CRITICS. 377 
 
 fourtt ; but not the poor author, for he has certainly satisfied us 
 that he is no conjuror. 
 
 8. " Then Castelli but, 'faith, 1 don't know how to proceed." 
 "You are over-delicate, Sir. Speak tut, I pray you." " Well, 
 Benuci finished by the most extravagant eulogy I ever heard." 
 Maid ura took breath. "For he compared your hero to the 
 Apollo' Belvedere, 1 your heroine to the Venus 2 de Medicis, and 
 your subordinate characters to the Diana, 3 the Hercules, 4 the 
 Antm'oiis, 5 and twenty other celebrated antiques; declared them 
 all equally well wrought, and beautiful and like them too, 
 equally cold, hard, and motionless. In short, he maintained that 
 you were the boldest and most original poet he had ever known ; 
 for none but a hardy genius, who consulted nobody's taste but 
 his own, would have dared, like you, to draw his animal life 
 from a statue gallery, and his vegetable from a hortus siccus." 6 
 
 9. Maid lira's heart stiffened within him, but his pride con- 
 trolled him, and he masked his thoughts with something like 
 composure. Yet he dared not trust himself to speak, but stood 
 looking at Piccini, as if waiting for him to go on. " I believe 
 that's all," said the count, carelessly twirling his hat, and rising 
 to take leave. Maldura roused himself, and, making an effort, 
 said, "No, Sir, there is one person whom you have only named 
 Alfieri; what did he say ?" "NOTHING!" Piccini pronounced 
 this word with a graver tone than usual : it was his fiercest bolt, 
 and he knew that a show of feeling would send it home. Then, 
 after pausing a moment, he hurried out of the room. 
 
 WASHINGTON ALLSTON. 
 
 WASHINGTON ALLSTON, universally acknowledged as of the first eminence 
 among American painters, was born in Charleston, South Carolina, November 
 
 BELVEDERE, a statue of the Greek divinity Apollo. In this 
 the god is represented with commanding but serene majesty ; sublime 
 intellect and physical beauty are combined in the most wonderful man- 
 ner. It was discovered in 1503 at Rettuno, and is now in the Vatican 
 at Rome. a VENUS DE MEDICIS, a statue % admired as the perfection of fe- 
 male beauty. It was discovered in the villa of Adr^m, at Tivoli, the 
 favorite country-seat of the ancient Romans, and carried to Florence in 
 1695. 3 DIANA, see p. 387, note 3. * HKKCULES, the most celebrated oi 
 all the heroes of antiquity. * ANTINOUS (an tin' o us), a beautiful youth, 
 celebrated as tho companion and favorite of Adrian, tht- Roman emperor, 
 drowned in 132. Hortus siccus, a dry or unproductive grardD 
 
378 NATIONAL Firm READER. 
 
 5th, 1779. He received his early education at the school of Mr. ROBERT ROGERF, 
 in NewjxMt, Rhode Island, entered Harvard College in 1796, and received his 
 baccalaureate degree in 1800. Immediately after leaving college he chose hi? 
 vocation, and as our country at that time furnished few facilities for the study of 
 the fine arts, he embarked for London in 1801, and became a student of the 
 Royal Academy, of which Benjamin West, the distinguished American painter, 
 was then president. Here he remained three years, and then, after a sojourn at 
 Paris, went to Rome, where he resided four years, and became the intimate as- 
 sociate of COLERIDGE. In 1809 he returned to America for a period of two years, 
 which he passed in Boston, where he married the sister of the Rev. Dr. CIIAN- 
 MNG. In 1811 he went a second time to England, where his reputation us a 
 painter was now well established. He received by his picture of the " Dead 
 Man raised by the Bones of Elisha" a prize of two hundred guineas, at the Brit- 
 ish Institute, where the first artists in the world were his competitors. Here he 
 published a small volume, " The Sylphs of the Seasons, and other Poems," 
 which was reprinted in Boston the same year. This year his wife died, an event 
 which affected him deeply. He returned home in 1818, and resumed his resi- 
 dence at Boston. In 1830 he married a sister of RICHARD H. DANA, and removed 
 to Cambridgeport. His lectures on art were commenced about the same period, 
 four only of which were completed, and these did not appear until after his de- 
 cease. Besides his lectures, his poems, and many short pieces which have since 
 been given to the public, Mr. AL.LSTON was the author of " Monaldi," a story of 
 extraordinary power and interest, from which the above extract is taken. Ho 
 died very suddenly, on the night of the 8th of July, 1843, leaving but one paint- 
 ing incomplete, " Belshazzar's Feast, or the Handwriting on the Wall," upon 
 which he had been engaged at intervals for nearly twenty years. 
 
 122. To A SKYLARK. 
 
 1. TTAIL to thee, bllflie spirit! bird thou never wert, 
 -il That from heaven, or near it, pourest thy full heart 
 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 
 
 2. Higher still, and higher, from the earth thou springest 
 Like a cloud of fire ; the blue deep thou wingest, 
 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever, singest. 
 
 3. In the golden lightening of the sunken sun, 
 
 O'er which clouds are brightening, thou dost float and run, 
 Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 
 
 4. The pale purple even melts around thy flight : 
 Like a star of heaven, in the broad daylight 
 Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. 
 
 5. Keen are the arrows of that silver sphere, 
 
 ^Yhose intense lamp narrows in the white dawn clear 
 Until we hard I v see, we feel that it is there. 
 
TO A SKYLARK. 379 
 
 6. All the earth and air wifjh thy voice is loud, 
 As, when night is bare, from one lonely cloud 
 
 The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow'd 
 
 7. What tliou art we know not : what is most like thee ? 
 From rainbow clouds there flow not drops so bright tc see, 
 As irom thy presence showers a rain of melody. 
 
 8. Like a poet hidden in the light of thought, 
 Singing hymns unbidden, till the world is wrought 
 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not. 
 
 9. Like a high-born maiden in a palace tower, 
 Soothing her love-laden soul in secret hour 
 
 With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower. 
 
 10. Like a glow-worm golden in a dell of dew, 
 Scattering unbeholden its aerial hue 
 
 Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view 
 
 11. Like a rose embower' d in its own green leaves, 
 By warm winds deflower'd, till the scent it gives 
 
 Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves, 
 
 12. Sound of vernal showers on the twinkling grass, 
 Rain-awaken' d flowers, all that ever was 
 
 Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 
 
 13. Teach us, sprite or bird, what sweet thoughts are thine : 
 I have never heard praise of love or wine 
 
 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 
 
 14. Chorus hymene'al, or triumphal chant, 
 
 Match'd with thine would be all but an empty vaunt 
 A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 
 
 15. What objects are the fountains of thy happy strain? 
 What fields, or waves, or mountains ? what shapes of sky 
 
 or plain ? 
 What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? 
 
 1 $. With thy clear keen joyance languor can not be : 
 Shadow of annoyance never came near thee : 
 Thou lovest ; but ne'er know love's sad satiety. 
 
380 
 
 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADER. 
 
 17. Waking or asleep, thou of death must deem 
 Things more true and deep than we mortals"tlrcam, 
 Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream '{ 
 
 18. We look before and after, and pine for what is not : 
 Our sinccrcst laughter with some pain is fraught : 
 
 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 
 
 1 9. Yet if we could scorn hate, and pride, and fear ; 
 If we were things born not to shed a tear, 
 I know not how thy joy we ever could come near. 
 
 20 Better than all measures of delight and sound, 
 Better than all treasures that in books are found, 
 Thy skill to poet were, thou Tscomcr of the ground ! 
 
 21. Teach me half the gladness that thy brain must know, 
 Such harmonious madness from my lips would flow, 
 The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 
 
 t SHELLEY. 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, a poet of admirable genius, the son and heir of a 
 wealthy baronet in Sussex, England, was born in that county in 17<-2. He was 
 educated first at Eton. and afterward at Oxford, where he studied hard, but ir- 
 regularly ; incessantly speculated, thought, and read; became entangled in 
 metaphysical difficulties, and, at the age of seventeen, published, with a direct 
 appeal to the heads of the colleges, a pamphlet entitled "The Necessity of 
 Atheism." He was immediately expelled ; and his friends being disgusted with 
 him, he was cast on the world a prey to the undisciplined ardor of youth and 
 passion. At the age of eighteen he printed his i>oem of "Queen Mab," in 
 which singular poetic beauties are interspersed with many speculative absurdi- 
 ties. Shortly after this he married a young woman of humble station in li.e, 
 which completed his alienation from his family. After a tour on the continent, 
 during which he visited some of the most magnificent scenes of Switzerland, he 
 settled near Windsor Forest, where he composed his poem, " Alastor, or the 
 Spirit of Solitude," which contains descriptive passages excelled by none of his 
 subsequent works. His domestic unhappiness soon after induced him to sepa- 
 rate from his wife, and the unhappy woman destroyed herself. This event sub- 
 jected him to much misrepresentation, and by a decree of chancery he was de- 
 prived of the guardianship of his two children, on the ground of immorality and 
 atheism. Not long after his wife's death he married the daughter of GODWIN, 
 authoress of " Frankenstein," and other novels. They resided for a few months 
 iu Buckinghamshire, where they made themselves beloved by their charity for 
 the poor. Here he comjxjsed the " Revolt of Islam," a poem still more ener- 
 getic than "Alastor." In the spring of 1818 he and his family removed to 
 Italy, where they at length settled themselves at Pisa. In that country, with 
 health already failing, ^IIKLLKY produced some of his principal works, in a pe- 
 liod of four years. In July, J.s-J-', when lie hi-.d not quite completed his -jyth 
 year, he was drowued in a storm which he encountered in his yacht on tha 
 Gulf of Spezzia. In accordance with his OWD desire, hi* l-ody was buruH, un 
 
381 
 
 der the direction of LORD BYRON and other friends ; and the ashes were carried 
 to Rome anil deposited iu the Protestant burial-ground, near those of a child he 
 had lost in that cily. A complete edition of "Shelley's Poetical Works," with 
 notes by his widow, has been published. The above ode to the Skylark bears, 
 perhaps, as pure a poetical stamp as any of his .productions. It was written as 
 liis mind prompted, listening to the caroling of the bird aloft in the azure sky of 
 Italy. 
 
 123. ISTOKYAL. 
 
 Enter first GLENALVON ; and soon aftei\ NORVAL. The latter 
 seems looking off at some distant object. 
 
 Glenalvon. His port I love ; he's in a proper mood 
 To chicle the thunder, if at him it roar'd. [Aside. 
 [Aloud.] lias Norval seen the troops ? 
 
 Norval. The setting sun 
 
 Wih yellow radiance lightened all the vale, 
 And as the warriors moved, each polish'd helm, 
 Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams. 
 The hill they climbed, and, halting at its top, 
 Of more than mortal size, towering they sccin'd 
 A host angelic, clad in burning arms. 
 
 Glen. Thou talk'st it well ; no leader of our host 
 In sound 3 more lofty talks of glorious war. 
 
 Norv* If I should e'er acquire a leader's name, 
 My rjpofvh will be less ardent. Novelty 
 Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration 
 Vents itself freely ; since no part is mine 
 Of praise pertaining to the great in arms. 
 
 Glen. You wrong yourself, brave sir; your martial deeds 
 Have rank'd you with the great. But mark me, Norval, 
 Lord Randolph's favor now exalts your youth 
 Above his veterans of famous service. 
 Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you. 
 Give them all honor : seem not to command, 
 Else they will hardly brook your late-sprung power, 
 Which nor alliance props nor birth adorns. 
 
 JVorv. Sir, I have been accustom'd, all my days, 
 To hear and speak the plain and simple truth ; 
 And though I have been told that there are men 
 
382 NATIONAL FIFTH KEA1>KR. 
 
 Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn, 
 Yet in such language I am little skill'd ; 
 Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel, 
 Although it sounded harshly. Why remind 
 Me of my birth obscure ? Why slur my power 
 With such contemptuous terms ? 
 
 Glen. I did not mean 
 
 To gall your pride, which now I see is great. 
 
 Norv. My pride ! 
 
 Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper; 
 
 Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake, 
 I will not leave you to its rash direction. 
 If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men, 
 Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn ? 
 
 Norv. A shepherd's scorn ! [Crosses left. 
 
 Glen. [RightJ] Why yes, if you presume 
 To bend on soldiers those disdainful eyes 
 As if you took the measure of their minds, 
 And said in secret, You're no match for me, 
 What will become of you ? 
 
 Norv. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self f 
 
 Glen. Ha ! dost thou threaten me ? 
 
 Norv. Didst thou not hear ? 
 
 Glen. Unwillingly I did ; a nobler foe 
 Had not been question'd thus ; but such as thou 
 
 Norv. Whom dost thou think me ? 
 
 Glen. Norval. 
 
 Norv. So I am ; 
 
 And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes ? 
 
 Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy ; 
 At best no more, even if he speaks the truth. 
 
 Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth ? 
 
 Glen. Thy truth ! thou'rt all a lie ; and basely false 
 Is the vain-glorious talc thou told'st to Randolph. 
 
 Norv. If I were chain'd, unarm'd, or bedrid old, 
 Perhaps I should revile ; but, as I am, 
 I have no tongue to rail. The humble Norval 
 Is of a race who strive not but with deeds. [ Crosses R, 
 Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valor. 
 
NORVAL. 383 
 
 And make thee sink too soon beneafh my s^ord, 
 I'd tell thee what thou art. I know thee well. 
 
 Glen. [Z.] Dost thou not know Glenalvon born to command 
 Ten thousand slaves like thee ? 
 
 Norv. Villain, no more ! 
 
 Draw, and defend thy life. I did design 
 To have defied thee in another cause ; 
 But heaven accelerates its vengeance c n thee. 
 Now for my own and Lady Randolph's wrings ! 
 
 [Both draw their swords. 
 
 Enter LORD RANDOLPH, R. 
 
 Lord Randolph. Hold ! I command you both ! the man that 
 
 stirs 
 Makes me his foe. 
 
 Norv. Another voice than thine 
 That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. 
 
 Glen. Hear him, my lord ; he's wondrous condescending I 
 Mark the humility of shepherd Norval ! 
 
 Norv. Now you may scoff in safety. [Both sheathe their swoids 
 
 Lord R. [R.] Speak not thus, 
 
 Taunting each other, but unfold to me 
 The cause of quarrel ; then I judge betwixt you. 
 
 Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much, 
 My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment. 
 I blush to speak ; and will not, can not speak 
 The opprobrious words that I from him have borne. 
 To the liege lord of my dear native land 
 I owe a subject's homage ; but even him 
 And his high arbitration I'd reject ! 
 Within my bosom reigns another lord 
 Honor ! sole judge and umpire of itself. 
 If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph, 
 Revoke your favors, and let Norval go 
 Hence as he came ; alone but not dishonored ! 
 
 Lord R. Thus far I'll mediate with impartial voict : 
 The ancient foe of Caledonia's land 
 Now waves his banner o'er her frighted fields ; 
 Suspend your purpose till your country's arms 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEH. 
 
 Repel the bold invader ; then decide 
 The private quarrel. 
 
 Glen. I agree to this. 
 
 Norv. And I. [LORD R. retires. 
 
 Glen. Norval, 
 
 Let not our variance mar the social hour, 
 Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph. 
 Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate, 
 Shall stain uiy countenance. Smooth thou thy brow ; 
 Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame. 
 
 Norv. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resentment ; 
 When we contend again, our strife is mortal. 
 
 [Exeunt GLEN., NORV. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 JOHN HOME, author of " Douglas" and various other tragedies, was born at 
 Leith, Scotland, in 17-2-2. He entered the Church, and succeeded BLAIR, author 
 of " The Grave," as minister of Athelstaueford. After writing " Douglas," so 
 violent a storm was raised by the fact that a Presbyterian minister had written 
 a play, that he was obliged to resign his living. Lord BUTE rewarded him with 
 the sinecure office of conservator of Scots privileges at Campvere, and on the 
 accession of GEORGE III., in 17i>'0, he secured a pension for the poet of 300 per 
 aujum. With an income of some 600, and the friendship of DAVID HUME, 
 BLAIR, ROBERTSON, and other distinguished men, HOME'S life was passed in hap- 
 py tranquillity. He died in 1808, aged eighty-six. 
 
 124. BERNARDO DEL CARPio. 1 
 
 i. 
 
 rpLIE warrior bow'd his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, 
 -i- And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprison'd sire ; 
 
 1 BERNARDO DEL CARPIO, a celebrated Spanish champion, after many 
 ineffectual efforts to procure the release of his father, Count SALDAXA, 
 whom King ALPHONSO, of Asturias, had long retained in prison, at last 
 took up arms in despair. He maintained so destructive a war that the 
 king's subjects united in demanding SALDANA'S release. ALPHONSO 
 therefore offered BERNARDO the person of his father in exchange for the 
 castle of Carrio. BERNARDO immediately gave up his stronghold with 
 all his captives ; and rode forth with the king to meet his father, who 
 he was assured was on his way from prison. The remainder of the 
 story is related in the ballad. But littlf is knovra of BERNARDO'S his- 
 torv after this event 
 
BKBNARDO DEL OARP1O. 385 
 
 " I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, 
 I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord ! Oh ! break my father's 
 chain 1" 
 
 ii. 
 
 " Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes, a ransom'd man, this day 
 Mount thy good horse ; and thou and I will meet him on his way." 
 Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, 
 And urged, as if wifh lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. 
 
 III. V 
 
 And lo ! from far, as on they press'd, there came a glittering 
 
 band, 
 
 With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land : 
 " Now haste, Bernardo, haste ! for there, in v6ry truth, is he, 
 The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearn'd so long to see." 
 
 IV. 
 
 His dark eye flash'd, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue 
 came and went : 
 
 He reach'd that gray-hair'd chieftain's side, and there, dismount- 
 ing, bent ; 
 
 A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took 
 
 What was there in its touch that alJ his fiery spirit shook? 
 
 v. 
 
 That hand was cold a frozen thing,-, -it dropp'd from his like 
 
 lead! 
 
 He look'd up to the face above, the face was of the dead ! 
 A plume waved o'er the noble brow, the brow was fix'd and 
 
 white : 
 He met, at last, his father's eyes, but in them was no sight 1 
 
 VI. 
 
 Up from the ground he sprang and gazed ; bu* who could paint 
 
 that gaze ? 
 
 They hush'd their vgry hearts, that saw its horror and amaze : 
 They might have chain'd him, as before that stony form he 
 
 stood ; 
 For the powe. was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the 
 
 Dlood. 
 
 17 
 
386 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "FATHER!" at length he murmur' J low, and wept like childhood 
 
 then : 
 
 Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men ! 
 He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown, 
 He flung his falchion 1 from his side, and in the dust sat down. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful 
 
 -brow, 
 
 tt No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for, now ; 
 My king is false my hope betray'd ! My father Oh ! the worth, 
 The glory, and the loveliness, are pass'd away from earth ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 ** I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet ! 
 
 I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met ! 
 
 Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then ; for thee my fields 
 were won ; 
 
 And thou hast perish'd in thy chains, as though thou hadst no 
 son 1" 
 
 x. 
 
 Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the mon- 
 arch's rein, 
 
 Amidst the pale and wilder'd looks of all the courtier train ; 
 
 And, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, 
 
 And sternly set them face to face the king before the dead : 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss ? 
 Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and tell me, what is this ? 
 The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, give answer, where 
 
 are they ? 
 If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this 
 
 cold clay ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 a Into these glassy eyes put light ; be still ! keep down thine 
 
 ire! 
 Bid these white lips a blessing speak, this earth is not my sire : 
 
 1 Falchion (f4l' chun) 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN VkRSU. 387 
 
 Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was 
 
 shed ! 
 Thou canst not ? and a king ! his dust be mountains on thy 
 
 head !" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 He loosed the steed, his slack hand fell ; upon the silent face 
 He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turn'd from that sad 
 
 place : 
 
 His hope was crush'd, his after fate untold in martial strain : 
 His banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of Spain. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS. 
 
 MRS. HEMANS (Felicia Dorothea Browne), the daughter of a Liverpool mer- 
 chant, was born in that town on the 25th of September, J793. Her father, soort 
 after experiencing some reverses, removed with his family to Wales, and there 
 the young poetess imbibed that love of nature which is displayed in all her 
 works. She wrote verses from her childhood, and published a poetical volume 
 in her fourteenth year. Her second volume, "The Domestic Affections," 
 which appeared in 1812, established her poetical reputation. In the same year 
 ehe married Captain HEMANS, who, after some years, went to reside on the Con- 
 tinent, his wife remaining at home with her five sons. She became more and 
 more devoted to study and composition. In 1819 she won a prize of 50, offered 
 by some patriotic Scots for the best poem on Sir WILLIAM WALLACE, and in 
 June, 1821, she obtained the prize awarded by the Royal Society of Literature 
 for the best poem on the subject of Dartmoor. She succeeded well in narrative 
 and dramatic poetry, though the character of her genius was decidedly lyrica. 
 and reflective. Her numerous poems are admirable for purity of sentiment and 
 gentle pathos ; and her personal character was amiable, modest, and exemplary. 
 After several changes of residence, she died in Dublin, on the 16th of May, 1835 
 
 125. SELECT PASSAGES IN TERSE. 
 
 i. 
 
 PATRIOTISM. SCOTT. 
 BREATHES there a man wifh soul so dead, 
 Who never to himself hath said, 
 
 " This is my own my native land !" 
 Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd 
 As home his footsteps he hath turn'd, 
 
 From wandering on a foreign stiand? 
 If such there breathe, go, mark him well ! 
 For him no minstrel's raptures swell. 
 High though his titles, proud his name, 
 Boundless his wealth as wish can claim, 
 
388 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
 The wretch, concentered all in self, 
 Livi ig shall forfeit fair renown, 
 And, doubly dying, shall go down 
 To the vile dust from whence he sprung, 
 Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung. 
 
 n. 
 
 AMBITION. BYRON. 
 HE who ascends to mountain-tops shall find 
 
 The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow : 
 He who surpasses or subdues mankind 
 Must look down on the hate of those below. 
 
 Though high above the sun of glory glow, 
 
 And far beneafh the earth and ocean spread, 
 Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow 
 
 Contending tempests on his naked head ; 
 And thus reward the toils which to those summits led, 
 
 in. 
 
 INDEPENDENCE. THOMSON. 
 I CARE not, Fortune, what you me deny ; 
 
 You can not rob me of free Nature's grace ; 
 You can not shut the windows of the sky, 
 
 Through which Aurora 1 shows her brightening face ; 
 You can not bar my constant feet to trace 
 The woods and lawns, by living stream, at eve : 
 
 Let health my nerves and finer fibers brace, 
 And I their toys to the great children leave : 
 Of Fancy, Reason, Virtue, naught can me bereave ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE CAPTIVE'S DREAMS. MRS. UEMANS. 
 I DREAM of all things free ! of a gallant, gallant bark, 
 That sweeps through storm and sea like an arrow to its mark ; 
 
 J Eos, in Latin AURORA, the goddess of the morning red. It is said, 
 in mythology, at the close of every night she rose from the conch of her 
 spouse, TITHOXUS. and on a chariot drawn by the swift horses Lampus 
 and Phaethou, ascended up to heaven from the river Oceanus, to 
 announce the coming light of the sun to gods as well as to mortals : 
 hence, the dawn ng light ; the morning. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE. 389 
 
 Of a stag that o'er the hills goes bounding in its glee ; 
 Of a thousand flashing rills, of all things glad and free. 
 I dream of some proud bird, a bright-eyed mountain king : 
 In my visions I have heard the rushing of his wing. 
 I follow some wild river, on whose breast no sail may be ; 
 Dark woods around it shiver, I dream of all things free : 
 Of a happy forest child, wifih the fawns and flowers at play, 
 Of an Indian midst the wild, with the stars to guide his way ; 
 Of a chief his warriors leading ; of an archer's greenwood tree : 
 My heart in chains- is bleeding, and I dream of all things free ! 
 
 v. 
 
 WILLIAM TELL. BRYANT. 
 CHAINS may subdue the feeble spirit, but thee, 
 
 Tell, of the iron heart ! they could not tame ! 
 
 For thou wert of the mountains ; they proclaim 
 The everlasting creed of liberty. 
 That creed is written on the untrampled snow, 
 
 Thundcr'd by torrents which no power can hold, 
 
 Save that of God, when he sends forth his cold, 
 And breathed by winds that through the free heaven blow 
 Thou, while thy prison walls were dark around, 
 
 Didst meditate the lesson Nature taught, 
 
 And to thy brief captivity was brought 
 A vision of thy Switzerland unbound. 
 
 The bitter cup they mingled, strengthened thee 
 
 For the great work to set thy country free. 
 
 VI. 
 
 TELL ON SWITZERLAND. KNOWXES.' 
 
 ONCE Switzerland was free ! With what a pride 
 I used to walk these hills, look up to Heaven, 
 And bless God that it was so ! It was free 
 From end to end, from cliff to lake 'twas free ! 
 
 1 JAM is 811 KR i DAN KXOWLES, an English poet, is the most successful of 
 modurn tragic dramatists. His first pl;iy, "Virginias," appeared in 
 18-0, and had an extraordinary run of success. All his plays have 
 been collected and republished, of which, perhaps, none is more popu- 
 lar than " William Tell," from which the above was extracted. 
 
390 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Free as our torrents arc, that leap our rocks, 
 
 And plow our valleys, without asking leave ; 
 
 Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow 
 
 In very presence of the regal sun ! 
 
 How happy was I in it then ! I loved 
 
 Its very storms. Ay, often have I sat 
 
 In my boat at night, when midway o'er the lake 
 
 The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge 
 
 The wind came roaring, I have sat and eyed 
 
 The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled 
 
 To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, 
 
 And think I had no master save his own. 
 
 You know the jutting cliff, round which a track 
 
 Up hither winds, whose base is but the brow 
 
 To such another one, with scanty room 
 
 For two abreast to pass ? O'ertaken there 
 
 By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along 
 
 And while gust follow'd gust more furiously, 
 
 As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink, 
 
 And I have thought of other lands, whose storms 
 
 Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just 
 
 Have wish'd me there ; the thought that mine was free 
 
 Has check'd that wish, and I have raised my head, 
 
 And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, 
 
 BLOW ON ! THIS is THE LAND OF LIBERTY ! 
 
 vn. 
 How SLEEP THE BRAVE. COLLINS.' 
 
 How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, 
 By all their country's wishes blest ! 
 When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
 Returns to deck their hallow'd mold, 
 She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
 Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 
 By fairy hands their knell is rung ; 
 By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 
 There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 
 
 1 COLLINS, see Biographical Sketch, p. 492. 
 
GREECE. 391 
 
 To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
 And Freedom shall awhile repair, 
 To dwell, a weeping hermit, there. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE GREEKS AT THERMOPYLAE. BYRON 
 
 THEY fell devoted, but \indying ; 
 The very gale their names seem'd sighing ; 
 The waters murmur'd of their name ; 
 The woods were peopled with their fame ; 
 The silent pillar, lone and gray, 
 Claim'd kindred with their sacred clay : 
 Their spirits wrapp'd the dusky mountain, 
 Their memory sparkled o'er the fountain : 
 The meanest rill, the mightiest river, 
 Roll'd mingling with their fame forever. 
 Despite of every yoke she bears, 
 The land is glory's still and theirs. 
 'Tis still a watchword to the earth : 
 When man would do a deed of worth, 
 He points to Greece, and turns to tread, 
 So sanction'd, on the tyrant's head ; 
 He looks to her, and rushes on 
 Where life is lost, or freedom won. 
 
 126. GKEECE. 
 
 TTE who hath bent him o'er the dead, 
 JLL Ere the first day of death is fled, 
 The first dark day of nothingness, 
 The last of danger and distress, 
 Before Decay's effacing fingers 
 Have swept the lines where beauty lingers, 
 And mark'd the mild, angelic air, 
 The rapture of repose, that's there, 
 The fix'd yet tender traits that streak 
 The languor of the placid cheek 
 And but for that sad, shrouded eye, 
 
392 NATIONAL FIFTH READEB. 
 
 That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now 
 And but for that chill, changeless brow, 
 
 Where cold obstruction's apathy 
 Appalls the gazing mourner's heart, 
 As if to him it could impart 
 The doom he dreads, ySt dwells upon 
 Yes, but for these, and these alone, 
 Some moments, ay, one treacherous hour, 
 He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; 
 So fair, so calm, so s5ftly seal'd, 
 The first last look by death reveal'd 1 
 
 2. Such is the aspect of this shore ; 
 
 'Tis Greece but living Greece no more I 
 
 So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
 
 We start for soul is wanting there. 
 
 Hers is the loveliness in death, 
 
 That parts not quite with parting breath ; 
 
 But beauty with that fearful bloom, 
 
 That hue which haunts it to the tomb 
 
 Expression's last receding ray 
 
 A gilded halo hovering round decay, 
 
 The farewell beam of feeling past away ! 
 Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, 
 Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth. 
 
 3. Clime of the unforgotten brave ! 
 Whose land from plain to mountain-cave 
 Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave ! 
 Shrine of the mighty ! can it be 
 
 That this is all remains of thee ? 
 Approach, thou craven, crouching slave ! 
 
 Say, is not this Thermopylae ?' 
 These waters blue that round you lave, 
 
 1 Thermopylae (therm&p'ele), a famous pass of Greece, about five 
 miles long, and originally from 50 to 60 yards in width. It is hemmed 
 in on one side by precipitous rocks of from 400 to 600 feet in height, 
 and on the other side by the sea and an impassable morass. Here 
 LEONIDAS and his 300 Spartans died in defending Greece against the in- 
 vasion of XERXES, B. c. 489. 
 
GREECE. 393 
 
 O servile Offspring of the free 
 Pronounce what sea, wlurt shore is this 
 The gulf, the rock, of Salamis! 1 
 These scenes, their story not unknown, 
 Arise, and make again your own : 
 Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
 The embers of their former fires ; 
 And he who in the strife expires 
 Will add to theirs a name of fear, 
 That Tyranny shall quake to hear, 
 And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 
 They too will rather die than shame ; 
 For Freedom's battle once begun, 
 Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, 
 Though baffled oft, is ever won. 
 
 4. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page! 
 Attest it, many a deathless age ! 
 While kings, in dusty darkness hid, 
 Have left a nameless pyramid, 
 Thy heroes, though the general doom 
 Hath swept the column from their tomb, 
 A mightier monument command 
 The mountains of their native land ! 
 There points thy Muse, to stranger's eye, 
 The graves of those that can not die 1 
 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, 
 Each step from splendor to disgrace: 
 Enough, no foreign foe could quell 
 Thy soul, till from itself it fell. 
 Yes ! self-abasement paved the way 
 To villain-bonds and despot sway. BYRON.' 
 
 1 Sal' a mis, an island of Greece, in the Gulf of ^gina, ten miles "W. 
 of Athens. Its shape is very irregular ; the surface is mountainous, 
 and wooded in some parts. In the channel between it and the main 
 land, the Greeks, under THEMISTOCLES, gained a memorable naval vic- 
 tory over the Persians, B. c. 480. SOLON and EURIPIDES were natives of 
 Kalamis. 3 See Biographical Sketch, p. 292. 
 
S94 NATIONAL, FIFTH READER. 
 
 127. SONG OF THE GREEKS, 1822. 
 
 1 A GAIN to the battle, Achaians ! l 
 
 -HL Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance ; 
 Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree, 
 It has been, and shall yet be, the land of the free ; 
 For the cross of our faith is replanted, 
 The pale dying crescent is daunted, 
 And we march that the footprints of Mahomet's 9 slaves 
 May be wash'd out in blood from our forefathers' graves 
 Their spirits are hovering o'er us, 
 And the sword shall to glory restore us. 
 
 2. Ah ! what though no succor advances, 
 Nor Christendom's chivalrous 3 lances 
 
 Are stretch'd in our aid ? Be the combat our own ! 
 
 And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone ; 
 For we've sworn by our country's assaulters, 
 By the virgins they've dragg'd from our altars, 
 
 By our massacred patriots, our Children in chains, 
 
 By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins, 
 That, living, we will be victorious, 
 Or that, dying, our deaths shall be glorious. 
 
 3. A breath of submission we breathe not : 
 
 The sz0ord that we've drawn we will sheaflie not : 
 Its scabbard is left where our martyrs are laid, 
 And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade. 
 
 Earth may hide, waves engulf, fire consume us ; 
 
 But they shall not to slavery doom us : 
 If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves : 
 But we've smote them already with fire on the waves, 
 
 And new triumphs on land are before us ; 
 
 To the charge ! Heaven's banner is o'er us. 
 
 1 Achaians (a ka' anz), the people of Achaia, a department of the king 
 dom of Greece. * MAHOMET, a false prophet of Arabia, who, by the mere 
 force of his genius and his convictions, subdued many nations to his re- 
 ligion, his laws, and his scepter ; and whose authority at the present 
 time is acknowledged by nearly two t undred millions of souls. He was 
 born in 570, and died on the 8th of June, 632. * Chivalrous (smV al rus). 
 
MARCO BOZZARlb. 395 
 
 4. This day shall ye blush for its story ; 
 Or brighten your lives wifli its glory ? 
 
 Our women oh, say, shall they shriek in despair, 
 
 Or embrace us from conquest, with wreaths in their hair? 
 
 Accursed may his memory blacken, 
 
 If a coward there be that would slacken 
 Till we've trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth 
 Being sprung from, and named for, the god-like of earth. 
 
 Strike home ! and the world .shall revere us 
 
 As heroes descended from heroes. 
 
 5. Old Greece lightens up with emotion ! 
 Her inlands, her isles of the ocean, 
 
 Fanes rebuilt, and fair towns, shall with jubilee ring, 
 And the Nine shall new hallow their Helicon's 1 spring. 
 Our hearths 2 shall be kindled in gladness, 
 That were cold, and extinguish'd in sadness ; 
 Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white waving arms, 
 Singing joy to the brave that deliver'd their charms, 
 When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens 
 Shall have crimson'd the beaks of our ravens ! 
 
 THOMAS CAMPBELL.' 
 
 128. MARCO BOZZARIS. 
 
 1. AT midnight, in his guarded tent, 
 -A- The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
 When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 
 
 Should tremble alrhis power ; 
 In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
 The trophies of a conqueror ; 
 
 In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; 
 Then wore his monarch's signet ring ; 
 Then press'd that monarch's throne, a king ; 
 As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 
 
 As Eden's garden bird. 
 
 1 Helicon (hel'ekon), a famous mountain in Boeotia, in Greece, from 
 which flows a fountain, and where resided the Muses. * Hearths (harths). 
 8 8ee Biographical Sketch, p. 187. 
 
396 NATIONAL FIFTH RKADEK. 
 
 2. At midnight, in the forest shades, 
 
 Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 
 True as the steel of their tried blades, 
 
 Heroes in heart and hand. 
 There had the Persian's thousands stood, 
 There had the glad earth drunk their blood 
 
 On old PlatseaV day, 
 And now, there breathed that haunted air 
 The sons of sires who conquer'd there, 
 With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 
 
 As quick, as far as they. 
 
 8. An hour pass'd on the Turk awoke ; 
 
 That bright dream was his last ; 
 He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 
 " To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ' 
 He woke to die midst flame, and smoke, 
 And shout, and groan, and saber-stroke, 
 
 And death-shots falling thick and fast 
 As lightnings from the mountain-cloud ; 
 And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 
 
 Bozzaris cheer his band : 
 " Strike till the last arni'd foe expires; 
 STRIKE for your altars and your fires ; 
 STRIKE for the green graves of your sires ; 
 
 GOD and your native land !" 
 
 4. They fought like brave men, I6ng and well ; 
 
 They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
 They conquer'd but Bozzaris fell, 
 
 Bleeding at every vein. 
 His few surviving comrades saw 
 His smile, when rang their proud huzza, 
 
 1 Plataea (pl& te'a), a ruined city of Greece, in Boeotia, seven miles 8 
 W. of Thebes. Near it, B. c. 479, the G eeks, under Pausanias, totally 
 defeated and nearly annihilated the grand Persian army, under Mardo- 
 nius, who was killed in the action. Here, also, fell MARCO BOZZARIS, 
 in an attack upon the Turkish camp, August 20th, 1823, and expired 
 in the moment of victory. His last worls were : " To DIB FOB LIBKRIY 
 
 IS A PLEASURE, NOT A PAIN ' ' 
 
MARCO BOZZARI8, 897 
 
 And the red field was won ; 
 Then saw in death his eyelids close, 
 Calmly as to a night's repose, 
 
 Like flowers at set ot sun. 
 
 5. Come to the bridal chamber, Death 1 
 
 Come to the mother, when she feels, 
 For the first time, her first-born's breath 
 
 Come when the blessed seals 
 That close the pestilence are broke, 
 And crowded cities wail its stroke ; 
 Come in consumption's ghastly form, 
 The earthquake's shock, the ocean's storm ; 
 Come when the heart beats high and warm 
 
 With banquet-song, and dance, and wine,- 
 And thou art terrible ! The tear, 
 The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier ; 
 And all we know, or dream, or fear, 
 
 Of agony, are thine. 
 
 6. But to the hero, when his sword 
 
 Has won the battle for the free, 
 Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word 
 And in its hollow tones are heard 
 
 The thanks of millions yet to be. 
 Bozzaris! with the storied brave 
 
 Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
 Rest thee : there is no prouder grave, 
 
 Even in her own proud clime. 
 
 We tell thy doom without a sigh ; 
 For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's, 
 One of the few, the immortal names, 
 
 That were not born to die ! HALLECR. 
 
 FITZ-GREENF HALLECK was born at Guilford, in Connecticut, August, 1795, 
 and at the age of eighteen entered the banking-house of JACOB BARKER, in 
 New York, with which he was associated several years, subsequently perform- 
 ing the duties of a book-keeper in the private office of JQHN JACOB ASTOR. Soon 
 after the decease of that noted millionaire, in 1848, he retired to his birth- 
 place, where he has since resided. He evinced a taste for poetry and wrote 
 verses at a very early period. " Twilight," his first offering to the " Evening 
 Post," appeared in October, 1818. The year following he gained his first celeb- 
 rity in literature as a town wit, by producing, with his friend DRAKE, several 
 
898 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 witty and satirical pieces, which appeared in the columns of the ' ' Evening 
 Post" with the signature of Croaker & Co.; and his fame was fully established 
 by the publication of a volume of his poems in 1827. His poetry is characterized 
 by its music and perfection of versification, and its vigor and healthy sentiment 
 
 129. CONVERSATIONS AFTER MARRIAGE. 1 
 Enter LADY JEAZLE and SIR PETER.' 
 
 Sir Peter. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it! 
 
 Lady Teazle. \Right ^\ Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it 
 or not, as you please ; but I ought to have my own way in every 
 thing ; and what's more, I will too. What ! though I was edu- 
 cated in the country, I know very well that women of fashion in 
 London, are accountable to nobody after they are married. 
 
 Sir P. \Left^\ Very well, ma'am, very well so a husband is 
 to have no influence, no authority I 
 
 Lady T. Authority ! No, to be sure : if you wanted au- 
 thority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married 
 me ; I am sure you were old enough. * 
 
 Sir P. Old enough ! ay there it is. Well, well, Lady 
 Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by your temper, 
 I'll not be ruined by your extravagance. 
 
 Lady T. My extravagance ! I'm sure I'm not more extrava- 
 gant than a woman ought to be. 
 
 Sir P. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more sums 
 on such unmeaning luxury. 'Slife ! to spend as much to furnish 
 your dressing-room with flowers in winter as would suffice to 
 turn the Pantheon 3 into a green-house. 
 
 Lady T. Lord, Sir Peter, am I to blame, because flawers are 
 dear in cold weather ? You should find fault with' the climate, 
 anl not with me. For my part, I'm sure, 1 wish it was spring 
 all the year round, and that roses grew under our feet ! 
 
 Sir P. Zounds ! madam if you had been born to this, I 
 
 1 From "The School for Scandal." 'The following conversations are 
 admirable exercises in Personation, see p. GO. 3 Pan the' on, a magnifi- 
 cent temple at Rome, dedicated to all the gods. It is now converted 
 into a church. It was built or embellished by AGRIPPA, son-in-law to 
 AUGUSTUS, is of a round or cylindrical form, with a spherical dome, and 
 144 feet in diameter. 
 
CONVERSATIONS AFTER MAKlilAUK. 39U 
 
 shouldn't wonder at your talking thus ; but you forgSt what 
 your situation was when I married you. 
 
 Lady T. No, no, I don't; 'twas a very disagreeable one, or I 
 should never have married you. 
 
 - Sir P. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a hum- 
 bler style, the daughter of a plain country squire. Recollect, 
 Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at your tambor, in a 
 pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch of keys at your side ; 
 your hair combed smooth over a roll, and your apartment hung 
 round with fruits in worsted of your own working. 
 
 Lady T. Oh yes ! I remember it very well, and a curious life 
 I led, my daily occupation to inspect the dairy, superintend the 
 poultry, make extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb 
 my aunt Deborah's lap-dog. 
 
 Sir P. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. 
 
 Lady T. And then, you know, my evening amusements ; to 
 draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not materials to make up ; 
 to play Pope Joan 1 with the curate ; to read a novel to my aunt ; 
 or to be stuck down to an old spinet to strum my father to sleep 
 after, a fox-chase. [Crosses, L. 
 
 Sir P. [J?.] I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, 
 madam, these were the recreations I took you from ; but now 
 you must have your coach vis-a-vis* and three powdered 
 footmen before your chair ; and, in the summer, a pair of white 
 cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. No recollection, I 
 suppose, when you were content to ride double, behind the but- 
 ler, on a dock'd coach-horse. 
 
 Lady T. \LI\ No I never did that : I deny the butler and 
 the coach-horse. 
 
 Sir P. This, madam, was your situation ; and what have I 
 done for you ? I have made you a woman of fashion, of fortune, 
 of rank ; in short, I have made you my wife. 
 
 Lady T. Well, then ; and there is but one thing more you 
 can make me add to the obligatioi*, and that is- 
 
 Sir P. My widow, I suppose? 
 
 Lady T. Hem! hem! 
 
 a Pope Joan, a game at cards. 8 Vis-a-vis (viz' u v&') a carriage in 
 which two persons sit face- to face. 
 
4:00 NATIONAL FIFTH READKK. 
 
 Sir P. I thank von, madam ; but don't flatter yourself; foi 
 though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, it shall 
 never break my heart, I promise you : however, I am equally 
 obliged to you for the hint. [Crosses, L. 
 
 Lady T. Then why will you endeavor to make yourself so- 
 disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little elegant ex- 
 pense ? 
 
 Sir P. [L.] 'Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these little 
 elegant expenses when you married me ? 
 
 Lady T. Lud, Sir Peter ! would you have me be out of the 
 fashion ? 
 
 Sir P. The fashion, indeed ! What had you to do with the 
 fashion before you married me ? 
 
 Lady T. For my part, I should think you would like to have 
 your wife thought a woman of taste. 
 
 Sir P. Ay ;' there again taste. Zounds ! madam, you had 
 no taste when you married me ! 
 
 Lady T. That's very true indeed, Sir Peter ; and after having 
 married you, I should never pretend to taste again, I allow. 
 But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our daily jangle, I 
 presume I may go to my engagement at Lady Sneerwell's. 
 
 Sir P. Ay, there's another precious circumstance a charm- 
 ing set of acquaintance you have made there. 
 
 Lady T. Nay, Sir Peter, they are all people of rank and for- 
 tune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation. 
 
 Sir P. Yes, egad, they arc tenacious of reputation with u 
 vengeance ; for they don't choose anybody should have a charac- 
 ter but themselves ! Suc v - a crew ! Ah ! many a wretch has 
 rid on a hurdle 2 who has done less mischief than these utterers 
 of forged tales, coiners of scandal, and clippers of reputation. 
 
 Lady T. What ! would you restrain the freedom of speech ? 
 
 Sir P. Ah ! they have made you just as bad as any one of 
 the society. 
 
 Lady T. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a tolerable 
 grace. 
 
 Sir P. Grace, indeed ! 
 
 1 Ay ().* Hurdle (h3r dl), a sort of sledge used to draw traitors to 
 execution. 
 
CONVERSATIONS A TIER MARRIAGE. 4:01 
 
 Lady T. But I vow I bear no malice against the people I 
 abuse. When I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure good- 
 humor; and I take it for granted, they deal exactly in the same 
 manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know you promised to 
 come to Lady Sneerwell's too. 
 
 Sir P. Well, well, I'll call in just to look after my own char- 
 acter. 
 
 Lady T. Then indeed you must make haste after me, or 
 you'll be too late. So, good-by to you. [Exit LADY TEAZLE. 
 
 Sir P. So I have gained much by my intended expostula- 
 tion : ygt, with what a charming air she contradicts every thing 
 I say, and how pleasingly she shows her contempt for my au- 
 thSrity ! Well, though I can't make her love me, there is great 
 satisfaction in quarreling with her ; and I think she never ap- 
 pears to such advantage, as when she is doing every thing in 
 her power to plague me. [Exit. 
 
 130. CONVERSATIONS AFTER MARRIAGE CONCLUDED. 
 Enter LADY TEAZLE and SIR PETER. 
 
 Lady Teazle. Lud ! Sir Peter, I hope you haven't been quar- 
 reling wifh Maria ? It is not using me well to be ill-humored 
 when I am not by. 
 
 Sir Peter. [Left.] Ah! Lady Teazle, you might have the 
 power to make me good-humored at all times. 
 
 Lady T. [Right] I am sure I wish I had ; for I want you to 
 be in a charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be good- 
 humored now, and let me have two hundred pounds, will you ? 
 
 Sir P. Two hundred" pounds ! What, ain't I to be in a good 
 humor without paying for it ? But speak to me thus, and i' faith 
 there's nothing I could refuse you. You shall have it [give* her 
 notes] ; but seal me a bond, of repayment. 
 
 Lady T. Oh no ; there my note of hand will do as well. 
 
 [ Offering her hand. 
 
 Sir P. And you shall no lor.gcr reproach me with not giving 
 you an independent settlement I mean shortly to surprise you : 
 but shall we always live thus, hey ? 
 
 Lady T. If you please* I'm sure I don't care how soon we 
 eave off quarreling, provided you'll own you were tired first. 
 
402 NATIONAL FIFTH READEK. 
 
 Sir P. Well ; then let our future contest be, who shall bo 
 most obliging. 
 
 Lady T. I assure you, Sir Peter, good-nature becomes you : 
 you look now as you did before we were married, when you used 
 to walk w^fh me under the elms, and tell me stones of what a 
 gallant' you were in your youth, and chuck me under the chin, 
 you would ; and ask me if I thought I could love an old fellow, 
 who would deny me nothing didn't you ? 
 
 Sir. P. Yes, yes, and you were kind and attentive 
 
 Lady T. Ay, so I was, and would always take your part when 
 my acquaintance used to abuse you, and turn you into ridicule. 
 
 Sir P. Indeed ! 
 
 Lady T. Ay ; and when my cousin Sophy has called you a 
 stiff, peevish old bachelor, and laughed at me for thinking of 
 marrying one who might be my father, I have always defended 
 you, and said, I didn't think you so ugly by any means. 
 
 Sir P. Thank you. 
 
 Lady T. And I dared say you'd make a very good sort of a 
 husband. 
 
 Sir P. And you prophesied right : and we shall now be the 
 happiest couple 
 
 Lady T. And never differ again ? 
 
 Sir P. No, never ! though at the same time, indeed, my dear 
 Lady Teazle, you must watch your temper very seriously ; for 
 in all our little quarrels, my dear, if you recollect, my love, you 
 always begin first. 
 
 Lady T. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter ; indeed, you 
 always gave the provocation. 
 
 Sir P. Now see, my angel ! take care contradicting isn't 
 the way to keep friends. 
 
 Lady T. Then don't you begin it, my love. 
 
 Sir P. There, now ! you you are going on. You don't per- 
 ceive, my life, that you are just doing the very thing which you 
 know always makes me angry. 
 
 Lady T. Nay, you know if you will be angry without any 
 leason, my dear 
 
 Sir P. There ! now you want to quarrel again. 
 
 Lady T. No, I am sure I don't, but .if you will be so 
 peevish 
 
UUNVtKSAIIOJXS AFTiLK MARBIAGE. 408 
 
 Sir P. There now ! who begins first ? 
 
 Lady T. Why you, to be sure. I said nothing but there's 
 LO bearing your temper. 
 
 Sir P. No, no, madam ; the fault's in your own temper. 
 
 Lady T. Ay, you are just what my cousin Sophy said you 
 would be. 
 
 Sir P. Your cousin Sophy is a forward, impertinent gipsy. 
 
 Lady T. You are a great bear, I'm sure, to abuse my relations. 
 
 Sir P. Now may all the plagues of marriage be doubled on 
 me, if ever I try to be friends with you any more. 
 
 Lady T. So much the better. 
 
 Sir P. No, no, madam : 'tis evident you never cared a pin 
 for me, and I was a madman to marry you a .pert, rural 1 co- 
 quette, 2 that had refused half the honest squires in the neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
 Lady T. And I am sure I was a fool to marry you an old 
 dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only because he never 
 could meet with any one who would have him. [Crosses L. 
 
 Sir P. Ay, ay, madam ; but you were pleased enough to 
 listen to me : you never had such an offer before. 
 
 Lady T. No! didn't I refuse Sir Tivy Terrier, who every- 
 body said would have been a better match ? for his estate is just 
 as good as yours, and he has broke his neck since we have been 
 married. [Crosses R. 
 
 Sir P. [L.] I have done with you, madam ! You are an un- 
 feeling, ungrateful but there's an end of every thing. I believe 
 you capable of every thing that is bad. Yes, madam, I now be- 
 lieve the reports relative to you and Charles, madam. Yes, 
 madam, you and Charles are not without grounds. 
 
 Lady T. [R.] Take care, Sir Peter ! you had better not in- 
 sinuate any such thing ! I'll not be suspected without cause, I 
 promise you. 
 
 Sir P. Very well, madam ! very well ! A separate mainten- 
 ance as soon as you please ! Yes, madam, or a divorce ! I'll 
 make an example of myself for the benefit of all old bachelors. 
 
 Lady T. Agreed ! agreed ! And now, my dear Sir Peter, we 
 are of a mind once more, we may be the happiest couple and 
 
 1 Rural (r6' ral). Coquette (ko 
 
4:04 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 never differ again, you know ha ! ha ! ha ! ^T ell, you are go- 
 ing to be in a passion, I see, and I shall only interrupt yon ; so, 
 bye bye. [Exit LADY XiAZtE. 
 
 Sir P. Plagues and tortures! Can't I make her angry 
 either ! Oh, I am the most miserable fellow ! But I'll not beai 
 her presuming to keep her temper : no ! she may break my 
 heart, but she shan't keep her temper. [Exit 
 
 SHERIDAN. 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, the celebrated orator, statesman, and comic 
 play-writer, was born at Dublin in 175J. His father, THOMAS SHERIDAN, was 
 well known as an actor, elocutionist, and author of a pronouncing dictionary 
 KICHAAD, an idle and mischievous boy, passed at school for a hopeless block- 
 head. He left Harrow at the age of eighteen, studied law with indifferent suc- 
 cess in the Middle Temple, and, when barely of age, made a runaway marriage 
 with Miss LIXLEY, a beautiful and accomplished singer. His earliest comedy 
 "The Rivals," a humorous and lively play, appeared in 1775, when the authoi 
 was little more than twenty-three years old. About the same period he became 
 one of the proprietors of Drury Lane Theater. His farce of " St. Patrick's Day," 
 and opera of" The Duenna," appeared in 177G ; and "The School for Scandal, 1 ' 
 which in plot, character, incident, dialogue, humor, and wit, perhaps, surpasses 
 any comedy of modern times, was played in 1777. His last play, " The Critic," 
 appeared in 1779. He obtained a seat in parliament in 1780. He worked hard 
 for the House of Commons, and, in his great efforts, was one of the most showy 
 and striking of parliamentary orators. His famous speech on the trial of WAR- 
 REN HASTINGS produced an impression on the public mind never, perhaps, sur- 
 passed. Losing his wife in 179-2, he married again, in 1796, a lady with whom 
 he received .5000; and with this money, and jE! 5,000 from shares in the theater, 
 he purchased an estate, but his sottish habits soon dispelled his dreams of splen- 
 dor, and finally reduced him to penury. He was treasurer of the navy during 
 the ministry of Fox and GRENVILLE; but after 181-2 he was no longer able to 
 speak in the house. He died in 1816, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 131. A CURTAIN LECTURE OF MRS. CAUDLE. 1 
 
 BAII ! that's the third umbrella gone since Christmas. What 
 were you to do? Why, let him go home in the rain, to be 
 sure. I'm very certain there was nothing about him that could 
 spoil. Take cold, indeed! He doesn't look like one of the 
 sort to take cold. Besides, he'd have better taken cold than 
 taken our umbrella. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Candle I I say 
 
 1 I his lesson presents an excellent field for the display of wli.it may 
 be called the colloquial style of reading. Anger generally expresses itstilt 
 with rapidity, and the character of a scold is best sustained by great voi 
 ubility of language. 
 
A CDKTAU1 LECTURE OF MRS. CAUDLE. 405 
 
 <io yon licar the rain ? And, as I'm alive, if it isn't St. Swithin's 
 day ! Do you hear it against the windows ? Nonsense ! you 
 don't impose upon me ; you can't be asleep wifh such a shower 
 as that ! Do you hear it, I say ? Oh ! you DO hear it ! Well, 
 that's a pretty Hood, I think, to last for six weeks; and no stir- 
 ring 11 the time out of the house. 
 
 2. Fooli ! don't think me a fool, Mr. Caudle ; don't insult me ; 
 he return the umbrella ! Anybody would think you were born 
 yesterday. As if anybody ever did return an umbrella ! There : 
 do you hear it ? Worse and worse. Cats and dogs, and for six 
 weeks : always six weeks ; and no umbrella ! I should like to 
 know how the children are to go to school to-morrow ! They 
 shan't go through such weather; I am determined. No; they 
 shall stop at home and never learn any thing (the blessed crea- 
 tures !), sooner than go and get wet ! And when they grow up, 
 I wonder who they'll have to thank for knowing nothing : who, 
 indeed, but their father. People who can't feel for their own 
 children ought never to be fathers. 
 
 3. But I know why you lent the umbrella : oh ! yes, I know 
 very well. I was going out to tea at dear mother's to-morrow : 
 you knew that, and you did it on purpose. Don't tell me ; you 
 hate to have me go there, and take every mean advantage to 
 hinder me. But don't you think it, Mr. Caudle ; no, sir : if it 
 comes down in bucketsful, I'll go all the more. No; and I 
 won't have a cab ! Where do you think the money's to come 
 from ? You've got nice high notions at that club of yours ! A 
 cab, indeed ! Cost me sixteen-pence, at least. Sixteen-pence ! 
 two-and-eight-pence ; for there's back again. Cabs, indeed ! I 
 should like to know who's to pay for 'cm ; for I'm .sure you 
 can't, if you go on as you do, throwing away your property, and 
 beggaring your children, buying umbrellas ! 
 
 4. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle ? I say, do you hear it ? 
 But I don't care I'll go to mother's to-morrow I will ; and 
 what's more, I'll walk every step of the way; and you know 
 that will give me my death. Don't call me a foolish woman ; 
 it's you that's the foolish man. You know I can't wear clogs ; 
 and with no umbrella, the wet's sure to give me a cold : it al- 
 ways does ; but what do you care for that I Nothing at all. I 
 may bo laid up, for what you care, as I dare say I shall ; and & 
 
406 NATIONAL FIF1H KEADKK. 
 
 pretty doctor's bill there'll be. I hope there will. It will teach 
 you to lend your umbrellas again. I shouldn't wcnder if I 
 caught my death : yes, and that's what you lent the umbrella 
 for. Of course ! 
 
 5. Nice clothes I get, too, traipsing through weather like this. 
 My gown and bonnet will be spoiled quite. Needn't I wear 'em, 
 then ? Indeed, Mr. Caudle, I shall wear 'em. No, Sir ; I'm not 
 going out a dowdy, to please you, or anybody else. Gracious 
 knows ! it isn't often that I step over the threshold : indeed, I 
 might as well be a slave at once : better, I should say ; but when 
 I do go out, Mr. Caudle, I choose to go as a lady. 
 
 6. Oh ! that rain if it isn't enough to break in the windows. 
 Ugh ! I look forward with dread for to-morrow ! How I am to 
 go to mother's, I'm sure I can't tell ; but if I die, I'll do it. No, 
 Sir ; I won't borrow an umbrella : no ; and you shan't buy one. 
 Mr. Caudle, if you bring home another umbrella, I'll throw it 
 into the street. Ha ! And it was only last week I had a new 
 nozzle put to that umbrella. I'm sure if I'd have known as 
 much as I do now, it might have g5ne without one. Paying 
 for new nozzles for other people to laugh at you ! Oh ! it's all 
 very well for you ; you can go to sleep. You've no thought of 
 your poor patient wire, and your own dear children ; you think 
 of nothing but lending umbrellas ! Men, indeed ! call them- 
 selves lords of the creation ! pretty lords, when they can't even 
 take care of an umbrella ! 
 
 7. I know that walk to-morrow will be the death of me. But 
 that's what you want : then you may go to your club, and do as 
 you like ; and then nicely my poor dear children will be used ; 
 but then, Sir, then you'll be happy. Oh ! don't tell me ! I 
 know you will : else you'd never have lent the umbrella ! You 
 have to go on Thursday about that summons ; and, of course, 
 you can't go. No, indeed : you dorft go without the umbrella. 
 You may lose the debt, for what I care it won't be so much as 
 spoiling your clothes better lose it ; people deserve to lose debts 
 who lend umbrellas ! 
 
 8. And I should like to know how I'm to go to mother's with- 
 out the umbrella. Oh ! don't tell me that I said I would go ; 
 that's nothing to do wifli it, nothing at all. She'll think I'm 
 neglecting her and the little money we're to IIAVC, we shan't 
 
SELECT PASSAGES LN \ERSE, 407 
 
 have at all; because we're no umbrella. The children, t*>o! 
 (dear things !) they'll be sopping wet : for they shan't stay at 
 home ; they shan't lose their learning ; it's all their father will 
 leave them, I'm sure ! But they shall go to school. Don't tell 
 me they shouldn't (you are so aggravating, Caudle, you'd spoil 
 the temper of an angel !) ; they shall go to school : mark that ! 
 and if they get their deaths of cold, it's not my fault ; I DIDN'T 
 
 LEND THE UMBRELLA. DOUGLAS JfiRROLD. 
 
 DOUGLAS JERROLD was born in London on the 3d of January, 1803. His father, 
 SAMUEL JERROLD, was manager of the two theaters of Sheerness and Southern!, 
 and in these sea-places much of his childhood was passed. His school-days 
 were few, and the results of his studies unimportant. At eleven years of age he 
 became a midshipman in the British navy, and served about two years, thus ac- 
 quiring nautical experience, which he used in writing " Black-eyed Susan," one 
 of his most successful plays. A mere boy when he came ashore, he went to 
 London, became an apprentice in a printing-office, and went through the ordi- 
 nary course of a printer's life. At this time, though the hours of labor were 
 long, he studied very hard, and wrote pieces for the magazines. Emboldened 
 by success, he wrote numerous plays for the theaters before he was twenty years 
 old. Among the greatest and maturest of his comedies are " The Prisoner of 
 War," " Bubbles of a Day," " Time works Wonders," " St. Cupid," and " The 
 Heart of Gold." His chief brilliant and original prose writings, except " A Man 
 made of Money," were first prepared for magazines. " Men of Character" ap- 
 peared in "Blackwood's Magazine," " The Chronicles of Ciovernook," in the 
 " Illuminated Magazine," of which he was founder and editor, and " The 
 Story of a Feather," " Punch's Letters to his Son," and " The Caudle Lec- 
 tures" in " Punch," of which he was the originator. The last literary eve it in 
 his life was his assuming the editorship of " Lloyd's Newspaper," which rose 
 under his hand to great circulation and celebrity. He died, from disease of the 
 heart, on the 8th of June, 1857. 
 
 132. SELECT PASSAGES nsr YERSE. 
 
 i. 
 
 EXHORTATION TO COURAGE. 
 
 BUT wherefore 1 do you droop ? Why look you sad ? 
 Be great in act, as you have been in thought ; 
 Let not the world see fear and sad distrust 
 Govern the motion of a kingly eye ; 
 Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
 Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow 
 Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes, 
 That borrow their behaviors from the great, 
 
 1 Wherefore (wh&r / fir). 
 
408 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Grow great by your example ; and put on 
 The dauntless 1 spirit of resolution ; 
 Show boldness and aspiring confidence. 
 What ! shall they seek the lion in his den, 
 And fright him there, and make him tremble there I- 
 Oh, let it not be said ! Forage, and run 
 To meet displeasure further from the doors, 
 And grapple with him ere he comes so nigh ! 
 
 n. 
 
 FAME. POPE. 
 
 NOR Fame I slight, nor for her favors call : 
 She comes unlook'd for, if she comes at all. 
 But if the purchase cost so dear a price 
 As soothing Folly, or exalting Vice, 
 Oh ! if the Muse must flatter lawless sway, 
 And follow still where Fortune leads the way,- 
 Or if no basis bear my rising name, 
 But the fallen ruins of another's fame, 
 Then teach me, Heaven, to scorn the guilty bays,* 
 Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise ; 
 Unblemish'd let me live, or die unknown : . 
 Oh, grant an honest fame, or grant me none ! 
 
 in. 
 
 VALUE OF REPUTATION. SHAKSPEARE. 
 GOOD name in man and woman, dear my lord, 
 Is the immediate jewel of their souls. 
 Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 
 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
 But he that filches from me my good name, 
 Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
 And makes me poor indeed. 
 
 IV. 
 
 PLEASURE. BURNS.' 
 BUT pleasures are like poppies spread, 
 You seize the flower its bloom is shed ; 
 
 1 Dawnt' less. * Bays (biz), a prize ; an honorary crown or garland. 
 * EOBEET Buaxs, the great peasant poet of Scotland, was born near Ayr, 
 
SKLUCT PASS AUKS IN VKK8E. 409 
 
 Or like the snow-falls in the river, 
 A moment white then lost forever; 
 Or like the borealis race, 
 That flit ere you can point their place ; 
 Or like the rainbow's lovely form, 
 Evanishing amid the storm. 
 
 v. 
 PLEASURE. YOUNG. 
 
 GIVE Pleasure's name to naught but what has pass'd 
 
 The authentic seal of Reason, and defies 
 
 The tooth of Time ; when past, a pleasure still ; 
 
 Dearer on trial, lovelier for its age, 
 
 And doubly to be prized, as it promotes 
 
 Our future, while it forms our present joy. 
 
 Some joys the future overcast, and some 
 
 Throw all their beams that way, and gild the tomb. 
 
 Some joys endear eternity ; some give 
 
 Abhorr'd Annihilation 1 dreadful charms. 
 
 Are rival joys contending for thy choice? 
 
 Consult thy whole existence, and be safe ; 
 
 That Sracle will put all doubt to flight 
 
 VI. 
 
 TIME NEVER RETURNS. 
 
 MARK, how it snows ! how fast the valley fills, 
 
 And the sweet groves the hoary garment wear ; 
 Yet the warm sunbeams, bounding from the hills, 
 
 Shall melt the veil away, and the young green appear : 
 But, when old age has on your temples shed 
 
 Her silver frost, there's no returning sun : 
 Swift flies our summer, swift our autumn's fled, 
 
 When youth and love and spring and golden joys are gone. 
 
 In the district of Kyle, on the 25th of January, 1759. He almost al 
 ways wrote directly from nature. His poetry is replete with fire, hu- 
 mor, and pathos, combined with perfect simplicity and naturalness. 
 His brightest effusions were born of his toils, aspirations, and sufferings. 
 He died on the 21st of July. 1706. * An ni hi li' tion, destruction ; act 
 of reducing to nothing. 
 
 18 
 
NATIONAL F1FIH R1.XDKB.- 
 
 VII. 
 INGRATJTUDE. SflAKSPEARE. 
 
 BLOW, blow, thou winter wind : thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man's ingratitude. 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, because thou art not seen, 
 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky : thou dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot. 
 Though thou the waters warp, thy tooth is net so sharp 
 
 As friend reinember'd not 
 
 VIII. 
 
 SEVERITY AND GENTLENESS. GOLD PEN. 
 
 WHILE slumber bound mine eyes, last night, 
 
 Methought that from some lofty height 
 
 An eagle touchM me in his flight ! 
 
 I seized the bird, and struggling tried 
 
 To imprison him fast by my side : 
 
 Long did he furious battle wage ! 
 
 Hurt, I oft struck at him in rage ! 
 
 But while I wounded him the more, 
 
 Deeper my bleeding side he tore, 
 
 Until at length, I, strangely moved, 
 
 Stroked his fierce head as one who loved ; 
 
 When lo, he ceased he laid at rest, 
 
 Peaceful, serene upon my breast, 
 
 And I saw in the vision fair, 
 
 Now 'twas a dove that nestled there ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 MERCY. SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 THE quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
 Upon the place beneath. It is twice bless'd ; 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes. 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
 The throned monarch better than his crown : 
 His scepter shows the force of temporal power. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IK V'KfiSK. 
 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 Wherein doth sit the tear and dread of Ki 
 But mercy is above the scepter'd sway, 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 
 When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
 Though justice be thy plea, consider this 
 That,, in the course of justice, none of us 
 Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy ; 
 And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
 The deeds of mercy. 
 
 x. 
 MAN. YOUNG. 
 
 How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 
 How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! 
 Hovr passing wonder He \vho made him such ! 
 Who center'd in our make such strange extremes 
 From different natures marvellously mix'd, 
 Connection ex'quisite of distant worlds ! 
 Distinguished link in being's endless chain ! 
 Midway from nothing to the Deity ! 
 A beam ethereal, 1 sullied, and absorpt ! 
 Though sullied and dishonor'd, still divine : 
 Dim miniature 9 of greatness absolute ! 
 An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! 
 Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! 
 A worm ! a god ! I tremble at myself, 
 And in myself am lost ! At home a stranger, 
 Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, 
 And wondering at her own : how Reason reels ! 
 Oh what a miracle to man is man, 
 Triumphantly distress'd ! What joy, what dread, 
 Alternately transported and alarm'd ! 
 
 1 Ethereal, formed of ether or thin air; celestial; heavenly. 
 Miniature (niln'etur), a representation of nature on a very small 
 scale ; likeness or picture. 
 
412 NATIONAL FIFTH READEK. 
 
 What can preserve my life, or what destroy ? 
 An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave ; 
 Legions of angers can't confine me there ! 
 Even silent night proclaims my soul immortal ! 
 
 133. BLEXNERHASSETT'S TEMPTATION. 
 
 A PLAIN man, who knew nothing of the curious transmuta- 
 tions' which the wit of man can work, would be vgry apt to 
 wonder by what kind of legerdemain 2 Aaron Burr 3 had con- 
 trived to shuffle himself down to the bottom of the pack, as an 
 ac'cessory, and turn up poor Blennerhassett as principal, in this 
 treason. Who, then, is Aaron Burr, and what the part which 
 he has borne in this transaction ? He is its author, its projector, 
 its active ex'ecuter. Bold, ardent, restless, and aspiring, his 
 brain conceived it, his hand brought it into action. 
 
 2. Who is Blennerhassett ? A native of Ireland, a man of 
 letters, who fled from the storms of his own country, to find 
 quiet in ours. On his arrival in America, he retired, even from 
 the population of the Atlantic States, and sought quiet and soli- 
 tude in the bosom of our western forests. But he brought with 
 him taste, and science, and wealth ; and " lo, the desert smiled !" 
 Possessing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears 
 upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embellish- 
 ment of fancy. A shrubbery that Shenstone 4 might have en- 
 
 1 Trans mu ta' tion, a change into another substance or form. 2 Leger- 
 demain (lej er de man'), sleight of hand ; trick. * AARON BURR was born 
 in Newark, N. J., February 5, 1756. His military talents secured for 
 him the high position of lieutenant-colonel in the army of the Revolu- 
 tion ; after which he acquired a prominent position as a great lawyer in 
 New York, where he was made attorney-general in 1789. He was a 
 member of the United States Senate from 1791 to 1797, where he was 
 the leader of the republican party. He was made vice-president in 
 1800 ; killed ALEXANDER HAMILTON in a duel in 1804 ; was tried on a 
 charge of treasonable designs against Mexico, at Richmond, Va , in 
 1807, of which he was finally acquitted ; and died on Staten Island, 
 September 14, 1836. His debauchery, and his unscrupulous conduct as 
 a statesman, deprived him of all sympathy, and he left, accordingly, 
 but an ill fame behind him * WILLIAM SHENSTOXE, a pleasing writer 
 both of prose and verse, noted for his tast 3 in landscape-gardening, was 
 boru in Shropshire, England, in 1714. and lied in 1763. 
 

 BLKNNERHASSETT'S TEMPTATION. 
 
 ricd, blooms around him. Music that might have charmed 
 Calypso 1 and her nymphs, is his. An extensive library spreads 
 its treasures before him. A philosophical apparatus offers to 
 him all the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity, 
 and innocence, shed their mingled delights around him. And, 
 to crown the enchantment of the scene, a wife, who is said to be 
 lovely even beyond her sex, and graced with every accomplish- 
 ment that can render it irresistible, had blessed him with her 
 love, and made him the father of several children. 
 
 3. The evidence would convince you, Sir, that th:'s is but a 
 faint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this 
 innocence, and this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, thi? 
 pure banquet 2 of the heart, the destroyer comes. He comes 
 to turn this paradise into a hell. Yet the flowers do not wither 
 at his approach, and no monitory shuddering through the bosom 
 of their unfortunate possessor warns him of the ruin that is 
 coming upon him. A stranger presents himself. It is Aaron 
 Burr. Introduced to their civilities by the high rank which he 
 had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their 
 hearts, by the dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the light 
 and beauty of his conversation, and the seductive and fascinating 
 powcr^of his address. 
 
 4. The conquest 3 was not difficult. Innocence is ever simple 
 and credulous. Conscious of no designs itself, it suspects none 
 in others. It wears no guards before its breast. Every door 
 and portal and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who 
 choose it enter. Such was the state of Eden when the serpent 
 entered its bowers! The prisoner, in a more engaging form, 
 winding himself into the open and unpractised heart of the un- 
 fortunate Blennerhassett, found but little difficulty in changing 
 the native character of that heart, and the objects of its affec- 
 tions. By degrees he infuses into it the poison of his own am- 
 bition. He breathes into it the fire of his own courage ; a dar- 
 ing and desperate thirst for glory ; an ardor, panting for all the 
 Btorm, and bustle, and hurricane of life. 
 
 1 CALYPSO, a fabled nymph, who inhabited the island of Ogygia, on 
 which ULYSSES was shipwrecked. 8 Banquet (bang' k wet). 3 Conquest 
 (k6ng kwest). 
 
4:14 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 5. In a short time, the whole man is changed, and every ob- 
 ject of his former delight relinquished. No more he enjoys the 
 tranquil scene : it has become flat and insipid to his taste. His 
 books are abandoned, llis retort and crucible are thrown aside. 
 His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon the air in 
 vain he likes it not. llis ear no longer drinks the rich melody 
 of music : it longs for the trumpet's clangor, and the cannon's 
 roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer 
 affects him ; and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto 
 touched his bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unfelt 
 and unseen. Greater objects have taken possession of his soul. 
 His imagination has been dazzled by visions of diadems, and 
 stars, and garters, and titles of nobility. He has been taught to 
 burn with restless emulation at the names of great heroes and 
 conquerors, of Cromwell, 1 and Caesar, 2 and Bonaparte. 3 His 
 enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a wilderness; 
 and, in a few months, we find the tender and beautiful partner 
 of his bosom, whom he lately "permitted not the winds of" 
 summer " to visit too roughly,"^ we find her shivering, at mid- 
 night, on the wintry banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears 
 with the torrents that froze as they fell. 
 
 6. Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest 
 and his happiness thus seduced from the paths of innocence 
 and peace thus confounded in the toils which were deliberately 
 spread for him, and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and 
 genius of another, this man, thus ruined and undone, and made 
 to play a subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt and 
 ti :ason this man is to be called the principal offender ; while 
 he, by whom he was thus plunged in misery, is comparatively 
 innocent, a mere ac'cessory ! Is this reason ? Is it law ? Is it 
 humanity ? Sir, neither the human heart nor the human un- 
 derstanding will bear a perversion so monstrous and absurd ; so 
 shocking to the soul ; so revolting to reason ! WILLIAM W.ur. 
 
 WILLIAM WIRT, an able American lawyer and miscellaneous writer, was boru 
 in Bladeiisburg, .Maryland, November 8th, 1772. He was a private tutor at 
 
 'OLIVKK CROMWKLL. a great warrior and statesman, Lord Protector of 
 England, was born on tbu 2-3 th of April, lo'J'J, and died on the od o/ 
 September, 1659 * CJSAR, see p. 20U, note 4. * BONAPARTE, see p. 205, 
 
BATTLE OF \VAK3AW. 415 
 
 fifteen; studied law; was admitted to the bar, in his twentieth year; removed 
 to Richmond, Virginia, where he met with eminent success in his profession, 
 and became chancellor and district-attorney. In 1817, in the presidency of 
 MONROE, he became Attorney-general of the United States, an office which he 
 held for twelve years. His defence of BLENNKRHASSETT, in the famous trial of 
 AARON BL'RR for treason, in 1807, from which the above extract is taken, won 
 for him a great reputation for fervid eloquence. On his retirement from office, 
 in 1829, he took up his permanent residence at Baltimore, where he became 
 actively engaged in the practice of the. law. He Was the author of the " Old 
 Bachelor," " The British Spy," " Life of Patrick Henry," &c. He died Febru 
 ary Ibth, 1834. 
 
 134. BATTLE OF WARSAW. 
 
 1. A SACRED truth ! thy triumph ceased awhile, 
 V7 And hope, thy sister, ceased with tliee to smiK 
 When leagued oppression pourVl to northern wars 
 Her whiskerVl pandoors, and her fierce hussars, 
 Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
 Peafd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn! 
 Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
 Presaging wrath to Poland and to man. 
 
 2. Warsaw's last champion from her height survey'd, 
 Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid ; 
 
 Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save ! 
 Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 
 Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, 
 Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! 
 By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, 
 And swear for her to live, wifli her to die ! 
 
 8. lie said, and on the rampart heights array'd 
 His trusty warriors few, but undismay'd ; 
 Firm-paced and slow, a htfrrid front they form, 
 Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 
 Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
 Revenge or death ! the watchword and reply : 
 Then peal'd the notes omnipotent to charm, 
 And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm. 
 
 4. In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! 
 
 From rank to rank your volley VI thunder flew : 
 Oh, bloodiest picture in the "book of timol" 
 
4:1 H SAT10.NAL FIFTH READKR. 
 
 Sarmatia 1 fell, unwept, without a crime ! 
 Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
 Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! 
 Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, 
 Closed her bright eye, and curb'd her high career : 
 Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, 
 And Freedom shriek'd as Kosciusko* fell ! 
 
 5. The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there, 
 Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air ! 
 On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 
 His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below ; 
 The storm prevails, the rampart yields away, 
 Bursts the wild cry of hSrror and dismay ! 
 Hark! as the smoldering piles wifli thunder fall, 
 A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call : 
 Earth shook red meteors flash'd along the sky, 
 And conscious nature shudder'd at the cry. CAMPBELL 
 
 135. SCENE HAMLET AND HIS MOTHER.* 
 
 Hamlet. Now, mother, what's the matter ? 
 
 Queen. Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. 
 
 1 Sarmatia, the classical name of Poland. For many centuries Poland 
 existed as an independent and powerful State, but having fallen a prey 
 to internal dissensions, it was violently seized by Russia, Prussia, and 
 Austria, and divided between them. The first partition took place in 
 1772, a second in 1793, and a third in 1795. The Poles have made sev- 
 eral attempts to recover their liberty, the last of which was in 1830. 
 "THADDELS KOSCIUSKO, a noble Pole, was born in 1756. When young, 
 he served the United States in their war of independence against Eng- 
 land, where he rose to the rank of general. He returned to Poland, 
 and signalized himself at the head of one of her armies in 1792 and 
 1793 ; and when the Poles rose against their oppressors in 1794, he was 
 made their generalissimo, and their dictator. He was wounded and 
 taken prisoner by the Russians at the fatal battle of Maciovice, October 
 1st. 1794, and the complete downfall of his country soon followed. He 
 closed his unstained und noble life in Switzerland, in 1817. * See Bio- 
 graphical Sketch, p. 137. * The father of HAMLKT was k'mg of Denmark, 
 and was murdered by his own brother, who. within a short time after 
 the murder, married Harnlet'g mother. The ghost of Hamlet's father 
 
HAMLET AND Ill> MOT11KJR. ' 417 
 
 Hamlet. Mother, you have my father much offe.ided. 
 
 Queen. Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue 
 
 Hamlet. Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. 
 
 Queen. Why, how now, Hamlet ? 
 
 Hamlet. What's the matter now ? 
 
 Queen. Have you forgot me? 
 
 Hamlet. No, by the rood, 1 not so : 
 
 You are the queen ; your husband's brother's wife \ 
 And would it were not so! you are my mother. 
 
 Queen. Nay, then I'll set those to you that can speak. 
 
 Hamlet. Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not budgo 
 You go not till I set you up a glass 
 Where you may see the inmost part of you. 
 
 Queen. What wilt thou do? thou wilt not murder me? 
 
 Hamlet. Leave wringing of your hands : peace; sit you down, 
 And let me wring your heart : for so I shall, 
 If it be made of penetrable stuff; 
 If damned custom have not brazed it so, 
 That it is proof and bulwark against sense. 
 
 Queen. What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue 
 In noise so iflde against me ? 
 
 Hamlet. Such an act, 
 
 That blurs the grace and blush of modesty ; 
 Calls virtue, hypocrite ; takes off the rose 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent love, 
 And sets a blister there ; makes marriage vows 
 As false as dicer's oath ! Oh, such a deed 
 As from the body of contraction plucks 
 The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
 A rhapsody of words. * Heaven's face doth glow ; ' 
 Yea, this solidity and compound mass, 
 
 had, iu a previous scene, informed his son of his uncle's guilt, and ex- 
 horted him to avenge the murder. Hamlet, doubtful of the relation oi 
 the ghost, and fearful that it might be only the tale of a wicked spirit, 
 laid a plot to convince himself of his uncle's participation in the mur- 
 der ; and the scene here given occurs after the successful issue of the 
 plot, and he becomes fully convinced that his uncle was the murderer 
 of his father. ' Rood, the cross, or an image of Christ on the cross, with 
 the Virgin Mary and a saint, or St. John, on each sitlfe of it. 
 
 27 
 
418 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 With tristful visage, as against the doom, 
 Is thought-sick at the act. 
 
 Queen. Ah me ! what act, 
 
 That roars so loud, and thunders in the index ? 
 
 Hamlet. Look here, upon this picture, and on this; 1 
 The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. 
 See what a grace was seated on this brow : 
 HyperionV curls; the front of Jove 3 himself; 
 An eye like Mars, 4 to threaten and command; 
 A station like the herald Mercury, 5 
 New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ; 
 A combination, and a form, indeed, 
 Where every god did seem to set his seal, 
 To give the world assurance of a man. 
 This was your husband. Look you, now, what follows : 
 Here is your husband ; like a mildew'd ear, 
 Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes ? 
 Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, 
 And batten on this moor ? Ha ! have you eyes ? 
 You can not call it love, for at your age 
 The heyday in the blood is tame, it's humble, * 
 And waits upon the judgment; and what judgment 
 Would step from this to this ? 
 
 Queen. Oh, speak no more ! 
 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
 And there I see such black and grained spots, 
 As will not leave their tinct 6 Oh, speak to me no more ! 
 These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears ; 
 No more, sweet Hamlet ! 
 
 1 The two pictures were the likeness of his father, worn by Hamlet, 
 and the likeness of his uncle, worn by Hamlet's mother. * HYPKRIOS 
 was the father of Aurora, and the Sun and Moon ; or, as Shakspeave rep- 
 ^esents, this is a name of APOLLO, the god of day, who was distinguished 
 for his beauty. * JOVE, see p. 337, note 4. * MARS, an ancient Roman 
 god, who, at an early period, was identified with the Greek ARES, or 
 the god delighting in bloody war. Next to JUPITER, MARS enjoyed the 
 highest honors at Rome. * MERCURY, in mythology, the messenger and 
 interpreter of the gods, and the god of eloquence and of commerce, 
 called HERMES by *he Greeks 6 Tinct (tlngkt), spot ; stain ; color. 
 
HAMLET AKD HIS MOTH Kit. 4:19 
 
 Hamlet. A murderer and a villain : 
 
 A slave that is not twentieth part the tiflic 
 Of your precedent lord : a vice of kings : 
 A cut-purse of the empire and the rule ; 
 That from a shelf the precious diiidein stole, 
 And put it in his pocket ! 
 
 Queen. No more ! 
 
 Hamlet. A king 
 
 Of shreds and patches ; [Enter Gnosx. 
 
 Save me and hover o'er me with your wings, 
 
 You heavenly guards ! What would your gracious figure? 
 
 Queen. Alas, he's mad! 
 
 Hamlet. Do you not come your tardy son to chide, 
 That, lapsed in time and passion, lets go by 
 The important acting of your dread command ? 
 Oh, say ! 
 
 Ghost. Do not forget : this visitation 
 Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. 
 But, look ! amazement on thy mother sits : 
 Oh, step between her and her fighting soul ; 
 Conceit in -weakest bodies strongest works : 
 Speak to her, llamlet. 
 
 Hamlet. How is it wifh you, lady ? 
 
 Queen. Alas! how is't wich you, 
 That you do b.end your eye on vacancy, 
 And \vi .h the incorporal air do hold discourse ? 
 Where* -n do you look ? 
 
 Hamlet. On him ! on him ! Look you, how pale lie glares! 
 His form and cause conjoin'd, preaching to stones, 
 Would make them capable. Do not loolc on me, 
 Lest, vifh this piteous action, you convert 
 My Et.ern effects : then what I have to do 
 Will want true color; tears, perchance, for blood. 
 
 Queen. To whom do you speak this? 
 
 Hamlet. Do you see nothing there I 
 
 Queen. Nothing at all ; yet all that is I see. 
 
 Hamlet. Nor did you nothing hear ? 
 
 Queen. No, nothing, but ourselves. 
 
 Hamlet. Why, look yon there ! look, how it steals 
 
4:20 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 My father, in his habit as he lived ! 
 
 Look, where he goes, even now, out at the porta. ! 
 
 [Exit GHOST 
 
 Queen. This is the v6ry coinage of your brain : 
 This bodiless creation, ecstasy 
 Is very cunning in. 
 
 Hamlet. Ecstasy ! 
 
 My pulse, as yours, doth temperately keep time, 
 And makes as healthful music. It is not madness 
 That I have utter'd : bring me to the test, 
 And I the matter will re-word ; which madness 
 Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
 That not your trespass, but my madness, speaks : 
 It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, 
 Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, 
 Infects unseen. Confess yourself to Heaven ; 
 Repent what's past ; avoid what is to come ; 
 And do not spread the compost on the weeds, 
 To make them ranker. 
 
 Queen. Hamlet ! thou hast cleft my heart in twain. 
 
 Camlet. Oh, throw away the worser part of it, 
 And live the purer with the other half. 
 Good-night : once more, good-night ! 
 And when you are desirous to be blest, 
 I'll blessing beg of you. SHAKSPKARB.* 
 
 136. PUBLIC VIRTUE. 
 
 I HOPE, that in all that relates to personal firmness, all that 
 concerns a just appreciation of the insignificance of human 
 life, whatever may be attempted to threaten or alarm a soul not 
 easily swayed by opposition, or awed or intimidated by mgnace, 
 a stout heart and a steady eye, that can survey', unmoved and 
 undaunted, any mere personal perils that assail this poor, tran- 
 sient, perishing frame, I may, without disparagement, compare 
 with other men. 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 348. 
 
PUBLIC VIRTUE. 421 
 
 2. But there is a sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, 
 I do not possess, a boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor 
 which I can not covet. I can not lay myself down in the way 
 of the welfare and happiness of my country. That I can not, 1 
 have not the courage to do. I can not interpose the power with 
 which I may be invested a power conferred, not for my per- 
 sonal benefit, nor for my ag'grandlzement, but for my country's 
 good to check her onward march to greatness and glory. I 
 have not courage enough. I am too cowardly for that. 
 
 3. I would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a trust, lie 
 down, and place my body across the path that leads my country 
 to prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely 
 different from that which a man may display in his private con- 
 duct and personal relations. Personal or private courage is to- 
 tally distinct from that higher and nobler courage which prompts 
 the patriot to fiffer himself a voluntary sacrifice to his country's 
 good. 
 
 4. Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness 
 sometimes impel us to perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It 
 is the greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the 
 want of courage. But pride, vanity, Egotism, so unamiable and 
 offensive in private life, are vices which partake of the character 
 of crimes, in the conduct of public affairs. The unfortunate vic- 
 tim of these passions can not see beyo'nd the little, petty, con- 
 temptible circle of his own personal interests. All his thoughts 
 are withdrawn from his country, and concentrated on his con- 
 sistency, his firmness, himself. 
 
 5. The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a patriot- 
 ism, which, soaring toward heaven, rises far above all mean, low, 
 or selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-transporting thought 
 of the good and the glory of one's country, are never felt in his 
 impenetrable bosom. That patriotism, which, catching its in- 
 spirations from the immortal God, and leaving at an immeasura- 
 able distance below all lesser, groveling, personal interests and 
 feelings, animates and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, 
 of devotion, and of death itself, that is 'public virtue ; that is 
 the noblest, the sublimcst, of all public virtues. HENRY CLAY. 
 
 HKNRY CLAY, a distinguished statesman ofthw United States, was born at tha 
 g, Hanover county, Virginia, on the 12th of April. 1777. His lather, & 
 
422 NATIONAL FIFfH READER. 
 
 clergyman, died in 1781, and HEXKY acquired the rudiments of an education at 
 a log school-house. At an early age he became clerk of the Court of Chancery 
 in Richmond. lie commenced the study of law at the age of nineteen, was 
 admitted to the bar at the close of one year, and removed to Lexington, Ky., 
 where he practiced his profession with great success. In 1803 he was elected to 
 the legislature of his State, and in 1806 and 1609, was appointed to fill vacancies 
 in the national senate. In 181 1 he was chosen a member of the House of Repre- 
 sentatives, and was at once elected speaker, which office he retained until his 
 appointment, in January, 18N, is one of the commissioners to negotiate th* 
 Treaty of Ghent On his return he was reflected to Congress; and, in :*.:!, 
 was again elected speaker of the House. During the presidency of JOHN Qrixcy 
 ADAMS he was secretary of state. la 1831 he was elected United Hates senator 
 from Kentucky, and was soon after nominated a candidate for the presidency, 
 but was defeated. In 18.% he was reflected to the United States Senate, and 
 served until 184-2. In 18-14 he was again nominated to the presidency, and agaiu 
 defeated. He was returned to the U. S. Senate in 1849, and died on the 29th of 
 June, ie.'>2, at the age of 7f> years. He was ever an advocate of " protection tc 
 American industry" by a sufficient tariff, and of " internal improvements." He 
 was in favor of the war in 181-2, of the recognition of the South American re- 
 publics, and of the independence of Greece. Some of his noblest oratorical efforts 
 were delivered in support of these measures. His speeches are sincere, impas- 
 sioned, and distinguished for their eminent practicalness. Full, flowing, sensu- 
 ous, his style of oratory was modulated by a voice of sustained sweetness and 
 power, and a heart of chivalrous courtesy. His life and speeches, compiled and 
 edited by MALLORV, in two volumes, 8vo., appeared in 1843 ; and his " Life and 
 Times," and entire works, by CALVIN COLTON, have since been, published in 
 New York. 
 
 137. WASHINGTON'S SWORD AND FRANKLIN'S STAFF. 1 
 
 /THE sword of Washington ! The staff of Franklin ! Oh, Sir, 
 -I- what associations are linked in adamant wifh these names ! 
 Washington, whose sword was never drawn but in the cause of 
 his country, and never sheathed when wielded in his country's 
 cause! Franklin, the philosopher of the thunderbolt, the print- 
 ing-press, and the plowshare! What names are these in the 
 scanty catalogue of the benefactors of human kind ! Washing- 
 ton and Franklin ! What other two men, whose lives belong to 
 the eighteenth century of Christendom, have left a deeper im- 
 pression of themselves upon the age in which they lived, and 
 upon all after time ? 
 
 2. Washington, the warrior and the legislator ! In war, con- 
 tending, by the wager of battle, for the independence of his 
 country, and for the freedom of the human race, ever manifest- 
 
 1 From an address in the U. S. House of Representatives, on the re- 
 ception of these memorials by Congress, 
 
WASHINGTON'S SWOKD AND FRANKLIN'S STAFF. 423 
 
 ing, amidst its horrors, by precept and by example, his reverence 
 for the laws of peace, and for the tenderest sympathies of hu- 
 manity ; in peace, soothing the ferocious spirit of discord, among 
 his own countrymen, into harmony and union, and giving to 
 that very sword, now presented to his country, a charm more 
 potent than that attributed, in ancient times, to the lyre of Or- 
 pheus. 2 
 
 3. Franklin ! The mechanic of his own fortune ; teaching, in 
 early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to wealth, 
 and, in the shade of obscurity, the path to greatness; in the ma- 
 turity of manhood, disarming the thunder of its terrors, the light- 
 ning of its fatal blast ; and wresting from the tyrant's hand the 
 still more afflictive scepter of oppression : while descending into 
 the vale of years, traversing the Atlantic Ocean, braving, in the 
 dead of winter, the battle and the breeze, bearing in his hand 
 the charter of Independence, which he had contributed to form, 
 and tendering, from the self-created Nation to the mightiest 
 monarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the mercurial 
 wand of commerce, and the amulet of protection and safety to 
 the man of peace, on the pathless ocean, from the inex'orable 
 cruelty and merciless rapacity of war. 
 
 4. And, finally, in the last stage of life, with fourscore winters 
 upon his head, under the torture of an incurable disease, return- 
 ing to his native land, closing his days as the chief magistrate of 
 his adopted commonwealth, after contributing by his counsels, 
 under the presidency of Washington, and recording his name, 
 under the sanction of devout prayer, invoked by him to God, to 
 that Constitution under the authority of which we are here as- 
 sembled, as the Representatives of the North American People, 
 to receive, in their name and for them, these venerable relics of 
 the wise, the valiant, and the good founders of our great con- 
 federated Republic these sacred symbols of our golden age. 
 
 5. May they be deposited among the archives of our govern- 
 
 1 ORPHEUS, a mythical personage, was regarded by the Greeks as the 
 most celebrated of the early poets who lived before the time of HOMER. 
 Presented with the lyre of APOLLO, and instructed by the Muses in its 
 use, he enchanted with its music not only the wild beasts, but the trees 
 and rocks upon Olympus, so that they moved from their places to fol- 
 low the sound of his golden harp. 
 
424 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 ment ! And may every American, who shall hereafter behold 
 them, ejaculate a mingled offering of praise to that Supreme 
 Ruler of the Universe, by whose tender mercies our Union has 
 been hitherto preserved, through all the vicissitudes and revolu- 
 tions of this turbulent world ; and of prayer for the continuance 
 of these blessings, by the dispensations of Providence, to our be- 
 loved country, from age to age, till time shall be no more ! 
 
 J. Q. ADAMS. 
 
 JOHN QCINCY ADAMS, a distinguished American statesman and scholar, Ron of 
 JOHN ADAMS, the second president of the United States, was born at Braintree, 
 Massachusetts, on the J 1th of July, 1767. He was cradled in the Revolution, 
 and when but nine years old heard the first reading of the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence from the old State House in Boston. His early education devolved 
 principally on his noble and accomplished mother. In 1778, in his eleventh year, 
 he accompanied his father on his mission to France ; and during that and the 
 following year he was at school in Paris. Ji- 1780 he entered the public school 
 of Amsterdam, and subsequently the University of Leyden. In 1781 he was 
 made private secretary to the Hon. FRANCIS DVNA, Minister to Russia. He 
 joined his father in Holland in 1783, and returned home in 1785. He entered an 
 advanced class at Harvard, and took his degree in J7?7, the year atler his ad- 
 mission. In 1790 lie was admitted to the bar, and commenced the practice of 
 law at Boston, which he continued, varying his occupation by communications 
 for the " Centinel," signed Publicola and Marcellus, uotil his appointment as 
 Minister to the Hague, in 1794, by WASHINGTON. He was elected to the State 
 Senate in 1801, and in 1803 a member of tlib Senate of the United States, and sat 
 until 1808. He had previously, in 1806, been appointed professor of rhetoric in 
 Harvard, and continued the discharge of his duties until his resignation, in 1809, 
 to accept the mission to Russia, offered him by MADISON. He published his col- 
 lege lectures, in two octavo volumes, in 1810. He was called from his brilliant 
 Russian diplomatic career in 1815, to aid in negotiating the treaty of peace with 
 England at Ghent, and was appointed minister to that country in the same year. 
 In 1817 he returned home, was appointed secretary of state by MONROE, and re- 
 mained in that office eight years, w'ucii he was himself chosen to the presidency. 
 He remained in office one term, and was immediately after elected a member 
 of the House of Representatives f-:Ti his native State, a position which he retain- 
 ed till his death. In the sixty-fifth year of active public sen-ice, lie died in the 
 capitol at Washington in the scene of his chief triumphs suddenly, on the 23d 
 of February, 1848. His last words were, " THIS is THE END OF EARTH I AM CON- 
 TENT." Through his long and active political career, Mr. ADAMS retained a 
 fondness for literature. He was, altogether, one of the most remarkable men ot 
 this century. His various and voluminous works exhibit a marked nationality, 
 and a wisdom which astonishes by its universality and profoundi 
 
 138. A FOREST 
 
 1. A NOOK within the forest; overhead 
 
 11- The branches arch, and shape a pleasant bower, 
 Breaking white cloud, blue sky, and sunshine bright-, 
 
A FOKEST NOOK. 425 
 
 Into pure ivory and sapphire spots, 
 And flecks of gold ; a soft cool emerald tint 
 Colors the air, as though the delicate leaves 
 Emitted self-born light. What splendid walls 
 And what a gorgeous roof 1 carved by the hand 
 Of glorious Nature ! 
 
 2. Here the spruce 2 thrusts in 
 
 Its bristling plume, tipp'd with its pale-green points ; 
 
 The scallop'd beech leaf, and the birch's, cut 
 
 Into firm rugged edges, interlace : 
 
 "While here and there, 3 through 4 clefts, the laurel lifte 
 
 Its snowy chalices half-brimm'd with dew, 
 
 As though to hoard it for the haunting 5 elves 
 
 The moonlight calls to this their festal hall. 
 
 A thick, rich, grassy 6 carpet clothes the earth, 7 
 
 Sprinkled with autumn leaves. The fern 8 displays 
 
 Its fluted wreath, beaded beneafih with drops 
 
 Of richest brown ; the wild-rose spreads its breast 
 
 Of delicate pink, and the o'erhanging fii 
 
 Has dropp'd its dark, Jong cone. 
 
 3. The scorching glare* 
 Without, makes this green nest a grateful haunt 
 
 For summer's radiant things ; the butterfly 
 
 Fluttering within and resting on some flower, 
 
 Fans his rich velvet form ; the toiling bee 
 
 Shoots by, with sounding hum and mist-like wings ; 
 
 The robin perches 10 on the bending spray 
 
 With shrill, quick chirp;" and like a flake of fire 
 
 The redbird seeks the shelter of the leaves. 
 
 And now and then a flutter overhead 
 
 In the thick green, betrays some wandering wing 
 
 Coming and going, yet conceal'd from sight. 
 
 A shrill, loud outcry on yon highest bough 
 
 Sits the gray squirrel, 12 in his burlesque wrath 18 
 
 Stamping and chattering fiercely : now he drops 
 
 1 RSof. 8 Spruce (sprSs) . s There (th&r). 4 Through (thrfl) . 8 H&wnt'- 
 Ing. Grfas'y. 7 Earth (Srth). 8 F8rn. 9 Glare. lc PSrch'es. "Chirp 
 (chSrp). I3 Sqxiirrel (skw6r'rel).- 18 \Vilth. * 
 
426 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 A hoarded nut, then at my smiling gaze 
 Buries himself within the foliage. 
 
 4. The insect tribe are here : the ant toils *^n 
 With its white burden ; in its netted web 
 Gray glistening o'er the bush, the spider lurks, 1 
 A close crouch'd ball, out-darting as a hum 
 Tells its trapp'd prey, and looping quick its threads, 
 Chains into helplessness the buzzing wings. 
 The wood-tick taps its tiny muffled drum . 
 To the shrill cricket-fife, and swelling loud, 
 The grasshopper its swelling bugle winds. 
 Those breaths of Nature, the light fluttering airs, 1 
 Like gentle respirations, come and go, 
 Lift on its crimson stem the maple leaf, 
 Displaying its white lining underneath, 
 And sprinkle from the tree-tops golden rain 
 Of sunshine on the velvet sward below. 
 
 6. Such nooks 3 as this are common in the woods : 
 And all these sights and sounds the commonest 
 In Nature, when she wears 4 her summer prime. 
 Yet by them pass 5 not lightly : to the wise 
 They tell the beauty and the harmony 
 Of e'en the lowliest things that God has made ; 
 That his familiar earth and sky are full 
 Of his ineffable power and majesty ; 
 That in the humble objects, seen too oft 
 To be regarded, is such wondrous grace, 
 The art of man is vain to imitate ; 
 That the low flower our careless foot 6 treads down 
 Is a rich shrine of incense delicate, 
 And radiant beauty, and that God hath form'u 
 All, from the cloud-wreath'd mountain, to the grain 
 Of silver sand the bubbling spring casts' up, 
 With deepest forethought and severest care. 8 
 And thus these noteless lovely things are types 
 Of his perfection and divinity. STREET.* 
 
 1 Lurks (iSrks). * Airs t (&rx}. Ndoks. 4 Wears (warz). Pass - 
 Foot (fit). V'isis.- 'Care. See Biographical Sketch, p. 202. 
 
FOREST TRKE5. 427 
 
 139. FOREST TREES. 
 
 Ill AYE paused more than once in the wilderness of America, 
 to contem 'plate the traces of some blast of wind, which 
 seemed to have rushed down from the clouds, and ripped its 
 way through the bosom of the woodlands; rooting up, shiver- 
 ing, and splintering the stoutest trees, and leaving a long track 
 of desolation. There is something awful in the vast havoc made 
 among these gigantic plants ; and in considering their magnifi- 
 cent remains, so rudely torn and mangled, hurled down to per- 
 ish prematurely on their native soil, I was conscious of a strong 
 movement of sympathy with the wood-nymphs, grieving to be 
 dispossessed of their ancient habitations. 
 
 2. I recollect also hearing a traveler of poetical temperament, 
 expressing the kind of horror which he felt in beholding, on the 
 banks of the Missouri, an oak of prodigious size, which had been 
 in a manner overpowered by an enormous wild grape-vine. The 
 vine had clasped its huge folds round the trunk, and from thence 
 had wound about every branch and twig, until the mighty tree 
 had withered in its embrace. It seemed like Laoc'oon' strug- 
 gling ineffectually in the hideous coils of the monster Python. 8 
 It was the lion of trees perishing in the embraces of a vegetable 
 Boa. . 
 
 3. I am fond of listening to the conversation of English gen- 
 tlemen on rural concerns, and of noticing with what taste and 
 discrimination, and what strong, unaffected interest, they will 
 discuss topics, which, in other countries, are abandoned to mere 
 woodmen or rustic cultivators. I have heard a noble earl 
 
 on, a Trojan, and a priest of APOLLO, who tried to dissuade 
 his countrymen from drawing into the city the wooden horse of the 
 Greeks, which finally caused the overthrow of Troy. When preparing 
 to sacrifice a bull to NEPTUNE, two fearful serpents suddenly rushed upon 
 him and his two sons and strangled them. His death formed the sub- 
 ject of many ancient works of art ; and a magnificent group, represent- 
 ing the father and his two sons entwined by the two serpents, is still 
 extant, and preserved in the Vatican, at Rome. a PYTHON, a celebrated 
 berpent that lived in the caves of Mount Parnassus, but was slain by 
 APOLLO, who founded the Pythian games in commemoration of his vic- 
 tory, and received, in consequence, the susname Pythius. This, how- 
 9ver, was n^t one of the serpents that destroyed LAOCOONX 
 
428 NATIONAL FIFTH EEADEB. 
 
 descant' on park and forest scenery, with the science and feeling 
 of a painter. He dwelt on the shape and beauty of particular 
 trees on his estate with as much pride and technical precision 
 as though he had been discussing the merits of statues in his 
 collection. I found that he had gone considerable distances to 
 examine trees which were celebrated among rural amateurs' ; 
 for it seems that trees, like horses, have their established points 
 of excellence, and that there are some in England which enjoy 
 very extensive celebrity from being perfect in their kind. 
 
 4. There is something nobly simple and pure in such a taste. 
 It argues, I think, a sweet and generous nature, to have this 
 strong relish for the beauties of vegetation, and this friendship 
 for the hardy and glorious sons of the forest. There is a grand- 
 eur of thought connected with this part of rural economy. It is, 
 if I may be allowed the figure, the heroic line of husbandry. It 
 is worthy of liberal, and free-born, and aspiring men. lie who 
 plants an oak looks forward to future ages, and plants for pos- 
 terity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He can not ex- 
 pect to sit in its shade nor enjoy its shelter ; but he exults in the 
 idea that the acorn which he has buried in the earth shall grow 
 up into a lofty pile, and shall keep on flourishing, and increas- 
 ing, and benefiting mankind, long after he shall have ceased to 
 tread his paternal fields. 
 
 5. Indeed, it is the nature of such occupations to lift the 
 thought above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are said 
 to absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and breathe forth a 
 purer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all 
 sordid and angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philan- 
 thropy. There is a serene and settled majesty in woodland 
 scenery that enters into the soul, and dilates and elevates it, and 
 fills it wifli noble inclinations. The ancient and hereditary 
 groves, too, that embower this island, are most of them full of 
 story. They are haunted by the recollections of the great 
 spirits of past ages, who have sought for relaxation among them, 
 from the tumult of arms, or the toils of state, or have wooed the 
 muse beneath their shade. 
 
 G. It is becoming, then, for the high and generous spirits of 
 an ancient nation to cherish these sacred groves that surround 
 their ancestral mansions, and to perpetuate them to their de- 
 
FOREST TREES, 429 
 
 scendants. Brought up, as I have been, in republican habits 
 and principles, I can feel nothing of the servile reverence for 
 titled rank, merely because it is titled. But I trust I am neither 
 churl nor bigot in my creed. I do see and feel how hereditary 
 distinction, when it falls to the lot of a generous mind, may ele- 
 vate that mind into true nobility. 
 
 7. It is one of the effects of hereditary rank, when it falls thus 
 happily, that it multiplies the duties, and, as it were, extends the 
 existence of the possessor. He does not feel himself a inert in- 
 dividual link in creation, responsible only for his own brief term 
 of being. He carries back his existence in proud recollection, 
 and he extends it forward in honorable anticipation. He lives 
 with his ancestry, and he lives with his posterity. To both does 
 he consider himself involved in deep responsibilities. As he has 
 received much from those that have gone before, so he feels 
 bound to transmit much to those who are to come after him. 
 
 8. His domestic undertakings seem to imply a longer exist- 
 ence than those of ordinary men. None are so apt to build and 
 plant for future centuries, as noble-spirited men who have re- 
 ceived their heritages from foregoing ages. I can easily imagine, 
 therefore, the fondness and pride with which I have noticed 
 English gentlemen, of generous temperaments, but high aristo- 
 cratic feelings, contem'^fating those magnificent trees, which 
 rise like towers and pyramids from the midst of their paternal 
 lands. There is an affinity between all natures, animate and in- 
 animate. The oak, in the pride and lustihood of its growth, 
 seems to me to take its range with the lion and the eagle, and 
 to assimilate, in the grandeur of its attributes, to heroic and in- 
 tellectual man. 
 
 9. Wifh its mighty pillar rising straight and direct toward 
 heaven, bearing up its leafy honors from the impurities of 
 earth, and supporting them aloft in free air and glorious sun- 
 shine, it is an emblem of what a true nobleman should be ; a 
 refuge for the weak, a shelter for the oppressed, a defence for 
 the defenceless; warding off from them the peltings of the 
 storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary power. He who is 
 *his, is an ornament and a blessing to his native land. He who 
 is otherwise, abuses his eminent advantages ; abuses the grand- 
 eur and prosperity which he has drawn from the bosom of his 
 
430 NATIONAL FIFfH READl.lt. 
 
 country. Should tempests arise, and he be laid prostraU by the 
 storm, who would mourn over his fall ? Should he be born? 
 down by the oppressive hand of power, who would murmur ai 
 his fate ? " WHY CUMBERETH HE THE GROUND ?" IUVINO ' 
 
 140. GOD'S FIRST TEMPLES. 
 
 1. rpHE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learn'd 
 -L To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, 8 
 
 And spread the roof 8 above them, ere he framed 
 
 The lofty vault, to gather and roll back 
 
 The sound of anthems, in the darkling wood, 
 
 Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down 
 
 And offer' d to the Mightiest solemn thanks 
 
 And supplication. For his simple heart 
 
 Might not resist the sacred influences, 
 
 That, from the stilly twilight of the place, 
 
 And from the gray old trunks, that, high in heaven, 
 
 Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound 
 
 Of the invisible breath, that sway'd at once 
 
 All their green tops, stole over him, and bow'd 
 
 His spirit with the thought of boundless Power 
 
 And inaccessible Majesty. 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 rear'd 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 
 
 Sec Biographical Sketch, p. 114. Architrave (ark' i trav), in archi- 
 tecture, one of the parts of an order above the column which lies imme- 
 diately upon it *R6of. 
 
Buckled, 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 stool, 
 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 tjie place, 
 Comes, scarcely felt ; the barky trunks, the ground, 
 The fresh, moist ground, are all instinct wift 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, midst its Aer.ba, 
 Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots 
 Of half the mighty forest, tells no tale 
 Of all the good it does. 
 
 5. 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. Nestled at his root 
 
 Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 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. 
 
 6. My keart 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, finish'd, yet renew'd 
 Forever. Written on thy works, I read 
 The lesson of thy own eternity. 
 Lo ! all grow old and die : but see, again, 
 How, on the faltering footsteps of decay, 
 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. 
 
 7. Oh ! there is not lost 
 One of earth's charms : upon her bosom ye"t, 
 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. P'or he came forth 
 From thine own bosom, and shall have no end. 
 
 8. 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 seem'd 
 Less aged than the hoary trees and rocks 
 Around them ; and there have been holy men, 
 Who deem'd it were not well to pass life tbu*. 
 But let me often to these solitudes 
 Retire, and, in thy presence, reassure 
 My feeble virtue. Here, its enemies, 
 
TKIST LN (.01). 
 
 The passions, at thy plainer footsteps, shrink, 
 And tremble, and are still. 
 
 9. O GSd ! 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 1 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, 
 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, unchain'd 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 our lives. BBYAJPT. 
 
 141. TRUST IN GOD. 
 
 1. TTOW beautiful this dome of sky ! 
 
 -tl And the vast hills, in fluctuation fix'd 
 
 At Thy command, how awful ! Shall the soul, 
 
 Human and rational, report of Thee 
 
 Even less than these ? Be mute who will, who can, 
 
 YSt I will praise Thee wifh impassion'd voice : 
 
 My lips, that may forggt Thee in the crowd, 
 
 Can not firget Thee here, where Thou hast built, 
 
 For Thy own glory, in the wilderness. 
 
 2. Me didst Thou constitute a priest of Thine, 
 In such a temple as we now behold 
 
 Rear'd for Thy presence ; therefore am I bound 
 To worship here and everywhere as one 
 
 1 Up rflot'. "Wrdth - 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 118. 
 19 
 
4:34 NATIONA1 FIFl'H READER. 
 
 Not doom'd to ignorance, though forced to tread, 
 From childhood up, the ways of poverty, 
 From unreflecting ignorance preserved, 
 And from debasement rescued. By Thy grace 
 The particle divine remain'd unquench'd ; 
 And, mid the wild weeds of a rugged soil, 
 Thy bounty caused to flourish deathless flowers, 
 From Paradise transplanted. Wintry age 
 Impends : the frost will gather round my heart , 
 And if they wither, I am worse than dead. 
 
 3. Come labor, when the worn-out frame requires 
 Perpetual sabbath ; come disease and want, 
 And sad exclusion through decay of sense ; 
 But leave me unabated trust in Thee ; 
 
 And let Thy favor, to the end of life, 
 Inspire me with ability to seek 
 Repose and hope among eternal things, 
 Father of heaven and earth ! and I am rich, 
 And will possess my portion in content. 
 
 4. And what are things eternal ? Powers depart, 
 Possessions vanish, and opinions change, 
 And passions hold a fluctuating seat : 
 
 But by the storms of circumstance unshaken, 
 
 And subject neither to eclipse nor wane, 
 
 DUTY exists ; immutably survive, 
 
 For our support, the measures and the forms, 
 
 Which an abstract Intelligence supplies ; 
 
 Whose kingdom is where time and space are not . 
 
 Of other converse, which mind, soul, and heart, 
 
 Do, with united urgency, require, 
 
 What more, that may not perish ? 
 
 5. Thou, dread Source, 
 Prime, self-existing Cause and End of all, 
 
 That, in the scale of being, fill their place, 
 
 Above all human region, or below. 
 
 Set and sustain'd ; Thou, who didst wrap the cloud 
 
 Of infancy around us, that Thyself, 
 
 Therein, with our simplicity awhile, 
 
TRUST IN GOD. 4:35 
 
 Might'st hold, on earth, communion vmdisturb'd, 
 Who, from the anarchy of dreaming sleep, 
 Or from its death-like void, with punctual care, 
 And touch as gentle as the morning light, 
 Restorest us, daily, to the powers of sense, 
 And reason's steadfast rule, Thou, Thou alone, 
 Art everlasting. 
 
 6 This universe shall pass away, a frame 
 
 Glorious ! because the shadow of Thy might, 
 A step, or link, for intercourse with Thee. 
 Ah ! if the time must come, in which my feet 
 No more shall stray where meditation leads, 
 By flowing stream, through wood, or craggy wild, 
 Loved haunts like these, the unimprison'd mind 
 May yet have scope to range among her own, 
 Her thoughts, her images, her high desires. 
 
 7. If the dear faculty of sight should fail, 
 Still it may be allow'd me to remember 
 What visionary powers of eye and soul, 
 In youth, were mine ; when station'd on the top 
 Of some huge hill, expectant, I beheld 
 The sun rise up, from distant climes return'd, 
 Darkness to chase, and steep, and bring the day, 
 His bounteous gift ! or saw him, toward the deep 
 Sink, wifh a retinue of flaming clouds 
 Attended ! Then my spirit was entranced 1 
 With joy exalted to beatitude ; 2 
 The measure of my soul was fill' I with bliss, 
 And -holiest love ; as earth, sea, air, with light, 
 With pomp, with glory, with magnificence ! 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, the greatest oT metaphysical poets, and one of the 
 purest and most blameless of men, was born at Cockermouth, Cumberland 
 county, England, on the 7th of April, 1770. He read much in boyhood, and 
 wrote some verses. He received his early education at the endowed school of 
 Hawkshead ; entered St. Johns College, Cambridge, in 1787 ; and though he 
 disliked the system of the university, and attended little to the studies of the 
 
 Entranced (en transt'), enchanted; put into an ecstasy. 3 Beat'i- 
 tude, highest happiness ; blessedness ; glory. 
 
4:36 NATIONAL, FIFTH READER. 
 
 place, graduated with his degree of B. A. in 1791. In the close of the same year 
 he went to France, where he passed nearly a year ; and there he wrote the poem 
 called " Descriptive Sketches," which, with "The Evening Walk," was pub- 
 lished in 1793. In 1795 he received a legacy of .900 from his friend, RAISLEY 
 CALVEHT, and at the close of the same began to live with his sister, their first 
 reside .,e being at Racedown, Dorsetshire. He here made the acquaintance of 
 COLEKIDGE, and wrote many of the fine passages that afterward appeared in 
 " The Excursion." In the autumn of 1798 he published the first edition of his 
 11 Lyrical Ballads," and then went to Germany with his sister and COLERIDGE ; 
 and, the party separating, Miss WORDSWORTH and her brother passed the winter 
 at Goslar, in Hanover. Here were written " Lucy Gray" and several beautiful 
 pieces. His long residence among the lakes of his native district began imme- 
 diately after his return to England. His second volume of " Lyrical Ballads" 
 appeared at the close of 1800, with a reprint of the first. In 1802 he married 
 MARY HUTCHIXSON, of Penrith, to whose amiability his poems pay warm and 
 beautiful tributes. In the spring of 1813, after various changes of residence, he 
 took up his abode at Rydal Mount, two miles from Grasmere, which was his 
 home for thirty-seven years, and the scene of his death. There, too, he was: ap- 
 oointed distributor of stamps for Westmoreland ; an office which was executed 
 by a clerk, and yielded about 500 a year. In the summer of 1814 was publish- 
 ed " The Excursion," a poem which, if judged by its best passages, without re- 
 gard to design, has hardly an equal in our language. The following year ap- 
 peared " The White Doe of Rylstone," a work which, while it evinces the au- 
 thor's incapacity to plan or conduct a sustained narrative, is instinct with dreamy 
 loveliness. From his fiftieth to his eightieth year the poet traveled much, suf- 
 fered a great deal, and wrote but little. In 1842 he resigned his distributor- 
 ship in favor of one of his two sons, and received from Sir ROBERT PEEL a pen- 
 sion of 300 a year. In 1843 he was appointed poet-laureate. He died on the 
 23d of April, 1850. 
 
 142. SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYONS.' 
 MELNOTTE'S cottage WIDOW bustling about. A table spread 
 
 for supper. 
 
 Widow. So I think that looks very neat. He sent me a line, 
 so blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here 
 almost immediately. She must have loved him well indeed, to 
 have forgotten his birth ; for though he was introduced to her in 
 disguise, he is too honorable not to have revealed to her the 
 artifice which her love only could forgive. Well, I do not won- 
 der at it ; for though my son is not a prince, he ought to be one, 
 and that's almost as good. [Knock at the door.] Ah ! here 
 they are. 
 
 CLAUDE MELXOTTE, who had received many indignities to his slight- 
 ed love, from PAULINE, married her under the false appearance of an 
 Italian prince. He afterward repents his bitter revenge ; makes imme- 
 diate amends ; and, impelled by affection, virtue, and a laudable am- 
 bition, finally conquers a position, and becomes, in fact, her husband . 
 
SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYONS. 437 
 
 Enter MELNOTTE and PAULINE. 
 
 Widow. Oh, my boy the pride of my heart ! welcome, wel- 
 come ! I beg pardon, Ma'am, but I do love him so ! 
 
 Pauline. Good woman, I really Why, Prince, what is this? 
 docs the old woman know yon ? Oh, I guess you have done 
 her some service. Another proof of your kind heart, is it not ? 
 
 Mclnotte. Of my kind heart, ay ! 
 
 Pauline. So, you know the prince ? 
 
 Widow. Know him, Madame ? Ah, I begin to fear it is you 
 who know him not ! 
 
 Pauline. Do you think she is mad? Can we stay here, my 
 lord ? I think there's something very wild about her. 
 
 Melnotte. Madame, I No, I can not tell her ! My knees 
 knock together : what a coward is a man who has lost his 
 honor ! Speak to her speak to her [to his mother] tell her 
 that Heaven, that I were dead ! 
 
 Pauline. How confused he looks ! this strange place this 
 woman what can it mean? I half suspect Who are you, 
 Madame ? who are you ? Can't you speak ? are you struck 
 dumb? 
 
 Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her? Ah, shame 
 upon you ! I thought that, before you went to the altar, she 
 was to have known all ? 
 
 Pauline. All ! what ? My blood freezes in my veins ! 
 
 Widow. Poor lady 1 dare I tell her, Claude ? 
 
 [MELNOTTE makes a sign of assent. 
 
 Know you not then, Madame, that this young man is of poor 
 though honest parents ? Know you not that you are wedded to 
 my son, Claude Melnotte? 
 
 Pauline. Your son ! hold! hold! do not speak to me [ap- 
 proaches MELNOTTE and lays her hand on his arm] Is this a 
 jest ? Is it ? I know it is : only speak one word one look 
 one smile. I can not believe I, who loved thee so I can not 
 believe that thou art such a No, I will not wrong thee by a 
 harsh word. Speak ! 
 
 Mclnotte. Leave us have pity on her, on me : leave us. 
 Widow. Claude ! that 1 should live to see thee bowed by 
 shame ! thee, of whom I was so proud ! [Exit W T IDOW 
 
38 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEH. 
 
 Pauline. Her son ! her son ! 
 
 Melnotte. Now, lady, hear me. 
 
 Pauline. Hear thee 
 
 Ay, speak, ller son ! have fiends a parent ? Speak, 
 That thou mayst silence curses Speak ! 
 
 Melnotte. No, curse me : 
 
 fhy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness. 
 
 Pauline [laughing wildly]. "This is thy palace, where the 
 
 perfumed light 
 
 Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, 
 And every air is heavy with the sighs 
 Of orange-groves, and music from sweet lutes, 
 And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth 
 F the midst of roses !" Dost thou like the picture ? 
 THIS is my bridal home, and THOU my bridegroom ! 
 
 fool ! dupe ! O wretch ! I see it all 
 The by-word and the jeer of every tongue 
 
 In Lyons ! Hast thou in thy heart one touch 
 Of human kindness ? If thou hast, why, kill me, 
 And save thy wife from madness. No, it can not, 
 It can not be ! this is some horrid dream : 
 
 1 shall wake soon. [Touching him.] Art flesh ? art man ? or bat 
 The shadows seen in sleep ? It is too real. 
 
 What have I done to thee how sinn'd against thee, 
 That thou shouldst crush me thus ? 
 
 Melnotte. Pauline ! by pride 
 
 Angels have fallen ere thy tune ; by pride 
 That sole alloy of thy most lovely mold 
 The evil spirit of a bitter love, 
 And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. 
 From my first years, my soul was fill'd with thee : 
 I saw thee, midst the flowers the lowly boy 
 Tended, unmark'd by thee a spirit of bloom, 
 And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself 
 Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape ! 
 I saw thee ! and the passionate heart of man 
 Enter'd the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ; 
 And from that hour I grew what to the last 
 I shall be thine adomr ! Well ! this love, 
 
SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYONS. 439 
 
 Vain, frantic, guilty, it' thou wilt, became 
 
 A fountain of ambition and bright hope : 
 
 I thought of tales that by the winter hearth 
 
 Old gossips tell how maidens, sprung from kings, 
 
 Have stoop'd from their high sphere; how Love, like Death, 
 
 Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 
 
 Beside the scepter. Thus I made my home 
 
 In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! 
 
 My father died ; and I, the peasant-born, 
 Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise 
 Out of the prison of my mean estate ; 
 And, with such jewels as the exploring Mind 
 Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my ransom 
 From those twin jailers of the daring heart 
 Low Birth and iron Fortune. Thy bright image, 
 Glass'd in my soul, took all the hues of glory, 
 And lured me on to those inspiring toils 
 By which man masters men ! For thee I grew 
 A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages : 
 For thee I sought to borrow from each Grace, 
 And every Muse, such attributes as lend 
 Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee, 
 And Passion taught me poesy of thee, 
 And on the painter's canvas grew the life 
 Of beauty ! Art became the shadow 
 Of the dear star-light of thy haunting eyes ! 
 Men call'd me vain some mad : I heeded not, 
 But still toil'd on hoped on for it was sweet, 
 If not to win, to feel more worthy thee ! 
 
 Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate ? 
 
 Melnotte. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour 
 The thoughts that burst their channels into song, 
 And sent them to thee, such a tribute, lady, 
 As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. 
 The name appended by the burning heart 
 That long'd to show its idol what bright things 
 It had created yea, the enthusiast's- name 
 That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn 
 That very hour, when passion, turn'd to wrath, 
 
440 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Resembled hatred most when thy disdain 
 
 Made my whole soul a chaos, in that hour 
 
 The tempters found me a revengeful tool 
 
 For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the worm 
 
 It turn'd and stung thee ! 
 
 Pauline. Love, Sir, hath no sting. 
 
 What was the slight of a poor powerless girl, 
 To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge ? 
 Oh, how I loved this man ! a serf! a slave ! 
 
 Melnotte. Hold, lady ! No, not slave ! Despair is free. 
 I will not tell thee of the throes the struggles 
 The anguish the remorse. No let it pass ! 
 And let me come to such most poor atonement 
 Yet in my power. Pauline ! [Approaching her with great 
 
 emotion, and about to take Iwr hand. 
 
 Pauline. No, touch me not ! 
 
 I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant ; 
 And I O Heaven ! a peasant's wife ! I'll work, 
 Toil, drudge ; do what thou wilt ; but touch me not : 
 Let my wrongs make me sacred ! 
 
 Melnotte. Do not fear me. 
 
 Thou dost not know me, Madame : at the altar 
 My vengeance ceased my guilty oath expired ! 
 Henceforth, no image of some marbled saint, 
 Niched in cathedral's aisles, is hallow'd more 
 From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. 
 I am thy husband nay, thou need'st not shudder ; 
 Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights. 
 A marriage thus unholy unfulfill'd 
 A bond of fraud is, by the laws of France, 
 Made void and null. To-night, then, sleep in peace. 
 To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn 
 I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the altar, 
 Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. 
 The law shall do thee justice, and restore 
 Thy right to bless another wifh thy love. 
 And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot 
 Him who so loved so wrong'd thee, think *tt least 
 Heaver left some remnant of the angel still 
 
THE 
 
 In that poor peasant's nature ! Ho ! my mother ! 
 
 Enter WIDOW. 
 
 Conduct this lady (she is not my wile 
 She is our guest, onr honor'd guest, my mother !) 
 To the poor chamber where the sleep of virtue 
 Never beneath my father's honest roof 
 E'en villains dared to mar! Now, lady, now, 
 I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother! 
 Widow. She is not thy wife ! 
 
 Melnotte. Hush ! hush ! for mercy sake : 
 
 Speak not, but go. [ WIDOW ascends the stairs ; PAULINE 
 
 follows weeping turns to look back 
 Melnotte [sinking down]. All angels bless and guard her! 
 
 LYTTON. 
 
 Sir EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, youngest son of the late Gen. Bulwer, of Hey- 
 don Hall, Norwalk, England, who has assumed the surname of his mother's 
 famil} , was born in 1805. He exhibited proofs of superior talents at a very early 
 period, having written verses when only five or six years old. His preliminary 
 studies were conducted under the eye of his mother, a woman of cultivated taste 
 and rare accomplishments. He graduated with honor at Trinity College, Ox- 
 ford, having won the chancellor's medal for the best English poem. In 1826, at 
 the age of twenty-one, he published " Weeds and Wild Flowers," a small vol- 
 ume of poems; and the following year his first novel, "Falkland," appeared 
 Since that time he has been constantly before the public as an author, both in 
 prose and verse. Of his numerous novels, perhaps, " Rienzi" is the most com- 
 plete, high-toned, and energetic. Soon after publishing " Eugene Aram," 
 about 1832, he became editor of the " New Monthly Magazine ;" and to that 
 journal he contributed essays and criticisms, subsequently published under the 
 title of " The Student." Of his dramas, " The Lady of Lyons " " Richelieu," 
 and "Money," are, perhaps, three of the most popular plays now upon the 
 stage. The first of these, from which the preceding extract is taken, seldom 
 fails of drawing tears when well represented. Few authors have displayed more 
 versatility. His language and imagery are often exquisite, and' his power of de- 
 lineating certain classes of character and manners superior to that of any of hia 
 contemporaries. He commenced his political life in 1831, when lie entered par- 
 liament, where he became conspicuous for his advocacy of the rights of dra- 
 matic authors, and for his liberal opinions on other questions. In the general 
 election of 1842, he lost his seat, and was not again returned until 1852. His 
 speeches in parliament, and his addresses, have served to raise his reputation 
 His inaugural address as rector of the University of Glasgow, in particular, has 
 been greatly admired. 
 
 143. THE MUSQTJITO. 
 
 1. TMLR insect! that, with threao-like legs spread out, 
 -L And blood-extracting bill, and filmy wing, 
 
442 NATIONAL FIFTH RKAJDEK. 
 
 Dost murmur, 1 as thou slowly sail'st about, 
 
 In pitiless ears full many a plaintive thing, 
 And tell how little our large veins should bleed, 
 Would we but yield them to thy bitter need. 
 
 2. Unwillingly, I own and, what is worse, 8 
 
 Full angrily men hearken to thy plaint ; 
 Thou gettest many a brush and many a curse,* 
 
 For saying thou art gaunt, 4 and starved, and faint : 
 Even the old beggar, while he asks 5 for food, 
 Would kill thee, hapless stranger, if he could. 
 
 3. I call thee stranger, for the town, I ween, 
 
 Has not the honor of so proud a birth : 6 
 Thou comcst from Jersey meadows, fresh and green, 
 
 The offspring of the gods, though born on earth ; 7 
 For Titan 3 was thy sire, and fair 9 was she, 
 The ocean-nymph that nursed 10 thy infancy. 
 
 4. Beneafh the rushes was thy cradle swung, 
 
 And when, at length, thy gauzy wings grew strong, 
 Abroad to gentle airs" their folds were flung, 
 
 Rose in the sky, and bore thee soft along ; 
 The south wind breathed to waft 12 thee on thy way, 
 And danced 13 and shone beneath the billowy bay. 
 
 5. Calm u rose afar the city spires, and thence 
 
 Came the deep murmur of its throng of men, 
 And as its grateful odors met thy sense, 
 
 They seem'd the per'fumes of thy native fen. 
 Fair lay its crow r ded streets, and at the sight 
 Thy tiny song grew shriller with delight. 
 
 6. At length thy pinion fluttered in Broadway : 
 
 Ah, there 15 were fairy 16 steps, and white necks kiss'd 
 By wanton airs, and eyes whose killing ray 
 
 Shone through 17 the snowy vails like stars through mist; 
 
 1 Murmur (mlVmer). 2 Worse (we're). 3 Curse (kSrs). * Gaimt.-- 
 
 Asks (asks). 6 Birth (bSrth). T Earth (e"rth). 'TITAN, a name often 
 
 used by the ancients for HELIOS, the sun. " Fair. ie Nursed (nSrst). 
 
 "Airs (!). " Waft. " Danced <danst). " Calm (kam).- 1 ' There 
 
 (thar). 16 Fairy (far 1 1)." Through (third) 
 
THE MUSQUlTu. 4:4:3 
 
 And fresh as morn, on many a cheek and chin, 
 Bloom'd the bright blood through the transparent 1 skin. 
 
 7 Sure these were sights to tempt an anchorite ! 2 
 
 What ! do I hear thy slender voice complain ? 
 Thou wailest when I talk of beauty's light, 
 
 As if it brought the memory of pain. 
 Thou art a wayward being : well come near, 
 And pour thy tale of sorrow in my ear. 
 
 8 What say'st thou, slanderer ! rouge 3 makes thee sick ? 
 
 And China Bloom at best is sorry food ? 
 And Rowland's Kalydor, if laid on thick, 
 
 Poisons the thirsty 4 wretch that bores for blood ? 
 Go ! 'twas a just reward that met thy crime ; 
 But shun the sacrilege another time. 
 
 9. That bloom was made to look at not to touch ; 
 
 To worship 5 not approach that radiant white ; 
 And well might sudden vengeance light on such 
 
 As dared, 6 like thee, most impiously to bite. 
 Thou shouldst have gazed at distance, and admired 
 Murmur'd thy admiration, and retired. 
 
 10. Thou'rt welcome to the town ; but why come here 
 
 To bleed a brother poet, gaunt 1 like thee ? 
 Alas ! 8 the little blood I have is dear, 
 
 And thin will be the banquet 9 drawn from me. 
 Look round the pale-eyed sisters in my cell, 
 Thy old acquaintance, Song and Famine, dwell. 
 
 11. Try some plump alderman, and suck the blood 
 
 Enrich'd by generous wine and costly meat : 
 On well-fill'd skins, sleek as thy native mud, 
 
 Fix thy light pump, and press thy freckled feet : 
 Go to the men for whom, in ocean's halls, 
 The 3yster breeds, and the green turtle 10 sprawls. 
 
 1 Trans par' ent. "Anchorite (ftngk'orit), a recluse; a hermit; one 
 who retires from the world from religious motives. 8 Rouge (roa) . 
 4 Thirsty (thirst' !).- - 6 Worship (weY ship). 9 Uaml. ' Gaunt, ' A lis' 
 Banquet (bang'kwet. " Turtle (tlr' tl). 
 
444 NATIONAL KIKTH KKADEK. 
 
 12. There corks are drawn, and the red vintage flows, 
 
 To fill the swelling veins for thee, and now 
 The ruddy cheek, and now the ruddier nose 
 
 Shall tempt thee, as thou fittest round the brow ; 
 And when the hour of sleep its quiet brings, 
 No angry hand shall rise to brush thy wings. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 144. A TAILOR'S EVENING SOLILOQUY. 
 
 1. TV AY hatfi put on his jacket, and around 
 JL/ His burning bosom button'd it with stars. 
 Here will I lay me on the velvet grass, 
 That is like padding to earth's meager ribs, 
 And hold communion with the things about me. 
 Ah me ! how lovely is the golden braid 
 
 That binds the skirt of night's descending robe ! 
 The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads 
 Do make a music like to rustling satin, 
 As the light breezes smooth their downy nap. 
 
 2. Ha ! what is this that rises to my touch, 
 So like a cushion ? Can it be a cabbage ? 8 
 It is, it is that deep 1 : injured flower, 
 
 Which boys do flout us with ; but yet I lo*s thee 
 Thou giant rose, wrapp'd in a green surtout. 
 Doubtless in Eden thou didst blush as bright 
 As these, thy puny brethren ; and thy breath 
 Sweeten'd the fragrance of her spicy air ; 
 But now thou seemest like a bankrupt beau, 
 Stripp'd of his gaudy hues and essences, 
 And growing portly in his scber garments. 
 
 3. Is that a swan that rides upon the water ? 
 Oh no, it is that other gentle bird, 
 Which is the patron of our noble calling. 
 I well remember, in my early years, 
 
 When these young hands first closed upon a goose; 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 118. a Cabbage, a term applied Ic 
 44 cloth purloined or stolen by one employed to cut out a garment." 
 
6PEECH OF SERGEANT BUZFUZ. 445 
 
 I have a scar upon my thimble finger, 
 
 Which chronicles the hour of young ambition. 
 
 My father was a tailor, and his father, 
 
 And my sire's grandsire, all of them were tailors ; 
 
 They had an ancient goose, it was an heir-loom 
 
 From some remoter tailor of our race. 
 
 It happen'd I did see it on a time 
 
 When none was near, and I did deal wifli it, 
 
 And it did burn me, oh, most fearfully ! 
 
 4. It is a joy to straighten out one's limbs, 
 And leap elastic from the level counter, 
 Leaving the petty grievances of earth, 
 The breaking thread, the din of clashing shears, 
 And all the needles that do wound the spirit, 
 For such a pensive hour of soothing silence. 
 Kind Nature, shuffling in her loose undress, 
 Lays bare her shady bosom : I can feel 
 With all around me ; I can hail the flowers 
 That sprig earth's mantle ; and yon quiet bird, 
 That rides the stream, is to me as a brother. 
 The vulgar know not all the hidden pockets, 
 Where Nature stows her loveliness. 
 But this unnatural posture of my legs 
 Cramps my extended calves, and I must go 
 Where I can coil them in their wonted fashion. 
 
 0. W. HOLMIS. 1 
 
 145. SPEECH OF SEKGEANT BUZFUZ. 
 
 YOU heard from my learned friend, Gentlemen of the Jury, 
 that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in 
 which the damages are laid at fifteen hundred pounds. The 
 plaintiff, Gentlemen, is a widow ; yes, Gentlemen, a widow. The 
 late Mr. Bard ell, some time before his death, became the father, 
 Gentlemen, of a little boy. With this little boy, the only pledge 
 of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from the world, 
 and courted the retirement and tranquillity of Goswell-street ; 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 217. 
 
446 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 and here she placed in her front parlor-window a written pla 
 jard', bearing this inscription, " APARTMENTS FURNISHED FOR 
 
 A SINGLE GENTLEMAN. INQUIRE WITHIN." 
 
 2. Mrs. Bard ell's opinions of the opposite sex, Gentlemen, 
 were derived from a long contemplation of the ines'timable qual- 
 ities of her lost husband. She had no fear, she had no dis- 
 trust, all was confidence and reliance. "Mr. Bardell," said the 
 widow, "was a man of honor, Mr. Bardell was a man of his 
 word, Mr. Bardell was no deceiver, Mr. Bardell was once a 
 single gentleman himself: to single gentlemen I look for protec- 
 tion, for assistance, for comfort, and consolation ; in single 
 gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me of 
 what Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried 
 affections ; to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be 
 .et" 
 
 3. Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse (among 
 the best impulses of our imperfect nature, Gentlemen), the lonely 
 and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, 
 caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the 
 bill up in her parlor-window. Did it remain there long? No. 
 The serpent was on the watch, the train was laid, the mine was 
 preparing, the sapper and miner was at work ! Before the bill 
 had been in the parlor-window three days, three days, Gentle- 
 men, a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the out- 
 ward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at the 
 door of Mrs. Bardell's house ! He inquired within ; he took the 
 lodgings ; and on the very next day he entered into possession 
 of them. This man was Pickwick, Pickwick, the defendant ! 
 
 4. Of this man I will say little. The subject presents but few 
 attractions; and I, Gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, 
 Gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolt- 
 ing heartlessness, and of systematic villainy. I say systematic 
 villainy, Gentlemen ; and when I say systematic villainy, let me 
 tell the defendant, Pickwick, if he be in coui% as I am informed 
 he is. that it would have been more decent in him, more becom- 
 ing, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, further, that a 
 counsel, in his discharge of his duty, is neither to be intimi- 
 lated, nor bullied, nor put down ; and that any attempt to do 
 either the one or the other will recoil on the heaa of the at- 
 
SPEECH OF 8EKGKAJS1T IJL'ZFUZ. 447 
 
 tempter, be lie plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name Pick- 
 wick, or Noakcs, 01 Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson. 
 
 5. I shall show yo^u, Gent.U'ni!.>n, that for two years Pickwick 
 continued to reside constantly, and without interruption or in 
 termission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. 
 Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, attended 
 to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen for the 
 washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and prepared 
 it for wear when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed his fullest 
 trust and confidence. I shall show you that, on many occasions, 
 he gave half-pence, and on some occasions even sixpence, to her 
 little boy. I shall prove to you, that on one occasion, when he 
 returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms offered her 
 marriage, previously, however, taking special care that there 
 should be no witnesses to their solemn contract ; and I am in a 
 situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his own 
 friends, most unwilling witnesses, Gentlemen most unwilling 
 witnesses, that on that morning he was discovered by them 
 holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation b) 
 his caresses and endearments. 
 
 6. And now, Gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters 
 have passed between these parties, letters that must be viewed 
 with a cautious and suspicious eye, letters that were evidently 
 intended, at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any 
 third parties into whose hands they might fall. Let me read 
 the first: "Garraway's, twelve o'clock. Dear Mrs. B. Chops 
 and Tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick." Gentlemen, what does 
 this mean ? Chops and Tomato sauce ! Yours, Pickwick ! 
 Chops ! Gracious heavens ! And Tomato sauce ! Gentlemen, 
 is the happiness o/ a sensitive and confiding female to be trifled 
 away by such shallow artifices as these ? 
 
 7. The next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspi- 
 cious :. "Dear Mrs. B., I shall not be at home to-morrow. Slow 
 coach." And then follows this very remarkable expression, 
 "Don't trouble yourself about the warming-pan." The warm- 
 ing-pan ! Why, Gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a 
 warming-pan ? Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not 
 to agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt 
 the case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire a mere substitute 
 
448 NATIONAL FIFTH RKADKtt. 
 
 for some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted 
 system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick wifh a 
 view to his contemplated desertion? And what does this allu- 
 sion to the slow coach mean ? For aught I know, it may be a 
 reference to Pickwick himself, who has most unquestionably 
 been a criminally slow coach during the whole of this transac- 
 tion, but whose speed will now be very unexpectedly accelerated, 
 and whose wheels, Gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will 
 ^ ery soon be greased by you ! 
 
 8. But enough of this, Gentlemen. It is difficult to smile wifh 
 an aching heart. My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, 
 and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone 
 indeed. The bill is down ; but there is no tenant ! Eligible 
 single gentlemen pass and repass ; but there is no invitation for 
 them to inquire within, or without ! All is gloom and silence 
 in the house : even the voice of the child is hushed ; his infant 
 sports are disregarded, when his mother weeps. 
 
 9. But Pickwick, Gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer 
 of this domestic 6'asis in the desert of Goswell-street, Pickwick, 
 who has choked up- the well, and thrown ashes on the sward, 
 Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless to- 
 mato-sauce and warming-pans, Pickwick still rears his head 
 wifh unblushing effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin 
 he has made ! Damages, Gentlemen, heavy damages, is the only 
 punishment with which you can visit him, the only recompense 
 you can award to my client I And for those damages she now 
 appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a con- 
 scientious, a dispassionate. :, sympathizing, a contemplative Jury 
 of her civilized countrymen ! CHARLES DICKKXS. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS, the famous English novelist, was born at Portsmouth, in 
 February, 1812. At an eariy period he became reporter for the newspaper press 
 of London, and thus escaped the cramping necessity of depending for subsist- 
 ence upon his first purely literary labors. His earliest works, " Sketches by Boz," 
 first written for periodicals, were collected and published in two volumes, bear 
 ing respectively the dates of 1836 and 1837. His works immediately succeeding, 
 " Pickwick," "Oliver Twist," and "Nicholas Xickleby," fully established his 
 reputation. The career of DICKENS has been one of uniform success. His more 
 recent ]>ublications, " Dombey," " Bleak House," and " Little Dorrit." prove 
 conclusively that, far from having " written himself out," the resources of his 
 mind are well-nigh inexhaustible. His genius, which has peopled our literature 
 with such a crowd of living and moving characters, gives promise of as many 
 now creations, equally varied and true to nature. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES LN VEKSE. 449 
 
 146. SELECT PASSAGES LN YERSE. 
 
 i. 
 
 EARLY DAWN. SHELLEY. 
 THE point of one white star is quivering still 
 Deep in the orange light of widening morn, 
 Beyond the purple mountains : through a chasm 
 Of wind-divided mist the darker lake 
 Reflects it. Now it wanes : it gleams again 
 As the waves fade, and as the burning threads 
 Of woven cloud unravel in pale air : 
 'Tis lost ! and through yon peaks of cloud-like snov 
 The roseate sunlight quivers : hear I not 
 The ^Eolian 1 music of her sea-green plumes 
 Winnowing the crimson dawn? 
 
 
 
 - II. 
 
 DAYBREAK. ATLANTIC MONTHLY. 
 A WIND came up out of the sea, 
 And said, " mists, make room for me 1" 
 It hail'd the ships, and cried, " Sail en, 
 Ye mariners ! the night is gone !" 
 And hurried landward far away, 
 Crying, " Awake ! it is the day !" 
 It said unto the forest, " Shout ! 
 Hang all your leafy banners out !" 
 It touch'd the wood-bird's folded wing, 
 And said, " bird, awake and sing !" 
 And o'er the farms, " chanticleer, 
 Your clarion blow ! the day is near !" 
 It whisper'd to the fields of corn, 
 ** Bow down, and hail the coming morn I" 
 It shouted through the belfry-tower, 
 " Awake, O bell ! proclaim the hour !" 
 It cross'd the church-yard with a sigh, 
 And said, " NOT YET ! IN QUIET LIE '" 
 
 1 JEolian, pertaining to JSOLUS, the god of the winds : hence music 
 produced by wind may be termed ^Eolian music. 
 
 20 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 III. 
 
 DAYBREAK. SHELLEY. 
 DAY had awaken'd all things that be, 
 The lark, and the thrush, and the swallow free, 
 And the milkmaid's song, and the mower's scythe. 
 And the matin bell, and the mountain bee : 
 
 Fireflies were qucnch'd on the dewy corn, 
 Glow-worms went out, on the river's brim, 
 Like lamps which a student forgets to trim : 
 
 The beetle forgot to wind his horn, 
 The crickets were still in the meadow and hill : 
 Like a flock of rooks at a farmer's gun, 
 Night's dreams and terrors, every one, 
 Fled from the brains which are their prey, 
 From the lamp's death to the morning ray. 
 
 IV. 
 
 SUNRISE IN S. AMERICA. BOWLES.' 
 'Tis dawn : the distant Andes' rocky spires, 
 One after one, have caught the oriental fires. 
 Where the dun condor shoots his upward flight, 
 His wings are touch'd wifih momentary light. 
 Meantime, beneath the mountains' glittering heads, 
 A boundless ocean of gray vapor spreads, 
 That o'er the champaign, stretching far below, 
 Moves on, in clustered masses, rising slow, 
 Till all the living landscape is displayed 
 In various pomp of color, light, and shade, 
 Hills, forests, rivers, lakes, and level plain, 
 
 1 WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES was born at Northamptonshire, England, on 
 the 25th of September, 17G2. He received his early education at Win- 
 chester, where he was at the head of the school during his last year, 
 and, in consequence, was elected a scholar of Trinity College, Oxford, 
 In 1781. In 1783 he gained the chancellor's prize for Latin verse ; and 
 published several of his beautiful sonnets and other poems in 1789. Ilia 
 sonnets have, probably, never been surpassed. ' ' The Missionary of the 
 Andes," published in 1815, is, perhaps, as good as any of his numerous 
 and excellent poems. He entered the ministry, and became Vicar of 
 Bremhill, in 1804, which was his residence for nearly a quarter of a cen- 
 tury He died at Salisbury, his last residence, on the 7th of April, 1850 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE. 451 
 
 Lessening in sunshine to the southern main. 
 
 The lama's fleece fumes with ascending dew ; 
 
 The gem-like humming-birds their toils renew; 
 
 And see, where yonder stalks, in crimson pride, 
 
 The tall flamingo, by the river's side, 
 
 Stalks, in his richest plumage bright array'd, 
 
 With snowy neck superb, and legs of lengthening shade. 
 
 v. 
 
 DAWN. WILLIS. 
 
 THROW up the window ! 'Tis a morn for life 
 In its most subtle luxury. The air 
 Is like a breathing from a rarer world ; 
 And the south wind is like a gentle friend, 
 Parting the hair so softly on my brow. 
 It has come over gardens, and the flowers 
 That kiss'd it -are betray 'd ; for as it parts, 
 With its invisible fingers, my loose hair, 
 I know it has been trifling with the rose, 
 And stooping to the violet. There is joy 
 For all God's creatures in it. The wet leaves 
 Arc stirring at its touch ; and birds are singing, 
 As if to breathe were music ; and the grass 
 Sends up its modest odor with the dew, 
 Like the small tribute of humility. 
 
 
 
 VI. 
 
 MORNING. MILTON.' 
 
 SWEET is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet, 
 With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun, 
 When first on this delightful land he spreads 
 His orient beams, on Aerb, tree, fruit, and flower, 
 Glis'ering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth 
 After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on 
 Of grateful evening mild : then silent Night, 
 With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, 
 And these the gems of heaven, her starry train. 
 
 1 MILTON, gee Biographical Sketch, p. 682. 
 
4:52 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 VII. 
 HORNING ON THE RlIIXE. I>OM LES. 
 
 'TWAS morn, and beautiful the mountain's brow 
 Hung with the clusters of the bending vine 
 Shone in the early light, when on the RHINE 
 We sail'd, and heard the waters round the prow 
 In murmurs parting : varying as we go, 
 
 Rocks after rocks come forward and retire, 
 As some gray convent-wall or sun-lit spire 
 Starts up, along the banks, unfolding slow. 
 Here castles, like the prisons of despair, 
 
 Frown as we pass ! There, on the vineyard's side, 
 The bursting sunshine pours its streaming tide ; 
 While GRIEF, forgetful amid scenes so fair, 
 Counts not the hours of a long summer's day, 
 Nor heeds how fast the prospect winds away. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 MORNING SOUNDS. BEATTiE. 1 
 
 BUT who the. melodies of morn can tell ? 
 The wild brook babbling down the mountain's side , 
 
 The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; 
 The pipe of early shepherd, dim descried 
 In the lone valley; echoing far and wide, 
 
 The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; 
 The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide ; 
 
 The hum of bees ; the linnet's lay of love ; 
 And the full choir that wakes the universal grove. 
 
 The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark; 
 Crown'd with her pail, the tripping milkmaid sings 
 
 The whistling plowman stalks afield ; and hark ! 
 Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings , 
 Through rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs ; 
 
 Slow tolls the village clock the drowsv hour ; 
 
 1 JAMES BEATTIE, the well-known Scotch poet and moralist, author of 
 the celebrated poem entitled the "Minstrel," and of the "Essay on 
 Truth," was born on the 5th of December, 1735. and died on the 18th 
 of August, 1803. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN VE1SSE. 4:53 
 
 The partridge bursts away on whirring wings ; 
 
 Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower ; 
 And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tower. 
 
 IX. 
 
 EARLY RISING. HURDIS.' 
 RISE wifih the lark, and with the larVto bed. 
 The breath of night's destructive to the hue 
 Of every flower that blows. Go to the field, 
 And ask the humble daisy why it sleeps, 
 Soon as the sun departs. Why close the eyes 
 Of blossoms infinite, ere the still moon 
 Her oriental vail puts oft' ? Think why, 
 Nor let the sweetest blossom be exposed, 
 That nature boasts, to night's unkindly damp. 
 Well may it droop, and all its freshness lose, 
 Compell'd to taste the rank and poisonous steam 
 Of midnight theater, and morning ball. 
 Give to repose the solemn hour she claims ; 
 And from the forehead of the morning steal 
 The sweet occasion. 
 
 Oh ! there is a charm 
 
 That morning has, that gives the brow of age 
 A smack of youth, and makes the lip of youth 
 Breathe per'fumes exquisite. Expect it not, 
 Ye who till noon upon a down-bed lie, 
 Indulging feverish sleep ; or, wakeful, dream 
 Of happiness no mortal heart has felt, 
 But in the regions of romance'. Ye fail, 
 Like you it must be wooed, or never won ; 
 And, being lost, it is in vain ye ask 
 For milk of roses and Olympian dew. 
 Cosmetic art no tincture can afford 
 The faded features to restore : no chain, 
 * Be it of gold, aud strong as adamant, 
 Can fetter beauty to the fair one's will. 
 
 JAMES HURDIS, an English poet of considerable ability, was born in 
 1763, and died in 1801. 
 
4:54 NATIONAL FIFl'H RKADEK. 
 
 147. SELECT PASSAGES LN YERSE. 
 
 i. 
 
 INVOCATION TO NIGHT. J. F. ROLLINGS. 
 COME, with thy sweeping cloud and starry vest, 
 
 Mother of counsel, and the joy which lies 
 
 In feelings deep, and inward sympathies, 
 Soothing, like founts of health, the wearied breast 
 Lo ! o'er the distant hills the day-star's crest 
 
 Sinks redly burning ; and the winds arise, 
 
 Moving with shadowy gusts and feeble sighs 
 Amid the reeds which veil the bittern's nest ! 
 Day hath its melody and light the sense 
 
 Of mirth which spoils round fancy's fairy mine ; 
 But the full power, which loftier aids dispense, 
 
 To speed the soul where scenes unearthly shine 
 Silence, and peace, and stern magnificence, 
 
 And awe, and throned solemnity are thine ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 EVENING. CROLY.' 
 WHEN eve is purpling cliff and cave, 
 
 Thoughts of the heart, how s5ft ye flow ! 
 Not softer on the western wave 
 
 The golden lines of sunset glow. 
 Then all by chance or fate removed, 
 
 Like spirits crowd upon the eye, 
 The few we liked, the one we loved, 
 
 And the whole heart is memory : 
 And life is like a fading flower, 
 
 Its beauty dying as we gaze ; 
 Yet as the shadows round us lower, 
 
 Heaven pours above a brighter blaze. 
 
 1 Rev. GEORGE CROLY, rector of St. Stephens, Walbrook, London, was 
 born in Ireland, toward the close of the last century, and was educated 
 at Trinity College, Dublin. Talented, and astonishingly industrious, 
 he has written much both in prose and verse. He is a correct and ele- 
 gant poet, and his prose style is clear, rich, idiomatic, and at times re- 
 markably eloquent 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE. 
 
 When morning sheds its gorgeous dye, 
 Our hope, our heart,, to earth is given ; 
 
 But dark and lonely is the eye 
 
 That turns not, at its eve, to heaven. 
 
 in. 
 
 NIGHT. COLERIDGE.' 
 THE crackling embers on the hearth are dead ; 
 
 The in-door note of in'dustry is still ; 
 
 The latch is fast ; upon the window-sill 
 The small birds wait not for their daily bread : 
 The voiceless flowers how quietly they shed 
 
 Their nightly odors! and the household rill 
 
 Murmurs continuous dulcet sounds, that fill 
 The vacant expectation, and the dread 
 Of listening night. And haply now she sleeps ; 
 
 For all the garrulous noises of the air 
 Are hush'd in peace : the soft dew silent weeps, 
 
 Like hopeless lovers, for a maid so fair : 
 Oh ! that I were the happy dream that creeps 
 
 To her soft heart, to find my image there. 
 
 IV. 
 
 NIGHT AT CORINTH.* BYRON. 
 'Tis midnight : on the mountains brown 
 The cold round moon shines deeply down : 
 
 HARTLEY COLERIDGE, eldest son of SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, was 
 born at Clevedown, a small village near Bristol, England, September 
 19th, 1796. He received his degree at Oriel College, Oxford, in 1821, 
 though he was principally educated by desultory reading, and by the 
 living voice of his father, WORDSWORTH, LLOYD, WILSON, and DE QUIN- 
 CEY. He passed about two years in London, writing sonnets and small 
 pieces for the "London Magazine;" conducted a boys' school, for five 
 years, at Ambleside, Westmoreland county ; and then removed to 
 Grasmere, where he resided during the remainder of his life, supporting 
 himself mostly by his pen, writing in part for " Blackwood's Magazine." 
 He died on the 6th of January, 1849. Some of his poems are exquisite- 
 ly beautiful, and his sonnets are surpassed by few in the language. Hia 
 prose works^are remarkable for brilliancy of imagery, beauty of thought, 
 pure English style, and pleasing and instructive suggestions. a Th* 
 night here described is supposed to have been in 1715, when Corinth, 
 then in possession of the Venetians, was besieged by the Turks. 
 
4:56 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Blue roll the waters : blue the sky 
 Spreads like an ocean hung on high, 
 Bespangled with those isles of light, 
 So widely, spiritually bright ; 
 Who ever gazed upon them shining, 
 And turn'd to earth without repining, 
 Nor wish'd for wings to flee away, 
 And mix with their eternal ray ? 
 The waves on either shore lay there 
 Calm, clear, and azure as the air*, 
 And scarce their foam the pebbles shook, 
 But murmur'd meekly as the brook. 
 The winds were pillow'd on the waves ; 
 The banners droop'd along their staves, 
 And, as they fell, around them furling, 
 Above them shone the crescent curling : 
 And that deep silence was unbroke, 
 Save where the watch his signal spoke, 
 Save where the steed neigh' d 6ft and shrill, 
 And echo answer'd from the hill ; 
 And the wild hum of that wild host 
 Rustled like leaves from coast to coast, 
 As rose the Muezzin's 1 voice in air 
 In midnight call to wonted 2 prayer. 
 
 v. 
 
 A SUMMER'S NIGHT. P. J. BAILEY. 
 THE last high upward slant of sun on the trees, 
 Like a dead soldier's sword upon his pall, 
 Seems to console earth for the glory gone. 
 Oh ! I could weep to see the day die thus. 
 The death-bed of a day, how beautiful ! 
 Linger, ye clouds, one moment longer there ; 
 Fan it to slumber with your golden wings ! 
 Like pious prayers, ye seem to soothe its end. 
 It will wake no more till the all-revealing day ; 
 
 Muezzin, one appointed by the Turks, who do not use bells for 
 the purpose, to summon the religious to their devotions, to the extent 
 of his voice. f Wonted (wunt'ed). 
 
SKLKCT PASSAGES IN VERSE. 467 
 
 When, like a drop of water, greaten'd bright 
 
 Into a shadow, it shall show itself, 
 
 With all its little tyrannous things and deeds, 
 
 Unhomed and clear. The day hath gone to Gfld, 
 
 Straight like an infant's spirit, or a indck'd 
 
 And mourning messenger of grace to man. 
 
 Would it had taken me too on its wings ! 
 
 My end is nigh. Would I might die outright ! 
 
 So o'er the sunset clouds of red mortality 
 
 The emerald hues of deathlessness diffuse 
 
 Their glory, heightening to the starry blue 
 
 Of all embosoming eternity. 
 
 Who that hath lain lonely on a high hill, 
 
 In the imperious silence of full noon, 
 
 With nothing but the clear dark sky about him, 
 
 Like GOD'S HAND laid upon the head of earth, 
 
 But hath expected that some natural spirit 
 
 Should start out of the universal air, 
 
 And, gathering his cloudy robe around him, 
 
 As one in act to teach mysterious things, 
 
 Explain that he must die? 
 
 VI. 
 
 NIGHT AND DEATH. WHITE.* 
 
 MYSTERIOUS night! when our first parent knew 
 Thee, from reportj0Hvine, and heard thy name, 
 Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, 
 
 This glorious canopy of light and blue ? 
 
 Yet 'neafh a curtain of translucent dew, 
 
 Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, 
 Hesperus, 2 wifh the host of heaven came ; 
 
 And lo ! creation widen'd in man's view. 
 
 Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed 
 Within thy beams, Sun? or who could find, 
 
 While fly, and leaf, and insect stood reveal'd, 
 
 1 JOSEPH BLANCO WHITE, a Spanish gentleman of Irish descent, who 
 came to England in 1810, and devoted himself to literature, chiefly 
 through the magazines and periodical press. He was born in 1775, and 
 died in 1841. * Hesperus, the evening star. 
 
 '20 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH KKADKK. 
 
 That to such countless orbs thou madest us blind f 
 Why do we then shun death with anxious strife ? 
 If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 NIGHT. SHELLEY. 
 
 How beautiful this night ! The balmiest sigh, 
 Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear, 
 Were discord to the speaking quietude 
 That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault, 
 Studded with, stars unutterably bright, 
 Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur^plls, 
 Seems like a canopy which love has spread 
 To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills, 
 Robed in a garment of untrodden snow ; 
 Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend, 
 So stainless, that their white and glittering spires 
 Tinge not the moon's pure beam ; yon castled steep, 
 Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower 
 So idly, that rapt fancy deemeth it 
 A metaphor of peace ; all form a scene 
 Where musing solitude might love to lift 
 Her soul above this sphere of earthliness ; 
 Where silence, undisturb'd, might watch alone, 
 So cold, so bright, so still. 
 
 VIII. ' 
 
 THK Mo OK. CHARLOTTE SMITH.* 
 QUEEN of the silver bow ! by thy pale beam, 
 
 Alone and pensive, I delight to stray, 
 And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream, 
 
 Or mark the floating clouds that cross thy way : 
 
 1 Mrs. CHARLOTTE SMITH (Miss TURNER) was born in King-street, St. 
 James Square, London, May 4th, 1749. Her first collection of sonnets 
 and other poeins was very popular, passing through no less than eleven 
 editions. Her first novel, "Emmeline," which was exceedingly popu- 
 lar, appeared in 1788. Her novels and other prose works, in all about 
 forty volumes, were much admired by SIR WALTER SCOTT and other con- 
 temporaries ; but she is now most known and most valued for hex 
 poetry, which abounds with touches of tenderness, grace, and beauty. 
 She died on the 28th of October, 1806. 
 
LANDSCAPE BEAUTY. 459 
 
 And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light 
 
 Sheds a sort calm upon my troubled breast ; 
 And 6ft I think, fair planet of the night, 
 
 That in thy orb the wretched may have rest; 
 The sufferers of the earth perhaps may go, 
 
 Released by death, to thy benignant sphere, 
 And the sad children of despair and woe 
 
 Forget, in thee, their cup of sorrow here. 
 Oh ! that I soon may reach thy world serene, 
 Poor wearied pilgrim in this toiling scene ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE STARS. DARWIN.' 
 ROLL on, ye stars ; exult in youthful prime ; 
 Mark wifh bright curves the printless steps of Time; 
 Near and more near your beamy cars approach, 
 And lessening orbs on lessening orbs encroach ; 
 Flowers of the sky, ye, too, to age must yield, 
 Frail as your silken sisters of the field. 
 Star after star from heaven's high arch shall rush, 
 Suns sink on suns, and systems systems crush, 
 Headlong, extinct, to one dark center fall, 
 And death, and night, and chaos mingle all ; 
 Till o'er the wreck, emerging from the storm, 
 Immortal Nature lifts her changeful form, 
 Mounts from her funeral pyre, on wings of flame, 
 And soars and shines, another and the same. 
 
 148. LANDSCAPE BEAUTY. 
 
 IT is easy enough to understand how the sight of a picture 01 
 statue should affect us nearly in the same way as the sight oi 
 the original : nor is it much more difficult to conceive, how the 
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN, an English physician, poet, and botanist, was 
 born at Elton, in 1731, and after taking his degree at Edinburgh, pur- 
 sued his professional career at Lichfield, from which place he removed 
 to Derby, where he died in 1802. Dr. DARWIN was an original thinker, 
 a great adept in analogies, and an able versifier. 
 
460 XATK'SAL FIFi'H KEADKK 
 
 sight of a cottage should give ns something of the same fech..g 
 as the sight of a peasant's family ; and the aspect of a town 
 raise many of the same ideas as the appearance of a multitude 
 of persons. AVe may begin, therefore, with an example a little 
 more complicated. Take, for instance, the case of a common 
 English landscape green meadows with grazing and ruminating 
 cattle canals or navigable rivers well-fenced, well-cultivated 
 fields neat, clean, scattered cottages humble antique churches, 
 with church-yard elms, and crossing hedgerows, all seen under 
 bright skies, and in good weather. 
 
 2. There is much beauty, as every one will acknowledge, m 
 such a scene. But vn what does the beauty consist ? Not cer- 
 tainly in the mere mixture of colors and forms ; for colors more 
 pleasing, and lines more graceful (according to any theory of grace 
 that may be preferred), might be spread upon a board, or a 
 painter's pallet, without engaging the eye to a second glance, or 
 raising the least emotion in the mind : but in the picture of 
 human happiness that is presented to our imaginations and af- 
 fections ; in the visible and unequivocal signs of comfort, and 
 cheerful and peaceful enjoyment and of that secure and suc- 
 cessful in'dustry that insures its continuance and of the piety 
 by which it is exalted and of the simplicity by which it is con- 
 trasted with the guilt and the fever of a city life ; in the images 
 of health, and temperance, and plenty which it exhibits to every 
 eye ; and in the glimpses which it affords to warmer imagina- 
 tions, of those primitive or fabulous times, when man was uncor- 
 rupted by luxury and ambition, and of those humble retreats in 
 which we still delight to imagine that love and philosophy may 
 find an unpolluted asy'lum. 
 
 3. At all events, however, it is human feeling that excites our 
 sympathy, and forms the true object of our emotions. It is 
 man, and man alone, that we see in the beauties of the earth 
 which he inhabits ; or, if a more sensitive and extended syrapa* 
 thy connect us wr6h the lower families of animated nature, and 
 make us rejoice with the lambs that bleat on the uplands, or the 
 cattle that repose in the valley, or even with the living plants 
 that drink the bright sun and the balmy air beside them, it is 
 still the idea of enjoyment of feelings that animate the exist- 
 ence of sentient beings that calls forth all our emotions, aw' 
 
LANDSCAPE BEAUTY. 461 
 
 is the parent of all the beanty with which we proceed to invest 
 the inanimate crciition around us. 
 
 4. Instead of this quiet and tame English landscape, let us 
 now take a Welsh or a Highland scene, and see whether its 
 beauties will admit of being explained on the same principle. 
 Here, we shall have lofty mountains, and rocky and lonely re- 
 cesses tufted woods hung over precipices lakes intersected 
 with castled promontories ample solitudes of unplowed and un- 
 trodden valleys nameless and gigantic ruins and mountain 
 echoes repeating the scream of the eagle and the roar of the 
 cataract. 
 
 5. This, too, is beautiful, and, to those who can interpret the 
 language it speaks, far more beautiful than the prosperous scene 
 with which we have contrasted it. Yet, lonely as it is, it is to 
 the recollection of man and the suggestion of human feelings 
 that its beauty also is owing. The mere forms and colors that 
 compose its visible appearance are no more capable of exciting 
 any emotion in the mind than the forms and colors of a Turkey 
 carpet. It is sympathy wifli the present or the past, or the 
 imaginary inhabitants of such a region, that alone gives it either 
 interest or beauty ; and the delight of those who behold it will 
 always be found to be in exact proportion to the force of their 
 imaginations and the warmth of their social affections. 
 
 6. The leading impressions here are those of romantic seclu- 
 sion and primeval simplicity ; lovers sequestered in these blissful 
 solitudes, " from towns and toils remote," and rustic poets and 
 philosophers communing with nature, and at a distance from the 
 low pursuits and selfish malignity of ordinary mortals : then 
 there is the sublime impression of the Mighty Powers which 
 piled the massive cliffs upon each other, and rent the mountains 
 asunder, and scattered their giant fragments at their base, and 
 all the images connected with the monuments of ancient mag- 
 nificence and extinguished hostility the feuds, and the combats, 
 and the triumphs of its wild and primitive inhabitants, contrast- 
 ed with the stillness and desolation of the scenes where they lie 
 interred ; and the romantic ideas attached to their ancient tradi- 
 tions, and the peculiarities of the actual life of their descendants 
 their wild and enthusiastic poetry their gloomy superstitions 
 their attachment to their chiefs the dangers, and the hard- 
 
4:62 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 ships, and enjoyments of their lonely huntings and fishings 
 their pastoral shielings on the mountains in summer and the 
 tales and the sports that amuse the little groups that are frozen 
 into their vast and trackless valleys in the winter. 
 
 7. Add to all this the traces of vast and obscure antiquity 
 that are impressed on the language and the habits of the people, 
 and on the cliffs, and caves, and gulfy torrents of the land ; and 
 the solemn and touching reflection, perpetually recurring, of the 
 weakness and insignificance of perishable man, whose genera- 
 tions thus pass away into oblivion, with all their toils and ambi- 
 tion ; while nature holds on her unvarying course, and pours out 
 her streams, and renews her forests, with undecaying activity, 
 regardless of the fate of her proud and perishable sovereign. 
 
 JEFFREY. 1 
 
 149. KlLIMANDJARO. 
 
 1. TTAIL to thee, monarch of African mountains, 
 JLl Remote, inaccessible, silent, and lone 
 Who, from the heart of the tropical fervors, 
 Liftest to heaven thine alien snows, 
 
 Feeding forever the fountains that make thee 
 
 Father of Nile and Creator of Egypt ! 
 
 The years of the world are engraved on thy foreAead ; 
 
 Time's morning blush'd red on thy first-fallen snows ; 
 
 Yet lost in the wilderness, nameless, unnoted, 
 
 Of Man unbeholden, thou wert not till now. 
 
 2. Knowledge alone is the being of Nature, 
 Giving a soul to her manifold features, 
 Lighting through paths of the primitive darkness 
 The footsteps of Truth and the vision of Song. 
 Knowledge has born thee anew to Creation, 
 And long-baffled Time at thy baptism rejoices. 
 Take, then, a name, and be fill'd with existence, 
 Yea, be exultant in sovereign 2 glory, 
 
 While from the hand of the wandering poet 
 Drops the first garland of song at thy feet. 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 287. 'Sovereign (sftv'ei in). 
 
KILIMANDJAlftO. 463 
 
 3. Floating alone, on the flood of thy making, 
 Through Africa's mystery, silence, and fire, 
 Lo ! in my palm, like the Eastern enchanter, 
 I dip from the waters a magical mirror, 
 And thou art reveal'd to my purified vision. 
 
 I see thee, supreme in the midst of thy co-mates, 
 Standing alone 'twixt the Earth and the Heavens, 
 Heir of the Sunset and Herald of Morn. 
 Zone above zone, to thy shoulders of granite, 
 The climates of Earth are display'd, as an index. 
 Giving the scope of the Book of Creation. 
 
 4. There, in the gorges that widen, descending 
 From cloud and from cold into summer eternal, 
 Gather the threads of the ice-gender'd fountains 
 Gather to riotous torrents of crystal, 
 
 And, giving each shelvy recess where they dally 
 The blooms of the North and its evergreen turfage, 
 Leap to the land of the lion and lotus ! 
 There, in the wondering airs of the Tropics 
 Shivers the Aspen, still dreaming of cold : 
 There stretches the Oak, from the loftiest ledges, 
 His arms to the far-away lands of his brothers, 
 And the Pine-tree looks down on his rival the Palm. 
 
 5. Bathed in the tenderest purple of distance, 
 Tinted and shadow'd by pencils of air, 
 
 Thy battlements hang o'er the slopes and the forests, 
 
 Seats of the gods in the limitless ether, 
 
 Looming sublimely aloft and afar. 
 
 Above them, like folds of imperial ermine, 
 
 Sparkle the snow-fields that furrow thy forehead 
 
 Desolate realms, inaccessible, silent, 
 
 Chasms and caverns where Day is a stranger, 
 
 Garners where storeth his treasures the Thunder, 
 
 The Lightning his falchion, his arrows the Hail ! 
 
 6. Sovereign Mountain, thy brothers give welcome : 
 They, the baptized and the crowned of ages, 
 Watch-towers of Continents, altars of Earth, 
 Welcome thee now to their mighty assembly. 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH KKADER. 
 
 Mont Blanc,' in the roar of his mad avalanches, 
 
 Hails thy accession ; superb Orizaba, 8 
 
 Belted with beech, and ensandall'd with palm 
 
 Chimborazo, 3 the lord of the regions of noonday 
 
 Mingle their sounds in magnificent chorus 
 
 With greeting august from the Pillars of Heaven, 
 
 Who, in the urns of the Indian Ganges, 
 
 Filter the snows of their sacred dominions, 
 
 Unmark'd with a footprint, unseen but of G5d. 
 
 7 . : . unto each is the seal of his ordsiiip, 
 
 Nor questioned the right that his majesty giveth 
 
 Each in his awful supremacy forces 
 
 Worship and reverence, wonder and joy. 
 
 Absolute all, yet in. dignity varied, 
 
 None has a claim to the honors of story, 
 
 Or the superior splendors of song, 
 
 Greater than thuu, in thy mystery mantled 
 
 Thou, the sole monarch of African mountains, 
 
 Father of Nile and Creator of Egypt ! BAYARD TAYLOR. 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR, the noted American traveler and poet, was born in the vil- 
 lage of Kennett Square, Chester county, Pennsylvania, on the llth of January, 
 18-25. At the age of seventeen he became an apprentice in a printing-office in 
 Westchester ; and about the same period wrote verses, which appeared in the 
 " New York MJrror" and "Graham's Magazine." He collected and published 
 a small volume of his poems in 1844, and visited Europe the same year. Having 
 passed two years in Great Britain, Switzerland, Germany, Italy, and France, he 
 returned home ; published an account of his travels under the title of " Views 
 a-Foot ;" settled in New York; and in 1848, soon after publishing " Rhymes of 
 Travel," secured a place as a permanent writer for "The Tribune," in which 
 journal the greater part of his recent productions have been first printed. He 
 visited California in 1849, returned by the way of Mexico in 1850, and soon after 
 published his " Eldorado, or Adventures in the Path of Empire." His " Book 
 of Romances, Lyrics, and Songs," which appeared in 1851, greatly increased 
 his reputation as a poet. The same year he set out on a protracted tour in the 
 East, upon which he was absent two years and four months, traveling more 
 than fifty thousand miles. His spirited, graphic, and entertaining history of this 
 journey is given in three works, entitled " A Jouruev to Central Africa," " The 
 Land of the Saracen," and " India, Loo Choo, and Japan." " Poems of the 
 Orient" appeared in 1854, embracing only such pieces as were written while lie 
 was on his passage round the world. Glowing with the warm light of the East, 
 they contain passages " rich, sensuous, and impetuous, as the Arab sings in 
 dreams," with others gentle, tender, and exquisitely modulated. During the 
 past two years Mr TAYLOR has traveled in the extreme north of Europe. 
 
 1 Mont Blanc (mongr blong'i. ' Orizaba (o re si' bit. * Chim bo ra' zo. 
 
MOKNING HYMN TO MONT BLANC. 46 S 
 
 150. MORNING HYMN TO MONT BLANC. 
 
 HAST thou a charm to stay the morning star 
 In his steep course ? so long he seems to pause 
 On thy bald, awful head, sovereign Blanc ! 
 The Arve and Aveiron at thy base 
 Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful form ! 
 Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 
 How silently ! Around thee and above 
 Deep is the air and dark, substantial black, 
 An ebon mass; methinks thou piercest it, 
 As with a wedge ! But when I look again, 
 It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, 
 Thy habitation from eternity ! 
 
 dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, 
 Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, 
 
 Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer 
 
 1 worshiped the Invisible alone. 
 
 Y8t like some sweet, beguiling melody, 
 
 So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, 
 
 Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending wifli my thoughts 
 
 Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy, 
 
 Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, 
 
 Into the mighty vision passing there 
 
 As in her natural form, swell'd vast to Heaven. 
 
 i. Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise 
 Thou owest not alone these swelling tears, 
 Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy. Awake, 
 Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake ' 
 Green vales and icy cliffs all join my hymn. 
 Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale ! 
 Oh ! struggling with' the darkness all the night, 
 And visited all night by troops of stars, 
 Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink : 
 Companion of the momiug-star at dawn, 
 Thyself, earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
 Co-herald ! wake, oh wake ! and utter praise. 
 
 ofl 
 
466 NATIONAL KIKHi KHADKK. 
 
 Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? 
 Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light? 
 Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 
 
 4. And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad ! 
 Who call'd you forth from night and utter death, 
 From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth, 
 Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 
 forever shatter'd and the same forever? 
 Who gave you your invulnerable life, 
 Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy 
 Unceasing thunder and eternal foam I 
 And who commanded, and the silence came, 
 " Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ?" 
 
 5* Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow 
 Adown enormous ravines slope amain, 
 Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, 
 And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge ! 
 Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! 
 Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven 
 Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun 
 Clothe you wifli rainbows? Who with living flowers 
 Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ? 
 " GOD 1" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
 Answer ; and let the ice-plains echo, " GOD !" 
 
 6. " GOD !" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice 
 Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! 
 And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, 
 
 And in their perilous fall shall thunder, " GOD !" 
 Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost ! 
 Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! 
 Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! 
 Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! 
 Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
 Utter forth GOD !" and fill the hills with praise. 
 
 7. Once more, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peak, 
 Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 
 Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, 
 
MORNING HYMN TO MONT BLANO. 4:67 
 
 Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast, 
 Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain ! thou, 
 That, as I raise my head, awhile bovv'd low 
 In adoration, upward from thy base 
 Slow-traveling with dim eyes suffused with tears, 
 Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, 
 To rise before me rise, oh ever rise, 
 Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth ! 
 Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, 
 Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, 
 Great hierarcl^! tell thou the silent sky, 
 And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, 
 Earth, with her thousand voices, praises GOD ! 
 
 COLERIDGE. 
 
 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, one of the most imaginative and original of 
 poets, remarkable for his colloquial eloquence and metaphysical and critical 
 powers, the youngest son of the vicar of St. Mary Ottery, in Devonshire, Eng- 
 land, was born at that place in October, 1772. Left an orphan in his ninth year, 
 he was educated for seven years at Christ's Hospital ; and in 1791 he became 
 student of Jesus College, Cambridge. His reading, though desultory and irreg- 
 ular, embraced almost numberless books, especially on theology, metaphysics, 
 and poetry. In 1794 was published the drama called " The Fall of Robespierre," 
 of which the first act was COLERIDGE'S, and the other two were .SOUTH EY'S; and 
 the two poets, then entertaining those extreme opinions which ttiey afterward so 
 thoroughly abandoned, occupied themselves at Bristol in planning a new social 
 community, which they were to found in the United States. At this town and 
 elsewhere, COLERIDGE delivered courses of public lectures, both religious and 
 political; and he also preached in Unitarian pulpits. In J 795 he married Miss 
 FRICKER, whose sister soon afterward became Mrs. SOUTHEY ; and in the same 
 year he became acquainted with WORDSWORTH. About the same period he 
 went to reside in a cottage at Stowey, Somersetshire, about two miles from the 
 residence of the latter; and the poets bound themselves in the closest friendship. 
 He here wrote some of his most beautiful poetry his "Ode on the Departing 
 Year," " Tears in Solitude," " France, an Ode," " Frost at Midnight," the first 
 part of " Christabel," " The Ancient Mariner," and his tragedy of " Remorse." 
 In 1798 he went to Germany to complete his education, and resided for fourteen 
 months at Ratzburg and Gottingen. On his return to England he resided in the 
 lakp district near SOUTHEY and WORDSWORTH, and contributed political articles 
 and poems for the " Morning Post" newspaper, which was followed, some years 
 later, by similar employment in the " Courier.' For fifteen months, in 1804 and 
 I HO.'), he was secretary to Sir ALEXANDER BALL, the governor of Malta. In 1816 
 he found a quiet and friendly home in the house of Mr. GILLMAN, surgeon of 
 Highgate, where, after a residence of eighteen years, he died in July, 1834. 
 Thefe both mind and body were restored from the excitement and ill health 
 caused by the use of opium, first taken in illness, and afterward used habitually. 
 His numerous productions in prose and verse, as well as his unsurpassed Table- 
 Talk, have since been published, proving a perpetual de-light ; and, like iNature, 
 furnishing subjects of admiration and imitation lor tin-- rHiued and observing. 
 
4:68 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 151. ELEMENTS OF THE Swiss LANDSCAPE. 
 
 T)ASSING out through a forest of larches, whose dark verdure 
 J- is peculiarly appropriate to it, and going up toward the 
 baths of Leuk, 1 the interest of the landscape does not at all 
 diminish. What a concentration and congregation of all ele- 
 ments of sublimity and beauty are before you ! what surprising 
 contrasts of light and shade, of form and color, of softness and 
 ruggedness ! Here are vast heights above you, and vast depths 
 below, villages hanging to the mountain sides, green pasturages 
 and winding paths, lovely meadow slopes enameled with flowers, 
 deep immeasurable ravines', torrents thundering down them ; 
 colossal, overhanging, castellated 3 reefs of granite ; snowy peaks 
 with the setting sun upon them. 
 
 2. You command a view far down over the valley of the 
 Rhone, with its villages and castles, and its mixture of rich 
 farms and vast beds and heaps of mountain fragments, deposited 
 by furious tgrrents. What affects the mind v6ry powerfully on 
 first entering upon these scenes, is the deep dark blue, so in- 
 tensely deep and overshadowing, of the gorge at its upper end, 
 and at the magnificent proud sweep of the granite barrier, which 
 there shuts it in, apparently without a passage. The mountains 
 rise like vast supernatural intelligences taking a material shape, 
 and drawing around themselves a drapery of awful grandeur ; 
 there is a foreAead of power and majesty, and the likeness of a 
 kingly crow n above it. 
 
 3. Amidst all the grandeur of this scenery, I remember to 
 have been in no place more delighted with the profuse richness, 
 delicacy, and beauty of the Alpine flowers. The grass of the 
 meadow slopes in the gorge of the Dala had a depth and power 
 of verdure, a clear, delicious greenness, that in its effect upon 
 the mind was like that of the atmosphere in the brightest au- 
 tumnal morning of the year ; or rather, perhaps, like the colors 
 of the sky at sunset. There is no such grass-color in the world 
 as that of these mountain meadows. It is just the same at the 
 
 i Leuk (loik), a village and celebrated bathing-place of Switzerland, 
 canton of Valais, on the Rhone, and 5000 feet above the sea. * Cis' tel 
 U ted. inclosed ; adorned with turrets and battlements, like a castle. 
 
ELEMENTS OF THE S\\ 'IriS LANDSCAPE. 469 
 
 verge of the ice oceans of Mont Blanc. It makes you think of 
 one of the points chosen by the Sacred Poet to illustrate the 
 divine benevolence (and I had almost said, no man can truly un- 
 derstand why it was chosen, who has not traveled in Switzer- 
 land), " Wlio maketh the grass to grow upon the mountains? 
 
 4. And then the flowers, so modest, so lovely, yet of such 
 deep ex'quisite hue, enameled in the grass, sparkling amidst it, 
 * a starry multitude," underneath such awful brooding mountain 
 forms and icy precipices how beautiful ! All that the poets 
 have ever said or sung of daisies, violets, snow-drops, king-cups, 
 primroses, and all modest flowers, is here outdone by the mute 
 poetry of the denizens of these wild pastures. Such a meadow 
 slope as this, watered with pure rills from the glaciers, would 
 have set the mind of Edwards' at work in contemplation on the 
 beauty of holiness. He has connected these meek and lowly 
 flowers with an image, which none of the poets of this world 
 have ever thought of. 
 
 5. To him the divine beauty of holiness " made the soul like 
 a field or garden of God, wifli all manner of pleasant flowers; 
 all pleasant, delightful, and undisturbed ; enjoying a sweet calm, 
 and the gentle, vivifying beams of the sun. The soul of a true 
 Christian appears like such a little white flower as we see in the 
 spring of the year; low and humble on the ground; opening its 
 bosom to receive the pleasant beams of the sun's glory ; rejoic- 
 ing, as it were, in a calm rapture ; diffusing around a sweet fra- 
 grancy ; standing peacefully and lovingly in the midst of other 
 flowers round about ; all in like manner opening their bosoms 
 to drink in the light of the sun." 
 
 6. Very likely such a passage as this, coming from the soul 
 of the great theologian (for this is the poetry of the soul, and 
 
 1 JONATHAN EDWARDS, one of the first metaphysicians of his age, au- 
 thor of an "Essay on the Freedom of the Will," was born in East 
 Windsor, Connecticut, October 5th, 1703. He entered Yale College in 
 his thirteenth year ; graduated with the highest honors ; and continued 
 his residence in the institution for two years, for the study of the min- 
 istry. He first preached to a congregation in New York, in his nine 
 teenth year. He preached in Northampton twenty-three years ; was 
 missionary to the Indians near Stockbridge, Mass. , for six years ; was 
 installed president of Princeton College in January, 1758; and died on 
 the 22d of March of the same vear. 
 
4:70 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 not of the artificial sentiment, nor of the mere worship of na- 
 ture), will seem to many persons like violets in the bosom of a 
 glac'ier. But no poet ever described the meek, modest flowers 
 so beautifully, rejoicing in a calm rapture. Jonathan Edwards 
 himself, with his grand views of sacred theology and history, his 
 living piety, and his great experience in the deep things of God, 
 was like a mountain glacier, in one respect, as the " par'ent <f 
 perpetual streams," that are then the deepest, when all the fouu 
 tains of the world are the driest; like, also, in another respect, 
 that in climbing his theology you get very near to heaven, and 
 are in a very pure and bracing atmosphere; like, again, in this, 
 that it requires much spiritual labor and discipline to surmount 
 his heights, and some care not to fall into the crevass'es ; and 
 like, once more, in this, that when you get to the top, you have 
 a vast, wide, glorious view of God's great plan, and see things hi 
 their chains and connections, which before you only saw sepa 
 rate and piecemeal. G. B. CHEEVER. 
 
 GEORGE B. CHEEVER was bom at Hallowell, Maine, on the 17th of April, 1807. 
 He was graduated at Bowdoin College, September, 1825, studied theology at 
 Andover, was licensed to preach in 1830, and was first settled as pastor over 
 Howard-street church of Salem, Massachusetts. He went to Europe in 1836, 
 where he spent two years and six months. In 1839 he became pastor of the 
 Allen-street church, New York, and in IH46 of the Church of the Puritans, a 
 position which he still retains. In 1844 he again visited Europe for a year. Dr. 
 CHEEVER is celebrated as an orator. He has a keen analytical mind, and com- 
 bining fancy with logic, succeeds equally well in allegory and in argumentation 
 His numerous and valuable works have gained him an enviable position in 
 American literature. He lias written extensively for our ablest reviews and 
 periodicals. He was a valuable correspondent of the " New York Observer," 
 when in Europe, and editor of the " New York Evangelist" during 1845 and 
 1846. He is now a contributor of " The Independent." His " Lectures on Pil- 
 grim's Progress," published in 1843, and " Voices of Nature," 1852, are among 
 the ablest of his productions, and indicate most truly his mode and range of 
 thought. " Wanderings of a Pilgrim in the Shadow of Mont Blanc and the 
 Yungfrau Alp," from which the above extract is taken, published in 1846, on 
 his return from his second visit to Europe, met with a very favorable reception. 
 As a writer he is always clear and unimpassioned ; he sees and hears and de- 
 scribes, never falling, through excess of feeling, into confusion, or figure, or re- 
 dundancy of expression. The reader is strengthened by his power, calmed by 
 his tranquillity, and incited to self-denying and lofty views, by his earnest and 
 vigorous presentation of truth. 
 
 152. ALPINE SCENEKY. 
 
 1. A BOVE me are the Alps most glorious Alps 
 Ii- The palaaes of Nature, whose vast walls 
 
ALPINK SCENERY. 4:71 
 
 Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, 
 
 And throned Eternity in icy halls 
 
 Of cold sublimity, where forms and tails 
 The avalanche the thunderbolt of snow ! 
 
 All that expands the spirit, ye"t appalls, 
 Gather around these summits, as to show 
 How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below. 
 
 2. Lake Leman 1 woos me with its crystal face, 
 
 The mirror, where the stars and mountains view 
 The stillness of their aspect in each trace 
 
 Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue. 
 
 There is too much of man here, to look through, 
 With a fit mind, the might which I behold ; 
 
 But soon in me shall loneliness renew 
 Thoughts hid, but not less cherish'd than of old, 
 Ere mingling with the 'herd had penn'd me in their fold. 
 
 3. Clear, placid La" man ! thy contrasted lake 
 
 With the wide world I've dwelt in is a thing 
 Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake 
 
 Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. 
 
 This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
 To waft me from distraction ; once I loved 
 
 Torn ocean's roar ; but thy soft murmuring 
 Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, 
 That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. 
 
 4. It is the hush of night ; and all between 
 
 Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, 
 Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen, 
 
 Save darken'd Jura, 8 whose capp'd heights appear 
 
 1 Le' man or Geneva, a crescent-shaped lake of Europe, between Swit- 
 zerland and the Sardinian States. Length, 45 miles ; breadth, from 1 
 io 9 miles ; and greatest depth, 984 feet. Its waters, which are never 
 entirely frozen over, have a peculiar deep-blue color, are very transpa- 
 rent, and contain a great variety of fish. Steam navigation was intro- 
 duced in 1823. * Jura (jS' ra), a chain of mountains which separates 
 France from Switzerland, extending for 180 miles in the form of a curve, 
 from S. to N. E., with a mean breadth of 30 miles. One of the culmi 
 nating points, and the highest, is Mount Molesson, 6588 feet above the 
 level of the sea. 
 
472 
 
 NATIONAL Firm RKAHKK. 
 
 Precipitously steep ; and drawing near, 
 There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, 
 
 Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear 
 Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, 
 Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more. 
 
 5. He is an evening reveler, who makes 
 
 His life an infancy, and sings his fill ; 
 At intervals, some bird from out the brakes 
 
 Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 
 
 There seems a floating whisper on the hill ; 
 But that is iancy ; for the starlight dews 
 
 All silently their tears of love distill, 
 Weeping themselves away till they infuse 
 Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 
 
 6. Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven, 
 
 If, in your bright leaves, we would read the fate 
 Of men and empires, 'tis to be forgiven, 
 
 That in our aspirations to be great, 
 
 Our destinies oY-rleap their mortal state, 
 And claim a kindred w : ifh you ; for ye are 
 
 A beauty and a mystery, and create 
 In us such love and reverence from alar, 
 That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star 
 
 7. All heaven and earth are still, though not in sleep, 
 
 But breathless, as we ^row r when feeling most ; 
 And silent, as we stand m thoughts too deep : 
 
 All heaven and eartK are still ! From the high host 
 
 Of stars to the lull'd lake, and mountain coast, 
 All is concenterM in a life intense, 
 
 Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, 
 But hath a part of being, and a sense 
 Of that which is of all Creator and Defense. 
 
 8. The sky is changed ! and such a change ! O'Night, 
 
 And Storm, and Darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
 
 Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
 Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
 From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
 
 Leaps the live thunder! not from one? ione cloud. 
 
CICERO AT THE GRAVE OF ARCHEMHDE8. 473 
 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue ; 
 And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
 Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 
 
 9 And this is in the night. Most glorious night ! 
 
 Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be 
 A sharer in thy fieTce and far delight, 
 A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
 How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea 
 And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 
 
 And now again 'tis black and now, the glee 
 Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, 
 As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 
 
 10. Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings! ye, 
 
 With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
 To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
 
 Things that have made me watchful : the far roll ' 
 
 Of your departing voices is the knoll 
 Of what in me is sleepless, if I rest. 
 
 But where, of ye, tempests ! is the goal ? 
 Are ye like those within the human breast ? 
 Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest ? 
 
 11. The morn is up again, the dewy morn, 
 
 With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, 
 Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, 
 And living as if earth contain'd no tomb, 
 And glowing into clay : we may resume 
 The march of our existence; and thus I, 
 
 Still on thy shores, fair Leman ! may find room 
 And food for meditatio.n, nor pass by 
 Much, that may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly. 
 
 LORD BYRON. 1 
 
 
 
 153. PICERO AT THE GRAVE OF ARCHIMEDES. 
 HILE Cicero 2 was questor 3 in Sicily, the first public office 
 which he ever held, and the only one to which he was 
 
 J See Biographical Sketch, p. 292. a CJCEUO, see p. 143, note 4. 
 ' Qu^s' tor, an officer in ancient Rome who had the management of the 
 public treasure ; the receiver of taxes, tributes, &c. 
 
4:74- NATIONAL FIFTH KKADKK. 
 
 then eligible, being but just thirty years old (for the Roman 
 laws required for one of the humblest of the great offices of 
 state the very same age which oui American Constitution re- 
 quires for one of the highest), he paid a visit to Syracuse, 1 then 
 among the greatest cities of the world. 
 
 2. The magistrates of the city, of course, waited on him at 
 once, to Otter their services in showing him the lions of the 
 place, and requested him to specify any thing which he would 
 like particularly to see. Doubtless, they supposed that he would 
 ask immediately to be conducted to some one of their magnifi- 
 cent temples, that he might behold and admire those splendid 
 works of art with which notwithstanding that Marcellus' 2 had 
 made it his glory to carry not a few of them away with him for 
 the decoration of the Imperial City Syracuse still abounded, 
 and which soon after tempted the cupidity, and fell a prey to 
 the rapacity, of the in 'famous Yerres. 3 
 
 3. Or, haply, they may have thought that he would be curious 
 to see and examine the ear of Dionysiiis, 4 as it was called, a 
 
 1 Syracuse isir'akuz), a fortified city of Sicily. Its noble harbor is 
 admirably adapted for a commercial emporium ; but its trade is nov 
 very limited. This famous city of antiquity was founded B. c. 736, by a 
 colony from Corinth, governed alternately as a republic or under kings ; 
 unsuccessfully besieged by the Athenians B. c. 414, and taken bv the 
 Romans B. c. 212, and after a lengthened siege by the Saracens, who 
 partially destroyed it ; but it was chiefly ruined by the earthquake of 
 1693. 8 MARCUS CLAUDIUS MARCELLUS. a distinguished Roman general, 
 who, when the Sicilians declared in favor of Hannibal, marched against 
 Syracuse, and after a siege of nearly a year's duration, took and sacked 
 the city, carrying the statues of the Syracusan temples to Rome. Two 
 years later, B. c. 210, he was chosen consul. He was famous for his 
 victories over Hannibal and the Gauls, and was slain in a battle against 
 the former, B. c. 208. 3 YERRES. an infamous pro- praetor in Sicily, 
 where he remained for nearly three years (73-71 B. c.) His extortions 
 and exactions in the island have become notorious through the cele- 
 brated orations of CICERO. 4 DIOXTSIUS (di o nJ'she us) the Elder, tyrant 
 of Syracuse, was born B. c. 430. His reign began when he was twenty- 
 five, and continued without interruption for thirty-eight years. An 
 able aud successful general, he was fond of literature and the aits ; 
 adorned Syracuse with splendid temples and other public edifices : and 
 just before his death, as a poet, core away the first prize at the Lenaea, 
 with a play called "The Ransom of Hector." In his latter years he 
 became extremely suspicious, even of his best friends, and adopted most 
 
CICERO AT THE GBAVE OF ARCHIMEDES. 475 
 
 huge cavern, cut out of the solid rock in the shape of a human 
 ear, two hundred and fifty feet long and eighty feet high, in 
 which that execrable tyrant confined all persons who came with- 
 in the range of his suspicion ; and which was so ingeniously con- 
 trived and constructed, that Dionysiiis, by applying his own ear 
 to a small hole, where the sounds were collected as upon a tym- 
 panum, could, catch every syllable that was uttered in the cavern 
 below, and could deal out his proscription and his vengeance 
 accordingly, upon all who might dare to dispute his authority, 
 or to complain of his cruelty. 
 
 4. Or they may have imagined, perhaps, that he would be 
 impatient to visit at once the sacred fountain of Arethusa, and 
 the seat of those Sicilian Muses whom Virgil 1 so soon after in- 
 voked in commencing that most inspired of all uninspired com- 
 positions, which Pope has so nobly paraphrased in his glowing 
 and glorious Eclogue the Messiah. To their great astonish- 
 ment, however, Cicero's first reques^ was that they would take 
 him to see the tomb of Archime'des.* 
 
 5. To his own still greater astonishment, as we may well be- 
 lieve, they told him in reply, that they knew nothing about the 
 tomb of Archirne'des, and had no idea where it was to be found, 
 and they even positively denied that any such tomb was still re- 
 maining among them. But Cicero understood peifectly well 
 what he was talking about. He remembered the exact descrip- 
 
 excessive precautions to guard against treachery. He became a sort of 
 type of tyrant, in its worst seflse ; though his wickedness and cruelty 
 were undoubtedly much exaggerated by ancient writers. ' VIRGIL, see 
 p. 215, note 2. a ARCHIMEDES (ar ki me' dez), the most celebrated of an- 
 cient geometers, was born at Syracuse, about 291 B. c. Having acquired 
 at an early age all the knowledge that could be obtained in his native 
 city, he visited Egypt, from whence, after seven years, he returned to 
 Syracuse, ladened with the intellectual spoils of the East, and devote I 
 his time to the cultivation of the mathematical and physical sciences 
 In the war which the Romans carried on against King HIERO, of Sicily, 
 to whom ARCHIMEDES was related on his father's side, several engines 
 prepared by the latter were so effectual in the defense of Syracuse 
 against MARCELLUS as to convert the siege into a blockade, and delay 
 the taking of the city for several months. In 212 B. c., when Syracuse 
 was taken, he was killed by the Roman soldiers, being at the time in- 
 lent upon a mathematical problem. There are excellent French and 
 English translations of his numerous works. 
 
476 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 tion of the tomb. He remembered the -very verses which had 
 been inscribed on it He remembered the sphere and the 
 cylinder which Archimedes had himself requested to have 
 wrought upon it, as the chosen emblems of his eventful life. 
 And the great orator forthwith resolved to make search for it 
 himself 
 
 6. Accordingly, he rambled out into the place of their ancient 
 sepulchres, and, after a careful investigation, he came at last to a 
 bpot overgrown with shrubs and bushes, where presently he de- 
 scried the top of a small column just rising above the branches. 
 Upon this little column the sphere and the cylinder were at 
 length found carved ; the inscription was painfully deciphered, 
 and the tomb of Archime'des stood revealed to the reverent 
 homage of the illustrious Roman questor. 
 
 7. This was in the year 76 before the birth of our Saviour. 
 Archimedes died about the year 212 before Christ. One hun- 
 dred and thirty-six years, o^ly, had thus elapsed since the death 
 of this celebrated person, before his tombstone was buried up be- 
 neath briers and brambles, and before the place, and even the 
 existence of it, were forgotten by the magistrates of the very 
 city of which he was so long the proudest ornament in peace, 
 and the most effective defender in war. 
 
 8. What a lesson to human pride, what a commentary on 
 human gratitude, was here ! I do not learn, however, that Cice 
 ro was cured of his eager vanity and his insatiate love of fame 
 by this " turn" among the Syracusan tombs. He was then only 
 just at the threshold of his proud career, and he went back to 
 pursue it to its bloody end, with nnabated zeal, and with an am- 
 bition only extinguishable with his life. 
 
 9. And after all, how richly, how surpassingly, was this local 
 ingratitude and neglect made up to the memory of Archimedes 
 himself, by the opportunity which it afforded to the greatest 
 tfrator of the greatest empire of antiquity, to signalize his appre- 
 ciation and his admiration of that wonderful genius, by going 
 out personally into the ancient grave-yards of Syracuse, and 
 with the robes of office in their newest gloss around him, to 
 search for his tomb and to do honor to his ashes! The greatest 
 orator of Imperial Rome anticipating the part of Old Mortality 
 upon the grave-stone of the great mathematician and mechanic 
 
MK68IAI1. 477 
 
 of antiquity ! This, surely, is a picture for mechanics in all ages 
 to contcm 'plate with a proud satisfaction and delight. 
 
 R. C. WINTIIROP. 
 
 ROBERT C. WINTUROP, a descendant of one of the oldest and most eminent 
 of New England families, was born in Boston, on the 12th of May, 1809. He 
 pursued his preparatory studies at the Boston Latin School, and graduated at 
 Harvard, in 1828. For the next three years lie studied law with DANIEL WEB- 
 STEII. lie became a member of the Massachusetts Legislature in 1834, and 
 speaker of its House of Representatives from 1838 till his flection to Congress in 
 1840. He was speaker of the national House of Representatives for the sessions 
 of 1848-9. He was appointed to succeed WEBSTER in the Senate in 1850, when 
 the latter was Secretary of State. His claims to literary distinction are derived 
 from his able addresses and speeches, a volume of which was published in 1852. 
 He has since published his address before (he alumni of Harvard in 1852 ; a lec- 
 ture on Algernon Sidney, before the Boston Mercantile Library Association in 
 1853 ; and in the same season, his lecture on Archimedes and Franklin, from 
 which the above extract is taken. 
 
 154. MESSIAH. 
 
 1." rriHE Saviour comes, by ancient bards foretold: 
 J- Hear him, ye deaf, and all ye blind, behold ! 
 He from thick films shall purge the visual ray, 
 And on the sightless eyeball pour the day : 
 "Tis he the obstructed paths of sound shall clear, 
 And bid new music charm the unfolding ear : 
 The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego, 
 And leap exulting, like the bounding roe. 
 No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear ; 
 From every face he wipes off every tear. 
 In adamantine chains shall Death be bound, 
 And Hell's grim tyrant feel the eternal wound. 
 
 2. As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, 
 Seeks freshest pasture and the purest air, 
 Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs, 
 By day o'ersees them, and by night protects, 
 The tender lambs he raises in his arms, 
 Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms; 
 Thus shall mankind his guardiiin care engage, 
 The promised father of the future age. 
 
 3. No more shall nation against nation rise, 
 Nor ardent warriors meet, with hateful eyes, 
 
78 NATIONAL FIFTH RBADKK. 
 
 Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er, 
 The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more ; 
 But useless lances into scythes shall bend, 
 And the broad falchion 1 in a plowshare end. 
 Then palaces shall rise ; the joyful son 
 Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun ; 
 Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield, 
 And the same hand that ^>w'd shall reap the field. 
 
 4. The swain in barren deserts, with surprise, 
 Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise ; 
 And starts, amid the thirsty wilds to hear 
 NeW falls of water murmuring in his ear. 
 On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes, 
 
 The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods. 
 Waste sandy valleys, once perplex'd with thorn, 
 The spiry fir and shapely box adorn : 
 To leafless shrubs the flowering palms succeed, 
 And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed. 
 
 5. The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead, 
 And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead ; 
 
 The steer and lion at one crib shall meet, 
 And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet. 
 The smiling infant in his hand shall take 
 The crested basilisk and speckled snake, 
 Pleased, the green luster of the scales survey, 
 And with their forky tongues shall innocently play. 
 
 6. Rise, crown'd wifli light, imperial Salem,* rise ! 
 Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes ! 
 
 See a long race thy spacious courts adorn ; 
 
 See future sons and daughters, yet unborn, 
 
 In crowding ranks on every side arise, 
 
 Demanding life, impatient for the skies ! 
 
 See barbarous nations at thy gates attend, 
 
 Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend ; 
 
 See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate kings, 
 
 falchion (f&l'ch&n). 'Salem, Jerusalem 
 
 
SCE.NK FEOM CAT1LLHE. 
 
 And heap'd with products of Sabeiin 1 springs ! 
 For thee Idume's 2 spicy forests blow, 
 And seeds of gold in Ophir's 3 mountains glow. 
 See heaven its sparkling portals wide display, 
 And break upon thee in a flood of day ! 
 
 7. No more the rising sun shall gild the morn, 
 Nor evening Cynthia 4 fill her silver horn ; 
 But lost, dissolved, in thy superior rays, 
 One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze, 
 O'erflow thy courts : the Light himself shall shine 
 ReveaPd, and God's eternal day be thine ! 
 The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, 
 Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; 
 But fix'd His word, His saving power remains ? 
 Thy realm forever lasts, thy own MESSIAH reigns ! 
 
 ^ POPE.* 
 
 155. SCENE FROM CATILINE. 
 
 In the Senate. 
 
 Cicero. Our long dispute must close. Take one proof more 
 Of this rebellion. Lucius Catiline 6 
 
 1 Sa be' an, pertaining to Saba, in Arabia, celebrated for producing ar- 
 omatic plants. a I du' me, or Id u' mas a, an ancient country of western 
 Asia, comprising the mountainous tract on the E. side of the great val- 
 leys of El-Ghor and El-Arabah, and W. and S. W. of the Dead Sea, with 
 a portion of Arabia. 3 0' phir, an ancient country mentioned in the 
 Scriptures, and renowned from the earliest times for its gold. Some 
 suppose it to be the same as the modern Sofala ; and others conjecture 
 it was situated in the East Indies. * CYN' THI A, the moon, a name given 
 to DIANA, derived from Mount Cynthus, her birthplace. See p. 337, 
 note 3. 6 See Biographical Sketch, p. 227. "Lucius SERGIUS CATILINE, 
 the descendant of an ancient and patrician family in Eome, whose youth 
 and manhood were stained by every vice and crime. He was pra-tor in 
 B. c. 68, was governor of Africa during the following year, and returned 
 to Rome in 66, to sue for the consulship, Disqualified for a candidate, 
 by an impeachment for oppression in his province, and frustrated in a 
 conspiracy to kill the new consuls, he organized the extensive conspiracy 
 in which the scene here given occurs. The history of this conspiracy, 
 which ended by the death of CATILINE, in a decisive battle fought early 
 in 62, has been written by SALLUST. He was a man of great mental mid 
 physical powers, though apparently entirely destitute of moral qualities 
 
480 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Has been commanded to attend the senate. 
 
 He dares not come. I now demand your votes ! 
 
 Is he condemn'd to exile? 
 
 [CATILIXE conies in hastily, and flings himself on the 
 bench ; all the senators go over to the other side. 
 
 Cicero [turning to CATILINE]. Here I repeat the charge, to 
 
 gods and men, 
 
 Of treasons manifold ; that, but this day, 
 He has received dispatches from the rebels ; 
 That he has leagued with deputies from Gaul 
 To seize the province ; nay, has levied troops, 
 And raised his rebel standard : that but now 
 A meeting of conspirators was held 
 Under his roof, with mystic rites, and oaths, 
 Pledged round the body of a murder'd slave. 
 To these he has no answer. 
 
 Catiline [rising calmly']. Conscript fathers ! 
 I do not rise to waste the night in words ; 
 Let that plebeian talk ; 'tis not my trade ; 
 But here I stand for right let him show proofs 
 For Roman right ; though none, it seems, dare stand 
 To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there, 
 Cling to your masters; judges, Romans slaves! 
 His charge is false-; I dare him to his proofs. 
 You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! 
 
 Cic. [interrupting him]. Deeds shall convince you ! Has the 
 traitor done ? 
 
 Cat. But this I will avow, that I have scornM, 
 And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wr<5ng : 
 Who brands me on the fbreAead, breaks my sword, 
 Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 
 Wrongs, me not half so much as he who shuts 
 The gates of honor on me, turning out 
 
 The Roman from his birthright ; and for what ? [Looking round. 
 To tiing your offices to even- slave ; 
 Vipers that creep where man disdains to climb ; 
 And having wound their loathsome track to the top 
 Of this huge inoldering monument of Rome, 
 Hang hissing at the nobler man below. 
 
SCENE FROM CATILINE. 481 
 
 Cic. This is his answer ! Must I bring more proofs ? 
 Fathers, you know there lives not one of us, 
 But lives in peril of his midnight s?#6rd. 
 Lists of proscription have been handed round, 
 In which your general properties are made 
 Your murderer's hire. 
 
 [A cry is heard without " More prisoners /" An officer 
 enters with letters for CICERO ; who, after glancing at 
 them, sends them round the Senate. CATILINE is strong- 
 ly perturbed^] 
 
 Cic. Fathers of Rome ! If man can be convinced 
 By proof, as clear as daylight, here it is ! 
 Look on these letters ! Here's a deep-laid plot 
 To wreck the provinces : a solemn league, 
 Made with all form and circumstance. The time 
 Is desperate, all the slaves are up ; Rome shakes ! 
 The heavens alone can tell how. near our graves 
 We stand even here ! The name of Catiline 
 Is foremost in the league. He was their king. 
 Tried and convicted traitor ! go from Rome ! 
 
 Cat. [haughtily rising]. Come, consecrated lictors, from your 
 
 thrones: [To the Senate. 
 
 Fling down your scepters : take the rod and ax, 
 And make the murder as you make the law. 
 
 Cic. [interrupting him]. Gi\ s up the record of his banishment. 
 
 [To an officer. 
 [The officer gives it to the CONSUL.] 
 
 Cat. [indignantly]. Banish'd from Rome ! What's banish'd, 
 
 but set free 
 
 From daily contact of fhe things I loathe ? 
 " Tried and convicted traitor !" Who says this ? 
 Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head? 
 BanishM I thank you for't. It breaks my chain ! 
 I held some slack allegiance till this hour 
 But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my lords 1 
 I scorn to count what feelings, wither'd hopes, 
 StrSng provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
 I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 
 
 21 
 
82 
 
 NATIONAL FIFTH RKADliR. 
 
 To leave yvu in your lazy dignities. 
 
 But here I stand and scoff you : here I fling 
 
 Hatred and full defiance in your face. 
 
 Your Consul's merciful. For this, all thanks. 
 
 He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. 
 
 [The Consul reads] : "Lucius Sergius Catiline: by the 
 decree of the Senate, you are declared an enemy and 
 alien to the State, and banished from the territory of 
 the Commonwealth." 
 
 The Consul. Lictors, drive the traitor from the temple ! 
 
 Cat. [furious]. " Traitor !" I go but I return. This trial 1 
 Here I devote your Senate ! I've had wrongs 
 To stir a fever in the blood of age, 
 Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. 
 This day's the birth of sorrows! this hour's work 
 Will breed proscriptions : look to your hearths, 1 my lords I 
 For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods, 
 Shapes hot from Tartarus ! 2 all shames and crimes ! 
 Wan Treachery, wifh his thirsty dagger drawn ; 
 Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 
 Naked Rebellion, with the torch and ax, 
 Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; 
 Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, 
 And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave ! 
 
 [The Senators rise in tumult and cry out, 
 Go, enemy and parricide, from Rome ! 
 
 Cic. Expel him, lictors ! Clear the Senate-house ! 
 
 [They surround him. 
 Cat. [struggling through them]. I go, but not to leap the gull 
 
 alone. 
 
 I go but when I come, 'twill be the burst 
 Of ocean in the earthquake rolling back 
 
 'Hearths (births). 2 Tar' tarns, in Homer's Iliad, a place beneaft 
 the earth, as far below Hades as heaven is above the earth, and closed 
 by iron gates. Later poets describe this as the place in the lower world 
 in which the spirits of wicked men are punished for their crimes ; and 
 sometimes they use the name as synonymous with Hades, or the lower 
 world in general. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN VKKfiK. 483 
 
 In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well ! 
 You build my funeral-pile, but your best blood 
 Shall quench its flame. Back, slaves ! [To the lictors.~] 1 will 
 return ! [He rushes out ; the scene closes. 
 
 GEORGE CnoLY. 1 
 
 156. SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSE. 
 
 i. 
 
 VOICE OF THE WIND. HENRY TAYLOR. 
 THE wind, when first he rose and went abroad 
 Through the waste region, felt himself at fault, 
 Wanting a voice, and suddenly to earth 
 Descended with a wafture and a swoop, 
 Where, wandering vol'atile, from kind to kind, 
 He woo'd the several trees to give him one. 
 First he besought the ash ; the voice she lent 
 Fitfully, with a free and lashing change, 
 Flung here and there its sad uncertainties : 
 The aspen next ; a flutter'd frivolous twitter 
 Was her sole tribute : from the willow came, 
 So long as dainty summer dress'd her out, 
 A whispering sweetness ; but her winter note 
 Was hissing, dry, and reedy : lastly the pine * 
 Did he solicit; and from her he drew 
 A voice so constant, soft, and lowly deep, 
 That there he rnsted, welcoming in her 
 A mild memorial of the ocean cave 
 Where he was born. 
 
 n. 
 
 MINISTRATIONS OF NATURE. COLERIDGE. 
 WITH other ministrations thou, O Nature, 
 Healest thy wandering and distemper'd child ! 
 Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, 
 Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweete. 
 Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters ; 
 Till he relent, and can no more endure 
 
 'Seep. 454, note 1. 
 
484 IffATKXSAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 To be a jarring and discordant thing 
 Amid this general dance and minstrelsy ; 
 But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, 
 Hi? angry spirit heal'd and harmonized 
 By the benignant touch of love and beauty. 
 
 in. 
 
 MOONLIGHT. SIIAKSPEARE. 
 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
 Here we w r ill sit, and let the sounds of music 
 Creep in our ears : soft stillness, and the night, 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 
 Sit, Jessica. 1 Look how the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patens 2 of bright goM. 
 There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st, 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins : 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls ; 
 But while this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close it in, we can not hear it. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE BELLS OF OSTEND. BOWLES. 
 N^ I never, till life and its shadows shall end, 
 Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend I 3 
 The day set in darkness, the wind it blew loud, 
 And rung as it pass'd through each murmuring shroud. 
 My forehead was wet wifh the foam of the spray, 
 My heart sigli'd in secret for those far away ; 
 When slowly the morning advanced from the cast, 
 The toil and the noise of the tempest had ceased : 
 The peal from a land I ne'er saw, seern'd to say, 
 "Let the stranger forget every sorrow to-day!" 
 Yet the short-lived emotion was mingled with pain 
 I thought of those eyes I should ne'er see again ; 
 
 1 JESSICA, daughter of SHYLOCK, in the "Merchant of Venice."* Pat'- 
 eii, the plate or vessel on which the consecrated bread is placed ; a plate. 
 * Os tend', a fortified seaport town of Belgium, province of West Flan^ 
 ders, on. the North Sea. It is regularly and neatly huilt, heing a water 
 ing-place sometimes resorted to hy the Belgian court. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN VERSK. 485 
 
 i thought of the kiss, the last kiss which I gave, 
 And a tear of regret fell unseen on the wave ; 
 I thought of the schemes fond affection had plann'd, 
 Of the trees, of the towers, of my own native land. 
 But still the sweet sounds, as they swcll'd to the air, 
 Seem'd tidings of pleasure, though mournful to bear, 
 And I never, till life and its shadows shall end, 
 Can forget the sweet sound of the bells of Ostend 1 
 
 v. 
 Music. SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 Do but note a wild and wanton herd, 
 
 Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
 
 Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and neighing loud, 
 
 Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 
 
 If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
 
 Or any air of music touch their ears, 
 
 You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
 
 Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest gaze, 
 
 By the sweet power of music : therefore, 1 the poet 
 
 Did feign that Orpheus 2 drew trees, stones, and floods; 
 
 Since naught so stockish hard, and full of rage, 
 
 But music for the time doth change his nature. 
 
 S 
 
 The man that hath no music in himself, rf 
 
 Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 
 Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ; 
 The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 
 And his affections dark as Erebus : 3 
 Let no such man be trusted. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Music. SHELLEY. 
 MY soul is an enchanted boat, 
 Which, like a sleeping swan doth float 
 Upon the silver waves of thy sweet singing; 
 
 'There' fore. 2 OKPUKUS, see p. 423, note 1. 3 ERKUUS, son of Chaos, 
 in heathen mythology . The name signifies darkness, and is therefore 
 applied to the dark and gloomy space under the earth, through which 
 the shades pass into Hades. 
 
486 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 And thine cloth like an angel sit 
 
 Beside the helm, conducting it, 
 While all the winds with melody are 
 It seems to float ever, forever 
 Upon that many winding river, 
 Between mountains, woods, abysses, 
 A paradise of wildernesses ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 PASTORAL Music. BYRON. 
 HARK ! the note, 
 
 The natural music of the mountain reed 
 For here the patriarchal days are not 
 A pastoral fable pipes in the liberal air, 
 Mix'd wifli the sweet bells of the sauntering herd : 
 My soul would drink those echoes. Oh that I were 
 The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, 
 A living voice, a breathing harmony, 
 A bodiless enjoyment, born and dying 
 With the blest tone which made me ! 
 
 157. HYMNS. 
 
 THE discovery of a statue, a vase, or even of a cameo, inspires 
 art-critics and collectors with enthusiastic in'dustry, to search 
 whether it be a copy or an original, of what age, and by what 
 artist. But I think that a heart-hymn, sprung from the soul's 
 deepest life, and which is, as it were, the words of the heart in 
 those hours of transfiguration in which it beholds God, and 
 heavenly angels, is nobler by far than any old simulacrum,* or 
 carved ring, or heathen head, however ex'quisite in lines and 
 feature ! 
 
 2 "To trace back a hymn to its source, to return upon the 
 path along which it has trodden on its mission of mercy through 
 
 1 Pastoral, relating to shepherds. Pastoral music and pastoral poetry 
 are such as shepherds indulge in ; and- the term is applied for a simple 
 style, suitable to the comprehension of shepherds and others of little 
 intellectual refinement. * Sim u la' crurn, the likeness, resemblance, or 
 representation of any thing ; an image, picture, figure, effigy, or statue 
 
HYMNS. 4:87 
 
 generations, to witness its changes, its obscurations and rea'p- 
 pearances, is a work of the truest religious enthusiasm, and far 
 surpasses in importance the tracing of the ideiis of mere art. 
 For hymns are the exponents of the inmost piety of the Church. 
 They are crystalline tears, or blossoms of joy, or holy prayers, 
 or incarnated raptures. They are the jewels which the Church 
 has worn ; the pearls, the diamonds and precious stones, formed 
 into amulets more potent against sorrow and sadness than th 
 most famous charms of wizard or magician. And he who knows 
 the way that hymns flowed, knows where the blood of piety ran, 
 and can trace its veins and arteries to the very he&rt. 
 
 3. No other composition is like an experimental hymn. It is 
 not a mere poetic impulse. It is not a thought, a fancy, a feel- 
 ing threaded upon words. It is the voice of experience speak- 
 ing from the soul a few words that condense and often represent 
 a whole life. It is the life, too, not of the natural feelings grow- 
 ing wild, but of regenerated fee. ng, inspired by God to a heav- 
 enly destiny, and making its w<y through troubles and hin- 
 drances, through joys and victories, dark or light, sad or serene, 
 ye"t always struggling forward. Forty years the heart may have 
 been in battle, and one verse shall express the fruit of the whole. 
 
 4. One great hope may come to fruit only at the end of many 
 years, and as the ripening of a hundred experiences. As there 
 be flowers that drink up the dews of spring and summer, and 
 feed upon all the rains, and, only just before the winter comes, 
 burst forth into bloom, so is it with some of the noblest blossoms 
 of the soul. The bolt that prostrated Saul gave him the ex- 
 ceeding brightness of Christ; and so some hymns could never 
 have been written but for a heart-stroke that well-nigh crushed 
 out the life. It is cleft in two by bereavement, and out of the 
 <rift comes forth, as by resurrection, the form and voice that shall 
 never die out of the world. Angels sat at the grave's mouth ; 
 and so hymns are the angels that rise up out of our griefs and 
 darkness and dismay. 
 
 5. Thus born, a hymn is one of those silent ministers which 
 God sends to those who are to be heirs of salvation. It enters 
 into the tender imagination of childhood, and casts down upon 
 the chambers of its thought a holy radiance which shall ne.ver 
 quite depart. It goes with the Christian, singing to him all the 
 
488 NATIONAL FIFTH KLADfcE. 
 
 way, as if it were the airy voice of some guardian spirit. When 
 darkness of trouble, settling fast, is shutting out every star, a 
 hymn bursts through and brings light like a torch. It abidep 
 by our side in sickness. It goes forth with us in joy to syllable 
 that joy. 
 
 6. And thus, after a time, we clothe a hymn with the memo 
 ries and associations of our own life. It is garlanded with flo\? 
 ors which grew in our hearts. Born of the experience of ont 
 mind, it becomes the unconscious record of many minds. We 
 sang it, perhaps, the morning that our child died. We sang 
 this one on that Sabbath evening when, after ten years, the fam- 
 ily were once more all together. There be hymns that were 
 sung while the mother lay a-dying ; that were sung when the 
 child, just converted, was filling the family with the joy of 
 Christ new-born, and laid, not now in a manger, but in a heart. 
 And, thus sprung from a wondrous life, they lead a life yet more 
 wonderful. When they first come to us they are like the single 
 strokes of a bell ringing down to us from above ; but, at length, 
 a single hymn becomes a whole chime of bells, mingling and 
 discoursing to us the harmonies of a life's Christian experience. 
 
 7. And oftentimes, when in the mountain country, far from 
 noise and interruption, we wrought upon these hymns 1 for our 
 vacation tasks, we almost forgot the living world, and were lifted 
 up by noble lyrics as upon mighty wings, and went back to the 
 days when Christ sang with his disciples, when the disciples 
 sang too, as in our churches they have almost ceased to do. 
 Oh ! but for one moment even, to have sat transfixed, and to 
 have listened to the hymn that Christ sang and to the singing ! 
 But the olive-trees did not hear his murmured notes more clear- 
 ly than, rapt in imagination, we have heard them ! 
 
 8. There, too, are the hymns of St. Ambrose 8 and many 
 
 1 ' Plymouth Collection of Hymns and Tunes," published in 1855. 
 * ST. AMBROSE, a celebrated Christian father, was probably born at 
 Tr&ves, in 340. After a careful education at Rome, he practiced with 
 great success, as an advocate, at Milan ; and about 370 was appointed 
 prefect of the provinces of Liguria and ^Emilia, whose seat of govern- 
 ment was Milan. He was appointed Bishop of Milan in 374 ; and final- 
 ly acquired so much influence, that after the massacre of Thesalonica 
 in 390. he refused the Emperor THEODOSII.-S admission to the Church ol 
 
THE PASSIONS. 48i) 
 
 others, that rose up like birds in the carty centuries, and have 
 come flying and singing all the way down to us. Their wing is 
 nntircd yet, nor is the voice less sweet now than it was a thou- 
 sand years ago. Though they sometimes disappeared, they 
 never sank ; but, as engineers for destruction send bombs' that, 
 rising high up in wide curves, overleap great spaces and drop 
 down in a distant spot, so God, in times of darkness, seems to 
 have caught up these hymns, spanning long periods of time, and 
 letting them fall at distant eras, not for explosion and wounding, 
 but for healing and consolation. 
 
 9. There are crusaders' hymns, that rolled forth their truths 
 upon the oriental air, while a thousand horses' hoofs kept time 
 below, and ten thousand palm-leaves whispered and kept time 
 above! Other hymns, fulfilling the promise of God that His 
 saints should mount up with wings as eagles, have borne up the 
 sorrows, the desires, and the aspirations of the poor, the op- 
 pressed, and the persecuted, of Huguenots, of Covenanters, and 
 of Puritans, and winged them to the bosom of God. 
 
 10. In our own time, and in the familiar experiences of daily 
 life, how are hymns mossed over and vine-clad wifti domestic 
 associations! One hymn hath opened the morning in ten thou- 
 sand families, and dear children with sweet voices have charmed 
 the evening in a thousand places with the utterance of another. 
 Nor do I know of any steps now left on earth by which one may 
 so soon rise above trouble or weariness as the verses of a hymn 
 and the notes of a tune. And if the angels, that Jacob saw, 
 sang when they appeared, then I know that the ladder which 
 he beheld was but the scale of divine music let down from 
 heaven to earth. H. W. BEECHER.* 
 
 158. THE PASSIONS. 
 
 1. ITT HEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
 
 While yet in early Greece she sung, 
 The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
 
 Milan for a period of eight months, and then caused him to perform a 
 public penance. AMBROSE was a man of eloquence, firmness, and abili- 
 ty. The best edition of his works is that of the Benedictines, Paris, 
 1686 and 1690. 'Bomb (bum). a See Biographical Sketch, p. 71. 
 
4:90 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Throng'd around her magic cell, 
 Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
 Possess' d beyond the Muse's painting 
 By turns, they felt the glowing mind 
 Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined ; 
 Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
 Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, 
 From the supporting myrtles round 
 They snatch'd her instruments of sound 
 And, as they oft had heard apart 
 Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
 Each for MADNESS ruled the hour . 
 Would prove his own expressive power. 
 
 2. First, FEAR his hand, its skill to try, 
 
 Amid the chords bewilder'd laid ; 
 And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 
 
 Even at the sound himself had made. 
 Next ANGER rush'd his eyes on fire, 
 
 In lightnings own'd his secret stings : 
 In one. rude clash he struck the lyre, 
 
 And swept, with hurried hands, the strings. 
 With woful measures, wan DESPAIR 
 
 Low sullen sounds ! his grief beguiled ; 
 A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 
 
 'Twas sad, by fits by starts, 'twas wild. 
 
 3. But thou, O HOPE ! with eyes so fair, 
 
 What was thy delighted measure? 
 Still it whisper'd promised pleasure, 
 And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 
 Still would her touch the strain prolong ; 
 And, from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
 
 She call'd on ECHO still through all her s5ng ; 
 And where her sweetest theme she chose, 
 A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
 And HOPE, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. 
 
 4. And longer had she sung but, with a frown, 
 
 REVENGE impatient rose. 
 He fhrew his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down ; 
 
THE PASSIONS. 4:91 
 
 And, with a withering look, 
 
 The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
 And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
 
 Were ne'er prophetic s6*unds so full of woes; 
 
 And ever and anon, he beat 
 
 The doubling drum with furious heat : 
 And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
 
 Dejected PITY, at his side, 
 
 Her soul-subduing voice applied, 
 Ye still he kept his wild unalter'd rnien ; 
 Whie each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. 
 
 5. Thy numbers, JEALOUSY, to naught were fix'd ; 
 
 Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 
 Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd ; 
 
 And now it courted LOVE now, raving, call'd on HATE. 
 With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 
 Pale MELANCHOLY sat retired ; 
 And, from her wild, sequester'd seat, 
 In notes, by distance made more sweet, 
 Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul ; 
 And, dashing soft from rocks around, 
 Bubbling'runnels join'd the sound : 
 Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole ; 
 Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay 
 (Round a holy- calm diffusing, 
 Love of peace, and lonely musing), 
 In hollow murmurs died away. 
 
 0. But, oh ! how alter'd was its sprightly tone, 
 
 When CHEERFULNESS, a nymph of healthiest huo> 
 
 Her bow across her shoulder flung, 
 Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, 
 
 Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, 
 The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known ! 
 
 The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-eyed queeu, 
 Satyrs, and sylvan boys, were seen, 
 Peeping from forth their alleys green : 
 Brown EXERCISE rejoiced to hea*r ; 
 And SPSRT Igap'd up, and seized his beechgn spear. 
 
492 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 7. Last came JOY'S ecstatic trial : 
 
 He, with viny crown, advancing, 
 First to the lively pipe his hand address'd ; 
 
 But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol. 
 Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 
 They would have thought, who heard the strain, 
 They saw in TempeV vale her native maids, 
 
 Amid the festal-sounding shades, 
 To some unwearied minstrel dancing ; 
 While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 
 LOVE framed with MIRTH a gay fantastic round 
 Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound 
 And he, amid his frolic play, 
 As if he would the charming air repay, 
 Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 
 
 COLLINS. 
 
 WILLIAM COLLINS, one of the most interesting and exquisite of English poets, 
 was bora at Chichester on Christmas-day, 17-^0. He was educated at Win- 
 chester and Magdalen College, Oxford. Before leaving college he published the 
 ' Oriental Eclogues," which, to the disgrace of the university and the literary 
 public, were wholly neglected. In 1744 he came to London as a literary ad- 
 venturer, and about two years later published his " Odes," and made the ac- 
 quaintance of Dr. JOHNSON, who held him in the highest esteem. His life in 
 the metropolis was irregular, and, until the death of an uncle, who left him 
 a legacy of 200(1, was one of continual hardship. On the receipt of this little 
 fortune, he repaid MILLER, the bookseller, the lass sustained by the publication 
 of his neglected "Odes," which were afterward destined to become immortal. 
 Unhappily, the seeds of disease and occasional insanity had been too deeply sown 
 in his former i>overty to be eradicated, and after a short sojourn in France, he 
 passed through the doors of a lunatic asylum to his early home, where, in care 
 of his sister, he died, in 1756, at the early age of thirty-six. His appearance was 
 manly, his conversation elegant, his views extensive, his disposition cheerful, and 
 his morals pure. He was a man of exteusive literature, and of vigorous faculties. 
 The " Oriental Eclogues" are written in a clear, correct style, and they charm 
 by their figurative language and descriptions, the simplicity and beauty of then- 
 dialogues and sentiments, and their musical versification. No poet has been 
 more happy in the use of metaphors and personification. COLLINS' " Odes" arc 
 unsurpassed by any thing of the same species of composition in the English 
 language, and that to the " Passions" is a perfect master-piece of poetical de- 
 scription. 
 
 1 Tempe (tern' pa), a valley of European Turkey, in the N. E. of Thes- 
 saly, between the mountains of Olympus on the N., and Ossa on the & 
 The beauties of its scenery are much celebrated by ancient writer*. 
 
493 
 
 159. ALEXANDER'S FEAST.* 
 
 1. 'fin WAS at the royal feast, for Persia won, 
 
 By Philip's warlike son : a 
 Aloft, in awful state, 
 The godlike hero sate, 
 
 On his imperial throne. 
 His valiant peers were placed around, 
 Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound, 
 
 So should desert in arms be crown'd. v 
 
 The lovely Thai's 3 by his side 
 Sat, like an eastern blooming bride, 
 In flower of youth and beauty's pride. 
 Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
 None but the brave. 
 None but the brave, 
 None but the brave, deserves the fair. 
 
 2. Timotheus, 4 placed on high 
 
 Amid the tuneful choir, 
 
 With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: 
 The trembling notes ascend the sky, 
 
 And heavenly joys inspire. 
 The song began from Jove, 5 
 Who left his blissful seats above 
 Such is the power of mighty love ! 
 A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 
 Sublime on radiant spheres he rode, 
 
 When he to fair Olympia 6 press'd, 
 
 And stampt an image of himself, a sovereign of the world, 
 The listening crowd admire the lofty sound ; 
 
 1 An ode for St. Cecilia's day, designed to illustrate the power of mn- 
 eic. a PHILIP'S warlike son, ALEXANDER the Great, see p. 145, note (3. 
 * THA' is, a celebrated beauty of Athens, an attendant of ALEXANDER, 
 who gained such influence over him, as to cause him, during a great 
 festival at Persepolis, to set fire to the palace of the Persian kings. On 
 the death of the conqueror, she married PTOLEMY, king of Egypt, one of 
 ALEXANDER'S generals. She is sometimes called MENANDRIA. *TIMO- 
 riiEus, see p. 227J note 3. * JOVE, see p. 337, note 4. 'OLYMPIA (o l!m'- 
 pi a;, one of the numerous names of JL T NO, the sister and wj/e of JUIMTKR 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 ** A present deity !" they shout around ; 
 
 " A present deity !" the vaulted roois rebound : 
 
 With ravish'd ears 
 
 The monarch hears, 
 
 Assumes the god, 
 
 Affects to nod, 
 And seems to shake the spheres. 
 
 3. The praise of Bacchus, 1 then, the sweet musician sung, 
 Of Bacchus, ever fair and ever young ! 
 
 The jolly god in triumph comes! 
 
 Sound the trumpet ! beat the drums ! 
 
 Flush'd with a purple grace, 
 
 He shows his honest face. 
 Now give the hautboys breath ! he comes ! he comes ! 
 
 Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
 
 Drinking joys did first ordain : 
 Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; 
 Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 
 Rich the treasure, 
 Sweet the pleasure ; 
 
 Sweet is pleasure, after pain ! 
 
 4. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; 
 Fought all his battles o'er again ; 
 
 And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. 
 The master saw the madness rise ; 
 His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ! 
 And while he heaven and earth defied, 
 Changed his hand and check'd his pride. 
 
 He chose a mournful muse, 
 
 Soft pity to infuse : 
 He sung Dariiis, 2 great and good, 
 
 By too severe a fate, 
 
 Fallen! fallen! fallen! fallen! 
 
 Fallen from his great estate, 
 
 1 BACCHUS, see p. 79, note 4 'DARIUS III., sometimes called CODO- 
 HANNUS, in whose defeat by ALEXANDER the Great the Persian empire 
 was consummated, succeeded to the throne B. c. 336, and was killed 
 830. 
 
495 
 
 And weltering in his blood! 
 Deserted at his utmost need 
 By those his former bounty fed, 
 On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
 With not a friend to close his eyes. 
 
 With downcast look the joyous victor sate, 
 
 Revolving, in his alter'd soul, 
 The various turns of fate below ; 
 
 And now and then a sigh he stole, 
 And tears began to flow. 
 
 5. The mighty master smiled to see 
 That love was in the next degree : 
 'Twas but a kindred strain to move ; 
 For pity melts the mind to love. 
 Softly sweet, in Lydiaii 1 measures, 
 Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures : 
 War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 
 Honor but an empty bubble ; 
 
 Never ending, still beginning, 
 
 Fighting still, and still destroying : 
 If the world be worth thy winning, 
 
 Think, oh think it worth enjoying ! 
 Lovely Thai's sits beside thee ; 
 Take the good the gods provide thee. 
 The many rend the skies wifli loud applause : 
 So love was crown'd ; but music won the cause. 
 The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
 Gazed on the fair 
 Who caused his care, 
 And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 
 Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 
 At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, 
 The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. 
 
 4. Now strike the golden lyre again ; 
 A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ; 
 
 1 Lydian (lid' i an), pertaining to Lydia, a country of Asia Minor, or 
 to its inhabitants : hence, soft ; effeminate ; noting a kind of soft, slow 
 music, anciently in vogue. 
 
496 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
 And rouse him like a rattling peal of thundci 
 llark ! hark ! the horrid sound 
 lias raised up his head, 
 As awaked from the dead ; 
 And, amazed, he stares around. 
 Revenge, revenge ! Timothciis cries 
 
 See the furies arise ! 
 See the snakes that they rear, 
 How they hiss in their hair, 
 And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 
 
 7. Behold a ghastly band, 
 Each a torch in his hand ! 
 
 These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
 And, un buried remain 
 Inglorious on the plain. 
 Give the vengeance due 
 To the valiant crew. 
 
 Behold how they toss their torches on high ! 
 How they point to the Persian abodes, 
 And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! 
 The princes applaud with a furious joy ; 
 And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy : 
 Thais led the way 
 To light him to his prey ; 
 And, like another Helen/ lired another Troy. 
 
 8. Thus long ago, 
 
 Ere heaving bellows Icarn'd to blow, 
 While organs yet were mute, 
 Timothciis to his breathing flute 
 And sounding lyre, 
 
 Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
 At last, divine Cecilia 2 came, 
 
 ' HBLEX. a most beautiful woman of ancient Greece, whom PARIS, thf 
 son of PRIAM, king of Troy, stole from the arms of her husband. MT.NB- 
 LAUS, who. with the other Greek chiefs, resolved to avemje her abduc- 
 tion. Hence rose the Trojan war, which lasted ten years. 2 CECILIA, 
 the patron saint of music, erroneously regarded as the inventresa of th<* 
 
497 
 
 Inventress 01 the vocal frame : 
 The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
 Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
 And added length to solemn sounds, 
 With nature's mother wit, and arts unknown before. 
 Let old Timotheiis yield the prize, 
 
 Or both divide the crown : 
 He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
 
 She drew an angel down. DKYDEN. 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN, one of the great masters of English verse, was bom at Old 
 n-inckle, in Northamptonshire, August, 1631. He was educated at Westminstei 
 and Trinity College, Cambridge. He began his literary career by a set of heroic 
 stanzas on the death of CROMWELL, which was a good precursor of his future 
 excellence. The Restoration occurring when he was in his thirtieth year, ex- 
 cluded him for the lime from government employment and patronage, and he 
 at once devoted himself to literature for a profession. The stage now offered 
 itself as the only means through which his pen could furnish a livelihood ; and, 
 in the course of twenty-five years, he wrote twenty-seven dramas, the most re- 
 markable of which are his " Heroic Plays." From these rhymed dialogues 
 arose that mastery of the English heroic couplet which he was the first to ac- 
 quire, and in which no succeeding poet lias nearly equaled him. The prefaces, 
 dedications, and essays, with which he accompanied his dramas, exhibit him 
 at once as the earliest writer of regular and elegant English prose, and as. the 
 first who aimed in our language at any thing like philosophical criticism. These 
 prose fragments contain some of the most felicitous specimens of style which our 
 tongue has ever produced. His engagement to write plays for the King's The- 
 ater gave him 300 a year : his circumstances were improved by his marriage, 
 in 1665, with Lady ELIZABETH HOWARD, daughter of the Earl of Berkshire ; 
 and in 1670 he received, with a salary of 200 a year and the famous butt of 
 wine, the joint offices of historiographer- royal and poet-laureate. "Absalom 
 and Achitophel," the best of all his political satires, appeared in IGSt. "The 
 Medal" and " Mac Flecknoe," works of the same kind, followed soon after In 
 1685, DRYDEN was received into the Church of Rome, the first public fruit o' 
 which was the " Hind and Panther," a rich allegorical poem, in which tho 
 main arguments of the Roman Church are stated. The Revolution, taking 
 place in his fifty-seventh year, deprived the poet of his courtly patrons and pen- 
 sions, and forced him to spend the last twelve years of his life in hard toil. 
 Some of his best works were produced in this period. In 1690 appeared his 
 tragedy of " Don Sebastian," the best of his serious plays. In 1697 he threw off 
 at a hsat his " Alexander's Feast," one of the most animated of all lyrical 
 poems; and his spirited translation of Virgil appeared the same year. Lastly, 
 in the spring of 1700, were published his i,' Fables," which prove that his warm 
 imagination then burned as brightly as ever, and that his metrical skill increased 
 
 organ, suffered martyrdom A. D. 220. She has been celebrated by sev- 
 eral of the poets, and depicted on canvass by more than one of the great 
 painters. RAPIIAKL has presented her as the personification of heavenly 
 devotion. 
 
 ' 32 
 
4:98 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 the close of his life. These admirable poems shed a glory on the last days 
 of the poet, who died on the 1st of May, 1700. For an extended description of 
 DRYDEN'S poetical endowments, the reader is referred to the 63d Exercise, p. 228 
 
 160. THE STOLEN KIFLE. 
 
 MACKENZIE Offered to cross the river and demand the rifle, 
 if any one would accompany him. It was a hair-brained 
 project, for these villages were noted for the-, ruffian 1 character of 
 their inhabitants ; yet two volunteers promptly stepped forward, 
 Alfred Seton, the clerk, and Joe de la Pierre, the cook. The 
 trl'o soon reached the opposite side of the river. On landing, 
 they freshly primed their rifles and pistols. A path winding for 
 about a hundred yards among rocks and crags, led to the village. 
 
 2. No notice seemed to be taken of their approach. Not a 
 solitary being man, woman, or child greeted them. The very 
 dogs, those noisy pests of an Indian 2 town, kept silence. On 
 entering the village a boy made his appearance, and pointed to 
 a house of larger dimensions than the rest They had to stoop 
 to enter it : as soon as they had passed the threshold, the nar- 
 row passage behind them was filled by a sudden rush of Indians, 
 who had before kept out of sight. 
 
 3. Mackenzie and his companions found themselves in a rude 
 chamber of about twenty-five feet long, and twenty wide. A 
 bright fire was blazing at one end, near which sat the chief, 
 about sixty years old. A large number of Indians, wrapped in 
 buffalo robes, were squatted in rows, three deep, forming a semi- 
 circle round three sides of the room. A single glance sufficed 
 to show them the grim and dangerous assembly into which they 
 had intruded, and that all retreat was cut off by the mass which 
 blocked up the entrance. 
 
 4. The chief pointed to the vacant side of the room opposite 
 to the door, and motioned for them to take their seats. They 
 complied. A dead pause ensued. The grim warriors around 
 sat like statues ; each muffled in his robe, with his fierce eyes 
 bent on the intruders. The latter felt they were in a perilous 
 predicament. 
 
 5. " Keep your eyes on the chief while I am addressing him," 
 
 'Ruffian (rufyan).* Indian (Ind'yan). 
 
THE TOMAHAWK SUBMISSIVE TO ELOQUENCE. 4:99 
 
 said Mackenzie to his companions. " Should he give any sign 
 to his band, shoot him, and make for the door." Mackenzie ad- 
 vanced, and offered the pipe of peace to the chief, but it was 
 refused. He then made a regular speech, explaining the object 
 of their visit, and proposing to give, in exchange for the rifle, 
 two blankets, an ax, some beads, and tobacco. 
 
 C. When he had done, the chief rose, began to address him 
 in a low voice, but soon became loud and violent, and ended by 
 working himself up into a furious passion. He upbraided the 
 white men for their sordid conduct, in passing and repassing 
 through their neighborhood without giving them a blanket or 
 any other article of goods, merely because they had no furs to 
 barter in exchange; and he alluded, with menaces of vengeance, 
 to the death of the Indians, killed by the whites at the skirmish 
 at the Falls. 
 
 7. Matters were verging 1 to a crisis. It was evident the sur- 
 rounding savages were only waiting a signal from the chief to 
 spring upon their prey. Mackenzie and his companions had 
 gradually risen on their feet during the speech, and had brought 
 their rifles to a horizontal position, the barrels resting in their 
 left hands : the muzzle of Mackenzie's piece was within three 
 feet of the speaker's heart. 
 
 8. They cocked their rifles ; the click of the locks for a mo- 
 ment suffused the dark cheek of the savage, and there was a 
 pause. They coolly, but promptly advanced to the door ; the 
 Indians fell back in awe, and suffered them to pass. The sun 
 was just setting as they emerged 2 from this dangerous den. They 
 took the precaution to keep along the tops of the rocks as much 
 as possible, on their way back to the canoe, and reached their 
 camp in safety, congratulating themselves on their escape, and 
 feeling no desire to make a second visit to the grim warriors of 
 the Wish-ram." IRVING.* 
 
 161. THE TOMAHAWK SUBMISSIVE TO ELOQUENCE. 
 
 npWENTY tomahawks were raised ; twenty arrows drawn to 
 -i- their head. Yet stood Harold, stern and collected, at bay 
 parleying only with his sword. He waved his arm. Smitten 
 
 1 VSrg' ing.-' E merg' ing. See Biographical Sketch, p. 114. 
 
500 NATIONAL, FIFTH READER. 
 
 with a sense of their cow'ardice, perhaps, or by his great dig- 
 nity, more awful for his very youth, their weapons dropped, and 
 their countenances were uplifted upon him, lesi in hatred than 
 in wonder. 
 
 2. The old men gathered about him : he leaned upon his sa- 
 ber. Their eyes shone with admiration : such heroic deport- 
 ment, in one so young a boy ! so intrepid ! so prompt ! so 
 graceful ! so eloquent, too ! for, knowing the effect of eloquence, 
 and feeling the loftiness of his own nature, the innocence of his 
 own heart, the character of the Indians for hospitality, and 
 their veneration for his blood, Harold dealt out the thunder of 
 his strength to these rude barbarians of the wilderness, till they, 
 young and old, gathering nearer and nearer in their devotion, 
 threw down their weapons at his feet, and formed a rampart ot 
 locked arms and hearts about him, through which his eloquence 
 thrilled and lightened like electricity. The old greeted him with 
 a lofty step, as the patriarch welcomes his boy from the triumph 
 of far-off battle ; and the young clave to him and clung to him, 
 and shouted in their self-abandonment, like brothers round a con- 
 quering brother. 
 
 3. u Warriors !" he said, " Brethren !" (their tomahawks were 
 brandished sTmulta'neously, at the sound of his terrible voice, as 
 if preparing for the onset). His tones grew deeper, and less 
 threatening. " Brothers ! let us talk together of Logan !' Ye 
 who have known him, ye aged men ! bear ye testimony to the 
 deeds of his strength. Who was like him ? Who could resist 
 him ? Who may abide the hurricane in its volley ? Who may 
 withstand the winds that uproot the great trees of the mountain ? 
 Let him be the foe of Logan. Thrice in one day hath he given 
 battle. Thrice in one^day hath he come back victorious. Who 
 may bear up against the strong man the man of war ? Let 
 them that are young, hear me. Let them follow the course of 
 Logan. He goes in clouds and whirlwind in the fire and in 
 the smoke. Let them follow him. Warriors ! Logan was the 
 father of Harold !" They fell back in astonishment, but they 
 
 1 LOGAN, an Indian chief of the Cayugas, murdered in 1781. He was 
 remarkable for his attachment to the whites until cruelly treated by 
 them, when he took an Indian's revenge. A speech of his, addressed 
 to Tx>rd DUNMORE, is an eloquent rebuke of the conduct of the whites. 
 
MA KITS IN PRISON. 501 
 
 believed him ; for Hat-old's word was unquestioned, undoubted 
 evidence, to them that knew him. 
 
 JOHN NEAL was born in Portland, Maine, about 1794. lie was brought up aa 
 a shop-boy, and in 1815 became a wholesale dry-Roods dealer in Baltimore, with 
 JOHN PiERPONTj the poet. The concern failed, and NEAL commenced the study 
 of law, and with it the profession of literature, by writing a series ot" critical es- 
 says on the works of BYRON for " The Portico," a monthly magazine. In 1818 
 he published "Keep Cool," a novel, and in the following year "The Battle 
 of Niagara, Goldau the Maniac Harper, and other Poems," and " Otho," a 
 tragedy. He wrote a large portion of ALLEN'S " History of the American Rev- 
 olution," which appeared in 1821. Four novels, " Logan," " Randolph," "Er- 
 rata," and " Seventy-six," some of which were republished in London, followed 
 in quick succession. Meanwhile the author had studied law ; been admitted, 
 and was practicing as energetically as he was writing. Near the close of 1823 
 he went abroad ; and, soon after his arrival in London, became a contributor to 
 several periodicals, making his first appearance in " Blackwood's Magazine," in 
 " Sketch of the Five American Presidents and the Five Candidates for the 
 Presidency," a paper which was widely republished. After passing four years 
 in Great Britain and on the Continent, in which time appeared his " Brother 
 Jonathan," a novel, he came back to his native city of Portland, where he now 
 resides. He has since published " Rachel Duer,." " Authorship," " The Down 
 Easters," and "Ruth Elder;" edited "The Yankee," a weekly gazette, two 
 years, and contributed largely to other periodicals. His novels are original, and 
 written from the impulses of his heart, containing numerous passages marked 
 by dramatic power, and brilliancy of sentiment and expression ; but most of 
 them were produced rapidly, and are without unity, aim, or continuous interest. 
 Mr. NKAL'S poems have the unquestionable stamp of genius. His imagination 
 is marked by a degree of sensibility and energy rarely surpassed. But, having 
 little just sense of proportion, he exhibits a want of skill in using his rich and 
 abundant materials. 
 
 162. MARIUS IN PRISON. 
 
 THE peculiar sublimity of the Roman mind does not express 
 itself, nor is it at all to be sought, in their poetry. Poetry, 
 according to the Roman ideal of it, was not an adequate organ 
 for the grander movements of the national mind. Roman sub- 
 limity must be looked for in Roman acts, and in Roman sayings. 
 Where, again, will you find a more adequate expression of the 
 Roman majesty, than in the saying of Trajan 1 Tmperatorem 
 
 1 TRAJAN, one of the most illustrious emperors of Rome, was 
 near Seville, in Spain, in the year 53. By his great victories over the 
 Dacians, Germans, and Parthians, he fixed securely the boundaries of 
 tli3 Roman empire on the banks of the Rhine and the Tigris. His in- 
 ternal administration was equally glorious, his reign being celebrated 
 for its great clemency, and rigid discipline of justice, and for, its human 
 Ity to Christians. He died at Seliims, a town in Cilicia, August 117. 
 
502 NATIONAL FIFTH KKADUK. 
 
 oportere stantem mori that Caesar 1 ought to die standing ? a 
 speech of imperatorial grandeur. Implying that he, who was t 
 "the foremost man of all this world," and, in regard to all 
 other nations, the representative of his own, should express its 
 characteristic virtue in his farewell act should die in procinctu? 
 and should meet the last enemy as the first, with a Roman 
 countenance and in a soldier's attitude. If this had an impera- 
 torial, what follows had a consular majesty, and is almost the 
 grandest story upon record. 
 
 2. Marius, 3 the man who rose to be seven times consul, was in 
 a dungeon, and a slave was sent in with commission to put him 
 to death. These were the persons the two extremities of ex- 
 alted and forlorn humanity, its vanward and its rearward man, a 
 Roman consul and an abject slave. But their natural relations 
 to each other were, by the caprice of fortune, monstrously in- 
 verted : the consul was in chains ; the slave was for a moment 
 the arbiter of his fate. By what spells, what magic, did Marius 
 reinstate himself in his natural prerogatives ? By what marvels 
 drawn from heaven or from earth, did he, in the twinkling of an 
 eye, again invest himself with the purple, and place between 
 himself and his assassin a host of shadowy lictors ? 
 
 3. By the mere blank supremacy of great minds over weak 
 ones. He fascinated the slave, as a rattlesnake does a bird. 
 Standing " like Teneriffe," he smote him with his eye, and said, 
 " Tune, homo, audes occidere C. Marium .*" Dost thou, fellow, 
 presume to kill Caius Marius? Whereat, the rep 'tile, quaking 
 under the voice, nor daring to affront the consular eye, sank 
 gently to the ground, turned round upon his hands and feet, 
 and, crawling out of the prison like any other vermin, left Marius 
 standing in solitude as steadfast and immovable as the capitol. 
 
 DB QUINCE Y. 4 
 
 163. SCENE FROM KING KICHABD IH. 
 Brakenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day ? 
 Clarence. Oh, I have pass'd a miserable night, 
 
 1 CJGSAR, see p. 209, note 4. a In procinctu, about to join battle ; ready 
 for action. ' MARIUS, one of the greatest generals and dictators of the 
 Roman republic, born about 157, and died B. c. 86 * See Biographica) 
 Sketch, p. 97. 
 
SCENE FROM KINO KICHAJJD III.- 503 
 
 So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, 
 
 yhat, as I am a Christian faithful man, 
 
 I would not spend another such a night, 
 
 Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days, 
 
 So full of dismal terror was the time ! . 
 
 Brak. What was your dream, my lord ? I pray you tell me 
 Clar. Methought that I had broken from the tower, 
 
 And was embark'd to cross to Bur 'gundy, 
 
 And in my company my brother Gloster, 
 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 
 Upon the hatches. Thence we look'd toward England, 
 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times, 
 
 During the wars of York and Lanc'aster, 
 
 That had befallen us. As we pass'd along 
 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 
 Methought that Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling, 
 
 Struck me, that sought to stay him, overboard, 
 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 
 heaven ! Methought what pain it was to drown 1 
 What dreadful noise of waters in my ears ! 
 What sights of ugly death within my eyes ! 
 
 1 thought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; 
 A thousand men, that fishes gnaw'd upon ; 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, 
 
 All scatter'd in the bottom of the sea. 
 
 Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes 
 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, 
 
 As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, 
 
 That woo'd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 
 And mock'd the dead bones that lay scatter'd by. 
 
 Brak. Had you such leisure, in the time of death, 
 To gaze upon the secrets of the deep ? 
 
 Clar. Methought I had ; and often did I strive 
 To yield the ghost ; but still the envious flood 
 Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
 To find the empty, vast, and wandering air ; 
 But smother'd it within my panting bulk, 
 Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. 
 
504 NATIONAL FlFl'lI KEADEE. 
 
 Brak. Awaked you not wifti this sore agony ? 
 
 Clar. Xo, no ! my dream was lengthened after life ; 
 Oh, then began the tempest to my soul ! 
 I pass'd, methought, the melancholy floo4*. 
 With that grim ferryman 1 which poets write of, 
 Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. 
 The first that there did greet my stranger soul 
 Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, 
 Who cried aloud " What scourge for perjury 
 Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?" 
 And so he vanish'd. Then came wandering by 
 "A shadow like an angel, with bright hair 
 Dabbled in blood, and he shriek'd out aloud 
 "CLARENCE is come, -false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, 
 That stabVd me in the field by Tewksbury ! 
 SEIZE on him, furies ! take him to your torments f" 
 With that, methought a legion of foul fiends 
 Environ'd me, and howled in mine ears 
 Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, 
 I trembling waked, and, for a season after, 
 Could not believe but that I was in hell ; 
 Such terrible impression made my dream. 
 
 Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted yoa ; 
 I am afraid, mcthinks, to hear you tell it. 
 
 Clar. Ah ! Brakenbury, I have done these things, 
 That now give evidence against my soul, 
 For Edward's sake ; and, see how he requites me ! 
 
 God ! if my deep prayers can not appease thee, 
 But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, 
 
 Yet execute thy wrath on me alone : 
 
 Oh, spare my guiltless wife, and my poor children ! 
 
 1 prithee, Brakenbury, stay by me ; 
 
 My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. 
 
 1 CHARON, son of EREBUS, who, according to ancient mythology, con- 
 veyed in his boat the shades of the dead across the rivers of the lower 
 world. For this service he was paid with an obolus or danace, which 
 coin was placed in the mouth of every corpse previous to its burial. 
 He is represented* as an aged man, with a dirty beard and a mean 
 dress. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN PKO3K. 505 
 
 BraJc. I will, my lord ; God give your grace good rest ! 
 
 [CLARENCE reposing himself on a cliair 
 Sdrrow breaks seasons, and reposing hours, 
 Makes the night morning, and the noon-tide night. 
 Princes have but their titles for their glories, 
 An outward honor for an inward toil ; 
 And, for unfelt imaginations, 
 They 6ften feel a world of restless cares : 
 So that between their titles and low name, 
 There's nothing differs but the outward fame. 
 
 1G4. SELECT PASSAGES IN PROSE. 
 I. THE STREAM OF LIFE. HEBER.* 
 
 LIFE bears ns on like the stream of a mighty river. Our b5at 
 at first glides down the narrow channel, through the playful 
 murmuring r,f the little brook and the winding of its grassy 
 border. Tho trees shed their blossoms over our young heads, 
 the flowers en the brink seem to offer themselves to our young 
 hands ; we are happy in hope, and we grasp eagerly at the beau 
 ties around us but the stream hurries on, and still our hands 
 are empty. Our course in youth and manhood is along a wider 
 and deeper flood, amid objects more striking and magnificent 
 We are animated by the moving picture of enjoyment and in'- 
 dustry passing before us ; we are excited by some short-lived 
 disappointment. The stream bears us on, and our joys and our 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 348. * REGINALD HEBER, sou of the Ecv. 
 REGINALD HEBER, was born at Malpas, Cheshire, England, on the 21st 
 of April, 1783. He entered the University of Oxford in 1800, where 
 his career was brilliant from its commencement to its close. In the 
 first year he gained the university prize for Latin verse ; he wrote his 
 poem of Palestine in 1803 ; and in 1804 took his degree, and won the 
 prize for the best English prose essay. In 1807 he " took orders," and 
 was settled in Hodnet, in Shropshire. After being advanced to two or 
 three ecclesiastical preferments, in 1822 he was appointed bishop of Cal- 
 cutta, and embarked for India in 1823, where he performed his duties 
 with great earnestness till his death, on the 3d of April, 1826. His nu- 
 merous prose works, and his poetry, are noted for tho purity of their 
 itrle. and elevation of sentiment. 
 
 22 
 
506 NATIONAL FIFTH KKADEK. 
 
 griefs are alike left behind us. We may be shipwrecked, bnt 
 we can not be delayed ; whether rough or smooth, the river 
 hastens toward its home, till the roar of the ocean is in our ears, 
 and the tossing of its waves is beneafih our feet, and the land 
 lessens from our eyes, and the floods are lifted up around us, and 
 we take our leave of earth and its inhabitants, until of our fur- 
 ther voyage there is no witness save the Infinite and Eternal. 
 
 II. LIFE COMPARED TO A RIVER. DAVY. 1 
 A FULL and clear river is, in my opinion, the most poetical 
 object in nature. Pliny 2 has, as well as I recollect, compared a 
 river to human life. I have never read the passage in his works, 
 but I have been a hundred times struck with the analogy, par- 
 ticularly amidst mountain scenery. The river, small and clear 
 in its drigin, gushes forth from rocks., falls into deep glens, and 
 wantons and meanders through a wild and picturesque country, 
 nourishing only the uncultivated tree or flower by its dew or 
 spray. In this, its state of infancy and youth, it may be com- 
 pared to the human mind in which fancy and strength of imagin- 
 ation are predominant it is more beautiful than useful. When 
 the different rills or torrents join, and descend into the plain, it 
 becomes slow and stately in its motions ; it is applied to move 
 machinery, to irrigate meadows, and to bear upon its bosom the 
 stately barge ; in this mature state, it is deep, strong, and use- 
 ful. As it flows on toward the sea, it loses its force and its mo- 
 tion, and at last, as it were, becomes lost and mingled with the 
 mighty abyss of waters. 
 
 III. IDEAL CHARACTER OF LIFE. R. H. DANA. 
 A TRUE life, in all its connections and concerns, has an ideal 
 and spiritual character, which, while it loses nothing 3 of the defin- 
 iteness of reality, is forever suggesting thoughts, taking new re- 
 
 1 Sir HUMPHREY DAVY, who ranks, as a man of science, second to none 
 in the nineteenth century, was born at Penzance, in Cornwall, England, 
 December, 1778. Of his numerous discoveries, that of the safety-lamp 
 was, perhaps, most useful. Though not an extended, he was an able 
 prose writer, and possessed a fine poetical imagination, which, had he not 
 been the first chemist, would have placed him among the first poets of 
 his age. He died at Geneva, on the 80th of May, 1829.' PLINY, see 
 p. 76, note 4. 'Nothing (nuth'ing). 
 
SELECT PASSAGE IN I'ROSB. 507 
 
 lations, and peopling and giving action to the imagination. All 
 that the eye falls upon and all that touches the heart, run off 
 into airy distance, and the regions into which the sight stretches 
 are alive, and bright, and beautiful with countless shapings and 
 fair hues of the gladdened fancy. From kind acts, and gentle 
 words, and fond looks there spring hosts, many and glorious as 
 Milton's 1 angels; and heavenly deeds are done, and unearthly 
 voices heard, and forms and faces, graceful and lovely as Uriel's, 
 are seen in the noonday sun. What would only have given 
 pleasure for the time to another, or, at most, be now and then 
 called up in his memory, in the man of feeling and imagination, 
 lays by its particular, and short-lived, and irregular nature, and 
 puts on the garments of spiritual beings, and takes the everlast- 
 ing nature of the soul. The ordinary acts which spring from 
 the good-will of social life, take up their dwelling within him 
 and mingle with his sentiment, forming a little society in his 
 mind, going on in harmony with its generous enterprises, its 
 friendly labors, and tasteful pursuits. They undergo a change, 
 becoming a portion of him, making a part of his secret joy and 
 melancholy, and wandering at large among his far-off thoughts. 
 All that his mind falls in with, it sweeps along in its deep, and 
 swift, and continuous flow, and bears onward with the multitude 
 that fills its shoreless and living sea. 
 
 IV. MAN'S GLORY PASSETH AWAY. WATSON.* 
 
 MARK the glory of collective man. United, he puts on the 
 appearance of strength. He founds empires; he builds cities; 
 he guards by his armies ; he cements' by his policy. Ah ! vain 
 attempt ! Still, " all flesh is grass, and all the glory of man as 
 the flower of grass." Trace the track of civilized and powerful 
 man through the world, and you will find it covered with the 
 
 1 MILTON, see p. 582. 3 RICHARD WATSON, bishop of Llandaff, was born 
 at Heversham, near Kendal, England, in 1737. He was appointed pro- 
 fessor of chemistry at Cambridge, in 1764, and became professor of di- 
 vinity in 1771. His theological works are, "An Apology for Christian- 
 ity," in answer to Gibbon's chapter on the rise and progress of Chris- 
 tianity, "An Apology for the Bible," in answer to " Paine's Age of 
 Reason," and many tracts and sermons. His philosophical works are 
 chiefly on chemistry. Died in 1816. 
 
508 NATIONAL FIFTH READER, 
 
 wreck of his hopes ; and the vSry monuments of his power have 
 been converted into the mockery of his weakness. His eternal 
 cities molder in their rnins; the serpent hisses in tlie cabinet 
 where he planned his empires. Echo itself is startled by the 
 foot which breaks the silence that has reigned for ages in his 
 hall of feast and song. Columns stand in the untrodden desert; 
 and the hut of the shepherd, or the den of the robber, shelters 
 the only residence of his palaces. And the glory which now 
 exists, is crumbling everywhere, where it has not the ccm'ent of 
 Christianity, and where it takes not something of perpetuity 
 from the everlasting word. All heathen glory, all Mohammedan 
 pride, creak in the blast, and nod to their tall. The withering 
 wind or the raging tempest shall pass over them in turn ; and 
 men shall sit upon the ruins of their proudest grandeur. 
 
 V. EVIDENCE OF A CREATOR IN THE STRUCTURE OF THE 
 WORLD. TILLOTSON.' 
 
 How often might a man, after he had jumbled a set of letters 
 in a bag, fling them out upon the ground before they would fall 
 into an exact poem, yea, or so much as make a good discourse 
 in prose! And may not a little book be as easily made by 
 chance, as this great volume of the world ? How long might a 
 man be in sprinkling colors upon a canvas wifh a careless hand, 
 before they could happen to make the exact picture of a man ! 
 And is a man easier made by chance than this picture ? How 
 long might twenty thousand blind men, which should be sent 
 out from the several remote parts of England, wander up and 
 down before they would all meet upon Salisbury Plains, and fall 
 into rank and file in the exact order of an army ! And yet this 
 is much more easy to be imagined, than how r the innumerable 
 blind parts of matter should rendezvous 2 themselves into a woi Id. 
 
 1 JOHN TILLOTSOX, a distinguished prelate of the English Church, was 
 born in Sowerby, Yorkshire, in 1630. He was educated at Clare Hall 
 College, Cambridge. Soon after leaving that institution, he rose to dis- 
 tinction as a preacher, and preferments flowed upon him in rapid suc- 
 cession, till in 1G90 he became Archbishop of Canterbury. Died in 1694 
 His sermons, his principal compositions, were, for half a century, more 
 read than any in our language. "Rendezvous (ren'de v6), to unite or 
 come together in a particular place. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN PKO8E. 509 
 
 VI. NATURE PROCLAIMS A DEITY. CHATEAUBRIAND.' 
 THERE is a God ! The /tcrbs of the valley, the cedars of the 
 mountain, bless him; the insect sports in his beam; the bird 
 ings him in the foliage; the thunder proclaims him in the heav- 
 ens; the ocean declares his immensity; man alone has said, 
 There is no God ! Unite in thought at the same instant the 
 most beautiful objects in nature. Suppose that you sec, at once, 
 all the hours of the day, and all the seasons of the year, a morn- 
 ing of spring, and a morning of autumn a night bespangled 
 with stars, and a night darkened by clouds meadows enameled 
 with flowers forests hoary with snow fields gilded by the 
 tints of autumn, then alone you will have a just conception of 
 the universe ! While you are gazing on that sun which is 
 plunging into the vault of the West, another observer admires 
 him emerging from the gilded gates of the East. By \vhat in- 
 conceivable power does that aged star, which is sinking fatigued 
 and burning in the shades of the evening, reappear at the same 
 instant fresh and humid with the rosy dew of the morning? At 
 every hour of the day, the glorious orb is at once rising, resplen- 
 dent as noon-day, and setting in the west ; or, rather, our senses 
 deceive us, and there is, properly speaking, no East or West, no 
 North or South, in the world. 
 
 VII. THE BLESSINGS OF RELIGIOUS FAITH. DAVY. 
 
 I ENVY no quality of the mind or intellect in others not 
 genius, power, wit, or fancy ; but if I could choose what would 
 be most delightful, and I believe most useful to me, I should 
 prefer a firm religious belief to every other blessing; for it 
 makes life a discipline of goodness; creiites new hopes, when 
 all earthly hopes- vanish ; and throws over the decay, the de- 
 struction of existence, the most gorgeous of all lights; awakens 
 life even in death, and from corruption and decay calls up 
 beauty and divinity ; makes an instrument of torture and of 
 shame the ladder of ascent to paradise; and far above all com- 
 binations of earthly hopes, calls up the most delightful visions of 
 
 ), a noted French writer and statesman, author of the 
 "Genius of Christianity," was born ill Brittany, in 1709, and died in 
 Paris, in 1848, when he Iwl almost completed his eightieth year. 
 
510 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 palms ami amaranths, the gardens of the blest, the security of 
 everlasting joys, where the sensualist and the skeptic view only 
 gloom, decay, annihilation, and despair. 
 
 165. THE UNBELIEVER. 
 
 I PITY the unbeliever one who can gaze upon the grandeur, 
 and glory, and beauty of the natural universe, and behold 
 not the touches of His finger, who is over, and with, and above 
 all ; from mv very heart I do commiserate his condition. The 
 unbeliever ! one whose intellect the light of revelation never 
 penetrated ; who can gaze upon the sun, and moon, and stars, 
 and upon the unfading and imperishable sky, spread out so mag- 
 nificently above him, and say all this is the work of chance ! 
 
 2. The heart of such a being is a drear and cheerless void. 
 In him, mind the god-like gift of -intellect is debased, de- 
 stroyed ; all is dark a fearful chaotic labyrinth, rayless, cheer- 
 less, hopeless! "No gleam of light from heaven penetrates 
 the blackness of the horrible delusion ; no voice from the Eter- 
 nal bids the desponding heart rejoice. No fancied tones from 
 the harps of seraphim arouse the dull spirit from its lethargy, or 
 allay the consuming fever of the brain. The wreck of mind is 
 utterly remediless; reason is prostrate; and passion, prejudice, 
 and superstition, have reared their temple on the ruins of his in- 
 tellect. 
 
 3. I pity the unbeliever. What to him is the revelation from 
 on high but a sealed book ? lie sees nothing 1 above, or around, 
 or beneath him, that evinces the existence of a God ; and he de- 
 nies yea, while standing on the footstool of Omnipotence, and 
 gazing upon the dazzling throne of Jehovah, he shuts his intel- 
 lect to the light of reason, and DENIES THERE is A GOD. 
 
 CHALMERS.* 
 
 166. HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. 
 
 be or not to be that is the question ! 
 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; 
 
 'Nothing (nuth'iug). 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 130. 
 
 T 
 
CATC' s SOLILOQUY. . 511 
 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
 
 And, by opposing, end them. To die to sleep ; 
 
 No more ? and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 
 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 
 That flesh is heir to ? 'Tis a consummation 
 
 Devoutly to be wish'd ! To die to sleep : 
 
 To sleep ! perchance to dream ! Ay ; there's the rub : 
 
 For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, 
 
 When we have shuffled (5ff this mortal coil, 
 
 Must give us pause ! 
 
 2. There's the respect 
 That makes calamity of so long life ; 
 
 For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
 The oppressor's wrSng, the proud man's con'tumely, 
 The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
 When he himself might his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin ? 
 
 3. W T ho would fardels boar, 
 To groan and sweat tinder a weary life ; 
 
 But that the dread of something after death, 
 That undiscover'd country, from whose bourn 
 No traveler returns, puzzles the will, 
 And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
 Than fly to others that we know not of? 
 
 4. Thus conscience does make cowards of us all ; 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 
 Is sicklied o'er wifli the pale cast of thought ; 
 
 And enterprises of great pith and monent, 
 
 With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
 
 And lose the name of action. SHAKSPEARR.I 
 
 , JT 
 
 167. CATOV SOLILOQUY. 
 
 must be so. Plato, 3 thou reasonest well ! 
 Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 348. a MARCUS PORCIUS CATO, great- 
 
512 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 This longing after immortality? 
 Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 
 Of falling into naught ? Why shrinks the soul 
 ' Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
 "Pis the divinity that stirs within us ; 
 'Tis Heaven itself, that points out a hereafter, 
 And intimates eternity to man. 
 
 2. Eternity ! tfrou pleasing, dreadful thought ! 
 Through what variety of untried being, 
 
 Through what new scenes and changes must we pass! 
 
 The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; 
 
 But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. 
 
 Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us, 
 
 And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 
 
 Through all her works, He must delight in virtue ; 
 
 And that which He delights in must be happy. 
 
 But when ? or where ? This world was made for Crcsar. 1 
 
 I'm weary of conjectures, this must end them. 
 
 [Laying his hand on his swora 
 
 3. Thus am I doubly arra'd. My death 2 and life, 
 My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
 This in a moment brings me to my end ; 
 
 grandson of CATO the Censor, was born B. c. 95. From his youth he waa 
 celebrated for his bravery, virtue, decision, severity, and harshness of 
 character. After earning a high reputation as a military tribune in 
 Macedonia, and devoting some time to the study of philosophy, and in 
 diligent preparation for official life, he was first elected questor for B. c. 
 65. He was the principal supporter of CICERO in his measures for sup- 
 pressing the Catilinarian conspiracy ; and on the commencement of civil 
 war, in B. c. 49, he joined the party of POMPEY against C.ESAR. After 
 the defeat of the former, CATO proceeded to Africa, where the hopes of 
 the republican party were finally extinguished by the battle of Thapsus, 
 April 6th, B. c. 46. Failing to inspire his countrymen, who were col- 
 lected at Utica, with courage to endure a siege, he resolved not to out- 
 live the downfall of the republic. After providing for the safety of his 
 friends, and spending the greater part of the night in perusing PLATO'S 
 Phasdo, he inflicted on himself the wound of which he died, in the 
 forty-ninth year uf his age. 3 PLATO, see p. 145, note 5. * CJSSAR, see 
 p. 209, note 4. * Death, bane, and the first this, refer to his sword; 
 and life, antidote, and the second tJtis. to the book he held in his hand. 
 
GATORS SOLILOQUY. 513 
 
 But this informs me I shall never die. 
 
 The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
 
 At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
 
 The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
 
 Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years ; 
 
 But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
 
 Unhurt amid the war of elements, 
 
 The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. ADDISON. 
 
 JOSEPH ADDISON, the eldest son of an able and learned clergyman, was bora 
 at his father's rectory of M ilston, in Wiltshire, England, on the first day of May, 
 1672. He was educated chiefly at the Charter-house and at Oxford, and distin- 
 guished himself as a writer of Latin verse. lie took his master's degree in 1693, 
 and held a fellowship from 1699 to 1711. He first appeared in print by contribu- 
 ting English verses, some of which are original, and others translations from the 
 classics, to Dryden's.3Iiscel!anies. Political encouragement from the whig 
 party, soon after induced him to write a poem complimenting King WILLIAM on 
 the campaign in which he took Namur. A pension, procured for him by Lord 
 fc'oMEiis, enabled him, in KJ99, to visit the Continent, where he resided for three 
 years. The best of his poems, a " Letter from Italy," was written in 1701, while 
 he was still abroad; and his "Travels in Italy," his first t'A-ended prose work, 
 exhibited his extensive knowledge, and his skill and liveliness in composition. 
 Soon after his return to England lie wrote " The Campaign," a poem celebrating 
 MAKLBOIIOUGH'S victory at Blenheim, which, receiving extraordinary applause, 
 secured him an appointment, in 170-1, as one of the commissioners of appeal in 
 excise. He became an under secretary of state in 170(5, and secretary to the 
 lord-lieutenant of Ireland in 1709, about a year and a half before the dismissal 
 of the ministry which he served. From the autumn of 1710 till the end of J714, 
 four of the best years of his life, the opposition having deprived him of cilice, 
 ADDISON'S principal employment was the composition of his celebrated Periodical 
 Essays. In 1709 he began to furnish papers for the "Taller," a periodical con- 
 ducted by his schoolfellow and friend, KICIIAKD STABLE* writing, in all, more 
 than sixty of the two hundred and seventy-one essays which the work contained. 
 On the first day of 31 arch, 1711, these two writers commenced the " Spectator," 
 which appeared every week-day till the 6th day of December, 1712. 'J he two 
 contributing almost equally, seem together to have written not very much less 
 than five hundred of the papers. On the cessation of the " >ptctator," ^teele 
 eet on foot the "Guarhan," which, started in March, 171:5, came to an end in 
 October, with its one hundred and seventy-fifth number, fifty-three of the papers 
 being ADDISON'S. In point of style the two friends resembled each other very 
 closely, when dealing with familiar objects ; but, in the higher tones of thought 
 and composition, ADDISON showed a mastery of language raising him very de- 
 cisively, not above STKKLE only, but, above all his contemporaries. In April, 
 171.'}, lie brought on the stage his tragedy of " Cato," which was rendered so im- 
 mense! 1 ; popular, partly through political considerations, as to raise the reputa- 
 tion of the author to its highest point. The accession of GEORGE I. occurring in 
 the latter part of 1714, restored the whigs to power, and thus again diverted AD- 
 DISON from literature to politics. After acting as secretary to the regency, he 
 was made one of the lords of trade early in 1715. Owing, it is said, to the influ- 
 ence of his wife, the Countess- dowager of Warwick, whom he had married a 
 few months before, he was induced to become one of the two principal secro- 
 
514 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 taries of state in 1717; but ill health caused him to rwign, eleven months aftei 
 his appointment, from which period he received a pension of 1500 a year. He 
 died at Holland House, on the 17th of June, 1719. His body, after lying in state, 
 was interred in the poet's comer of Westminster Abbey. 
 
 168. THE RESURRECTION. 
 
 MOREOVER, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I 
 preached unto you, which also ye have received, and wherein 
 ye stand ; by which also ye are saved, if ye keep in memory 
 what I preached unto you, unless ye have believed in vain. For 
 I delivered unto you first of all that which I also received, how 
 that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures ; and 
 that he was buried, and that he rose again the third day, accord- 
 ing to the scriptures ; and that ho was seen of Cephas, then of 
 the twelve. After that he was seen of above five hundred breth- 
 ren at once ; of whom the greater part remain unto this present, 
 but some are fallen asleep. 
 
 2. After that he was seen of James ; then of all the apSstles ; 
 and last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born out of due 
 time. For I am the least of the apostles, that am not meet to 
 be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. 
 But by the grace of God I am what I am ; and his grace which 
 was bestowed upon me was not in vain ; but I labored more 
 abundantly than they all : yet not I, but the grace of God which 
 was with me. Therefore, whether it were I or they, so we preach, 
 and so ye believed. 
 
 3. NO\Y if Christ be preached that he rose from the dead, how 
 bay some among you that there is no resurrection of the dead? 
 But if there be no resurrection of the dead, then is Christ not 
 risen. And if Christ be not risen, then is our preaching vain, and 
 your faith is also vain. Yea, and we are found false witnesses of 
 God ; because we have testified of God that he raised up Christ : 
 whom he raised not up, if so be that the dead rise not. For if 
 the dead rise not, then is not Christ raised : and if Christ be not 
 raised, your faith is vain ; ye are yet in your sins. Then they 
 also which are fallen asleep in Christ are perished. If in this life 
 only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable. 
 
 1 This selection is an admirable exercise in Inflections, see p. 39. 
 
THE RESURRECTION. 515 
 
 4. But now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the 
 first fruits of them that slept. For since by man came death, 
 by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in 
 Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. But 
 every man in his own order : Christ the first fruits, afterward 
 they that are Christ's at his coming. Then cometh the end, 
 when lie shall have delivered up the kingdom to God, even the 
 Father ; when he shall have put down all rule, and all authority, 
 and power. For he must reign, till he hath put all enemies un- 
 der his feet. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. 
 For he hath put all things under his feet. 
 
 5. But when he saith, all things are put under him, it is mani- 
 fest that he is excepted which did put all things under him. 
 And when all things shall be subdued unto him, then shall the 
 Son also himself be subject unto him that put all things under 
 him, that God may be all in all. Else what shall they do which 
 are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all ? why are 
 they then baptized for the dead ? and why stand we in jeopardy 
 every hour ? I protest by your rejoicing, which I have in 
 Christ Jesus our Lord, I die daily. If after the manner of men 
 I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what advantageth it me 
 if the dead rise not? let us cat and drink ; for to-morrow we die. 
 
 6. Be not deceived ; evil communications corrupt good man- 
 ners. Awake to righteousness, and sin not; for some have not 
 the knowledge of G3d. I speak this to your shaine. But some 
 man will say, IIow are the dead raised up, and with what body 
 do they come ? Thou fool, that which thou sowest is not quick- 
 ened, except it die. And that which thou sowest, thou sowest 
 not that body that shall be, but bare grain ; it may chance of 
 wheat, or of some other grain : but God giveth it a body as it 
 hath pleased him, and to every seed his own body. 
 
 7. All flesh is not the same flesh : but there is one kind of 
 flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and an- 
 other of birds. There are also celestial bodies, and bodies ter- 
 restrial : but the glory of the celestial is one, and the glory of 
 the terrestrial is another. There is one glory of the sun, and 
 another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars : for 
 one star differeth from another star in glory. So also is the 
 resurrection of the dead : it is sown in corruption, it ia raised in 
 
516 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 incorruption : it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory : it is 
 sown in weakness, it is raised in power : it is sown a natural 
 body, it is raised a spiritual body. 
 
 8. There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. 
 And so it is written, .The first man Adam was made a living 
 soul, the last Adam was made a quickening spirit. Howbeit, 
 that was not first which is spiritual, but that which is natural ; 
 and afterward that which is spiritual. The first man is of the 
 earth, earthy ; the second man is the Lord from heaven. As is 
 the earthy, such are they also that are earthy ; and as is the 
 heavenly, such are they also that are heavenly. And as we have 
 borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of 
 the heavenly. 
 
 9. Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood can not in- 
 herit the kingdom of God ; neither doth corruption inherit in- 
 corruption. Behold, I show you a mystery : We shall not all 
 sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling 
 of an eye, at the hist trump ; for the trumpet shall sound ; and 
 the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. 
 For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal 
 must put on immortality. 
 
 10. So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, 
 and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be 
 brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed 
 up in victory. O death, where is thy sting ? grave, where is 
 thy victory ? The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin 
 is the law. But thanks be to God which giveth us the victory 
 through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved breth- 
 ren, be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work 
 of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labor is not in vaio 
 in the Lord. BIBLB. 
 
 169. HOPE TRIUMPHANT IN DEATH. 
 
 TTNFADING HOPE ! when life's last embers burn, 
 U When soul to soul, and dust to dust return, 
 Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour! 
 Oh I then thy kingdom comes, Immortal Power ! 
 What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly 
 
HOPE TRIUMPHANT IN DEATH. 517 
 
 The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye! 
 Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
 The morning dream of life's eternal day : 
 Then then, the triumph and the trance begin 
 And all the Phenix 1 spirit burns within ! 
 
 2. Oh ! deep-enchanting preTude to repose ! 
 The dawn of bliss ! the twilight of our woes 1 
 Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh, 
 It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 
 Mysterious worlds, untravel'd by the sun, 
 Where Time's far-wandering tide has never run! 
 From you i unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, 
 
 . A warning comes, unheard by other ears : 
 
 'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, 
 Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! 
 While Nature hears, wifh terror-mingled trust, 
 The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust; 
 And, like the trembling Hebrew, 2 when he trod 
 The roaring waves, and call'd upon his G<5d, 
 With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, 
 And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss ! 
 
 , 8. Daughter of Faith, awake ! arise ! illume 
 The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! 
 Melt and dispel, ye specter-doubts, that roll 
 Cimmerian 3 darkness on the parting soul ! 
 Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, 
 Chased on his night-steed by the star of day ! 
 The strife is o'er the pangs of Nature close, 
 And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. 
 Hark ! as the spirit eyes, wifh eagle gaze, 
 The noon of heaven, undazzled by the blaze, 
 On heavenly winds, that waft her to the sky, 
 Float the sweet tones of star-born melody ; 
 
 Phe' nix, the fabulous bird which is said to exist single, and to riao 
 again from its own ashes ; hence, used as an emblem of immortality. 
 'Hebrew, St. PETER [Matthew, chap, xiv., v. 30]. 'Cimme'rian, ex- 
 tremely dark. The Cimmerians inhabited a valley in what is now called 
 the Crimea, which the ancients pretended was involved in darkness. 
 
18 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 Wild as that hallo w'd anthem sent to hail 
 Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, 
 When Jordan hiish'd his waves, and midnight still 
 Watch'd on the holy towers of Zion hill ! 
 
 4. Soul of the just ! companion of the dead ! 
 
 Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled ? 
 Back to its heavenly source thy being goes, 
 Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rj>se j 
 Doom'd on his airy path awhile to burn, 
 And dooin'd, like thee, to travel, and return : 
 Hark ! from the world's exploding center driven, 
 With sounds that shook the firmament of heaven, 
 Careers the fiery giant, fast and far, 
 On bickering wheels, and adarnan'tme car; 
 From planet whirl'd to planet more remote, 
 He visits realms beyond the reach of thought ; 
 But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run, 
 Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun ! 
 So hath the traveler of earth unfurl'd 
 Her trembling wings, emerging from the world ; 
 And, o'er the path by mortal never trod, 
 Sprung to her source the bosom of her God ! 
 
 ^ CAMPBELL.* 
 
 170. MORAL PROGRESS OF THE AMERICAN PEOPLE.* 
 
 A KIND of reverence is paid by all nations to antiquity. 
 There is no one that does not trace its lineage from the 
 gods, or from those who were especially favored by the gods. 
 Every people has had its age of gold, or Augustan age, or heroic 
 age an age, alas ! forever passed. These prejudices are not 
 altogether unwholesome. Although they produce a conviction 
 of declining virtue, which is unfavorable to generous emulation, 
 y6t a people at once ignorant and irreverential, would necessarily 
 become licentious. Nevertheless, such prejudices ought to be 
 modified. 
 
 2. It is untrue, that in the period of a nation's rise from dis- 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 137. f From an Address at Yale Col- 
 lege, 1854. 
 
MORAL PROGRESS OF THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. 
 
 oidei to refinement, it is not able to continually surpass itself. 
 We see the present, plainly, distinctly, with all its coarse out- 
 lines, its rough inequalities, its dark blots, and its glaring de- 
 formities. We hear all its tumultuous sounds and jarring dis- 
 cords. We see and hear the past, through a distance which 
 reduces all its inequalities to a plane, mellows all its shades into 
 a pleasing hue, and subdues oven its hoarsest voices into har- 
 mony. 
 
 3. In our own case, the prejudice is less erroneous than ill 
 most others. The revolutionary age was truly a heroic one. Its 
 exigencies called forth the genius, and the talents, and the vir- 
 tues of society, and they ripened amid the hardships of a Idng 
 and severe trial. But there were selfishness, and vice, and fac- 
 tions, then, as now, although comparatively subdued and re- 
 pressed. You have only to consult impartial history, to learn 
 that neither public faith, nor public loyalty, nor private virtue, 
 culminated at that period in our own country ; while a mere 
 glance at the literature, or at the stage, or at the politics of any 
 Europe 'an country, in any previous age, reveals the fact that it 
 was marked, more distinctly than the present, by licentious 
 morals and mean ambition. 
 
 4. It is only just to infer in favor of the United States an im- 
 provement of morals from their established progress in knowl- 
 edge and power ; otherwise, the philosophy of society is misun- 
 derstood, and we must change all our courses, and henceforth 
 seek safety in imbecility, and virtue in superstition and ignorance. 
 What shall be the test of the national morals ? Shall it be the 
 eccentricity of crimes ? Certainly not ; for then we must com- 
 pare the criminal eccentricity of to-day with that of yesterday. 
 The result of the comparison would be only this, that the Crimea 
 of society change with changing circumstances. 
 
 5. Loyalty to the state is a public virtue. Was it ever deeper- 
 toned or more universal than it is now ? I know there are eb- 
 ullitions of passion and discontent, sometimes breaking out into 
 disorder and violence ; but was faction ever more effectually dis- 
 armed and harmless than it is now ? There is a loyalty that 
 springs from the affection that we bear to our native soil. This 
 we have as strong as any people. But it is not the soil alone, 
 nor y6t the soil beneath our feet and the skies over onr heads, 
 
520 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 that constitute our country. It is its freedom, equality, justice, 
 greatness, and glory. Who among us is so low as to be insen- 
 sible of an interest in them ? Four hundred thousand natives of 
 other lands every year voluntarily renounce their own sovereign?, 
 and swear fealty to our own. Who has ever known an Ameri- 
 can to transfer his allegiance permanently to a foreign power? 
 
 C. The spirit of the laws, in any country, is a true index to 
 the morals of a people, just in proportion to^lic power they 
 exercise in making them. Who complains here or elsewhere, 
 that crime or immorality blots our statute-books with licentious 
 enactments 1 The character of a country's magistrates, legisla- 
 tors, and captains, chosen by a people, retiects their own. It is 
 true that in the earnest canvassing which so frequently recurring 
 elections require, suspicion flften follows the magistrate, and 
 scandal follows in the footsteps of the statesman. Yet, when 
 his course has been finished, what magistrate has left a name- 
 tarnished by corruption, or what statesman has left an act or an 
 opinion so erroneous that decent charity can not excuse, though 
 it may disapprove? What chieftain ever tempered military tri- 
 umph with so much moderation as he who, when he had placed 
 our standard on the battlements of the capital of Mexico, not 
 only received an offer of supreme authority from the conquered 
 nation, but declined it ? 
 
 7. The manners of a nation are the outward form of its inner 
 life. Where is woman held in so chivalrous respect, and where 
 does she deserve that emin^ce better? Where is property 
 more safe, commercial honor better sustained, or human life 
 more sacred ? Moderation '.z a virtue in private and in public 
 life. Has not the great increase of private wealth manifested 
 itself chiefly in widening the circle of education and elevating 
 the standard of popular intelligence ? With forces which, if 
 combined and directed by ambition, would subjugate this conti- 
 nent at once, we have made only two veiy short wars the one 
 confessedly a war of defence, and the other ended by paying for 
 a peace and for a domain already fully conquered. 
 
 8. Where lies the secret of the increase of virtue which has 
 thus been established ? I think it will be found in the entire 
 emancipation of the consciences of men from either direct or in- 
 direct control by established ecclesiastical or political systems. 
 
MOBAL PKOORE88 OF THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. 521 
 
 Religious classes, like political parties, have been left to compete 
 in the great work of moral education, and to entitle themselves 
 to the confidence and affection of society, by the purity of then 
 faith and of their morals. 
 
 9. I am well aware that some, who may be willing to adopt 
 the general conclusions of this argument, will object that it is 
 not altogether sustained by the action of the government itself, 
 however true it ay be that it is sustained by the great action 
 of society. I can not enter a field where truth is to be sought 
 among the disputations of passion and prejudice. I may say, 
 however, in reply first, that the governments of the Unitecl 
 States, although more perfect than any other, and although they 
 embrace the great ideas of the age more fully than -any other, 
 are, nevertheless, like all other governments, founded on com- 
 promises of some abstract truths and of some natural rights. 
 
 10. As government is impressed by its constitution, so it must 
 necessarily act. This may suffice to explain the phenomenon 
 complained of. But it is true, also, that no government ever 
 did altogether act out, purely and for a long period, all the vir- 
 tues of its original constitution. Hence it is that we are so well 
 told by Bolingbroke,' that every nation must perpetually renew 
 its constitution or perish. Hence, moreover, it is a great excel- 
 lence of our system, that sovereignty resides, not in congress and 
 the president, nor ySt in the governments of the States, but in 
 the people of the United States. If the sovereign be just and 
 firm and uncorrupted, the governments can always be brought 
 back from any aberrations, and even the constitutions themselves, 
 if in any degree imperfect, can be amended. This great idea of 
 the sovereignty of the people over their government glimmers 
 in the British system, while it fills our own with a broad and 
 glowing light. SEWAPD. 
 
 1 HENUY ST. JOHN VISCOUNT BOLINOBKOKK, an orator, statesman, and 
 philosophical essayist, was bom at Battersea, in Surrey, England, in 
 1072. He was educated at Eaton and Oxford. ST. JOHN entered par- 
 liament in 1701, and was successively secretary of war and secretary of 
 Btate. He was elevated to the peerage in 1712. Unfortunately, none 
 of the speeches delivered by him in either house have been preserved, 
 though they are reported to have been very brilliant. He died in 1751, 
 and a complete c.dition of his works, in five volumes, appeared soon 
 after. 
 
522 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 WILLIAM H. SEWARD, son of Dr. SAMUEL S. SEWARD, of Florida, Orange 
 county, New York, was bom in that village on the 16th of May, 1801. He en- 
 tered Union College in 1816. After completing his course with distinguished 
 honor, he studied law at New York with JOHN ANTHON, and afterward with 
 JOHN DUER and OGDEN HOFFMAN. Soon after his admission to the bar he com- 
 menced practice in Auburn, New York, where he married in 1824. He rose 
 rapidly to distinction in his profession. In 1828 he first took a prominent part in 
 politics, when he labored for the reelection of JOHN QUINCY ADAMS to the presi- 
 dency. He became a member of the State Senate in 1830, where he remained 
 for four years. He made a tour in Europe, of a few months, in 1833, during 
 which he wrote a series of letters, which were published in the " Albany Even- 
 ing Journal." He was elected governor of the State by the whig party in 1838; 
 ree'lected in 1840 ; but in 1842, declining a renomination, retired to the practice 
 of his profession. He was chosen United States senator in 1849, by a large ma- 
 jority ; and, on the expiration of his term in 1855, he was reflected to the same 
 body. In 1853 an edition of his works was published in New York, in three oc- 
 tavo volumes, containing his speeches in the State and national Senate, and be- 
 fore popular assemblies, with his messages as governor, his forensic arguments, 
 miscellaneous addresses, letters from Europe, and selections from his public cor- 
 respondence. His writings and speeches are models of correct composition ; 
 their grammatical construction, rhetorical finish, and accurate arrangement, 
 rendering them well-nigh faultless. Though not remarkable for oratory, his 
 classic style, his perfect self-control, his truthful manner, his uncommon sense, 
 and his thorough knowledge of the leading questions of the day, command the 
 attention and admiration of the hearer. 
 
 171. SELECT PASSAGES IN PKOSE. 
 I. OUR COMMON SCHOOLS. EVERETT. 
 THEY give the keys of knowledge to the mass of the people. 
 I think it may with truth be said, that the branches of knowl- 
 edge taught in our common schools, when taught in a finished, 
 masterly manner, reading in which I include the spelling of 
 our language a firm, sightly, legible handwriting, and the ele- 
 mental rules of arithmetic, are of greater value than all the 
 rest which is taught at school. I am far from saying that noth- 
 ing else can be taught at our district schools ; but the young 
 person who brings these from school, can himself, in his winter 
 evenings, range over the entire field of useful knowledge. Our 
 common schools are important in the same way as the common 
 air, the common sunshine, the common rain, invaluable for 
 their commonness. They are the corner-stone of that municipal 
 organization which is the characteristic feature of our social sys- 
 tem; they are the fountain of that wide-spread intelligence, 
 which, like a rao"ral life, pervades the country. From the hum 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN PROSE. 528 
 
 blest village school there may go forth a teacher who, like New- 
 ton,' shall bind his temples with the stars of Ori'onV belt, with 
 llerschcl, 3 light up his cell with the beams of before undiscover- 
 ed planets, with Franklin, 4 grasp the lightning. 
 
 1 NKWTON, see p. 174, note 2. * ii' on, a southern constellation con- 
 taining seventy-eight stars. ' WILLIAM HERSCIIEL, a distinguished as- 
 tronomer, was born at Hanover, on the loth of November, 1738. Edu- 
 cated as a musician, became to England in 1757, and immediately estab- 
 lished himself as a teacher of music. In 1766 he obtained the situation 
 of organist at Halifax, and soon after a more lucrative appointment in 
 Bath, where he was very successful as a teacher of music, and a director 
 of the public concerts. While at Halifax he acquired a considerable 
 knowledge of mathematics, and studied astronomy. Anxious to see the 
 wonderful celestial phenomena disclosed by the telescope, and, fortu- 
 nately for science, being unable to buy one, he resolved to construct 
 one with his own hands. In 1774 he completed a five-feet Newtonian 
 reflector, with which he could see the satellites of Jupiter and the ring 
 of Saturn ; but, not being contented with this instrument, he afterward 
 constructed several hundred, both Newtonian and Gregorian, 80 of 
 which were twenty feet telescopes. In 1781 he discovered the new plan- 
 et Uranus. After this first of his numerous and brilliant discoveries, 
 GKOUGE III. enabled him, by the grant of a salary, to devote the whole 
 of his time to astronomy. Sir WILLIAM HKKSCIIKL was elected an hon- 
 orary member of most of the scientific institutions in Europe and Amer- 
 ica ; received the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws in 1786 ; and in 
 1820 was elected the first president of the Astronomical Society. He 
 died on the 25th of August, 1822. * BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, an eminent 
 American moralist, statesman, and philosopher, was born in Boston, 
 Massachusetts, 6th January, 1706. The early incidents of his life are, 
 happily, too familiar to require details. He left Boston for Philadelphia 
 at seventeen, in 1723 ; visited England the following year, where he 
 worked at his trade, as printer ; and returned to Philadelphia in 1726. 
 He there established himself as public printer, purchased the " Pennsyl- 
 vania Gazette," which he virtually projected in 1729 ; married in 1730 ; 
 assisted in founding the Philadelphia Library in 1731 ; the next year 
 published his almanac ; was chosen, in 1736, clerk of the General As- 
 sembly ; became deputy-postmaster at Philadelphia in 1737; in 1752 
 demonstrated his theory of the identity of lightning with electricity ; 
 was sent to England as an agent by the Assembly in 1757 ; received the 
 degree of Doctor of Laws from the universities of Edinburgh and Ox- 
 ford, and returned to America in 1762. Two years after he returned to 
 England as a colonial agent ; returned again to Philadelphia in 1775; 
 signed the Declaration of Independence in Congress ; went ambassador 
 to France in the same year ; returned, after signing the treaty of peace 
 In 1786, to America, when he was made president of the Commonwealth 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 II. WHAT YOUTH SHOULD LEARN. HARE.' 
 
 THE teachers of youth, in a free country, should select those 
 books for their chief study so far, I mean, as this world is con- 
 cerned which are best adapted to foster a spirit of manly free- 
 dom. The duty of preserving the liberty which our ancestors, 
 through God's blessing, won, established, and handed down to 
 us, is no less imperative than any commandment in the second 
 Uble, if it be not the concentration of the whole. And is this 
 duty to be learned from the investigations of science ? Is it to 
 be picked up in the crucible? or extracted from the properties 
 of lines and numbers ? I fear there is a moment of broken 
 lights in the intellectual day of civilized countries, when, among 
 the manifold refractions of Knowledge, Wisdom is almost Idst 
 sight of. 
 
 III. WHAT YOUTH SHOULD BE TAUGHT. LANDOR. 
 
 SHAME upon historians and schoolmasters for exciting the 
 worst passions of youth by the display of false glories ! If your 
 religion hath any truth or influence, her professors will extin- 
 guish the promontory lights, which only allure to breakers. 
 They will be assiduous in teaching the young- and ardent that 
 great abilities do not constitute great men, without the right 
 and unremitting application of them ; and that, in the sight of 
 Humanity and Wisdom, it is better to erect one cottage than to 
 demolish a hundred cities. Down to the present day we have 
 been taught little else than falsehood. We have been told to 
 do this thing and that ; we have been told we shall be punished 
 unless we do ; but at the same time we are shown by the finger 
 that prosperity and glory, and the esteem of all about us, rest 
 upon other and v6ry different foundations. Now, do the ears or 
 the eyes seduce the most easily, ind lead the most directly to 
 the heart? But both ears and eyes are won over, and alike are 
 persuaded to corrupt us. 
 
 of Pennsylvania for three years ; was a delegate to the Federal Conven- 
 tion in 1787 ; and died April 17th, 1790. An edition of his works, in 
 ten volumes, has recently been published. 'CHARLES JULIUS and Au 
 (JUSTUS HARE, two brothers, clergymen of the Church of England, au 
 thor* of ' Guesses at Truth," from which this extract \u taken. 
 
SELECT PASSAGES US PKOSE. 
 
 IV. EDUCATION OF THE HEART. SCOTT. 
 
 I FEAR you have some very young ideas in your head. Are 
 you not too apt to measure things by some reference to litera- 
 ture to disbelieve that anybody can be worth much care who 
 has no knowledge of that sort of thing, or taste for it ! God 
 help us ! what a poor world this would be if that were the true 
 doctrine ! I have read books enough, and observed and con- 
 versed with enough of eminent and splendidly cultivated minds, 
 too, in my time ; but I assure you, I have heard higher senti- 
 ments from the lips of the poor, uneducated men and women, 
 when exerting the spirit of severe yet gentle heroism under dif- 
 ficulties and afflictions, or speaking their simple thoughts as to 
 circumstances in the lot of friends and neighbors, than I ever yet 
 met with out of the pages of the Bible. We shall never learn 
 to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have 
 taught ourselves to consider every thing as moonshine compared 
 with the education of the heart. 
 
 V. DUTY. DICKENS. 
 
 O LATE-REMEMBERED, much-forgotten, moufhing, braggart duty, 
 always owed, anjj seldom paid in any other coin than punish- 
 ment and wrath, when will mankind begin to know thee ! 
 When will men acknowledge thee in thy neglected cradle and 
 thy stunted youth, and not begin their recognition in thy sinful 
 manhood and thy desolate old age ! ennined judge, whose 
 duty to society is now to doom the ragged criminal to punish- 
 ment and death, hadst thou never, Man, a duty to discharge in 
 barring up the hundred open gates that wooed him to the felon's 
 dock, and throwing but ajar the portals to a decent life! 
 preTate, prelate, whose duty to society it is to mourn in melan- 
 choly phrase the sad degeneracy of these bad times in which thy 
 lot of honors has been cast, did nothing go before thy elevation 
 to the lofty seat, from which thou dealest out thy homilies to 
 other tarriers for dead men's shoes, whose duty to society has 
 Dot begun ! magistrate, so rare a country gentleman and 
 brave a squire, had you no duty to society before the ricks were 
 blazing and the mob were mad ; or did it spring up armed and 
 botted from the earth, a corps of yeomanry, full grown I 
 
526 NATIONAL FDTTH READER. 
 
 VI. AIR AND EXERCISE. LONDON QUARTERLY REVIEW. 
 
 SPECIAL attention should be given, both by parents and teach- 
 ers, to the physical development of the child. 1*111-6 air and free 
 exercise are indispensable, and wherever either of these is with- 
 held the consequences will be certain to extend themselves over 
 the whole future life. The seeds of protracted and hopeless suf- 
 fering have, in innumerable instances, been sown in the constitu- 
 tion of the child simply through ignorance of this great funda- 
 mental physical law ; and the time has come when the united 
 voices of these innocent victims should ascend, "trumpet-tonguo.d," 
 to the ears of every parent and every teacher in the land. "Givo 
 us free air and wholesome exercise ; give us leave to develop our 
 expanding energies in accordance with the laws of our being; 
 give us full scope for the elastic and bounding impulses of our 
 youthful blood !" 
 
 VII. PAMPERING THE BODY AT THE SOUL'S EXPENSE. EVERETT. 
 
 WHAT, sir, feed a child's body, and let his soul hunger ! pam- 
 per his limbs, and starve his faculties ! Plant the earth, cover a 
 thousand hills with your droves of cattle, pursue the fish to their 
 hiding-places in the sea, and spread out your wheat-fields across 
 the plain, in order to supply the wants of that body which will 
 soon be as cold and as senseless as the poorest clod, and let the 
 pure spiritual essence within you, with all its glorious capacities 
 for improvement, languish and pine! What! build factories, 
 turn in rivers upon the water-wheels, unchain the imprisoned 
 spirits of steam, to weave a garment for the body, and let the 
 soul remain unadorned and naked ! What ! send out your ves- 
 sels to the furthest ocean, and make battle with the monsters ol 
 the deep, in order to obtain the means of lighting up your dwell- 
 ings and workshops, and prolonging the hours of labor for the 
 meat that perisheth, and permit that vital spark, which God has 
 kindled, which he has intrusted to our care, to be fanned into a 
 bright and heavenly flame, permit it, I say, to languish and go 
 out ! What considerate man can enter a school, and not reflect 
 with awe, that it is a seminary where immortal minds are train 
 ing for eternity ? What parent but is, at times, weighed down 
 with the thought, that there must be laid the foundaiions of a 
 
SELECT PASSAGES IN PRO8P:. 527 
 
 ouilding which will stand, when not merely temple and palace, 
 but the perpetual hills and adamantine rocks on which they 
 rest, have melted away ! that a light may there be kindled, 
 which will shine, not merely when every artificial beam is ex- 
 tinguished, but when the affrighted sun has fled away from the 
 heavens ! 
 
 VIII. THE NECESSITY OF MENTAL LABOR. SCOTT. 
 I RELY upon it that you are now working hard in the classical 
 mine, getting out the rubbish as fast as you can, and preparing 
 yourself to collect the ore. I can not too much impress upon 
 your mind that labor is the condition which God has imposed on 
 us in every station of life : there is nothing worth having that 
 can be had without it, from the bread which the peasant wins 
 wiflh. the sweat of his brow, to the sports by which the rich man 
 must get rid of his ennui. 1 The only difference betwixt them is, 
 that the poor man labors to get a dinner to his appetite, the rich 
 man to get an appetite to his dinner. As for knowledge, it can 
 no more be planted in the human mind without labor, than a 
 field of wheat can be produced without the previous use of the 
 plow. There is indeed this great difference, that chance or cir- 
 cumstances may so cause it that another shall reap what the 
 farmer sows ; but no man can be deprived, whether by accident 
 or misfortune, of the fruits of his own studies ; and the liberal 
 and extended acquisitions of knowledge which he makes are all 
 for his own use. Labor, my dear boy, therefore, and improve 
 the time. In youth our steps are light, and our minds are duc- 
 tile, and knowledge is easily laid up. But if we neglect our 
 spring, our summer will be useless and contemptible, our harvest 
 will be chaff, and the winter of our old age unrespected and 
 desolate. 
 
 IX. APTITUDE OF YOUTH FOR KNOWLEDGE. BROUGHAM. 
 
 IT is not the less true, because it has been Sfrentimes said, that 
 the period of youth is by far the best fitted for the improvement 
 of the mind, and the retirements of a college almost exclusively 
 adapted to much study. At your enviable age, every thing has 
 the lively interest of novelty and freshness ; attention is perpet- 
 
 1 Ennui (&nw6'), lassitude; weariness; disgust. 
 
528 NATIONAL FIFTH READEB, 
 
 ually sharpened by curiosity ; and the memory is tenfvcious of 
 the deep impressions it thus receives, to a degree unknown in 
 after-life : while the distracting cares of the world, or its beguil- 
 ing pleasures, cross not the threshold of these calm retreats ; its 
 distant noise and bustle are faintly heard, making the shelter 
 you enjoy more grateful ; and the struggles of anxious mortals, 
 embarked upon that troublous sea, are viewed from an eminence, 
 the security of which is rendered more sweet by the prospect of 
 the scene below. Yet a little while, and you, too, will be 
 plunged into those waters of bitterness, and will cast an eye of 
 regret, as now I do, upon the peaceful regions you have quitted 
 forever. 
 
 Such is your lot as members of society ; but it will be your 
 own fault if you look back on this place wifli repentance or 
 with shame; and be well assured that, whatever time ay, 
 every hour you squander here on unprofitable idling, will then 
 rise up against you, and be paid for by years of bitter but un- 
 availing regrets. Study then, I beseech you, so to store your 
 minds with the ex'quisite learning of former ages, that you may 
 always possess within yourselves sources of rational and refined 
 enjoyment, which will enable you to set at naught the grosser 
 pleasures of sense, whereof other men are slaves; and so imbue 
 yourselves with the sound philosophy of later days, forming 
 yourselves to the virtuous habits which are its legitimate 6ff- 
 spring, that you may walk unhurt through the trials which 
 await you, and may look down upon the ignorance and error 
 that surround you, not with lofty and supercilious contempt, 
 as the sages of old times, but with the ve'hement desire of en- 
 lightening those who wander in darkness, and who are by so 
 much the more endeared to us by how much they want our 
 assistance. 
 
 172. THE SCHOOLMASTER AND THE CONQUEROR. 
 
 BUT there is nothing which the adversaries of improvement 
 are more wont to make themselves merry with than what is 
 termed the " march of intellect ;" and here I will confess, that I 
 think, as far as the phrase goes, they are in the right. It is a 
 absurd, because a very incorrect expression. It is little 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER AND THE CONQUEROR. 5^ 
 
 calculated to describe the operation in question. It does not 
 picture an image at all resembling the proceedings of the true 
 friends of mankind. It much more resembles the progress of the 
 enemy to all improvement. The conqueror moves in a march. 
 He stalks onward with the " pride, pomp, and circumstance of 
 war" banners flying shouts rending the air guns thunder- 
 ing and martial music pealing, to drown the shrieks of the 
 wounded, and the lamentations for the slain. 
 
 2. Not thus the schoolmaster, in his peaceful vocation. He 
 meditates and prepares in secret the plans which are to bless 
 mankind ; he slowly gathers round him those who are to further 
 their execution he quietly, though firmly, advances in his 
 humble path, laboring steadily, but calmly, till he has opened to 
 the light all the recess'es of ignorance, and torn up by the roots 
 the weeds of vice. His is a progress not to be compared with 
 any thing like a march ; but it leads to a far more brilliant 
 triumph, and to laurels more imperishable than the destroyer of 
 his species, the scourge of the world, ever won. 
 
 3. Such men men deserving the glorious title of Teachers 
 of Mankind I have found, laboring conscientiously, though. 
 Derhaps, obscurely* in their blessed vocation, wherever I have 
 gone. I have found them, and shared their fellowship, among 
 the daring, the ambitious, the ardent, the indomitably active 
 French ; I have found them among the persevering, resolute, 
 industrious Swiss ; I have found them among the laborious, the 
 warm-hearted, the enthusiastic Germans; I have found them 
 among the high-minded, but enslaved Italians ; and in our own 
 country, G5d be thanked, their number, everywhere abound, and 
 are every day increasing. 
 
 4. Their calling is high and holy ; their fame is the property 
 of nations ; their renown will fill the earth in after ages, in pro- 
 portion as it sounds not far off in their own times. Each one of 
 those great teachers of the world, possessing his soul in peace, 
 performs his appointed course ; awaits in patience the fulfillment 
 of the promises; and, resting from his labors, bequeaths his 
 memory to the generation whom his works have blessed, and 
 sleeps under the humble but not inglorious epitaph, commemo- 
 rating " one in whom mankind lost a friend, and no man got rid 
 of an enemy." BHOUOHAM. 
 
530 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 HENRY BROUGHAM, the distinguished philanthropist, wator, and statesman, 
 was born in Westmoreland, England, in 1779. He received his preparatory 
 education at the high school in Edinburgh, and in 1795 entered the university 
 where his course was a complete triumph. He was one of the projectors and 
 chief contributors of the Edinburgh Review, and in 1803 published " An Inquiry 
 into the Colonial Policy of the European Powers," which at once called the 
 attention of the public to its author. After his admission to the Scottish bar, h 
 visited the north of Europe, and on his return commenced practice in the Court 
 of King's Bench, London, where he soon gained both popularity and emolument 
 He first entered Parliament in 1810, and here the vastness and universality o 
 his acquirements, his singular activity, and untiring energies rendered him very 
 serviceable in the promotion of reforms. He was elected Lord Rector of th 
 University of Glasgow in 181:5, and was president of the " Society for the Dif 
 fusion of Useful Knowledge," established in 1627. He was appointed Lord 
 Chancellor and elevated to the peerage in 1830. Since 1834 he has been con- 
 stantly exerting his transcendent abilities in the House of Lords in favor of all 
 measures that are calculated to advance the best interests of society. Among 
 his most valuable works are, " Biography of Eminent Statesmen and Men of 
 Letters in the Reign of George III.," 3 vols. ; " A Discourse on Natural Theology," 
 and an edition of his Parliamentary Speeches, revised by himself. Hisspeeche* 
 unquestionably stand in the very first rank of oratorical masterpieces. 
 
 173. THE FAMINE. 
 
 I. f\ THE long and dreary Winter ! 
 \J O the cold and cruel Winter ! 
 Ever thicker, thicker, thicker 
 Froze the ice on lake and river ; 
 Ever deeper, deeper, deeper 
 Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, 
 Fell the covering snow, and drifted 
 Through the ftfrest, round the village. 
 Hardly from his buried wigwam 
 Could the hunter force a passage; 
 With his mittens and his snow-shoes 
 Vainly walk'd he through the forest, 
 Sought for bird or beast and found none, 
 Saw no track of deer or rabbit, 
 In the snow beheld no footprints, 
 In the ghastly, gleaming forest 
 Fell, and could not rise from weakness, 
 Perish'd there from cold and hunger. 
 
 2. the famine and the fever ! 
 O the wasting of the famine I 
 
TirE FAMIXR. 531 
 
 O the blasting of the lever ! 
 O the wailing of the children ! 
 
 the anguish of the women ! 
 
 All the earth was sick and famishM ; 
 Hungry was the air around them, 
 Hungry was the sky above them, 
 And the hungry stars in heaven 
 Like the eyes of wolves glared at them . 
 
 3. Into Hiawatha's 1 wigwam 
 Came two other guests, as silent 
 As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, 
 Waited not to be invited, 
 
 Did not parley at the doorway, 
 Sat there without word of welcome 
 In the seat of Laughing Water ; 
 Looked wifh haggard eyes and holldw 
 At the face of Laughing Water. 
 And the foremost said : " Behold me ! 
 
 1 am Famine, Bukadawin !" 
 
 And the other said ! " Behold me 1 
 I am Fever, Ahkosewin !" 
 And the lovely Minneha'ha* 
 Shudder'd as they look'd upon her, 
 Shudder'd at the words they utter'd, 
 Lay down on her bed in silence, 
 Hid her face, but made no answer ; 
 Lay there trembling, freezing, burning 
 At the looks they cast upon her, 
 At the fearful words they utter'd. 
 
 4. Forth into the empty forest 
 Rushed the madden'd Hiawatha ; 
 In his heart was deadly sorrow, 
 In his face a stony firmness, 
 
 1 UIAWATHA (he a wa' tlia), the wise man, the teacher ; the name o* 
 the hero of the tale. * MINNEHA'HA, Laughing Water, a water-fall ou 
 a stream running into the Mississippi, between Fort Snelling and the 
 falls of St. Anthony; the Indian uame of Hiawatha's wife, the heroine 
 of the tale 
 
532 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 On his brow the sweat of anguish 
 Started, but it froze and fell not. 
 Wrapp'd in furs and arm'd for hunting^ 
 "With his might)- bow of ash-tree, 
 With his quiver full of arrows, 
 With his mittens, Minjekahwun, 
 Into the vast and vacant forest 
 On his snow-shoes strode he forward. 
 
 5. "Gitche Man'ito, 1 the Mighty!" 
 Cried he with his face uplifted 
 In that bitter hour of anguish, 
 "Give your children food, O father! 
 Give us food, or we must perish ! 
 Give me food for Minnehaha, 
 
 For my dying Minnehaha !" 
 Through the far-resounding forest, 
 Through the forest vast and vacant 
 Rang that cry of desolation, 
 But there came no other answer 
 Than the echo of- his crying, 
 Than the echo of the woodlands, 
 " MINNEHAHA ! MINNEHAHA !" 
 
 6. All day long roved Hiawatha 
 In that melancholy forest, 
 
 Through the shadow of whose thickets, 
 
 In the pleasant days of Summer, 
 
 Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, 
 
 He had brought his young wife homeward 
 
 From the land of the Dacotahs ; 8 
 
 When the birds sang in the thickets, 
 
 And the streamlets laugh'd and glisten'd, 
 
 And the air was full of fragrance, 
 
 And the lovely Laughing Water 
 
 Said wifh voice that did not tremble, 
 
 " I will follow you, my husband !" 
 
 'GiTCHis MAN'ITO, the Great Spirit; the Master of Life. Dac6' tab 
 or Sioux Indians, a numerous and powerful tribe, inhabiting the terri- 
 tory between the Missouri and Mississippi rivers. 
 
THE FAMINE. 533 
 
 7 In the wigwam with Noko'mis, 1 
 
 With those gloomy guests, that watch'd her 
 
 With the Famine and the Fever, 
 
 She was lying, the Beloved, 
 
 She the dying Minnehaha. 
 
 " Hark !" she said, " I hear a rushing, 
 
 Hear a roaring and a rushing, 
 
 Hear the Falls of Minnehaha 
 
 Calling to me from a distance !" 
 
 " No, my child !" said old Nokomis, 
 
 " 'T is the night-wind in the pine-trees 1" 
 
 " Look !" she said ; " I see my father 
 
 Standing lonely at" his doorway, 
 
 Beckoning to me from his wigwam 
 
 In the land of the Dacotahs!" 
 
 " No, my child !" said old Nokomis, 
 
 "'T is the smoke that waves and beckons I w 
 
 8, "Ah !" she said, "the eyes of Pau'gwk* 
 Glare upon me in the darkness, 
 I can feel his icy fingers 
 Clasping mine amid the darkness ! 
 Hiawatha ! Hiawatha !" 
 And the desolate Hiawatha, 
 Far away amid the forest, 
 Miles away among the mountains, 
 Heard that sudden cry of anguish, 
 Heard the voice of Minnehaha 
 Calling to him in the darkness, 
 " HIAWATHA ! HIAWATHA !" 
 
 9 Over snow-fields waste and pathless, 
 Under snow encumber'd branches, 
 Homeward hurried Hiawatha, 
 Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, 
 Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing : 
 " Wahono'win ! 3 Wahonowin ' 
 Would that I had perish'd for you, 
 
 1 NoKo'Mrs. the grandmother of Hiawatha.* PAU'OUK, death. Wa- 
 ho no' win, an Indian cry of lamentation. 
 
634 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADER, 
 
 Would that I were dead as you are 1 
 Wahonowin ! Wahonowin 1" 
 And he rush'd into the wigwam, 
 Saw the old Nokomis slowly 
 Rocking to and fro and moaning, 
 Saw his lovely Minnehaha 
 Lying dead and cold before him, 
 And his bursting heart within him 
 Utter'd such a cry of anguish, 
 That the forest moan'd and shudder'd, 
 That the very stars in heaven 
 Shook and trembled with his anguish. 
 
 10. Then he sat down still and speechless, 
 On the bed of Minnehaha, 
 
 At the feet of Laughing Water, 
 At those willing feet, that never 
 More would lightly run to meet him, 
 Never more would lightly follow. 
 With both hands his face he cover'd, 
 Seven long days and nights he sat 
 As if in a swoon he sat there, 
 Speechless, motionless, unconscious 
 Of the daylight or the darkness. 
 
 11. Then they buried Minnehaha; 
 
 In the snow a grave they made her, 
 In the forest deep and darksome, 
 Underneath the moaning hemlocks; 
 Clothed her in her richest garments. 
 Wrapp'd her in her robes of ermine, 
 Cover'd her with snow, like ermine : 
 Thus they buried Minnehaha. 
 And at night a fire was lighted, 
 On her grave four times was kindled, 
 For her soul upon its journey 
 To the Islands of the Blessed. 
 From his doorway Hiawatha 
 Saw it burning in the forest, 
 Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks; 
 
ABRAHAM AND '/HE FIRE-WORSHIPKE. 535 
 
 From his sleepless bed uprising, 
 From the bid of Minnehaha, 
 Stood and watch'd it at the doorway, 
 That it might not be cxtinguibh'd, 
 Might not leave her in the darkness. 
 
 12. "Farewell!" said he, "Minnehuha! 
 Farewell, O *ny Laughing Water ! 
 All my heart is buried wifti you, 
 All my thoughts go onward with you! 
 Come not back again to labor, 
 Come not back again to suffer. 
 Where the Famine and the Fever 
 Wear the heart and waste the body. 
 Soon my task will be completed, 
 Soon your footsteps I shall follow 
 To the Islands of the Blessed, 
 To the Kingdom of Pone'mah, 1 
 To the Land of the Hereafter !" 
 
 H. \V. LONGFELLOW.* 
 
 174. ABRAHAM AND HIE FIRE- WORSHIPER. 
 
 SCENE The inside of a Tent, in which the Patriarch ABRAHAM 
 and a PERSIAN TRAVELER, a Fire-Worshiper^ are sitting 
 awhile after supper. 
 
 Fire- Worshiper [aside]. What have I said, or done, that b) 
 
 degrees 
 
 Mine host hath changed his gracious countenance, 
 Until he stareth on me, as in wrath ! 
 *Have I, 'twixt wake and sleep, ICst his wise lore? 
 Or sit I thus too long, and he himself 
 Would fain be sleeping? I will speak to that, 
 [^l^owrf.] Impute it, my great and gracious lord. 
 Unto my feeble flesh, and not my folly, 
 If mine old eyelids droop against their will, 
 And I become as one that hath no sense 
 Even to the milk and honey of thy words. 
 
 1 Po no' mah, hereafter.^-* See Biographical Sketch, p. 858. 
 
536 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 With my lord's leave, and his good servant's help, 
 My limbs would creep to bed. 
 
 Abraham [angrily quitting his seat]. In this tent, never. 
 Thou art a thankless and an im 'pious man. 
 
 Fire- W. [rising in astonishment]. A thankless and an impious 
 
 man ! O sir, 
 My thanks have all but worship'd thee. 
 
 Abraham. And whom 
 
 Forgotten ? like the fawning dog I feed. 
 From the foot-washing to the meal, and now 
 To this thy cramm'd and dog-like wish for bed, 
 I've noted thee ; and never hast thou breathed 
 One syllable of prayer, or praise, or thanks, 
 To the great God who made and feedeth all. 
 
 Fire- W. O sir, the god I worship is the Fire, 
 The god of gods ; and seeing him not here, 
 In any symbol, or on any shrine, 
 I waited till he bless'd mine eyes at morn, 
 Sitting in heaven. 
 
 Abraham. O foul idolater ! 
 
 And darest thou still to breathe in Abraham's tent ? 
 Forth with thee, wretch ; for he that made thy g5d, 
 And all thy tribe and all the host of heaven, 
 The invisible and only dreadful God, 
 Will speak to thee this night, out in the storm, 
 And try thee in thy foolish god, the Fire, 
 Which with his fingers he makes lightnings of. 
 Hark to the rising of his robes, the winds, 
 And get thee forth, and wait him. 
 
 [A violent storm is heard rising , 
 
 Fire- W. What ! unhoused ; 
 
 And on a night like this ! me, poor old man, 
 A hundred years of age ! 
 
 Abraham [urging him away]. Not reverencing 
 The God of ages, thou revoltest reverence. 
 
 Fire- W. Thou hadst a father ; think of his gray hairs, 
 Houseless, and cuff'd by such a storm as this. 
 
 Abraham. God is thy father, and thou own st not him. 
 
 Fire- W. I have a wife, as aged as myself 
 
ABRAHAM AND THK KIRK- WORSHIPER. 537 
 
 And if she learn my death, she'll not survive it, 
 No, i.ot a day ; she is so used to me ; 
 So propp'd up by her other feeble self. 
 I pray thee, strike us not both down. 
 
 Abraham [still urying him]. God made 
 Husband and wife, and must be owri'd of them, 
 Else he must needs disown them. 
 
 Fire- W. We have children, 
 
 One of them, sir, a daughter, who, next week, 
 Will all day long be going in and out, 
 Upon the watch for me ; she, too, a wife, 
 And will be soon a mother. Spare, oh spare her ! 
 She's a good creature, and not strong. 
 
 Abraham. Mine ears 
 
 Are dfiaf to all things but thy blasphemy, 
 And to the coming of the Lord and God, 
 Who will this night condemn thee. 
 
 [ABRAHAM pushes him out ; and remains alone, speaking* 
 
 For if ever 
 
 God came at night-time forth upon the world, 
 'Tis now this instant. Hark to the huge winds, 
 The cataracts of hail, and rocky thunder, 
 Splitting like quarries of the stony clouds, 
 Beneath the touching of the foot of God ! 
 That was God's speaking in the heavens, that last 
 And inward utterance coming by itself. 
 What is it shaketh thus thy servant, Lord, 
 Making him fear, that- in some loud rebuke 
 To this idolater, whom thou abhorrest, 
 Terror will slay himself? Lo, the earth quakes 
 Beneath my feet, and God is surely here. 
 
 [^1 dead silence / and then a still small voice 
 
 The Voice. Abraham! 
 
 Abraham. Where art thou, Lord ? and who is it that speak* 
 So sweetly in mine ear, to bid me turn 
 And dare to face thy presence ? 
 
 The Voice. Who but He 
 
 Whose mightiest utterance thou hast yet to learn ? 
 I was not in the whirlwind, Abraham ; 
 
538 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 I was not in the thunder, or the earthquake ; 
 
 But I am in the still small voice. 
 
 Where Js the stranger whom thou tookest in ? 
 
 Abraham. Lord, he denied thee, and I drove him forth. 
 
 The Voice. Then didst thou do what God himself forbore. 
 Have I, although he did deny me, borne 
 With his injuriousness these hundred years, 
 And couldst thou not endure him one sole night, 
 And such a night as this ? 
 
 Abraham. Lord ! I have sinn'd, 
 
 And will go forth, and if he be not dead, 
 Will call him back, and tell him of thy mercies 
 Both to himself and me. 
 
 The Voice. Behold, and learn ! 
 
 [The Voice retires while it is speaking ; and a fold of the tent ti 
 turned back, disclosing the FIRE-WORSHIPER, who is calmly 
 sleeping, with his head on tlie back of a house-lamb. 
 
 Abraham. loving God ! the lamb itself 's his pillow, 
 And on his forehead is a balmy dew, 
 And in his sleep he smileth. I, meantime, 
 Poor and proud fool, with my presumptuous hands. 
 Not God's, was dealing judgments on his head, 
 Which God himself had cradled ! Oh, methinks 
 There's more in this than prophet yet hath known, 
 And Faith, some day, will all in Love be shown. 
 
 HOUSEHOLD WORDS. 
 
 175. ADDRESS TO THE INDOLENT.* 
 1. TS not the field wifh lively culture green 
 
 -1- A sight more joyous than the dead morass' ? 
 Do not the skies, with active e'ther clean, 
 And fann'd by sprightly zephyrs, far surpass 8 
 The foul November fogs, and slumberous mass, 1 
 With which sad Nature vails her drooping face ? 
 
 Does not the mountain-stream, as clear as glass, 4 
 Gay dancing 5 on, the putrid pool disgrace? 
 The same in all holds true, but chief in human race. 
 
 'From "The Castle of Indolence." 'Surp&ss'. *M&ss. *GHUs. 
 Din' dog. 
 
ADDRESS TO THE iNDGl JONT. 53U 
 
 2. It was not by vile loitering in ease 
 
 That Greece obtain'd the brighter palm 1 ot art, 
 That soft yet ardent Ath'ens learnt to please, 
 To keen the wit, and to sublime the heart, 
 In all supreme ! complete in every part ! 
 It was not thence majestic Rome arose, 
 
 And o'er the nations shook her conquering uart 
 For sluggard's brow the laurel never grows; 
 Renown is not the child of indolent repose. 
 
 8. Had unambitious mortals minded naught 
 
 But in loose joy their time to wear away, 
 Had they alone the lap of dalliance sought, 
 
 Pleased on he/ pillow their dull heads to lay, 
 Rude 3 Nature's state had been our state to-day ; 
 No cities e'er 4 their towcry fronts had raised, 
 
 No arts had made us opulent and gay ; 
 With brother-brutes 5 the human race had grazed ; 
 None 6 e'er had soar'd to fame, none honer'd been, none praised. 
 
 4. But should your hearts to fame unfeeling be, 
 
 If right I read, you pleasure all require : 
 Then see how best may be obtain'd this fee, 
 
 How best enjoy'd this, nature's wide desire. 
 
 Toil and be ylad! let In'dustry inspire 
 Into your quicken'd limbs her buoyant 7 breath 1 
 
 Who does not act is dead ; absorpt entire 
 In miry sloth, no pride, no joy he hath : 
 O leaden-hearted men, to be in love with death 1 
 
 5. Ah ! what avail the largest gills of Heaven, 
 
 When drooping health and spirits go amiss} 
 How tasteless then whatever can be given ! 
 
 Health is the vital principle of blis^, 
 
 And exercise of health. In proof of this, 
 .Behold the wretch who slugs 8 his life away, 
 
 Soon swallow'd in disease's sad abvss, 
 
 1 P&m. a Wear i ul>- . 3 Kude < 6 I > * K'er ir). Brutes (brotz). 
 None (nfm) ' Buoyant (bwdl'ant). 8 Sl*ur, play the drone : lie idle. 
 
54:0 NATIONAL FLFfH KEADKR. 
 
 While he whom toil has braced, or manly play, 
 Has light as air 1 each limb, each thought as clear as day. 
 
 6. Oh, who can speak the vigorous joy of health, 
 
 Unclogg'd the body, unobscured the mind ? 
 The morning rises gay, with pleasing stealth, 
 The temperate evening falls serene and kind. 
 In health the wiser brutes true gladness find. 
 See ! how the younglings frisk along the meads, 
 
 As May comes on, and wakes the balmy 9 wind ; 
 Rampant with life, their joy all joy exceeds ; 
 Yet what but high-strung health this dan cing pleasaunce 3 breeds ! 
 
 7 There 4 are, I see, who listen to my lay, 
 
 Who wretched sigh for virtue, 5 yet despair. 6 
 " All may be done," methinks I hear them say, 
 " Even death despised by generous actions fair, ' 
 All, but for those who to these bowers repair ! 8 
 Their every power dissolved in luxury, 
 
 To quit of torpid sluggishness the lair, 9 
 And from the powerful arms of sloth get free 
 Tis rising from the dead : Alas ! it can not be !" 
 8. Would you, then, learn 10 to dissipate the band 
 Of these huge threatening difficulties dire, 
 That in the weak man's way like lions stand, 
 His soul appall, and damp his rising fire ? 
 Resolve resolve ! and to be men aspire. 
 Exert that noblest privilege, alone 
 
 Here to mankind indulged ; control desire : 
 Let godlike Reason, from her sovereign" throne, 
 Speak the commanding 19 word, I WILL ! and it is done. 
 
 ___^^__ THOMSON. 1 ' 
 
 176. THE POET. 
 
 HOW glorious, above all earthly glory, are the faculty and 
 mission of the Poet ! His are the flaming thoughts that 
 
 J Air (ir). * Baon' y. 3 Pleasaunce, an ancient form of the word pleas- 
 ure. 4 There (th&r). 'Virtue (vSrt'yu). Despfcr'. ' F&ir. 8 lie pair'. 
 Lair. w Learn. " Sovereign sft v' er in)." Com mand' ing. u See 
 Biographical Sketch, p. 75. 
 
THE POET. 54:1 
 
 pierce the vail of heaven his are the feelings, which on the 
 wings of rapture sweep over the abyss of ages. The star of his 
 being is a splendor of the world. 
 
 2. The Poet's state and attributes are half divine. The 
 breezes of gladness are the heralds of his approach ; the glimpse 
 of his coming is as the flash of the dawn. The hues of Con- 
 quest flush his brow : the anger of triumph is in his eyes. The 
 secret of Creation is with him ; the mystery of the Immortal is 
 among his treasures. The doom of unending sovereignty is upon 
 his nature. 
 
 3. The meditations of his mind are Angels, and their issuing 
 forth is with the strength of eternity. The talisman 1 of his 
 speech is the scepter of the free. The decrees of a dominion 
 whose sway is over spirits, and whose continuance is to ever- 
 lasting, go out from before him ; and that ethereal essence, which 
 is the untamable in man which is the liberty of the Infinite 
 within the bondage of life is obedient to them. His phrases 
 are the forms of Power : his syllables are agencies of Joy. 
 
 4. With men in his sympathies, that he may be above them 
 in his influence, his nature is the jewel-clasp that binds Hu- 
 manity to Heaven. It mediates between the earthly and celes- 
 tial : in the vigor of his production, divinity becomes substantial ; 
 in the sublimity of his apprehensions, the material loses itself 
 into spirit. It is his to drag forth the eternal from our mortal 
 form of being to tear the Infinite into our bounden state of 
 action. 
 
 5. What conqueror 9 has troops like his ? the spirit-forces of 
 Language 3 those subtle slaves of Mind, those impetuous masters 
 of the Passions ; whose mysterious substance who can compre- 
 hend whose mighty operation what can combat? Evolved, 
 none knoweth how, within the curtained chambers of existence 
 half-physical, half-ideal, and finer than all the agencies of 
 Time linked together by spells, which are the spontaneous magic 
 of genius, which he that can use, never understands the 
 
 1 Talisman (tal'iz man), something formed by magical skill, to which 
 wonderful effects were ascribed, such as preservation from sickness, in- 
 jury, &c. ; figuratively, that which produces remarkable effects. 'Con- 
 queror ;k6ng' ker or).- -'Language (lang'gwaj). 4 W&rd, skilled in 
 witchcraft. 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 hosts of words fly forth, silently, wifti silver wings, to win re 
 sistlcssly against the obstacles of Days, and Distance, and De- 
 struction, to fetter nations in the viewless chains of admiration, 
 and be, in the ever-presence of their all-vitality, the immortal 
 portion of their author's being. 
 
 6. Say what we will of the real character of the strifes of war. 
 and policy, and wealth, the accents of the singer are the ti i 
 acts of the race. What prince, in the secret places of his dali; 
 ance, uses such delights as his ? Passing through the life of the 
 actual, with its transitory blisses, its deciduous 1 hopes, its quickly 
 waning fires, his interests dwell only in the deep consciousness 
 of the, soul and mind, to which belong undecaying raptures, and 
 the tone of a godlike force. Within that glowing universe of 
 Sentiment and Fancy, which he generates from his own strenu- 
 ous and teeming spirit, he is visited by immortal forms, whose 
 motions torment the heart with ecstasy whose vesture is of 
 light whose society is a fragrance of all the blossoms of Hope. 
 
 7. To him the True approaches in the radiant garments of the 
 Beautiful ; the Good unvails to him the princely splendors of her 
 native lineaments, and is seen to be Pleasure. His soul lies 
 strewn upon its flowery desires, while, from the fountains of ideal 
 loveliness, flows softly over him the rich, warm luxury of the 
 Fancy's passion. His Joys are Powers ; and it is the blessedness 
 of his condition that Triumph to him is prepared not by toil, but 
 by indulgence. Begotten by the creative might of raptiwe, and 
 beaming wifli the strength of the delight of their conception, the 
 shapes of his imagination come lorth in splendor, and he fasci- 
 nates the world with his felicities. H. B. WALLACE. 
 
 HORACE BIXXEY WALLACE was born in Philadelphia on the 26th of February, 
 1817. He passed the first two years of his collegiate course at the University of 
 Pennsylvania, and the residue at Princeton College, where he was graduated in 
 1835. He studied law with great thoroughness, and at the age of twenty -seven, 
 prepared note?, that have been commended by the highest legal authorities, for 
 " Smith's Selections of Leading Cases in various Branches of the Law," and 
 " White and Tudor'? Selection of Leading Cases in Equity." He also devottd 
 much time to scientific study; produced "Stanley," a novel; and published a 
 number of articles anonymously in various periodicals. He sailed for Europe in 
 April, 1S49, and passed a year in England, Germany, France, and Italy. On 
 his return he resumed, with increased energy, his literary pursuits. His eye- 
 
 1 Dedd' u ous, falling in autumn, as leaves ; not permanent. 
 
TO THE SPIRIT OK POETRY. 543 
 
 eight became impaired in the spring of 1852, owing to the incipient stages oi con- 
 gestion of the brain, caused by undue mental exertion. By the advice of physi- 
 cians, he embarked for England in November. Finding no improvement in his 
 condition, on his arrival, he went to Paris for medical advice, where his cerebral 
 disease increased, and led to his death suddenly, on the 16th of December fol- 
 lowing. In 1855 appeared in Philadelphia a volume of his writings, entitled 
 " Art, Scenery, and Philosophy in Europe." These essays on the principles of 
 art, descriptions of cathedrals, traveling sketches, and papers on distinguished 
 artists, though not designed for publication, and mostly in an unfinished stale, 
 display great depth of thought, command of language, knowledge of the history 
 and aesthetic principles of art, and a finely cultivated taste. A second volume 
 of his writings, " Literary Criticisms and other Papers," appeared in 1856. These 
 two works form but a small part of Mr. WALLACE'S literary productions. 
 
 177. To THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 
 
 1. T EAVE me not y$t ! Leave me not cold and lonely, 
 JJ Thou dear ideal of my pining heart ! 
 
 Thou art the friend the beautiful the only, 
 
 Whom I would keep, though all the world depart! 
 Thou, that dost vail the frailest flower wifh glory, 
 
 Spirit of light and loveliness and truth ! 
 Thou that didst tell me a sweet, fairy story 
 
 Of the dim future, in my wistful youth ! 
 Thou, who canst weave a halo round the spirit, 
 
 Through which naught mean or. evil dare intrude, 
 Resume not yet the gift, which. I inherit 
 
 From heaven and thee, that clearest, holiest good ! 
 Leave me not now ! Leave me not cold and lonely, 
 
 Thou starry prophet of my pining heart ! 
 Thou art the friend the tenderest, the only, 
 
 With whom, of all, 'twould be despair to part. 
 
 2. Thou that earnest to me in my dreaming childhood, 
 
 Shaping the changeful clouds to pageants rare, 
 Peopling the smiling vale and shaded wildwood 
 
 With airy beings, faint yt strangely fair ; 
 Telling me all the sea-born breeze was saying, 
 
 While it went whispering through the willing leaves; 
 Bidding me listen to the light rain playing 
 
 Its pleasant tune about the household eaves ; 
 Tuning the low, sweet ripple of the river, 
 
 Till its melodious murmur seemed a sdng 1 
 
NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 A tender and sad chant, repeated ever, 
 
 A sweet, impassion'd plaint of love and wrong! 
 
 Leave me not yet ! Leave me not cold and lonely, 
 Thou star of promise o'er my clouded path ! 
 
 Leave not the life, that borrows from thee only 
 All of delight and beauty that it hath ! 
 
 ,'. Thou, that when others knew not how to love me. 
 
 Nor cared to fathom half my yearning soul, 
 Didst wreathe thy flowers of light around, above me, 
 
 To woo and win me from my grief's control; 
 By all my dreams, the passionate, the holy, 
 
 When thou hast sung love's lullaby to me; 
 By all the childlike worship, fond and lowly, 
 
 Which I have lavish'd upon thine and thee ; 
 By all the lays my simple lute was learning, 
 
 To echo from thy voice stay with me still! 
 Once flown alas! for thee there's no returning! 
 
 The charm will die o'er valley, wood, and hill. 
 Tell me not TIME, whose wing my brow has shaded, 
 
 Has wither'd spring's sweet bloom within my heart 
 Ah, no! the rose of love is yet unfaded, 
 
 Though hope and joy, its sister flowers, depart 
 
 4. Well do I know that I have wrong' d thine altar 
 
 With the light offerings of an idler's mind ; 
 And thus with shame, my pleading prayer I falter, 
 
 Leave me not, spirit ! deaf, and dumb, and blind ! 
 Deaf to the mystic harmony of nature, 
 
 Blind to the beauty of her stars and flowers ; 
 Leave me not, heavenly yet human teacher, 
 
 Lonely and lost in this cold world of ours ! 
 Heaven knows I need thy music and thy beauty 
 
 Still to beguile me on my weary way, 
 To lighten to my soul the cares of duty, 
 
 And bless with radiant dreams the darken'd day ; 
 To charm my wild heart in the worldly revel, 
 
 Lest I, too, join the aimless, false and vain : 
 Let me not lower to the soulless level 
 
 Of those whom now I pity and disdain ! 
 
DIGNITY OF POETRY. 545 
 
 Leave me not yet ! leave me not cold and pining, 
 Thou bird of paradise, whose plumes of light, 
 
 Where'er they rested, left a glory shining ; 
 Fly not to heaven, or let me share thy flight ! 
 
 FRANCES OSGOOD. 
 
 FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD, daughter of JOSEPH LOCKE, a Boston merchant, 
 was born in that city about the year 1812. Some of her first poems appeared in 
 a juvenile Miscellany, conducted by Mrs. L. M. Child, rapidly followed by 
 others, which soon gave their signature, " Florence," a wide reputation. About 
 1834 she was married to S. S. OSGOOD, a young painter already distinguished in 
 his profession. They soon after went to London, where Mr. OSGOOD pursued 
 his art of portrait-painting with success ; and his wife's poetical compositions to 
 various periodicals met with equal favor. In 1839 a collection of her poems was 
 published in London, entitled " A Wreath of Wild- Flowers from New England." 
 About the same period she wrote "The Happy Release, or the Triumphs ot 
 Love," a play in three acts. She returned with Mr. OSGOOD to Boston in 1840. 
 They removed to New York soon afterward, where the remainder of her life 
 was principally passed. Her poems, and prose tales and sketches, appeared at 
 brief intervals in the magazines. In 1841 she edited '' The Poetry of Flowers and 
 Flowers of Poetry," and in 184;, " The Floral Offering," two illustrated gift-books. 
 Her poerns were collected and published in New York in 1846. She possessed an 
 unusual facility in writing verses, with a felicitous style, and was happy in the se- 
 lection of subjects. Her rare gracefulness and delicacy, and her unaffected and 
 lively manners, won her a large circle of friends. She died on the 12th of 
 May, 1850. 
 
 178. DIGNITY OF POETRY. 
 
 TT is a remarkable fact that in the earliest periods of civilization, in 
 J- the robust and fervid youth of great nations, that Poetry, that 
 divine melody of thought and words, is always the first language of 
 the newly awakened intellect. As civilization advances, and the 
 cold abstractions of science take the life-like creations of the 
 imagination, Poetry withdraws more and moiv from the domain 
 of the understanding. But though a high state of intellectual 
 cultivation more clearly defines the respective boundaries of 
 science and poetry, it is by no means necessarily unfavorable to 
 the latter, as many have supposed. Poetry, more and more 
 hemmed in by reality, finds in reality new and inexhaustible 
 lesources. 
 
 '2. The vulgar and trivial details' of actual life are apt to blunt 
 our perceptions of its greatness. The bright dreams of youth, 
 and the thoughtful sadness of maturer years; the deep com- 
 niiinings of the soul with nature and with God; the fond loyalty 
 which churishos the memories of heroes and great benefactors 
 
 BA 
 
54:6 NATIONAL FIFTH READER, 
 
 of mankind; self-sacrificing patriotism which attaches to the 
 idea of country an infinite import, and sacred obligations ; rapt 
 devotion, whether it recognize the Divine Presence in the Gothic 
 Cathedral, amid the forest aisles, or on the sounding sea-shore ; 
 what are all these things, but the rising undulations of that deep- 
 est part of our mysterious nature, in which are the fountains of 
 poetry and religion ? 
 
 3. If we imagine a rational creature, upon a level with tho 
 highest of our species, to reach the maturity of his powers in 
 another state of being, and then to have all his perceptions and 
 sensibilities suddenly opened upon this world, in any of its 
 brightest or most fearful aspects, what deep thoughts, what child- 
 ish wonder, love, or awe would fill his whole soul ! The poetical 
 temperament preserves in a greater or less degree this child-like 
 freshness, which custom withers in other men ; and by mysteri- 
 ous affinities, it draws to itself the poetry of life and nature from 
 the alloy of commonplace ingredients. It is unquestionably the 
 greatest triumph of art to idealize the present ; for distance either 
 in time or space renders the materials of poetry more pliant. 
 Through the same mists that conceal from us the vulgar and 
 trivial details', the grander features of the scene loom up into 
 shapes of beauty or terror. 
 
 4. Consciously or unconsciously, the poetical temperament 
 links every thing finite and perishable with the infinite and im- 
 perishable, and our little life here with the boundless and ever- 
 lasting existence that awaits us. Whatever form poetry may 
 take, and whatever may be the nature of the materials which it 
 draws from the actual world, its essential inspiration is the in- 
 eradicable desire of the human soul for a wider, a more beauti- 
 ful, a more powerful existence than the present. 
 
 5. When the poet is destitute of religious faith, the mighty 
 cravings of his soul, and a vivid sense of the frightful discrepancy 
 between the aspirations and the supposed destiny of man, may 
 eat into his heart, tear asunder his whole nature, and fever it 
 into despair, madness, or suicide. A happier creed may overarch 
 life with the rainbo*? of hope, and pour over nature the light of 
 eternity. In either case, the poet, filled with the ideal, and with 
 that infinite love and awe which only the ideal can inspire, be- 
 comes the unconscious prophet of deeper and mightier truth* 
 
THE SPIRIT OF POKTKY. 547 
 
 than the boasted deductions of science. Even in science, no 
 great thing was ever done by a man who had not a spice of 
 poetry in him. As will appear more fully in the progress of our 
 inqui'ry, those branches of art and literature which strive to 
 embody the aspirations of man in forms of ideal* beauty or power, 
 have performed a very important part in human culture. 
 
 6. Indeed, the history of Christianity itself, including the life 
 and death of its Divine Founder, the moral h&roism of its mar- 
 tyrs and apostles, and the long warfare which it has waged 
 tigainst ignorance, sin, and misery, is a mighty epic, of which God 
 is the author ; and the refinements of chivalry, the triumphs of 
 art, and the glories of science are the episodes. Religion has 
 directly or indirectly been the source of that poetry of action, 
 which has shed a never-dying glory over the great and stirring 
 periods of modern history. It is obvious that we use the term 
 Poetry in its general sense of passionate recognition of all beauti- 
 ful, glorious, and sublime things, manifested, not only in verse, 
 painting, sculpture, architecture, but any thing which ennobles 
 man, embellishes life, or refines society, provided it can be em- 
 bodied in sensible forms, or associated with images more or less 
 distinct. Not only the greatest works of art, but the finest traits 
 and noblest triumphs of civilization, are manifestations of that 
 divine and perennial spirit of Poetry, without which life would 
 be a poor, des'picable round of sordid cares and animal grati- 
 fications. NOUUSK. 
 
 J. D. NOURSE, Louisville, Ky., author of" Remarks on the Past, and its Lega- 
 cies to American Society," not only belongs to the ranks of genius, but is en- 
 titled to take his place in that higher order of creative minds, in which the 
 capacity of great, sustained, and just thought coexists with the glow of fancy 
 and the fire of passion. The above extract is a fine illustration of the vivid and 
 various sympathy of his mind, which combines tlie love and power of art with 
 the insight of philosophic judgment, and recognizes the creative energy of im- 
 agination and sentiment as permanent and indispensable parts of our being. 
 
 179. THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 
 1. FTOIE world is full of Poetry the air 
 JL Is living wifh its spirit ; and the waves 
 Dance to the music of its melodies, 
 And sparkle in its brightness. Earth is vaiPd, 
 mantled with its beauty ; and the walls 
 
54:8 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 That close the universe with crystal in, 
 Are eloquent with voices that proclaim 
 The unseen glories of immensity, 
 In harmonies too perfect and too high 
 For aught but beings of celestial mold, 
 And speak to man, in one eternal hymn, 
 Unfading beauty and unyielding power. 
 
 2. The year leads round the seasons in a choir 
 Forever charming and forever new, 
 Blending the grand, the beautiful, the gay, 
 The mournful, and the tender, in one strain, 
 Which steals into the heart like sounds that rise 
 Far 6ff, in moonlight evenings, on the shore 
 
 Of the wide ocean, resting after storms ; 
 Or tones that wind around the vaulted roof, 
 And pointed arches, and retiring aisles 
 Of some old, lonely minster, where the hand, 
 Skillfal, and moved wifh passionate love of art, 
 Plays o'er the higher keys, and bears aloft 
 The peal of bursting thunder, and then calls, 
 By mellow touches, from the softer tubes, 
 Voices of melting tenderness, that blend 
 With pure and gentle musings, till the soul, 
 Commingling with the melody, is borne, 
 Rapt and dissolved in ecstasy, to heaven. 
 
 3. 'Tis not ths chime and flow of words that move 
 In measured file and metrical array ; 
 
 'Tis not the union of returning sounds, 
 
 Nor all the pleasing artifice of rhyme, 
 
 And quantity, and accent, that can give 
 
 This all-pervading spirit to the ear, 
 
 Or blend it wifh the movings of the soul. 
 
 'Tis a mysterious feeling, which combines 
 
 Man with the world around him, in a chain 
 
 Woven of flowers, and dipp'd in sweetness, till 
 
 He taste the high communion of his thoughts, 
 
 With all existences, in earth and heaven, 
 
 That meet him in the charm of grace and power. 
 
 
THE KKLL8. 
 
 4. Tis not the noisy babbler, who displays 
 In studied phrase, and ornate epithet, 
 And rounded period, poor and v^pid thoughts 
 Which peep from out the cumbrous ornaments 
 That overload their littleness. Its words 
 Are few, but deep and solemn ; and they break 
 Fresh from the fount of feeling, and are full 
 Of all that passion which, on Carmel, fired 
 The holy prophet, when his lips were coals, 
 His language wing'd with terror, as when bolts 
 Leap from the brooding tempest, arm'd with wrath, 
 Commission'd to affright us, and destroy. 
 
 J. Q. PERCIVAI* 
 
 180. THE BELLS. 
 
 1. TTEAR the sledges with the bells 
 11 Silver bells 
 
 What a world of mgrriment their melody foretells I 
 How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 
 
 In the icy air of night ! 
 While the stars that oversprinkle 
 All the heavens, seem to twinkle 
 
 With a crystalline delight ; 
 Keeping time, time, time, 
 In a sort of Runic 2 rhyme, 
 To the tintinnabulation 3 that so musically wells 
 From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 
 Bells, bells, bells 
 From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 
 
 2. Hear the mellow wedding-bells, 
 
 Golden bells ! 
 
 What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! 
 Through the balmy air of night 
 How they ring out their delight 1 
 From the molten-golden nctes, 
 
 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 238. 'Runic (rS'nik), an epithet ap- 
 plied to the language and letters of the ancient Goths. 'Tin tin nab n- 
 14' tion, the sounding or ringing of little bells. 
 
650 KATIONAL FIFTH READER, 
 
 And all in tune, 
 What a liquid ditty floats 
 To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
 
 On the moon ! 
 
 Oh, from out the sounding cells, 
 What a gush of euphony voluminously wells I 
 How it swells ! 
 How it dwells 
 
 On the Future ! how it tells 
 
 Of the rapture that impels 
 
 To the swinging and the ringing 
 
 Of the bells, bells, bells 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 
 Bells, bells, bells 
 To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells ) 
 
 3. Hear the loud alarum bells 
 
 Brazen bells ! 
 
 What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tell* 
 In the startled ear of night 
 How they scream out their affright ! 
 Too much horrified to speak, 
 They can only shriek, shriek, 
 
 Out of tune, 
 
 In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
 In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire 
 Leaping higher, higher, higher, 
 With a desperate desire, 
 And a resolute endeavor, 
 Now now to sit or never, 
 By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
 Oh, the bells, bells, bells! 
 What a tale their terror tells 
 
 Of despair ! 
 
 How they clang, and clash, and roar 
 What a horror they outpour 
 On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
 Yt the ear, it fully knows, 
 By the twanging 
 
THE BELLS. 561. 
 
 And the clanging, 
 How the danger ebbs and Hows ; 
 ' Yet the car distinctly tells, 
 In the jangling 
 And the wrangling, 
 How the danger sinks and swells, 
 
 Bv the sinking or the swelling in the ange r of the bells- 
 Of the bells 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 
 Bells, bells, bells 
 In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 
 
 4. Hear the tolling of the bells 
 
 Iron bells ! 
 
 What a world of solemn thought their monody 1 compels 1 
 In the silence of the night, 
 How we shiver with affright 
 At the melancholy menace of their tone I 
 For every sound that floats 
 From the rust within their throats 
 
 Is a groan. 
 
 And the people ah, the people 
 They that dwell up in the steeple, 
 
 All alone, 
 And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 
 
 In that muffled monotone, , 
 Feel a glory in so rolling 
 
 On the human heart a stone 
 They are neither man nor woman 
 They are neither brute nor human 
 
 They are Ghouls : 8 
 And their king it is who tolls ; 
 And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, 
 A pajan 3 from the bells ! 
 
 1 Mon' o dy, a species of poem of a mournful character, in which a 
 single mourner is supposed to bewail himself. * Ghoul (gol), an imag- 
 inary evil being among Eastern nations, which was supposed to prey on 
 human bodies. ' I'se'an, among the ancients, a song of rejoicing in honor 
 of Apollo ; hence, a song of triumph or loud joy. 
 
552 NATIONAL FIFTH READKB 
 
 And his mSrry bosom swells 
 
 With the paean of the bells ! 
 And he dances and he yells ; 
 Keeping time, time, time, 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme, 
 To the psean of the bells 
 
 Of the bells; 
 Keeping time, time, time. 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
 
 To the throbbing of the bells 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, 
 
 To the sobbing of the bells; 
 Keeping time, time, time. 
 
 As he knells, knells, knells, 
 In a happy Runic rhyme, 
 
 To the rolling of the bells 
 Of the bells, bells, bells 
 
 To the tolling of the bells, 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells- 
 Bells, bells, bells, 
 To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 
 
 EDGAR A. Pot 
 
 EDGAR A. POE, born in Baltimore in January, 1811, was left an orphan by th* 
 death of his parents at Richmond, in 1815. He was adopted by JOHN ALLEN, t 
 wealthy merchant of Virginia, who in the following year took him to England, 
 and placed him at a school near London, from which, in 1822, he was removed 
 to the University of Virginia, where he graduated with distinction in 1826. 
 Whole at the Military Academy at West Point, in 1830, he published his first 
 work, a small volume of poems. He secured prizes for a poem and a tale at 
 Baltimore, in 1833 ; in 1835 he was employed to assist in editing " The Southern 
 Literary Gazette," at Richmond ; in 1838 he removed to Philadelphia, where he 
 was connected as editor with Burton's Magazine one year, and with Graham's a 
 year and a half; and subsequently, while in that city, published several volume* 
 of tales, besides many of his finest criticisms, tales, and poems, in periodicals. He 
 went to New York in 1844, where he wrote several months for the " Evening 
 Mirror " In 1845 appeared his very popular poem of " The Raven," and the 
 same year he aided in establishing the " Broadway Journal," of which he was 
 afterward the sole editor. His wife, to whom he had been married about twelve 
 years, died in the spring of 1849. In the summer of that year he returned to 
 Virginia, where it was supposed he had mastered his previous habits of dissipa- 
 tion ; but he died from his excesses, at Baltimore, on the seventh of October, at 
 the age of thirty-eight years. In poetry, as in prose, he was eminently success- 
 ful in the metaphysical treatment of the passions. He had a great deal of imag- 
 ination and fancy, and his mind was highly analytical. His poems are con- 
 stricted with wonderful ingenuity, and finished with consummate art. 
 
APOSTROPHE TO THE bUN. 553 
 
 181. APOSTROPHE TO THE SUN. 
 
 A UGUST and sovereign sun ! Presence of grandeur ! Image 
 JL of high command ! thy rising is a sacrament of strength ; 
 nd in our souls' communion with thy rays, the eternal covenants 
 of Hope are renewed, and our being's high sympathy with Truth 
 ard Virtue is again established. Power is born within thy 
 palaces of Light, and influences of Pleasure ride on thy rushing 
 beams. Stern orb of Destiny ! what issues attend upon thy 
 coming ! Thy motions are our Fate, and thy progress up yonder 
 blue arch of heaven shall be the Anguish or the Joy of Nations. 
 
 2. Fierce firstling of Omnipotence! in whose form Infinity 
 grew palpable in splendors, when earliest its excess of energy 
 overflowed into creation. Almost titles of divinity are thine. 
 Thy changes are earth's ep'ochs : our passions and our actions 
 wait on thee : thou goest up in glory, leading the hosts of Being. 
 A.uthor of order ! token of Him that . made the universe ! to 
 thee it is given daily to renew the wonders of the primal miracle, 
 and call the earth into beauty, from the deep of Night and 
 Nothingness! Nay, even beyond the marvel of that type, thou 
 makest each morning as many worlds as there are minds within 
 it, for that dawning which seemed as general as the heavens is 
 as particular as each human heart. 
 
 3. The mingled music of thy seven-toned lyre rolls over the 
 earth ; childhood's gentle spirit, light-slumbering on its violet- 
 bed of visions, catches the finest sound of the rich symphony the 
 joy-note of the strain and, trembling into fine accord with it, 
 wakes to its fairer, falser dream of real life : the strong, full tone 
 of Duty sounds, swells, and echoes through the soul of manhood : 
 the laxer ear of age faintly hears the deep, harsh note of Custom, 
 heavily vibrating with weight of memories. From thy golden 
 fountains wells forth that perennial stream whence all drink 
 Life and Consciousness : to different lips, how various is the 
 taste ! to some, as sweet as praise ; to some, more bitter than 
 the draughts of Death. 
 
 4. Proud, melancholy orb ! lone in thy lordliness ! thou dwel- 
 lest in thy solitudes of splendor, and pourest thy bounty cease- 
 lessly on all things, and meetest with no return. Sublime in 
 thine unsocial greatness beyond the sympathies of those on 
 
 24 
 
554: NATIONAL KliTll KKADKK. 
 
 whom thy blessedness is lavished sustained by the great hap 
 piness of doing good without reward satisfied, through a thou 
 sand ages, with the pure consciousfiess of duty thou art the 
 type and teacher of the life of man. Shine on, most glorious 
 orb ! we hail in thee the elder brother of our souls, in whose 
 grandeur our nature is ennobled. H. B. WALLACE.' 
 
 182. APOSTROPHE TO THE SUN. 
 
 1. /CENTER of light and energy ! thy way 
 
 \J Is through the unknown void ; thou hast thy throne, 
 
 Morning, and evening, and at noon of day, 
 Far in the blue, untended and alone : 
 Ere the first waken'd airs of earth had blown, 
 
 On didst thou march, triumphant in thy light ; 
 
 Then didst thou send thy glance, which still hath flown 
 
 Wide through the never-ending worlds of night, 
 And yet thy full orb burns with flash unquench'd and bright. 
 
 2. Thy path is high in heaven : we can not gaze 
 
 On the intense of light that girds thy car ; 
 There is a crown of glory in thy rays, 
 
 Which bears thy pure divinity afar 
 
 To mingle with the equal light of star ; 
 For thou, so vast to us, art, in the whole, 
 
 One of the sparks of night, that fire the air ; 
 And as around thy center planets roll, 
 So thou, too, hast thy path around the Central SouL 
 
 8. Thou lookest on the earth, and then it smiles ; 
 
 Thy light is hid, and all things droop and mourn ; 
 Laughs the wide sea around her budding isles, 
 
 When through their heaven thy changing car is borne : 
 Thou wheel'st away thy flight, the woods are shorn 
 Of a'l their waving locks, and storms awake; 
 
 All, that was once so beautiful, is torn 
 By the wild winds which plow the lonely lake, 
 And in their maddening rush the crested mountains shake. 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 542. 
 
APOSTROPHE TO THE SUN. 555 
 
 4. The earth lies buried in a shroud of snow : 
 
 Life lingers, and would die, but thy return 1 
 Gives to their ghidden'd hearts an overflow 
 
 Of all the power that brooded in the urn 2 
 
 Of their chilPd frames;- and then they proudly spurn* 
 All bands that would confine, and give to air 
 
 Hues, fragrance, shapes of beauty, till they burn, 4 
 When, on a dewy morn, thou dartest there 
 Rich waves of gold to wreathe with fairer light the fair. 
 
 5. The vales are thine ; and when the touch of spring 
 
 Thrills them, and gives them gladness, in thy light 
 They glitter, as the glancing swallow's wing 
 
 Dashes the water in his winding flight, 
 
 And leaves behind a wave, that crinkles bright, 
 And widens outward to the pebbled shore ; 
 
 The vales are thine ; and when they wake from night, 
 The dews that bend the grass tips, twinkling o'er 
 Their soft and oozy beds, look upward and adore. 
 
 6. The hills are thine : they catch thy newest beam, 
 
 And gladden in thy parting, where the wood 
 Flames out in every leaf, and drinks the stream, 
 
 That flows from out thy fullness, as a flood 
 
 Bursts from an unknown land, and rolls the food 
 Of nations in its waters : so thy rays 
 
 Flow and give brighter tints, than ever bud, 
 When a clear sheet of ice reflects a blaze 
 Of many twinkling gems, as every gloss'd bough plays. 
 
 7. Thine are the mountains, where they purely lift 
 
 Snows that have never wasted, in a sky 
 Which hath no stain : below, the storm may drift 
 
 Its darkness, and the thunder-gust roar by : 
 
 Aloft in thy eternal smile they lie, 
 Dazzling, but cold. Thy farewell glance looks there; 
 
 And when below thy hues of beauty die, 
 Girt round them, as a rosy belt, they bear, 
 Into the high, dark vault, a brow that still is fair. 
 
 'Return (rotSrn'). 'Urn (Srn). Spurn (splrn). *Burn 
 
556 NATIONAL FIFfH READER. 
 
 8. The clouds are thine, and all their magic hues 
 
 Are pencilFd by thee : when thou bendest low, 
 Or comest in thy strength, thy hand imbues 
 Their waving fold with such a perfect glow 
 Of all pure tints, the fairy pictures throw 
 Shame on the proudest art. The tender stain 
 
 Hung round the verge of heaven, that as a bow 
 Girds the wide world ; and in their blended chain, 
 All tints, to the deep gold that flashes in thy train ; 
 
 ^. These are thy trophies, and thou bend'st thy arch, 
 
 The sign of triumph, in a seven-fold twine, 1 
 
 Where the spent storm is hasting on its march, 
 
 And there the glories of thy light combine, 
 
 And form with perfect curve a lifted line, 
 
 Striding the earth and air. Man looks, and tells 
 
 How Peace and Mercy in its beauty shine, 
 And how the heavenly messenger impels 
 Her glad wings on the path, that thus in e'ther swells. 
 
 10. The ocean is thy vassal ; thou dost sway 
 
 His waves to thy dominion, and they go 
 Where thou, in heaven, dost guide them on their way, 
 Rismg and falling in eternal flow : 
 Thou lookest on the waters, and they glow ; 
 They take them wings, and spring aloft in air, 
 
 And change to clouds, and then, dissolving, thnxw 
 Their treasures back to earth, and, rushing, tear 
 The mountain and the vale, as proudly on they bear. 
 
 11 In thee, first light, the bounding ocean smiles, 
 When the quick winds uprear it in a swell, 
 That rolls in glittering green around the isles, 
 Where ever-springing fruits and blossoms dwell. 
 Oh ! with a joy no gifted tongue can tell, 
 I hurry o'er the waters when the sail 
 
 Swells tensely, and the light keel glances well 
 Over the curling billow, and the gale 
 Comes off from spicy groves to tell its winning tale. 
 
 'The seven principal colors of .the rainbow. 
 
THE OCEAN. 557 
 
 12. The soul is thine : of old thou wert the power 
 
 Who gave the poet life ; and I in thee 
 Feel my heart gladden at the holy hour 
 When thou art sinking in the silent sea : 
 Or when 1 climb the 'height, and wander free 
 In thy meridian glory ; for the air 
 
 Sparkles and burns in thy intensity ; 
 I feel thy light within me, and I share 
 In the full glow of soul thy spirit kindles there. 
 
 J. G. PERCIVAL 
 
 183. THE OCEAN. 
 
 1. 1YTOW stretch your eye off shore, o'er waters maae 
 
 -i I To cleanse the air and bear the world's great tradtx/ 
 To rise, and wet the mountains near the sun, 
 Then back into themselves in rivers run ; 
 Fulfilling mighty uses far and wide, 
 Through earth, in air, or here, as ocean-tide. 
 
 2. Ho ! how the giant heaves himself, and strains 
 And flings to break his strong and viewless chains ; 
 Foams in his wrath ; and at his prison doors 
 Hark! hear him! how he beats, and tugs, and roare 
 As if he would break forth again, and sweep 
 
 Each living thing within his lowest deep ! 
 
 8. Type of the Infinite! I look away 
 Over thy billows, and I can not stay 
 My thought upon a resting-place, or- make 
 A shore beyond my vision, where they break; 
 But on my spirit stretches, till it 's pain 
 To think ; then rests, and then puts forth again. 
 Thou hold'st me by a spell ; and on thy beach 
 I feel all soul ; and thoughts unmeasured reach 
 Far back beyond all date. And, oh ! how old 
 Thou art to me ! For countless ages thou hast roll' 
 
 4. Before an ear did hear thee, thou didst mourn, 
 Prophet of sorrows, o'er a race unborn ; 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 238. 
 
558 NATIONAL FIFfH READEK. 
 
 Waiting, thou mighty minister of death, 
 
 Lonely thy work, ere man had drawn his breath. 
 
 At last thou didst it well ! The dread command 
 
 Came, and thou swept'st to death the breathing land ; 
 
 And then once more unto the silent heaven 
 
 Thy lone and melancholy voice was given. 
 
 6 And, though the land is throngVl again, O Sea 1 
 Strange sadness touches all that goes with thee. 
 The small bird's plaining note, the wild, sharp call, 
 Share thy own spirit : it is sadness all ! 
 How dark and stern upon thy waves looks down 
 Yonder tall cliff he with the iron crown ! 
 And see ! those sable pines along the steep 
 Are come to join thy requiem, gloomy deep ! 
 Like stoled monks, they stand and chant the dirge 
 Over the dead, with thy low beating surge. R. H. DANA.' 
 
 181. THE SEA. 
 
 HA ! exclaimed I, as I sprang upon the broad beach of the 
 Mediterranean, and my spirit drank the splendid spectacle 
 of light and life that spread before rne what a relief it is to 
 escape from the straining littleness and wearisome affectation of 
 men, to the free, majestic, and inspiring sea to listen to his 
 stern, exalted voice to watch the untrammeled swell of these 
 pure waters, till the pulse of our own heart beats in sympathetic 
 nobleness to behold it heave in untiring energy changing 
 momently in form, changing never in impression ! 
 
 2. Wh.it joy is it to be sure that here there is nothing coun- 
 terfeit nothing feigned nothing artificial ! Feeling, here, 
 grapples with what will never falter; imagination here may 
 spread its bert-plumed wings, but will never outstrip the real. 
 There is here none of that fear which never leaves the handi- 
 craft of ait the fear of penetrating beneafh the surface of 
 beauty. Hc/e, man feels his majesty by feeling his nothingness ; 
 for the maj'.-sty of man lies in his conceptions, and the concep- 
 tion of self- nothingness is the grandest we can have. That small 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 251. 
 
THE SKA. 559 
 
 and noxious passion-mist, which we call our soul, is driver, with- 
 out ; and our TRUE soul the soul of the universe, which we are 
 enters into us. 
 
 3. The spirit which rests like a vapor visibly upon the bosom 
 of the waters, is a presence and a pervading power; and the 
 breath which it exhales is life, and love, and splendid strength. 
 Nothing in nature renders back to man the full and instant 
 sympathy which is accorded by the mighty being who thus re- 
 poses mildly in the generous grandeur of his glorious power. 
 We may love the forms of the trees, the colors of the sky, and 
 the impressive vastncss of the hills; but we can ir.ver animate 
 them with a soul of life, and persuade ourselves that they expe- 
 rience the feeling which they cause. 
 
 4. But the sea, as its countenance shows its myriad mutations 
 with the variety and rapidity of the passions which sport through 
 the breast of man, seems truly to return the emotion which is 
 breathed toward him ; and fellowship and friendship yea, and 
 personal affection are the sentiments which his gambols rouse 
 in the spectator's heart. The flashing smiles that sparkle in his 
 eye are they not his happy thoughts? and the ripples that 
 flit their scouring dance over his breast arc they not feelings 
 of delight that agitate his frame ? 
 
 5. Whether I am amid mountains or on plains, there is not 
 an hour in which my existence is not haunted by the remem- 
 brance of the ocean. It abides beside me like a thought of my 
 mind ; it occupies my total fancy ; I ever seem to stand be- 
 fore it. And I know that whenever it shall fare so ill with me 
 in the world that comfort and consolation can no linger be found 
 in it, I have a paraclete 1 beside the shelving beach who will give 
 the consolation man withholds. The strong, thick wind which 
 comes from it will be full of life ; the petty tumult of care will 
 be shamed by the gigantic struggle of the elements, and subside 
 to peace. What can be more noble or more affecting than the 
 picture of the old priest, who, wronged by the Grecian king 
 his calm age fired with passion retires along the shore of the 
 sounding sea, and soothes his breast ere he invokes the god? 
 " Thoughts like those are medicined best by nature." 
 
 Par' a elite, a comforter ; advocate ; intercessor. 
 
560 NATIONAL FIJTH READER. 
 
 6. I have never stood by the banks of the ocean thus superbly 
 fringed with curling waves, and listened to that strange, ques- 
 tionable, echoed roar, without an emotion altogether supernatu- 
 ral. That moan that wail of the waters which comes to the 
 ear, borne on the wind in the stillness of evening, sounds like 
 the far-off complaint of another world, or the groan of our own 
 world's innermost spirit. Like some of the unearthly music of 
 Germany, when heard for the first time, it startles a feeling in 
 the secret mind which has never before been wakened in this 
 world, giving us assurance of another life, and the strongest 
 proof that our soul is essentially, immortal. H. B. WALLACE.' 
 
 185. APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN. 
 
 1. nPHERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods; 
 
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore ; 
 There is society, where none intrudes, 
 By the deep sea, and music in its roar. 
 I love not man the less, but Nature more, 
 From these our interviews, in which I steal 
 From all I may be, or have been before, 
 To mingle with the universe, and feel 
 What I can ne'er express, yet can not all conceal. 
 
 2. Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean roll ! 
 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain : 
 Man marks the earth wifli ruin his control 
 
 Stops with the shore : upon the watery plain 
 
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
 
 When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
 He sinks into thy depths, with bubbling groan, 
 Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. 
 
 3. His steps are not upon thy paths thy fields 
 
 Are not a spoil for him : thou dost arise 
 And shake him from thee : the vile strength he wields 
 For earth's destruction thou dost all despise. 
 
 J See Biographical Sketch, p. 542. 
 
* 
 
 APOSTUOPHK T.) THK OCKAN. 
 
 Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 
 And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spra), 
 
 And howling to his gfids, where haply lies 
 His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
 And dashest him again to earth : there let him lay 
 
 4. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
 
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
 And monarchs tremble in their capitals ; 
 
 The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
 
 Their clay creator the vain title take 
 Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; 
 
 These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
 They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
 Alike the Armada's 1 pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 9 
 
 5. Thy shores "are empires, changed in all save thee: 
 
 Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage what are they t 
 Thy waters wasted them while they were free, 
 
 And many a tyrant since : their shores obey 
 
 The stranger, slave, or savage: their decay 
 Has dried up realms to deserts. Not so thou : 
 
 Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play, 
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow 
 Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 
 
 6. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
 
 Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time 
 Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
 Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
 Dark-heaving boundless, endless, and sublime, 
 
 1 Ar ma' da, a fleet of armed ships ; a squadron. The term is usually 
 applied to the Spanish fleet called the Invincible Armada, consisting ol 
 130 ships, intended to act against England in the reign of Queen ELIZA- 
 BETH, A. D. 1588.-- 3 Traf al gar', a cape on the coast of Spain, rendered 
 famous by a naval battle fought there on the 19th of October, 1805, in 
 which Lord NELSON, with an English fleet of 27 sail of the line and 5 
 frigates, gained a complete victory over a French fleet of 33 sail and 7 
 frigates. In the heat of the action, NELSON was shot through the back 
 by a musket ball. He survived till the victory was complete ; and his 
 last words were, "Thank God, I have done my duty." 
 
 36 
 
562 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 The image of Eternity the throne 
 
 Of the Invisible ! even from out thy slime 
 The monsters of the deep are made : each zone 
 Obeys thee : thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 
 
 7. And I have loved thee, OCEAN ! and my joy 
 Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
 Borne, like ihy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
 I wanton'd with thy breakers : they to me 
 Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
 Made them a terror, 'twas a pleasing fear, 
 
 For I was, as it were, a child of thee, 
 And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
 And laid my hand upon thy mane as I do here. BYKON. 
 
 186. BRUTUS AND Trrus. 
 
 Brutus. Well, Titus, speak ; how is it with thee now I 
 I would attend a while this mighty motion, 
 Wait till the tempest were quite overblown, 
 That I might take thee in the calm of nature, 
 With all thy gentler virtues brooding on thee : 
 So hush'd a stillness, as if all the gods 
 Look'd down and listened to what we were saying : 
 Speak, then, and tell me, my best beloved, 
 My son, my Titus ! is all well again ? 
 
 Titus. So well, that saying how must make it nothing : 
 So well, that I could wish to die this moment, 
 For so my heart, with powerful throbs, persuades me 
 That were indeed to make you reparation; 
 That were, my lord, to thank you home to die 
 And that, for Titus, too, would be most happy. 
 
 Brutus. How's that^ my son ? would death for thee be happy ? 
 
 Titux. Most certain, Sir; for in my grave I 'scape 
 All those affronts which I, in life, must look for ; 
 \\\ those reproaches which the eyes, the fingers, 
 And tongues of Rome will daily cast upon me, 
 From whom, to a soul so sensible as mine, 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 292. 
 
BRUTUS AND TITUS. 563 
 
 Each single scorn would be far worse than dying. 
 Besides, 1 'scape the stings of my own conscience, 
 Which will forever rack me with remembrance, 
 Haunt me by day, and torture me by night, 
 Casting my blotted honor in the way, 
 Where'er my melancholy thoughts shall guide me. 
 
 Brutus. But, is not death a very dreadful thing? 
 
 Titus. Not to a mind resolved. No, Sir ; to me 
 It seems as natural as to be born. 
 Groans and convulsions, and discolor'd faces, 
 Friends weeping round us, crapes and obsequies, 
 Make it a dreadful thing : the pomp of death 
 Is far more terrible than death itself. 
 Yes, Sir ; I call the powers of heaven to witness, 
 Titus dares die, if so you have decreed ; 
 Nay, he shall die wifti joy to honor Brutus. 
 
 Brutus. Thou perfect glory of the Junian race ! 
 Let me endear thee once more to my bosom ; 
 Groan an eternal farewell to thy soul ; 
 Instead of tears, weep blood, if possible ; 
 Blood, the heart-blood of Brutus, on his child ! 
 For thou must die, my Titus die, my son ! 
 I swear, the gods have doom'd thee to the grave. 
 The violated genius of thy country 
 Bares his sad head, and passes sentence on thee. 
 This morning sun, that lights thy sorrows on 
 To the tribunal of this horrid vengeance, 
 Shall never see thee more ! 
 
 Titus. Alas ! my lord, 
 
 Why art thou moved thus ? Why am I worth thy s5rr6w ? 
 Why should the godlike Brutus shake to doom me ? 
 \Yh y all these trappings for a traitor's hearse ? 
 The gods will have it so. 
 
 Brutus. They will, my Titus ; 
 
 Nor heaven nor earth can have it otherwise. 
 Nay, Titus, mark ! the deeper that I search, 
 My harass'd soul returns the more confirm'd. 
 Methiuks I see the very hand of Jove 
 Moving the dreadful wheels of this affair, 
 
564 NATIONAL FIFi'H READER. 
 
 Like a machine, they whirl thee to thy fate. 
 
 It seems as if the gods had preordain'd it, 
 
 To fix the reeling spirits of the people, 
 
 And settle the loose liberty of Rome. 
 
 'Tis fix'd ; oh, therefore let not fancy dupe thee ! 
 
 So fix'd thy death, that 'tis not in the power 
 
 Of gods or men to save thee from the ax. 
 
 Titus. The ax ! O Heaven ! must I, then, fall so basely ? 
 What ! shall I perish by the common hangman ? 
 
 Brutus. If thou deny me this, thou givest me nothing. 
 Yes, Titus, since the gods have so decreed 
 That I must lose thee, I will take the advantage 
 Of thy important fate ; cement Rome's flaws, 
 And heal her wounded freedom wifh thy blood. 
 I will ascend myself the sad tribunal, 
 And sit upon my son on thee, my Titus ; 
 Behold thee suffer all the shame of death, 
 The lictor's lashes, bleed before the people ; 
 Then, with thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee, 
 See thy head taken by the common ax, 
 Without a groan, without one pitying tear 
 (If that the gods can hold me to my purpose), 
 To make my justice quite transcend example. 
 
 Titus. Scourged like a bondman ! Ha ! a beaten slave * 
 But I deserve it aD : yet, here I fail ; 
 The image of this suffering quite unmans me. 
 O Sir ! O Brutus ! must I call you father, 
 Yet have no token of your tenderness 
 No sign of mercy ? What ! not bate me that ? 
 Can you resolve on all the extremity 
 Of cruel rigor ? To behold me, too 
 To sit, unmoved, and see me whipp'd to death 
 Is this a father? 
 
 Ah, Sir, why should you make my heart suspect 
 That all your late compassion was dissembled ? 
 How can I think that you did ever love me ? 
 
 Brutus. Think that I love thee, by my present passion, 
 By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here ; 
 These sighs, that twitch the very strings of life ; 
 
THE RAVEN. 565 
 
 Think that no other cause on earth could move me 
 To tremble thus, to sob, or shed a tear, 
 Nor shake my solid virtue from her point, 
 But Titus' death. Oh, do not call it shameful 
 That thus shall fix the glory of the world. 
 I own thy suffering ought to unman me thus, 
 To make me throw my body on the ground, 
 To bellow like a beast, to gnaw the earth, 
 To tear my hair, to curse the cruel fates 
 That force a father thus to kill his child ! 
 Titus. 0, rise, thou violated majesty ! 
 I now submit to all your threaten'd vengeance. 
 Come forth, ye executioners of justice ! 
 Nay, all ye lictors, slaves, and common hangmen, 
 Come, strip me bare, unrobe me in his sight, 
 And lash me till I bleed ! Whip me, like furies ! 
 And, when you've scourged me till I foam and fall, 
 For want of spirits, grovelling in the dust, 
 Then take my head, and give it to his justice : 
 By all the gods, I greedily resign it ? LEE. 
 
 NATHANIEL LEK, an English dramatic writer, was born in Hertfordshire in 
 1651. He received a classical education at Westminster school, and at Trinity 
 College, Cambridge. He tried the stage botli as an actor and author ; was four 
 years in bedlam from wild insanity; but recovered his reason, resumed hi& 
 labors as a dramatist, and though subject to fits of partial derangement, con- 
 tinued to write till the end of his life. He was the author of eleven tragedies, 
 besides assisting DRYDEN in the composition of " QEdipus" and " The Duke of 
 Guise." His best tragedies are the " Rival Queens," " Mithridates," " Theo- 
 dosius," and " Lucius Junius Brutus." He possessed no small degree of the fire of 
 genius, excelling in tenderness and genuine passion ; but his style often degen- 
 erates into bombast and extravagant phrensy, in part caused by his mental 
 malady. He died in London on the 6th of April, 1692. 
 
 187. THE RAVEN. 
 
 i. 
 
 ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I ponder'd, weak and 
 weary, 
 
 Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, 
 While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 
 As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door. 
 
566 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 tt 'Tis some visitor," I mutterd, "tapping at ray chamber-door 
 Only this, and nothing more." 
 
 n. 
 
 All, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, 
 And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
 Eagerly I wish'd the morrow : vainly I had sought to borrow 
 From my books surcease of sorrow sorrow for the lost Leuore 
 For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore 
 Nameless here forevermore. 
 
 in. 
 
 And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, 
 Thrill'd me fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; 
 So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, 
 " Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door, 
 Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door ; 
 That it is, and nothing more." 
 
 Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating then no longer, 
 " Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; 
 But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
 And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, 
 That I scarce was sure I heard you" here I open'd wide the door : 
 Darkness there, and nothing more. 
 
 v. 
 Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, 
 
 fearing, 
 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream 
 
 before ; 
 
 But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, 
 And the only word there spoken was the whisper'd word, 
 
 " Lenore !" 
 
 This/whispcr\l,andan echo murmur'd back the word, "LENORE !" 
 Merely this, and nothing more. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
 Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. 
 
THE RAVEN. 567 
 
 " Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my window-lattice ; 
 Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery explore, 
 Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ; 
 'Tis the wind, and nothing more." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 
 In there stepp'd a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. 
 Not the least obeisance made he ; not a minute stopp'd or stay 'd he ; 
 Bui, with mien of lord or lady, perch'd above my chamber-door, 
 Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door 
 Perch'd, and sat, and nothing more. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 
 By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 
 " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure 
 
 no craven ; 
 Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly 
 
 shore, 
 
 Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore ?" 
 Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 
 
 IX. 
 
 Much I marvel'd this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
 Though its answer little meaning little relevancy bore ; 
 For we can not help agreeing that no living human being 
 Ever ySt was bless'd with seeing bird above his chamber-door 
 Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door, 
 
 With such name as " Nevermore !" 
 
 x. 
 
 But the raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
 That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 
 Nothing further then he utter'd not a feather then he flutter'd 
 Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, " Other friends have flown 
 
 before 
 On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." 
 
 Then the bird said, " Nevermore !" 
 
 XI. 
 
 Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, 
 "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, 
 
568 NATIONAL FIFTH KKADKU. 
 
 Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster 
 FollowM fast and follow'd faster, till his songs one burden bore, 
 Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, 
 Of " Never nevermore !" 
 
 XII. 
 
 But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into'smiling, 
 Straight I wheeled a cushion'd seat in front of biru, and bust, 
 
 and door, 
 
 Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
 Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore 
 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 
 Meant in croaking " Nevermore !" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 
 To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burn'd into my bosom's core; 
 This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
 On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
 But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloating o'e" 
 She shall press ah ! nevermore ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen 
 
 censer 
 
 Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 
 " Wretch," I cried, " thy God hath lent thee by these angels 
 
 he hath sent thee 
 
 Respite respite and nepenthe 1 from thy memories of Lenore ! 
 Quaff, oh, quaff this kind iiepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore !" 
 Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 
 
 xv. 
 
 ' Piophet !" said I, " thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
 Whfther tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd thee here ashore, 
 Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted 
 On this home by Horror haunted tell me truly, I implore 
 Is there isihere balm in Gilead? tell me tell me, I implore!' 1 
 Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 
 
 1 Ne p&n' the, a drug or medicine that relieves pain and exhilarates. 
 
THE SARACEN BROTHERS. 569 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "Prophet !" said I, " thing of evil ! prophet still, if bird or devil! 
 By that heaven that bends above us by that God we both adore, 
 Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, 1 
 It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Leriore ; 
 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore!" 
 Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!" 
 
 XVII. 
 
 "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I fihriek'd, 
 
 upstarting 
 
 " G8t thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore ! 
 Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken ! 
 Leave my loneliness unbroken ! quit the bust above my door ! 
 Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from <5ff 
 
 my door !" 
 
 Quoth the raven, " Nevermore !" 
 
 XVIII. " 
 
 And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
 On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door ; 
 And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, 
 And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the 
 
 /floor ; 
 
 And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor 
 Shall be lifted NEVERMORE ! EDGAR A. POE.* 
 
 188. THE SARACEN BROTHERS. 
 
 Attendant. A stranger craves admittance to your high 
 
 Saladin. Whence comes he ? 
 
 Attcn. That I know not. 
 Enveloped with a vestment of strange form, 
 His countenance is hidden; but his step, 
 His lofty port, his voice in vain disguised, 
 Proclaim if that I dare pronounce it 
 
 N///. Whom ? 
 
 1 Aidenn. from Aides, a name preferred by the poets-for Hades. In 
 HOMKR, Aid6s is invariably the name of the god ; but in latter times it 
 was transferred to his house, his abode, or kingdom, so that it became 
 a name for the nether world. 'See Biographical Sketch, p. 552. 
 
670 NATIONAL FIFTH READF.R. 
 
 Atten. Thy royal brother ! 
 
 Sal. Bring him instantly. [Exit ATTENDANT. 
 
 Now, with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue, 
 Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks 
 To dissipate my anger. He shall die. 
 
 [Enter ATTENDANT and MALEK ADHEL. 
 Leave us together. [Exit ATTENDANT.] [ylsicfe.] I should know 
 
 that form. 
 
 Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul, x 
 Nor, though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty ! 
 [Aloud.] Well, stranger, speak; but first unvail thyself, 
 For Saladin 1 must view the form that fronts him. 
 
 Malek Adhel. Behold it, then ! 
 
 Sal. I see a traitor's visage. 
 
 Mai. Ad. A brother's ! 
 
 Sal. No ! 
 
 Saladin owns no kindred with a villain. 
 
 Mai. Ad. O, patience, Heaven. Had any tongue but thine 
 Utter'd that word, it ne'er should speak another. 
 
 Sal. And why not now ? Can this heart be more pierced 
 By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds ? 
 Oh, thou hast made a desert of this bosom ! 
 For open candor, planted sly disguise ; 
 For confidence, suspicion ; and the glow 
 Of generous friendship, tenderness, and love, 
 Forever banish'd ! Whither can I turn, 
 When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith, 
 By every tie, bound to support, forsakes me ? 
 Who, who can stand, when Malek Adhel falls ? 
 Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love : 
 The smiles of friendship, and this glorious world, 
 
 1 SALADIN, the hero of this dramatic piece, was born in 1137. He be- 
 came Sultan of Egypt and Syria in 1168, from which period he is noted 
 for his wars with the Christian crusaders. He died at Damascus in 1193, 
 leaving a brother and seventeen sons to share his power and conquests. 
 Christians and Saracens have vied with each other in writing panegyr- 
 ics on the justice, valor, generosity, and political wisdom of this prince, 
 who possessed the art, not simply of acquiring power, but of devoting it 
 to the good of his subjects. 
 
THE 8AKACKN BROTHERS. 571 
 
 In which all find some heart to rest upon, 
 Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void, 
 His brother has betray'd him ! 
 
 Mai. Ad. Thou art soften'd ; 
 
 I am thy brother, then ; but late thou saidst 
 
 My tongue can never utter the base title ! 
 
 Sal. Was it traitor ? True ! 
 Thou hast betray'd me in my fondest hopes ! 
 Villain ? 'Tis just; the title is appropriate ! 
 Dissembler ? 'Tis not written in thy face ; 
 No, nor imprinted on that specious brow ; 
 But on this breaking heart the name is stamp'd, * 
 Forever stamp'd, with that of Malek Adhel ! 
 Think'st thou I'm sofren'd ? By Mohammed !' these hands 
 Should crush these aching eyeballs, ere a tear 
 Fall from them at thy fate ! monster, monster ! 
 The brute that tears the infant from its nurse 
 Is excellent to thee, for in his form 
 The impulse of his nature may be read ; 
 But thou, so beautiful, so proud, so noble, 
 Oh, what a wretch art thou ! Oh ! can a terra 
 In all the various -tongues of man be found 
 To match thy infamy ? 
 
 Mai. Ad. Go on ! go on ! 
 
 'Tis but a little while to hear thee, Saladin ; 
 And, bursting at thy feet, this heart will prove 
 Its penitence, at least. 
 
 Sal. That were an end 
 
 Too noble for a traitor! The bowstring is 
 A more appropriate finish ! Thou shalt die ! 
 
 Mai. Ad. And death were welcome at another's mandate I 
 What, what have I to live for? Be it so, 
 If that, in all thy armies, can be found 
 An executing hand. 
 
 Sal. Oh, doubt it not ! 
 
 They're eager for the office. Perfidy, 
 So black as thine, effaces from their minds 
 
 1 MOHAMMED, see p. 394, note 2. 
 
572 NATIONAL FIFfH READER. 
 
 All memory of thy former excellence. 
 
 Mai. Ad. Defer not then their wishes. Saladin, 
 If e'er this form was joyful to thy sight, 
 This voice seem'd grateful to thine ear, accede 
 To my last prayer : Oh, lengthen not this scene, 
 To which the agonies of death were pleasing! 
 Lt-t me die speedily ! 
 
 Sal. This very hour ! 
 
 [ Aside.] For, oh ! the more I look upon that face 
 The more I hear the accents of that voice, 
 The monarch softens, and the judge is lost 
 In all the brofher's weakness ; yet such guilt, 
 Such vile ingratitude, it calls for vengeance ; 
 And vengeance it shall have! What, ho! who waits there? 
 
 [Enter ATTENDANT 
 
 Alien. Did your highness call ? 
 
 Sal. Assemble quickly 
 
 My forces in the court. Tell them they come 
 To view the death of yonder bosom-traitor. 
 And, bid them mark, that he who will not spare 
 His brother when he errs, expects obedience, 
 Silent obedience, from his followers. [Exit ATTENDANT 
 
 189. THE SARACEN BROTHERS CONCLUDED. 
 
 Mai. Ad. Now, Saladin, 
 The word is given, I have nothing more 
 To fear from thee, my brother. I am not 
 About to crave a miserable life. 
 Without thy love, thy honor, thy esteem, 
 Life were a burden to me. Think not, either, 
 The justice of thy sentence I would question. 
 But one request now trembles on my tongue, 
 One wish still clinging round the heart, which soon 
 Not even that shall torture, will it, then, 
 Think'st thou, thy slumbers render quieter, 
 Thy waking thoughts more pleasing, to reflect, 
 That when thy voice hal dooin'd a brother's death, 
 
THE 8AKACKN BKOTHKRS. 
 
 5T3 
 
 The last request which e'er was his to utter, 
 Thy harshness made him carry to the grave ? 
 
 Sal. Speak, then ; but ask thyself if thou hast reason 
 To look for much indulgence here. 
 
 Mai. Ad. I have not ! 
 
 Yet will I ask for it. We part forever ; 
 This is our last farewell; the king is satisfied; 
 The judge has spoke the irrevocable sentence. 
 None sees, none hears, save that omniscient Power, 
 Which, trust me, will not frown to look upon 
 Two brothers part like such. When, in the face 
 Of forces once my own, I'm led to death, 
 Then be thine eye unmoisten'd ; let thy voice 
 Then speak ray doom untrembling ; then 
 Unmoved, behold this stiff and blacken'd corse ; 
 But now I ask nay, turn not, Saladiri ! 
 I ask one single pressure of thy hand ; 
 From that stern eye one solitary tear 
 Oh, torturing recollection ! one kind word 
 From the loved tongue which once breathed naught but kindness. 
 Still silent? Brother! friend ! beloved companion 
 Of all my youthful sports ! are they forgotten ? 
 Strike me with deafness, make me blind, Heaven ! 
 Let me not see this unforgiving man 
 Smile at my agonies ! nor hear that voice 
 Pronounce my doom, which would not say one word, 
 One little word, whose cherish'd memory 
 Would soothe the struggles of departing life ! 
 Yet, yet thou wilt ! Oh, turn thee, Saladin ! 
 Look on my face thou canst not spurn me then ; 
 Look on the once-loved face of Malek Adhel 
 For the last time, and call him 
 
 Sal. [seizing his hand]. Brother ! brother ! 
 
 Mai. Ad. [breaking away]. Now call thy followers. 
 Death has not now a single pang in store. Proceed I Fm reauy 
 
 Sal. Oh, art thou ready to forgive, my brother? 
 To pardon him who found one single error, 
 One little failing, mid a splendid thrSng 
 Of glorious qualities--- 
 
574 NATIONAL FIFTH KKADEK. 
 
 Mai. Ad. Oh, stay thee, Saladin ! 
 I did not ask for life. I only wish'd 
 To carry thy forgiveness to the grave. 
 No, Emperor, the loss of Cesarea 
 Cries loudly for the blood of Malek Adhel. 
 Thy soldiers, too, demand that he who lost 
 What cost them many a weary hour to gain, 
 Should expiate his offences with his life. 
 Lo ! even now they crowd to view my death, 
 Thy just impartiality. I go ! 
 Pleased by my fate to add one other leaf 
 To thy proud wreath of glory. [Going. 
 
 Sal. Thou shalt not. [Enter ATTENDANT 
 
 Atten. My lord, the troops assembled by your order 
 Tumultuous throng the courts. The prince's death 
 Not one of them but vows he will not suffer. 
 The mutes have fled ; the very guards rebel. 
 Nor think I, in this city's spacious round, 
 Can e'er be found a hand to do the office. 
 
 Mai. Ad. O faithful friends ! [To Atten.] Thine shalt 
 
 Atten. Mine? Never! 
 The other first shall lop it from the body. 
 
 Sal. They teach the Emperor his duty well. 
 Tell them he thanks them for it. Tell them, too, 
 That ere their opposition reached our ears, 
 Saladin had forgiven Malek Adhel. 
 
 Atten. O joyful news ! 
 I haste to gladden many a gallant heart, 
 And dry the tear on many a hardy cheek, 
 Unused to such a visitor. [Exit. 
 
 Sal. These men, the meanest in society, 
 The outcasts of the earth, by war, by nature 
 Harden'd, and render'd callous, these, who claim 
 Xo kindred with thee, who have never heard 
 The accents of affection from thy lips, 
 Oh, these can cast aside their vow'd allegiance, 
 Throw off their long obedie'nce, risk their livea, 
 To save thee from destruction ! While I, 
 T, who can not, in all my memory, 
 
MILTON. 575 
 
 Call back one danger which thou hast not shared, 
 
 One day of grief, one night of revelry, 
 
 Which thy resistless kindness hath not soothed, 
 
 Or thy gay smile and converse render'd sweeter, 
 
 I, who have thrice in the ensanguined field, 
 
 When death seem'd certain, only utter'd "BROTHER!" 
 
 And seen that form like lightning rush between 
 
 Saladin and his foes, and that brave breast 
 
 Dauntless exposed to many a furious blo~w 
 
 Intended for my own, I could forget 
 
 That 'twas to thee I owed the very breath 
 
 Which sentenced thee to perish ! Oh, 'tis shameful 1 
 
 Thou canst not pardon me ! 
 
 Mai. Ad. By these tears, I can ! 
 brother ! from this vry hour, a new, 
 A glorious life commences ! I am all thine ! 
 Again the day of gladness or of anguish 
 Shall Malek Adhel share ; and 6ft again 
 May this sword fence thee in the bloody field. 
 Henceforth, Saladin, 
 My heart, my soul, my sword, are thine forever. 
 
 NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINB. 
 
 190. MILTON. 
 
 E venture to say, paradoxical 1 as the remark may appear, 
 that no poet has ever had to struggle wife more unfavora- 
 ble circumstances than Milton. He doubted, as he has himself 
 owned, whether he had not been born " an age too*latc." For 
 this notion Johnson 2 has thought fit to make him the butt of his 
 clumsy ridicule. The poet, we believe, understood the nature of 
 his art better than the critic. He knew that his poetical genius 
 derived no advantage from the civilization which surrounded 
 him. or from the learning which he had acquired ; and he looked 
 back with something like regret to the ruder age of simple words 
 and vivid impressions. 
 
 2. We think that as civilization advances, poetry almost nec- 
 
 1 Parad&x' i cal, seemingly absurd ; inclined to tenets contrary to re 
 oeived opinions. 'JOHNSON, see Biographical Sketch, p. 230. 
 
576 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 essarily declines. Therefore, though we admire those great 
 works of imagination which have appeared in dark ages, we do 
 not admire them the more because they have appeared in dark 
 ages. On the contrary, we hold that the most wonderful and 
 splendid proof of genius is a great poem produced in a civilized 
 age. We can not understand why those who believe in that 
 most orthodox article of literary faith, that the earliest poets arc 
 generally the best, should wonder at the rule as if it were the 
 exception. Surely the uniformity of the phenomenon indicates 
 a corresponding uniformity in the cause. 
 
 3. He who, in an . enlightened and literary society, aspires to 
 be a great poet, must first become a little child. He must take 
 to pieces the whole web of his mind. He must unlearn much 
 of that knowledge which has, perhaps, constituted hitherto his 
 chief title of superiority. His very talents will be a hinderance 
 to him. His difficulties will be proportioned to his proficiency 
 in the pursuits which are fashionable among his contemporaries ; 
 and that proficiency will in general be proportioned to the vigor 
 and activity of his mind. And it is well, if, after all his sacri- 
 fices and exertions, his works do not resemble a lisping man 01 
 a modern ruin. We have seen, in our own time, great talents, 
 intense labor, and long meditation employed in this struggle 
 against the spirit of the age ; and employed, we will not say 
 absolutely in vain, but with dubious success and feeble applause. 
 
 4. If these reasonings be just, no poet has ever triumphed 
 over greater difficulties than Milton. He received a learned 
 education. He was a profound and elegant classical scholar : he 
 had studied all the mysteries of Rabbinical' literature : he was 
 intimately acquainted with every language of modern Europe, 
 from which either pleasure or information was then to be de- 
 rived. He was, perhaps, the only great poet of later times who 
 has been distinguished by the excellence of his Latin verse. 
 
 5. It is not our intention to attempt any thing like a complete 
 examination of the poetry of Milton. The public has long been 
 agreed as to the merit of the most remarkable passages, the in- 
 coin'parable harmony of the numbers, and the excellence of that 
 
 1 Rabbin' ical, pertaining to Rabbins, or Jewish doctors, and then 
 tenets. 
 
MILTON. 577 
 
 style which no rival has been able to equal, and no parodist 1 to 
 degrade ; which displays in their highest perfection the idiomatic* 
 powers of the English tongue, and to which every ancient and 
 every modern language has contributed something of grace, of 
 energy, or of music. In the vast field of criticism in which we 
 arc entering, innumerable reapers have already put their sickles. 
 YSt the harvest is so abundant that the negligent search of a 
 straggling gleaner may be rewarded wifh a sheaf. 
 
 6. The most striking characteristic of the poetry of Milton is 
 the extreme remoteness of the associations by means of which it 
 acts on the reader. Its effect is produced,* not so much by what 
 it expresses as by what it suggests ; not' so much by the ideas 
 which it directly conveys, as by other ideas which are connected 
 wifh them. He electrifies the mind through conductors. The 
 most unimaginative man must understand the "Iliad." Homer 3 
 gives him no choice, and requires from him no exertion ; but 
 takes the whole upon himself, and sets his images in so clear a 
 light that it is impossible to be blind to them. The works of 
 Milton can not be comprehended or enjoyed, unless the mind of 
 the reader cooperate with that of the writer. He does not paint 
 a finished picture, or play for a mere passive listener. He 
 sketches, and leaves others to fill up the outline. He strikes the 
 key-note, and expects his hearer to make out the melody. 
 
 7. We often hear of the magical influence of poetry. The 
 expression in general means nothing ; but, applied to the writ- 
 ings of Milton, it is most appropriate, ffis poetry acts like an 
 incantation. Its merit lies less in its obvious meaning than in 
 its occult 4 power. There would seern, at first sight, to be no 
 more in his words than in other words. But they are words of 
 enchantment ; no sooner are they pronounced than the past is 
 present, and the distant near. New 'forms of beauty start at 
 once into existence, and all the burial-places of the memory give 
 up their dead. Change the structure of the sentence, substitute 
 one synonym for another, and the whole effect is destroyed. 
 The spell loses its power ; and he who should then hope to con- 
 
 1 Par' o dist, one who makes a burlesque alteration, by wbich poetry 
 written on one subject is applied to another. 2 Id io mafic, peculiar to 
 a language.- * HOMI-.T;. srr p. 21-"), not.- 1. * or cult', invisible; con 
 sealed from the eye or understanding. 
 
 26 
 
578 NATIONAL FIFTH KEADEft. 
 
 jure wifli it would find himself as much mistaken as Cassim ir 
 the Arabian tale, when he stood crying " Open Wheat," " Open 
 Barley," to the door which obeyed no sound but "Open Sesa- 
 me !"' The miserable failure of Dryden, 2 in his attempt to re- 
 write some parts of the "Paradise Lost," is a remarkable in- 
 stance of this. 
 
 191. MILTON CONCLUDED. 
 
 rpHE character of Milton was peculiarly distinguished by lofti- 
 J- ness of thought.- He had survived his health and his sight* 
 the comforts of his home and the prosperity of his party. Of 
 the great men by whom he had been distinguished at his en- 
 trance into life, some had been taken away from the evil to 
 come ; some had carried into foreign climates their unconquera- 
 ble hatred of oppression; some were pining in dungeons; and 
 some had poured forth their blood on scaffolds. That hateful 
 proscription, facetiously termed the Act of Indemnity and Ob- 
 livion, had set a mark on the poor, blind, deserted poet, and held 
 him up by name to the hatred of a profligate court and an in- 
 constant people ! 
 
 2. Venal and licentious scribblers, with just sufficient talent to 
 clothe the thoughts of a pander in the style of a bellman, were 
 DOW the favorite writers of the sovereign and the public. It was 
 a loathsome herd, which could be compared to nothing so fitly 
 as to the rabble of Comus, grotesque' monsters, half-bestial, 
 half-human, dropping with wine, bloated with gluttony, and 
 reeling in obscene dances. Amidst these his Muse was placed, 
 like the chaste lady of the Masque, lofty, spotless, and serene 
 to be chatted at, and pointed at, and grinned at by the whole 
 rabble of Satyrs and- Goblins. 
 
 3. If ever despondency and asperity could be excused in any 
 man, it might have been excused in Milton. But the strength 
 of his mind overcame every calamity. Neither blindness, nor 
 gout, nor age, nor penury, nor domestic afflictions, nor politi- 
 cal disappointments, nor abuse, nor proscription, nor neglect, 
 had power to disturb his sedate and majestic patience. Hia 
 
 'Ses'ame, an oily grain; a plant from which oil is expressed. 
 'DRYDEX, see Biographical Sketch, p. 497. 
 
MILTON. 570 
 
 spirits do not seem to have been high, but they were singularly 
 Equable. His temper was serious, perhaps stern ; but it was a 
 temper which no sufferings could render sullen or fretful. Such 
 it was when, on the eve of great events, he returned from his 
 travels, in the prime of health and manly beauty, loaded wifli 
 literary distinctions, and glowing with patriotic hopes : such it ,- 
 continued to be when, after having experienced every calamity 
 which is incident to our nature, old, poor, sightless, and dis- 
 graced, he retired to his hovel to die ! 
 
 4. Ilis public conduct was such as was to be expected from a 
 man of a spirit so high and an intellect so powerful. He lived 
 at one of the most memorable eras in the history of mankind ; 
 at the very crisis of the great conflict between Oromasdes and 
 Arimanes liberty and despotism, reason and prejudice. That 
 great battle was fought for no single generation, for no single 
 land. The destinies of the human race were staked on the same 
 cast with the freedom of the English people. Then were first 
 proclaimed those mighty principles which have since worked 
 their way into the depths of the American forests ; which have 
 roused Greece from the slavery and degradation of two thousand 
 years ; and which, from one end of Europe to the other, have 
 kindled an unquenchable fire in the hearts of the oppressed, and 
 loosed the knees of the oppressors with a strange and unwonted 
 fear! 
 
 5. We must conclude. And yet we can scarcely tear our- 
 selves away from the subject. The days immediately following 
 the publication of this relic of Milton 1 appear to be peculiarly set 
 apart and consecrated to his memory. And we shall scarcely be 
 censured if, on this his festival, we be found lingering near his 
 shrine, how worthless soever may be the offering which we 
 bring to it. While this book lies on our table, we seem to be 
 contemporaries of the great poet. We are transported a hun- 
 dred and fifty years back. We can almost fancy that we are 
 visiting him in his small lodging; that we see him sitting at the 
 old organ beneath the faded green hangings ; that we can catch 
 tlie quick twinkle of his eyes rolling in vain to find the day ; that 
 
 1 "A Treatise on Christian Doctrine, compiled from the Holy Scrip- 
 tures alone." 
 
580 NATIONAL FIFTH KKADKit. 
 
 we are reading in the lines of his noble countenance the proud and 
 mournful history of his glory and his affliction ! \Ye image to 
 ourselves the breathless silence in which we should listen to his 
 slightest word ; the passionate veneration with which we should 
 kneel to kiss his hand, and weep upon it ; the earnestness \viih 
 which we should endeavor to console him, if, indeed, such a 
 spirit could need consolation, for the neglect of an age unworthy 
 of his talents and his virtues ; the eagerness with which we 
 should contest with his daughters, or with his Quaker friend, 
 Elwood, the privilege of reading Homer to him, or of taking 
 down the immortal accents which flowed from his lips. 
 
 6. These are, perhaps, foolish feelings. Yet we can not be 
 ashamed of them ; nor shall we be sorry if what we have written 
 shall, in any degree, excite them in other minds. We are not 
 much in the habit of idolizing either the living or the dead. 
 And we think that there is no more certain indication of a weak 
 and ill-regulated intellect than that propensity which, for want 
 of a better name, we will venture to christen Boswellism} But 
 there are a few characters which have stood the closest scrutiny 
 and the severest tests, which have been tried in the furnace and 
 have proved pure ; which have been weighed in the balance, 
 and have not been found wanting ; which have been declared 
 sterling by the general consent of mankind, and which are visi- 
 bly stamped with the image and superscription of the Most High. 
 
 7. These great men we trust that we know how to prize ; and 
 of these was Milton. The sight of his books, the sound of his 
 name, are refreshing to us. His thoughts resemble those celes- 
 tial fruits and flowers which the Virgin Martyr of Massinger 1 
 sent down from the gardens of Paradise to the earth, distin- 
 guished from the productions of other soils, not only by their 
 superior bloom and sweetness, but by their miraculous efficacy 
 to invigorate and to heal. They are powerful, not only to de- 
 light, but to elevate and purify. Xor do we envy the man who 
 
 J See p. 300, note 2. * PHILIP MASSIXGER, one of the very best of the 
 old English dramatists, was born in 1584, and died in 16-iO. He wrote 
 R great number of pieces, of which eighteen have been preserved. The 
 "Virgin Martyr," the "Bondman," the "Fatal Dowry," "The City 
 Madam," and "A New Way to Pay Old Debts," are his best known 
 productions. 
 
HYMN OF OUR FIRST PARENTS. 581 
 
 can study either the life or the writings of the great poet and 
 patriot without aspiring to emulate, not indeed the sublime 
 works wife which his genius has enriched our literature, but the 
 zeal with which he labored for the public good, the fortitude 
 with which he endured every private calamity, the lofty disdain 
 with which he looked down on temptation and dangers, the 
 deadly hatred which he bore to bigots and tyrants, and the faith 
 vviiich he so sternly kept with his country and with bis fame. 
 
 MACAULAY. 1 
 
 192. HYMN OF OUR FIRST PARENTS. 
 1 rpHESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good, 
 -1- Almighty ! thine this universal frame, 
 
 O * ^ ' 
 
 Thus wondrous fair ; thyself how wondrous, then, 
 
 Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens, 
 
 To us invisible, or dimly seen 
 
 In these thy lowest works : yet these declare 
 
 Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. 
 
 Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, 
 
 Angels ; for ye behold him, and wifh songs 
 
 And choral symphonies, day without night, 
 
 Circle his throne rejoicing ; ye in heaven, 
 
 On earth join, all ye creatures, to extol 
 
 Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end. 
 
 2. Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, 
 If better thou belong not to the dawn, 
 Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn 
 With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere, 
 While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 
 Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul, 
 Acknowledge Him thy greater ; sound His praise 
 In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, 
 And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall's!. 
 Moon, that now meet'st the Orient sun, now fliest 
 With the fix'cl stars, fix'd in their o- v that flies; 
 And ye five other wandering fires, that move 
 
 1 See Biographical Sketch, p. 155. 
 
682 NATIONAL, iflFfH KEADER. 
 
 In mystic dance, not without sung, resound 
 Ills praise who out of darkness calTd up light. 
 
 3. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth 
 
 Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run 
 Perpetual circle multiform, and mix 
 And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change 
 Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 
 Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise 
 From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, 
 Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, 
 In honor to the world's great Author rise ; 
 AVhethcr to deck with clouds the uncolorYl sky, 
 Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, 
 Rising or falling, still advance His praise. 
 
 4. His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, 
 Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines, 
 AYifh every plant, in sign of worship wave. 
 Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, 
 Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune His praise; 
 Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds, 
 
 That singing up to heaven-gate ascend, 
 
 Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise, 
 
 Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk 
 
 The earth, and stately tread or lowly creep, 
 
 Witness if I be silent, morn or even, 
 
 To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade, 
 
 Made vocal by my song, and taught His praise. MILTON. 
 
 JOHN MILTON, one of the greatest of all poets and scholars, w?.s born in Londou 
 on the 9th of December, 1608. His father, liberally educated and from a good 
 family, having been disinherited for embracing Protestantism, became a scriv- 
 ener, and acquired a competent fortune. The firmness and the sufferings of the 
 father for conscience' sake were not lost upon the son, who became a stern, un- 
 bending champion, of religious freedom. MILTON was educated with great care. 
 lie studied ancient and modern languages, delighted in poetical reading, and 
 cultivated the musical taste which lie inherited from his father. At fifteen he 
 was sent to st. Paul's School, Londou, and two years later to Christ's College, 
 Cambridge, where he graduated in due course. He wrote several poems at an 
 eu;.y ace. His " Hymn on the Nativity," composed in his twenty-first year, is 
 one of the noblest of his works, and perhaps the iiuest lyric in the English lan- 
 guage. Leaving ti.e university in lo:*2, he went to the house of his father, at 
 Button in Buckinghamshire, where he lived five years, studying classical litera- 
 ture and writing ]>oemR. During this happy period of his life he wrote " L'Alle- 
 
THE PHKKN8Y OK OKRA. 583 
 
 gro," " H Penseroso," "Arcades," " Lycidas," and "Comtis." In 1638 Ihe 
 poet visited the Continent, where he remained fifteen months, principally in 
 Italy and France. His study of the works of art during this period probably sug- 
 gested some of his best poetical creations. On his return to England in 1639 lie 
 took up his residence in London. The next twenty years, during the Civil War, 
 the Commonwealth, and the Protectorate, the poet's lyre was mute. A Repub- 
 lican in politics and an Independent in religion, during this stormy period he 
 threw himself promptly and fearlessly into the vortex of the struggle, and, as a 
 controversialist, enrolled his name among the noblest and most eloquent of the 
 writers of old English prose. In 1643 MILTON married MARY POWELL, the daugh- 
 ter of a high cavalier of Oxfordshire. In 1043 he was appointed Foreign or Latin 
 Secretary to the Council of State, and retained the same position during the Pro- 
 tectorate. For ten years his eyesight had been failing, when, in H>52, he became 
 totally blind. About the same period his first wife died, but he married soon 
 after. His second wife, CATHARINE WOODCOCK, died in 1(556. The Restoration 
 of 1660 consigned the poet, for the last fourteen years of his life, to an obscurity 
 which gave him leisure to complete the mighty poetical task which was to se- 
 cure him an immortality of literary fame. In 1(564 he married his ^ird wife, 
 ELIZABETH MINSHUL, of a good Cheshire family. In 1(565 he completed " Para- 
 dise Lost," which was first published in 16(57. In 1671'appeared the " Paradise 
 Regained," to which was subjoined " Samson Agonistes." He died on the 8th 
 of November, 1674. For a further description of MILTON and his poetry, the 
 reader is referred to the two exercises immediately preceding the above. 
 
 193. THE PHRENSY OF OERA. 
 
 Hartman. Is she well ? 
 
 Theobald. Her body is. 
 
 Hart. And not her mind ? Oh, direst wreck of all ! 
 That noble mind ! But 'tis some passing seizure 
 Some powerful movement of a transient nature ; 
 It is not madness ! 
 
 Theo. 'Tis Heaven's infliction : let us call it so ; 
 Give it no other name. 
 
 Eleanora. Nay, do not thus despair ; when she beholds us, 
 She'll know her friends, and, by our kindly soothing, 
 Be gradually restored 
 
 Alice. Let me go to her. 
 
 Theo. Nay, forbear, I pray thee; 
 I will myself wifli thee, my worthy Ilartman, 
 Go in and lead her forth. 
 
 Orra. Come back, come back ! the fierce and fiery light! 
 
 Theo. Shrink not, dear love! it is the light of day. 
 
 Orra. llave cocks- crow'd yet ? 
 
 Theo. Y6s ; twice I've heard already 
 
584 NATIONAL FIFTH HEADER. 
 
 Their matin sound. Look up to the blue sky 
 Is it not daylight ? And these green boughs 
 Are fresh and fragrant round thee : every sense 
 Tells tnee it is the cheerful early day. 
 
 Orra. Aye, so it is ; day takes his daily turns, 
 Rising between the gulfy dells of night, 
 Like whiten'd billows on a gloomy sea. 
 Till glow-worms gleam, and stars peep through the dark, 
 And will-o'-the wisp his dancing taper light, 
 They will not come again. [Bending her ear to the f/rouid. 
 
 Hark, hark ! aye, hark ! 
 
 They are all there : I hear their hollow sound 
 Full many a fathom down. 
 
 TJieo. Be still, poor troubled soul ! they'll ne'er return 
 They are forever gone. Be well assured 
 Thou shalt from henceforth have a cheerful home, 
 With crackling fagots on thy midnight fire, 
 Blazing like day .around thee ; and thy friends 
 Thy living, loving friends still by thy side, 
 To speak to thee and cheer thee. See, my Orra ! 
 They are beside thee now ; dost thou not know them ? 
 
 Orra. No, no ! athwart the wavering, garish light, 
 Things move and seem to be, and yet are nothing. 
 
 Elea. My gentle Orra, hast thou then forgot me ? 
 Dost not thou know my voice ? 
 
 Orra. 'Tis like an old tune to my ear return'd. 
 For there be those who sit in cheerful halls, 
 And breathe sweet air, and speak with pleasant sounds ; 
 And once I lived with such ; some years gone by, 
 I wot not now how long. 
 
 Hughobert. Keen words that rend my heart: thou hadst a 
 
 home, 
 And one whose faith was pledged for thy protection. 
 
 Urston. Be more composed, my lord ; some faint remembrance 
 Returns upon her with the well-known sound 
 Of voices once familiar to her ear. 
 Let Alice sing to her some favorite tuna 
 That may lost thoughts recall. [ALICE sings. 
 
 Orra. Ha, ha ! the \vitcl M air sings for thee bravely. 
 
THE I'HKKNSY OF OKKA. 585 
 
 ELoot owls through mantling fog for matin birds? 
 It lures not inc. 1 know thce well enough : 
 The bones ol' murder' d men thy measure beat, 
 And flesh less heads nod to thee. Off, I say ! 
 Why are ye here? That is the blessed sun. 
 
 Elea. Ah, Orra \ do not look upon us thus : 
 These are the voices of thy loving friends 
 That speak to thee; this is a friendly hand 
 That presses thine so kindly. 
 
 Hart. Oh, grievous state ! what terror seizes thee \ 
 
 Orra. Take it away ! It was the swathed dead ; 
 I know its clammy, chill, and bony touch. 
 Come not again ; I'm strong and terrible now : 
 Mine eyes have look'd upon all dreadful things; 
 And when the earth yawns, and the hell-blast sounds, 
 I'll bide the trooping of unearthly steps, 
 Wifti stiff, clench'd, terrible strength. 
 
 Hugh. A murderer is a guiltless wretch to me. 
 
 Hart. Be patient ; 'tis a momentary pitch ; 
 Let me encounter it. 
 
 Orra. Take off from me thy strangely fasten'd eye ; 
 I may not look upon thee yet I must. 
 Unfix thy baleful glance. Art thou a snake ? 
 Something of horrid power within thee dwells. 
 Still, still that powerful eye doth suck me in, 
 Like a dark eddy to its wheeling core. 
 Spare me ! oh spare me, Being of strange power, 
 And at thy feet my subject head I'll lay. 
 
 Elea. Alas, the piteous sight ! to see her thus, 
 The noble, generous, playful, stately Orra! 
 
 Theo. Out on thy hateful and ungenerous guile ! 
 Think'st thou I'll suffer o'er her wretched state 
 The slightest shadow of a base control ? 
 
 [Raising ORRA. from the ground* 
 No ; rise, thou stately flower with rude blasts rent : 
 As honor'd art thou with thy broken stem 
 And leaflets strew'd, as in thy summer's pride. 
 I've seen thee worship'd like a regal dame, 
 With every studied form of mark'd devotion, 
 
586 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Whilst I, in distant silence, scarcely proffer'd 
 
 Even a plain soldier's courtesy ; but now, 
 
 No liege man to his crowned mistress sworn, 
 
 Bound and devoted is as I to thee ; 
 
 And he who offers to thy alterd state 
 
 The slightest seeming of diminish'd reverence, 
 
 Must in my blood [To HARTMAN] Oh pardon me, my friend ! 
 
 Thou'st wrung my heart. 
 
 Hart. Nay, do thou pardon me, I am to blame : 
 Thy noble heart shall not again be wrung. 
 But what can now be done ? O'er such wild ravings 
 There must be some control. 
 
 Theo. none ! none ! none ! but gentle sympathy, 
 And watchfulness of love. My noble Orra ! 
 Wander where'er thou wilt, thy vagrant steps 
 Shall follow'd be by one who shall not weary, 
 Nor e'er detach him from his hopeless task ; 
 Bound to thee now as fairest, gentlest beauty 
 Could ne'er have bound him. 
 
 Alice. See how she gazes on' him with a look, 
 Subsiding gradually to softer sadness, 
 Half saying that she knows him. 
 
 Elea. There is a kindness in her changing eye. BAILLIE. 
 
 JOANNA BAILLIE was born in ITGil, at Bothwell, in Lanark, Scotland, of which 
 place her father was the parish minister. She removed to London at an early 
 age, and resided in that city, or its neighborhood, almost constantly. Her first 
 volume of dramas, " Plays of the Passions," was published in 1798, her second 
 in lf-0-2, her third in 1812, and her fourth in 1836. A volume of her miscellaneous 
 poems, of which some of the small ones are exceedingly good, appeared in 
 1841. Her tragedies, though not well adapted to the stage, are fine poems, 
 noble in sentiment, and classical and vigorous in language. SCOTT numbered 
 the description of ORRA'S madness with the sublimest scenes ever written, and 
 compared the language to SHAKSPEARE'S. Miss BAILLIE died at Hampstead in 
 February, 1841. 
 
 19-1. SATAN'S ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH. 
 
 1. "DLACK it stood as night, 
 
 -D Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, 
 
 And shook a dreadful dart : what seem'd his head, 
 
 The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 
 
 Satan was now at hand ; and from his seat 
 
SATAN'S ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH. 587 
 
 The monster moving onward came as fast, 
 With horrid strides : hell trembled as he strode. 
 The undaunted fiend what this might be admired 
 Admired, not fear'd : God and his Son except, 
 Created thing naught valued he, nor shunnM ; 
 And with disdainful look thus first began : 
 
 2. " Whence, and what art thou, execrable shape ! 
 That darest, though grim and terrible, advance 
 Thy miscreated front athwart my way 
 To yonder gates ? Through them I mean to pass, 
 That be assured, without leave ask'd of thee : 
 Retire, or taste thy folly ; and learn by proof, 
 Hellborn ! not to contend wiffi spirits of heaven !" 
 
 8. To whom the goblin, full of wrath replied : 
 " Art thou that traitor angel, art thou he, 
 Who first broke,peace in heaven, and faith, till then 
 Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 
 Drew after him the third part of heaven's sons, 
 Conjured against the Highest; for which both thou 
 And they, outcast from God, are here condemn'd 
 To waste eternal days in woe and pain ? 
 And reckon'st thou thyself wif3i spirits of heaven, 
 Hell-doom'd ! and brcathest defiance here and scorn, 
 Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more, 
 Thy king and lord ! Back to thy punishment, 
 False fugitive ! and to thy speed add wings ; 
 Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
 Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart 
 Strange hfirror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before:" 
 
 4. So spake the grisly terror ; and in shape, 
 So speaking, and so threatening, grew ten-fold 
 More dreadful and deform : on the other side, 
 Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
 UntSrrified, and like a comet burn'd, 
 That fires the length of Ophiuchus 1 huge 
 
 1 Ophiuchus (ofeu'kus), the Serpent-bearer ; :i rlnstor of fixed stars, 
 whose center is nearly over the eq lator, opposite to Orion. 
 
588 NATIONAL, FIFTH KEADEK. 
 
 In the Arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
 Shakes pestilence and war. 
 
 5. Each at the head 
 
 Level'd his deadly aim ; their fatal hands 
 No second stroke intend ; and such a frown 
 Each cast at the other, as when two black clouds, 
 With heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on 
 Over the Caspian ; then stand front to front 
 Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 
 To join their dark encounter in mid air : 
 So frown'd the mighty com'batants, that hell 
 Grew darker at their frown ; so match'd they stood , 
 For never but once more was either like 
 To meet so great a Foe : and now great deeds 
 Had been achieved, whereof all hell had rung, 
 Had not the snaky sorceress thaUsat 
 Fast by hell-gate and kept the fatal key, 
 Risen, and with hideous outcry rush'd between. 
 
 MILTOH. 
 
 195. MUKDEE OF KING DUNCAN. 
 MACBETH.' 
 
 IS this a dagger which I see before me, 
 The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee. 
 I have thee not, and yet 1 see thee still. 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 To feeling as to sight ? or art thou but 
 A dagger of the mind ; a false creation, 
 Proceeding from the heat oppressed brain ? 
 I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
 As this which now I draw. 
 Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going; 
 And such an instrument I was to use. 
 Mine eyes are made the fool o 1 th' other senses, 
 Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still ; 
 /jjid on t 1 .lid dudgeon, gouts of blood, 
 
 Prompted by ambition, and urged on by his wife. MACBETH resolves 
 u> murder the king, then his guest, and seize the crown. 
 
MUKDKK OF KLNO DUNCAN. *>89 
 
 Which was not so before. There's no such thing: 
 It is the bloody business, which informs 
 Thus to mine eyes. 
 
 Now o'er the one half world 
 Nature/ seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
 The curtain'd sleep : now witchcraft celebrates 
 Pale Hec'ate's 1 offerings ; and wither'd murder, 
 Alarurn'd by his sentinel, the wolf, 
 Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, 
 With Tarquin's 2 ravishing strides, toward his design 
 Moves like a ghost. Thou sure and firm-set earth, 
 Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
 Thy very stones prate of my where-about, 
 And take the present horror from the time, 
 Which now suits with it. While I threat he lives ; 
 Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives. [A bell rings, 
 I go, and it is doiTe ; the bell invites me : 
 Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
 
 That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. [Exit. 
 
 Enter Lady MACBETH. 
 
 Lady M. That which hath made them drunk, hath made me 
 
 bold: 
 
 What hath quench'd them, hath given me fire. Hark ! peace ! 
 It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, 
 Which gives the s^ern'st good-night. He is about it 
 The doors are open ; and the surfeited grooms 
 Do mock their charge with snores : I have drngg'd their possets 
 That death and nature do cofitcnd about them, 
 Whether they live or die. 
 
 Macbeth [within] Who's there ? what, ho ! 
 
 Lady M. Alack ! I am afraid they have awaked, 
 And 'tis not done. The attempt, and not the deed, 
 Confounds us. Hark ! I laid their daggers ready ; 
 He could not miss them. Had he not resembled 
 My father as he slept, I had don't. My husband ! 
 
 1 HECATK, see p. 321, note 1 . a TARQUIN, two kings of Rome : SUPERBUS 
 T AUQUINIUS, here alluded to, seventh in the line of kings, obtained the 
 throne by the murder of SERVIUS TULLIUS, whose (laughter, TULLIA, he 
 bad married. 
 
590 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 Enter MACBETH. 
 
 Macb. I've done the deed ! didst thou not hear a noise ? 
 
 Lady M. I heard the owl scream, and the cricket's cry. 
 Did not you speak? 
 
 Macb. When ? 
 
 Lady M. Now. 
 
 Macb. As I descended ? 
 
 Lady M. Aye. 
 
 Macb. Hark.! 
 Who lies i' the second chamber ? 
 
 Lady M. Donalbain. 
 
 Macb. This is a sorry sight. \Looking on his hands. 
 
 Lady M. A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight. 
 
 Macb. There's one did laugh in's sleep, and one cried, MuRDKhl 
 That they did wake each other ; I stood and heard them ; 
 But they did say their prayers, and address'd ttem 
 Again to sleep. 
 
 Lady M. There are two lodged together. 
 
 Macb. One cried, God bless us! and Amenf the other; 
 As they had seen me with these hangman's hands 
 Listening their fear. I could not say, Amen, 
 When they did say, God bless us. 
 
 Lady M. Consider it not so deeply. 
 
 Macb. But wherefore could not I pronounce, Amen I 
 I had most need of blessing, and amen 
 Stuck in my throat. 
 
 Lady M. These deeds must not be thought 
 After these ways ; so, it will make us mad. 
 
 Macb.. Methought I heard a voice cry, Sleep no more/ 
 MACBETH doth murder sleep the innocent sleep 
 Sleep thut knits up the raveVd sleeve of care, 
 The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast : 
 
 Lady M. What do you mean ? 
 
 Macb. Still it cried, Sleep no more, to all the house : 
 GLAMIS hath murder'd sleep ; and therefore CAWDOR 
 Shall sleep no more MACBETH slinll deep no morel 
 
MURDER OF KING DUNCAN. 591 
 
 Lady M. Who was it that thus cried ? Why, worthy thane, 
 You do unbend your noble strength, to think 
 So brain-sickly of things. Go, get some water, 
 And wash this filthy witness from your hand. 
 Why did you bring these daggers from the place ? 
 They must lie. Go, carry them, and smear 
 The sleepy grooms wifli blood. 
 
 Macb. I'll go no more : 
 
 I am afraid to think what I have done ; 
 Look on't again, I dare not. 
 
 Lady M. Infirm of purpose ! 
 
 Give me the daggers. The sleeping and the dead 
 Are but as pictures : 'tis the eye of childhood 
 That fears a painted devil. If he do bleed, 
 I'll gild the faces of the grooms withal, 
 For it must seem their guilt. [Exit. Knocking within, 
 
 Macb. Whence is that knocking ? 
 
 How is't with me, when every noise appalls me ? 
 What hands are here ? Ha ! they pluck out mine eyes ! 
 Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood 
 Clean from my hands ? No : this my hand will rather 
 The multitudinous seas incarnadine,' 
 Making the green one red. 
 
 Reenter Lady MACBETH. 
 
 Lady M. My hands are of your color ; but I shame 
 To wear a heart so white. [Knocking.] I hear a knocking 
 At the south entry. Retire we to our chamber : 
 A little water clears us of this deed ; 
 How easy is it, then ? Your constancy 
 
 Hath left you unattended. [Knocking^ Hark ! more knocking : 
 Get on your night-gown, lest occasion call us, 
 And show us to be watchers. Be not l(5st 
 So poorly in your thoughts. 
 
 Macb. To know 'my deed, 'twere best not know myself. 
 
 [Knocking* 
 Wake Duncan with thy knocking ! I would thou couldst. 
 
 SHAKSPEARR 
 
 1 In car* na dine, to stain red, or of a flesh-color. 
 
592 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 196. THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE, IN MACBETH. 
 
 FROM my boyish days I had always felt a great perplexity on 
 one point in Macbeth. It was this : the knocking at the 
 gate, which succeeds to the murder of Duncan, produced to 
 my feelings an effect for which I never could account. The 
 affect was, that it reflected back upon the murder a peculiar 
 awfulness and a depth of solemnity ; yet, however obstinately I 
 endeavored with my understanding to comprehend this, for 
 many years I never could see why it should produce such an 
 effect. Here I pause for one moment, to exhort the reader 
 never to pay any attention to his understanding w r hen it stands 
 in opposition to any other faculty of his mind. The mere un 
 .lerstanding, however useful and indispensable, is the meanest 
 acuity in the human mind, and the most to be distrusted ; and 
 yet the great majority of people trust to nothing else ; which 
 may do for ordinary life, but not for philosophical purposes. 
 
 2. My understanding could furnish no reason why the knock- 
 ing at the gate in Macbeth should produce any effect, direct or 
 reflected. In fact, my understanding said positively tLat it 
 could not produce any effect. But I knew better : I felt that it 
 did ; and I waited and clung to the problem until further knowl- 
 edge should enable me to solve it. At length I solved it to my 
 own satisfaction, and my solution is this : Murder in ordinary 
 cases, where the sympathy is wholly directed to the case of the 
 murdered person, is an incident of coarse and vulgar horror ; 
 and for this reason, that it flings the interest exclusively upon 
 the natural but ignoble instinct by which we cleave to life ; an 
 instinct which, as being indispensable to the primal law 01 
 preservation, is the same in kind (though different in degree) 
 among all living creatures: this instinct^ therefore, because it 
 annihilates all distinctions, and degrades the greatest of men to 
 the level of "the poor beetle that we tread on," exhibits human 
 nature in its most ab j'ect and humiliating attitude. 
 
 3. Such an attitude would little suit the purposes of the poet. 
 What, then, must he do ? He must throw the interest on the 
 murderer. Our sympathy must be with him (of course I 
 
 a sympathy of comprehension, a sympathy by which we enter 
 into his feelings and are made to understand thcMu -Jiot a sym- 
 
THE KNOCKING AT THE GATE, IN MACBETH. 598 
 
 pathy :>!' pity or approbation). In the murdered person all 
 strife of thought, all flux and reflux of passion and of purpose, 
 are crushed by one overwhelming panic : the fear of instant 
 death smites him " with its petrific mace." But in the murderer 
 such a murderer as a poet will condescend to there must be 
 raging some great storm of passion jealousy, ambition, venge- 
 ance, hatred which will create a hell within him ; and into 
 this hell we are to look. 
 
 4. In Macbeth, for the sake of gratifying his own enormous 
 and teeming faculty of creation, Shakspeare has introduced two 
 murderers ; and, as usual in his hands, they are remarkably dis- 
 criminated : but, though in Macbeth the strife of mind is greater 
 than in his wife the tiger spirit not so awake, and his feelings 
 caught chiefly by contagion from her, yet, as both were finally 
 involved in the guilt of murder, the murderous mind of necessity 
 is finally to be presumed in both. This was to be expressed; 
 and on its own account, as well as to make it a more proportion- 
 able antagonist to the unoffending nature of their victim, " the 
 gracious Duncan," and adequately to expound " the deep damna- 
 tion of his taking off," this was to be expressed with peculiar 
 energy. We were to be made to feel that the human nature, 
 i. e., the divine nature of love and mercy, spread through the 
 hearts of all creatures, and seldom utterly withdrawn from man, 
 was gone, vanished, extinct ; and that the fiendish nature had 
 taken its place. And, as this effect is marvelously accomplished 
 in the dialogues and soliloquies themselves, so it is finally con- 
 summated by the expedient under consideration ; and it is to 
 this that I now solicit the reader's attention. 
 
 o. If the reader has ever witnessed a wife, daughter, or sister 
 in a fainting fit, he may chance to have observed that the most 
 affecting moment in such a spectacle is that in which n sigh and 
 a stirring announce the recommencement of suspended life. Or, 
 if the reader has ever been present in a vast metropolis on the 
 day when some great national idol was carried in funeral pomp 
 to his grave, and chancing to walk near the course through 
 which it passed, has felt powerfully, in the silence and desertion 
 of the streets, and in the stagnation of ordinary business, the 
 deep interest which at that mome.nt was possessing the heart of 
 man, if all at once he should hear the deathlike stillness bro- 
 
 .38 
 
594 VATiojs'AL FIFTH REAJJKK. 
 
 ken up by the sound of wheels rattling away from the sceno, 
 and making known that the .transitory vision was dissolved, ho 
 will be aware' that at no moment was his sense of the complete 
 suspension and pause in ordinary human concerns so full and 
 affecting as at that moment when the suspension ceases and the 
 goings-on of human life are suddenly resumed. 
 
 6. All action in any direction is best expounded, measured, 
 and made apprehensible by reaction. Now apply this to the 
 case in Macbeth. Here, as I have said, the retiring of the hu- 
 man heart and the entrance of the fiendish heart was to be ex- 
 pressed and made sensible. Another world has stepped in, and 
 the murderers are taken out of the region of human things, hu- 
 man purposes, human desires. They are transfigured : Lady 
 Macbeth is "unsexed;" Macbeth has forgot that he was born of 
 woman : both are conformed to the image of devils ; and the 
 world of devils is suddenly revealed. But how shall this be 
 conveyed and made palpable ? 
 
 7. In order that a new world may step in, this world must for 
 a time disappear. The murderers and the murder must be in- 
 sulated cut off by an immeasurable gulf from the ordinary tide 
 and succession of human affairs locked up and sequestered in 
 some deep recess' ; we must be made sensible that the world of 
 ordinary life is suddenly arrested laid asleep tranced racked 
 into a dread armistice : time must be annihilated ; relation to 
 things without abolished ; and all must pass self-withdrawn into 
 a deep syncope and suspension of earthly passion. Hence it is, 
 that when the deed is done, when the work of darkness is per- 
 fect, then the world of darkness passes away like a pageantry in 
 the clouds : the knocking at the gate is heard, and it makes 
 known audibly that the reaction has commenced : the human 
 has made its reflux upon the fiendish ; the pulses of life are be- 
 ginning to beat again, and the reestablishment of the goings-on 
 of the world in which we live, first makes us profoundly sensible 
 of the awful parenthesis that had suspended them. 
 
 8. mighty poet ! Thy works are not as those of other 
 men, simply and merely great works of art, but are also like the 
 phenomena of nature like the sun and the sea, the stars and 
 the flowers, like frost and snow, rain and dew, hail-storm and 
 thunder, which are to be studied wife entire submission of our 
 
LIFE. 596 
 
 own faculties, and in the perfect faith that in them there can be 
 uo too much or too little, nothing useless or inert ; but that, 
 the further we press in our discoveries, the more we shall see 
 proofs of design and self-supporting arrangement where the 
 careless eye had seen nothing but accident. DE QUIKCEY. 
 
 197. LIFE. 
 
 " Tl/TAN," says sir Thomas Browne, " is a noble animal ! splen- 
 -LU_ did in ashes, glorious in the grave ; solemnizing nativities 
 And funerals with equal lustre, and not forgetting ceremonies of 
 bravery in the infamy of his nature !" Thus spake one who 
 mocked \vliile he wept at man's estate, and gracefully tempered 
 the high scoffings of philosophy with the profound compassion 
 of religion. As the sun's proudest moment is his latest, and as 
 the forest puts on its brightest robe to die in, so does man sum- 
 mon ostentation to invest the hour of his weakness, and pride 
 survives when power has departed : and what, we may ask, does 
 this instinctive contempt for the honors of the dead proclaim, 
 except the utter vanity of the glories of the living ? for mean 
 indeed must be the real state of man, and false the vast assump- 
 tions of his life, when the poorest pageantry of a decent burial 
 strikes upon the heart as a mockery of helplessness. 
 
 2. Certain it is that pomp chiefly waits upon the beginning 
 and the end of life : what lies between, may either raise a sigh 
 or wake a laugh, for it mostly partakes of the littleness of one 
 and the sadness of the other. The monuments of man's blessed- 
 ness and of man's wretchedness lie side by side : we can not 
 look for the one without discovering the other. The echo of 
 joy is the moan of despair, and the cry of anguish is stifled in 
 rejoicing. To make a monarch, there must be slaves ; and that 
 one may triumph, many must be weak. 
 
 3. To one limiting his belief within the bounds of his observa- 
 tion, and " reasoning " but from what he " knows," the condition 
 of man presents mysteries which thought can not explain. The 
 dignity and the destiny of man seem utterly at variance. He 
 turns from contcm'plating a monument of genius to inquire for 
 the genius which produced it, and finds that while the work has 
 survived, the workman has perished for ages. The meanest 
 
596 .NAilONAL FIFTH KEADER. 
 
 work of man outlives the noblest work of God. The sculptures 
 of Phidias endure, where the dust of the artist has vanished from 
 the earth. Man can immortalize all things but himself. 
 
 4. But, for my own part, I can not help- thinking that our 
 high estimation of ourselves is the grand error in our account. 
 Surely, it is argued, a creature so ingeniously fashioned and so 
 bountifully furnished, has not been created but for lofty ends. 
 But cast your eye on the humblest rose of the garden, and it 
 may teach a wiser lesson. There you behold contrivance and 
 ornament in every leaf the finest veins, the most delicate odor, 
 and a per 'fume ex'quisite beyond imitation ; yet all this is but 
 a toy a plaything of nature ; and surely she whose resources 
 are so boundless that upon the gaud of a summer day she can 
 throw away such lavish wealth, steps not beyond her commonest 
 toil when she forms of the dust a living man. AVhen will man 
 
 earn the lesson of his own insignificance ? 
 
 5. Immortal man ! thy blood flows; freely and fully, and thou 
 standest a Xapoleoa; thou reclinest a Shakspeare ! it quickens 
 its movement, and thou iiest a parched and fretful thing, with 
 thy mind furled by the phantoms of fever! it retards its action 
 but a little, and thou erawlest a crouching, soulless mass, the 
 bright world a blank, dead vision to thine eye. Verily, man, 
 thou art a glorious and godlike being ! 
 
 6. Tell life's proudest tale : what is it ? A few attempts suc- 
 cessless ; a few crushed or moldered hopes ; much paltry fret- 
 ting ; a little sleep, and the story is concluded ; the curtain 
 falls the farce is over. The worldjs not a place to live in, but 
 to die in. It is a house that has buftwo chambers ; a Jazar and 
 a charnel room only for the dying and the dead. There is 
 not a spot on the broad earth on which man can plant his foot 
 and affirm with confidence, " No mortal sleeps beneath !" 
 
 7. Seeing then that these things are, what shall we say i Shall 
 we exclaim wifh the gay-heaited Grecian, "Drink to-day, for 
 to-morrow we are not ?" Shall we calmly float down the cur- 
 rent, smiling if we can, silent when we must, lulling cares to 
 sleep by the music of gentle enjoyment, and passing dream-like 
 through a land of dreams ? Xo ! dream-like as is our life, there 
 is in it one reality our DUTY. Let us cling to that, and d: 
 mav overwhelm, but can not disturb us may destroy, but can not 
 
ELEGY IN A COUNT!* Y i HliUCU-YARI). 51)7 
 
 hurt us : the bitterness of earthly things and the shortness of 
 earthly life will cease to be evils, and begin to be blessings. 
 
 H. B. WALLACE. 
 
 108. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- YARD. 
 
 1. nnHE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
 
 JL The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, 
 
 The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 
 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 2. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 An<;l drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 
 
 3. Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
 Molest her ancient solitary reign. 
 
 4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
 
 Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap, 
 Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 
 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 
 5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
 
 The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 
 
 0. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
 No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. 
 
 7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 
 
 Their furrow 6ft the stubborn glebe has broke : 
 How jocund did they drive their team afield! 
 
 How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 
 
 8. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 
 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
 
 Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 
 
 The short and simple annals of the poor. 
 
59 S NATIONAL FIFTH READKK. 
 
 9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
 
 And all that beaut}', all that wealth, e'er gave, 
 Await alike the inevitable hour : 
 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 1-0, Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
 
 If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
 Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 
 
 11. Can storied urn, or animated bust, 
 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
 Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 
 
 Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 
 
 12. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : 
 
 13. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll 
 Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, 
 And froze the genial current of the soul. 
 
 14. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 
 
 The dark, unfathorn'd caves of ocean bear ; 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 
 
 15. Some village Hampden, that wifli dauntless breast 
 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 
 Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest ; 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 
 
 10. The applause of listening senates to command, 
 
 The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
 
 And read their history in a nation's eyes, 
 
 17. Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 
 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 
 Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; 
 
ELEGY LN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD. 599 
 
 1 8. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 
 Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
 With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 
 
 1 9. Far from the maddening crowd's ignoble strife, 
 
 Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; 
 Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life 
 
 They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 
 
 20 Yt even these bones from insult to protect. 
 
 Some frail memorial still erected nigh, . 
 With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 
 
 21. Their name, their years, spelt by the unletter'd Muse, 
 
 The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
 
 And many a holy text around she strews, 
 
 That teach the r.ustic moralist to die. 
 
 22. For who, to dumb forggtfulness a prey, 
 
 This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind 5 
 
 23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
 
 Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; 
 Even from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 
 Even in our ashes live their wonted fires. 
 
 24. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor'd dead, 
 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 
 If 'chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
 
 Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 
 
 25. Haply some hdary-headed swain may say, 
 
 " Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
 Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 
 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 
 
 ?6. " There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech 
 
 That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 
 His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
 And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 
 
600 NATIONAL FIFTH READER. 
 
 27. "Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
 
 Muttering his wayward fancies, would he rove 
 Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn, 
 Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless lovi 
 
 28. "One morn I miss'd him on the accustom'd hill, 
 
 Along the heath, and near his favorite tree : 
 Another came, nor yet beside the rill, 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he : 
 
 29 The next, wifli dirges due, in sad array, 
 
 Slow through the churchway path we saw him bom; 
 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 HERE RESTS HIS HEAD UPON THE LAP OF EARTH, 
 A YOUTH TO FORTUNE AND TO FAME UNKNOWN ! 
 
 FAIR SCIENCE FROWN'D NOT ON HIS HUMBLE BIRTH, 
 AND MELANCHOLY MARK'D HIM FOR HER OWN. 
 
 LARGE WAS HIS BOUNTY, AND HIS SOUL SINCERE, 
 HEAVEN DID A RECOMPENSE AS LARGELY SEND : 
 
 HE GAVE TO MISERY ALL HE HAD A TEAR, 
 
 HE GAIN'D FROM HEAVEN ('TWAS ALL HE WISH'D) A FRIEIT 
 No FURTHER SEEK HIS MERITS TO DISCLOSE, 
 
 OR DRAW HIS FRAILTIES FROM THEIR DREAD ABODE, 
 
 (THERE THEY ALIKE IN TREMBLING HOPE REPOSE,) 
 THE BOSOM OF HIS FATHER AND HIS GOD. GRAY 
 
 THE END. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 
 
 J