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THE COMPREHENSIVE READERS,
BY S. G. GOODRICH,
CONSIST OF THE FOLLOWING :
The First Reader, with Engravings, 96 pages, 16mo.
The Second Reader, ditto. . . ' . 144 pages, 16mo.
The Third Reader, 180 pages, 12mo.
The Fourth Reader, ..... 312 pages, 12mo.
Entered according to Act of Congresg; in the year 1839, bj
S. G. Goodrich,
in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetta.
CAMBRIDGE :
ST£REOTTPXD BT
POLSOM, WELLS, AND THURSTON,
FRITTTXRl TO THS UmVERSlTT.
PREFACE.
This Reader, the fourth and last of the series, is intended for the
more advanced classes in our schools. It is particularly designed as a
sequel to the Third Reader, but as it may be convenient to use it
independently of the other volumes, it has been the endeavor of the
author to make it suitable to such a purpose.
In preparing it, the views expressed in the preceding works, have
been adhered to. It is the idea of the author, that, in reading, a lesson
should be to the pupil as a grist in the mill, — it should be thoroughly
understood and digested. And, moreover, this should be done in re
spect to every reading lesson, so that the habit of reading with a full
comprehension of everything read, should be established.
The common notion, therefore, that reading books are only to be run
over as matters of sound, without respect to sense, is repudiated.
Reading is regarded as having for its chief object the gaining or com-
municating of ideas, and, as essential to its attainment, a complete
understanding of what is read is esteemed indispensable. A selection
of lessons for such a purpose, must obviously be adapted to the tastes
and capacities of youth, in order to rouse their curiosity and thus
bring their minds into active exercise; and the mode of using these
must be essentially different from what has too often been practised.
In respect to the selections for this volume, the author has sought to
keep the preceding maxims steadily in view. He has also endeav-
ored not only to give extensive variety, and specimens from most of
the great masters of our language, but he has attempted to make the
work subserve the interests of morality, religion, and good manners.
The Rules for Readers and Speakers, and the Sugfrestions to Teachers,
will point out the mode in which the author believes a reading book
should be used. It may seem at first blush, that too much work is here
laid out for teacher and pupil ; but it is believed, that, if the time of
the former permits his adoption of the plan suggested, the latter
will by no means object to it, at least after he has conquered the
first difficulties. On the contrary, a strong confidence is entertained,
that the pupil will find his interest quickened by the fruits he will
reap, lesson by lesson, in pursuing this system. It will, of course, lie
with the teacher to judge of the cases in which the rules and sug-
gestions offered, should be passed over, and such cases will doubtless
occur. In many schools, where the number of scholars is dispropor-
tioned to the ability of the instructer, the latter may not be able to follow
out the suggestions ; and, in some other cases, the inadequate capacity of
the pupils may make it a point of discretion to omit the etymological
exercises. Indeed, this whole matter must be considered as submitted
to the judgment of the instructer ; and therefore the author has given
the rules the name o£ hints, and the plan of study, that of suggestions.
In this light alone he wishes them to be regarded.
54!i84
,v PREFACE.
In preparing the work the author has used a liberty accorded in
such cases, — that of modifying the passages taken from other authors,
to suit his purpose. He has chosen among the wilderness of flowers,
rather with reference to quality than a great name. He has particu-
larly endeavored to make an amusing and instructive volume, and
pieces which would especially exercise the ait of elocution have had
a preference. In supplying the vacancies which abundant research still
left, recourse has been had to original compositions.
The author is bound to acknowledge his obligations to teachers, who
have aided him by their valuable suggestions ; and it is proper for hin;
to say, that, in the Hints to Readers and Speakers, he has derived many-
ideas from Dr. Porter's Analysis, Hall's Reader's Guide, and Kirkham'g
Elocution. In the Etymological Exercises, he has availed himself
of the elaborate and complete work of Oswald.
As it respects the general plan of these works,^ the author lays little
claim to originality. The idea of prefacing the lessons by a series
of Rules, adopted in the Third Reader, and in this also, was introduced
by Murray, long since, and has been acted Upon by others. The
application of these rules, as practised in the last two volumes of thi^
series, is believed to be peculiar, and it is hoped may be useful. The
following of the reading lessons with spelling lessons derived from the
reading matter, has been long practised and is here adopted. The
pointing out of inaccurate pronunciation, and the questions for examina-
tion, as to the sense and meaning^ of the lessons, are common and
obvious means of instruction. The Etymological Exercises in this
volume are a new application of what has been before the public for
several j'ears. The plan of requiring pupils to study reading lessons,
and one which is deemed very important, appears to have been in
successful practice in Europe for a considerable period. The objects
of this have been stated to be, to render the acquiring of the art of
Reading more easy and agreeable to the pupil ; to make the particular
knowledge contained in the lessons available to him ; and. by a carel'ul
analysis of each sentence, to give him a thorough acquaintance WMth
our language. These objects are too important to be overlooked, and
the author has sought to ensure their attainment.
But, while the author thus resigns all claims to invention, he hopes
he has been able to select and combine in this series, to which the
publishers have given the title of Comprehensive, the best aids and
helps that have been devised for this species of schoolbook ; while,
in accomplishing his task, he believes he has copied nothing from the
various manuals in common use in our schools.
CONTENTS.
PAGE I
Hints to Readers and Speakers 7 j
Suggestions to Teachers 25
LESSON
1. Petition to the Reader
2. The Fox and Elephant
3. The Twins
4. Tile Wounded Robin
5. The Violet and Nightshade
6. An Escape
7. The Greedy Fox
8. Tlifi Last of the Manielukes
Dumas.
9. Rubens and the Spanish Monk
10. The Jay and Owl
1 1 . The M idn ight Mail Miss Gould.
■^2. The Widow and her Son
W. Irving.
13. Anecdotes of Birds Nuttall.
14. To a Wild Violet, in March
15. The Chameleon and Porcupine
16. The Bible
17. The Winds Miss Gould.
18. The False Witness Detected
Knowles.
19. The Bob O'Linkum Hoffman.
20 . The Migration of Birds Nuttall.
^l. The Blind Musician Bulwer.
22. Franklin's First Entrance into
Philadelphia Franklin.
23. Lake Superior
24. The Discontented Mole
25. Aphorisms from Shakspeare
26. The Departure of the Seasons
Prentice.
On Time
The American Autumn
New York Mirror.
Progress of Liberty
The Broken-Hearted Prentice.
31. Albania during the late Greek
War D' Israeli.
32. A Turkish Chief D'hradi.
33. The Alpine Horn
"*^34. Rules for Conversation
35. Boat Song
36. Sketches of Syria D'Lraeli.
37. Hand Work and Head Work
Miss Martineau.
38. The Power of Conscience
Baltimore Paper.
39. Prodigal Son Luke, Chap. y.v.
40. To Seneca Lake Percival.
41. A Syrian Desert D'Israeli.
42. A Bedouin Encampment
B'' Israeli.
LESSON paqB
43. The Fisherman B.Cornwall. 101
44. The Clouds G. Mellen. 101
102
103
105
103
112
115
27.
29
—'30
88
45. The Village Bells
46. Jerusalem
47. Egypt
48. Falls of Niagara Greenvsood.
49. The BiJshful Man T. Gray.
50. The Zenaida Dove Audubon.
51. The Queen and the Quakeress
Charnbers' Edinburgh Journal. 116
52. Adoration of the Deity in tl>e
Midst of His Works
T. Moora. 118
53 Wlmt are Emblems 1
Evenings at Home. 119
54. Naomi and Ruth Ruth i. 121 —
55. W^ealth and Fashion
Author of Three Experiments. 123
56. Goffe the Regicide 2\ Dwight. 125
57. Melrose Abbey 8cott. 126
58. The Set of Diamonds 127"«r
59. Fight with a Shark
English Paper, 129
60. Virginias and his Daughter
Virginia Knoudes. 131**
61. Capture of a Whale Cooper. 133
62. Life S. P. Holbrook. 135
63. The River Bowles. 135
64. Reputation 136
65. Anecdote of Dwight and Den-
nie Tudor 137
66. On the Death of Professor
Fisher Brainard. 138
67. Incidents of the Battle of Bun-
ker Hill A. H. Everett. 139
68. Contending Passions
Shakspeare. 141
69. Baffled Revenge and Hale Do . 143
70. A Slide in the White Moun-
tains Mrs. Hale. 147
71. I'm saddest when I sing
T. H. Bayhy. 149
72. The Planter's Home in Flor-
ida Latrohe. 149
73. Irish Biill.<5 151
74. The Town Pump Hawthorne. 154
75. Colloquial Powers of Dr.
Franklin Wirt.
76. To an East Indian Gold Coin
Ley den.
77. Eloquence of John Adams
Webster.
78. To the Rainbow Campbell.
79. Scene on the Mississippi FlfM.lGb
80. The Cap of Liberty Knawks. 168
158
159
161
164
CONTENTS
LB880N PAGE
SI. Select Passages James. 172
82. Traits of Irish Character. 176
83. Anecdote of Dr. Chauncy
Tudor. 179
84. The Glory of God in the
Beauties of Creation
T. Moore. 180
"^85. Domestic LoTe Croly. 181
86. A Gypsy Encampment in
England James. 182
87. Eloquence and Humor of
Patrick Henry Wirt. 18,5
88. The Angel of the Leaves
Miss Gould. 1S6
89. Self-Cultivation E. Everett. 189
90. Sabbath Thoughts
A. Cunningham. 191
91. The Sea Greenwood. 192
92. The Psalms Cheever. 197
93. God our Refuge Psal. xlvi. 198
94. London 199
95. The Nunnery 201
96. Soldier's Dream Campbell. 203
97. The Sabbath Grahame. 204
98. Neatness Dennie. 206
— 99. Children Neal. 207
100. Anecdotes of CliildreniYpa/. 209
101. EarlvDisplayofGeniu3Djci.212
102. The Calumniator Griffin. 215
103. Verses Wolfe. 207
104. Chamois of the A lps.Sjm<mrf. 218
- 105. Dress Mrs. Farrar. 221
106. I 'm pleased and vet I 'm
sad H. K. White. 224
107. Scenes on the Hudson River
in Early Times Irving. 225
108. The Immortal Mind Byron. 227
109. Robert Emmett 228
110. The Broken Heart Irving. 230
111. Apellcs and Protogenes
Mrs. Lee. 232
112. The Black Sheep 235
113. Sabbath Morning Hatvthorne. 237
114. The Friends or Quakers
Wm. Hewitt. 239
115. Adherence to Old Customs 240
J16. The Wild Violet Miss Go^dd. 243
117. Poetry Dewey. 244
118. The Coral Insect
yirs. Sigourney. 246
119. Who are the truly Happy ^ 247
120. Hymn to the North Star
Bryant. 250
121. The Duty of Industry 252
122. Weehawken Halleck. 253
J23. The Triumphal Song of
LESSON PAGE
Moses after the Passage
of the Red Sea Exod. xv. 254
124. Select Passages 256
125. Ode to Evening Collins. 259
126. The Murderer Webster. 261
127. Importance of Good Rules
of Betmvior 264
128. St. Patrick 267
129. Departure of Adam and Eve
from Paradise Milton. 270
130. Sonnet, on his Blindness,
by Miltnn. 271
131. The Power of God, as illus-
trated by Astronomy DicA:. 272
132. Ocean Byron. 274
133. Religion in the People neces-
sary to good Government
Washington. 275
134. Power of the Soul Dana. 276
135. The Voyage of Life Johnson. 278
136. The Coming of a Devastat-
ing Army Joel ii. 282
137. The Consequences of Athe-
ism Channing. 283
138. The Character of a Good
Parson Dryden. 285
139. Studies for the Statesman
Clay. 286
140. The Puritans Bancroft. 287
141. Cesar's Funeral Shakspeare. 288
142. Courtesy in Military Men
Butler. 292
14.3. TheWounded Spirit Couyer. 294
144. Death of Lord Bvron Scott. 295
145. Sir Joshua Reynolds Burke. 297
146. Advantages of Christianiz-
ing the Heathen Beecher. 298
147. Character of Washington
J. Q. Adams. 300
148. Extensionof Christianity by
Missions Wayland. 301
149. A Traveller perishing in the
Snow Thomson. 302
150. Decay of the Indians Cass. 303
151. The Declaration of Inde-
pendence J. Q. Adams. 305
152. History of America iSparAw. 308
153. Efficacy of the Sacred Scrip-
tures Wayland. 310
154. Epigrams 813
155. Spring Greenwood. 315
156. Autumn Alison. 318
157. The Idiot Blackwood's Mag. 319
158. Waverley and Fergus Mc
Ivor Scott. 321
159. A Ship Sinking Wilson. 323
HINTS TO READERS AND SPEAKERS.
QCf" The following hints enrihrace nearly the same topics as the rules pre-
fixed to " the Third Reader : " they are designed to enforce those rules upon
the attention of the pupil, in a manner adapted to his more advanced pro-
gress. It is obvious, however, that their utility must depend chiefly upon
their application by the teacher, in the course of tuition.
1, The first requisite in reading or speaking to
Others, is a clear and distinct articulation.
Articulation is the uttering of syllables or words. In reading or
speaking to others, you aim at producing a certain effect upon the
minds of your hearers. In order to accomplish this, you must induce
them to listen and become interested in what you say. But auditors
•will never listen with iriterest, unless they can hear what is said with-
out effort.
To make persons hear easily, it is less necessary to speak loud, than
to utter each word clearly and roundly. Every one who has been in
the habit of speaking to deaf persons, knows, that the surest way to
make them bear is, not to vociferate, but to speak slowly and distinctly.
Good articulation, then, is an essential requisite in reading or speak-
ing to others. It has been said to be to the ear, what good print or a
fair handwriting is to the eye. It is a pleasure to read these, as it is a
revolting task to read bad and blurred print, or a nearly illegible hand-
writing. In the same way, we hear a good speaker with pleasure,
while we are disgusted with a mumbling or a.mouthing one. A certain
•jyriter says, " In just articulation, the words are not to be hurried
over; nor precipitated syllable over syllable ; nor, as it were, molted,
together in a mass of confusion. They should be neither abridged nor
prolonged ; nor swallowed nor forced ; they should not be trailed nor
draw^led, nor let to slip out carelessly, so as to drop unfinished. They
are to be delivered out from the lips as beautiful coins newly issued
from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, perfectly finished,
neatly struck by the proper organs, distinct, in due succession, and of
due weight."
The importance of a distinct articulation in a speaker, may be illus-
trated by what Cicero tells us of the ancient Romans. " The whole
theatre was in an uproar," says he, '• if one of the speakers happened
to put in one syllable too many or too few."
2. Study accuracy of pronunciation.
Walker's Dictionary is the common standard of pronunciation in
England, and perhaps in this country; but, as a guide to American
speakers, Worcester may be safely recommended. It is desirable, that
every person learning the art of reading, as the means of using his
mother tongue with the best effect, should habitually keep a Dictiona-
ry at his side, as well for pronunciation as definition. It is especially
important, that the pupil establish the habit of attention to pronuncia-
8 THE FOURTH READER.
lion, BO that he may correct such vulgarisms as he may have adopted,
and avoid others which he might catch from those around him. In
the Third Reader, I have pointed out, lesson by lesson, the words that
occur which are often pronounced improperly. In order more
effectually to warn the pupil against errors of this kind, I will enu-
merate certain classes of faults to which he is exposed, and, in his
reading of tlie subsequent lessons, I invite his frequent reference to
this list.
The letter a, occurring in the first syllable, is often omitted or imper-
fectly sounded. Thus ascribe is pronounced 'scribe; allure, 'lure;
adorn, 'dom.
The same fault is much more common with the vowel c ; prepare is
pronounced /w'/)arc ; ^presei\e,jrr serve ; exist, 'xist ; eclectic, 'clectic;
depart, d' part ; deliver, d' liver ; ensnare, 'nsnare; traveller, traveller;
every, evry; several, scvral.
In some words, instead of having its proper sound, e is read like u
in suppose. Thus belief, is read lul-icf ; severe, suv-ere ; certain,
sutVn; before, buf-ore ; behold, buh-old. So with the vowel i. Impure
is pronounced 'mpure ; imprison, 'mprison ; incautious, 'ncautious. So-
with the vowel o. Correct, erect ; collapse, elapse ; occur, 'cur •
omnipotent, 'mnipotent.
But the most common fault with o in the first syllable, is to sound it
as u. Compress is pronounced cmnpress ; congeal, cungcal ; monop-
oly, Twuno/Jo/y; convey, cunvey; propitious, prupitious ; concur, cun-
cur ; compare, cumpare.
So as to the vowel u: Unveiled is pronounced ^nveiled; suppose,
s'pose; suspend, 5 /?cnrf; surrender, sVe/jrfer, &c. It is often pronounc-
ed as o. Undo is called ondo ; untie, ontie, &c.
The following terminations are very often pronounced badly. Less
is pronounced liss. Hapless, hapliss; sleepless, sleepliss, &c. En is
sometimes pronounced in, and sometimes the e is entirely left out.
Thus woollen, ?coo//m or icooVn; de&kn, deajin ot dcaf'n. So with
cd. F o]ded, foldid
JVess is pronounced niss. Dampness, dampniss. Able and ible are
pronounced z/Wc. Eatable, ca^uWc; vendible, venduble.
Al is read without a. Parental, porcnf 7 ; musical, music I ; metal,
mcVl; capital, capiVl; rebel, reb'l; chapel, chap'l.
Ent is pronounced unt; a very common and vulgar fault; moment,
momunt ; prudent, priidunt ; confiilence , conjidunce ; silent, silunt ; sm-
them, anthum ; dependent, dependunt.
Ing is pronounced in. It is very common to say for singing, 5mo7n;
for eating, catin ; being, bein ; flying, ^j/m ; dancing, duncin; resting,
restin.
Oic and o are pronounced er. Window, winder ; tobacco, tobacc-er ;
fellow, feller ; widow, tcidder ; follow, f oiler ; moXto, m otter.
Ance, cncy are pronounced unce, nncy. Acquaintance, acquain-
tuncc; abhorrence, abhor ru nee; confidence, confidunce ; assistance, oj-
sistunce.
Ive is pronounced long instead of short, like I in try, instead of like
? in r^vet. Thus native is made native ; missive, missive.
Elis pronounced without the c. Novel, nov'l ; model, mod'l; vei'
Bel, vess'l; gravel, grav I ; level, Zcr'Z.
Aiti is pronounced without the ai. Fountain, founCn, &c.
On is pronounced without the o. Lotion, losfiv, &.z.
HINTS TO READERS AND SPEAKERS. 9
Ine is pronounced with i as in vine, instead of i as in pin : engine^
Slc. ; r at the end of a word is often pronounced lilce lo. War, waw, &c.
On the other hand, it is often put in where it ought not to be. Law,
lor ; draw, draw-r ; idea, idea-r.
H after w is often omitted. What, wat; when, wen; whale, wale;
wheel, icceZ; whisper , wisper ; white, wite; wheat, iccat.
JfUrn in the middle of a word is changed to u. Government, govu-
ment.
The pupil should be careful not to make his pronunciation affected,
by carrying this observance of the orthography too far, so as to tres-
pass upon the settled usage of our language. Even, we pronounce
fiVn'j open, op'n; heaven, heav'n; but in some parts of the country
they say, pvrun, op-uji, h^av-un, which is wrong, &c.
O" The habit of remarking these errors of pronunciation, is one of
the surest methods of avoiding them.
3. Pay careful attention to the tone of your
voice.
The importance of this suggestion can hardly be overrated. Sight
is the most active of the senses, but the ear is the most common and
ready instrument of exciting emotion. It is on this principle, that
music acquires its power over us ; a shriek or eroan excites more im-
mediate and deep interest than any spectacle whatever. The dying
struggles of a fish move us but slightly, while the piteous bleating of
a lamb reaches the heart at once. It is so even with animals ; the cry
of distress from any one of them seems to rouse the attention of all
others, even of different kinds, while they look with indifference upon
the dying agonies of one of their own race.
The reader or speaker, then, addresses himself to an organ which is
p. powerful instrument for moving the heart. The tone of his voice
thus becomes a subject of the utmost importance. If it is disagree-
able, harsh, nasal, whining, or in any other way offensive, it causes
aversion in the listener, while the object is to win his attention. Nor
is it enough merely to avoid a disagreeable tone. The speaker should
so manage and modulate his voice as to excite feelings consonant to
the sentiment addressed to his hearers ; — in other words, the tones of
the voice should be so modulated a§ to sait the thought, passion, or
feeling conveyed in the words he utters.
The conimou modifications of the voice in speaking are four, the
vwnotoxie, the rising ivjlcction, the falling inflection, and the circuwflex.
4. The monotone is to be used in passages of
dignity, where the strain of sentiment is uniform.
Monotone is a sameness of sound, and in this application means a
uniformity of voice. If you will read the following passage, from
IWilton, in this manner, you will see that it suits the subject, and im-
parts dignity to the verse.
" 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."
10 THE FOURTH READER.
5. The rising inflection may be noticed in the
direct interrogative.
An inflection is a bending of the voice from a higher to a lower, or
from a lower to a liigiier, key. When you ask tlie question, Who
made tins jicn? you will observe that there is a rising of the voice at
the end of the sentence. So in the following : Is not this the carpen-
ter's son ? Is not his mother called Mary .' Is it not wrong to slan-
der another ? Is it better to steal a man's purse than to steal his fair
fame ? Can this little bird sing .'
6. The falling inflection is perceived in answer-
ing a question.
Suppose you answer one of the preceding questions ; you will
observe that the voice falls to a lower key at the end of the sentence,
as, I made the pen. It is wrong to slander another. This little bird
can sing.
7. The circumflex is an union of the rising
and falling inflections.
This is chiefly used where the language is designed to express doubt
or irony. Hume said lie would go twenty miles to hear iVhitejidd
preach. This was spoken in such a manner as to imply, that he would
give himself no trouble to hear any other preacher. In order to do
this, it was necessary to use the double inflection in speaking the word
/r/uic^cZd, first bending the voice downward and then upward, upon
that word. This mode of speaking implied a sneer at other pteachers.
If you ask a physician about your friend who is dangerously ill, and
receive for an answer. He is better, you will understand his answer ac-
cording to the manner !n which the word better is spoken. If there is
no bending of the voice in the expression of that word, the answer is
decidedly favorable ; but if the voice bends first downward upon the
first part of the word, and upward upon the last, you understand the
physician to express doubt, as if he were to say, He is better, but still
dangerously ill,
8. Upon these inflections of the voice, much of
the spirit and efficacy of speaking, depends.
It is hardly possible to give any rules which may teach the art of
modulating the voice with skill and propriety. It is best acquired by
observing go d speakers, and seeking the society of well-educated
people. It is important for the pupil, however, to have his attention
drawn to the subject, and these rules are laid down with that view.
At first, the pupil may hardly be able to distinguish these several mod-
ifications of the voice, but a little observation will enable him to trace
them in others, and at last, in himself To make what has been sai'l
more distiactly understood, the following examples are offered.
HINTS TO READERS AND SPEAKERS. H
Example in which the monotone is to he used,
«« Seen through yon time-worn arch, the parting sun
Rests like a weary hunter on the brow
Of the far western hills, — and there lingering,
To mark the silent flight of his last arrow
Through the liqi<iid air."
Examples, in which the rising and falling inflections are to he used ,
the first in the question, and the latter in the answer.
What would content you ? Talent? No ! Enterprise ? No ! Courage ?
No ! Reputation ? No ! Virtue ? No !
Are you ignorant of many things which it highly concerns you to
know ? The Gospel offers you instruction. Have you deviated from
the path of duty ? The Gospel offers you forgiveness. Do tempta-
tions surround you ? The Gospel offers you the aid of heaven. Are
you exposed to misery ? It consoles you. Are you subject to death ?
It offers you immortality.
9. Beware of false modulation, monotony, and
mannerism.
A raising or lowering of the voice improperly, is to be avoided, be-
cause either would mar the sense. Monotony deprives speaking of
its spirit and interest. If the painter were to use but one color, his art
would be entirely deprived of its power. In music, a constant drawling
out of the same note would be intolerable. It is the same with read-
ing or speaking. You must vary the voice according to the sentiment ;
but be careful not to run into the opposite extreme, a merely mechan-
ical modulation, which may be called mannerism. This arises from
thinking wholly or mainly of the enunciation of the words, without
feeling or appreciating the ideas they convey. Keep in mind, there-
fore, that the thoughts and sentiments are what you wish to transfer
to the breasts of your listeners, and the voice the vehicle by which
they are to be conveyed.
10. Be careful of the pitch of your voice.
The pitch of voice has relation to that high or low note which
prevails in a spoken discourse. It is obvious, that,jif this is too high,
when the speaker has occasion to raise the pitch, his voice will become
squeaking or will break ; if too low, it will become disagreeable or in-
audible. The proper pitch to adopt in reading or speaking, is that be-
tween the upper and lower, called the middle pitch. It is that which
we adopt in earnest conversation.
It may be remarked, that low tones are the most solemn, and high
ones the most animated. But the former are the least penetrating.
When, therefore, you are speaking to a large audience, it may be
necessary to raise the pitch of your voice in order to be heard. Regard
must be always had, in speaking, to the circumstances in which you
are placed. It is a safe rule, always to proportion your voice to the ex-
lent of the room and the number of your audience, so that each per-
son may hear without effort.
1-2 THE FOURTH READER.
11. Be attentive to the transitions of the voice.
This rule requires attention in altering the voice, as the senti-
ment of what you are uttering, changes ; and this change must be sud-
den or gradual, according to the sense.
12. Be careful to accent your words properly.
Accent is the stress laid upon a particular part of a word ; as in
Boston, the accent is upon the first syllable.
13. Be attentive to emphasisi
Emphasis is the stress laid upoli certain words in a sentence, tts
use is to press certain ideas forcibly upon the mind. It was formerly
the custom to print many emphatic words in italic, but this is general-
ly abandoned. The rules which govern emphasis are not arbitrary ,
they depend upon feeling, and must be left to the taste of the speaker.
If you read or speak naturally, with a lively interest in what you ut-
ter, your emphasis will be correct. Children, in the ardor of their
sports, are good models in this respect.
14. Be careful of your pauses.
The common grammatical pauses are denoted by the comma, semi-
colon, colon, period, &c. The common rule in respect to these is, to
pause at the comma as long as to say one ; at a semicolon, as long as
to count one, two ; at a colon, as long as to count one, two, three, «Skc.
This rule, however, is not inflexible, for the taste of the reader will
sometimes point out the propriety of shorter or longer pauses. There
are cases, indeed, in which, for rhetorical effect, the speaker will
make much longer pauses than the common rule prescribes.
15. Make a proper .distinction between narra-
tive and representation.
There is a great difference betweeh telling what was said by a man,
and introducing tliat man to speak for himself. If you were to say,
that " Jesus inquired of Simon, son of Jonas, whether he loved him,"
it would be narrative ; but if you say that " Jesus said, ' Simon, son of
Jonas, lovest thou me? " ' it is representation. When, therefore, you
represent another as speaking, you must alter your voice so that it may
be adapted to the character. This rule applies also in reading dia-
logue or dramatic pieces. When you represent, or speak for, the sev-
eral characters, you must speak in a tone and manner suited to each.
16. Poetry must be read with a careful atten-
tion to punctuation, and with due regard to meas-
ure and rhyme.
The voice, too, must be adapted in its tone to the delicacy and el-
evation of sentiment, of which poetry is usually the vehicle. Empha-
HINTS TO READERS AND SPEAKERS. 13
8*13 and accent, loo, must be carefully regarded, in reading poetry, with
a view clearly to exhibit the sense.
17. Be attentive to action.
Rhetorical action includes attitude, gesture, and expression of face.
These are important to the speaker. His attitude should be easy, nat-
ural, and graceful ; his gestures free, but expressive , his countenance
should be adapted to the sentiment of what he utters. The latter ap-
plies also to the reader. It would be ridiculous to read a gay and live-
ly piece with a long and solemn countenance, or a solemn piece with
smiles upon the face. But the reader has occasion to make few or no
gestures; he should, however, stand in an easy posture, with his
breast thrown forward, so as to give free play to his lungs.
18. Make yourself master of the sense of
everything you read.
The object of silent reading is to acquire ideas ; of oral reading, to
communicate them to others. If you pass a sentence without under-
standing it, in silent or oral reading, you miss the very object of read-
ing in the first case, and in the latter have little chance of communi-
cating well to others, the sense of that which you donot yourself com-
prehend. It is important to establish the inflexible, persevering habit,
of mastering everything you read.
19. Study into the precise meaning of words.
It is well for a learner to make it a fixed principle, never to pass a
word without knowing its meaning; and for this reason, he should al-
ways keep a Dictionary at hand.
But there is a simple and easy etymological analysis of words,
tending to unfold their force and signification, which maybe carried to
a considerable extent by those who have no acquaintance with the sev-
eral languages of which our English language is compounded. It
may not be convenient for all teachers to introduce these exercises into
their schools ; but, for the advantage of those who may be able to use
them, I will insert a brief list of such exercises as I allude to. Oswald's
"Etymological Dictionary" will enable the reader to pursue these
studies thoroughly.
In the first place it must be perceived, that a large portion of our
words are compounded of words which are called roots, and other words
called prefixes or affixes. The root contains the main sense of the
word, and the prefix or affix is used to modify its signification. Thus
the word deject is composed of the root ject, from the Latin jacio,
to throw, to cast, and the prefix de, which signifies down; together,
the compound word deject signifies to cast down. This is the literal
sense, though the word is applied metaphorically to the mind. Duck-
ling consists of the root duck and ling, the latter affix being from the
Saxon, and signifying young or little ; the word duckling, therefore , sig-
nifies a T/owno- duck. So gosling signifies a young goose; hirdling a
young or little bird, &c. In the first place, I propose to give a list of
2
14 THE FOURTH READER.
the principal prefixes, which are small words prefixed to roots ; then a
list of affixes, which are appended to roots ; and then a few of the roots
most extensively used. My design is rather to suggest inquiry into
this subject, than to give the means of pursuing it thoroughly < If a
pupil Will get interested in it, he will pursue it with eagerness.
The utility of such a study, as is here proposed, may be inferred
from the fact, that the understanding of a single prefix or affix may
unlock the meaning of hundreds of other words ; the understanding
of a single root will also explain many words. The small vocabulary
of roots nercafler given, furnishes the basis of several thousand words
in our language.
PREFIXES.
A, signifies on, in, to, or at : as, afoot', on foot ; abed', in bed ; afield', to
the field ; afar, at a great distance.
Ab, signifies fro7n or away : as, aibre'viate, to make short from ; ab-
solve', to loose from.
Abs, sio^nifies from or away : as, abstain', to hold from.
Ad, and the forms it assumes, signifies to : as, adhere', to stick to.
Ac, for AD, signifies to : as, accede', for adcede', to yield to, to come to,
to agree or assent.
Af, for AD, signifies to : as, «/fix', for atffix', to fix to.
At, for AD, signifies to : as, n/tracl', for attract', to draw to ; atteat', to
bear witness to.
Ante, signifies before : as, an^cce'dent, going before.
Anti, signifies opposite to, against : as, anftchris'lian, opposite to Christi-
anity ; antiwc'tic, against, or opposite to, the north, (soutliern.)
Be, signifies to make : as, iccalin', to make calm ; 6efoul', to make foul ;
Acdeck', to deck.
CiRCUM, signifies about or round : as, circumvent', to come round about,
(to cheat.)
Con (cum), and the shapes it takes, — co, cog, col, com, cor, signifies
together or tvith : as, concussi'on, a shaking together; conform', to comply
unth.
Co, for con, signifies together or vfith : as, coop'erate, for con-op'erate, to
work with or together.
Col, for con, signifies together or with : as, co/lect', for conlect', to gather
together.
Com, for con, signifies together or with : as, commo'tion, for conmo'tion, a
moving together ; coT/ipassi'on, for conpasei'on, suffering or feeling with
(another).
Cor, for con, signifies together or with : as, corrob'orate, for conrob'orate,
to make strong together j correlative, for conrel'alive, relative with.
Contra, signifies against : as, con^adict', to say or speak against.
Counter, for contra, signifies against : as, counfcrbal'ance, to balance
agai7ist.
De, signifies down or from : as, deject', to cast down ; depart', to part or
go from.
Dis, signifies take from, away, off, or out ; not, implying privation, nega-
tion, or undoing : as, disarm', to take arms from ; disor'der, to take away
HINTS TO READERS AND SPEAKERS. 15
order ; disco\'er, to take off the cover ; rfisinter', to take out of the earth or
grave ; rfiibelieve'', not to believe.
Dl, for Dis, signifies asunder : as, rfisperse', to scatter asunder.
En,- em, signifies in, into, or on : to make : as, encamf/^ to form into a
camp ; enthrone', to place on a throne ; ena'ble, to make able.
Em, for EN, signifies to make : as embel'lish, to make beautiful ; cmpow'er,
to give power to.
Ex, signifies out, out of : as, ca^clude', to shut otU ; ca;tend , to stretch out,
E, contracted for ex, signifies oiU, out of : as, emit', to send out; educe', to
bring out.
Extra, signifies beyond : as, extraor'd'mary, beyond ordinary.
Fore, signifies before : as, /orerun'ner, one who runs before ; foresee', to
see before.
Hyper signifies above, over or beyond : as, hyperergic, a critic exact
over or beyond (use or reason.)
Hypo, signifies under : as, hypolWesis, a placing under, (a system formed
under some principle not proved.)
Im, for IN, (Saxon,) signifies to make: as, imhit'ter, to make bitter;
mpov'erish, to make poor.
In, (Latin,) and the forms it assumes, — il, im, ir, before a verb, signifies
in or into, on or upon : as inject', to throw in or into j inoc'ulate, to make an
eye on or upon.
Il, for IN, signifies in or on : as, I'flu'minate, to make or put light in, (to
enlighten.)
Im, for IN, signifies in or into, on or upon : as, import', to carry in or
into ; impose', to place on or upon.
Ir, for IN, signifies in or on : as, irra'diate, to make rays on or upon, (to
illuminate.)
In, and the forms it assumes, — ig, il, im, ir, l)efore an adjective, signifies
not, implying negation, privation, or want : as in^finite, not finite, (or without
bounds.)
Ig, for IN, signifies not : as, igno'ble, not noble.
Il, for IN, signifies not : as, i/le'gal, not legal.
Im, for IN, signifies not, implying negation, privation, or want: as, im-
mor'tal, not mortal, (or not liable to death.)
Ir, for IN, signifies not : as, irrati'onal, not rational.
Inter, signifies between or among : as, interpose', to place between ; in-
termix', to mix among or between.
Intro, signifies within : as, introduce', to lead or bring within,
JuxTA, signifies near to : as,_;Ma?/apositi'on, the being placed near to (any
thing).
Mis, signifies ill, error, or defect, marking an ill, false, or wrong sense: as,
Tniscon'duct, ill conduct ; miibelie'ver, one who holds a false religion, or be-
lieves wrongly ; miiapply', to apply to a wrong purpose.
Ob, and the shapes it takes, — oc, of, op, signifies in the way, against, out:
as, o6ject', to cast in the way, or against ; o6'solete, grown out (of use).
Out, signifies beyond, denoting excess or superiority : as, owdive', to live
beyond.
Over, signifies above or over, too high or much, implying eminence or su-
periority, more than enough : as, overflow', to flow of cr or above j overcharge',
to charge too high or too much,
Para, signifies side by side, beside, near to, like or similar : as, par'ahle, a
putting a thing side by side, or beside another, (to make a comparison or si-
militude, or likening spiritual things to temporal or external objects.)
Per, signifies through, or thoroughly : as, pervade', to go through ; peren'-
nial (lasting), through the year ; pe/iecl^ thoroughly done.
16 THE FOURTH READER.
Post, signifies after : as.pos/'script, a thing writtea after.
Pre (pRjI:), signifies hcfort : as, predict' to say or tell before J predi^, to
fix before ; /weciir'sor, one who runs before.
Preter (PR JETER), signifies beyond or past : as, jjrcfernat'ural, beyond
the course of nature ; prti'terite, past.
Pro, signifies for, forward, forth, or otU : as, prox'y (for procuracy), an
agent for another (or one who acts for another) ; jwoceed', to go forward J
proyoke', to call forth ; proclaim', to cry out.
Rk, signifies back or again, anew : as, recall', to call back ; rcan'imate to
life again ; remorse', a biting back; redeem', to buy back (by paying a price);
recommence', to begin anew.
Retro, signifies backwards : as, re/'rograde, going backwards step by
Blep.
Se, signifies aside, apart, or without : as, secede', to go aside or apart J
•educe', to lead aside.
Sine, signifies without : as, sincere' , toithojtt wax or mixture (honest) ;
jim'pie, without a fold.
Sub, and the forms it assumes, — sue, suf, sug, sup, signifies under or
afler, implying a subordinate degree: as, *u6scribe , to write under J snb'se'
quent, following under or after ; »t<6bea'dle, under beadle.
Sue, for si;b, signifies under, up : as, succeed', to go or come under or
after (also to prosper) ; suc'cour, to run up (to help.)
SuF, for SUB, signifies under: as, insu/"'ferabie, tliat cannot be borne
under or with.
Sup, for sub, signifies under, up: as, suppress', to press under; sup-
port', to bear up.
SuBTER, signifies under or beneath: as, siii'^erfuge, a flying under or
beneath, (a shift.)
Super, signifies above or over, more than enough: as, superadd', to add
over or above ; super\\'sov, one who looks over (an overseer) ; super'fluous,
flowing more than enough, (unnecessary.)
SuR, signifies above, over, upon : as, 4T*rmount', to rise abort ; survive', to
live above or after.
Trans, signifies across, over, or beyond, through, change from one place
to another : as, transgress', to go over or beyond ; <ra?ispa'rent, appearing
through (clear) ; transform' , to change the form.
Ultra, signifies beyond : as, u/^ramon'tane, beyond tlie mountain.
Un, before a verb, signifies to take off, deprive of, implying undoing or de-
stroying : as, undress', to take off clothes ; uncrown', to deprive of a crown.
Un, before an adjective, signifies not, implying negation or privation : as,
una'ble, not able ; unblem'ished, not blemished, or free from reproach.
Under, signifies beneath or under, denoting subordination or inferiority :
as, un'c/er-clerk, beneath, or subordinate to, the principal clerk.
With, signifies from or against : as, withdraw', to draw from.
AFFIXES.
Ac, signifies of or belonging to : as, demo'niac, belonging to the devil.
Ance, denotes being, or state of being, or (simply), * ing' : as vig'ilance,
state of being vigilant, or watchmg ; sub'stancc, standmg under, or state of
being substantial.
Ant, denotes one who, or the person that : as, assist'anr, one who, or the
person that assists ; va'grant, one who wanders.
Ant, signifies being, or ' ing : ' as, abun'danf, abound'ing^ ,* dor'man/,
sleeping ; pleas'on/, plea'sm^,
Ard, denotes one who : as, drunk'arrf, one who is drunken.
HINTS TO READERS AND SPEAKERS. 17
Ary, denotes one who, or the person that : as, em'issary, one who is sent
out (secretly) ; Wtary, owe devoted, or the person that is devoted (to any
thing).
Ary, denotes the place where, or the thing that : as, Vi'hr ary, the place where
books are kept ; n'viary, the place where birds are kept, (or the thing that
keeps birds in.)
Ary, signifies belonging, relating, or pertaining to, befitting : as, ar1)or-
ary, belonging to trees ; lit'erary, relating to literature or letters ; parliamen'-
tary, pertaining to parliament.
Ate, denotes one who, or the person that : as, grad'ua/e, one who obtains a
degree (at college) ; ad'vocofe, one who, or the person that pleads (the cause
of another).
Xt^, AenoiGs having, being : as, \i\^n'\mate , having no life; affec'tionafc,
having aftection ; ad'equa^e, being equal to ; sit'ua/e, being placed (on).
Ate, denotes to make, to give, to put, or to take : as, ren'oxate, to make new
again ; frus'tra^e, to make vain ; sm^imate, to give life ; invig'oraff, to put
vigor in or into ; exon'era^e, to lake the burden from or out.
Ee, denotes one who : as, absentee', one who is absent ; patentee', one who
has a patent.
Eer, signifies one who, or the person that : as, mountaineer', one who dwells
on or amid mountains, (a Highlander.)
Ence, denotes being or state of being, or ' ing ' : as, abhoi-'rencc, state of
being abhorrent, or abhorrm^ ; adhe'rcwce, stickmg- to, or state of being ad-
herent.
Ekt, denotes one who, or the person that : as, depo'neni, one who puts or
lays down (evidence) ; paftient, one who, or the person that suffers.
Er, denotes one who, or the person that : as, ba'ker, one who bakes ; vls'-
iter, one who, or the person that visits ; wid'ower, one who, or the person that
has lost his wife.
FuL, denotes full of : as, hopeful, full of hope ; awful, full of awe ;
plen'ti/u/, full of plenty.
Fy, denotes to make : as, mag'ni/j/ to make great ; sanc'ti/y, to make holy;
pu'ri/y, to make pure.
Hood, denotes the state of : as, hoy'hood, the state of a boy.
Ic, denotes of, belonging, relating, or pertaining to : as, academ'ic, of or
belonging to an academy ; angel'ic, relating to angels ; ocean'ic, pertaining to
the ocean.
Ile, denotes belonging to, may or can be, easily : as, pu'eri7c, belonging to
a boy ; flex'j7e, that may or can be bent, or easily bent.
Ine, denotes of or belonging to : as, ma'rme, of or belonging to the sea ;
ca'nme, belonging to dogs ; fen/inme, of or belonging to the female.
Ion, denotes act of, state of being, or ' ing ' : as, contribu'tion, the act of
contributing or givmo' together ; collis'ion, the act q/" striking together ; sub-
ordina'tion, state of being subordinate or inferior; dissolu'tior/., a dissolving (a
loosing asunder) ; cohe'sion, a stickmo' together ; commo'tion, a moving- to-
gether, (a tumult.)
IsH, denotes belonging to, like or resembling, little of or somewhat : as,
Eng'lisA, belonging to England ; child'tsA, like or resembling a child ; green'-
ish, little of or somewhat green.
ISiM, (Gr.) denotes state of being, an idiom, or doctrine of : as, par'alleli^m,
state of being parallel; Lat'inis/n, a Latin idiom j Cal'vini«77i, doctrine of
Calvin.
1st, denotes one who, or the person that : as, bot'ani»<, one who studies bot-
any or plants ; the'ori«r, one ivho, or the person that theorizes or speculates ;
oc uli«/, one wlio cures eyes.
18 THE FOURTH READER.
Ite, denotes one who, or the person that : as, Le'vi^c, one who is descended
firom Levi ; fa'vorUe, one who, or the person that is favored.
IVE, denotes having power, that can, or ' ing,^ implying power, ability. Of
activity : as, persua'siVc, having power to persuade ; correc''ui;f, that can cor-
rect ; progres'stt'c, going forward.
IZE, — ISE, denotes to make, to give : as, cWiMze, to make civil ; fer'tilp
ire, to make fruitful ; char'actericc, to give a character ; au'thorize, to givf
authority.
Less, denotes tmthout, having no, or wanting : as, ari'less, without art J
{atWerless, without a father ; he)p'/e**, having no power, or wanting power,
Like, denotes like or resembling : as, lUAn'like, like or resembling man.
Ling, (sometimes Ll>',) denotes little, young : ^os'ling, a young goose.
•Ly (contraction for like), postfixed to nouns, denotes like or resemblitf.g f
as, hvolWerty, like or resembling a brother ; earth'/y, like or resembling eartli;
win'ter/y, like winter.
Me>'T, denotes being or state of being, act of, the thing that : as, abase'-
ment, being abased, or state of being abased ; conceal'mcrU, act of conceal-
ing ; refresh'mcTi/, the thing that refreshes.
J\ess, denotes a being or stale of being, or quality of being : as, bar'ren-
ness, a being barren ; bles'sedncss, state of being blessed ; goft'ne*^, the qual-
ity of being soft.
Or, denotes one who, or the person that : as, doc'tor, one who or the person
that is learned ; interces'sor, one who intercedes or goes l)eiween.
Ory, denotes of, belonging, relating or pertaining to, ' ing ' : as, prefatory,
of or belonging to a preface ; pis'catory, relating to fish ; consolatory, per-
taining to consolation (tending to give comfort) ; ad'ulatory, flattering'.
OsE, denotes full of : as, operose' , full of labor ; verbose^, full of words.
Ous, denotes full of, having, consisting of, of or belonging to, given to^
* ing ' ; as, dan'gerou^, full of danger ; pop'ulous, full of people ; longira'-
anou^, having long hands ; cartilag'inoiw, consisting of gristles ; binou.?,
consisting of bile ; co-eta'neotM, of the same age ; conten'tiou*, given to con-
tention ; lanig'erou.*, bearm^ wool ; graminiv'oroits, eating^ grass.
Ry, denotes a being, the art of, the place where, or property of: as, bra'very,
a being brave ; cas'uistry, the art or science of a casuist ; nur'sery, the
place where young chililren or trees are reared.
Ship, denotes office of, state of: as, rec'torship, office of a rector ; copart'-
nership, state of having equal shares.
Some, denotes somewhat , full of: as, glad'some, somewhat glad; frol'ic-
some, full of frolics or pranks.
TuDE, or DDE, denotes being or state of being : as muVlitude, being many;
BoVic'itude, state of being anxious.
Ty, denotes being or state of being : as, brev'i/y, a being short or concise ;
lax'i/y, a being loose ; no\''el/y, state of being new (or unknown before) ;
probabil'ify, state of being probable.
Ure, denotes the thing, state, power, or art of : as, scrip'ture, the thing
written ; crcd'ture, the thing created ; leg'islature,//ic;)oM^er that makes laws;
ag'riculturc, the art of cultivating fields.
Ward, denotes in the direction of, or, lookifig toward : as, down'ward, in
the direction of, or looking down ; in'ward, looking toward the inside.
y , denotes the being, state of being, or ' ing ' : as, hai-'mony, the being har-
monious ; jeal'ousy, the being jealous, or state of being jealous ; con'stancy,
a standing together, or state of being constant.
Y, denotes full of, covered with, made of: as, knot'ty,/uZ/ o/" knots; flow'ery,
full of, or covered with flowers ; horn'y, made of horn.
mNTS TO READERS AND SPEAKERS. 19
ROOTS.
Anim-us, the mind, or thinking principle : as, unaniWity, the being of one
fnind, or oneness pf niind.
AsTR-ON, c star ; as, astron'omyt the laws or science of the stars ; as'ter-
Isk, as'ter\sm, as'trtiX.
AvANT, before, forward : as, rajj'courier, one who runs before ; avant'-
^uard, rflnguard', advance'.
Beau, a man of dress, — Belle, a woman of dress ; hence, fair, beauti-
ful : as, bfatflty^ a being fair or bearaiful ; ennAe/Visb, to make beautiful j
/beau, beau'iah, fceaw-monde', beau'ty.
Bene, good, well : as, feeracv''olent, willing, good,.
BiNi, two by two : Bis, twice, two : as, bi'ped, <M>o-footed, (anioials.)
CiED-0, CKSum, to cvt, to kill : as, incisi''on, a cu«ing in ; homficide,
filling a man, or one who kills a roan ; su'icirfe, killing one's self.
Cano, cantum, to sing : as, can'^icle, a little song.
.C4.PJ-0, captum, to take, to take it), or up, to hold or contain : as, cap't\\e,
one taken, (in war) ; capac'ity, the power of taking in or containing ; eKcep'f
/ion, a facing out ; pevcep'tihle, tliat may be taken up or in thoroughly, or ob-
served ; antic'ipate, to take up before ; partic'ipate, to take a part in.
Caro, > flesh : as, inca/nate, having put on flesh ; carmv'orous, eat-
Pa.r^is, 5 '"g flesh.
Ced-o, cessum, to go, to give up, to yield : as, antecedent, going before ;
interces'sor, one who goes between (a mediator) ; acced^, to give up to, to
come to ; proceed', to go forward ; recede', to go back.
PiT-o, cieo, to move or stir, to call, to cite, to rouse or stir up : as, excUe',
to call out, to rouse ; resus'ciVate, to call up again, to stir up anew.
Civ-is, a citizen, a free rrian or woman of a city or town : as, ciVil, be-
longing to a citizen (polite) ; cifil'ity, a being civil, or manners of citizens.
Claud-o, clausum, to shut, to close : as, coviclu-s'ion , a shutting together
(the close or end) ; exclude, to shut out ; include', to shut in.
Cor, cord-is, the heart: as, con'corrf, hearts together, union of hearts
(agreement) ; disWrf, hearts asunder, (disagreement.)
Corpus, a {>ody : as, co/pora\, belonging to the body ; corpo're?i\, having a
body ; corps, a body of soldiers ; corpse, a dead body.
Cred-o, creditiini, to believe, to trust : as, cred'ible, worthy of credit or
may be believed ; cred'ulons, apt to believe ; cred'it, belief o[ or trust ; (honor;
good opinion.)
Crit-es, to separate, to discriminate, to jtidge, a judge, one who decides : as,
cnVic, one skilled in judging (of literature) ; hypoc'my, an assuming a fic-
titious character, a feigning or dissembling (in morality or religion).
CuRA, care, concern, chaj-ge, a cure: as, si'necure, (an ofiice which has
revenue,) without employment, or care ; cw'rate, one who has the cure or
charge (of souls under another.)
CuRR-o, cursum, to run : as, incur, to run in ; excw/sion, a running
put ; precwr'^or, one who runs before ; recw/rence, a running back ; suc'-
cour, to run up (to help) ; cou'course, a running together.
CuTi-o, cussum, to shake: as, discuss', to shake asunder (to examine) ;
concuwi'on, a shaking together.
_ Dic-o, dictum, to speak, to say : as henedic't'ion, a say\ng good (a bles-
sing) ; interdict', to say between (to forbid) ; preach', to speak publicly
(upon sacred subjects) ; predict', to say before, (to foretell.)
Do, datum, to give : as, add, to give to ; do'nor, one who gives ; edit'i'on,
a giv'mg out (publication of a book) ; da'tive, (the case of nouns, denoting
the person to whom,) any thing is given.
20 THE FOURTH READER.
Ddbi-us, doubtful : as, mdi^bitahXe, that cannot be doubted; indi/biooBf
not doubtful.
Dcc-0, ductura, to bring, to lead : as, deduct', to bring down ; induced, to
bring in ; prodttc'tive, bringing forward ; seduce', to lead aside ; condw'cive,
/easing together ; duc'tile, that may be bent or dravm out into length.
E<IU-US, even, equal ; just, right : as, e^uanim'ity, evenness or equalneaa
of mind ; ei^'iibVium, equality of weight ; e'qidnox, equal day and night ;
e^utValent, equal in value ; equitable, what is equal, just j inad'egwate, not
equal to ; iaiq'uitoas, not equal, nnjust, {wicked.)
Err-0, to wander ; to mistake : as, aherra'tion, the act oC wandering (from
the right or known way) ; erro'neous, wandering, mistaken.
Faci-o, factum, to make, to do, to cause, to give : as, bene/ac'/or, one who
does good ; male/ac'/or, one who does evil ; manu/ac'/ure, the thing made by
the hand ; fact, a thing done (deed) ; effect', the thing made out ; effec'tive,
having the power to produce effects; e(y>c'/ual, belonging to, or productive
of, efects ; perfect, thoroughly done ; \renef'icen\., doing good ; arti/ci'al,
made by art (opposite to natural) ; horri/'ic, causing horror ; proli/'ic,
making or producing young {fruitful) ; fi'dil, let it be done {a decree) ; cer'-
ti/y, to make sure ; (ov'tify, to make strong ; tes'ti/y, to make or bear wit-
ness ; viv'i/y, to give life.
Fend-o, fensum, to keep off, to strike : as, defend, to keep off^ to preserve ;
offend', to strike against.
F£R-0, to carry, bear, or suffer, to bring : as, circumference, (the line,)
carrying round ; sufycr, to bear under ; soni/'erous, g^ii-ing or iring^ing sound;
\nfe?, to bring on (to draw from) ; /e/nle, fit to bear, or proper for bearing^
{fruitful.)
FiD-ES, faith, credit, trust : as, con^e', to trust together or in {to trust);
dif'^rfent, not /ruling ; in^el, one who does not believe or credit {an unfce-
liever) ; per^fdy, faith gone through (want or breach o{ faith) ; sSfr'ance,
afjft'ancer.
FiK-ls, the end ; a bound or limit : as, fi'nite, having limits or bounds ;
in^^nite, having no bounds or limits ; fni\\, relating to the end j con'fne, a
common boundary ; confine', to put erids together, {to bound, to limit, to shut
HP)
FiRM-us, Stable, firm, strong : sls, fir^ moment, the thing made firm or sta-
ble {the sky or heavens) ; iWfirm, not strong {weak) ; confirm, to strengthen,
together, (to titablish, or settle, to put past doubt by new evidence.)
Flu-o, fluxum, to flow : as, af^uent,^otring to ; fltur, a flow ; re'flux, a
flowing back ; in^uence, aJ?ou'ing in or upon ; super^uous, flowing above,
or more than enough, {unnecessary.)
Form-a, form or shape, a figure : as, deform', to spoil the form {to make
ugly) ; fo/jiial, belonging to form ; reform', to form again or anew j traua-
form', to change the form.
Fort-is, strong, valiant : as, comfort, to make strong together (to make
glad) ; fo/tify, to make strong.
Frang-o, fractum, to break: as, in_/ran'g^ible, that cannot be broken;
frac'tion, llie act of breaking, a broken part ; frag'ile, or frail, easily broken,
{weak.)
FoD-0, fusum, to pour, to melt : as, confound, to pour together {to mix,
to perplex, to amaze) ; fu'sihle, that may be melted ; refund', to pour back,
{to pay back what is received.)
Gr., the earth : as, geog'raphy, a description of the earth or world ; geol'o'
gy, the doctrine of the earth ; ^'eopon'ics, the science of cultivating the
ground ; geot'ic, belonging to the earth.
Gr.MUS, fl race or descent; a family, a kind or sort: as, de»en'erate, to
HINTS TO READERS AND SPEAKERS. 21
fell from the virtue of ancestors, or from its kind ; gen'der, sex or kind ; gen'-
eral, belonging to a whole tribe {common or usual) ; gen'eraWze, to reduce to
o genus ; gen'erous, of noble birth or mind (liberal) ; /je^mal, tending to
propagation or cheerfulness (natural) ; gen'uincy of one^s own production^ (not
spurious or vitiated, real.)
Ger-0, gestum, to bear or carri/, to bring : as, belli^'erent, carrying on
war ; viceg^e'rent, one who carries on or rules for another (a lieutenant) ;
suggest', to bring under (to hint, to intimate) j ingest', to throw into the stom-
ach.
Gradi-or, gressus, to go step by step : as, degrade', to go or bring a step
down (to place lower) : aggress', to go to (to assault or begin the quarrel) ;
grad'uate, to go step by step, or mark with degrees (to dignify with, or take an
academical degree) j transgress', to pass over or beyond (to violate or break) ;
progres'sive, going forward.
Grand-is, great, lofty : as, ag'grandize, to make great j grand, great,
splendid; ^randiToquous, using lofty words.
Graph-o, to trace lines, to write, to describe : as, anemog'ra/>Ay, a descrip-
tion of tiie wind ; an'iograph, the handwriting of any one (the original, —
the opposite of ap'ograph, a copy) ; hihViog'raphy , the description of books or
literary history ; hr achy g' rap hy , short-hand writing ; lu'erogravn or hierog'-
raphy, holy writing ; hydrog'raphy, the description of water ; lithoj^rfl^/ty,
vniting upon stone ; orthog^ra/»Ay, correct writing of words ; po^yg'raphy,
urriting in many unusual ways ; graph'ic, well described or delineated, or re-
lating to engraving.
Grati-a, favor, gratitude, thankfulness : as, gra'cious, full of favor
(kind, becoming) ; grat'iCy, to make grateful (to indulge, to please) ; gra'tis,
freely, (for nothing.)
Hab-eo, habitum, to have, to hold : as, cohab'it, to dwell or live together
(as husbHnd and wife) ; exhib'it, to hold out ; \nhab'itah\e, that may be dwelt
in ; prohib'it, to hold forward, (to forbid, to hinder or debar.)
Jac-io, jactum, to throw, to cast, or to dart : as, eject', to throw out ; in-
ject', to throw in ; ob;ec/', to cast against ; oh'ject, something cast in the way;
e_7ac'uZate, to throv), shoot, or dart out ; suhjec'tiye, throwing or placing under,
or relating to the subject.
JuDic-o, judicatum, to give sentence, to judge : as, ju'dicatorv, distributing
justice, or a court oi justice ; judid'al, relating to a judge or \ega\ justice ;
pr ej'uclice, judgment formed beforehand, without examination.
JoNG-o, junctum, to join: as, ad'junct, something joined or united to
(though not essentially) ; con^Mnc'fion, a doming or connecting together ; en-
join', or injoin', to make to join (to direct, to order) ; %nhjunct\\e, joined un-
der, or added to.
Leg-o, lectum, to gather, to read, to choose : as, coUect', to gather together;
el'igihie, that may be gathered out, or fit to be chosen ; elec'tion, the act of
choosing or gathering out ; lec'tnre, the thing read (a discourse) ; neglect',
not to gather (to omit by carelessness) ; pro/e^o»i'e;ia, introductory observa-
tions.
Lex, a law or rule : as, ilZe'gal, not lawM ; law'yer, one who profesees or
is skilled in law; Zegwla'tion, the act of giving laws; leg'islator, one who
makes laws ; legit'imate, legal, genuine, born in marriage.
Liber, /rec; as, lib'eraie, to free or set free ; deliv'er, to Bet free, (to
save, to give up ; to speak.)
Log-OS, reason, a word, a speech, a discourse, science, or knowledge : as,
smihol'ogy, a collection of flowers or poems ; apol'ogy, defence, excuse ; asthe-
nol'ogy, a discourse on weakness ; di'alogue, a discourse between two (or
more) ; entomol'ogy, a discourse on insects ; log'ic, the art of reasonins,
22 THE FOURTH READER.
L0Q.U-OR, locutus, to speak : as, aVloquy, a speaking lo, (address) ; col'-
loquy, a speaking togetJier (talk) ; e/'o^uence, a speaking out, (the power of
speaking with fluency and elegance) ; hqua'cious, full of talk or tongue j oW-
loquy, a speaking against, {blame.)
hvyiiiS, light : as, illume^, illumine, or iUu'minnte, to shine on, or put
ligfu in ; lu'minary, a body or thing that gives light.
LuSTR-UM, a survey made every four years ; a purifying sacrifice : as, il-
lus'trale, to brighten with light or honor, (lo explain or elucidate.)
Male, mains, c«7, i// .- as, dis'mal, an evil day , sorrowful j mo/cfac'tor,
one who does evil ; malev'olent, willing evil.
Ma.nd-o, mandatum, to commit, to command or bid : as, command', to bid,
to govern ; man'date, a command or charge ; demand!, to ask for with atuhor-
Uy.
Man-ds, the hand : as, eman'cipate, to fake out by the hand (to set free
from servitude) ; mnn'acle, a chain for the hand ; manciple, a handiwi, a
small band of soldiers ; manufac'iure, the thing or work done by the hand i
Tnan'wscript, the thing written with the hand ; manu'briwm, a haridle.
Memor, mindful, keeping in mind : as, mcm'orable, worthy of memory, or
of being kept in mind.
Mend-a, a blemish ; a mistake : as, amend', or emend', to take out the
blemishes or faults, (lo correct.}
Mensur-a, measure : as, comwien'^urate, measured with or together; im-
mens/, not measurable, (unlimited, ii>finite..)
MiNU-0, minutum, to lessen : as, di/nin'ish, to make or grow less; mi'nor^
the less, — petty, little ; mmute', small, slender ; minu'ti^s, the smaller par-
ticulars.
MiTT-o, missura, to send : as, admit' to send to (to allow) ; demit', to send
down (to depress) ; dismjss,' to send asunder or away ; omit', to leave out, to
pass over, to neglect ; remit,' to send back ; inawiw'sible, not to be lost ;
transmu'/ible, that may be sent beyon<l, or from place to place.
MoNE-O, monitum, ro ptU in mind, to warn: as, admon' ish, to warn of
faults ; mon^ument, anything that puts or keeps in mind, a tomb.
MoN-OS, one, alone, solitary : as, mon'acha\, |>ertaining to monks or a mo-
nastic life ; mon'ad, an indivisible thing ; 7«on'arch, the government of a
single person ; mon'astevy, a house of religious retirement ; mon'ody, a poem
sung by one ; monop'athy, solitary feeling or suffering.
MovE-o, motum, to -move : as, comww'fion, a wioving together, a tumult ;
immor'able, that cannot be moved ; promote' to move forward, to advance.
MvLT-vs, many : as, mul'tifid, many-cleft ; 7nu/fjloc'ular, having many
cells ; mtdtip'arous, producing many at a birth ; mul'tiped, an insect with
many feet,
MuNUS, a gift or present ; an office ; a part, a portion : as, commu'nicate,
to give a share with, to impart / mu'nerary, relating to a gift ; WMwificent,
making a gift, — liberal in giving or bestowing ; immu'nity, freedom or ex-
emption , prixileg e .
MuT-0, mutatum, to change : as, commtrfe', to change with, or to put one
thing in the place of another ; mu'tahie, subject to change.
NoN, not: a«?, non'age, not age, — under 21, minority; non-conta'gious,
not contagious ; nousense, no sense ; nonpareil', no equal.
NuMER-os, a number : as, innw'merable, that cannot be numbered ; enu'-
merate, to number out, to count or tell ; supernu'merary, one above number.
Omn-is, all, every : as, omniCerous, a//-bearing ; o/nnip'otence, all or
almighty power ; omnis'cienl, a//-knowing or seeing.
Opkk-a, tvork, labor: as, op'erale, to act, to exert power or strength, /o
toork i opw*'cule, a small work.
HINTS TO READERS AND SPEAKERS. 23
Ordo, order, rank, arrangement : as, extraor'Jmary, beyond the common
order ; inor'dinnte, not according to order or rule ; ordain', to set apart for an
office ; to appoint.
Or-o, oratum, to speak, to beg : as, adore', to pay divine worship or honor
to ; inex'orable, that cannot be moved by entreaty or prayer ; oVal, of the
mouth.
Par, equal, like, meet, match to : as, pa/ity, a being equal, like state or de«
gree ; com'parable, that may be compared, or being of equal regard ; com-
peer', an equal, a companion, an associate.
Pars, a part, a share, a portion : as, pa/tidl, of apart or party, biassed to
one parly } partake, to take impart, portion, or share of; parf ic'i pate, to take
or liave a share in common with others ; partic'uXdLV, pertaining to a single
person or thing, special ; impart', to give, to grant.
Pater, a father : as, pat'rimony, a right or estate inherited from one's
father or ancestors ; pa'triot, a lover of his country.
Pax, peace : as, pac'iiy, to make peace, to appease, to quiet J appease', to
make quiet, to calm ; joacif'ic, peace-making, mild, gentle i also, an ocean.
Pell-o, pulsum, to drive, to strike : as, compel, to drive together, or urge
Avith force ; dispe/', to drive asunder, to disperse ; expulsion, the act of dri'V'
ing out ; repei7ent, rfn'ving back.
Pend-eo, pensum, to hang : as, depewd'ent, hanging down, subject to the
power of, at the disposal of ; pen'sUe, hanging, suspended.
Phil-OS, a lover: as, pAiVan'thropist, a /ot;er of mankind ; pAiWophy,
the love of wisdom ; TheopA'i7us, a lover of God.
Plac-eo, to please : as, pleas'dnt, pleasing ; placid, quiet, gentle, serene,
calm.
PLAt!-vs, plain, srnooth, level J evident, clear: as, explain', to mak& plain
or clear, to expound ; complane', or com'pZanate, to make level.
Plaud-o, plausum, to make a noise by clapping the hands, to praise : as,
dispWe', to discharge or burst with a violent noise : plaus'ihle, that may be
praised.
Plen-us, full : as, pi eyiipoten'thiry, one who is invested with full power
to transact any business ; p/e'nary, full, entire ; leplen'ish, to fill again, to
Plic-O, plicatum, to fold, to knit : as, apply, to fold or lay to, to use, to
put, to betake ; com'p/icate, to fold and tvoist together, to entangle ; ex'p/icate,
to unfold, to explain ; display , to unfold, to open, to show ; com'plex, em-
bracing two or more things.
Plor-o, ploratum, to cry out, to wail, to weep : as, deplored, to bewail, to
mourn.
Pol-is, a city, a town : as, Constan'tinopZe, the city of Constantine ;
cosmop'o/ite, a citizen of the world ; poZite' polished or elegant in manners,
well-bred ; poZ'ish, to make smooth and glossy, to refine ; poZ'ifics, the sci-
ence of government.
Poly, 7nany : as, pol'ychord, having many chords ; polyg'amy, the hav-
ing many wives or husbands at the same time ; pol'ygon, a figure of many
angles and sides ; poZ'ygram, a figure of many lines ; poZymorph'ous having
many forms ; polyon'owy, many names ; jJoZyph'yllous, many-leaved.
PoN-o, positum, fo put or place : as, ap'posite, pZacing to, fit j compose',
to place or set together ; depose', to put or lay down ; dispoic', to set or put
apart, to place or distribute ; expose', to put out or lay open ; impose' to
place, or lay on, to cheat ; oppose', to put or set against ; postpone', to put
after or off ; to delay ; com'post (put together or mixed), manure.
PoPUL-tJS, the people : as, popu'lons, full oi people ; pop'ular, beloDging to,
er beloved by the people ; pub' lie, belonging to a whole people, open ; depop'^
uZate or dhpe'oplf, to strip of people or inhabitants.
24 THE FOURTH READER.
PoRT-o, portatum, to carry , or bear, to import or betoken : as, comport', to
bear with or carry together, to iwtf or accord ; de/»r^ment, carriage, behavior,
conduct ; ey^port', to carry out ; report', to bear or carry, back ; import', to
carry in, to mean, to imply.
Poss-E, to be able: as, impoi/sihXe, that cannot be; im'potent, wanting
power ; po'tenta.te, a person of power, a prince or king ; po»ses'aor, one who
possesses or occupies.
Prim-US, Ju^st : as, pri'mary, of the first ; p-iVciple, the first of any-
thing, the cause or origin, clement ; pris't'xne, or prim'itive, first, ancient;
pnme'val, of tlie first age.
PuNG— o, punclum, to point or prick : as, comjjKnc'tion, a pricking, a prick-
ing of heart ; expunged, to blot out, — as with a pen, to efface ; pun'gent,
pricking, acrid, sharp ; poi'gnnnt, sharp, piercing, keen.
Reg-0, rectum, to rule or govern : as, correct', to make rigttt, or set rigfu,
to amend ; rcc'for, a governor ; rcc/'anglc, a figure of four right angles ; re<^'
tify, to make right ; re'gion, a district under one ruler, a country ; re'g^al, be-
longing to a king ; rcr, a king.
RUPT-UM, to break, to burst : as, abrupt', broken off or short, craggy,
a sudden breaking off ; disrwp'tion, a rcnrfing or bursting asunder ; erwp'tion,
a violent breaking or ^ur^ting out or forth ; irrup'tion, a ^ur^ting in.
Satis, enough, sufficient : as, sate, sa'tiate, to fill, to glut ; sat'isfy, to give
enough, to content ; sat'urate, impregnating to the full.
ScHOL-A, school : as, 5c?iolasYic, pertaining to a scholar, to a school or
schools.
Sci-o, to know: as consacn'tious, obeying the dictates of conscience J
con'scious, knowing one's self ; omnijc'ience, knowledge of all things.
ScRiB-o, scriptum, to write : as, ascribe', to trnte or impute to, to attrib-
ute ; circum»cri6e', to write round, to limit or bound ; describe', to write
down, to delineate ; inscribe', to write or to address to ; transcn'ie', to copy.
Semi, half: as, sem'ilone, half a lone.
Serv-io, servitum, to be a slave, to serve, to obey : as, de«rt"e', to merit ;
serv'i\e, belonging to slavery.
SiGN-UM, a mark or sign, a seal : as, assign', to allot, to appoint ; con-
sign', to give, to deliver ; dcA-i^n', to delineate, to plan, to intend ; re«'gn',
to give up or hack.
SiMiL-is, like : as, assim'ilatc, to make like to ; dis«m'j7ar, not like or
similar ; sim'ilar, like, resembling.
SiST-o, to set, to stop, to stand : as, assist, to stand up to, to help; conjwt',
to stand together ; de^iiAt', to stop, to forbear ; e\ist', to stand out, to be, to
live, to remain.
SoL-US, alone, single, forlorn, desert : as, solitary, living alone : sol'itade,
Zoneliness, a desert.
Soi.v-o, solutum, to loose, to melt, to free, to pay : as, ah'solutary, absolv-
ing ; dis'jo/uble, lliat may be dissolved or melted ; solve, to loosen, to explain^
to remove.
SoPH-iA, wisdom, knowledge, learning : as, theo^ophy, divine vdsdom.
Sors, lot, sort, kind : as, assort, to distribute into sorts, kinds, or classes.
Speci-o, to see, to look : as, as'pect, to look to, look, view ; despise' to look
down with contempt ; ei^pect', to look for ; inspect', to look on or into ; re-
spect', to look back with deference, to regard.
St-o, staium, to stand ; to set : as, arrest', to obstruct to seize ; con'stan-
cy, a standing firm ; con'stitute, to set, to fix, to form ; ob'stacle, a thing
standing in the way ; sta'ble, firm, solid, sure ; sta'tue, an image ; statfute,
a law ; understand', to know, to comprehend fully.
Stru-o, structum, to build : as, destroy', to pull down; instruct', to teach,
to direct ; micinstrwct', to instruct amiss ; obstruct', to block up, to impede.
SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS. 25
SUM-O, sumptum, to take : as, assume', to take to or upon one ; consume f
to take up, to destroy, to waste ; resume' to take back, to begin again.
Tempvs, time : as, coiem'jjorary, living at the same time J tem'por izCt to
comply with, or yield to the time ; tense, time.
Tkn-eo, tentum, to hold : as, -Ahstain' to hold from ; appertain', or per-
tain', to belong ; conram', to hold ; cowtin'ue, to abide, to last ; detain, to
hold from ; ob/am', to get, to gain ; retain' y to hold or keep back ; fe7i'abie,
that may be held.
Termin-us, a limit or boundary, end or period : as, detcrm'ine, to end, to
fix on ; exterrn'mate, to root out, to destroy utterly : fcrm'mate, to bound, to
end.
Test-is, a witness : as, attest', to bear witness to ; contest', to dispute ;
detest', to thrust away, to abhor ; test'iiy, to bear witness.
ToRT-UM, to twii,t,to writhe: as, contort', to twist together; detort', to
twist, to pervert ; intort' to twist, to wind.
Trah-o, tractum, to draw : as, attract', to draw to ; contract', to draw to-
gether ; extract', to draw out ; subtract', to draw under or from.
Tribut-um, to give : as, attrii'Mte, to give to ; contriittte, to give with or
together ; distni'wte, to give in parts.
Un-US, one a/one ; the same : as, disunite', to separate, to part; ttnan'i-
mous, of one mind ; u'nion, a making one ; u'ni'son, one sound ; u'nit, one ;
unite', to make into one ; u'nity, the being one.
Ut-or, usus, to use : as, abuse', ill use, I'eviling words ; disuse', to cease
to use ; inutility, uselessness.
Vert-o. versum, to turn : as, divert', to turn aside ; introijert', to turn in-
wards ; obuert', to turn towards ; ret'rorert', to turn backward ; revert', to
turn or draw back ; versify, to make verses.
Ver-us, t?-Me ; as, verac'ity, the truth of the speaker ; rer'ity, the truth
of a statement or proposition.
ViD-EO, visum, to see : as, revise', to review ; vis'age, the face, the look ;
vis'ible, that can be seen ; Wit, to go to see ; vis'ua], belonging to the sight.
ViDU-o, to part, to deprive of : as, avoid', to shun ; divide', to separate, to
part in pieces or portions ; diwVible, that may be divided or separated.
ViNC-o, victum, to conquer, to overcome, to subdue : as, inDinable, not to
be conquered or overcome ; van'^u ish, to conquer, to subdue in battle.
Viv— o, victum, to live : as, revivef, to live again ; survive', to outlives viv'-
ify, vii/ificate, to give life.
Voc-o, vocatum, to call : as, convoke', to call together ; evok^, to call out
or forth ; invoke', to call on, to implore ; vo'cable, a word.
PLAN OF EXERCISES SUGGESTED TO TEACHERS.
Lesson 1. Let the pupil spell and define the principal words in every les-
son. If there are any words in the lesson customaribtpronounced wrong,
direct his attention to them. The following instances 'occur in this lesson.
People often say ivite for white ; ranging for rainging ; furce for feerse. Fol-
low these directions in respect to each lesson. See Rule 2, and the examples.
General Questions on this lesson, for the pupil. What is taught by this les-
son 1 What is meant by West, in verse 5 1 Can savages read 1 What benefit
would come to them from learning to read 1 Explain the meaning of verse 12.
Questions on the Rules, for the pupil. How ought poetry to be read 1 See
Rule 16. What of accent and emphasis in reading poetry 1
Etymological Exercise. Ask the pupil. What is the meaning of a prefix 1
An affix 1 A root "? See pages 13 and 14. What prefix is in the word
disgrace, lesson 1, verse 2'? What is the meaning of the prefix c?is ? see
page 14. What aflix in boundless, verse 5 1 What is the meaning of the
3
26 TH£ FOURTH READER.
affix less ; see page 18. What root in the word inference, verse 11 1 What
prefix in the same word % What is the meaning of the root ferum ? see/er-o,
page 20. What is the meaning of the prefix in ? see page 22. Let the pu-
pil tell the prefixes and affixes of the following words, with the meanings of
each : invite, declare, impart, reveal, increase, study, freely^ blissful, ({d' The
prefixes will be found alphabetically arranged, beginning at page 14 ; the
aflSxes at page 16.
Lesson 2. QC|=* It is unnecessary to repeat the direction to require the pupil
to spell and define the principal words ; or to point out words apt to be er-
roneously pronounced, as these rules are to apply to all the lessons.
General Questions on lesson 2. Is this story a fable ? What is a fable 1
What does this fable teach 1 Can animals really talk 1 Why are they
represented as talking, and thinking, and reasoning, in fables 1
Questions on the Rules. In each lesson let the pupil's attention be direct-
ed to some one of the rules, beginning at page 7. Let him read the lesson
with a special regard to the rule selected ; and let him be required to repeat
it. For example, in this lesson, ask him what is the first requisite in read-
ing or speaking 1 What is articulation 1 How can you illustrate the im-
portance of good articulation 1 See Rule 1.
Etymological Exercise. Let the pupil tell the prefixes and afiixes in the
following words, with their meanings ; lively, inculcate, eloquently, cruelty,
relate, .sharply, admit, foolish, gayety, pei-petual, delude. Let the pupil tell the
roots in the following words, with their meanings ; illustrated, eloquently,
admit.
Lesson 3. Attend to spelling, definitions, and pronunciation, as directed,
in all cases.
General Questions. Where is Connecticut RiVer 1 When was the war
of the Revolution 1 What was a tory in the Revohilion 1 What does this
lesson teach 1 Ans. That a man who had adopted opinions that we con-
demn, may still !« honest and entitled to our sincere respect.
Questions on the Rules. What Can you say of pronunciation 1 See Rule 2.
In this case, the pupil is to read the story tuld by Mr. B. as he is supposed
to have told it himself. It is a case in which Rule 15 applies. Therefore
ask the pupil the following questioi^ : What is the distinction between nar-
rative and representation 1 See Rule 15. How should you read the story
of the twins, told by Mr. B 1
Etymological Exercise. Tell the prefixes, affixes, and roots, with their
meanings, in the following words : represented, firmness, advancing, admit-
ted, confined, regain, fruitless, attetnpt, permitted, assist, discharge, liberty.
Lesson 4. General Question. What is the general idea of tliis poem 1
Question on the Rule. How should tender poetry be read 1 Rulo 16. Etymo-
logical Exercise. Tell the prefixes, affixes, and" roots, with their meanings in
the following words; piteous, helpless, bitterness, verdant, heavenward, peaceful.
Lesson 6. Wh|^.does this fable teach 1 Point the pupil's attention to
rules 3 and 15, a^^ ask suitable questions respecting them. Etymological
Exercise : delightful, forbear, extent, content, mischievous, advantage, com-
mune, dangerous, harmless, remember.
Lesson 6. Where is the river Ohio 1 The Mississippi 1 Direct attention
to Rule 9, and ask questions, so as to see that the pupil understands it fully.
Etymological Exercise : devious, determine, afford, direction, beset, adventure.
Lesson 7. What is taught by this lesson 1 Attend to Rule 14, tell what it
is, &c. &c. Etymological Exercise : lonely, quickly, fairly, greedy.
Lesson 8. Where is Egypt 1 What is a Pacha 1 Who were the Mame-
lukes 1 Attend to Rule 13, tell what it is, &c. Etymological Exercise :
pouferful, troublesome, concusri7n,fe'xrful, breathUss, renfUKd^fortun-ite, remnant.
SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS. 27
Lesson 9. When was Rubens born 1 Where "? What was he 1 Where
is Madrid 1 What is a monk 1 A prior 7 Rules 18, 15, and 11. Etymo-
logical Exercise : residence, represented, excited, favorite, deserve, inscribe, re-
membrance, conjure, reveal, entreaty, mission, return, compel, await, fruitless,
resist, dismiss, withheld, object, overcome. N. B. It will be remarked, that in
many cases, as in mission, resist, excited, dismiss, &c., the word consists of
both a prefix or affix and root, and sometimes of all the three.
Lesson 10. What does this lesson teach 1 Observe Rule 12. Etymolog'
teal Exercise : complacency, confidence. (N. B. These words are each com-
pounded of a prefix, an affix, and a root ;) remember, musical, {al means, be-
longing to.)
Lesson 11. General idea of this poem 1 Observe Rule 16. Why is it
necessary to be careful of the tone of your voice '] See Rule 3. What are
the four common modifications of the voice *? What is a monotone 1 When
is it to be used 1 What is the rising inflexion 1 When is it to be used 1
What is the falling inflexion ^ When is it to be used 1 What is the cir-
cumflex inflexion 1 When is it to be used 1 See Rules 4, 5, 6, 7. How is
a knowledge of a proper use of these inflexions to be acquired 1 See Rule 8.
Etymological Exercise : beauteous, reckless, dreamless, perchance^ midnight,
awful, relief.
Lesson 12. General idea of this narrative. This story being pathetic, in
what tone of voice should it be read 1 Rule 3. Etymological Exercise : hust-
^^^gi (.ing means with,) accidental, inscribed, mildness, barbarous, blameless,
assistance, infirm, homeward, repose, described, pious, missed.
Lesson 13. It is not necessary for the author to add further questions as to
the general sense and meaning of the lessons. It is desirable that the teacher,
ill all cases, should ascertain by questions, whether the pupil understands what
he has read. He should be able to tell where places mentioned are, who
persons mentioned are, what general inference, or sentiment, or idea, is to be
drawn from the lesson, &c. The teacher should adapt his questions to the
pupil, with a view to excite reflection, and induce him to set the machinery of
the mind at work upon the subject. If it is found that anything in the lesson
is beyond the pupil's understanding, it should be explained to him. — Direct
the pupil's attention to Rule 19, and ask the following questions. Why should
a pupil have a Dictionary by him 1 What fixed principle or rule shouhi a pupil
observe '? What is a root 1 A prefix 1 An affix 1 What is the use of know-
ing prefixes, affixes, and roots 1 Etymological Exercise : undeniable, dislike^
premonitory, interruption, capricious, naturalist, painful, extraordinary y mistake,
obituary, favorite, exorbitant, discharge.
Lesson 14. Observe Rule 9. Etymological Exercise : tuneless, unknown,
clearly, boundless.
Lesson 15. Observe Rule 12. Etymological Exercise : perfection, deserve,
different, disliked, deceitful, defence.
Lesson 16. Observe Rules 15 and 9. The teacher a|jijl)lease bear ift mind,
that in all cases it will be well to ask the pupil ques^fv so as to see if he
fully understands the rule referred to, can tell what it fi^and give the reason
why it is important. Etymological Exercise: understand, contradiction, ex-
plain, guidance, useless, enforce, apparent, overcome, spiritual, research, clearly,
enable, disappointment.
Lesson 17. Observe Rules 16, 13, and 12. Etymological Exercise : bound'
less, o'erthrovm, balmy.
Lesson 18. Rides 5, 6, 7, and 8. Etymological Exercise : toward, deposit,
rtmember, pervade, lively, advocate, produce, discharged, eliciting, preceding,
possession, interposed, resumed.
Lesson 19. Rules 18, 17, and 9. Etymological Exercise : foppish, perforce,,
benighted, airy, buoyant, leafy, tuneful, concord, prolong^ rapturoutj^
28 THE FOURTH READER.
Lesson 20. Rules 1 and 2. Etymological Exercise : extraordinary, repose,
relumed, rocky, departure, innate, recognise, juvenile, numerous, affect, untow-
ard, continue, restless, subsist, betake, painful.
Lesson 21. Rules 9 and 11. Etymological Exercise : intensely, poetical,
succeeded, donor, guidarice, tviihdrew.
Lesson 22. Rule 15. Etymological Exercise : describe, assisted, desirous,
different, appearance, continue, regained.
Lesson 23. Rules 16 and 4. Etymological Exercise : boundless, stillness,
awful, mighty, grizzly.
Lesson 24. Rules 12 and 13. Etymological Exercise: tenant, nonstnse,
discontent, possession, fulfil, assigned, unfitted.
Lesson 25. Rules 12 and 13. Etymological Exercise : advantage, mis-
doubteth, ignoble, inconstancy, destruction, doubtful, fabulous.
Lesson 26. Rule 4. Etymological Exercise : overhanging, distant.
Lesson 27. Rules 4 and 5. Etymological Exercise : sijnilar, importance,
unsheltered, perform, preparation.
Lesson 2S. Rules 10 and 11. Etymological Exercise: beautiful, chilly,
temperate, triumphant, evergreens, inspiration, equinox.
Lessfin 29. Rules 16 and 4. Etymological Exercise : eternity, mighty,
soundless, sonorous.
Lesson 30. Rule 3. Etymological Exacise : mirthful, unearthly, midnight,
finally, forever.
Lesson 31. Rule 14. Etymological Exercise : desolate, brilliant, preceding,
isolated, objects, restless, extraordinary, fanciful, impressive.
Lesson 32. Rule 1. Etymological Exercise : pristine, excited, irregular, de-
pendent, dissembler, comparatively.
Lesson 33. Rule 10 and 15. Etymological Exercise : constructed, succeeds,
excites, enjoy.
Lesson S4.. Rule 9. Etymological Exercise: designed, interrupt, uneasy,
discoursing, subject, useful, disturb.
Lesson 35. Rule 16. Etymological Exercise : overhead, lonely.
Lesson 36. Rule 18. Etymological Exercise: immense, detach, luxurious,
surpass, importani, discover, mutable, aspirations, advance.
Lesson 37. Rules 15 and 17. Etymological Exercise : deserve, produce,
useful, productive, mistake.
Lesson 38. Rule 3. Etymological Exercise : excited, importance, commit-
ted, confounded, return.
Lesson 39. Rules 15, 11, 12. Etymological Exercise: riotous, mighty,
worthy, compassion.
QCr* It cannot be necessary to extend these suggestions. The author has
only to add, that he recommends the observation of the following system :
1. Let the pupil be required to spell and define tiie principal words.
2. Let words often pronounced wrong, be pointed out to the pupil as they
occur, and let him b^^requently required to read over with attention the
faults in pronunciati<^|Bllected under Rule 2.
3. Let the pupil be required to tell where places mentioned are, and who
persons mentioned are ; and also to tell the general drift of the lesson, so as
to show that he clearly understands it.
4. Let him be required to make an analysis of the compound words, in
the manner pointed out in the preceding etymological exercises. Let this be
extended or contracted, to suit the capacity of the pupil
5. In studying and reading a lesson, let some one or more of the rules be
kept particularly in mind by the pupil ; and let him be required to repeat
the rule, and assign the reason for it.
i^ Let these five things be done in respect to each lesson.
V
THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON I. Petition to the Reader.
1. Come, youthful reader, lend a listening ear,
And the petition of these pages hear !
For, though a book, methinks 't is no offence
To speak to thee as if with soul and sense.
2. One word allow, thy favor to invite
For these light leaves, unsullied now and white.
Wouldst thou possess a fair and comely face ?
Then do not mark my visage with disgrace !
3. Let no dog's ears on these square corners be,
No greasy thumb-marks make me blush for thee :
No inky spot, no idle scrawl, declare,
That book and reader need a master's care.
4. This said, I fain would win thy listening heart,
Some deeper, better meaning to impart.
Come, let thy fancy stray awhile with me.
In search of knowledge ranging far and free !
6. The West we seek, where boundless prairies lie ;
'T is spread before us, bright to fancy's eye !
Here roams the savage ; let us each draw near.
To mark his aspect and his voice to hear.
6. How wild and fierce the warrior's kitidled eye !
How shrill his war-whoop, piercing to the sky !
His home, — the wigwam, — oh how sad the scene I
His wife a slave, — his children all unclean !
7. No school is there, — no church with lofty spire,
Pointing to heaven, and hallowing man's desire.
No holy prayer goes up to Mercy's throne ;
No soothing hymn, no gentle love is known,
3*
30 I'^i? FO^URTH READER.
8..,F'ieice^ scl§sh ^ssioiis reign, — and all declares,
' . 'The- untatoreid savage rough as wrestling bears.
And why is this ? Go search in every nook,
Thou canst not find among them all a book !
9. Oh, could they read, how soon 't would change their plan,
And the wild Indian turn to Christian man !
How soon the darkness from his mind would fly.
And the bright sun of knowledge light his' sky !
10. Books would reveal the God that dwells above,
Unfold man's duty, — justice, truth, and love:
Would teach the blissful toil and arts of peace.
Life's snares to shun, life's pleasures to increase.
11. Come now, fair reader, our light journey o'er.
One word of inference, and I say no more.
Knowledge is power, and books that knowledge hold,
But you must delve for knowledge as for gold.
12. All that is good, — 't is Heaven's wise decree, —
We win by toil, and all to this is free.
Study these pages, be thy friend and mine, —
And all my gathered stores are freely thine.
LESSON IL The Fox and Elephant.
1. I AM sorry to say that a great many people listen with
more pleasure to a lively tale, that is full of cunning, wit,
and scandal, than to a wise discourse, which teaches truth
and inculcates virtue. This may be illustrated by the fable
of the elephant and fox.
2. These two animals fell into dispute, as to which had
the greatest powers of persuasion ; and, as they could not
settle the matter themselves, it was agreed to call an assem-
bly of the beasts and let them decide it. These w^ere ac-
cordingly summoned ; and, when the tiger, porcupine, dog,
ox, panther, goat, and the rest of the quadruped family had
all taken their places, the elephant began his oration,
3. He discoursed very eloquently upon the beauty of
THE FOX AND ELEPHANT. 31
truth, justice, and mercy, and set forth the enormity of false-
hood, cunning, selfishness, and cruelty. A few of the wiser
beasts listened with interest and approbation; but the leop-
ard, tiger, porcupine, and a large majority of the audience,
yawned, and showed that they thought it a very stupid piece
of business.
4. But, when the fox began to tell his cunning knaveries,
they pricked up their ears, and listened with a lively inter-
est- As he went on to relate his various adventures, how
he had robbed hen-roosts, and plundered geese and ducks
from the poultry-yard, and how, by various cunning artifices,
he had escaped detection, they manifested the greatest de-
light. So the fox proceeded, sneering at the elephant and all
others who loved justice, truth, and mercy, and recommend-
ed to his listeners to foll6w the pleasures of thievery and
plunder. As he closed his discourse, there was a loud burst
of applause, and, on counting the votes, the majority was
found to be in favor of the fox.
5. The assembly broke up, and some months passed
away, when, as the elephant was quietly browsing in the
woods one day, he heard a piteous moan at a little distance.
Proceeding to the place from which the sound came, he
there found the orator fox, caught in a trap, with both his
hinder legs broken, and sadly mangled.
6. " So," said the fox, sharply, though he was nearly ex-
hausted with pain, "you have come to jeer at me, in my
hour of trouble." " Surely net," said the elephant. " I
would relieve your pain if 1 could, but your legs are broken,
and there is no relief for you but death."
7. " True," said the fox, mournfully, " and I now admit
the foolish policy of those principles I have avowed, and the
practice which resulted from them. I have lived a gay
life, though even my gayety has been sadly shadowed by
perpetual fear of what has now come upon me. Had I been
satisfied with an honest life and innocent pleasures, I had
not thus come to a miserable end. Knavery, artifice, and
cunning, may be very good topics with which to delude
those who are inclined to be vicious, but they furnish mis-
erable rules to live and die by."
it^ W
32 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON III. The Twins,
1. In tlie autumn of 1826, I had occasion to visit the
town of N , beautifully situated on the west bank of the
Connecticut River. My business led me to the house of
B , a lawyer of threescore and ten, who was now rest-
ing from the labors, and enjoying the fruits, of a life strenu-
ously and successfully devoted to his profession. His draw-
ing-room was richly furnished, and decorated with several
valuable paintings.
2. There was one among them that particularly attracted
my attention. It represented a mother with two children,
one in either arm, a light veil thrown over the group, and
one of the children pressing its lips to the cheek of its
mother. *' That," said I, pointing to the picture, " is very
beautiful. Pray, Sir, what is the subject of it ? "
3. "It is a mother and her twins," said he; " the pic-
ture in itself is esteemed a fine one, but I value it more for
the recollections which are associated with it." I turned
my eye upon B ; he looked communicative, and I
asked him for the story. "Sit down," said he, " and I will
tell it." We accordingly sat down, and he gave me the
following narrative.
4. •* During the war of the Revolution, there resided,
in the western part of Massachusetts, a farmer by the
name of Stedman. He was a man of substance, de-
scended from a very respectable English family, well edu-
cated, distinguished for great firmness of character in gener-
al, and alike remarkable for inflexible integrity and stead-
fast loyalty to the king.
5. *' Such was the reputation he sustained, that even when
the most violent antipathies against royalists swayed the
community, it was still admitted on all hands, that farmer
Stedman, though a Tory, was honest in his opinions, and
firmly believed them to be right.
6. " The period came when Burgoyne was advancing
from the north. It was a time of great anxiety with both
the friends and foes of the Revolution, and one which called
forth their highest exertions. The patriotic militia flocked
to the standard of Gates and Stark, while many of the Tories
resorted to the quarters of Burgoyne and Baum. Among
the latter was Stedman.
THE TWINS. 33
7. " He had no sooner decided it to be his duty, than he
took a kind farewell of his wife, a woman of uncommon
beauty; gave his children, a twin boy and girl, a long em-
brace, then mounted his horse and departed. He joined
himself to the unfortunate expedition of Baum, and was
taken with other prisoners of war by the victorious Stark.
8. ** He made no attempt to conceal his name or charac-
ter, which were both soon discovered, and he was accord-
ingly committed to prison as a traitor. The gaol in which
he was confined was in the western part of Massachusetts,
and nearly in a ruinous condition. The farmer was one
night waked from his sleep by several persons in his room.
* Come,' said they, 'you can now regain your liberty; we
have made a breach in the prison through which you can
escape,'
9. " To their astonishment, he utterly refused to leave his
prison. In vain they expostulated with him ; in vain they
represented to him that his life was at stake. His reply was,
that he was a true man, and a servant of king George, and
he would not creep out of a hole at night, and sneak away
from the rebels, to save his neck from the gallows. Finding
it fruitless to attempt to move him, his friends left him with
some expressions of spleen.
10. " The time at length arrived for the trial of the prison-
er. The distance to the place, where the court was sitting,
was about sixty miles. Stedman remarked to the sheriff,
that it would save some expense if he could be permitted to
go alone, and on foot. * And suppose,' said the sheriff,
* that you should prefer your safety to your honor, and leave
me to seek you in the British camp ? '
11. "'I had thought,' said the farmer, reddening with in-
dignation, ' that I was speaking to one who knew me.' * I
do know you, indeed,' said the sheriff, ' I spoke but in jest ;
you shall have your own way. Go ! and on the third day I
shall expect to see you at S .* The farmer departed,
and, at the appointed time, he placed himself in the hands
of the sheriff.
12. " I was now engaged as his counsel. Stedman in-
sisted before the court upon telling his whole story ; and,
when I would have taken advantage of some technical
points, he sharply rebuked me, and told me that he had not
employed me to prevaricate, but only to assist him in telling
84 THE FOURTH READER.
the truth. I had never seen such a display of simplejn
tegnty.
13. *'It was affecting to witness his love of holy, unvar-
nished truth, elevating him above every other consideration,
and presiding in his breast as a sentiment even superior to
the love of life. I saw the tears more than once springing
to the eyes of his judges ; never before or since have I felt
such interest in a client, — I pleaded for him as I would have
pleaded for my own life, — I drew tears, but I could not sway
the judgment of stern men, controlled rather by a sense oi
duty, than by the compassionate promptings of humanity.
14. " Stedma-n was condemned. I told hira there was a
chance of pardon if he asked ibr it. J drew up a petition
and requested him to sign it, but he refused. ' I have done,'
said he, * what I thought my duty. I can ask pardon
of my God, and my king ; but it would be hypocrisy to ask
forgiveness of these men for an action which I should re-
peat, were I placed again in similar circumstances.
15. ***No! ask me not to sign that petitioa. If what
you call the cause of American freedom requires the blood
of an honest man for a eoiiscientiou^ discliarge of what he
deemed his duty, let me be its victim. Go to my judges and
tell them, that I place not my fears nor my liopes in them.'
It was in vain tliat I pressed the subject, and I went away
in despair.
16. *' In returning to my house, I accidentally called on
an acquaintance, a young man of brilliant genius, the sub-
ject of a passionate predilection for painting. This led him
frequently to take excursions into the country,, for the pur-
pose of sketching such objects and scenes as were interest-^
ing to him. From one of these rambles he had just returned.
I found hini sitting at his easel, giving the* last touches ta
the picture which has just attracted ycHir attention.
17. "He asked my opinion of it. * It is a fine picture/
said I ; ' is it a fancy piece, or are they portraits ? * ' They
are portraits,' said he, ' and, save perhaps a little embellish*
ment, they are, I think, striking portraits of the wife and
children of your unfortunate client, Stedman. In the course
of my rambles, I chanced to call at his house in H . I
never saw a more beautiful group. The mother is one of a
thousand, and the twins are a pair of cherubs.'
18. "'Tell me,' said Inlaying my hand on the picture.
THE WOUNDED ROBIN. 35
* tell me, are they true and faithful portraits of the wife and
children of Stedman ? ' My earnestness made my friend
stare. He assured me, that, so far as he could be permitted
to judge of his own productions, they were striking repre-
sentations. I asked no further question^ ; I seized the pic-
ture, and hurried with it to the prison, where my client was
confined.
19. "I found him sitting, his face covered with his hands,
and apparently wrung by keen emotion. I placed the pic-
ture in such a situation that he could not fail to see it. I
laid the petition on the little table by his side, and left the
room.
20. *' In half an hour I returned. The farmer grasped
my hand, while tears stole down his cheeks; his eye glanced
first upon the picture, and then to the petition. He said
nothing, but handed the latter to me. I took it and left the
apartment. His name was fairly written at the bottom ! The
petition was granted, and Stedman was set at liberty."
LESSON IV. The Wounded Robin.
1. Why, pretty robin, why so late
Prolong thy lingering stay?
Why, with thy little whistling mate,
Art thou not far away ?
2. Away beneath some sunny sky.
Where winter ne'er is known ;
Where flowers, that never seem to die,
Down sloping hills are strown 1
3. Thou shiverest in the bitter gaiC,
And hast a piteous air ;
And thy lone plaint doth seem a ta e
Of sorrow and of care
4. Say, is thy frame with hunger sn&icen.
Or hast thou lost thy way ?
Or art thou sick, and, here forsaicen.
Despairing dost thou stay ?
36 THE FOURTH READER.
5. Alas, I see thy little wing
Is broken, and thou canst not fly ;
And here, poor, trembling, helpless thing
Thou waitest but to die.
6. Nay, little flutterer, do not fear r
I '11 take thee to niy breast,
I '11 bear thee home, thy heart I 'il cheer.
And thou shalt be at rest.
7. And oh, when sorrow through my heart
With bitterness is sent,
May some kind friend relieve the smart.
And give me back content.
8. And in that sad and gloomy hour,
When the spirit's wing is broken,
And disappointment's wintry shower
Hath left no verdant token,
9. To bloom with happy hopes of spring, —
Then may some angel come.
And bear me on a heavenward wing.
To a sweet and peaceful home.
LESSON V. The Violet and the Nightshade; a Fable.
1. A MODEST little violet once grew by the side of a
flaunting nightshade. This latter flower was in full bloom,
and, proud of its splendor, could not forbear looking down
with contempt upon its humble neighbor ; at the same
time, it spoke as follows :
2. "Pray, what are you doing down there, my poor
neighbor Violet? It seems to me, that you must have a
dull time of it, livmg such an humble life as you do. It is
quite different with me. Do you observe my proud leaves,
and splendid b'ossoms? It is really delightful to possess
such rare beauty, and to be conscious of the power to ex-
tort admiration frcm a'l we meet. How hard it must be to
dwell in obscurity, and be treated with indifference or
scorn ! "
AN ESCAPE. 57
3. " Nay, neighbor Nightshade," said the violet in re
ply, "do not trouble yourself on my account. However
humble my lot may be, I am at least content. Though I
have not your splendor, and cannot expect to dazzle the
eyes of anybody, still I have the power by my perfume to
afford gratification to those who are fond of simple pleas-
ures ; and, if I can do no great good, I am also incapable of
doing harm. You are, doubtless, very splendid ; but I am
told, that you have a mischievous disposition, and poison
those who come within your reach. If, therefore, I cannot
imitate your magnificence, I have at least the advantage of
being innocent."
4. While the two flowers thus communed with each oth-
er, a mother with her two children chanced to be passing
by. The children both noticed the nightshade, and were
about to pluck its blossoms, when the lady told them to be-
ware. ** That flower," said she, *' though beautiful to the
sight, is a deadly poison. Remember, my children, that
what is beautiful to view, is often dangerous to the touch.
Do you see that little violet, modestly crouching at the side
of the gorgeous nightshade? To my mind, it is much the
more pleasing of the two ; for it is not only very pretty, but
it has a sweet breath, and is perfectly harmless.
5. '' Let this little scene be a lesson to you. When you
see any one who is either rich or beautiful, and who is yet
unkind, ungenerous, or wicked, remember the deadly night-
shade. When you see one who is innocent, pure, and
true, though humble and poor, remember the fragrant,
but unpretending violet."
LESSON VI. An Escape,
1. It was the afternoon of an autumn day, and my jour-
ney led me over a range of low, broken hills, that skirt the
southern border of the Ohio, not far from its junction with
the Mississippi. The path was narrow, and but little trav-
elled, and wound with a devious course amid open prairies,
knolls covered with dwarf trees, and glades of thick forest.
2. 1 had pursued my way for several hours, without se^*
ing a human being, or observing a human habitation But
4
38 THE FOURTH READER.
I did not regret their absence, for solitude often feeds the
mind better than society. I left my horse to choose his
way and determine his pace ; and, musing on things far and
near, as they came pouring through my imagination, I pro-
ceeded on my journey.
3. It was at a late hour, and with a feeling of some sur-
prise, that I at length observed a thunder-cloud spread over
the western sky, and already shooting down its lightning up-
on the tops of the distant hills. Its grey masses were
whirling in the heavens, as if agitated by the breath of a
hurricane ; and the mist that streamed down from its lower
edge declared that it was full of rain. It was idle for me to
turn back, with the expectation of finding any other shelter
than what the forest might afford; I therefore pushed on, in
the hope of reaching some hut or house, before the tempest
should burst upon me,
4. I had scarcely taken this resolution, when a bolt of
lightning fell upon a tall tree, at no great distance, at the
same time ploughing a deep furrow in its trunk, and scatter-
ing the kindled fragments around in every direction. There
was a momentary pause, and then a rush of wind that made
the firmest oak of the forest tremble like a reed. This was
succeeded by a second and third sweep of the gale, when a
tall chestnut tree, by the side of my path, was beset by the
tempest. It wrestled with the wind for a moment, like a gi-
ant, but suddenly it was torn from its place, and thrown
over exactly in the direction where I chanced at the mo-
ment to be.
5. I heard the sound, and saw the falling tree ; and, be-
lieving that I must inevitably be crushed, felt that momen-
tary stupor which often attends the first discovery of instant
peril. But the instinct of my horse was not thus paralyzed.
He, too, saw the descending mass, and with a bound, placed
himself and me out of danger. But the branches, as they
fell, grazed his back, and his tail had well nigh shared the
fate of that which once adorned Tam O'Shanter's mare.
6. This, however, was the only adventure we met with;
for I soon arrived at a small inn, and there sheltered myself
and horse from the torrent, which began shortly after tQ
pour down from the cloud.
THE GREEDY FOX. 09
LESSON VIL The Greedy Fjox; a Fable.
1. On a winter's night,
When the moon shone bright,
Two foxes went out for prey j
As they trotted along,
With frolic and song
They cheered their lonely way,
2. Through the wood they went,
But they could not scent
A rabbit or goose astray ;
But at length they came
To some better game,
In a farmer's barn by the way.
3. On a roost there sat
Some chickens, as fat
As foxes could wish for their dinners ;
So the prowlers found
A hole by the ground.
And they both went in, the sinners !
4. They both went in
With a squeeze and a grin.
And the chickens were quickly killed-;
And one of them lunched.
And feasted and munched.
Till his stomach was fairly filled.
5. The other, more wise,
Looked about with both eyes.
And hardly would eat at all ;
For as he came in.
With a squeeze and a grin.
He remarked, that the hole was sma.^
6. And the cunning elf
He said to hitnself.
40 THE FOURTH READER-
" If I eat too much, it 's plain,
As the hole is small,
I shall stick in the wall,
And never get out again."
7. Thus matters went on
Till the night was gone.
And the farmer came out with a pole ;
The foxes both flew»
And one went through,
But the greedy one stuck in the hole !
8. In the hole he stuck,
So full was his pluck
Of the chickens he had been eating ;
He could not get out
Or turn about,
And there he was killed by beating,
9. Thus the fox, you see.
So greedy was he.
Lost his life for a single dinner.
Now I hope that you
May believe it true.
And never be such a sinner !
LESSON VIII. The Last of the Mamelukes.
1. The Mamelukes were a powerful body of soldiers, that
had long been in the service of the Pacha of Egypt. A
few years since, the Pacha, or chief of that country, find-
ing them troublesome and dangerous to his power, deter-
mined to destroy them. Accordingly, they were invited to
a feast in a citadel, the place being surrounded by the Pa-
cha's garrison, except on one side, where there was a deep
precipice.
2. They came, according to custom, superbly mounted
on the finest horses, and in their richest costume. At a
signal given by the Pacha, death burst forth on all sides.
Crossing and enfilading batteries poured forth their flaroe
RUBENS AND THE SPANISH MONK. 41
and iron, and men and horses were at once weltering in
their blood.
3. Many precipitated themselves from the summit of the cit-
adel, and were destroyed in the abyss below. Two, however,
recovered themselves. At the first shock of the concussion
both horses and riders were stunned ; they trembled for an
instant, like equestrian riders shaken by an earthquake, and
then darted off with the rapidity of lightning ; they passed
the nearest gate, which fortunately was not closed, and
found themselves out of Cairo. One of the fugitives took the
road to Ell Azish, the other darted up the mountains. The
pursuers divided, one half following each.
4. It was a fearful thing, that race for life and death '
The steeds of the desert, let loose on the mountains, bound-
ed from rock to rock, forded torrents, or sped along the edges
of precipices. Three times the horse of one Mameluke
fell breathless; three times, hearing the tramp of the pursu-
ers, he arose and renewed his flight. He fell at length not
to rise again.
5. His master exhibited a touching instance of reciprocal
fidelity : instead of gliding down the rocks into some defile,
or gaining a peak inaccessible to cavalry, he seated himself
by the side of his courser, threw the bridle over his arm,
and awaited the arrival of his exocutioners. They came
up, and he fell beneath a score of sabres, without a motion
of resistance, a word of complaint, or a prayer for mercy.
6. The other Mameluke, more fortunate than his com-
panion, traversed Ell Azish, gained the desert, escaped un-
hurt, and, in time, became the Governor of Jerusalem,
where, at a later date, I had the pleasure to see him, — the
last and only remnant of that redoubtable corps, which,
thirty years before, rivalled in courage, though not in for-
tune, the chosen men of Napoleon's army.
LESSON. IX. Kubens and the Spanish Monk.
Rubens waa a very celebrated painter, born at Cologne, in 1577.
1. One day, during his residence in Spain, Rubens
made an excursion in the environs of Madrid, accompanied
4a THE FOURTH READER.
by several of his pupils. He entered a convent, where he
observed, with no small degree of surprise, in the choir of
the chapel, a picture which bore evidence of having been
executed by an artist of sublime genius. The picture rep-
resented the death of a monk, liubens called his pupils,
showed them the picture, and they all shared the admira-
tion which the master-piece excited in their master.
2. ** Who painted this picture ? " inquired Van Dyck, the
favorite pupiJ of Rubens.
" The name of the artist was inscribed at the bottom
of the picture," observed Van Tulden, " but it has been
carefully effaced."
3. Rubens sent for the old prior of the convent, and re-
quested that he would tell him the name of the artist.
" The painter is no longer of this world," answered the
monk.
"What!" exclaimed Rubens, "dead! and unknown!
His name deserves to be immortal. It would have obliterat-
ed the remembrance of mine, — and yet," added he, with
pardonable vanity, " I am Peter Paul Rubens."
4. At these words the pale countenance of the prior be-
came flushed and animated. His eyes sparkled, and he
fixed on Rubens a look which betrayed a stronger feeling
than curiosity. But this excitement was merely momenta-
ry. The monk cast down his eyes, crossed on his bosom
the arms which he had raised ta%eaven by an impulse of
enthusiasm, and repeated :
" The artist is no longer of this world."
5. " Tell me his name, father," exclaimed Rubens; " tell
me his name, 1 conjure you, that I may repeat it throughout
the world, and give to him the glory which is his due ! " And
Rubens, Van Dyck, Jordaens, Van Nuel, and Van Tulden,
surrounded the prior, and earnestly entreated that he would
tell them the name of the painter.
6. The monk trembled, and his lips convulsively quivered,
as if ready to reveal the secret. Then, making a solemn
motion with his hand, he said :
" Hear me ! you misunderstand what I said. I told you
that the painter of that picture was no longer of this world,
but I did not mean that he was dead."
"Does he then live? Oh! tell us where we may find
him I "
RUBENS AND THE SPANISH MONK. 43
"He has renounced the world, and retired to a cloister.
He is a monk."
7. " A monk, father ! a monk ! Oh ! tell me then in
what convent he is, for he must quit it. When Heaven has
marked a man with the stamp of genius, that man should
not bury himself in solitude. God has given him a sublime
mission, and he must fulfil it. Tell me the cloister in which
he is hidden. I will draw him from his retirement, and
show him the glory that awaits him. Should he refuse, I
will procure an order from our holy father, the Pope, to
make him return to the world, and exercise his talent. The
Pope, father, is a kind friend to me, and he will listen to
me."
8. " I will neither tell you his name nor that of the con-
vent to which he has retired," replied the monk, in a reso-
lute tone.
" But the Pope will compel you to do so," exclaimed Ru-
bens, impatiently.
9. " Hear me," said the monk, " hear me in the name of
Heaven. Can you imagine that this man, before he quitted
the world, — before he renounced fortune and fame, — did
not struggle painfully against thai resolution ? Can you be-
lieve anything short of the most cruel deception and bitter
sorrow could have brought him to the conviction that all
here below is mere vanity? Leave him, then, to die in the
asylum to which he has fled from the world and despair.
Besides, all your efforts would be fruitless. He would tri-
umphantly resist every temptation. God would not refuse
him his aid ! God, who in his mercy, has called him to
himself, will not dismiss him from his presence."
10. " But, father, he has renounced immortality ! "
"Immortality is nothing in comparison with eternity ! "
Saying this, the monk drew his cowl over his forehead and
changed the conversation, so as to prevent Rubens from fur-
ther urging his plea.
11. The celebrated Flemish artist left the convent accom-
panied by his brilliant train of pupils, and they all returned
to Madrid, lost in conjectures respecting the painter whose
name had been so obstinately withheld from them.
12. The prior, who was himself the painter of the pic-
ture, returned to his lonely cell, knelt down on the straw
mat which served as his bed, and offered up a fervent prayer
44 THE FOURTH READER.
to Heaven. He then collected together his pencils, his
colors, and a small easel, and threw them into a river which
flowed beneath the window of his cell. He gazed for some
moments in profound melancholy on the stream, which soon
drifted these objects from his sight. When they had disap-
peared, he once more knelt down to pray on his straw mat,
and before his wooden crucifix. How powerful must have
been the struggle in this man's breast, to overcome the love
of fame, and the strong temptation of worldly ambition !
LESSON X. The Jay and the Owl; a Fable.
1. A CONCEITED jay once paid a visit to an owl, that was
sitting among some sheaves of wheat in a barn. As soon
as he had entered and made a few observations upon the
weather, the jay went on to tell the owl of the many com-
pliments that had been paid him by the various birds in the
neighborhood.
2. One had praised his plumage, another his voice, and
another his wit. Having told this with great self-complacen-
cy, all the time smirking, and flirting his tail, with an air of
vanity, he added, — "And now, my dear owl, pray tell me
sincerely what i/ou think of me ; for I know you are a true
friend, and I place more confidence in your opinion, than in
that of all the rest of the world."
3. " Shall I tell you the truth, or pay you a compliment? "
said the owl.
4. " Oh ! the truth, of course," said the jay, " I love the
truth, and hate flattery."
5. " Well, then," said the owl, gravely, " in my humble
judgment, your dress is gaudy without taste; your song,
rather noisy than musical; and your wit, mere imperti-
nence."
6. The jay, sadly crest-fallen, jerked himself out of the
barn ; and the owl wisely remarked, that conceited persons
usually pretend to hate flattery and love frankness, but in
doing this they are ever fishing for compliments, and always
resent the truth as an insult. Let all young people remem-
ber this story.
THE MIDNIGHT MAIL. 46
LESSON XL The Midnight Mail
1. 'T IS midnight, — all is peace profound!
But lo ! upon the murmuring ground
The lonely, swelling, hurrying sound
Of distant wheels is heard I
They come, — they pause a moment, — when
Their charge resigned, they start, and then
Are gone, and all is hushed again,
As not a leaf had stirred.
2. Hast thou a parent far away,
A beauteous child, to be thy stay
In life's decline, — or sisters, they
Who shared thine infant glee?
A brother on a foreign shore,
Whose breast thy chosen token bore?
Or are thy treasures wandering o'er
A wide, tumultuous sea?
3. If aught like these, then thou must feel
The rattling of that reckless wheel,
That brings the bright or boding seal,
On every trembling thread,
That strings thy heart, till morn appears
To crown thy hopes, or end thy fears,
To light thy smile, or draw thy tears,
As line on line is read.
4. Perhaps thy treasure 's in the deep,
Thy lover in a dreamless sleep,
Thy brother where thou canst not weep
Upon his distant grave !
Thy parent's hoary head no more
May shed a silver lustre o'er
His children grouped, — nor death restore
Thy son from out the waves !
5. Thy prattler's tongue, perhaps, is stilled.
Thy sister's lip is pale and chilled.
Thy blooming bride perchance has filled
Her corner of the toml>»
46 THE FOURTH READER.
May be, the home where all thy sweet
And tender recollections meet,
Has shown its flaming winding-sheet
In midnight's awful gloom !
6. And while, alternate a'er my son!
Those cold or burning wheels will roll
Their chill or heat, beyond control.
Till morn shall bring relief, —
Father in heaven, whate'er may be
The cup, which thou hast sent for me,
I know 't is good, prepared by thee,
Though filled with joy or grief!
LESSON XII. The Widow and her Son.
1. I APPROACHED the gravc. 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 con-
vulsive motion of the lips, that she was gazing on the last
relics of her son with the yearnings of a mother's heart.
2. Preparations were made to deposit the coffin in the
earth. There was that bustling stir, which breaks so harsh-
ly on the feelings of grief and affliction ; directions were
given in the cold tones of business ; and there was the strik-
ing of spades into sand and gravel; which, at the grave of
those we love, is of all sounds the most writhing. The bus-
tle around seemed to waken the mother from a wretched
reverie. She raised her glazed eyes, and looked about with
a faint wildness.
3. As the men approached with cords to lower the coffin
into the grave, she wrung her hands, and broke into an ago-
ny 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 consolation. — "Nay, now, — nay
now, — don*^! take it so sorelv to heart." But the mother
THE WIDOW AND HER SON, 47
could only shake her head, and wring her hands, as one not
to be comforted.
4. 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.
5. 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 part
of the churchyard, where I remained until the funeral train
had dispersed.
6. It was some time before I left the place. 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 wit-
nessed.
7. The parents of the deceased had resided in the village
frorc. childhood. They had inhabited one of the neatest
cottages, and by various rural occupations, and the assist-
ance of a small garden, had supported themselves credita-
bly and comfortably, and led a happy and blameless life.
They had one son, who had grown up to be the staff and
pride of their age.
8. But unfortunately, this son was tempted, during a year
of scarcity and agricultural hardship, to enter into the ser-
vice of one of the small craft that plied on a neighboring
river. He had not been long in this employ, when he was
entrapped by a press-gang, and carried off to sea. His par-
ents received tidings of his seizure, but beyond that they
could learn nothing. It was the loss of their main prop.
The father, who was already infirm, grew heartless and mel^-
ancholy, and sunk into his grave. The widow, left lonely
in her age and feebleness, could no longer support herself,
and came upon the parish.
9. Time passed on, till one day she heard the cottage
door, which faced the garden, suddenly open. A stranger
came out, and seemed to be looking eagerly and wildly
around. He was dressed in seaman's clothes, was emaciat-
4d THE FOURTH READER.
ed and ghastly pale, and bore the air of one broken by
sickness and hardships. He saw his mother and hastened
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 with a vacant and wandering eye, — .
" Oh my dear, dear mother ! don't you know your son ?
your poor boy George 1"
10. It was, indeed, the wreck of her once noble lad ; who,
shattered by wounds, by sickness, and foreign imprisonment,
had, at length, dragged his wasted limbs homeward, to re-
pose among the scenes of childhood. The rest of the story
is soon told, — for the young man lingered but a few weeks,
and death came to his relief.
11. The next Sunday after the funeral I have described,
I was at the village church ; when to my surprise, I saw the
poor old woman tottering down the aisle 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 al^
fection and utter poverty ; a black ribband or so, — a faded
black handkerchief, and one or two more such humble at-
tempts to express by outward signs, that grief which passes
show.
12. When I looked round upon the storied monuments,
the stately hatchments, the cold marble pomp, with which
grandeur mourned 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 by it. They ex-
erted themselves to render her situation more comfortable,
and to lighten her afflictions. It was, however, but smooth-
ing 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 had
gone to rejoin those she loved, in that world where sorrow
is never known, and friends are never parted.
ANECDOTES OP BIRDS. 49
LESSON XIII. Anecdotes of Birds.
1. That birds, like our more sedentary and domestic
quadrupeds, are capable of exhibiting attachment to those
who feed and attend them, is undeniable. Deprived of oth-
er society, some of our more intelligent species, particular-
ly the thrushes, soon learn to seek out the company of their
friends or protectors of the human species.
2. The brown thrush and mocking-bird, become, in this
way, extremely familiar, cheerful, and capriciously playful;
the former, in particular, courts the attention of his master,
follows his steps, complains when neglected^ flies to him
when suffered to be at large, and sings and reposes grateful-
ly perched on his hand ; in short, by all his actions, he ap-
pears capable of real and affectionate attachment ; and is
Jealous of every rival, particularly any other bird, which he
persecutes from his presence with unceasing hatred.
3. His petulant dislike to particular objects of less mo
ment is also displayed by various tones and gestures, which
soon become sufficiently intelligible to those who are near
him, as well as his tones of gratulation and satisfaction.
His language of fear and surprise could never be mistaken;
and an imitation of his gutteral, low tsherr! tsherr ! on these
occasions, answers as a premonitory warning when any dan-
ger awaits him from the sly approach of cat or squirrel.
4. As I have now descended, as I may say, to the actual
biography of one of these birds, which I raised and kept
uncaged for some time, I may also add, that beside a play-
ful turn for mischief and interruption, in which he would
sometimes snatch off the paper on which I was writing, he
had a good degree of curiosity, and was much surprised one
day by a large springing beetle, which I had caught and
placed in a tumbler.
5. On all such occasions, his looks of capricious surprise
were very amusing; he cautiously approached the glass,
with fanning and closing wings, and in an under tone con-
fessed his surprise at the address and jumping motions of the
huge insect. At length he became bolder, and perceiving
that it had relation to his ordinary prey of beetles, he, with
some hesitation, ventured to snatch at the prisoner, between
temerity and playfulness. But when really alarmed or of-
5
50 THE FOURTH READER.
fended, he instantly flew to his loftiest perch, forbid all
friendly approaches, and for some time kept up his low and
angry tsherr.
6. A late naturalist, the venerable William Bartram, was
also much amused by the intelligence displayed by one of
this species, and relates, that being fond of hard crumbs
of bread, he found, when they grated his throat, a very
rational remedy by soaking them in his vessel of water ; he
likewise, by experience, discovered, that the painful prick
of the wasps, on which he fed, could be obviated by extract-
ing their stings.
7. But it would be too tedious and minute to follow out
these glimmerings of intelligence, which exist as well in
birds as in our most sagacious quadrupeds. The remarka-
ble talent of a parrot, for imitating the tones of the human
voice, has long been familiar. The most extraordinary and
well authenticated account of the actions of one of the
common ash-colored species, is that of a bird which Colonel
O'Kelley bought for a hundred guineas at Bristol.
8. This individual not only repeated a great number of
sentences, but answered many questions, and was able to
whistle a variety of tunes. While thus engaged, it beat
time with all the appearance of science, and possessed a
judgment or ear so accurate, that, if by chance it mistook a
note, it would revert to the bar where the mistake was
made, correct itself, and, still beating regular time, go again
through the whole with perfect exactness.
9. So celebrated was this bird, that an obituary notice of
its death appeared in the ** General Evening Post," for the
9th of October, 1802. In this account, it is added, that be-
sides her great musical faculties, she could express her wants
articulately, and give her orders in a manner approaching
rationality. She was, at the time of her decease, supposed to
be more than thirty years of age. The Colonel was repeat-
edly offered five hundred guineas a year for the bird, by
persons who wished to make a public exhibition of her ; but,
out of tenderness for his favorite, he constantly refused the
offer.
10. The story related by Goldsmith, of a parrot belong-
ing to King Henry the Seventh, is very amusing, and possi-
bly true. It was kept in a room in the palace of Westminster,
overlooking the Thames, and had naturally enough learned
ANECDOTES OF BIRDS. 51
a store of boatmen's phrases. One day, sporting somewhat
incautiously, Poll fell into the river, but had rationality
enough, it appears, to make a profitable use of the words
she had learned, and accordingly vociferated, " A boat ! twen-
ty pounds for a boat I " This welcome sound, reaching the
ears of a waterman, he brought assistance to the parrot,
and delivered it to the king, with a request to be paid the
round sum so readily promised by the bird ; but his Majesty,
dissatisfied with the exorbitant demand, agreed, at any
rate, to give him what the bird should now award ; in an-
swer to which reference, Poll shrewdly cried, " Give the
knave a groat."
11. The story given by Locke, in his *' Essay on the Hu-
man Understanding," though approaching closely to ration-
ality, and apparently improbable, may not be a greater effort
than could have been accomplished by Colonel O'Kelly's bird.
This parrot had attracted the attention of Prince Maurice,
the Governor of Brazil, who had a curiosity to witness its
powers.
12. The bird was introduced into the room, where sat the
Prince, in company with several Dutchmen. On viewing
them, the parrot exclaimed, in Portuguese, '* What a com-
pany of white men are here." Pointing to the Prince, they
asked, " Who is that man ? " to which the parrot replied,
^* Some general or other." The Prince now asked, " From
what place do you come?" the answer was, "From Mari-
gnan." " To whom do you belong ? " It answered, *^ To a
Portuguese." " What do you do there ? " To which the
parrot replied, " I look after chickens." The Prince, now
laughing, exclaimed, ** You look after chickens ! " To
which Poll pertinently answered, " Yes, I ; and I know well
enough how to do it ; " clucking at the same instant in the
manner of a calling brood-hen.
13. The docility of birds in catching sounds, depends, of
course, upon the perfection of their voice and hearing, as-
sisted also by no inconsiderable power of memory. The
imitative actions of passiveness in some small birds, such as
goldfinches, linnets, and canaries, are, however, quite as cu-
rious as their expression of sounds. A Sieur Roman ex-
hibited in England some of these birds, one of which simu-
lated death, and was held up by the tail or claw, without
•bowing any active signs of life. A second balanced itself
53 THE FOURTH READER.
upon its head, with its claws in the air. A third imitated a
milkmaid going to market, with pails on its shoulders. A
fourth mimicked a Venetian girl, looking out of a window.
A fifth acted the soldier, and mounted guard as a sentinel,
A sixth was a cannonier, with a cap on its head, a fire-lock
on its shoulder, and, with a match in its claw, it discharged
a small cannon. The same bird also acted as if wounded ;
was wheeled, in a little barrow, as it were, to the hospital ;
after which, it flew away before the company. The seventh
turned a kind of windmill, and the last bird stood amidst a
discharge of small fire-works, without showing any signs of
fear.
14. A similar exhibition, in which twenty-four canary
birds were the actors, was also shown in London in 1820,
by a Frenchman, named Dujon ; one of these suffered it^
self to be shot at, and falling down, as if dead, was put into
a little wheelbarrow, and conveyed away by one of its com-
rades.
LESSON XIV. To a Wild Violet, in March,
1. My pretty flower, how cam'st thou here?
Around thee all is sad and sere, —
The brown leaves tell of winter's breath,
And all but thou of doom and death.
2. The naked forest shivering sighs, — -
On yonder hill the snow-wreath lies,
And all is bleak ; then say, sweet flower.
How cam'st thou here in such an hour 1
3. No tree unfolds its timid bud.
Chill pours the hill-side's lurid flood.
The tuneless forest all is dumb ;
How then, fair violet, didst thou come ?
4. Spring hath not scattered yet her flowers,
But lingers still in southern bowers ;
No gardener's art hath cherished thee, —
For wild and lone thou springest free.
THE CHAMELEON AND PORCUPINE. 53
5. Thou springest here to man unknown,
Waked into life by God alone !
Sweet flower, thou tellest well thy birth, —
Thou cam'st from Heaven, though soiled in earth,
6i Thou tell'st of Him whose boundless power
Speaks into birth a world or flower ;
And dost a God as clearly prove.
As all the orbs in Heaven that move.
LESSON XV". The Chameleon and Porcupine; a Fable,
1. A CHAMELEON ouce met a porcupine, and complained,
that he had taken great pains to make friends with every-
body, but, strange to say, he had entirely failed, and now he
could not be sure that he had a sincere friend in the world.
2. ** And by what means," said the porcupme, '* have
you sought to make friends?" "By flattery," said the
chameleon. " I have adapted myself to all I met ; humored
the follies and the foibles of every one. In order to make
people believe that I liked them, I have imitated their man-
ners, as if I considered them models of perfection. So far
have I gone in this, that it has become a habit with me, and
now my very skin takes the hue and complexion of the thing
that happens to be nearest. Yet all this has been in vain,
for everybody calls me a turn-coat, and I am generally con-
sidered selfish, hypocritical, and base."
3. " And no doubt you deserve all this," said the porcu-
pine. ** I have taken a different course, but I must confess
that 1 have as few friends as you. I adopted the rule to re-
sent every injury, nay, every encroachment upon my digni-
ty. I would allow no one even to touch me, without stick-
ing into him one or more of my sharp quills. I determined
to take care of number one ; and the result has been, that,
while I have vindicated my rights, I have created a univer-
sal dislike. I am called Old Touch-me-not, and, if I am not
as much despised, I am even more disliked, than you, Sir
Chameleon."
4. An owl, who was sittirior by and heard this conversation,
putting his head a little on one side, remarked as follows:
54 THE FOURTH READER.
** Your experience ought to teach two valuable lessons. One
is, that the world looks upon the flatterer with contempt and
aversion, because he seeks to secure some selfish object by
making dupes of others ; and the other is, that he, who re-
sents every little trespass upon his rights and feelings, is
sure to be shunned and dreaded by all who are acquainted
with his disposition.
5. " You, Sir Chameleon, ought to know by this time,
that honest candor is far better than deceitful flattery. And
you, Neighbor Porcupine, ought never to forget, that good-
humor is a better defence than an armory of poisoned quills,"
LESSON XVI. The Bible; a Familiar Dialogue.
" My dear papa," said Mary, one morning, as they were
retiring from the breakfast table, " Charles has asked me a
question, which I think I can answer, but I am not sure
that I quite understand it ; and so I told him I would ask
you to explain the difficulty."
Papa. That is quite right, my child; you should always
try yourself first ; and then, if you find the subject above
your comprehension, apply for the assistance of those who
are older or better informed than yourself. But let Charles
state his difficulty.
Charles. I was reading the tenth chapter of Proverbs,
papa, and I could not understand how two of the verses
could both be true. I know both are true, because both are
in the Bible ; but I could not help thinking there was some
contradiction in the two verses I mean.
P. Well, my boy, 1 will endeavor to explain them. The
Bible is the best gift of God to man, and it is our duty to
study it with all our power. We must never pass over dif-
ficulties without trying to remove them. In many cases, we
may not be fully able to understand the subject ;• but if we
do our best, God will never be angry with us for our igno-
rance. Above all, we must pray faithfully for the light and
guidance of his Holy Spirit, without whose blessing our la-
bor will be useless, and our search vain. Do you understand
what I have said, Charles ?
C. I think you mean to say, that aiqc^ the Bible is
THE BIBLE. 55
God's best gift, we ought to study it with great care, and
try to understand what appears difficult, and to pray to God
to help us in our search.
P. Quite right, my boy. The wisest man cannot employ
his time and talents better than by so studying the Word of
God as to be able to explain its difficulties, reconcile its ap-
parent contradictions, make its doctrines clear to less favor-
ed minds, and enforce its precepts on all.
Mary. Papa, I have been thinking what was the reason,
why, if God's book was written for us all, it was not so
written as to be easily understood by all ; why there should be
any difficulties anywhere.
P. This, my dear child, is a very important point. I will
try to show you plainly, that, if there are difficulties in the
Bible which it requires our best labor and care to overcome,
it is just the same with God's other gifts and blessings. You
are well acquainted with the cultivation of a farm. Now just
see, what is the case there. The soil is the gift of God ; so
is the seed ; so are the sun, the rain, and the seasons. The
very skill of the husbandman, the very hand with which he
scatters the grain, are all the gifts of God ; but unless he
exerts himself, and applies his skill, and strength, and care,
in preparing the ground, and sowing the seed, and preserv-
ing the growing crop from animals that would devour it, and
in reaping and gathering the crop when ripe, he would be
a madman to expect his barns to be full of corn in winter.
These are difficulties, — they must be overcome ; and, unless
they are overcome, we all know, that the sun and the rain,
acting on the soil, will never of themselves bring forth the
full, ripe shocks of wheat in harvest time. So it is with the
spiritual gifts of Heaven. It would be just as reasonable to
deny that God is the gracious Giver of the productions of
the earth, because the skill, and labor, and care of man are
necessary in their cultivation, as it would be to deny that
the Bible was his word, because it requires much study, and
research, and prayer, before we can draw from it the truth
and comfort which such honest labors, with God's blessing,
will produce. Now, Charles, let me hear your difficulty.
C. Well, papa, you remember I said it was in the tenth
chapter of Proverbs ; in the fourth verse it is said, that " the
hand of the diligent maketh rich;" but in the twenty-sec-
ond verse we read, that " the blessing of the Lord maketh
56 THE FOURTH READER.
rich." I did not quite see how the same thing can possibly
be said to be done by the hand of the diligent man, and by
the blessing of the Lord. But I think I see it more plainly
since I have heard your answer to Mary's question.
P. Well, my boy, I think I can reconcile the two passa-
ges without difficulty. But tell me first what you think of it
yourself.
C. Why, papa, I think it means that the hand of the dil-
igent and the blessing of God must go together —
P. Stay, Charles; — if I were to dwell upon it for an
hour, I could not state the truth more clearly than you have
done.
M. But, papa, pray go on ; I am sure you have more to
tell us on the subject, and I should like to hear you.
P. You observe, that Solomon is here speaking of the
riches of this world ; and he says, that, in acquiring them,
we must be diligent, and God must also bless our endeav-
ors.
M. But I have often heard you say, papa, that riches are
no proof of God's favor, and that poverty does not show his
anger. I suppose God only blesses the riches of good men.
P. Exactly so. Solomon speaks to us very plainly of
certain riches which lead to shame and want. It is only
when they are gained honestly, and spent charitably, that
they have God's blessing. The Christian is happy in pos-
sessing riches, because they enable him to do good; and he
is contented, if they are taken away. Whilst he has them,
he loves to employ them as a faithful steward of his heaven-
ly Master ; and, when they fail, he knows where he may take
refuge, and still be happy. Do you know what I mean,
Mary ?
M. I think you mean religion, papa. You have often
told me, that God is our only sure friend in sorrow and dis-
appointment.
P. My children, I will give you the only safe rule of con-
duct. Trust in God, and rely upon him just as entirely as
if you were expected to do nothing of yourselves ; and labor
to be good Christians, just as strenuously as if you had no
grace of God to rely on at all. Trust in God, and do your
best.
THE WINDS. 5%
LESSON XVII. The Winds.
1. We come ! we come ! and ye feel our might,
As we 're hastening on in our boundless flight ;
And over the mountains, and over the deep,
Our broad, invisible pinions sweep,
Like the spirit of liberty, wild and free !
And ye look on our works, and own 't is we,
Ye call us the winds ; but can ye tell
"Whither we go, or where we dwell?
% Ye mark, as we vary our forms of power,
And fell the forests, or fan the flower ;
When the hare-bell moves, and the rush is bent,
When the tower 's o'erthrown, and the oak is rent 3
As we waft the bark o'er the slumbering wave,
Or hurry its crew to a watery grave ;
And ye say it is we, but can ye trace
The wandering winds to their secret place ?
3. And, whether our breath be loud and high,
Or come in a soft and balmy sigh, —
Our threatenings fill the soul with fear,
Or our gentle whisperings woo the ear
With music aerial, — still it is we;
And ye list, and ye look ; but what do ye see ?
Can you hush one sound of our voice to peace,
Or waken one note, when our numbers cease 1
4. Our dwelling is in the Almighty's hand ;
We come and we go at his command.
Though joy or sorrow may mark our track.
His will is our guide, and we look not back ;
And if, in our wrath, ye would turn us away,
Or win us in gentle airs to play.
Then lift up your hearts to Him, who binds.
Or frees, as he will, the obedient winds.
5S THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON XVIII. The False Witness Detected.
The scene of this sketch was in Germany. Therese, a young lady of ex-
cellent character, was suspected of having stolen a jewel, which was found
in her trunk. She was on trial before the court. Count , her lover,
with many friends, were present ; the court-room was crowded, and the in-
tensest interest prevailed to know the issue of the trial. A female attendant
of Therese was the chief witness ; she was suspected, however, of hav-
ing stolen the ring, and opened the trunk of Therese, and put it there, for
the sake of bringing the accusation upon her mistress, in order to revenge
herself for having been detected in, and reproved for, an attempted theft.
The following is the examination of this witness, The result shows the dif-
ficulty of concealing crime, and bearing false witness, with impunity.
1. "Do you entertain any ill-will toward the prisoner V
asked Therese's counsel of the attendant.
*'None," said the witness.
2. " Have you ever quarrelled with her ? "
" No."
" Do you truly believe that she deposited the jewel in her
trunk ? "
" I do not like to think ill of any one."
" That is not an answer to my question : — do you be»
lieve that she put it there 1 "
" How else could it have come there 1 "
" Answer me, Yes or No," said the advocate. " Do you
believe that Therese secreted the jewel in her trunk ? Yes
or No ? "
" Yes 1 " at last faltered out the attendant.
3. " Now, my girl," continued the advocate, *' pay heed
to what you say ; remember you are upon your oath ! Will
you swear that you did not put it there yourself? " There
was a pause and a profound silence. After about a minute
had elapsed, ** Well? " said the advocate. Another pause;
while, in an assembly where hundreds of human hearts were
throbbing, not an individual stirred, or even appeared to
breathe, such was the pitch of intensity to which the sus-
pense of the court was wound up.
4. "Well," said the advocate a second time; ^^ will you
answer me 1 Will you swear, that you yourself did not put
the jewel into Therese's trunk ? "
** I will ! " at last said the attendant, boldly.
"You swear it?"
" I do."
THE FALSE WITNESS DETECTED. 59
** And why did you not answer me at once? "
" i do not like that such questions should be put to me,"
replied the attendant.
5. For a moment the advocate was silent. A feeling
of disappointment seemed to pervade the whole court ; now
and then a half-suppressed sigh was heard, and here and
there a handkerchief was lifted to an eye>, which was no
sooner wiped than it was turned again upon Therese with
an expression of the most lively commiseration. The maid
herself was the only individual who appeared perfectly at
her ease : even the Baroness looked as if her firmness was
on the point of giving way, as she drew closer to Therese,
round whose waist she now had passed her arm.
6. " You have done with the witness ? " said the advocate
for the prosecution.
" No," replied the other, and reflected for a moment or
two longer. At length, " Have you any keys of your own 1 "
said he.
" I have ! "
" I know you have," said the advocate. " Are they about
you?"
*' Yes."
*' Is not one of them broken 1 "
After a pause, " Yes."
7. " Show them to me."
The witness, after searching some time in her pocket,
took the keys out and presented them.
" Let the trunk be brought into the court," said the ad-
vocate.
8. " Now, my girl," resumed the advocate, " attend to
the questions which 1 am going to put to you, and deliberate
well before you reply ; because 1 have those to produce who
will answer them truly, should you fail to do so. Were you
ever in the service of a Monsieur St. Ange ? "
" Yes," replied the attendant, evidently disconcerted.
" Did you not open, in that gentleman's house, a trunk
that was not your own 1 "
" Yes," with increased confusion.
" Did you not take from that trunk an article that was
not your own ? "
" Yes ; but I put it back again."
" I know you put it back again," said the advocate.
eO THE FOURTH READER.
** You see, my girl, I am acquainted with the whole affair j
but, before you put it back again, were you not aware that
you were observed ? "
The witness was silent.
9. " Who observed you ? Was it not your mistress ? Did
she not accuse you of intended theft ? Were you not in-
stantly discharged 1 " successively asked the advocate, with-
out eliciting any reply. *' Why do you not answer, girl?"
peremptorily demanded he.
** If you are determined to destroy my character," said
the witness, bursting into tears, " I cannot help it."
" No," rejoined the advocate ; " I do not intend to de-
stroy a character ; I mean to save one, — one which, before
you quit the court, I shall prove to be as free from soil, as
the snow of the arm which is leaning upon that bar ! " con-
tinued the advocate, pointing towards Therese.
10. The trunk was here brought in. *' You know that
trunk ? "
" Yes."
" Whose is it ? "
" It belongs to the prisoner."
** And these are your keys?"
*' Yes."
" Were these keys out of your possession the day before
that trunk was searched, and the jewel found in it? "
" No."
" Nor the day before that again ? "
" No."
11. " Now mind what you are saying. You swear, that,
for two days preceding the morning upon which that trunk
was searched, those keys were never once out of your own
possession ? "
" I do."
** Will not one of these keys open that trunk? "
The witness was silent.
" Never mind ! we shall try. As readily as if it had been
made for it ! " resumed the advocate, applying the key and
lifting the lid.
12. '* There may be fifty keys in the court that would do
the same thing," interposed the public prosecutor.
" True," rejoined his brother ; '* but this is not one of
them," added he, holding up the other key, " for she tried
THE BOB-0'LINKUM. 61
this key first, and broke, as you see, the ward in the at-
tempt."
" How will yon prove that ] " inquired the prosecutor.
" By producing the separate part."
" Where did you find it? "
*' In the lock ! " emphatically exclaimed the advocate.
A groan was heard ; the witness had fainted. She was
instantly removed, and the innocence of Therese was as
clear as the noonday !
LESSON XIX. The Bob-O' Linkum.
1. Thou vocal sprite, — thou feathered troubadour !
In pilgrim weeds through many a clime a ranger,
Com'st thou to doff thy russet suit once more.
And play, in foppish trim, the masking stranger?
Philosophers may teach thy whereabouts and nature;
But, wise as all of us, perforce, must think 'em,
The school-boy best has fixed thy nomenclature,
And poets, too, must call thee Bob-O'Linkum !
2. Say ! art thou, long 'mid forest glooms benighted.
So glad to skim our laughing meadows over, —
With our gay orchards here so much delighted.
It makes thee musical, thou airy rover?
Or are those buoyant notes the pilfered treasure
Of fairy isles, which thou hast learned to ravish
Of all their sweetest minstrelsy at pleasure,
And, Ariel-like, again on men to lavish?
3. They tell sad stories of thy mad-cap freaks.
Wherever o'er the land thy pathway ranges ;
And even in a brace of wandering weeks.
They say, alike thy song and plumage changes.
Here both are gay ; and when the buds put forth.
And leafy June is shading rock and river.
Thou art unmatched, blithe warbler of the North,
When through the balmy air thy clear notes quiver.
6
52 THE FOURTH READER.
4. Joyous, yet tender, — was that gush of song
Learned from the brooks, where 'mid its wild flowers,
smiling,
The silent prairie listens all day long,
The only captive to such sweet beguiling?
Or didst thou, flitting through the verdurous halls
And columned isles of western groves symphonious,
Learn from the tuneful woods rare madrigals,
To make our flowering pastures here harmonious ?
5. Caught'st thou thy carol from some Indian maid,
VVhere, through the liquid fields of wild-rice plashing,
Brushing the ears from ofi* the burdened blade,
Her birch canoe o'er some lone lake is flashing ?
Or did the reeds of some savannahs south
Detain thee, while thy northern flight pursuing.
To place those melodies in thy sweet mouth,
The spice-fed winds had taught them in their wooing?
6. Unthrifty prodigal ! — r is no thought of ill
The cadence of thy lay disturbing ever ?
Or doth each pulse in choiring sequence still
Throb on in music till at rest for ever ?
Yet now, in wildered maze of concord floating,
'T would seem, that glorious hymning to prolong,
Old Time, in hearing thee, might fall a-doting,
And pause to listen to thy rapturous song !
LESSON XX. Migration of Birds.
1. The velocity, with which birds are able to travel in
their aerial element, has no parallel among terrestrial ani-
mals ; and this powerful capacity for progressive motion is
bestowed in aid of their peculiar wants and instinctive hab-
its. The swiftest horse may perhaps proceed a mile in
something less than two minutes ; but such exertion is un-
natural, and quickly fatal.
2. An eagle, whose stretch of wing exceeds seven feet,
with ease and majesty, and without any extraordinary effort,
riecs out of sight in less than three minutes, and therefore
MIGRATION OF BIRDS. 63
must fly more than three thousand five hundred yards in a
minute, or at the rate of sixty miles in an hour. At this
speed, a bird would easily perform a journey of six hundred
miles in a day, since ten hours only would be required,
which would allow of frequent halts, and the whole of the
night, for repose.
3. Swallows, and other migratory birds, might, therefore,
pass from Northern Europe to the Equator in seven or eight
days. In fact, Adanson saw, on the coast of Senegal,
swallows, that had arrived there on the 9th of October, or
eight or nine days after their departure from the colder con-
tinent. A Canary falcon, sent to the Duke of Lerma,
returned in sixteen hours from Andalusia to the Island of
Teneriffe, a distance of seven hundred and fifty miles.
The gulls of Barbadoes, according to Sir Hans Sloane,
make excursions in flocks to the distance of more than two
hundred miles after their food, and then return the same
day to their rocky roosts.
4. Superficial observers, substituting their own ideas for
facts, are ready to conclude, and frequently assert, that the
old and young, before leaving, assemble together for mutual
departure ; this may be true in many instances, but, in as
many more, a different arrangement obtains. The young,
often instinctively vagrant, herd together in separate flocks,
previous to their departure, and, guided alone by the innate
monition of nature, seek neither the aid, nor the company,
of the old ; consequently, in some countries, flocks of
young, of particular species, are alone observed, and in
others, far distant, we recognise the old.
5. From parental aid, the juvenile company have ob-
tained all that nature intended to bestow, existence and
education ; and they are now thrown upon the world among
their numerous companions, with no other necessary guide
than self-preserving instinct. In Europe it appears, that
these bands of the young always affect even a warmer cli-
mate than the old ; the aeration of their blood not being yet
complete, they are more sensible to the rigors of cold.
The season of the year has also its effect on the movements
of birds ; thus certain species proceed to their northern
destination more to the eastward in the spring, and return
from it to the south-westward in the autumn.
6. When untoward circumstances render haste necessary
e4 THE FOURTH READER.
certain kinds of birds, which ordinarily travel only in the
night, continue their route during the day, and scarcely
allow themselves time to eat; yet the singing-birds, properly
so called, never migrate by day, whatever may happen to
them. And it may here be inquired, with astonishment,
how these feeble, but enthusiastic animals, are able to pass
the time, thus engaged, without the aid of recruiting sleep?
But so powerful is this necessity for travel, that its incentive
breaks out equally in those which are detained in captivity ;
so much so, that, although during the day they are no more
alert than usual, and only occupied in taking nourishment,
at the approach of night, far from seeking repose, as usual,
they manifest great agitation, sing without ceasing in the
cage, whether the apartment is lighted or not ; and, when
the moon shines, they appear still more restless, as it is their
custom, at liberty, to seek the advantage of its light for fa-
cilitating their route.
7. Some birds, while engaged in their journey, still find
means to live without halting ; the swallow, while traversing
the sea, pursues its insect prey ; those which can subsist on
fish, without any serious effort, feed as they pass or graze
the surface of the deep. If the wren, the creeper, and
the titmouse rest for an instant on a tree, to snatch a hasty
morsel, in the next, they are on the wing, to fulfil their des-
tination.
S. Of all migrating birds, the cranes appear to be en-
dowed with the greatest share of foresight. They never
undertake to journey alone ; throughout a circle of several
miles, they appear to communicate the intention of com-
mencing their route. Several days previous to their depart-
ure, they call upon each other with a peculiar cry, as if
giving warning to assenibte at a central point ; the favorable
moment being at length arrived, they betake themselves to
flight, and, in military style, fall into two lines, which
unite in such a manner as to form an extended angle, with
two equal sides.
9. At the central point of the phalanx, the chief takes his
station, to whom the whole troop, by their subordination,
appear to have pledged their obedience. The commander
has not only the painful task of breaking the path through
the air, but he has also the charge of watching for the com-
mon safety ; to avoid the attacks of birds of prey ; to rang©
THE BLIND MUSICIAN. 66
the two lines in a circle at the approach of a tempest, in \
order to resist with more effect the squalls, which menace
the disposition of the linear ranks ; and lastly, it is to the
leader, that the fatigued company look up to appoint the
most convenient places for nourishment and repose.
10. Still, important as is the station and function of the
aerial director, its existence is but momentary. As soon as
he feels sensible of fatigue, he cedes his place to the next in
file, and retires himself to its extremity. During the night,
their flight is attended with considerable noise; the loud
cries which we hear seem to be the marching orders of the
chief, answered by the ranks, who follow his commands.
11. Wild geese, and several kinds of ducks, also make
their aerial voyage nearly in the same manner as the cranes.
The loud call of the passing geese, as they soar securely
through the higher regions of the air, is familiar to all ; but,
as an additional proof of their sagacity and caution, we
may remark, that, when fogs in the atmosphere render their
flight necessarily low, they steal along in silence, as if aware
of the danger to which their lower path now exposes them.
LESSON XXI. The Blind Musician.
1. Silent and still, Lucy and her lover sat together.
The streets were utterly deserted, and the loneliness as they
looked below, made them feel the more intensely 'not only
the emotions which swelled within them, but the undefined
and electric sympathy, which, in uniting them, divided them
from the world.
2. The quiet around was broken by a distant strain of
rude music ; and, as it came nearer, two forms of no poetical
order, grew visible. The one was a poor blind man, who
was drawing from his flute tones in which the melancholy
beauty of the air compensated for any deficiency in the ex-
ecution. A woman, much younger than the musician, and
with something of beauty in her countenance, accompanied
him, holding a tattered hat, and looking wistfully up at the
windows of the silent street.
3. We said two forms ; we did the injustice of forgetful-
66 THE FOURTH READER.
ness to another ; a rugged and simple friend, it is true, but
one that both minstrel and wife had many and moving rea-
sons to love. This was a little wiry terrier, with dark
piercing eyes, that glanced quickly and sagaciously in all
quarters, from beneath the shaggy covert that surrounded
them. Slowly the animal moved forward, pulling gently
against the string by which it was held, and by which he
guided his master. Once his fidelity was tempted ; another
dog invited him to play ; the poor terrier looked anxiously
and doubtjngly round, and then, uttering a low growl of
denial, pursued
" The noiseless tenor of his way."
4. The little procession stopped beneath the window where
Lucy and Clifford sat ; for the quick eye of the woman had
perceived them, and she laid her hand on the blind man's
arm, and whispered to him. He took the hint, and changed
his air into one of love. Clifford glanced at Lucy ; her cheek
was dyed with blushes. The air was over, — another suc-
ceeded, — it was of the same kind; a third, — the burden
was still unaltered, — and then Clifford threw into the
street a piece of money, and the dog wagged his abridged
and dwarfed tail, and, darting forward, picked it up in his
mouth, and the woman (she had a kind face!) patted the
officious friend, even before she thanked the donor, and then
she dropped the money with a cheering word or two into
the blind man's pocket, and the three wanderers moved
slowly on.
5. Presently, they came to a place where the street had
been mended, and the stones lay scattered about. Here,
the woman no longer trusted to the dog's guidance, but
anxiously hastened to the musician, and led him with evi-
dent tenderness, and minute watchfulness, over the rugged
way. When they had passed the danger, the man stopped,
and before he released the hand which had guided him, he
pressed it gratefully, and then both the husband and the
wife stooped down and caressed the dog.
6. This little scene, — one of those rough copies of the
loveliness of human affections, of which so many are scat-
tered about the highways of the world, — both the lovers
had involuntarily watched ; and now, as they withdrew, —
those eyes settled on each other, — Lucy's swam in tears.
FRANKLIN'S ARRIVAL AT PHILADELPHIA. 67
^ 7. " To be loved and tended by the one I love," said
Clifford, in a low voice, " I would walk blind and barefoot
over the whole earth."
LESSON XXII. Franklin's First Entrance into
Philadelphia.
Dr. Franklin was at first a printer, and had few opportunities for ed-
ucation : but by liis industry, good sense, and discretion, he advanced to
distinction, and became one of tlie most useful and celebrated men of his
time. The following account is nearly in his own words.
1. I HAVE entered into the particulars of my voyage, and
shall, in like manner, describe my first entrance into this
city, that you may be able to compare beginnings, so little
auspicious, with the figure I have since made.
2. On my arrival at Philadelphia, I was in my working
dress ; my best clothes being to come by sea. I was covered
with dirt ; my pockets were filled with shirts and stockings ;
I was unacquainted with a single soul in the place, and
knew not where to seek a lodging. Fatigued with walking,
rowing, and having passed the night without sleep, I was
extremely hungry, and all my money consisted of a Dutch
dollar, and about a shilling's worth of coppers, which I gave
to the boatmen for my passage. As I had assisted them in
rowing, they refused it at first; but I insisted on their
taking it.
3. A man is sometimes more generous when he has little,
than when he has much money ; probably, because, in the
first case, he is desirous of concealing his poverty. I
walked towards the top of the street, looking eagerly on
both sides, till I came to Market Street, where I met with a
child with a loaf of bread. Often had I made my dinner
on dry bread. I inquired where he had bought it, and went
straight to the baker's shop, which he pointed out to me.
4. I asked for some biscuits, expecting to find such as we
had at Boston ; but they made, it seems, none of that sort at
Philadelphia. I then asked for a threepenny loaf They
made no loaves of that price. Finding myself ignorant of
the prices, as well as of the different kinds, of bread, I
desired him to let me have threepenny-worth of bread of
158 THE FOURTH READER.
some kind or other. He gave me three large rolls. I was
surprised at receiving so much. I took them, however, and,
naving no room in my pockets, I walked on with a roll un-
der each arm, eating a third.
5. In this manner, I went through Market Street to
Fourth Street, and passed the house of Mr. Read, the
father of my future wife. She was standing at the door,
observed me, and thought, with reason, that I made a very
singular and grotesque appearance.
6. I then turned the corner, and went through Chestnut
Street, eating my roll all the way ; and, having made this
round, I found myself again on Market Street wharf, neap
the boat in which I arrived. I stepped into it to take a
draught of water ; and, finding myself satisfied with my
first roll, I gave the other two to a woman and her child,
who had come down with us in the boat, and was waiting to
continue her journey.
7. Thus refreshed, I regained the street, which was now
full of well-dressed people, all going the same way. 1
joined them, and was thus led to a large Quaker meeting-
house near the market-place. I sat down with the rest, and,
after looking round me for some time, hearing nothing said,
and being drowsy from my last night's labor and want of
rest, I fell into a sound sleep. In this state I continued,
till the assembly dispersed, when one of the congregation
had the goodness to wake me. This was, consequently, tha
first house I entered, or in which I slept, at Philadelphia.
LESSON XXIII. Lake Superior.
1. ** Father of Lakes ! " thy waters bend,
Beyond the eagle's utmost view ;
When, throned in heaven, he sees thee send
Back to the sky its world of blue.
2. Boundless and deep the forests weave
Their twilight shade thy borders o'er,
And threatening clifis, like giants, heave
Their rugged forms along thy shore.
LAKE SUPERIOR, (fO
3. Pale Silence, 'raid thy hollow caves,
With listening ear in sadness broods,
Or startled Echo, o'er thy waves.
Sends the hoarse wolf-notes of thy woods.
4. Nor can the light canoes, that glide
•Across thy breast like things of air,
Chase from thy lone and level tide,
The spell of stillness deepening there.
5. Yet round this waste of wood and wave,
Unheard, unseen, a spirit lives.
That, breathing o'er each rock and cave,
To all, a wild, strange aspect gives.
6. The thunder-riven oak, that flings
Its grisly arms athwart the sky,
A sudden, startling image brings
To the lone traveller's kindled eye.
7. The gnarled and braided boughs, that show
Their dim forms in the forest shade,
Like wrestling serpents seem, and throw
Fantastic horrors through the glade.
8. The very echoes round this shore
Have caught a strange and gibbering tone,
For they have told the war-whoop o'er.
Till the wild chorus is their own.
9. Wave of the wilderness, adieu !
Adieu, ye rocks, ye wilds, ye woods!
Roll on, thou Element of blue,
And fill these awful solitudes !
10. Thou hast no tale to tell of man, —
God is thy theme. Ye sounding caves,
Whisper of Him, whose mighty plan
Deems as a bubble all your waves !
70 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON XXIV. The Discentented Mole; a Fable.
1. A YOUNG mole having crept out into the sun one day,
met with its mother, and began to complain of its lot. *• I
have been thinking," said he, *' that we lead a very stupid
life, burrowing under the ground, and dwelling in perpetu-
al darkness. For ray part, I think it would be much better
to live aboveboard, and caper about in the sunlight like the
squirrels."
2. *' It may seem so to yon/' said the wise old mole, " but
beware of forming hasty opinions. It is an old remark, that
it takes all sorts of people to make a world. Some crea-
tures Irve upon the trees ; but nature has provided them
with claws, which make it easy and safe for them to climb.
Some dwell in the water, but they are supplied with fins,
which render it easy for them to move about, and with a
contrivance by means of which they breathe where other
creatures would drown.
3. " Some creatures glide through the air ; but they are
endowed with wings, without which, it would be vain to at-
tempt to fly. The truth is, that every individual is made to
fill some place in tlie scale of being ; and he best seeks his
own happiness in following the path which his Creator has
marked out for him.
4. " We may wisely seek to better our condition, by mak-
ing that path as pleasant as possible, but not attempt to pur-
sue one which we are unfitted to follow. You will best con-
sult your interest, by endeavoring to enjoy all that properly
belongs to a mole, instead of striving to swim like a fish,
climb like a squirrel, or fly like a bird. Contentment is the
great blessing of life. You may enjoy this in the quiet se-
curity of your sheltered abode ; the proudest tenant of the
earth, air, or sea, can do no more."
5. The young mole replied ; " This may seem very wise
to you, but it sounds like nonsense to me. I am determined
to burrow in the earth no more, but dash out in style, like
other gay people." So saying, he crept upon a little mound
for the purpose of looking about, and seeing what course of
pleasure he should adopt. While in this situation, he was
snapped up by a hawk, who carried him to a tall tree, and
devoured him without ceremony
APHORISMS FROM SHAKSPEARB. 71
6. This fable may teach us the folly of that species of
discontent, which would lead us to grasp at pleasures beyond
our reach, or to indulge envy toward those who are in the
possession of more wealth than we. We should endeavor to
fulfil the duties of that situation in which we are placed, and
not grumble, that some other lot is not assigned to us. We
may lawfully seek to improve our fortunes, but this should be
done rather by excelling in that profession which we have
chosen, than by endeavoring to shine in one for which we
are unfitted.
LESSON XXV. Apkorisms from Skakspeare.
1. Truth hath a quiet breast.
2. Take all the swift advantage of the hours.
3. There 's small choice in rotten apples.
4. They sell the pasture now to buy the horse.
5. He that is giddy, thinks the world turns round.
6. Suspicion shall be all stuck full of eyes.
7. In delay, there lies no plenty.
8. It is an heretic that mak«s the fire,
Not he which burns in 't.
9. An honest man is able to speak for himself when a
knave is not.
10. Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.
11. Oaths are words, and poor conditions.
12. Fears attend the steps of wrong.
13. The bird that hath been limed in a bush,
With trembling wings misdoubteth every bush.
14. When a fox hath once got in his nose,
He '11 soon take means to make the body follow.
15. 'T is but a base, ignoble mind,
That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.
16. A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.
17. Far from her nest the lapwing cries away.
18. By medicines life may be prolonged, yet Death
Will seize the doctor too.
19. If money go before, all ways do lie open.
20. Who makes the fairest show, means most deceit.
21. Let them obey, that know not how to rule.
7«i THE FOURTH READER.
22. Advantage is a better soldier than rashness.
23. Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
24. Small curs are not regarded when they grin ;
But great men tremble when the lion roars.
25. Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak
26. All that glisters is not gold ;
Gilded tombs do worms infold.
27. Wake not a sleeping wolf.
28. Kindness is nobler ever than revenge.
29. Do as adversaries do in law,
Strive mightily, but eat and drink as friends.
30. We call a nettle but a nettle ; and
The faults of fools but folly.
31. Things in motion sooner catch the eye,
Than what not stirs.
32. Coronets are stars.
And, sometimes, falling ones.
33. They that have the voice of lions, and the act of
hares, are they not monsters ?
34. A friend should bear his friend's infirmities.
35. Fortune brings in some boats that are not steered.
36. Inconstancy falls off e'er it begins.
37. Nothing can come of nothing.*
38. He that loves to be flattered is worthy o' the flatterer
39. Men in rage strike those that wish them well.
40. One may smile, and smile, and be a villain.
41. He jests at scars that never felt a wound.
42. Time and the hour runs through the roughest day.
43. Vaulting ambition o'erleaps its sell (i. e. saddle).
44. Delight no less in truth, than life.
45. Bondage is hoarse and may not speak aloud.
46. False face must hide what the false heart doth know.
47. In a false quarrel there is no true valor.
48. 'T is safer to be that which we destroy,
Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.
49. Merry larks are ploughmen's clocks.
50. The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and
ill together.
51. Though authority be a stubborn bear, yet he is oft
led by the nose with gold.
THE DEPARTURE OF THE SEASONS. 79
52. All difficulties ate but easy, when they ate j^nown.
53. Fashion wears out more apparel than the man.
54. We are born to do benefits.
55. Report is fabulous and false.
6Q. Truth loves open dealing.
57. There is sense in truth, and truth in virtue.
LESSON XXVI. The Departure of tke Seasons.
1. The gay Spring
With its young charms has gone, — gone, with its leaves,-
Its atmosphere of roses, — its while clouds
Slumbering like seraphs in the air, — its birds
Telling their loves in music, — and its streams
Leaping and shouting from the up-piled rocks
To make earth echo with the joy of waves.
2. And Summer, with its dews and showers has gone, •
Its rainbows glowing on the distant cloud
Like Spirits of the Storm, — its peaceful lakes
Smiling in their sweet sleep, as if their dreams
Were of the opening flowers and budding trees
And overhanging sky, — and its bright mists
Resting upon the mountain-tops, as crowns
Upon the heads of giants. 3. Autumn too
Has gone, with all its deeper glories, — gone,
With its green hills like altars of the world
Lifting their rich fruit-offerings to their God, —
Its cool winds straying 'mid the forest aisles
To wake their thousand wind-harps, — its serene
And holy sunsets hanging o'er the West
Like banners from the battlements of Heaven, —
And its still evenings, when the moonlight sea
Was ever throbbing, like the living heart
Of the great Universe. 4. Ay, — these are now
But sounds and visions of the "past, — their deep,
Wild beauty has departed from the Earth,
And they are gathered to the embrace of Death,
Their solemn herald to Eternity.
74' THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON XXVII. On Time.
1. There are some insects who live but a single day. In
the morning they are born ; at noon they are in full life ;
at evening diey die. The life of man is similar to that of
these insects. It is true, he lives for a number of years,
but the period is so short, that every moment is of some
value. Our existence may be compared to a journey ; as
every step of the traveller brings him nearer to the end of
his journey, so every tick of the clock makes the limited
number of seconds allotted to us, still less.
2. Our life may be divided, like the day of the insect, into
three parts ; youth, or morning ; noon, or middle age ; and
evening, or old age. In youth, we get our education, and
lay up those stores of knowledge, which are to guide us in
the journey before us. As this journey is of importance,
we should be busy as the bee, that "improves each shining
hour.'^
3. I do not mean, that we should never amuse ourselves ;
on the contrary, amusement is absolutely necessary to all,
and particularly to the young. But what I mean is, that
none of the time allotted to study, or business, or duty,
should be allowed to pass in idleness. Every moment
should be improved ; for we have a journey before us, and,
if we linger by the way, the time in which it is to be per-
formed will pass, and, while we are yet unhoused, or
unsheltered in the wilderness, the sun will set, and the
shadows of night will fall upon us.
4. Middle age is a time of action, and it is important to
lay up knowledge and wisdom in youth, that we may act well
and wisely in these after days. Old age is the evening, or
the winter, of life. It is dimmed by the shadows of coming
night, or chilled by the frost of coming death. Yet it is not
a period from which we should shrink, unless, indeed, we
have wasted our time, and made no preparation against the
season that is to follow.
THE AMERICAN AUTUMN.
LESSON XXVIII. The Amerkan Autwrnu
«
1. This season is proverbially beautiful and interesting.
Our springs are too humid and chilly ; our summers too hot
and dusty ; and our winters too cold and tempestuous. But
autumn, that soft twilight of the waning year, is ever de-
lightfully temperate and agreeable. Nothing can be more
rich and splendid, than the variegated mantles which our
forests put on, after throwing off the light green drapery of
summer.
2. In this country, autumn comes not in " sober guise,"
or in *^ russet mantle clad," but, as expressed in the beauti-
ful language of Miss Kemble, like a triumphant emperor,
arrayed in " gorgeous robes of Tyrian dye."
3. This is the only proper season in which one truly en-
joys, in all its maturity of luxurious loveliness, an excursion
into the country ;
" There, the loaded fruit-trees bending,
Strew with mellow gold the land ;
Here, on high, from vines depending,
Purple clusters court the hand."
Autumn now throws her many-tinted robe over our land-
scape, unequalled by the richest drapery which nature's ward-
robe can furnish in any part of the world.
4. We read of Italian skies and tropical evergreens, and
often long to visit those regions where the birds have " no
sorrow in their song, no winter in their year." But where
can we find such an assemblage of beauties as is displayed,
at this moment, in the groves and forests of our native land?
Europe and Asia may be explored in vain. To them has
prodigal nature given springs like Eden, summers of plenty,
and winters of mildness. To the land of our nativity alone
has she given autumns of unrivalled beauty, magnificence,
and abundance. Most of our poets have sung the charms
of this season, — all varying from each other, and all beau-
tiful, like the many-tinted hues of the foliage of the groves.
5. The pensive, sentimental, moralizing Bryant, says,
" The melancholy day.s are come, the saddest of the year ; "
but his exquisite lines are so well known, that we must re-
sist the temptation to quote them. The blithe, jocund,
Tlr THE FOURTH READER.
bright-hearted Halleck sings in a strain of quite a different
lone, in describing the country at this period. Who would
not know these lines to be his;
" In the autumn time,
Earth has no holier, nor no lovelier clime."
But we must not quote him either, for the same reason.
6. This objection, however, does not apply to the delicate
mnrceau of poor Brainard, which has seldom been copied,
and is in little repute, but which con,taiiis the true inspiration
of poetry.
" ' What is there saddening in the autumn leaves .' *
Have they that ' green and yellow melancholy,'
That the sweet poet spake of? Had he seen
Our variegated woods, when first the frost
Turns into beauty all October's charms, —
When the dread fever quits us, — when the storms
Of the wild equinox, with all its wet,
Has left the land, as the first deluge left it,
With a bright bow of many colors hung
Upon the forest tops, — lie had not aghed.
The moon stays longest for the hunter now ;
The trees cast down their fruitage, and the blithe
And busy squirrel hoards his winter store ;
While man enjoys the breeze, that sweeps along
The bright blue sky above him, and that bends
Magnificently all the forest's pride.
Or whispers through the evergreens, and asks,
'What is there saddening in the autumn leaves? ' **
LESSON XXIX. The Progress of Liberty,
1. Why muse
Upon the past with sorrow 1 Though the year
Has gone to blend with the mysterious tide
Of old Eternity, and borne along
Upon its heaving breast a thousand wrecks
Of glory and of beauty, — yet why mourn
That such is destiny ? 2. Another year
Succeedeth to the past, — in their bright round
The seasons come and go, — the same blue arch,
That hath hung o'er ns, will hang o'er us yet, —
THE PROGRESS OF LIBERTY. 77
The same pure stars that we have loved to watch,
Will blossom still at twilight's gentle hour
Like lilies on the tomb of Day, — and still
Man will remain, to dream as he hath dreamed,
And mark the earth with passion. 3. Love will spring
From the lone tomb of old Affections, — - Hope,
And Joy, and great Ambition will rise up *
As they have risen, — and their deeds will be
Brighter than those engraven on the scroll
Of parted centuries. 4. Even now the sea
Of coming years, beneath whose mighty waves
Life's great events are heaving into birth,
Is tossing to and fro, as if the winds
Of heaven were prisoned in its soundless depths
And struggling to be free.
5. Weep not, that Time
Is passing on, —it will ere long reveal
A brighter era to the nations. — Hark !
Along the vales und mountains of the earth
There is a deep, portentous murmuring.
Like the swift rush of subterranean streams,
Or like the mingled sounds of earth and air.
When the fierce Tempest, with sonorous wing,
Heaves his deep folds upon the rushing winds,
And hurries onward with his night of clouds
Against the eternal mountains. 6. 'T is the voice
Of infant Freedom, — and her stirring call
Is heard and answered in a thousand tones
From every hill-top of her Western home, —
And lo, it breaks across old Ocean's flood, —
^And "Freedom! Freedom!" is the answering shout
Of nations, starting from the spell of years.
7. The day-spring !— see,— 't is brightening in the heavens!
The watchmen of the night have caught the sign, —
From tower to tower the signal-fires flash free, —
And the deep watchword, like the rush of seas
That heralds the volcano's bursting flame,
Is sounding o'er the earth. 8. Bright years of hope
And life are on the wing ! — Yon glorious bow
Of Freedom, bended by the hand of God,
Is spanning Time's dark surges, Its high Arch,
7^ THE FOURTH READER,
A type of Love and Mercy on the cloud,
Tells that the many storms of human life
Will pass in silence, and the sinking waves,
Gathering the forms of glory and of peace,
Reflect the undimmed brightness of the heavens.
LESSON XXX. The Broken-hearted.
1. Two years ago, I took up my residence for a few
weeks in a country village in tlie eastern part of New Eng-
land. Soon after my arrival, I became acquainted with a
Jovely girl, apparently about seventeen years of age. She
had lost the idol of her pure heart's purest love, and the
shadows of deep and holy memories were resting like the
wing of death upon her brow.
2. I first met her in the presence of the mirthful. She
was, indeed, a creature to be worshipped, — her brow was
garlanded by the young year's sweetest flowers, — her yellovtr
locks were hanging beautifully and low upon her bosom, —
and she moved through the crowd with such a floating, un-
earthly grace, that the bewildered gazer looked almost to^
see her fade away into the air, like the creation of some
pleasant dream. She seemed cheerful and even gay ; yet I
saw that her gayety was but the mockery of her feelings.
3. She smiled, but there was something in her smile,
which told, that its mournful beauty was but the bright re-
flection of a tear, — and her eyelids at times closed heavily
down^ as if struggling to repress the tide of agony that was
bursting up from her heart's secret urn. She looked as if
she could have left the scene of festivity, and gone out be-
neath the quiet stars, and laid her forehead down upon the *
fresh green earth, and poured out her stricken soul, gush
after gush, till it mingled with the eternal fountain of life
and purity.
4. I have lately heard, that the beautiful girl, of whom I
have spoken, is dead. The close of her life was calm as the
falling of a quiet stream, — gentle as the sinking of the
breeze, that lingers for a time round a bed of withered roses,
and then dies as 't were from very sweetness.
5. It cannot be that earth is man's only abiding-place. It
ALBAMA DURING THE GREEK WAR. 79
cannot be that our life is a bubble, cast up by the ocean of
Eternity to float a moment upon the wave, and then sink in*
to darkness and nothingness. Else why is it, that the aspi-
rations which leap like angels from the temple of our hearts
are forever wandering abroad unsatisfied?
6. Why is it that the rainbow and the cloud come over
us with a beauty that is not of earth, and then pass off and
leave us to muse upon their faded loveliness? Why is it
that the stars, which hold thefr festival around the midnight
throne, are set so far above the grasp of our limited facul-
ties, — forever mocking us with their unapproachable glory ?
And, finally, why is it that bright forms of human beauty
are presented to our view and then taken from us, leaving
the thousand streams of our aflfection to flow back in cold
and Alpine torrents upon our hearts?
7. We are born for a higher destiny than that of earth.
There is a realm where the rainbow never fades, -^ where
the stars will be spread out before us like the islands that
BlVmber on the ocean, — and where the beautiful beings
that here pass before us like visions, will stay in our pres-
ence forever.
LESSON XXXI. Albania during the late Greek War.
1. After having crossed one more range of steep moun-
tains, we descended into a vast plain, over which we jour-
neyed for some hours, the country presenting the same
mournful aspect which 1 had too long observed ; villages in
ruins and perfectly desolate, — khans deserted, and fortresses
razed to the ground, — olive woods burnt up, and fruit-trees
cut down.
2. So complete had been the work of destruction, that I
often unexpectedly found my horse stumbling amid the
foundations of a village, and what at first appeared the dry
bed of a torrent, often turned out to be the backbone of
the skeleton of a ravaged town.
3. At the end of the plain, immediately backed by very
lofty mountains, and jutting into the beautiful lake that
bears its name, we suddenly came upon the city of Yauiaa ;
80 THE FOURTH READER.
suddenly, for a long tract of gradually rising ground had
hitherto concealed it from our sight.
4. At the distance at which I first beheld it, this city, once,
if not the largest, one of the most thriving and brilliant, in the
Turkish dominions, was still imposing ; but when I entered,
I soon found that all preceding desolation had been only
preparatory to the vast scene of destruction now before me.
We proceeded through a street, winding in its course, but
of very great length.
5. Ruined houses, mosques with their towers only stand-
ing, streets utterly razed, — these are nothing. We met
great patches of ruin a mile square, as if an army of locusts
had had the power of desolating the works of man, as well
as those of God. The great heart of the city was a sea of
ruin, — arches and pillars, isolated and shattered, still here
and there jutting forth, breaking the uniformity of the anni-
hilation, and turning the horrible into the picturesque.
6. The great Bazaar, itself a little town, had been burn-
ed down only a few days before my arrival, by an infuriate
band of Albanian warriors, who heard of the destruction of
iheir chiefs by the Grand Vizier. They revenged them-
selves on tyranny by destroying civilization.
7. But, while the city itself presented this mournful ap-
pearance, its other characteristics were anything but sad.
At this moment, a swarming population, arrayed in every
possible and fanciful costume, buzzed and bustled in every
direction. As I passed on, I myself of course not unob-
served, where a Frank had not penetrated for nine years, a
thousand objects attracted my restless attention and roving
eye.
8. Everything was so strange and splendid, that for a mo-
ment I forgot that this was an extraordinary scene even for
the East, and gave up my fancy to a full credulity in the
now almost obsolete magnificence of Oriental life, and longed
to write an Eastern tale.
9. Military chieftains, clothed in the most brilliant colors,
and sumptuous furs, and attended by a cortege of officers
equally splendid, continually passed us. Now, for the first
time, a dervish saluted me ; and now a delhi, with his high
cap, reined in his desperate steed, as the suite of some pacha
blocked up some turning of the street.
10. It seemed to me, that my first day in a Turkish city
A TURKISH CHIEF. 8|
brought before me all the popular characteristics of which I
had read, and which I expected occasionally to observe
during a prolonged residence. I remember, as I rode on
this day, I observed a Turkish Scheik, in his entirely green
vestments, a scribe with his writing materials in his girdle,
an ambulatory physician and his boy. I gazed about me
with a mingled feeling of delight and wonder.
11. Suddenly, a strange, wild, unearthly drum is heard,
and, at the end of the street, a huge camel, with a slave sit-
ting cross-legged on its neck, and playing upon an immense
kettle-drum, appears, and is the first of an apparently inter-
minable procession of his Arabian brethren. The camels
were very large ; they moved slowly, and were many in
number. There were not less than a, hundred moving on,
one by one.
12. To me, who had then never seen a caravan, it was a
novel and impressive spectacle. All immediately hustled
put of the way of the procession, and seemed to shiver un-
der the sound of the wild drum. The camels bore corn for
the Vizier's troops, encamped without the walls.
13. At length, I reached the house of a Greek physician,
to whom I carried letters. My escort repaired to the quar-
ters of their chieftain's son, who was in the city, in atten-
dance on the Grand Vizier ; and, for myself, I was glad
enough once more to stretch my wearied limbs under a
Christian roof.
LESSON XXXII. A Turkish Chief.
1. The next day, I signified my arrival to the Kehaya
Bey of his Highness, and delivered, according to custom, a
letter, with which I had been kindly provided by an eminent
foreign functionary. The ensuing morning was fixed for my
audience. I repaired, at the appointed hour, to the cele-
brated fortress palace of Ali Pacha, which, although greatly
battered by successive sieges, is still inhabitable, and still
affords a very fair idea of irs pristine magnificence.
2. Havincj passed through the gates of the fortress, I
found myself in a number of small dingy streets, like those
in the liberties of a royal castle. These were all full of life,
82 THE FOUR-r^ READER.
Stirring and excited. At length, I reached a grand square,
on which, on an ascent, stands the palace.
3. I was hurried through courts and corridors, full of
guards, and pages, and attendant chiefs, and, in short, every
variety of Turkish population ; for, among the Orientals, all
depends upon one brain, and we, with our subdivisions of
duty, and intelligent, responsible deputies, can form no idea
of the labor of a Turkish premier. At length, I came to a
vast irregular apartment, serving as the immediate ante*
chamber of the hall of audience.
4. This was the first thing of the kind I had ever yet
seen. In the whole course of my life, I had never mingled
in so picturesque an assembly. Conceive a chamber of very
great dimensions, full of the choicest groups of an Oriental
population, each individual waiting by appointment for an
audience, and probably about to wait forever.
5. It was a sea of turbans, and crimson shawls, and gold-
en scarfs, and ornamented arms. I marked with curiosity,
the haughty Turk, stroking his beard, and waving his beads;
the proud Albanian, strutting with his tarragan, or cloak,
dependent upon one shoulder, and touching with impatient
fingers his silver-sheathed arms; the olive-visaged Asiatic,
with his enormous turban and flowing robes, gazing, half
with wonder, and half with contempt, at some scarlet colonel
of the newly disciplined troops, in his gorgeous, but awk-
ward imitation of Frank uniforms; the Greek, still servile,
though no more a slave ; the Nubian eunuch, and the Geor-
gian page.
6. In this chamber, attended by the dragoman who
presented me, I remained about ten minutes, — too short a
time, I never thought I could have lived to wish to kick
my heels in a ministerial ante-chamber,
7. Suddenly, I was summoned to the awful presence of
the pillar of the Turkish empire ; the man who has the rep-
utation of being, the mainspring of the new system of re-
generation, the renowned Redschid, an approved warrior, a
consummate politician, unrivalled as a dissembler, in a coun-
try where dissimulation is the principal portion of moral
culture,
8. The hall was vast, entirely covered with gilding and
arabesques, inlaid with tortoise-shell and mother of pearl.
Here, squatted up in a corner of the large divan, I bowed
THE ALPINE HORN. 83
to a little ferocious-looking, shrivelled, care-worn man,
plainly dressed, with a brow covered with wrinkles, and a
countenance clouded with anxiety and thought.
9. I had entered the shed-like divan of the kind and com-
paratively insignificant Kalio Bey, with a feeling of awe; I
now seated myself on the divan of the Grand Vizier of the
Ottoman Empire, who, as my attendant informed me, had
destroyed, in the course of the last three months, not in war,
•* upwards of four thousand of my acquaintance," with the
self-possession of a morning visit.
10. At a distance from us, in a group on his left hand,
were his secretary, and his immediate suiie. The end of
the saloon was lined with lackeys in waiting, with crimson
dresses, and long silver canes.
11. Some compliments passed between us. I congratu-
lated his Highness on the pacification of Albania, and he re-
joined, that the peace of the world was his only object, and
the happiness of his fellow-creatures his only wish. Pipes
and coffee were brought, and then his Highness waved
his hand, and in an instant the chamber was cleared.
LESSON XXXIII. The Alpine Horn.
1. The Alpine Horn is an instrument constructed with
the bark of a cherry tree; and which, like a speaking trum-
pet, is used to convey sounds to a great distance. When the
last rays of the sun gild the summit of the Alps, the shepherd
who dwells the highest on those mountains, takes his horn
and calls aloud, " Praised be the Lord ! "
2. As soon as he is heard, the neighboring shepherds
leave their huts and repeat those words. The sound lasts
many minutes, for every echo of the mountains, and grot of
the rocks, repeat the name of God.
3. How solemn the scene ! imagination cannot picture to
Itself anything more sublime. The profound silence that
succeeds, — the sight of those stupendous mountains, upon
which the vault of heaven seems to rest, — everything excites
the mind to enthusiasm.
4. In the mean while, the shepherds bend their knees, and
pray in the open air, and soon after retire to their huts to
enjoy the repose of innocence.
84 1*HE FOURTH READER.
LESSON XXXIV. Rules for Conversation.
1. That conversation may answer the ends for which it
is designed, the parties who are to join in it must come
together with a determined resolution to please and be
pleased. As the end of conversation is either to amuse or
instruct the company, or to receive benefit from it, you
should not be eager to interrupt others^ or uneasy at being
yourself interrupted.
2. Give every one leave to speak in his turn, hear with
patiencCj and answer with precision. Inattention is ill
manners ; it shows contempt, and contempt is never forgot-
ten.
3. 1 rouble not the company with your own private con-
cerns. Yours are as little to them, as theirs are to you.
Contrive, but with dexterity and propriety, that eacn person
shall have an opportunity of discoursing on the subject
with which he is best acquainted ; thus, he will be pleased,
and you will be informed. When the conversation is
flowing in a serious and useful channel, never disturb it by
an ill-timed jest.
4. In reflections on absent people, say nothing that you
would not say if they were present. *' I resolve," says Bish-
op Beveridge, " never to speak of a man's virtues before
his face, nor of his faults behind his back." This is a
golden rule, the observance of which, would, at one stroke,
banish flattery and defamation from the earth.
LESSON XXXV. Boat Song.
1. Bend on your oars, — for the sky it is dark,
And the wind it is rising apace !
For the waves they are white with their crests all so bright,
And they strive, as if running a race.
2. Tug on your oars, — for the day 's on the wane,
And the twilight is deepening fast ;
For the clouds in the sky show the hurricane nigh,
As they flee from the face of the blast.
SKETCHES OF SYRIA. g«
3. Stretch on your oars, — for the sun it is dowrtj
♦ And the waves are like lions in play ;
The stars they have fled, and no moon is o'erhead,
Or to point, or to cheer our lone way.
4. Rise on your oars, — let the bright star of hope
Be seen 'mid the tempest's wild roar ;
And cheer, lads ! for we who were born on the sea,
Have weathered such tempests before^
6. Rest on your oars, — for the haven is won,
And the tempest may bluster till morn;
For the bold and the brave are now freed from the wave,
Where they late roamed so lonely and lorn.
LESSON XXXVI. Sketches of Syria,
1. Syria is an immense chain of mountains, extending
from Asia Minor to Arabia. In the course of this great
chain, an infinity of branches constantly detach themselves
from the parent trunk, forming, on each side, either towards
the desert or the sea, beautiful and fertile plains.
2. Washed by the Levantine wave, on one side we be-
hold the once luxurious Antioch, now a small and dingy
Turkish town. The traveller can no longer wander in the
voluptuous woods of Daphne. The palace and the garden
pass away with the refined genius and the delicate taste,
that create them; but Nature is eternal, and even yet the
t alley of the Orontes offers, under the glowing light of an
eastern day, scenes of picturesque beauty that Switzerland
cannot surpass.
3. The hills of Laodicea, once famous for their wine, are
now celebrated for producing the choicest tobacco of the
East. Tripoli is a flourishing town, embosomed in wild
groves of Indian figs, and famous for its fruits and silks.
Advancing along the coast, we reach the ancient Berytus,
whose tobacco vies with that of Laodicea, and whose silk
surpasses that of Tripoli.
4. We arrive at all that remains of the superb Tyre ; a
small peninsula, and a mud village. The famous Acre is
f^ THE FOURTH READER.
Btill the most important place upon the coast, and Jaffa, in
spite of so many wars, is yet fragrant amidst its gardens,
and groves of lemon-trees.
5. The towns on the coast have been principally built on
the sites and ruins of the ancient cities, whose names they
bear. None of them have sufficient claims to the character
of a capital ; but on the other side of the mountains, we
find two of the most important of Oriental cities, — the pop-
ulous Aleppo, and the delicious Damascus; nor must we
forget Jerusalem, that city sacred in so many creeds !
6. In ancient remains, Syria is inferior only to Egypt.
All have heard of the courts of Balbec, and the columns of
Palmyra, Less known, because only recently visited, and
visited with extreme danger, are the vast ruins of magnifi-
cent cities in the Arabian vicinity of the lake Asphaltites.
7. The climate of this country is as various as its forma-
tion. In the plains, is often experienced that intense heat
so fatal to the European invader ; yet the snow that seldom
falls upon the level ground, or falls only to vanish, rests upon
the heights of Lebanon ; and in the higher lands, it is not
difficult at all times to discover exactly the temperature you
desire.
8. I travelled in Syria at the commencement of the year,
when the short, but violent, rainy season had just ceased. It
is not easy to conceive a more beautiful and fruitful land.
The plains were covered with that fresh, green tint so rare
under an Eastern sky, the orange and lemon-trees were
clothed both with fruit and blossom, and then, too, I first
beheld the huge leaf of the banana, and tasted for the first
time the delicate flavor of its unrivalled fruit.
9. From the great extent of the country, and the conse-
quent variation of climate, the Syrian can always command
a succession, as well as a variety, of luxuries. The season
of the pomegranate will commence in Antioch when it ends
in Jaffa ; and when you have exhausted the figs of Bairout,
you can fly to the gardens of Damascus.
10. Under the worst government that perhaps ever op-
pressed its subjects, Syria still brings forth the choice pro-
ductions of almost every clime ; corn and cotton, maize and
rice, the sugar-cane of the Antilles, and the indigo and
cochenille of Mexico.
11. The plains of Antioch and of Palestine are covered
SKETCHES OF SYRIA. 87
with woods of the finest olives, the tobaccos of the coast are
unrivalled in any country, and the mountains of Lebanon
are clothed with white-mulberry trees, that afford the richest
silks, or with vineyards that yield a wine that justly bears
the name of " Golden."
12. The inhabitants of this country are as various as its
productions and its mutable fortunes. The Ottoman con-
queror is now the Lord, and rules the posterity of the old
Syrian Greeks, and of the Arabs who were themselves once
predominant.
13. In the mountains the independent and mysterious
Druses live in freedom under their own emir ; and, in the
ranges near Antioch, we find the Ansaree tribes, who, it is
whispered, yet celebrate the most singular rites of paganism.
In the deserts around Aleppo, wander the pastoral Kourd,
and the warlike Turkman ; and from Tadmor to Gaza, the
whole Syrian desert is traversed by the famous Bedouin.
14. There is a charm in Oriental life, and it is — re-
pose. Upon me, who had been bred in the artificial circles
of corrupt civilization, and who had so freely indulged the
course of my impetuous passions, their character made a
very forcible impression. Wandering over those plains and
deserts, and sojourning in those silent and beautiful cities, I
experienced all that serenity of mind, which I can conceive
to be the enviable portion of the old age of a virtuous life.
15. The memory of the wearing cares and corroding anx-
ieties, and vaunted excitements of European life, filled me
with pain. Keenly I felt the vanity and bitterness of all
human plans and aspirations. Truly may I say, that, on the
plains of Syria, I parted forever with my ambition.
16. The calm enjoyment of existence appeared to me as
it now does, the highest attainable felicity; nor can I con-
ceive that any thing could tempt me from my solitude, and
induce me once more to mingle with mankind, with whom,
I fear, I have too little in common, but the strong convic-
tion that the fortunes of my race depended on my eflTorts,
or that I could materially advance that great amelioration of
their condition, in the practicability of which I devoutly
believe.
THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON XXXVII. Hand Work and Head Work.
This dialogue is supposed to take place in a new settlement. It is be»
tween Mr. Stone, who officiates as clergyman and schoolmaster, aud who
also does sometliing at farming ; Mr. Hill, who is a physician, being
obliged to get medicines chiefly among tlie native plants of the woods; and
a boy named George.
Mr. Stone. You seem to think, Mr. Hill, that there is no
labqr but that of the hands, and that even that does not de-
serve the name, unless it be rough, and require bodily
strength to a great degree.
Mr. Hill. No, I don't mean exactly so ; for I consider
that I work pretty hard ; and yet my hands show it more by
being dyed with my plants, than roughened by toil. And
you. Sir, setting aside your farm, have done so much, that it
would be a sin to say that you have not toiled day and night
for us. If there has been a person sick or unhappy, or if
your voice has been wanted any hour in the twenty-four,
you have been always ready to help us. But you would not
call yourself a laborer, would you 1
Mr. Stone. Certainly. There is labor of the head, as
well as of the hands, you know. Any man who does any
thing, is a laborer, as far as his exertion goes. A great
deal of harm has been done by that notion of yours. In
many places, it has been a received maxim, that commercial
labor is inferior in value to agricultural ; and agriculture
has, therefore, been favored with many privileges. The
greatest good of society is attained by the union of both
kinds of labor. The thresher, the miller, and the baker do
not help to produce food like the ploughman ; bat surely
they are quite as useful as he, because we could not have
food without their help. It would be absurd to say, that
they are less valuable than the sower.
Mr. Hill. But, do you not think that a weaver is worth
less than a ploughman in society ?
Mr. Stone. Suppose that in our society, consisting of fifty-?
four persons, fifty-three were engaged in tilling the ground
every day, and all day long, and that the other was able to
prepare flax, and weave it into cloth, and make it into
clothes. Suppose you were that one. Do you not think,
that you would always have your hands full of business, and
HAND WORK AND HEAD WORK. 89
be looked up to as a very important person ; and do you not
think that, if you died, you would be more missed than any
one of the fifty-three ploughmen ?
Mr. Hill. (Lmighing.) But what a folly it would be,
Sir, to raise ten or twenty times as much corn as we could
eat, and to be in want of every thing else.
Mr. Stone. I think it would ; and, in such a case, we
should be ready to pass a vote of thanks to any man who
would leave the plough, and turn tanner or weaver, and
then we would spare another to be a tailor ; and, at length,
we would thank another to set up a shop where we might
exchange what we produce, and get the things we want
Now, would it not be ungrateful and foolish for us to say,
that the farmers were the most valuable to us.
Mr. Hill. To be sure. The natural consequence of such
partiality would be to tempt the shop-keeper to give up his
shop, and the weaver his loom, and the tailor his shears, to
go back to the plough, and then we should be as badly off
as we were before. I suppose all labor should be equally
respected.
Mr. Stone. Nay, I was far from saying that. Our friend
George, there, makes beautiful little boats out of walnut-
shells, and must have spent a good deal of trouble in his
art. But, if he were to work for a week, and make us each
one, he would no more have earned his dinner every day
than if he had spent his time in sleep. We do not want
walnut-shell boats, and therefore his labor would be worth
no more, being ill directed, than no labor at all.
George. The Captain was telling me, though, that if I
were at some place in England, I might get a pretty living
by my boats. He said, that the quality, as he called them,
would give me five shillings apiece for them.
Mr. Stone. Very likely, and in that case your labor would
not be ill directed. The rich in any country, who have as
much as they want of food, and clothes, and shelter, have a
right to pay money for baubles, if they choose; and, in such
a state of things, there are always laborers, who are ready
to employ themselves in making luxuries. Lace-makers,
jewellers, and glass-cutters are respectably employed in
England ; but they would be sadly out of place here, and
very ridiculous.
Mr. Hill. I am afraid, Sir, that your doctrine would go
90 THE FOURTH READER.
far towards doing away the difference between productive
and unproductive labor. I have been accustomed to think
productive laborers more valuable than unproductive.
Mr. Stone. This depends upon what you mean by the
word valuable. If you mean that productive laborers add
more to the wealth of society, you are right ; but, in every
civilized country, a mixture of productive and unproduct-
ive laborers is the best for the comfort and prosperity of
society. What would a nation do without household ser-
vants, physicians, clergymen, and lawyers 1 Would it not be
a savage nation.
George. But, Sir, ours is not a savage settlement, and yet
we have no unproductive laborers. Everybody works very
hard.
Mr. Stone. However hard our people work, they are di-
vided into productive and unproductive laborers. Run over
a few names, George, and divide them into classes.
George. Well ; I will try. The laborers on Robertson's
farm and yours. Sir, are productive laborers, because they
produce corn for themselves, and hay for the horse, and
flax for our clothes. Then, there are the other servants,
who have wages paid them, the Captain's errand-boy, and
your maid. Sir, who takes care of the child, — and —
Mr. Stone. Well, go on ; tell us what they produce.
George. I really can't think of any thing they produce.
Sir ; I suppose, however useful they may be, that domestics
are unproductive laborers. But there are some others.
Fulton produces leather out of what was the hide of a
beast ; and Harrison makes bricks out of what was only
clay; and Linby, — let me see; what does the farrier do?
He shoes horses ; that is not making any thing. He is un-
productive, I suppose.
Mr. Stone. As a farrier ; — but he is also a smith, and
makes nails and implements of many kinds, out of what was
only a lump of iron.
George. Then he is a laborer of both kinds. That is
curious; and so are you, Mr. Hill. You make medicines;
but when you bleed your patients, or give advice, you are an
unproductive laborer. There is an end then to all objec-
tions to unproductive labor; for who works harder than
Mr. Hill, and how should we get on without him.
Mr, Hill. And how do you class yourself, Mr. Stone ?
THE POWER OF CONSCIENCE. 91
Mr. Stone. Unproductive in my pulpit and in the school-
room, but productive when I am working in the field. I
leave it to my friends to say in which capacity I am most
useful.
Mr. Hill. You have satisfied my mind completely. I am
only sorry I ever understood any reproach by the word un-
productive ; but 1 shall never fall into the mistake again.
LESSON XXXVIII. The Power of Conscience.
1 Some days since, a gentleman from the West, who was
stopping at one of the principal hotels in Baltimore, had re-
tired to rest, when some one entered his room, opened his
pocket-book, and took from it seven hundred dollars. There
were several thousand dollars in the book at the time, and it
naturally excited wonder that any of it should have been
left. .
2. A few days after the theft, the owner received a note,
stating that a person wanted to see him near the Western
Bank after dark, on matters of importance, and it was le-
quested that no one should accompany him. The last
request was not,^ however, complied with ; and the person
robbed, taking a friend with him, went to the place indi-
cated.
3. Upon arriving there, they found a young man, well-
dressed, and apparently well-educated, who, at once, without
reserve, stated that he had committed the robbery ; that,
being distressed for money, he had, in a moment of desper-
ation, entered his room and taken the money from the
pocket-book ; that he had no idea at the time, of the
amount he was taking ; but, upon examining it, and finding
that what he had taken was a five hundred and two one
hundred dollar notes, and then reflecting on the infamy of
the crime he had committed, he was confounded.
4. It was in vain that he sought to solace his mind by
urging the necessity which prompted him to the act ; sleep
was banished from his eyes, and, a miserable being, he wan-
dered about, shrinking from the gaze of every one he en-
countered, and expecting every moment to be arrested.
Shame prevented him from returning the money, and he
92 THE FOURTH READER.
took it several miles from the city and buried it. This
brought no quiet to his disturbed conscience.
5. The thought of his guilt was ever uppermost in his
mind, and he had determined to return the money through
the post-office, and dug it up, and enclosed it in a blank
sheet of paper for that purpose. His honesty having so far
overcome the suggestions of pride, led him to go further.
The return of the money would not relieve innocent per-
sons who might be suspected ; and it was this reflection
that had forced him, as he said, to return the money in per-
son.
6. Saying this, the young man placed the money in the
hands of its true owner, and further remarked, that he was
in his power, and desired to avoid no punish.ment which it
might be supposed he merited. The gentleman took it, and
bid him " go and sin no more."
LESSON XXXIX. The Prodigal Son. Luke, Chap. xv.
1. Then drew near unto Jesus all the publicans and sin-
ners, for to hear him.
2. And the Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, This
man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.
3. And he spake this parable unto them, saying,
4. What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he
lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the
wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it ?
5. And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoul-
ders, rejoicing.
6. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his
friends and neighbors, saying unto them. Rejoice with me ;
for I have found my sheep which was lost.
7. I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven
over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and
nine just persons which need no repentance.
8. Either what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she
lose one piece, doth not light a candle, and sweep the house,
and seek diligently till she find it?
9. And when she hath found it, she calleth her friends
THE PRODIGAL SON. 93
and her neighbors together, saying, Rejoice with me ; for I
have found the piece which I had lost.
10. Likewise I say unto you, there is joy in the presence
of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.
11. And he said, A certain man had two sons ;
12. And the younger of them said to his father, Father,
give me the portion of goods that falleth to me. And he
divided unto them his living.
13. And not many days after, the younger son gathered
all together, and took his journey into a far country, and
there wasted his substance with riotous living.
14. And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty fam-
ine in that land ; and he began to be in want.
15. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that
country ; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine.
16. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks
that the swine did eat ; and no man gave unto him.
17. And when he came to himself, he said. How many
hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to
spare, and I perish with hunger !
18. I will arise, and go to my father, and will say unto
him. Father, I have sinned against heaven, and before thee,
19. And am no more worthy to be called thy son; make
me as one of thy hired servants.
20. And he arose, and came to his father. But when he
was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compas-
sion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him.
21. And the son said unto him. Father, I have sinned
against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to
be called thy son.
22. But the father said to his servants. Bring forth the
best robe, and put it on him ; and put a ring on his hand,
and shoes on his feet ;
23. And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it ; and let
us eat and be merry ;
24. For this my son was dead, and is alive again ; he was
lost, and is found. And they began to be merry.
25. Now his elder son was in the field ; and as he came
and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing ;
26. And he called one of the servants, and asked what
these things meant.
27. And he said unto him, Thy brother is come ; and thy
94 THE FOURTH READER.
father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received
him safe and sound.
28. And he was angry, and would not go in ; therefore
came his father out, and entreated him,
29. And he, answering, said to his father, Lo, these
many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any
time thy commandment ; and yet thou never gavest me a
kid, that I might make merry with my friends ;
30. But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath de-
voured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the
fatted calf.
31. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me,
and all that I have is thine.
32. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad :
for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again ; and was
lost, and is found.
LESSON XL. To Seneca Lake.
1. On thy fair bosom, silver lake!
The wild swan spreads his snowy sail ;
And round his breast the ripples break.
As down he bears before the gale.
2. On thy fair bosom, waveless stream,
The dipping paddle echoes far,
And flashes in the moonlight gleam,
And bright reflects the polar star.
3. The waves along thy pebbly shore.
As blows the north wind, heave their foam
And curl around the dashing oar,
As late the boatman hies him home.
4. How sweet, at set of sun, to view
Thy golden mirror, spreading wide.
And see the mist of mantling blue.
Float round the distant mountain's side.
A SYRIAN DESERT. 95
5. At midnight hour, as shines the moon,
A sheet of silver spreads below ;
And swift she cuts, at highest noon,
Light clouds, like wreaths of purest snow.
6. On thy fair bosom, silver lake !
Oh ! I could ever sweep the oar,
When early birds at morning wake.
And evening tells us toil is o'er.
LESSON XLI. A Syrian Desert.
1. I GALLOPED over an illimitable plain, covered with a
vivid, though scanty pasture, and fragrant with aromatic
herbs. A soft, fresh breeze danced on my cheek, and brought
vigor to my frame. Day after day I journeyed, and the land
indicated no termination. At an immense distance, the sky
and the earth mingled in a uniform horizon. Sometimes,
indeed, a rocky view shot out of the soil ; sometimes, in-
deed, the land would swell into long undulations ; some-
times, indeed, from a dingle of wild bushes, a gazelle would
Tush forward, stare, and bound away.
2. Such was my first wandering in the Syrian desert!
But, remember, it was the burst of spring. I could con-
ceive nothing more delightful, nothing more unlike what I
had anticipated. The heat was never intense, the breeze
^as ever fresh and sweet, the nocturnal heavens clear and
/uminous to a degree which it is impossible to describe.
3. Instead of that uniform appearance and monotonous
splendor I had hitherto so often gazed on, the stars were of
different tints and forms. Some were green, some white,
and some red ; and, instead of appearing as if they only
studded a vast and azure vault, I clearly distinguished them,
at different distances, floating in ether. I no longer won-
dered at the love of the Bedouins for their free and un-
sophisticated life.
4. It appeared to me, that I could live in the desert for-
ever. At night, we rested. Our camels bore us water in
goat-skins, and carried for us scanty, although sufficient,
provisions. We lighted our fire, pounded our coffee, and
96 THE FOURTH READER.
smoked our pipes, while others prepared our simple meal, —
bread made at the instant, and on the cinders, a slice of
dried meat, and a few dates.
5. I have described the least sterile of the deserts, and
I have described it at the most favorable period. In gen-
eral, the soil of the Syrian wilderness is not absolutely
barren. The rains cover it with verdure, but these occur
only for a very few weeks, when the rigor of a winter day
arrests the clouds, and they dissolve in showers.
6. At all other seasons, the clouds glide over the scorched
and heated plain, which has neither hills nor trees to attract
them. It is, then, the want of water, which is the occasion
of this sterility. In the desert, there is not even a brook ;
springs are rare, and generally brackish; and it is on the
artificial wells, stored by the rains, that the wanderer chiefly
depends.
7. From the banks of the Euphrates to the shores of the
Red Sea : from the banks of the Nile to the Persian Gulf;
over a spread of country three times the extent of Germa-
ny, Nature, without an interval, ceases to produce. Benefi-
cent Nature! Let us not wrong her; for, even in a land ap-
parently so unfavored, exists a numerous and happy race.
8. As you wander along, the appearance of the desert
changes. The wilderness, which is comparatively fertile in
Syria, becomes rocky when you enter Arabia, and sandy as
you proceed. Here in some degree, we meet with the terri-
ble idea of the desert prevalent in Europe ; but it is in
Africa, in the vast and unexplored regions of Lybia and
Sahara, that we must seek for that illimitable and stormy
ocean of overwhelming sand, which we associate with the
popular idea of a desert.
LESSON XLII. A Bedouin Encampment.
1. The sun was nearly setting, when an Arab horseman,
armed with his long lance, was suddenly observed on an
eminence in the distance. He galloped toward us, wheeled
round and round, scudded away, again approached, and our
gu'de, shouting, rode forward to meet him. They entered
into earnest conversation, and then joined us. Abdallah, the
A BEDOUIN ENCAMPMENT. 97
guide, informed me, that this was an Arab of the tribe I in-
tended to visit, and that we were very near their encampment.
2. The desert was here broken into bushy knolls, which
limited the view. Advancing, and mounting the low ridge
on which we had at first observed the Bedouin, Abdallah
pointed out to me, at no great distance, a large circle of low,
black tents, which otherwise I might not have observed, or
have mistaken them in the deceptive twilight, for some
natural formation.
3. On the left of the encampment, was a small grove of
palm-trees ; and, when we had nearly gained the settlement,
a procession of women, in long blue robes, covering with
one hand their faces with their long veils, and, with the
other, supporting on their heads a tall and classically formed
vase, advanced, with a beautiful melody, to the fountain,
which was screened by the palm-trees,
4. The dogs barked ; some dark faces and long match-
locks suddenly popped up behind the tents. The Bedouin,
with a shout, galloped into the encampment, and soon reap-
peared with several of his tribe. We dismounted; — I en-
tered the interior court of the camp, which was filled with
camels and goats. There were few persons visible, al-
though, as I was conducted along to the tent of the chief, I
detected many faces staring at me from behind the curtains
of their tents.
5. The pavilion of the Sheik was of considerable size.
He himself was a man advanced in years, but hale and
lively ; his long, white beard curiously contrasting with his
dark visage. He received me sitting on a mat, his son
standing on his right hand, without slippers, and a young
grandchild squatting by his side.
6. He welcomed me with the usaal Oriental salutation,
touching his forehead, his mouth, and his heart, while he
exclaimed, '* Salam," thus indicating that all his faculties
and feelings were devoted to me. He motioned that we
should seat ourselves on the unoccupied mats, and taking
from his mouth a small pipe of date wood, gave it to his son
to bear to me. A servant instantly began pounding coffee.
7. I then informed him, through Abdallah, that, having
heard of his hospitality and happy life, I had journeyed
even from Damascus to visit him ; that I greatly admired
the Bedouin character, and I eulogized their valor, their in-
9
98 THE FOURTH READER.
dependence, their justice, and their simplicity. He an
swered, that he liked to be visited by Franks, because they
were wise men, and requested that I would feel his pulse.
8. I performed this ceremony with becoming gravity, and
inquired whether he were indisposed. He said that he was
well, but that he might be better. I told him that his pulse
was healthy and strong for one of his age, and I begged to
examine his tongue, which greatly pleased him ; and he ob-
served, that he was eighty years of age and could ride as
well, and as long, as his son.
9. Coffee was now brought. I ventured to praise it. He
said it was well for those who had not wine. I observed,
that wine was not suited to these climes, and that, although
a Frank, I myself had renounced it. He answered, that
the Franks were fond of wine, but that for his part he had
never tasted it, although he should like to do so once.
10. I regretted that I could not avail myself of this deli-
cate hint, but Lausanne produced a bottle of eau-de-coIogne,
and I offered him a glass. He drank it with great gravity,
and asked for somefor his son, observing it was good raki,
but not wine.
11. I suspected from this, that he was not totally unac-
quainted with the flavor of the forbidden liquor ; and I dared
to remark, with a smile, that raki had one advantage over
wine, that it was not forbidden by the Prophet. Unlike the
Turks, who never understand a jest, he smiled, and then
said, that the book, meaning the Koran, was good for men
who lived in cities, but that God was everywhere.
12. Several men now entered the tent, leaving their slip-
pers on the outside, and some, saluting the Sheik as they
passed, seated themselves. I now inquired after horses, and
asked him whether he could assist me in purchasing some
of the true breed. The old Sheik's eyes sparkled as he
informed me, that he possessed four mares of pure blood,
and that he would not part with one, not even for fifty thou-
sand piastres. After this hint, I was inclined to drop the
subject, but the Sheik seemed interested by it, and inquired
if the Franks had any horses.
13. I answered, that some Frank nations were famous
for their horses, and mentioned the English, who had bred
a superb race from the Arabs. He said he had heard of
the English, and asked me which was the greatest nation of
^Jt^-
A BEDOUIN ENCAMPMENT. 99
the Franks. I told him there were several equally power-
ful, but perhaps that the English nation might be fairly
described as the most important. He answered, "Ay, on
the sea, but not on land."
14. I was surprised by the general knowledge indicated
by this remark, and more so, when he further observed, that
there was another nation stronger by land. I mentioned
the Russians. He had not heard of them, notwithstanding
the recent war with the Porte. The French 1 I inquired.
He knew the French, and then told me, that he had been at
the siege of Acre, which explained all this intelligence.
15. He then inquired if I were an Englishman. I told him
my country (Germany), but was not astonished that he had
never heard of it. I observed, that when the old man spoke,
he was watched by his followers with the greatest attention ;
and they grinned with pride and exultation at his knowledge
of the Franks, showing their white teeth, elevating their
eyes, and exchanging looks of wonder.
16. Two women now entered the tent, at which I was
surprised. They had returned from the fountain, and wore
small black masks, which covered the upper part of their
faces. They knelt down at the fire, and made a cake of
bread, which one of them handed to me. I now offered to
the Shiek my own pipe, which Lausanne had prepared.
Coffee was again handed, and a preparation of sour milk
and rice, not unpalatable.
17. I offered the Sheik renewed compliments on his mode
of life, in order to maintain conversation ; for the chief,
although, like the Arabs in general, of a very lively tempera-
ment, had little of the curiosity of what are considered
the more civilized of Orientals, and asked very few ques-
tions.
" We are content," said the Sheik.
'' Then, believe me, you are in the condition of no other
people," I replied.
*' My children," said the Sheik, " hear the words of this
wise man ! If we lived with the Turks," continued the
chieftain, " we should have more gold and silver, and more
clothes, and carpets, and baths ; but we should not have
justice and liberty. Our luxuries are few, but our wants
are less."
\S. *' Yet you have neither priests nor lawyers,"
100 THE FOl)RTH READER.
" When men are pure, laws are useless ; when men are
corrupt, laws are broken."
*'And for priests?"
**God is everywhere."
The women now entered with a more substantial meal,
the hump of a young camel. I have seldom eaten any-
thing more delicate and tender. This dish was a great
compliment, and could only have been offered by a wealthy
Sheik. Pipes and coffee followed.
19. The moon was shining brightly, when, making my
excuses, I quitted the pavilion of the chieftain, and went
forth to view the humors of the camp. The tali camels
crouching on their knees in groups, with their outstretched
necks and still and melancholy visages, might have been
mistaken for works of art, had it not been for their process
of rumination.
20. A crowd was assembled round a fire, before which a
poet recited impassioned verses. I observed the slight
forms of the men, short and meagre, agile, dry, and dark,
with teeth dazzling white, and quick, black, glancing eyes.
They were dressed in cloaks of coarse black cloth, appa-
rently of the same stuff as their tents, and few of them, I
should imagine, exceeded five feet, two or three inches, in
height.
21. The women mingled v.ith the men, although a few
affected to conceal their faces on my approach. They were
evidently deeply interested in the poetic recital. One pas-
sage excited their loud applause. I inquired its purport of
Abdallah, who thus translated it to me. A lover beholds
his mistress, her face covered with a red veil. Thus he ad-
dresses her ;
" Oh ! withdraw that red veil, withdraw that red veil !
Let me behold the beauty that it shrouds ! Yes ! let that
rosy twilight fade away, and let the full moon rise to my
vision ! "
22. Beautiful ! yet more beautiful in the language of the
Arabs, for in that rich tongue, there are words to describe
each species of twilight, and, where we are obliged to have
recourse to an epithet, the Arabs reject the feeble and un-
necessary aid.
23. It was late ere I retired ; and I stretched myself on
my mat. musing over this singular people, who combined
THE CLOUDS. ...,., ;',ljDl
primitive simplicity of habits with the most refined feelings
of civilization, and who in a great degree appeared to me to
offer an evidence of that community of property, and that
equality of condition, which have hitherto proved the de-
spair of European sages, and fed only the visions of their
fancied Utopias.
LESSON XLIII. The I'isherman.
1. A PERILOUS life, and sad as life may be,
Hath the lone fisher on the lonely sea ;
In the wild waters laboring, far from home.
For some poor pittance, e'er compelled to roam !
Few friends to cheer him in his dangerous life,
And none to aid him in the stormy strife.
Companion of the sea and silent air,
The lonely fisher thus must ever fare ;
Without the comfort, hope, — with scarce a friend,
He looks through life, and only sees — its end !
2. Eternal Ocean ! Old majestic Sea !
Ever love I from shore to look on thee.
And sometimes on thy billowy back to ride.
And sometimes o'er thy summer breast to glide ;
But let me live on land, — Vv'here rivers run,
Where shady trees may screen me from the sun ;
Where I may feel, secure, the fragrant air ;
Where, whate'er toil or wearying pains I bear.
Those eyes, which look away all human ill,
May shed on me their still, sweet, constant light;
And the little hearts I love, may, day and night,
Be found beside me, safe and clustering still.
LESSON XLIV. The Clouds.
1. O CLOUDS ! ye ancient messengers,
Old couriers of the sky.
Treading, as in primeval years.
Yon still immensity.
9*
iQi- ; THE FOURTH READER.
In march how wildly beautiful
Along the deep ye tower,
Begirt, as when from chaos dull
Ye loomed in pride and power,
To crown creation's morning hour.
2. Ye linger with the silver stars,
Ye pass before the sun, —
Ye marshal elements to wars,
And, when the roar is done,
Ye lift your volumed robes in light,
And wave them to the world,
Like victory flags o'er scattered fight,
Brave banners all unfurled, —
Still there, though rent and tempest-hurled.
3. And then, in still and summer hours.
When men sit weary down,
Ye come o'er heated fields and flowers,
With shadowy pinions on ;
Ye hover where the fervent earth
A saddened silence fills.
And, mourning o'er its stricken mirth.
Ye weep along the hills, —
Then how the wakening landscape thrills !
LESSON XLV. The Village Bells,
\. Who does not love the village bells ?
The cheerful peal and solemn toll, —
One of the rustic wedding tells,
And one bespeaks a parting soul.
2. The lark in sunshine sings his song ;
And, dressed in garments white and gay,
The village lasses trip along,
For this is Susan's wedding day,
3. Ah ! gather flowers of sweetest hue.
Young violets from the bank's green side,
JERUSALEM. IO3
And on poor Mary's coffin strew,
For in the bloom of youth she died.
4. So passes life ! — the smile, the tear,
Succeed, as on our path we stray ;
** Thy kingdom come ; for we are here
As guests, who tarry but a day."
LESSON XLVI. Jerusalem.
1. A Syrian village is very beautiful in the centre of a
fertile plain. The houses are isolated, and each surround-
ed by palm-trees ; the meadows are divided by rich planta-
tions of Indian figs, and bounded by groves of olive.
2. In the distance rose a chain of severe and savage
mountains. I was soon wandering, and for hours, in the
wild, stony ravines of those shaggy rocks. At length, af-
ter several passes, I gained the ascent of a high mountain.
Upon an opposite height, descending into a steep ravine, and
forming, with the elevation on which I rested, a dark, nar-
row gorge, I beheld a city entirely surrounded by what I
should have considered in Europe an old feudal wall, with
towers and gates.
3. The city was built upon an ascent; and, from the height
on which I stood, I could discern the terrace and the cupo-
la of almost every house, and the wall upon the other side,
rising from the plain ; the ravine extending only on the
side to which I was opposite. The city was in a bowl of
mountains.
4. In the front was a magnificent mosque, with beautiful
gardens, and many light and lofty gates of triumph ; a vari-
ety of domes and towers rose in all directions from the
buildings of bright stone.
5. Nothing could be conceived more wild, and terrible,
and desolate, than the surrounding scenery; more dark, and
stony, and severe; but the ground was thrown about in
such picturesque undulations, that the mind, full of the sub-
lime, required not the beautiful ; and rich and waving
woods, and sparkling cultivation, would have been mis-
104 rilE FOURTH READER.
placed. Except Athens, I had never witnessed any scene
more essentially impressive.
6. I will not place this spectacle below the city of Miner-
va. Athens and the holy city in their glory must have been
the finest representations of the beautiful and the sublime, —
the holy city, — for the elevation on which I stood was the
Mount of Olives, and the city on which I gazed was Jeru-
salem ! The dark gorge beneath me was the vale of Je-
hoshaphat ; further on was the fountain of Siloah. I entered
by the gate of Bethlehem, and sought hospitality at the
Latin convent of Terra Santa.
7. Easter was approaching, and the city was crowded
with pilgrims. I had met many caravans in my progress.
The convents of Jerusalem are remarkable. That of the
Armenian Christians, at this time, afforded accommodation
for four thousand pilgrims. It is a town of itself, and pos-
sesses within its walls streets and shops.
8. The Greek convent held perhaps half as many. And
the famous Latin convent of Terra Santa, endowed by all
the monarchs of Catholic Christendom, could boast only of
one pilgrim, myself. The Europeans have ceased to visit
the Holy Sepulchre.
9. As for the interior of Jerusalem, it is hilly and clean.
The houses are of stone, and well built, but, like all
Asiatic mansions, they offer nothing to the eye but blank
walls and dull portals. The mosque I had admired was the
famous mosque of Omar, built upon the supposed site of the
Temple. It is perhaps the most beautiful of the Mahometan
temples; but the Frank, even in the Eastern dress, enters
it at the risk of his life.
10. The Turks of Syria have not been contaminated by
the heresies of their enlightened Sultan. In Damascus, it
is impossible to appear in the Frank dress without being
pelted ; and although they would condescend, perhaps, at
Jerusalem, to permit an infidel dog to walk about in his na-
tional dress, he would not escape many a curse, and many
a scornful exclamation of ' Giaor ! '
11. There is only one way to travel in the East with ease,
and that is with an appearance of pomp. The Turks are
much influenced by the exterior, and, although they are not
mercenary, a well-dressed and well-attended infidel will
command respect.
EGYPT. 105
12. The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is nearly in the
middle of the city, and professedly built upon Mount Calva-
ry, which it is alleged was levelled for the structure. With-
in its walls, they have contrived to assemble the scenes of a
vast number of incidents in the life of the Saviour, with a
highly romantic violation of the unity of place. Here, the
sacred feet were anointed ; there, the sacred garments par-
celled ; from the pillar of the scourging to the rent of the
rock, all is exhibited in a succession of magical scenes.
13. The truth is, the whole is an ingenious fiction of a
comparatively recent date, and we are indebted to that fa-
vored individual, the Empress Helen, for this exceedingly
clever creation, as well as for the discovery of the true cross.
The learned believe, and with reason, that Calvary is at
present, as formerly, without the walls, and that we must
seek for the celebrated elevation in the lofty hill, now called
Sion.
14. The church is a spacious building, surmounted by a
dome. Attached to it are the particular churches of the
various Christian sects, and many chapels and sanctuaries.
Mass, in some part or other, is constantly celebrating, and
companies of pilgrims may be observed in all directions,
visiting the holy places and offering their devotions.
15. Latin, and Armenian, and Greek friars are every-
where moving about. The court is crowded with the
venders of relics and rosaries. The Church of the Sepul-
chre itself is a point of common union, and, in its bustle,
and lounging character, rather reminded me of an ex-
change, than a temple.
LESSON XLVIL Egypt.
1. A RIVER is suddenly found flowing through the wilder-
ness; its source is unknown. On one side are intermin-
able wastes of sand, on the other, a rocky desert and a
narrow sea. Thus it rolls on for five hundred miles, throw-
ing up on each side, to the extent of about three leagues, a
soil fertile as a garden. Within a hundred and fifty miles
of the sea, it divides into two branches, which wind through
10(5 THE FOURTH READER.
an immense plain, once the granary of the world. Such is
Egypt !
2. From the cataracts of Nubia to the gardens of the
Delta, in a course of twelve hundred miles, the banks of the
Nile are covered at slight intervals with temples and cata^
combs, pyramids, and painted chambers. The rock temples
of Ipsambol, guarded by colossal forms, are within the roar
of the second cataract ; avenues of sphinxes lead to Derr^
the chief town of Nubia.
3. From Derr to the first cataract, the Egyptian bounda-
ry, a series of rock temples conduct to the beautiful and
sacred buildings of Philae ; Edfou and Esneh are a fine
preparation for the colossal splendor and the massy grace
of ancient Thebes.
4. Even after the inexhaustible curiosity and varied mag-
nificence of this unrivalled record of ancient art, the beau-
tiful Dendera, a consummate blending of Egyptian imagina-
tion and Grecian taste, will command your enthusiastic
gaze ; and, if the catacombs of Siout, and the chambers of
Benihassen prove less fruitful of interest after the tombs of
the Kings, and the cemeteries of Gornou, before you are the
obelisks of Memphis, and the pyramids of Gizeh, Saccarah,
and Dashour !
5. The traveller who crosses the desert, and views the
Nile with its lively villages, clustered in groves of palm, and
its banks entirely lined with that graceful tree, will bless
with sincerity that " Father of Waters," 'T is a rich
land, and indeed flowing with milk and honey. The Delta,
in its general appearance, somewhat reminded me of Belgi-
um. The soil everywhere is a rich, black mud, without a
single stone.
6. The land is so uniformly flat, that those who arrive by
sea do not detect it until within half a dozen miles, when a
palm-tree creeps upon the horizon ; and then you observe
the line of land that supports it. The Delta is intersected
by canals, that are filled with the rising Nile. It is by
their medium, and not by the absolute overflowing of the
river, that the country is periodically deluged.
7. The Arabs are gay, witty, vivacious, and very suscepti-
ble and acute. It is difficult to render them miserable, and
a beneficent government might find in them the most valu-
able subjects. A delightful climate is some compensatiou
EGYPT. 107
fof a gfinding tyranny. Every night, as they row along the
moon-lit river, the boatmen join in a melodious chorus, shouts
of merriment burst from each illumined village, every-
where are heard the bursts of laughter and of music, and,
wherever you stop, you are saluted by the dancing-girls.
8. These are always graceful in their craft ; sometimes
very agreeable in their persons. They are gayly, even
richly dressed ; in bright colors, with their hair braided with
pearls, and their necks and foreheads adorned with strings
of gold coins. In their voluptuous dance, we at once de-
tect the origin of the boleros, fandangos, and castanets of
Spain,
9. I admire very much the Arab women. They are very
delicately moulded. Never have I seen such little, twinkling
feet, aad such small hands. Their complexion is clear, and
not dark ) their features beautifully formed, an<i sharply de-
fined ; their eyes bright with intelligence.
10. The traveller is delighted to find himself in an Ori-
ental country where the women are not imprisoned and
scarcely veiled. For a long time, I could not detect the
reason why I was so charmed with Egyptian life. At last,
I recollected that I had recurred, after a long estrangement,
to the cheerful influence of women.
11. Cairo is situate on the base of considerable hills,
whose origin cannot be accounted for, but which are un-
doubtedly artificial. They are formed by the ruins and rub-
bish of long centuries. When I witness these extraordi-
nary formations, which are not uncommon in the neighbor-
hood of Eastern cities, I am impressed with the idea of the
immense antiquity of Oriental society.
12. There is a charm about Cairo, and it is this, — that
it is a capital in a desert. In one moment, you are in the
stream of existence, and in the other in boundless solitude,
or, which is still more awful, in the silence of tombs. I
speak of the sepulchres of the Mamlouk Sultans without the
city. They form what may indeed be styled a city of the
dead, an immense Necropolis, full of exquisite buildings,
domes covered with fret-work, and minarets carved and
moulded with rich and elegant fancy.
13. To me they proved much more interesting than the
far-famed Pyramids, although their cones at a distance are
indeed sublime, — their grey cones, soaring in the light bluo
108 THE FOURTH READER.
sky. The genius that has raised the tombs of the sultans,
may also be traced in many of the mosques of the city, —
splendid specimens of Saracenic architecture. In gazing
upon these brilliant creations, and also upon those of ancient
Egypt, I have often been struck by the felicitous system
which they display, of ever forming the external ornaments
of inscriptions.
14. How far excelling the Grecian and Gothic method !
Instead of a cornice of flowers, or an entablature of un-
meaning fancy, how superior to be reminded of the power
of the Creator, or the necessity of governments, the deeds
of conquerors, or the discovery of arts.
LESSON XLVIII. Falls of the Niagara.
1. There is a power and beauty, I may say a divinity,
in rushing waters, felt by all who acknowledge any sympa-
thy with nature. The mountain stream, leaping from rock
to rock, and winding, foaming, and glancing through its de-
vious and stony channels, arrests the eye of the most care-
less or business-bound traveller ; sings to the heart, and
haunts the memory, of the man of taste and imagination;
and holds, as by some indefinable spell, the affections of those
who inhabit its borders.
2. A waterfall, of even a few feet in height, will enliven
the dullest scenery, and lend a charm to the loveliest ; while
a high and headlong cataract has always been ranked among
the sublimest objects to be found in the compass of the
globe.
3. It is no matter of surprise, therefore, that lovers of
nature perform journeys of homage to that sovereign of
cataracts, that monarch of all pouring floods, the Falls of
Niagara. It is no matter of surprise, that, although situated
in what might have been called, a few years ago, but can-
not be now, the wilds of North America, five hundred miles
from the Atlantic coast, travellers from all civilized parts of
the world have encountered all the difficulties and fatigues
of the path, to behold this prince of water-falls amidst its
ancient solitudes, and that, more recently, the broad high-'
ways to its dominions have been thronged.
FALLS OF THE NIAGARA. 109
4. By universal consent, it has long ago been proclaimed
one of the wonders of the world. It is alone in its kind.
Though a waterfall, it is not to be compared with other
waterfalls. In its majesty, its supremacy, and its influence
on the soul of man, its brotherhood is with the living ocean
and the eternal hills,
5. I am humbly conscious, that no words of mine can
give an adequate description, or convey a satisfactory idea,
of Niagara Falls. But, having just returned from a visit to
them, with the impression which they made upon my mind
fresh and deep, I may hope to impart, at least, a faint image
of that impression, to the minds of those who have not seen
them, and retouch, perhaps, some fading traces in the minds
of those who have. Our journey over, we approached the
falls, but turned aside to have a near view of the rapids.
G. Here, all is tumult and impetuous haste. The view is
something like that of the sea in a violent gale. Thousands
of waves dash eagerly forward, and indicate the inter-
ruptions which they meet with from the hidden rocks, by
ridges and streaks of foam. Terminating this angry picture,
you distinguish the crescent rim of the British Fall, over
which the torrent falls and disappears.
7. The wildness and the solitude of the scene are striking-
ly impressive. Nothing that lives is to be seen in its whole
extent. Nothing that values its life ever ventures it there.
The waters refuse the burden of man, and of man's works.
Of this they give fair and audible warning, of which all
take heed. They have one engrossing object before them,
and they go to its accomplishment alone.
8. Returning to the road, we ride the last half mile,
gradually ascending, till we come to the public house. A
foot-path through the garden, at the back of the house, and
down a steep and thickly-wooded bank, brings us upon
Table Rock, a flat ledge of limestone forming the brink of
the precipice, the upper stratum of which is a jagged shelf,
no more than about a foot in thickness, jutting out over the
gulf below.
9. Here the whole scene breaks upon us. Looking up
the river, we face the grand crescent, called the British or
Horse-Shoe Fall. Opposite to us is Goat Island, which
divides the Falls, and lower down to the left, is the Ameri
10
110 THE FOURTH READER
can Fall. And what is the first impression made upon th«
beholder ? Decidedly, I should say, that of beauty ; of
sovereign beauty, it is true, but still that of beauty, rather
than of awful sublimity.
10. Everything is on so large a scale ; the height of the
cataract is so much exceeded by its breadth, and so much
concealed by jtbe volumes of mist which wrap and shroud
its feet ; you stand so directly on the same level with the
falling waters ; you see so large a portion of them at a con-
siderable distance from you, and their roar comes up so
moderated from the deep abyss, that the loveliness of the
scene, at first sight, is permitted to take precedence of its
grandeur.
11. Its color alone is of the most exquisite kind. The
deep sea-green of the centre of the crescent, where, it is
probable, the greatest mass of water falls, lit up with succes-
sive flashes of foam, and contrasted with the rich creamy
whiteness of the two sides or wings of the same crescent ;
then the sober gray of the opposite precipice of Goat Island,
crowned with the luxuriant foliage of its forest trees, and
connected still further on with the pouring snows of the
greater and less American Falls ; the agitated and foamy
surface of the water at the bottom of the falls, followed by
the darkness of their hue as they sweep along through the
perpendicular gorge beyond ; the mist, floating about and
veiling objects with a softening indistinctness; and the
bright rainbow which is constant to the sun, — altogether
form a combination of color, changing, too, with every
change of light, every variation of the wind, and every hour
of the day, which the painter's art cannot imitate, and
which Nature herself, has, perhaps, only effected here.
J 2. And the motion of these falls, how wonderfully fine
it is! how graceful, how stately, how calm ! There is noth-
ing in it hurried or headlong, as you might have supposed.
The eye is so long in measuring the vast, and yet unac-
knowledged height, that they seem to move over almost
slowly ; the central and most voluminous portion of the
Horse-Shoe even goes down silently.
13. The truth is, that pompous phrases cannot describe
these Falls. Calm and deeply-meaning words should alone
be used in speaking of them. Anything like hyperbole
FALLS OF THE NIAGARA. lU
would degrade them, if they could be degraded. But they
cannot be. Neither the words nor the deeds of man de-
grade or disturb them.
14. There they flow ever, in their collected might. And
dignified, flowing steadily, constantly, as they always have
been pouring since they came from the hollow of His hand,
you can add nothing to them, nor can you take anything
from them.
15. As I rose, on the morning following my arrival, and
went to the window for an early view, a singular fear came
over me that the falls might have passed away, though their
sound was in my ears. It was, to be sure, rather the shadow
of a fear than a fear, and reason dissipated it as soon as
it was formed.
16. But the bright things of earth are so apt to be fleet-
ing, and we are so liable to lose what is valued, as soon as it
is bestowed, that I believe it was a perfectly natural feeling
which suggested to me for an instant, that I had enjoyed
quite as much of such a glorious exhibition as 1 deserved,
and that I had no right to expect that it would continue, as
long as I might be pleased to behold it.
17. But the Falls were there, with their full, regular, and
beautiful flowing. The clouds of spray and mist were now
dense and high, and completely concealed the opposite
shores ; but as the day advanced, and the beams of the sun
increased in power, they were thinned and contracted.
Presently a thunder shower rose up from the west, and
passed directly over us ; and soon another came, still heavier
than the preceding.
18. And now I was more impressed than ever with the
peculiar motion of the Fall, not however because it expe-
rienced a change, but because it did not. The lightning
gleamed, the thunder pealed, the rain fell in torrents ; the
storms were grand ; but the Fall, if I may give its ex-
pression a language, did not heed them at all ! the rapids
poured on with the same quiet solemnity, with the same
equable intentness, undisturbed by the lightning and rain,
and listening not to the loud thunder.
112 THE FOURTH READER
LESSON XLIX. The Bashful Man.
1. I HAD taken a letter of introduction from a friend to
a genteel family at Paris, a*nd, having delivered it, was, after
a few days, invited to dinner. After various awkward mis-
haps, arising from my bashfuJness, we were finally seated
at table, my place being next a young lady whom 1 was ex-
pected to entertain.
2. The ordinary routine of a French dinner now com-
menced ; soup and bouiili, fish, and fowl, and flesh ; while
a regular series of servants appeared each instant at our
elbows, inviting us to partake of a thousand different dishes,
and as many different kinds of wines, all under strings
of names which I no more understood, than I under-
stood their composition, or than they did my gaucheries.
Resolved to avoid all further opportunities for displaying my
predominant trait, I sat in the most obstinate silence, saying
** Om/," to every thing that was offered me, and eating with
most devoted application.
3. But ** let no one call himself happy before death,"
said Solon; and he said wisely. The "ides of March"
were not yet over. Before us was set a dish of cauliflower,
nicely done in butter. This I naturally enough took for a
custard pudding, which it sufficiently resembled. Unfortu-
nately, my vocabulary was not yet extensive enough to em-
brace all the technicalities of the table ; and when my fair
neighbor inquired if I were fond of chou-jleur, I verily
took it to be the French for custard pudding, instead of
cauliflower ; and, so high was my panegyric on it, that my
plate was soon bountifully laden with it. Alas ! one single
mouthful was enough to dispel my illusion.
4. Would to Heaven that the chou-fleiir had vanished along
with it. But that remained bodily ; and, as I gazed de-
spondingly at the huge mass, that loomed up almost as large
and as burning as Vesuvius, my heart died within me.
Ashamed to confess my mistake, though I could almost as
readily have swallowed an equal quantity of soft soap, I
struggled manfully on, against the diabolical compound. I
endeavored to sap the mountainous heap at its base ; and,
shutting my eyes and opening my mouth, to inhume as large
masses as I could, without stopping to taste it. But my
THE BASHFUL MAN. 113
Stomach soon began, intelligibly enough, to intimate its in-
tention to admit no more of this nauseous stranger beneath
its roof, if not even of expelling that which had already
gained unwelcome admittance.
5. The seriousness of the task I had undertaken, and the
resolution necessary to execute it, had given an earnestness
and rapidity to my exertions, which appetite would not have
inspired; when my plate, having somehow got over the edge
of the table, upon my leaning forward, tilted up, and down
slid the disgusting mass into my lap. My handkerchief,
unable to bear so weighty a load, bent under in its turn ; and
a great proportion of it was thus safely deposited in my hat.
The plate instantly righted itself, as I raised my person ;
and as I gianced my eye round the table, and saw that no
one had noticed my disaster, I inwardly congratulated my-
self that the nauseous deception was so happily disposed of.
Resolving not be detected, I instantly rolled my handker-
chief together, with all its remaining contents, and whipped
it into my pocket.
6. The dinner-table was at length deserted for the draw-
ing-room, where coffee and liqueurs were served round.
Meantime, I had sought out, what I considered a safe hiding-
place for my hat, beneath a- chair in the dining-room, for I
dared not carry it longer in my hand ; having first thrown a
morsel of paper into the crown, to hide the cauliflower from
view, should any one chance, in looking for his own hat, to
look into mine.
7. On my return to the drawing-room, I chanced to be
again seated by the lady, by whom I had sat at dinner. Our
conversation was naturally resumed ; and we were in the
midst of an animated discussion, when a huge spider was
seen running, like a race-horse, up her arm. " Take it off,
take it off I " she ejaculated in a terrified tone.
8. I was always afraid of spider's ; so, to avoid touching
him with my hand, I caught my handkerchief from my
pocket, and clapped it at once upon the miscreant, who was
already mounting over-her temple with rapid strides. Gra-
cious Heaven ! I had forgotten the cauliflower ; which was
now plastered over her face, like an emollient poultice, fairly
killing the spider, and blinding an eye of the lady ; while
little streamlets of soft butter, glided gently down her beauti-
ful neck and bosom.
10* *
114 THE FOURTH READER.
9. " Mon Dieu ! Mon Dieu ! " exclaimed the astonished
fair. " Mon Dieu ! " was echoed from every mouth, " Have
you cut your head?" inquired one. "No! No! — The
spider ! the spider ! The gentleman has killed a spider ! "
" What a quantity of bowels ! " ejaculated an astonished
Frenchman, unconsciously to himself.
10. Well might he be astonished. The spray of the ex-
ecrable vegetable, had spattered her dress from head to foot.
For myself, the moment the accident occurred, I had me-
chanically returned my handkerchief to my pocket ; but its
contents remained.
11. '' What a monster it must have been!" observed a
young lady, as she helped to relieve my victim from her
cruel situation. *' I declare I should think he had been liv-
ing on cauliflower ! " At that moment, I felt some one
touch me; and, turning, I saw my companion who had come
with me.
12. " Look at your pantaloons," he whispered. Already
half dead at the disaster I had caused, I cast my eyes upon
my once white dress, and saw at a glance the horrible extent
of my dilemma. I had been sitting upon the fated pocket,
and had crushed out the liquid butter, and the soft, paste-
like vegetable, which had daubed and dripped down them,
till it seemed as if I were actually dissolving in my panta-
loons.
13. Darting from the spot, I sprang to the place where I
had left my hat ; but, before I could reach it, a sudden storm
of wrath was heard at the door.
14. " Sacr-r-r-r-e ! bete! Sacr-r-r~c! Sacr-r-r-r-r-e ! " the
r in the last syllable being made to roll like a watchman's
rattle, mingled with another epithet and name, that an angry
Frenchman never spares, was heard rising like a fierce tem-
pest without the door. Suddenly there was a pause, — a
gurgling sound as of ofie swallowing involuntarily, — and
the storm of wrath again broke out with redoubled fury. I
seized a hat, and opened the door, and the whole matter
was at once explained. By mistake a Frenchman had taken
my hat, and there he was, the soft cauliflower gushing down
his cheeks, blinding his eyes, filling his mouth, hair, mus-
tachios, ears, and whiskers. Never shall I forget that spec-
tacle. There he stood astride like the Colossus, and stoop-
ing gently forward, his eyes forcibly closed, his arms held
THE ZENAIDA DOVE. 115
drooping out from his body, and dripping cauliflower and
butter at every pore !
15. 1 stayed no longer ; but, retaining his hat, I rushed
from the house, jumped into a hack, and arrived safely at
home-; heartily resolving, that, to my last hour, I would
never asrain deliver a letter of introduction.
LESSON L. The Zenaida Dove.
1. Mr. Audubon, in his valuable work on American
Ornithology, relates an anecdote illustrative of the deep im-
pressions liable to be made on the mind from hearing the
cooing of the Zenaida Dove, a pigeon which frequents the
small islands in the Gulf of Florida. *' The cooing of the
Zenaida Dove," says lije, *' is so peculiar, that one who hears
it for the first time naturally stops to ask, ' What bird is
that?'
2. *' A man, who was once a pirate, assured me, that sev-
eral times, while at certain wells, dug in the burning, shelly
sands of a well-known island, the soft and melancholy cry
of the doves awoke in his breast feelings which had long
slumbered, melted his heart to repentance, and caused him
to linger at the spot in a state of mind, which he only, who
compares the wretchedness of guilt within him with the
happiness of former innocence, can truly feel. He said he
never left the place without increased fears of futurity, as-
sociated as he was, although I believe by force, with a band
of the most desperate villains that ever annoyed the naviga-
tion of the Florida coast.
3. " So deeply moved was he by the notes of any bird,
and especially those of a dove, the only soothing sounds he
ever heard during his life of horrors, that, through those
plaintive notes, and them alone, he was induced to escape
from his vessel, abandon his turbulent companions, and re-
turn to a family deploring his absence.
4. " After paying a parting visit to those wells, and listen-
ing once more to the cooings of the Zenaida dove, he poured
out his soul in supplications for mercy, and once more be-
came what is said to be, ' the noblest work of God,' an
honest man. His escape was effected amidst difficulties
116 THE FOURTH READER.
and dangers ; but no danger seemed to him to be compared
with the danger of one living in the violation of human and
divine laws ; and now he lives in peace, in the midst of his
friends."
LESSON LI. The Queen and the Quakeress,
1. In the autumn of 1818, her late majesty, dueen
Charlotte of England, visited Bath, accompanied by the
Princess Elizabeth. The waters soon effected such a res-
pite from pain in the royal patient, that she proposed an
excursion to a park of some celebrity in the neighborhood,
the estate of a rich widow belonging to the Society of
Friends. Notice was given of the Q,ueen's intention, and a
message returned that she should be welcome.
2. The illustrious traveller had perhaps never before had
any personal intercourse with a member of the persuasion
whose votaries never voluntarily paid taxes to "the man
George, called King by the vain ones." The lady and gen-
tleman who were to attend the august visitants had but
feeble ideas of the reception to be expected. It was sup-
posed that the Quaker would at least say ** thi/ Majesty,"
or " thy Highness," or, at least " Madam."
3. The royal carriage arrived at the lodge of the park,
punctual at the appointed hour. No preparations appeared to
have been made ; no hostess nor domestics stood ready to
greet the guests. The porter's bell was rung ; he stepped
forth deliberately with his broad-brimmed beaver on, and
unbendingly accosted the lord in waiting with, "What's
thy will, friend ? " This was almost unanswerable. " Sure-
ly," said the nobleman, *' your lady is aware that her Maj-
esty Go to your mistress, and say the dueen is here."
" No, truly," answered the man, " it needeth not ; I have
no mistress nor lady ; but Friend Rachel Mills expecteth
thine ; walk in."
4. The queen and princess were handed out, and walked
up the avenue. At the door of the house stood the plainly
attired Rachel, who, without even a curtsy, but with a
cheerful nod, said, "How 's thee do, friend? I am glad to
see thee and thy daughter ; I wish thee well ! Rest and re-
THE QUEEN AND THE QUAKERESS. 117
fresh thee and thy people, before I show thee my grounds."
What could be said to such a person? Some condescensions
were attempted, implying that her Majesty came not only to
view the park, but to testify her esteem for the Society to
which Mistress Mills belonged.
5. Cool and unawed, she answered, " Yea, thou art right
there ; the Friends are well thought of by most folks, but
they need not the praise of the world ; for the rest, many
strangers gratify their curiosity by going over this place, and
it is my custom to conduct them myself; therefore I shall
do the like to thee, friend Charlotte ; moreover, I think
well of thee as a dutiful wife and mother. Thou hast had
thy trials, and so had thy good partner. I wish thy grand-
child well through hers." It was so evident that the Friend
meant kindly, nay, respectfully, that offence could not be
taken.
6. She escorted her guest through her estate. The
Princess Elizabeth noticed in her hen-house a breed of
poultry, hitherto unknown to her, and expressed a wish to
possess some of those rare fowls, imagining that Mrs. Mills
would regard her wish as a law ; but the Quakeress merely
answered, "They are rare, as thou sayest ; but if any
are to be purchased, in this land or in other countries, I
know few women likelier than thyself to procure them with
ease."
7. Her Royal Highness more plainly expressed her de-
sire to purchase some of those she now beheld. " I do not
buy and sell," answered Rachel Mills. *' Perhaps you will
give me a pair," persevered the princess, with a conciliating
smile. " Nay, verily," replied Rachel, " I have refused
many friends • and that which I denied to my own kins-
woman, Martha Ash, it becometh me not to grant to any.
We have long had it to say, that these birds belonged only
to our own house, and I can make no exception in thy
favor."
118 THE FOURTH READER
LESSON LIT. Adoration of the Deity in the Midst of
His Works,
1. The turf shall be my fragrant shrine,
My temple, Lord ! that arch of thine :
My censer's breath the mountain airs,
And silent thoughts my only prayers.
2. My choir shall be the moonlight waves,
When murmuring homeward to their caves,
Or when the stillness of the sea.
Even more than music, breathes of thee !
3. I '11 seek, by day, some glade unknown,
All light and silence, like thy throne !
And the pale stars shall be, at night,
The only eyes that watch my rite.
4. Thy Heaven, on which 't is bliss to look,
Shall be my pure and shining book,
"Where I shall read, in words of flame,
The glories of thy wondrous name.
6. I '11 read thy anger in the rack
That clouds awhile the day-beam's track ;
Thy mercy in the azure hue
Of sunny brightness breaking through !
6. There 's nothing bright, above, below,
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow,
But in its light my soul can see
Some features of thy Deity.
7. There 's nothing dark below, above,
But in its gloom I trace thy love,
And meekly wait that moment, when
Thy touch shall turn all bright again !
WHAT ARE EMBLEMS1 119
LESSON LlII What are Emblems ? a Familiar
Dialogue,
Cecilia. Pray, papa, what is an emblem 1 I have met the
vord in my lesson to-day, and I do not quite understand it.
Papa. An emblem, my dear, is a visible image of an in-
visible thing.
C. An invisible image of, — 1 can hardly comprehend.
P. Well, I will explain it more at length. There are
certain notions that we form in our minds without the help
of our eyes or any of our senses. Thus, virtue, vice, hon-
or, disgrace, time, death, and the like, are not sensible ob-
jects, but ideas of the understanding.
C. Yes, — we cannot feel them, nor see them, but we
can think about them.
P, Now it sometimes happens, that we wish to represent
one of these in a visible form, — that is, to offer something
to the sight that shall raise a similar notion in the minds of
the beholders. For instance, you know the Court-house,
where trials are held. It would be easy to write over the
door, in order to distii^guish it, "This is the Court-
house;" but it is a more ingenious and elegant way of
pointing it out, to place upon the building a figure repre-
senting the purpose for which it was erected, namely, to
distribute justice. For this end, a human figure is made,
distinguished by tokens which bear a relation to the charac-
ter of that virtue. Justice carefully weighs both sides of a
cause ; she is, therefore, represented as holding a pair of
scales. It is her office to punish crimes ; she therefore
holds a sword. This is then an emblematical figure, and
the sword and scales are emblems.
C I understand this very well. I have a figure of Death
in my fable-book. 1 suppose that is emblematical.
P. Certainly, or you would not know it meant death
How is it represented ?
C. He is nothing but bones, and he holds a scythe in
one hand, and an hour-glass in the other.
P. Well, how do you interpret these emblems?
C I suppose he is all bones, because nothing but bones
are left, after a dead body has lain long in the grave.
P, What does the scythe represent ?
120 THE FOURTH READER.
C. Is it not because Death mows down everything ?
P. Yes. No instrument could so properly represent the
wide-wasting sway of death, which sweeps down the race
of animals, like flowers falling under the hands of the
mower. It is a simile used in the Scriptures.
C. The hour-glass is to show people, I suppose, that
their time is come.
P. Right. In the hour-glass that Death holds, all the
sand has run from the upper to the lower part. Have you
ever observed upon a monument, an old figure with wings,
and a scythe, and with his head bald, all but a single lock
before 1
C. O yes, and I have been told it is Time.
P. Well, and what do you make of it? Why is he old?
C. O ! because he has lasted a long time.
P. And why has he wings ?
C. Because time is swift, and flies away.
P. What is his single lock of hair for ?
C. I have been thinking, and cannot make it out.
P. I thought that would puzzle you. It relates to time,
as giving opportunity for doing anything. It is to be seized
as it presents itself, or it will escape, and cannot be recov-
ered. Thus, the proverb says, " Take Time by the fore-
lock." I have here got a few emblematical pictures. Let
us see if you can find out their meaning. Here is an old,
half-ruined building, supported by props ; and the figure of
Time is sawing through one of the props.
C. That must be Old Age, surely.
P. Yes. Here is a man standing on the summit of a
steep cliff*, and going to ascend a ladder, which he has
placed against a cloud.
C. Let me see, — that must be Ambition, I think. He
is very high, already, but he wants to be higher still,
though his ladder is only supported by a cloud.
P. Very right. Here is a walking-stick, the lower part
of which is set in the water, and it appears crooked. What
does that denote ?
C. Is the stick really crooked ?
P. No, but it is the property of the water to give it that
appearance.
C. Then it must signify Deception.
P. It is. I dare say, you will at once know this fellow,
NAOMI AND RUTlt. 121
tvho is running as fast as his legs will carry him, and look-
ing back at his shadow.
C. He must be Fear or Terror^ I fancy.
P. Yes, you may call him which you please. What do
Vou think of this candle held before a mirror, in which its
'igure is exactly reflected ?
C. I do not know what it means.
P. It represents Truth. The object is a luminous one,
to show the clearness and brightness of truth. You see
here a woman disentangling and reeling off a very perplexed
skein of thread.
C. She must havaa great deal of patience.
P. True, she is Patience herself What do you think of
this pleasing female, who looks with such kindness upon the
drooping plants she is watering ?
C That must be Charity, I believe.
P. Here is a lady sitting demurely with one finger on her
lip, while she holds a bridle in her other hand.
C. The finger on her lip, I suppose, denotes Silence. The
bridle must mean confinemeflt. I should almost fancy her
to be a schoolmistress.
P. Ha ! ha ! I hope indeed, many schoolmistresses are
endued with her spirit, for she is Prudence, or Discretion.
Well, we have now got to the end of our pictures, and, upon
the whole, you have interpreted them very well.
LESSON LIV. Naomi and Ruth. Ruth, chap. i.
1. Now it came to pass, in the days when the judges
ruled, that there was a famine in the land. And a certain
man of Bethlehem-judah went to sojourn in the country of
Moab, he, and his wife, and his two sons.
2. And the name of the man was Elimelech, and the
name of his wife Naomi, and the name of his two sons
Mahlon and Chilion, Ephrathites of Bethlehem-judah. And
they came into the country of Moab, and continued there.
3. And Elimelech, Naomi's husband, died ; and she was
left, and her two sons.
4. And they took them wives of the women of Moab ;
11
122 THE FOURTH READER.
the name of the one was Orpah, and the name of the other
Ruth ; and they dwelled there about ten years.
5. And Mahlon and Chilion died also both of them ; and
the woman was left of her two sons and her husband,
6. Then she arose, with her daughters-in-law, that she
might return from the country of Moab ; for she had heard
in the country of Moab, how that the Lord had visited his
people, in giving them bread.
7. Wherefore she went forth out of the place where she
was, and her two daughters-in-law with her ; and they went
on the way to return unto the land of Judah.
8. And Naomi said unto her two dau|^ters-in-law, Go, re-
turn each to her mother's house ; the Lord deal kindly with
you, as ye have dealt with the dead, and with me.
9. The Lord grant you that ye may find rest, each of you
in the house of her husband. Then she kissed them ; and
they lifted up their voice and wept.
10. And they said unto her, Surely we will return with
thee unto thy people.
IL And Naomi said. Turn again, my daughters, why will
ye go with me ? It grieveth me much, for your sakes, that
the hand of the Lord is gone out against me.
12. And they lifted up their voice, and wept again ; and
Orpah kissed her mother-in-law, but Ruth clave unto her.
13. And she said. Behold, thy sister-in-law is gone back
unto her people, and unto her gods ; return thou after thy
sister-in-law.
14. And Ruth said, Entreat me not to leave thee, or to
return from following after thee ; for whither thou goest, I
will go ; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge ; thy people
shall be my people, and thy God my God ;
15. Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried.
The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part
thee and me.
16. When she saw that she was steadfastly minded to go
with her, then she left speaking unto her.
17. So they two went until they came to Bethlehem. And
it came to pass, when they were come to Bethlehem, that all
the city was moved about them; and they said, Is this
Naomi ?
18. And she said unto them, Call me not Naomi, call me
Mara ; for the Almighty hath dealt very bitterly with me.
WEALTH AND FASHION. 123
19. I went out full, and the Lord hath brought me home
again empty ; why then call ye me Naomi, seeing the Lord
hath testified against me, and the Almighty hath afflicted me?
20. So Naomi returned, and Ruth the Moabitess, her
daughter-in-law, with her, which returned out of the country
of Moab; and they came to Bethlehem in the beginning of
barley-harvest.
LESSON LV. Wealth and Fashion.
Thk following dialogue took place between a brother and sister, both un-
usually endowed with talent. Horace had "just received his license as
attorney at law ; Caroline had entered her eighteenth year, and was a belle
in her own circle.
Caroline. What a pity it is, Horace, that we are born un-
der a republican government.
Horace. Upon my word, that is a patriotic observation
for an American.
C. O, I know that it is not a popular one ; we must all
join in the cry of liberty and equality, and bless our stars
that we have neither kings nor emperors to rule over us. If
we don't join in the shout, and hang our hats on hickory
trees, or liberty poles, we are considered unnatural mon-
sters. For my part, I am tired of it, and I am determined to
say what I think. I hate republicanism; I hate liberty and
equality ; and I don't hesitate to declare, that I am for mon-
archy. You may laugh, but I would say it at the stake.
//. Bravo! why you have almost run yourself out of
breath, Cara ; you deserve to be prime minister to the king.
C. You mistake me, Horace. I have no wish to mingle
in political broils, not even if I could be as renowned as
Pitt or Fox ; but I must say, I think our equality is odious.
What do you think? to-day the new chambermaid put her
head into the door, and said, " Caroline, your marm wants
you."
//. (Clapping his hands.) Excellent ! I suppose if ours
were a monarchical government, she would have bent one
knee to the ground, and saluted your little foot, before she
epoke.
C. No, Horace, you know there are no such forms as
124 THE FOURTH READER.
those, except in the papal dominions. I believe his Holiness
the Pope requires such a ceremony.
H. Perhaps you would like to be a Pope,
C. No ; I am no Roman Catholic.
H, May 1 ask your Highness, what you would like to be ?
C (Glancing at the glass.) I should like to be a countess.
H. You are moderate in your ambition. A countess,
now-a-days, is the fag end of nobility.
C. O ! but it sounds so delightfully. — The young Count-
ess Caroline !
H. If sound is all, you shall have that pleasure; we will
call you the young Countess Caroline !
C. That would be mere burlesque, Horace, and would
make me ridiculous.
H. True ; nothing can be more inconsistent than for us
to aim at titles.
C. For us, I grant you ; but if they were hereditary, if
we had been born to them, if they came to us through belt-
ed knights and high-born dames, then we might be proud to
wear them. I never shall cease to regret, that I was not
born under a monarchy.
H, You seem to forget that all are not lords and ladies in
the royal dominions. Suppose you should have drawn your
first breath among plebeians ; suppose it should have been
your lot to crouch and bend, or be trodden under foot by
some titled personage, whom in your heart you despised;
what then 1
C. You may easily suppose, that I did not mean to take
those chances. No, I meant to be born among the higher
ranks.
H. Your own reason must tell you, that all cannot be born
among the higher ranks, for then the lower ones would be
wanting, which constitute the comparison. Now Caroline,
we come to the very point. Is it not better to be born under
a government in which there is neither extreme of high or
low ; where one man cannot be raised preeminently over
another ; and where our nobility consists of talent and vir-
tue.
C. This sounds very patriotic, brother, but I am inclined
to think that wealth constitutes our nobility, and the right
of abusing each other our liberty.
H. You are as fond of aphorisms as ever Lavater was^
but they are not always true.
GOFFE THE REGICIDE. 125
C I will just ask you, if our rich men, who ride in their
own carriages, who have fine houses, and who count by
millions, are not our great men ?
H. They have all the greatness money can buy ; but this
is a very limited one.
C. In my opinion, money is power.
H. You mistake, Caroline ; money may buy a temporary
power, but talent is power itself: and, when united to vir-
tue, a Godlike power, one before which the mere man of
millions quails. No ; give me talent, health, and unwavering
prhiciple, and I will not ask for wealth, but I will carve my
own way ; and, depend upon it, wealth will be honorably
mine.
C. Well, Horace, I heartily wish you the possession of all
together, talent, principle, and wealth. Really, without
flattery, the two first you have ; and the last, according to
your own idea, will come when you beckon to it. Now I
can tell you, that I feel as determined as you do, to " carve
my own way." I see you smile, but I have always believed
we could accomplish what we steadily will. Depend upon
it, the time is not distant, when you shall see me in posses-
sion of all the rank that any one can obtain in our plebeian
country.
The brother and sister pursued the paths they had sev-
erally marked out ; the former succeeded to the full extent of
his wishes, and became a prosperous man ; the latter prose-
T cuted her schemes of ambition, but they only resulted in
1 disappointment and mortification.
LESSON LVI. Goffe the Regicide.
Charles I. of England was beheaded according to the sentence of a
court styled the Higli Court of Justice, in 1648. His son, Charles II. com-"
ing to the throne in 1660, the judges who had passed sentence upon his
father, and were called regicides, fled the country. William GofFe, noticed
in tlie following sketch, was one of these, and arrived at Boston in June, 1660.
1. In the course of Philip's war, of 1675, which involved
almost all the Indian tribes in New England, and among
others those in the neighborhood of Hadley, the inhabitants
thought it proper to observe the first of September, 1675,
126 THE FOURTH READER.
as a day of fasting and prayer. While they were in the
church, and employed in their worship, they were surprised
by a band of savages.
2. The people instantly betook themselves to their arms,
which, according to the custom of the times, they had car-
ried with them to the church ; and, rushing out of the
house, attacked their invaders. The panic under which
they began the conflict, was, however, so great, and their
number was so disproportioned to that of their enemies, that
they fought doubtfully at first, and in a short time began ev-
idently to give way. At this moment an ancient man, with
hoary locks, of a most venerable and dignified aspect, and
in a dress widely differing from that of the inhabitants, ap-
peared suddenly at their head, and with a firm voice, and
an example of undaunted resolution, reanimated their spir-
its, led them again to the conflict, and totally routed the
savages.
3. When the battle was ended, the stranger disappeared;
and no person knew whence he had come, or whither he
had gone. The relief was so timely, so sudden, so unex-
pected, and so providential ; the appearance and the retreat
of him who furnished it were so unaccountable ; his person
was so dignified and commanding, his resolution so superi-
or, and his interference so decisive, that the inhabitants, with-
out any uncommon exercise of credulity, readily believed
him to be an angel, sent by Heaven for their preservation.
4. Nor was this opinion seriously controverted, until it
was discovered, several years afterwards, that Goffe and
Whalley had been lodged in the house of Mr. Russell. Then
it was known, that their deliverer was Goffe,— Whalley hav-
ing become superannuated some time before the event took
place.
LESSON LVII. Melrose Ahhe^j.
This is a fine old ruin of an ancient Abbey in Scotland.
If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright.
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ;
For the gay beams of lightsome day
Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray.
THE SET OF DIAMONDS. 127
When the broken arches are black in night,
And each shafted oriel glimmers white ;
When the cold light's uncertain shower
Streams on the ruined central tower ;
When buttress and buttress alternately
Seem framed of ebon and ivory ;
When silver edges the imagery
And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ;
When distant Tweed is heard to rave,
And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave,
Then go, — but go alone the while, —
Then view St. David's ruined pile ;
And, home returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair 1
LESSON LVIII. The Set of Diamonds,
1. Mr. E , a physician of Paris, well known for his
skill in curing mental disorders, saw arrive at his gate, one
morning, a lady who seemed forty years old, although still
young and fresh. She was admitted within the gate of the
celebrated physician, and introduced herself as the Countess
M . She then spoke as a mother in desolation and
despair, in the following terms :
2. " Sir, you see a woman a prey to the most violent
chagrin. I have a son ; he is very dear to me as well as to
my husband ; he is our only son." Tears here like rain
fell, such as Artemisia shed over the tomb of Mausolus.
3. ** Ah, yes! — Y — es, Sir ! " said she, '' and for some
time we have suffered the most horrible fears. He is now
at the age when the passions develope themselves. Although
we gratify all his wishes, money, liberty, &c., he evinces
many signs of dementation. The most remarkable is, that
he is always talking about jewelry, or of diamonds which he
has sold or given to some woman, all unintelligible. The
father and I are lost in sounding the cause of this folly."
4. "Well, Madam, bring your son here."
** Ah, to-morrow. Sir, — by all means, at noon? "
*' That will do."
128 THE FOURTH READER.
The doctor respectfully conducted the lady to her car-
riage, not forgetting to scan the coat of arms and the lackeys.
5. The next morning the Countess drove to a famous
jeweller, and after having a long time cheapened a set worth
thirty thousand crowns, she finally purchased it. She neg-
ligently drew a purse from her reticule, found there ten
thousand francs in bank notes, and spread them out ; but
immediately gathering them up, she said to the jeweller,
*' You had better send a person with me. My husband will
pay him. I find I have not the entire sum."
6. The jeweller made a sign to a young man, who proud-
ly delighted to go in such an equipage, started off with
the Countess. She drove to the doctor's door. She whis-
pered to the doctor, " This is my son, I leave him with you."
To the young man she said, ** My husband is in the study, —
walk in ; he will pay you."
The young man went in. The Countess and the carriage
went off at first slow, and noiseless ; soon after the horses
galloped.
7. " Ah, well, young man," said the physician, " you un-
derstand the business, I suppose. — Let us see ; how do
you feel ? what is going on in this young head ? "
" What passes in my head, Sir? Nothing, except settling
for the set of diamonds."
8. "We understand all that," said the doctor, gently
pushing aside the bill. " I know, I know."
*' If the gentleman knows the amount, no more remains
but to pay the cash."
"Indeed! indeed! Be calm, where did you get your
diamonds? what has become of them ? — ^Say as much as
you will ; I will listen patiently."
9. '•' The business is, to pay me, Sir, thirty thousand
crowns."
''Wherefore?"
" How, wherefore ? " said the young man, whose eyes be-
gan to glisten.
" Yes, why should I pay you ? "
*' Because Madame, the Countess, has just purchased
the diamonds at our house."
10. ** Good ! here we have you. Who is the Countess? "
" Your wife ; " and he presented a bill.
"But do you know, young man, that I have the honor to
be a physician, and a widower ? "
FIGHT WITH A SHARK. 129
11. Here the young man became transported, and the
doctor called his domestics, and bade them seize him by the
hands and feet, which raised his transport to fury. He cried
" Thief! murder ! " but at the end of a quarter of an hour
he calmed down, explained every thing soberly, and a terri-
ble light began to dawn upon the doctor. He was not long
in discovering that the Countess was a cheat, and had
devised the whole scheme for the purpose of securing the
jewels.
12. Notwithstanding all the search that could be made,
this singular theft, so ingenious, so original, from the scene
which took place between the physician and the young man,
was never discovered. The pretended Countess had taken
care to conceal every trace of herself. The drivers and
lackeys were her accomplices; the carriage was hired:
and this history remains a monument in the memoirs of
jewellers.
LESSON LIX. Fight with a Shark.
1. The following curious description of a conflict with a
shark in the vicinity of Calcutta, in India, is related by an
eyewitness, and is entitled to perfect credence.
2. " I chanced to be on the spot when this display of
coolness and courage took place ; and, had I not witnessed
it, I confess I should have been skeptical in believing what,
nevertheless, is plain matter of fact. I was walking on the
bank of the river, at the time when some up-country boats
were delivering their cargoes.
3« " A considerable number of Coolies were employed on
shore in the work, all of whom I observed running away in
apparent trepidation from the edge of the water, — returning
again, as if eager yet afraid, to approach some object, and
again retreating as before. I hastened to the spot to ascer-
tain the matter, when I perceived a huge monster of a shark
sailing along, now near the surface of the water, and now
sinking down, apparently in pursuit of his prey.
4. " At this moment, a native, on the Choppah roof of
one of the boats, with a rope in his hand, which he was
filowly coiling up, surveyed the shark's motions with a look
]30 THE FOURTH READER.
that evidently indicated that he had a serious intention of
encountering him in his own element. Holding the rope,
on which he made a sort of running knot, in one hand, and
stretching out the other arm, as if already in the act of
swimming, he stood in an attitude truly picturesque, waiting
the reappearance of the shark. At about six or eight yards
from the boat, the animal rose near the surface, when the
native instantly plunged in the water, a short distance from
the very jaws of the monster.
5. " The shark immediately turned round and swam
slowly towards the man, who, in his turn, nothing daunted,
struck out the arm that was at liberty, and approached his
foe. When within a foot or two of the shark, the native
dived beneath him, the animal going down almost at the
same instant. The bold assailant in this most frightful con-
test soon re-appeared on the opposite side of the shark,
swimming fearlessly with the hand he had at liberty, and
holding the rope behind his back with the other.
6. ** The shark, which had also by this time made his ap-
pearance, again immediately swam towards him ; and while
the animal was apparently in the act of lifting himself over
the lower part of the native's body, that he might seize upon
his prey, the man, making a strong effort, threw himself up
perpendicularly, and went down with his feet foremost, the
shark following him so simultaneously, that I was fully im-
pressed with the idea, that they had gone down grappling
together.
7. " As far as I could judge, they remained nearly twenty
seconds out of sight, while I stood in breathless anxiety, and,
I may add, horror, waiting the result of this fearful encoun-
ter. Suddenly the native made his appearance, holding up
both hands over his head, and calling out, with a voice that
proclaimed the victory he had won while underneath the
wave, "Tan, — tan!" The people in the boat were all
prepared ; the rope was instantly drawn tight, and the strug-
gling victim lashing the water in his wrath, was dragged to
the shore, and despatched.
8. "When measured, his length was found to be six feet
nine inches ; his girth, at the greatest, three feet seven
inches. The native who achieved this intrepid and dexter-
ous exploit, bore no other marks of his finny enemy than a
cut on the left arm, evidently received from coming in con-
VIRGINIUS AND HIS DAUGHTER. 13I
tact with the tail, or some one of the fins, of the animal. It
did not occur to me to ask if this was the first shark fight
in which he had been engaged ; but, from the preparations
and ready assistance he received from his companions in
the boats, I should suppose that he has more than once dis-
played the same courage and dexterity which so much as-
tonished me. The scene was altogether one I shall never
forget."
LESSON LX. Virginius and his Daughter Virginia.
This is taken from a tragedy, the plot of which is laid in ancient Rome.
Virginias is a Roman patriot, and has become offended with Icilius, for par-
ticipating in a public act, unfriendly to the liberties of the people. At
the same time he suspects that his daughter loves Icilius. His design is, to
learn the truth; which is unwittingly betrayed by Virginia to her father.
Virginia. Well, Father ; what 's your will 1
Virginius. I wished to see you,
To ask you of your tasks, — how go they on, -—
And what your masters say of you, — what last
You did. I hope you never play
The truant ?
Virg. The truant! No, indeed, Virginius.
V. I am sure you do not, — kiss me ! _
Virg. O ! my father,
I am so happy, when you 're kind to me !
V. You are so happy when I'm kind to you '
Am I not always kind ? I never spoke
An angry word to you in all my life,
Virginia ! You are happy when I 'm kind !
That's strange ; and makes me think you have some reason
To fear I may be otherwise than kind.
Is 't so, my girl 1
Virg. Indeed ' I did not know
What I was saying to you !
V. Why ! that 's worse
And worse ! What ! when you said your father's kindness
Made you so happy, am I to believe
You were not thinking of him ?
Virg. I
132 THE FOURTH READER.
V, Go fetch me
The latest task you did. {SJie goes.)
lb enough.
Her artless speech, like crystal, shows the thing
'T would hide, but only covers. 'T is enough !
She loves, and fears her father may condemn.
Virg. {Reentering with a painting.)
Here, Sir !
V. What 's this ?
Virg, 'T is Homer's history
Of great Achilles, parting from Briseis.
V. You have done it well. The coloring is good.
The figure 's well designed. 'T is very well ! —
Whose face is this you 've given to Achilles ?
Virg, Whose face ?
V. I 've seen this face ! Tut ! Tut ! I know it
As well as I do my own ; yet, can't bethink me
Whose face it is !
Virg. You mean Achilles' face !
V. Did I not say so? 'T is the very face
Of No ! No ! Not of him. There 's too much youth
And comeliness ; and too much fire, to suit
The face of Lucius Dentatus.
Virg. O!
You surely never took it for his face !
V. Why, no ; for now I look again, I 'd swear
You lost the copy, ere you drew the head ;
And, to requite Achilles for the want
Of his own face, contrived to borrow one
From Lucius Icilius.
(Here Dentatus enters , and^ after some conversation, he and
Virginius retire.)
Virg. How is it with my heart 1 I feel as one
That has lost every thing, and just before
Had nothing left; to wish for ! He will cast
Icilius off! I never told it yet ;
But take from me, thou gentle air, the secret, —
And ever after breathe more balmy sweet, —
I love Icilius !
CAPTURE OF A WHALE. 133
LESSON LXI. Capture of a Whale.
1. A FEW long and vigorous strokes run the boat of the
whaleman directly up to the broadside of the whale, with
its bows pointing towards one of the fins, which was at
times, as the animal yielded sluggishly to the action of the
waves, exposed to view. The cockswain poised his harpoon
with much precision, and then darted it from him with a
violence that buried the iron in the body of their foe. The
instant the blow was made, Long Tom shouted with singular
earnestness, '* Starn all ! "
2. " Stern all ! " echoed Barnstable; when the obedient
seamen, by united efforts, forced the boat in a backward di-
rection, beyond the reach of any blow from their formidable
antagonist. The alarmed animal, however, meditated no
such resistance ; ignorant of his own power, and of the in-
significance of his enemies, he sought refuge in flight. One
moment of stupid surprise succeeded the entrance of the
iron, when he cast his huge tail into the air with a violence
that threw the sea around him into increased commotion,
and then disappeared with the quickness of lightning, amid
a cloud of foam.
3. " Snub him ! " shouted Barnstable ; " hold on, Tom ; he
rises already." " Ay, ay, Sir," replied the composed cock-
swain, seizing the line which was running out of the boat
with a velocity that rendered such a manoeuvre rather hazard-
ous, and causing it to yield more gradually round the logger-
head, that was placed in the bows of the boat for that purpose.
Presently the line stretched forward, and, rising to the sur-
face with tremulous vibrations, it indicated the direction in
which the animal might be expected to reappear.
4. Barnstable had cast the bows of the boat towards that
point, before the terrified and wounded victim rose once more
to the surface, whose time was, however, no longer wasted in
his sports, but who cast the waters aside as he forced his way,
with prodigious velocity, along their surface. The boat was
dragged violently in his wake, and cut through the billows
with a terrific rapidity, that at moments seemed to bury the
slight fabric in the ocean. When Long Tom beheld his
victim throwing his spouts on high again, he pointed with
12
134 ^HE FOURTH READER.
exultation to the jetting fluid, which was streaked with the
deep red of blood, and cried ;
6. '* Ay, I've touched the fellow's life! It must be more
than two foot of blubber that stops my iron from reaching
the life of any whale that ever sculled the ocean ! "
" I believe you have saved yourself the trouble of using
the bayonet you have rigged for a lance," said his command
er, who entered into the sport with all the ardor of one,
whose youth had been chiefly passed in such pursuits ; " feel
your line, Master Coflin ; can we haul alongside of our en-
emy 1 1 like not the course he is steering, as he tows us
from the schooner."
6. " 'T is the creature's way. Sir," said the cockswain ;
" you know they need the air in their nostrils when they
run, the same as a man ; but lay hold, boys, and let us haul
up to him."
7. The seamen now seized their whale line, and slowly
drew their boat to within a few feet of the tail of the fish,
whose progress became sensibly less rapid, as he grew weak
with the loss of blood. In a few minutes he stopped run-
ning, and appeared to roll uneasily on the water, as if suf-
fering the agony of death,
** Shall we pull in and finish him, Tom ? " cried Barn-
stable ; " a few sets from your bayonet would do it."
The cockswain stood examining his game with cool dis-
cretion, and replied, " There 's no occasion for disgracing
ourselves by using a soldier's weapon in taking a whale.
Starn oflT, Sir ; starn off*! the creature's in his flurry ! "
8. The warning of the prudent cockswain was promptly
obeyed, and the boat cautiously drew off* to a distance, leav-
ing to the animal a clear space while under its dying
agonies.
9. From a state of perfect rest, the terrible monster threw
its tail on high as when in sport, but its blows were trebled
in rapidity and violence, till all was hid from view by a pyr-
amid of foam, that was deeply dyed with blood. The roar-
ings of the fish were like the beliowings of a herd of bulls,
and, to one who was ignorant of the fact, it would have ap-
peared as if a thousand monsters were engaged in deadly
combat behind the bloody mist that obstructed the view.
Gradually these eff*ects subsided, and, when the discolored
water again settled down to the long and regular swell of
^
THE RIVER. 135
the ocean, the fish was seen exhausted and yielding passive-
ly to its fate. As life departed, the enormous black mass
rolled to one side, and, when the white and glistening skin
of the belly became apparent, the seamen well knew that
their victory was achieved.
LESSON LXII. Life,
1. We toil for renown, yet we sigh for repose;
We are happy in prospect, yet restless to-day ;
And we look back on life, from its dawn to its close,
To feel that we 've squandered its treasures away.
^. Though bound by obstructions of clay to our sphere.
Our hearts may aspire to a better to rise ;
But evil the weight is that fixes them here,
For frail are our pinions, and far are the skies.
3. We love, — bqt the object has withered and died,
We are left as a wreck on a desolate shore,
To remember with grief as we gaze on the tide,
That the cherished, the lost, and beloved, are no more.
4. The lost, — the lamented ! Ye cannot return,
To learn how our souls were with yours interwove ;
To see the vain flowers that we strew on the urn.
Or behold from our sorrow how deep was our love.
LESSON LXIIL The River.
1. River! River! little River!
Bright you sparkle on your way ;
O'er the yellow pebbles dancing,
Through the flowers and foliage glancing,
Like a child at play.
2. River ! River ! swelling River !
On you rush o'er rough and smooth, —
136 THE FOURTH READER.
Louder, faster, brawling, leaping
Over rocks, by rose-banks sweeping.
Like impetuous youth.
3. River ! River ! brimming River I
Broad, and deep, and still as time ;
Seeming still, — yet still in motion,
Tending onward to the ocean,
Just like mortal prime.
4. River! River! rapid River!
Swifter now you slip away ;
Swift and silent as an arrow,
Through a channel dark and narrow^
Like life's closing day.
5. River ! River ! headlong River I:
Down you dash into the sea ;
Sea, that line hath never sounded,
Sea, that voyage hath never rounded,
Like eternity.
LESSON LXIV. Reputation.
\. The desire of praise, when it is discreet and moderate,
is always attended with emulation and a strong desire of
excelling ; and, so long as we can stop here, there is no harm
done to ourselves or others.
2. St. Paul exhorts Christians to follow, not only what-
soever things are right, but whatsoever things are of good
report. The love of reputation, therefore, if it be not joined
to a bad disposition, will scarcely of itself lead us to im-
moral actions.
3. Yet the things, which the world generally admires and
praises most, are not the things in their own nature most
valuable. They are those bright abilities and fair endow-
ments, which relate to the present life, and terminate with it.
4. Christian virtues are of a more silent and retired na-
ture. God and good angels approve them ; but the busy
world overlooks them. So that he who principally affects
ANECDOTE OF DWIGHT AND DENNIE. 137
popular approbation, runs some danger of living and dying
well known to others and little known to himself; ignorant
of the state of his own soul, and forgetful of the account
which he has to render up to God.
LESSON LXV. Anecdote of Dwight and Dennie.
1. Some few years since, as Dr. Dwight was travelling
through New Jersey, he chanced to stop at the stage hotel,
in one of its populous towns, for the night. At a late hour
of the same, arrived also at the inn Mr. Dennie, who had
the misfortune to learn from the landlord, that his beds were
all paired with lodgers, except on« occupied by the cele-
brated Dr. Dwight. Show me to his apartment, exclaimed
Dennie ; although I am a stranger to the Reverend Doctor,
perhaps i may bargain with him for my lodgings. "The
landlord accordingly waited on Mr. Dennie to the Doctor's
room, and there left him to introduce himself
2. The Doctor, although in his night-gown, cap, and slip-
pers, and just ready to resign himself to the refreshing arms
of Somnus, politely requested the strange intruder to be
seated. Struck with the physiognomy of his companion, he
then unbent his austere brow, and commenced a literary
conversation.
3. The names of Washington, Franklin, Rittenhouse,
and a host of distinguished and literary characters, for some
time gave a zest and interest to their conversation, until
Dr. Dwight chanced to mention Dennie. '* Dennie, the ed*
itor of the Port Folio," f5ays the Doctor in a rhapsody, " is
the Addison of the United States, — the Father of Ameri-
can belles lettres. But, Sir," continued he, *' is it not as-
tonishing, that a man of such genius, fancy, and feeling,
should abandon himself to the inebriating bowl?"
4. *' Sir," said Dennie, *' you are mistaken. I have been
intimately acquainted with Dennie for several years ; and I
never knew or saw him intoxicated." '* Sir," says the
Doctor, " you err. I have my information from a particular
friend ; I am confident that I am right and you are wrong."
Dennie now ingeniously changed the conversation to the
clergy, remarking, that Abercrombie and Mason were among
12*
138 THE FOURTH READER.
the most distinguished divines ; " nevertheless, he consid-
ered Dr. Dwight, President of Yale College, the most learn-
ed theologian, the first logician, and the greatest poet that
America has produced. But, Sir," continued Dennie,
*' there are traits in his character, unworthy of so wise and
great a man, and of the most detestable description ; he is
the greatest higot and dogmatist of the age ! "
5. " Sir," says the Doctor, " you are grossly mistaken ; I
am intimately acquainted with Dr. Dwight, and I know to
the contrary." *' Sir," says Dennie, "you are mistaken ; I
have it from an intimate acquaintance of his, who I am
confident would not tell me an untruth." *' No more slan-
der ! " says the Doctor ; " I am Dr. Dwight, of whom you
speak ! " '* And I, too," exclaimed Dennie, " am Mr. Dea-
nie, of whom you spoke ! "
The astonishment of Dr. Dwight may be better conceived
than told. Suffice it to say, they mutually shook hands, and
were extremely happy in each other's acquaintance.
LESSON LXVI. On the Death of Professor Fisher,.
Who was lost, with many other passengers, in the Albion, wrecked on the
coast of Ireland, in 1822. He was a Professor in Yale College, and of dis-
tinguished abilities. The second verse refers to the fact that he was going
to Europe to prosecute scientific inquiries,
1. The breath of air, that stirs the harp's soft string.
Floats on to join the whirlwind and the storm ;
The drops of dew, exhaled from flowers of spring.
Rise and assume the tempest's threatening form ;
The first mild beam of morning's glorious sun.
Ere night, is sporting in the lightning's flash ;
And the smooth stream, that flows in quiet on, ^
Moves but to aid the overwhelming dash
That wave and wind can muster, when the might
Of earth, and air, and sea, and sky unite.
2. So science whispered in thy charmed ear,
And radiant learning beckoned thee away.
The breeze was music to thee, and the clear
Beam of thy morning promised a bright day.
THE BATTLE OF BUNKER'S HILL. 139
And they have wrecked thee ! _ But there is a shore
Where storms are hushed, where tempests never L •
Wh^re angry sk.es and blackening seas no more ^ '
With gusty strength, their roaring warfare wase •
By thee its peaceful margent shall be trod I. ^ '
Ihy home is Heaven, and thy friend is God.
LESSON LXVn. /„„•,«.. of tke Battle of Bunker's
^lU. Death and Character of Warren.
place?unTmh'f7T a'h^fl''" '^""^ ''='"'^' ^^''-'^ '""k
bthi "r^^ ^ stf r Sh" ts
rr..!!:! P!"'f ,?<'"«^™«<'. ""d which throws over fhe vTi^!
and chivalry. These two officers were pefsonaji/i^ifonVi-ro
each other, and had, in fact, while serving together in the
former wars, against the French, contracted a close friend-
ship.
2. After the fire from the American works had taken ef-
fect. Major Small, like his commander, remained almost
alone upon the field. His companions in arms had been all
swept away, and, standing thus apart, he became immedi-
ately, from the brilliancy of his dress, a conspicuous mark
for the Americans within the redoubt. They had already
pointed their unerring rifles at his heart, and the delay of
another minute would probably have stopped its pulses for-
ever.
3. At this moment, General Putnam recognised his friend,
and, perceiving the imminent danger in which he was placed,
sprang upon the parapet, and threw himself before the
levelled rifles. *' Spare that officer, my gallant comrades,"
said the noble-minded veteran ; " we are friends ; we are
brothers; do you not remember how we rushed into each
others' arms, at the meeting for the exchange of prisoners?"
This appeal, urged in the well-known voice of a favorite
old chief, was successful, and Major Small retired unmolest-
ed from the field.
4. General Warren had come upon the field, as he said,
to learn the art of war from a veteran soldier. He had
lift THE FOURTH READER
offered to take Colonel Prescott's orders ; but his desperate
co«ra« would hardly permit him immediately to retire It
was not without extreme reluctance, and at the very atest
momen that he quitted the redoubt; and he was slowly
retr^atinV from it, being still at a few rods' distance only,
when the British had obtained full possession. H.s person
was of course in imminent danger.
5 At°hs critical moment, Major Small, whose life had
been faved in a similar emergency by General Putnam at-
tempted to ?equite tlie service by rendermg one of a like
character to Warren. He called out to h.m by name from
the red-bt, and begged him to -rrender at the same J.,ne
ordering the men around him to suspend their fire JVa^en
turned his head as if he recognised the voice, but the effort
tlntr While his face was directed toward the works
:i:.r.,'^.«vlSMthe forehead, and inflicted a wound
6. Had it been the fortune of Warren to live out the
usual term of existence, he would probably have passed with
distinction through a high career of usefulness and glory.
His great powers, no longer limited to the sphere of a single
province, would have directed the councils, or led the armies,
of a vast confederate empire. We should have seen him,
like his contemporaries and fellow-patriots, Washington,
Adams, and Jefferson, sustaining the highest magistracies
at home, or securing the rights and interests of the country
in her most important embassies abroad ; and, at length, in
declining age, illuminating, like them, the whole social
sphere, with the mild splendor of a long and peaceful re-
tirement. This destiny was reserved for them, — for others.
7. To Warren, distinguished, as he was, among the
bravest, wisest, and best of the patriotic band, was assigned^
in the inscrutable decrees of Providence, the crown of early
martyrdom. It becomes not human frailty to murmur at
the will of Heaven ; and, however painful may be the first
emotions excited in the mind by the sudden and premature
eclipse of so much talent and virtue, it may, perhaps, well
be doubted, whether, by any course of active service, in a
civil or military department, General Warren could have
rendered more essential benefit to the country, or to the
cause of liberty throughout the world, than by the single
net of heroic self-devotion which closed his existence. The
CONTENDING PASSIONS. 141
blood of martyrs has been, in all ages, the nourishing rain
of religion and liberty.
8. There are many among the patriots and heroes of the
revolutionary war, whose names are connected with a great-
er number of important transactions; whose biography,
correspondence, and writings fill more pages; and whose
names will occupy a larger space in general history ; but
there is hardly one whose example will exercise a more in-
spiring and elevating influence upon his countrymen and the
world, than that of the brave, blooming, generous, self-
devoted martyr of Bunker's Hill.
9. The contemplation of such a character is the noblest
spectacle which the moral world affords. It is declared by
a poet, to be a spectacle worthy of the gods. It awakens,
with tenfold force, the purifying emotions of admiration and
tenderness, which are represented as the legitimate objects
of tragedy.
10. A death like that of Warren, is, in fact, the most af-
fecting and impressive catastrophe that can ever occur, in
the splendid tragedy which is constantly going on around
us, — far more imposing and interesting, for those who can
enjoy it, than any of the mimic wonders of the drama, —
the real action of life. The ennobling and softening influ-
ence of such events is not confined to contemporaries and
countrymen. The friends of liberty, from all countries, and
throughout all time, as they kneel upon the spot that was
moistened by the blood of Warren, will find their better
feelings strengthened by the influence of the place, and will
gather from it a virtue in some degree allied to his own.
LESSON LXVIII. Contending Passions.
This scene from Shakspeare's play of the " Merchant of Venice," repre-
sents Shylock, a rich and covetous Jew, conversing with his agent Tubal, in
respect to his daughter, who has eloped with Lorenzo, and gone to Genoa. He
is distressed by the absence of liis daugliter, but still more at the loss of jew-
els she took with her ; but his grief is soothed in some degree, l)y learning
that Antonio, a rich Venetian merchant, to whom he owes a mortal grudge,
has met with fatal misfortunes in his business.
ShylocTc, How now. Tubal, what news from Genoa ? Hast
tliou found my daughter ?
143 THE FOURTH READER.
Tubal. I often came where I did hear of her, but cannot
find her.
Shy. Why there, there, there, there! a diamond gone,
cost me two thousand ducats in Frankfort ! The curse
never fell upon our nation till now; I never felt it till now ;
two thousand ducats in that, and other precious, precious
jewels. I would my daughter were dead at my foot, and the
jewels in her ear ! Would she were hearsed at my foot, and
the ducats in her coffin! No news of them? Why, so;
and I know not what 's spent in the search. Why, thou
loss upon loss 1 the thief gone with so much, and so much
to find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge ; nor no ill
luck stirring, but what lights o' my shoulders ; no sighs, but
o' my breathing ; no tears, but o' my shedding.
Tub. Yes, other men have ill luck too ; Antonio, as I
heard in Genoa, —
Shy. What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?
Tub. Hath an argosy cast away, coming from Tripolis.
Shy. I thank God, I thank God. — Is ittrue ? is it true ?
Tub. I spoke with some of the sailors that escaped the
wreck.
Shy. I thank thee, good Tubal. — Good news, good
news ; ha ! ha ! — Where ? in Genoa ?
Tub, Your daughter spent in Genoa, as I heard, one
night, fourscore ducats.
Shy. Thou stick'st a dagger in me ; — I shall never see
my gold again. Fourscore ducats at a sitting! fourscore
ducats !
Tub. There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my
company to Venice, that swear he cannot choose but
break.
Shy. I am very glad of it; I '11 plague him ; I '11 torture
him ; I am glad of it.
Tub. One of them showed me a ring, that he had of ybur
daughter for a monkey.
Shy. Out upon her ! Thou torturest me. Tubal ; it was
my turquoise : I had it of Leah, when I was a bachelor. I
would not have given it for a wilderness of monkeys.
Tub. But Antonio is certainly undone.
Shy. Nay, that 's true, that 's very true. Go, Tubal,
fee me an officer ; bespeak him a fortnight before. I will
have the heart of him, if he forfeit; for were he out of
BAFFLED REVENGE AND HATE. 143
Venice, I can make what merchandise I will. Go, go,
Tubal, and meet me at our synagogue; go, good Tubal; at
our synagogue, Tubal.
LESSON LXIX. Bnffied Revenge and Hate.
This scene is partly explained by the preceding lesson. Shylock, insti-
gated by revenge, is determined to cause the death of Antonio, and seeks to
effect it by claiming the literal fulfilment of a bond, the forfeiture of which
is a pound of flesh near his heart, iu case he, Antonio, is unable to pay the
debt Portia is the wife of Bassanio, disguised as a lawyer from Padua.
The lesson taugiit by it is, that malice draws down evil on the head of him
that designs it, be he Christian or Jew. It would convey a false moral, if
it should be made to cast any reproach on a Jew, as such; for a Jew may
be a good member of society ; and, like every other man, ought to be judged
according to his acts, and not according to any prejudice which current er-
ror or bigotry has established.
DuTce. Give me your hand. Cariie you from old Bellariot
Portia. I did, my lord.
Duke. You are welcome; take your place.
Are you acquainted with the difference
That holds this present question in the court 1
Portia. I am informed thoroughly of the cause.
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?
Duke. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth*
Portia. Is your name Shylock ?
Shylock. Shylock is my name.
Portia. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow ;
Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law
Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed.
You stand within his danger, do you not ?
( To Antonio )
Antonio. Ay, so he says.
Por. Do you confess the bond ?
Ant. I do
Por. Then must the Jew be merciful.
Shy. On what compulsion must 1 1 tell me that
Por. The quality of mercy is not strained ;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed ;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
144 THE FOURTH READER.
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. I have spoke thus much.
To mitigate the justice of thy plea ;
Which, if thou follow this strict court of Venice,
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.
Shi/. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law,
The penalty and forfeit of my bond.
Por. Is he not able to discharge the money?
Bassanio. Yes, here I tender it for him in the court;
Yea, twice the sum ; if that will not suffice,
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er.
Por. It must not be ; there 's no power in Venice
Can alter a decree established ;
'T will be recorded for a precedent ;
And many an error, by the same example,
Will rush into the state ; it cannot be.
Shi/. A Daniel come to judgment ! Yea, a Daniel '
O wise young judge, how do I honor thee !
Por. I pray you, let me look upon the bond.
Shy. Here 't is, most reverend doctor ; here it is.
Por. Shylock, there 's thrice thy money offered thee.
Shi/. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven ;
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul ?
No, not for Venice.
Por. Why, this bond is forfeit ;
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim
A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off
Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful ;
Take thrice thy money ; bid me tear the bond.
Sht/. When it is paid according to the tenor.
It doth appear, you are a worthy judge ;
You know the law; your exposition
Hath been most sound. I charge you by the law.
Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar,
Proceed to judgment ; by my soul I swear,
There is no power in the tongue of man
To alter me. I stay here on my bond.
Ant. Most heartily I do beseech the court
To give the judgment.
BAFFLED REVENGE AND HATE. 145
Por. Why then, thus it is ;
You must prepare your bosom for his knife.
Shy. O noble judge ! O excellent young man
Pur. For the intent and purpose of the law
Hath full relation to the penalty,
Which here appeareth due upon the bond.
Shy. 'T is very true. O wise and upright judge !
How much more elder art thou than thy looks I
Por. Therefore, lay bare your bosom.
Shy. Ay, his breast ;
So says the bond ; doth it not, noble judge ?
Nearest his heart ; those are the very words.
Por. It is so. Are there balance here, to weigh
The flesh ?
Shy. I have them ready.
Por. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge,
To stop his wounds, kst he do bleed to death.
Shy. Is it so nominated in the bond 1
Por. It is not so expressed ; but what of that ?
'T were good you do so much for charity.
Shy. I cannot find it ; 't is not in the bond.
Por. Come, merchant, have you anything to say ?
Ant. But little ; I am armed, and well prepared.
Give me your hand, Bassanio; fare you well 1
Grieve not that I am fallen to this for you ;
For herein fortune shows herself more kind
Than is her custom ; it is still her use,
To let the wretched man outlive his wealth;
To view, with hollow eye and wrinkled brow,
An age of poverty ; from which lingering penance
Of such misery doth she cut me off.
Commend me to your honorable wife;
Tell her the process of Antonio's end ,
Say, how I loved you ; speak me fair in death;
And, when the tale is told, bid her be judge,
Whether Bassanio had not once a love.
Repent not you that you shall lose your friend,
And he repents not that he pays your debt;
For, if the Jew do cut but deep, enough,
I '11 pay it instantly with all my heart.
Por. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine ^
The court awards it, and the law doth give it
18
146 THE FOURTH READER,
Shy. Most rightful judge !
Por. And you must cat this flesh from off his breast ;
The law allows it, and the court awards it.
Shy. Most learned judge I A sentence I come, prepare.
Por. Tarry a little ; there is something else.
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood ;
The words expressly are, a pound of flesh.
Take then thy bond ; take thou thy pound of flesh ;
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods
Are, by the laws of Venice, confiscate
Unto the state of Venice,
Gratiano. O upright judge I — Mark, Jew I — O, learned
judge !
Shy. Is that the law ?
Por. Thyself shall see the act ;
For, as thou urgest justice, be assured,
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest.
Gra. O learned judge ! Mark, Jew ! a learned judge f
Shy. I take this offer then ; pay the bond thrice,
And let the Christian go.
Bas. Here is the money,
Por. Soft;
The Jew shall have all justice ! soft ! no haste ;
He shall have nothing but the penalty.
Gra. O Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge !
Por. Therefore prepare thee to cut ofl* the flesh.
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more,
But just a pound of flesh. If thou takest more
Or less than just a pound, — be it but so much
As makes it light or heavy in the substance
Or the division of the twentieth part
Of one poor scruple ; nay, if the scale do turn
But in the estimation of a hair, —
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate.
Gra. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew !
Now, infidel, I have thee on the hip.
Por. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy forfeiture.
Shy. Give me my principal, and let me go.
Bas. I have it ready for thee ; here it is.
Por. He hath refused it in the open court;
He shall hare merely justice, and his bond.
A SLIDE IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS 147
Gra. A Daniel, still say I ! a second Daniel !
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.
Shi/. Shall I not have barely my principal ?
Por. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.
Shi/. Why, then the devil give him good of it !
I 'II stay no longer question.
Por. Tarry, Jew ;
The law hath yet another hold on you.
It is enacted in the laws of Venice,
If it be proved against an alien.
That, by direct or indirect attempts,
He seek the life of any citizen.
The party, 'gainst the which he doth contrive,
Shall seize one half his goods ; the other half
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ;
And the offender's life lies in the mercy
Of the Duke only, 'gainst all other voice.
In which predicament, I say, thou standest ;
For it appears by manifest proceeding.
That, indirectly, and directly too,
Thou hast contrived against the very life
Of the defendant ; and thou hast incurred
The danger formerly by me rehearsed.
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.
Gra. Beg, that thou mayest have leave to hang thyself;
And yet, thy wealth being forfeit to the state,
Thou hast not left the value of a cord ;
Therefore thou must be hanged at the state's charge.
Duke. That thou shalt see the difference of our spirit,
I pardon thee thy life before thou ask it.
For half thy wealth, it is Antonio's ;
The other ^alf comes to the general state,
LESSON LXX. A Slide in the White Mountains,
1. Robert looked upward. Awful precipices, to the
height of more than two thousand feet, rose above him.
Near the highest pinnacle, and the very one over which
148 THE FOURTH READER.
Abamocho had been seated, the earth had been loosened by
the violent rains. Some slight cause, perhaps the sudden
bursting forth of a mountain spring, had given motion to the
mass; and it was now moving forward, gathering fresh
strength from its progress, uprooting the old trees, unbed-
ding the ancient rocks, and all roiling onwards with a force
and velocity no human barrier could oppose, no created
power resist.
2. One glance told Robert, that Mary must perish ; that
he could not save her. ** But I will die with her! " he ex-
claimed ; and, shaking off the grasp of Mendowit, as he
would a feather, "Mary, oh, Mary ! " he continued, rushing
towards her. She uncovered her head, and made an effort
to rise, and articulated " Robert ! " as he caught and clasped
her to his bosom. ** O, Mary, must we die?" he ex-
claimed. ** We must, we must," she cried, as she gazed
on the rolling mountain in agonizing horror; " why, why
did you come ? "
3. He replied not : but, leaning against the rock, pressed
her closer to his heart; while she, clinging around his neck,
burst into a passion of tears, and, laying her head on his
bosom, sobbed like an infant. He bowed his face upon her
cold, wet cheek, and breathed one cry for mercy; yet, even
then, there was in the hearts of both lovers a feeling of wild
joy in the thought that they should not be separated.
4. The mass came down, tearing, and crumbling, and
sweeping all before it ! The whole mountain trembled, and
the ground shook like an earthquake. The air was dark-
ened by the shower of waters, stones, and branches of trees,
crushed and shivered to atoms ; while the blast swept by
like a whirlwind, and the crash and roar of the convul-
sion were far more appalling than the loudest thunder.
5. It might have been one minute or twenty, — for neither
of the lovers took note of time, — when, in the hush as of
deathlike stillness that succeeded the uproar, Robert looked
around, and saw the consuming storm had passed by. It
had passed, covering the valley, further than the eye could
reach, with ruin. Masses of granite, and shivered trees,
and mountain earth, were heaped high around, filling the
bed of the Saco, and exhibiting an awful picture of the des-
olating track of the avalanche.
6. Only one little spot had escaped its wrath ; and there,
THE PLANTER'S HOME IN FLORIDA. 149
safe, as if sheltered in the hollow of His hand, who notices
the fail of a sparrow, and locked in each other's arms, were
Robert and Mary !
LESSON LXXI. I'm saddest lohen I sing.
h You think I have a merry heart
Because my songs are gay,
But, oh ! they all were taught to me
By friends now far away.
The bird will breathe her silver note
Though bondage binds her wing, —
But is her song a happy one ?
I 'm saddest when I sing 1
2. I heard them first in that sweet home
I never more shall see.
And now each song of joy has got
A mournful turn for me.
Alas ! 't is vain in winter lime
To mock the songs of spring,
Each note recalls some withered leaf, —
I 'm saddest when I sing !
3. Of ai'i t'ne friends I used to love.
My harp remains alone ;
Its faithful voice still seems to be
An echo to my own.
My tears, when I bend over it.
Will fall upon its string,
Yet those who hear me, little think
I 'm saddest when I sing !
LESSON LXXII. The Planter's Home in Florida.
L From this point, our journey to St. Augustine was to
be prosecuted over land. Throughout ihis southern tour,
ffew thitiga had afforded me a greater ^nd of amusement
13*
150 THE FOURTH READER.
than the singularly hap-hazard and disorderly way of living
observable on the farms and plantations ; and I cannot con-
vey to you a better idea of what I mean, than by referring
to what I saw here ; and accordingly beg you, while the
carriage in which we are to pursue our journey is preparing,
to take a quiet peep upon the arrangements, both within and
without.
2. The main dwelling was a frame house, supported above
the level of the ground on stones or logs at the corners.
It stood alone, without a single casement, but with a little
covered gallery in front, from which you could cast your eye
over an extended marshy flat, with an occasional oasis of
tall cabbage-tree palmettos, or brushwood.
3. The interior was divided into two or three dwelling
and sleeping apartments, and so furnished, as to admit of a
degree of comfort in hot weather, but comfortless enough
else.
4. The necessary adjuncts to a large dwelling-house and
plantation, instead of being in orderly and convenient con-
tiguity to the principal mansion, were dispersed within or
about the fenced enclosure as follows. The safe and the
pantry stood about five paces from the front door, overshad-
owed by a fine mulberry tree.
5. The smoke-house was three paces further to the right ;
the log-built kitchen as far, but rather more in front, to the
left ; the flour-mill and cart-shed still further in the rear under
a palmetto thatch ; the sugar-mill and boiling-house, and seven
other sheds and out-houses, of all forms and dimensions,
were to be seen scattered about, as though they had been
shaken together in a blanket, and suffered to fall at random
on the earth, at a moderate distance from each other.
6. Then there was the dove-cote, and a quadrangular
paled enclosure overshadowed by trees, formed the place of
a family sepulture at some distance beyond the outer gale.
The vice and the anvil were each lying in a different place;
the step-ladder was lodged in a fork of the mulberry tree ;
the wheelbarrow and chopping-machine were half hidden
in the rank grass in a corner of the yard, where a fine fig-
tree overhung the angle of the fence ; the axe and chopping-
block reposed in one corner, and the carpenter's table in
another.
7. Bridles and a grease-pot hung in a tree, and the plough
IRISH BULLS. 151
was thrust behind the house under the flooring. A broken-
down gig, without wheels, peered out from under the shed.
8. As to the rest, cocks and hens, and Muscovy-ducks,
crowded the enclosure, and walked and waddled in and out
of the house. Five or six dogs are still to be added to my
inventory. They all seemed bitten beyond bearing by the
musquetoes and sand-flies, and now and then came together
to whine and to scratch each other.
9. Lastly, before the open gate to the south, stood our
vehicle, the simplicity of whose springs would certainly have
excluded it from paying the tax in England, — with the two
beasts of draught, the one a stallion called Pound-cake, and
the other a mule, who wagged his long ears at the call of
John !
1 0. In this we took our seats, and, after a long and wea-
risome day's journey of forty miles, over horrible roads,
through a wilderness of saw-palmetto, swamps, and groves
of cabbage-palm, jolted almost to dislocation of our bones,
and bitten by musquetoes to the utter loss of patience, we
found ourselves rumbling, after dark, through the ruined
gateways and narrow streets of St. Augustine.
LESSON LXXIIL Irish Bulls.
L Beside the attachment of the Irish to old customs,
their acknowledged pugnacity, and that improvident rest-
lessness, which helps them rather to get into scrapes than out
of them, common fame assigns to them another peculiar
and striking characteristic. I mean a laughable confusion
of ideas, which is expressed by the word " bull," — a term
derived from the Dutch, and signifying a blunder.
2. Whether or not the Irish are more addicted than others
to this species oi faux pas, there cannot be a doubt, that
much of what is attributed to them is imaginary, and, so far
as it might seem to imply any intellectual imperfection, that
it is the mere invention of ill-natured prejudice.
3. A person, in using another language than his own, fre-
quently makes mistakes, and it should be remembered that
English is not the mother tongue of an Irishman. A
Frenchman once speaking to Dr. Johnson, and intending
152 THE FOURTH READER.
to pay him a compliment by alluding to the Rambler,
which at that time was the theme of universal admira-
tion, addressed him as Monsieur Vagabond, — the word
vagabond in French being synonymous with rambler. An
Italian gentleman in speaking to an American lady, and
intending to say that she had grown somewhat fleshy, since
he had seen her, said, *' Madam, you have gained very much
beef since I saw you ! "
4, Such mistakes as these are often made by foreigners ;
but good taste dictates, that they should be passed over with-
out remark, or in that polite manner, in which a Frenchman
is said to have noticed a blunder of Dr. Moore's. *' I am
afraid," said the Doctor, " that the word I have used is not
French." " No," said the Frenchman, ** it is not, — but it
deserves to be."
5. Such is the tolerance we extend to the blunders of
foreigners, speaking a language with which they are imper-
jfectly acquainted, unless, forsooth, they chance to be Hiber-
nians. In that case the rule is reversed, of course. A poor
Irishman, once being called upon to testify in court, was
suddenly asked by the judge, " Who and what are you 1 "
Pat was fresh from Baliymony, and his knowledge of
English was limited, but he did the best he could. ** Plase
your honor," said he, " I am a poor widow," meaning wid-
ower.
6. Now this mistake was no worse than what we hear from
others in similar situations ; bui, considering that the blun-
der was from an Irishman, who would consider himself
restrained from laughter by any polite regard to the man's
feelings, or fail to discover in this instance, an unquestion-
able specimen of the genuine Irish bull ? If a large portion
of imputed Irish bulls are thus mere common-place blun-
ders, such as all foreigners are liable to make in speaking
any other than their native tongue, there is a still larger por-
tion that are attributed to the Irish, which may claim a
different paternity,
7, Many of our common proverbs, to which we have
given a local habitation and a name, are in fact borrowed
from other countries ; " You carry coals to Newcastle,"
might seern to claim John Bull for its father ; but the senti-
ment had existed for ages before John Bull himself was
born. '^ You carry oil to a city of olives," is a Hebrew
IRISH BULLS. 153
proverb, that has been in use for three thousand years, and
*♦ You carry pepper to Hindostan," is an Eastern adage of
perhaps as great antiquity.
8. The fact is nearly the same in regard to many of the
pithy sayings, smart jokes, and witty repartees, which are in
common use among us, and are attributed to well-known in-
dividuals. A large part of Joe Miller's jokes, pretending to
have originated with Englishmen, are told in France, Ger-
many, Russia, Turkey, Persia, and China, and in like man-
ner descend from generation to generation, being succes-
sively attributed to such characters as they may suit. Some
scandalous story being told of Dr. Bellamy, a person asked
him if it were true. *'No;" said the Doctor; "some
fellow invented it and laid it to me ; but the rascal knew
me."
9. It is this suitableness of an anecdote to an individual,
that often gives it much additional point. The discreet
story-teller, therefore, always seeks to find some hero, to
whom he may impute his tale, in the hope, that he may give
to it this adventitious zest. An American was once telling
some anecdote of Ethan Allen of Vermont, to a German, —
remarking, by the way, that it must be true, for his grand-
father was present, and witnessed the fact. " It 's a good
story, certainly," said the German, " but I have heard the
same told of my great-grandfather. Baron von Hottingen,
ever since 1 was a boy."
10. This incident throwlfa great deal of light upon our
subject. Let anyone acquire a reputation for any particular
thing, and every anecdote from the time of Confucius down
to the present day, that may seem to be illustrative of the
qualities of this individual, is told of him. Thus it is, that
Ethan Allen is the hero of many wild adventures that he
never achieved, and the witty Lord Norbury is credited for
many a stood joke, which he never uttered.
11. There is nothing like starting with a character before-
hand, even though it may be the outright invention of igno-
rant prejudice. It is to this circumstance, that the New
England Yankee is indebted for the credit among our
Southern brethren of inventing wooden nutmegs, oak-leaf
cigars, horn flints, and other ingenious modes of cheating in
trade. It is from this circumstance, that the Irish are
credited for every ludicrous blunder, to whomsoever it may
properly belong.
%>^
154 THE FOURTH READER.
12. It was an English, not an Irish orator, who said, in
the British House of Commons, '* that the proposed tax on
leather would be an insupportable burden to the barefooted
peasantry of Ireland ! " It was an English, not an Irish
poet, who says ;
" A painted vest prince Vortigern had on,
Which from a naked Pict his grandsire won."
13. It was a French philosopher, M. Joinville, who, being
prepared to observe an eclipse of the sun, at which the kmg
was to be present, said to M, Cassini, " Shall we not wait for
the king before we begin the eclipse ? " It was a French
gentleman, who, hearing a lady exclaim against the inhu-
manity of Buffon, in dissecting his own cousin, lemarked ;
" But, my dear Madam, the man who was dissected was
dead !" It was also a Frenchman, who, being asked by a
young man for his only daughter in marriage, exclaimed ;
"No, Sair; if I had fifty only daughters, I would not give
you one of them."
14. Such are a few samples of genuine foreign bulls ;
but what story-teller, bringing them to market, and wishing
to get for them the highest price, — a hearty laugh, — would
fail of attributincr them to the Irish ?
LESSON LXXIV. The Town Pump.
1. Noon, by the north clock ! Noon, by the east! High
noon, too, by these hot sunbeams, which fall, scarcely aslope,
upon my head, and almost make the water bubble and
smoke in the trough under my nose. Truly, we public
characters have a tough time of it. And, among all the
town officers, where is he that sustains, for a single year,
the burden of such manifold duties as are imposed, in per-
petuity, upon the Town Pump ?
2. The title of town treasurer is rightfully mine, as guar-
dian of the best treasure that the town has. The overseers
of the poor ought to make me their chairman, since I provide
bountifully for the pauper, without expeiise to him that pays
taxes. I am at the head of the fire department, and one of
■ THE TOWN PUMP. 155
the physicians of the board of health. As a keeper of the
peace, all water-drinkers will confess me equal to the consta-
ble. I perform some of the duties of the town-clerk, by pro-
mulgating public notices, when they are posted on my front.
Sr To speak within bounds, I am the chief person of the
municipality, and exhibit, moreover, an admirable pattern to
my brother officers, by the cool, steady, upright, downright,
and impartial discharge of my business, and the constancy
with which I stand to my post. Summer or winter, nobody
seeks me in vain ; for, all day long, I am seen at the busiest
corner, just above the market, stretching out my arms, to
rich and poor alike; and at night, I hold a lantern over my
head, both to show where I am, and keep people out of the
gutters.
4. At this solitary noontide, I am cup-bearer to the parch-
ed populace, for whose benefit an iron goblet is chained to
my waist. Like a dram-seller on the mall, at muster-day, I
cry aloud to all and sundry, in my plainest accents, and at
the very tip-top of my voice. Here it is, gentlemen 1 Here
is the good liquor ! Walk up, walk up, gentlemen, walk up,
walk up ! Here is the superior stuff 1 Here is the unadul-
terated ale of father Adam, — better than Cognac, Hollands,
Jamaica, strong beer, or wine of any price ; here it is, by
the hogshead or the single glass, and not a cer>t to pay !
Walk up, gentlemen, walk up, and help yourselves !
5. It were a pity, if all this outcry should draw no cus-
tomers. Here they come. A hot day, gentlemen ! Q,uaff, and
away again, so as to keep yourselves in a nice cool sweat.
You, my friend, will need another cup-full, to wash the dust
out of your throat, if it be as thick there as it is on your
cow-hide shoes. 1 see that you have trudged half a score
of miles to-day, and, like a wise man, have passed by the
taverns, and stopped at the running brooks and well-curbs.
6. Drink and make room for that other fellow, who seeks
my aid to quench the fiery fever of last night's potations,
which he drained from no cup of mine. Welcome, most
rubicund Sir! You and I have been great strangers,
hitherto; nor, to confess the truth, will my nose be anxious
for a closer intimacy, till the fumes of your breath be a little
less potent.
7. Mercy on you, man ! the water absolutely hisses down
your red-hot throat, and is converted quite to steam, in the
166 THE FOURTH READER.
miniature Tophet which you mistake for a stomach. Fill
again, and tell me, on the word of an honest toper, did you
ever, in cellar, tavern, or any kind of a dram-shop, spend
the price of your children's food for a swig half so deli-
cious? Now, for the first time these ten years, you know
the flavor of cold water. Good by ; and, whenever you are
thirsty, remember that 1 keep a constant supply, at the old
stand.
8. Who next? O, my little friend, you are let loose from
school, and come hither to scrub your blooming face, and
drown the memory of certain taps of the ferule, and other
schoolboy troubles, in a draught from the Town Pump. Take
it, pure as the current of your young life. Take it, and
may your heart and tongue never be scorched with a fiercer
thirst than now !
9. There, my dear child, put down the cup, and yield
your place to this elderly gentleman, who treads so tenderly
over the paving stones, that I suspect he is afraid of break-
ing them. What ! he limps by, without so much as thank-
ing me, as if my hospitable offers were meant only for peo-
ple who have no wine-cellars. Well, well, Sir, no harm
done, 1 hope.
10. Go draw the cork, tip the decanter; but when your
great toe shall set you a roaring, it will be no affair of mine.
If gentlemen love the pleasant titillation of the gout, it is all
one to the Town Pump. This thirsty dog, with his red
tongue lolling out, does not scorn my hospitality, but stands
on his hind legs, and laps eagerly out of the trough. See
how lightly he capers away again ! Jowler, did your wor-
ship ever have the gout ?
11. Your pardon, good people! I must interrupt my
stream of eloquence, and spout forth a stream of water, to
replenish the trough for this teamster and his two yoke of
oxen, who have come from Topsfield, or somewhere along
that way. No part of my business is pleasanter than the
watering of cattle. Look ! how rapidly they lower the
water-mark on the sides of the trough, till their capacious
stomachs are moistened with a gallon or two apiece, and
they can afford time to breathe it in, with sighs of calm en-
joyment. Now they roll their quiet eyes around the brim of
their monstrous drinking-vessel. An ox is your true toper.
12. I hold myself the grand reformer of the age. From my
THE TOWN PUMP. 157
spout, and such spouts as mine, must flow the stream, that
shall cleanse our earth of the vast portion of its crime and
anguish, which has gashed from the fiery fountains of the
still. In this mighty enterprise, the cow shall be my great
confederate. Milk and water !
13. The Town Pump and the cow! Such is the glorious
copartnership, that shall tear down the distilleries and brew-
houses, uproot the vineyards, shatter the cider-uresses, ruin
the spirit trade, and, finally, monopolize the whole business
of quenching thirst. Blessed consummation ! Then Pov-
erty shall pass away from the land, finding no hovel so
wretched, where her squalid form may shelter itself
14. Then Disease, for lack of other victims, shall gnaw
his own heart, and die. Then Sin, if she do not die, shall
lose half her strength. Until now, the frenzy of heredita-
ry fever has raged in the human blood, transmitted from sire
to son, and rekindled, in every generation, by fresh draughts
of liquid flame. When that inward fire shall be extinguish-
ed, the heat of passion cannot but grow cool, and war, —
the drunkenness of nations, — perhaps will cease.
15. At least, there will be no war of households. The
husband and wife, drinking deep of peaceful joy, — a calm
bliss of temperate affections — shall pass hand in hand
through life, and lie down, not reluctantly, at its protracted
close. To them, the past will be no turmoil of mad dreams,
nor the future an eternity of such moments as follow the de-
lirium of the drunkard. Their dead faces shall express
what their spirits were, and are to be, by a lingering smile
of memory and hope.
16. Ahem ! Dry work, this speechifying, especially to all
unpractised orators. I never conceived, till now, what toil
the temperance lecturers undergo for my sake. Hereafter,
they shall have the business to themselves. Do, some kind
Christian, pump a stroke or two, just to wet my whistle.
Thank you. Sir.
17. My dear hearers, when the world shall have been re-
generated, by my instrumentality, you will collect your use-
less vats and liquor-casks, into one great pile, and make a
bonfire, in honor of the Town Pump. And when I shall
have decayed, like my predecessors, then, if you revere my
memory, let a marble fountain, richly sculptured, take my
place upon this spot. Such monuments should be erected
14
158 THE FOURTH READER.
everywhere, and inscribed with the names of the distin-
guished champions of my cause.
LESSON LXXV. Colloquial Powers of Dr, Franklin.
1. Never have I known such a fireside companion as ho
was ! Great as he was, both as a statesman and a philoso-
pher, he never shone in a light more winning than when he
was seen in a domestic circle. It was once my good for-
tune to pass two or three weeks with him, at the house of a
private gentleman, in the back part of Pennsylvania ; and
we were confined to the house, during the whole of that
time, by the unintermitting constancy and depth of the
snows.
2. But confinement could never be felt where Franklin
was an inmate. His cheerfulness and colloquial powers
spread around him a perpetual spring. When I speak, how-
ever, of his colloquial powers, I do not mean to awaken any
notion analogous to that which Boswell has given us, when
he so frequently mentions the colloquial powers of Dr. John-
son. The conversation of the latter continually reminds
one of " the pomp and circumstance of glorious war."
3. It was, indeed, a perpetual contest for victory, or an
arbitrary and despotic exaction of homage to his superior
talents. It was strong, acute, prompt, splendid^ and vocifer-
ous; as loud, strong, and sublime, as those winds which he
represents as shaking the Hebrides, and rocking the old
castles that frowned upon the dark-rolling sea beneath. But
one gets tired of storms, however sublime they may be, and
longs for the more orderly current of nature. Of Franklin,
no one ever became tired. There was no ambition of elo-
quence, no effort to shine, in anything which came from him.
There was nothing which made any demand, either upon
your allegiance or your admiration.
4. His manner was as unaffected as infancy. It was na-
ture's self He talked like an old patriarch ; and his plain-
ness and simplicity put you, at once, at your ease, and gave
you the full and free possession, and use of all your faculties.
His thoughts were of a character to shine by their own
light, without any adventitious aid. They required only a
TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN. 159
medium of vision like his pure and simple style, to exhibit,
to the highest advantage, their native radiance and beauty.
5. His cheerfulness was unremitting. It seemed to be as
much the effect of the systematic and salutary exercise of
the mind as of its superior organization. His wit was of
the first order. It did not show itself merely in occasional
coruscations, but, without any effort or force on his part, it
shed a constant stream of the purest light over the whole of
his discourse. Whether in the company of commoners or
nobles, he was always the same plain man ; always most
perfectly at his ease, his faculties in full play, and the full
orb of his genius forever clear and unclouded.
6. And then the stores of his mind were inexhaustible. He
had commenced life with an ambition so vigilant, that noth-
ing had escaped his observation, and a judgment so solid,
that every incident was turned to advantage. His youth
had not been wasted in idleness, nor overcast by intemper-
ance. He had been all his life a close and deep reader, as
well as thinker ; and, by the force of his own powers, had
wrought up the raw materials, which he had gathered from
books, with such exquisite skill and felicity, that he had add-
ed a hundred fold to their original value, and justly made
them his own.
LESSON LXXVI. To an East Indian Gold Coin
1. Slave of the dark and dirty mine!
What vanity has brought thee here?
How can I love to see thee shine
So bright, whom I have bought so dear ?
The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear,
For twilight converse, arm in arm ;
The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear,
When mirth and music wont to charm.
2. By Cherical's dark wandering streams.
Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild,
Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams
Of Teviot, loved while still a child ;
Of castled rocks, stupendous piled
160 THEVOURTH READER.
By Esk or Eden's classic wave ;
Where loves of youth and friendship smiled
Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave.
3. Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fadel-
The perished bliss of youth's first prime,
That once so bright on fancy played,
Revives no more in after-time.
Far from my sacred natal clime,
I haste to an untimely grave ;
The daring thoughts, that soared sublime,
Are sunk in ocean's southern wave.
4. Slave of the mine ! thy yellow light
Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. —
A gentle vision comes by night
My lonely widowed heart to cheer ;
Her eyes are dim with many a tear,
That once were guiding stars to mine;
Her fond heart throbs with many a fear! —
I cannot bear to see thee shine.
5. For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave !
I left a heart that loved me true !
I crossed the tedious ocean-wave,
To roam in climes unkind and new.
The cold wind of the stranger blew
Chill on my withered heart ; — the grave,
Dark and untimely, met my view, —
And all for thee, vile yellow slave!
6. Ha ! com'st thou now so late, to mock
A wanderer's banished heart forlorn ;
Now that his frame the lightning shock
Of sun-rays tipped with death has borne?
From love, from friendship, country, torn.
To memory's fond regrets the prey.
Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn ! —
Go mix thee with thy kindred clay !
ELOQUENCE OF JOHN ADAMS. 161
LESSON LXXVII. Eloquence of John Adams.
This is given, in Mr. Webster's Eulogy, not as an actual speech of Mr.
Adams, but as an imitation, illustrating his fervor, decision, and patriotic
devotion.
1. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give
my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that
in the beginning we aimed not at independence. But there
is a Divinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of
England has driven us to arms; and, blinded to her own
interest for our good, she has obstinately persisted, till inde-
pendence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach
forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the
declaration? Is any man so weak as now to hope for a
reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety
to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life and
his own honor ?
2. Are not you, Sir, who sit in that chair, is not he,
our venerable colleague near you, arc you not both already
the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and
of vengeance 1 Cut off from all hope of royal clemen-
cy, what are you, what can you be, while the power of
England remains, but outlaws? If we postpone indepen-
dence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up, the war?
Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall
be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden
down in the dust ?
3. I know we do not mean to submit. We never shall
submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obliga-
tion ever entered into by men, that plighting before God, of
our sacred honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to
incur the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards of
the times, we promised to adhere to him, in every extremity,
with our fortunes and our lives? I know there is not a
man here, who would not rather see a general conflagration
sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot
or tittle of that plighted faith fall to the ground.
4. For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place,
moved you, that George Washington be appointed coinman-
der of the forces, raised or to be raised, for defence of Amer-
ieaa liberty, may my right hand forget her cunning, and mv
14*
162 THE FOURTH READER.
tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or wa-
ver in the support I give him. The war, then, must go on.
We must fight it through. And, if the war must go on, why
put off longer the Declaration of Independence ? That
measure will strengthen us.
5. It will give us character abroad. The nations will
then treat with us, which they can never do, while we ac-
knowledge ourselves subjects, in arms against our sovereign.
Nay, I maintain, that England herself will sooner treat for
peace with us on the footing of independence, than consent,
by repealing her acts, to acknowledge, that her whole con-
duct towards us has been a course of injustice and oppres-
sion.
6. Her pride will be less wounded by submitting to that
course of things which now predestinates our independence,
than by yielding the points in controversy to her rebellious
subjects. The former she would regard as the result of for-
tune ; the latter she would feel as her own deep disgrace.
Why then, why then, Sir, do we not, as soon as possible,
change this from a civil to a national war ? And, since we
must fight it through, why not put ourselves in a state to
enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the victory ?
7. If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall
not fail. The cause will raise up armies ; the cause will
create navies. The people, the people, if we are true to
them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously
through this struggle. I care not how fickle other people
have been found. I know the people of these colonies, and
I know that resistance to British aggression is deep and set-
tled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Every colo-
ny, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but
take the lead.
8. Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with in-
creased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for res-
toration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered
immunities, held under a British king, set before them the
glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe
into them anew the breath of life. Read this declaration at
the head of the army; every sword will be drawn from its
scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, or
to perish on the bed of honor.
9. Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it,
ELOQUENCE OF JOHN ADAMS. 163
and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, resolved
to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls ;
proclaim it there ; let them hear it, who heard the first roar
of the enemy's cannon ; let them see it, who saw their
brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker's Hill, and
in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the very walls
will cry out in its support.
10. Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs ; but I
see, I see clearly, through this day's business. You and I,
indeed, may rue it. We may not live to the time when this
declaration will be made good. We may die; die colonists;
die slaves ; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaf-
fold. Be it so. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of Heaven,
that my country shall require the poor offering of my life,
the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice,
come when that hour may. But, while I do live, let me
have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and that
a free country.
11. But whatever may be our fate, be assured, be as-
sured, that this declaration will stand. It may cost treas-
ure, and it may cost blood ; but it will stand, and it will richly
compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the
present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in
heaven. We shall make this a glorious day. When we are
in our graves, our children will honor it. They will cele-
brate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and
illuminations. On its annual return, they will shed tears,
copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of
agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, and of
joy-
12. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My
judgment approves this measure and my whole heart is in it.
All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope in this
life, I am now ready here to stake upon it ; and I leave ofT,
as I begun, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the
declaration. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing
of God, it shall be my dying sentiment; independence now^
and Independence forever.
164 THE FOURTH READER
LESSON LXXVIII. To the Rainbow
1. Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art ; —
2. Still seem as to my childhood's sight,
A midway station, given
For happy spirits to alight
Betwixt the earth and heaven.
3. Can all that optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so.
As when I dreamed of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow ?
4. When Science from Creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place
To cold, material laws!
5. And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.
3. When o'er the green undeluged earth
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine,
How came the world's gray fathers forth
To watch thy sacred sign.
7. And when its yellow lustre smiled
O'er mountains yet untrod.
Each mother held aloft her child
To bless the bow of God.
8. Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem rang
On earth, delivered from the deep,
And the first poet sang.
SCENE ON THE MISSISSIPPI. 165
9. Nor ever shall the Muse's eye
Unraptured greet thy beam ;
Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the poet's theme !
10. The earth to thee her incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings,
When, glittering in the freshened fields.
The snowy mushroom springs.
11. How glorious is thy girdle cast
O'er mountain, tower, and town,
Or mirrored in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down !
12. As fresh, in yon horizon dark.
As young thy beauties seem.
As when the eagle from the ark,
First sported in thy beam,
13. For, faithful to its sacred page,
Heaven still rebuilds its span.
Nor lets the type grow pale with age
That first spoke peace to man.
LESSON LXXIX. Scene on the Mississippi.
1. In the spring, one hundred boats have been numbered,
that landed in one day at the mouth of the Bayou, at New
Madrid. I have strolled to the point in a spring evening,
and seen them arriving in fleets.
2. The boisterous gayety of the hands, the congratula-
tions, the moving picture of life on board the boats in the
numerous animals, large and small, which they carry, their
different loads, the evidence of the increasing agriculture of
the country above, and, more than all, the immense distan-
ces which they have already come, and those which they
have still to go, afforded to me copious sources of medi-»
tation.
3. You can name no point from the numerous rivers of
166 THE FOURTH READER.
the Ohio and the Mississippi, from which some of these
boats have not come. In one place there are boats loaded
with planks from the pine forests of the south-west of New
York. In another quarter, there are the Yankee notions of
Ohio ; from Kentucky, pork, flour, whiskey, hemp, tobacco,
bagging, and bale-rope.
4. From Tennessee there are the same articles, together
with great quantities of cotton. From Missouri and Illi-
nois, are cattle and horses, and the same articles generally as
from Ohio, together with peltry and lead from Missouri.
Some boats are loaded with corn in the ear and in bulk ;
others with barrels of apples and potatoes.
5. Some have loads of cider, and what they call " cider
royal," or cider that has been strengthened by boiling or
freezing. There are dried fruits, every kind of spirit man-
ufactured in these regions, and, in short, the products of the
ingenuity and agriculture of the whole upper country of the
West.
6. They have come from regions, thousands of miles
apart. They have floated to a common point of union.
The surfaces of the boats cover some acres. Dunghill fowls
are fluttering over the roofs, as an invariable appendage.
Chanticleer raises his piercing note. The swine utter
their cries. The cattle low. The horses trample, as in
their stables.
7. There are boats fitted on purpose, and loaded entirely
with turkeys, that, having little else to do, gobble most furi-
ously. The hands travel about from boat to boat, make
inquiries and acquaintances, and form alliances to yield
mutual assistance to each other, on their descent from this
place to New Orleans. After an hour or two passed in this
way, they spring on shore to raise the wind in town.
8. It is well for the people of the village, if they do not
become riotous in the course of the evening ; in which case,
I have often seen the most summary and strong measures
taken. About midnight the uproar is all hushed. The
fleet unites once more at Natchez, or New Orleans ; and,
although they live on the same river, they may, perhaps,
never meet each other again, on the earth.
9. Next morning, at the first dawn, the bugles sound.
Everything in and about the boats, that has life, is in motion.
The boats, in half an hour, are all under way. In a littlo
SCENE ON THE MISSISSIPPI. IQ"^
while, they have all disappeared, and nothing is seen, as be-
fore they came, but the regular current of the river.
10. In passinfir down the Mississippi, we often see a
number of boats lashed and floating together. I was once
on board a fleet of eight, that were in this way moving on
together. It was a considerable walk, to travel over the
roofs of this floating town. On board of one boat they were
killing swine. In another they had apples, cider, nuts, and
dried fruit. One of the boats was a retail or dram shop.
It seems, that the object, in lashing so many boats, had been
to barter, and obtain supplies.
Jl. These confederacies often commence in a frolic and
end in a quarrel, in which case the aggrieved party dissolves
the partnership by unlashing, and managing his own boat in
his own way. While this fleet of boats is floating separate-
ly, but each carried by the same current, nearly at the same
rate, visits take place from boat to boat in skiffs.
12. While I was at New Madrid, a large tinner's estab-
lishment floated there in a boat. In it all the different
articles of tin-ware were manufactured, and sold by whole-
sale and retail. There were three large apartments, where
the different branches of the art were carried on in this
floating manufactory.
13. When they had mended all the tin, and vended all
that they could sell, in one place, they floated on to another.
A still more extraordinary manufactory, we were told, was
floating down the Ohio, and shortly expected at New Madrid.
Aboard this were manufactured axes, scythes, and all other
iron tools of this description, and in it horses were shod.
14. In short, it was a complete blacksmith's shop of a
higher order ; and it is said that they jestingly talked of hav-
ing a trip-hammer, worked by a horse-power, on board. I
have frequently seen in this region a dry-goods shop in a
boat, with its articles very handsomely arranged on shelves.
Nor would the delicate hands of the vender have disgraced
the spruce clerk behind our city counters.
15. It is now common to see flat-boats worked by a buck-
et-wheel, and a horse-power, after the fashion of steamboat
movement. Indeed, every spring brings forth new contriv-
ances of this sort, the result of the farmer's meditations
over his winter's fire.
168 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON LXXX. The Cap of Liberty.
The following passage from the drama of " William Tell," represents a
piece of authentic history. Gesler, tlie Austrian governor of Switzerland,
about the year 1300, caused his hat or cap to Ije placed on a pole, and the
people were ordered to bow down to it. William Tell, a gallant Swiss
patriot, refused, and was consequently imprisoned. He afterwards escaped,
and, in conjunction witli otiier patriots, freed his country from the Austrian
dominion.
(Enter Sarnem, with soldiers, bearing Gesler' s cap upon a
pole, which he Jixes into the ground, the people looking
on in silence and amazement ; the guards station them-
selves near the pole. ) ^
Sarnem. Ye men of Altorf!
Behold the emblem of your master's power
And dignity. This is the cap of Gesler,
Your Governor ; let all bow down to it
Who owe him love and loyalty. To such
As shall refuse this lawful homage, or
Accord it sullenly, lie shows no grace,
But dooms them to the penalty of the bondage
Till they 're instructed. 'T is no less their gain
Than duty, to obey their master's mandate.
Conduct the people hither, one by one,
To bow to Gesler's cap.
Tell. Have I my hearing 1
{Peasants pass, taking off their hats, and bowing to Gesler's
cap as they pass.)
Verner. Away ! Away !
Tell. Or sight ? They do it, Verner !
They do it ! — Look ! — Ne'er call me man again !
I '11 herd with baser animals ! They keep
Their stations. Still the dog's a dog. The reptile
Doth know his proper rank, and sinks not to
The uses of the grade below him. — Man !
Man I that doth hold his head above them all,
Doth ape them all. He 's man, and he 's the reptile.
Look ! Look ! Have I the outline of that caitiff,
Who to the servile earth doth bend the crown
His God did rear for him to Heaven ? *
THE CAP OF LIBERTY. 169
Verner. Away,
Before they mark us.
Tell. No ! no ! since I 've tasted,
I '11 e'en feed on.
A spirit 's in me likes it. Draw me not
Away ! I swear I will not leave off yet ;
I would be full, — full, — full I I will not budge,
Whatever be the cost !
(Pierre passes the cap, smiles, and bows slightly.)
Sar. What smiled you at?
Pierre. You saw 1 bowed as low as he did.
Sar. But
You smiled. How dared you smile?
Tell. Good ! good !
Sar. (Striking him.) Take that ;
And learn, when you do smile again, to do 't
In season.
Verner. ( Takes hold of TelVs arm.) Come away.
Tell. Not yet, — not yet.
Why would you have me quit the fare, you see,
Grows better and better ?
Verner. You change color.
Tell. Do I?
And so do you.
Sar. (Striking another.) Bow lower, slave !
Tell. Do you feel
That blow. My flesh doth tingle with 't. Well done !
How pleasantly the knave doth lay it on !
Well done ! well done ! I would it had been I !
Ver. You tremble, William. Come, you must not stay.
Tell. Why not 1 What harm is there ? I tell thee, Verner,
I know no difference 'twixt enduring wrong
And living in the fear on 't. I do wear
The tyrant's fetters, when it only wants
His nod to put them on ; and bear his stripes
When, that I suffer them, he needs but hold
His finger up. Verner, you 're not the man
To be content because a villain's mood
Forbears. You 're right, — you 're right ? Have with you,
Verner.
'•^^^ i^^^^^ Michael through the crowd.)
170 THE FOURTH READER
Sar. Bow, slave. {Tell stops and turns,)
Michael. For what? (Laughs.)
Sar. Obey, and question then.
Mic. I '11 question now, perhaps not then obey.
Tell. A man ! a man !
Sar. 'T is Gcsler's will, that all
Bow to that cap.
Mic. Were it thy lady's cap
I 'd curtsy to it.
Sar. Do you mock us, friend ?
Mic. Not I. I '11 bow to Gesler, if you please,
But not his cap, nor cap of any he
In Christendom !
Tell. A man ! I say a man !
Sar. I see you love a jest ; but jest not now j
Else you may make us mirth, and pay for 't too.
Bow to the cap.
Tell. The slave would honor him.
Holds he but out !
Sar. Do you hear ?
Mic. I do.
Tell. Well done!
The lion thinks as much of cowering
As he does !
Sar. Once for all, bow to that cap.
Tell. Verner, let go my arm !
Sar. Do you hear me, slave ?
Mic. Slave !
Tell. Let me go !
Ver. He is not worth it, Tell ;
A Wild and idle gallant of the town.
Tell. A man ! I '11 swear, a man ! Don't hold me,
Verner.
Verner, let go my arm ! Do you hear me, man ?
You must not hold me, Verner.
Sar. Villain, bow
To Gesler's cap.
Mic. No! not to Gesler's self !
Sar. Seize him !
Tell. {Rushing forward.) Off, off, you base and hireling
pack !
Lay not your brutal touch upon the thing
THE CAP OP LIBERTY. 171
God made in his own image. Crouch yourselves !
'T is your vocation, which you should not call
On freeborn men to share with you, who stand
Erect, except in presence of their God
Alone !
Sar. What ! Shrink you, cowards 1 Must I do
Your duty for you ?
Tell. Let them but stir ! I 've scattered
A flock of wolves that did out-number them, —
For sport, I did it. Sport ! I scattered them
With but a staff, not half so thick as this.
( Wrests Sarnem's weapon from him. — Sarnem files. — Sol-
diers fiy.)
What! Ha! Beset by hares ! Ye men of Altorf,
What fear ye 1 See what things you fear, — the shows
And surfaces of men ! Why stand you wondering there?
Why look you on a man that 's like yourselves,
And see him do the deeds yourselves might do,
And act them not? Or know you not yourselves?
That ye are men ? That ye have hearts and thoughts
To feel and think the deeds of men, and hands
To do them 'i You do say your prayers, and make
Confession, and you more do fear the thing
That kneels to God, than you fear God himself!
You hunt the chamois, and you 've seen him take
The precipice, before he 'd yield the freedom
His Maker gave him ; and you are content
To live in bonds, that have a thought of freedom,
Which Heaven ne'er gave the little chamois.
Why gaze you still with blanched cheeks upon me ?
Lack you the manhood even to look on.
And see bold deeds achieved by others' hands 1
Or is 't that cap still holds you thralls to fear ?
Be free, then ! There ! Thus do I trample on
The insolence of Gesler ! ( Throws down the pole.)
Sar. (Suddenly entering with soldiers.) Seize him.
(All the people except Verner and Michael fly.)
Tell. Ha! ^ ^ ^ -^^f
Surrounded ?
Mf.. Stand! I '11 back thee !
Ver. Madman! Hence! (For ce.i Michael off.)
Sar. Upon him, slaves ! Upon him all at once I
172 THE FOURTH READER.
( Tell, after a struggle, is secured and thrown to the ground,
where they proceed to chain him.)
Now raise him. {They raise him, heavily chained.)
Tell. Slave!
Sar. Rail on, thy tongue has yet its freedom.
Tell. Slave!
Sar. On to the castle with him, — forward I
Tell. Slave! (Exeunt.)
LESSON LXXXI. Select Passages.
The Mind.
1. The mind of man is a curious thing, in some re-
spects not unlike an old Gothic castle, full of turnings and
windings, long, dark passages, spiral staircases, and secret
corners. Among all these architectural involutions, too, the
ideas go wandering about, generally very much at random,
often get astray, often go into a wrong room and fancy it
their own; and often, too, it happens, that when one of
them is tripping along quite quietly, thinking that all is
right, open flies a door; out comes another and turns the
first back again, — sometimes rudely, blowing her candle
out, and leaving her in the dark, — and sometimes taking
her delicately by the tips of the fingers,. and leading her to
the very spot whence she set out at first.
Sleep of Infancy.
2. O ! the sweet, profound sleep of infancy ; how beau-
tiful it is! that soft and blessed gift of a heart without a
stain or a pang, of a body unbroken in any fibre by the
cares and labors of existence, of a mind without a burden
or an apprehension. It falls down upon our eyelids like the
dew of a summer's eve, refreshing for our use all the world
of flowers in which we dwell, and passing calm, and tran-
quil, and happy, without a dream, and without an inter-
ruption. But, alas ! alas ! with the first years of life, it is
gone, and never returns. We may win joy, and satisfaction,
and glory, and splendor, and power, we may obtain more
SELECT PASSAGES. 173
than our wildest ambition aspired to, or our eager hope
could grasp ; but the sweet sleep of infancy, the soft com-
panion of our boyish pillow, flies from the ardent joys, as
well as the bitter cares, of manhood, and never, never, re-
turns again.
An English Park.
S. The English park is one of those things peculiarly
English, which are to be seen nowhere else on earth but in
England ; at least, we venture to say, that there is nothing
at all like it in three, out of the four quarters of this our
globe ; the wide, grassy slopes, the groups of majestic trees,
the dim flankings of forest ground, broken with savannas,
and crossed by many a path atid many a walk, the occasion-
al rivulet or piece of water, the resting-place, the alcove,
the ruin of the old mansion, where our fathers dwelt, now
lapsed into the domain of Time, but carefully guarded from
any hands but his, with here and there some slope of the
ground, or some turn of the path, bringing us suddenly upon
a bright and unexpected prospect of distant landscapes far
beyond, — "all nature, and all art." There is nothing like
it on the earth, and few things half so beautiful ; for it is
tranquil without being dull, and calm without being cheer-
less ; but of all times, when we would enjoy the stillness and
the serenity at its highest pitch, go forth into a fine old
park by moonlight.
Association of Ideas.
4. In almost all cases of apprehension and uncertainty,
the human mind has a natural tendency to connect the oc-
currence of the moment, whatever it may be, with the
principal object of our feelings and wishes at the time. It
matters not whether the two things be as distinct and as
distant as the sun is from the moon ; association, in an in-
stant, spins a thousand gossamer threads between them,
forming a glistening sort of spider-like bridge, scarcely dis-
cernible to* other people's eyes, but fully strong enough for
fancy to run backwards and forwards upon forever.
15*
174 THE FOURTH READER.
Domestic Ties.
5. A dissertation on the moral and physical nature of
man might be given to prove to a demonstration, that domes-
tic ties are a necessity of his existence ; and let any man
gaze forward into future years, and fancy that some cold
barren is placed between him and domestic affection ; that
no kindred eye is to brighten at his presence, no affection-
ate lip smile at his happiness, no tear of sympathy to wash
away one half of his griefs, no cheerful voice to dispel the
thoughts of care, no assiduous hand to smooth the pillow of
sickness, and close the eye of death, — let him picture his
being solitary, his joys unshared, his sorrows undivided, his
misfortunes unaided but by general compassion, his sickness
tended by the slow hand of mercenaries, and his eyes closed,
while the light has scarce departed, by the rude touch of
some weary and indifferent menial, — let him fancy all this,
and then he will feel, indeed, that domestic ties are a neces-
sity of our existence.
Moonlight and Midnight.
0. Let any one who is fond of sublime sensations, take
his hat and staff, and climb a high hill in a moonlit mid-
night. There is a part of that dust of earth which gathers
so sadly upon our spirit, during our daily commune with this
sordid world, cast off at every step. The very act of climb-
ing has something ennobling in it, and the clearer air we
breathe, the elevation to which we rise, all give the mind a
sensation of power and lightness, as if it had partly shaken
off the load of clay that weighs it down to the ground. But
still more, when with solitude, — the deep solitude of night,
— we rise up high above the sleeping world, with the bright
stars for our only companions, and the calm moon for our
only light, — when we look through the profound depth of
space, and see it peopled by never-ending orbs, — when we
gaze round our extended horizon, and see the power of God
on every side,— then the immortal triumphs ovej the mortal,
and we feel our better being strong within us. The cares,
the sorrows, the anxieties of earth seem as dust in the bal-
ance weighed with mightier things ; and the grandest
SELECT PASSAGES. 175
earthly ambition, that ever conquered worlds and wept for
more, may feel itself humiliated to the dust in the presence
of silence, and solitude, and space, and millions of eternal
suns.
Uncertainty of Life.
7. It is a wonder, that man ever smiles ; for there is
something so strange and awful in the hourly uncertainty of
our fate, — in the atmosphere of darkness and insecurity
that surrounds our existence, — in the troops of dangers
to our peace and to our being, that ride invisible upon every
moment as it flies, — that man is, as it were, like a blind
man in the front of a great battle, where his hopes and his
joys are swept down on every side, and in which his own
existence must terminate at length in some undefined hour,
and in some unknown manner, — and yet he smiles as if he
were at a pageant.
The Rising Moon,
8. From sunset till about nine o'clock, there had been a
light, refreshing rain, — not one of those cold, autumnal
pours, which leave the whole world dark, and drenched,
and dreary, but the soft filling of light, pellucid drops, that
scarcely bent the blades of grass on which they rested, and
through which, ever and anon, the purple of the evening
sky, and, as that faded away, the bright glance of an eve-
ning star, might be seen among the broken clouds. Towards
nine, however, the vapors, that rested upon the eastern up-
lands, became tinored with liofht; and, as gifted with the
power of scattering darkness from her presence, forth came
the resplendent moon, while the dim clouds grew pale and
white as she advanced, and, rolling away over the hills, left
the sky all clear. It required scarcely a fanciful mind to
suppose that, — in the brilliant shining of the million of
drops, which hung on every leaf, and rested on every bough,
— in the glistening ripple of the river, that rolled in waves
of silver through the plain, — in the checkered dancing of
the light and shadow through the trees, and in the sudden
brightening up of every object throughout the scene which
could reflect her beams, — it required scarcely ^nciful
176 THE FOURTH READER.
mind to suppose, that the whole world was rejoicing in the
soft splendor of that gentle watcher of the night, and gratu-
lating her triumph over the darkness and the clouds.
LESSON LXXXII. Traits of Irish Character.
1. Who has not been struck with the natural eloquence
of the Irish? We need not go to G rattan, Curran, or
Burke for specimens of this gift of genius. The rudest
Irish laborer among us seems to be endowed with it. If an
Irishman really sets about persuading you of a thing, he
seldom fails of his object, unless, indeed, it be to prove that
black is white.
2. It is curious to see how an Irishman can embellish the
most naked idea, and amplify the commonest topic. There
is a picture called " The Sturdy Beggar," belonging to the
Athenaeum in Boston. It is the portrait of an Irishman ; and
I have heard something like the following anecdote respect-
ing it. One day a man presented himself at the artist's
door, and begged for alms. *' Walk in," said the painter,
'' and tell me your name." *' My name. Sir," said the beg-
gar, " is Patrick McGruger, and it 's true what I tell ye."
3. "But," said the artist, " why don't you go to work,
instead of begging about the streets in this fashion ? "
** Why don't I go to work, your honor ? and is it that, ye 'd
like to know ? When ye 've threescore years and ten like
myself, ye '11 be more ready to answer such a question than
to ask it."
4. "Well, well, my good fellow," said the artist, "you
can at least sit down and let me paint your portrait.'' " Is
it my handsome portrait you 're wanting ? and do you wish
me to sit down there, and let you paint it ? Faith ! that 's
a thing I can do, though I was not brought up to it. The
time has been, your honor, when Patrick McGruger could
do better than sit for the portrait of a beggar. But I must
do what I may ; for these old limbs ask to be fed, though
they refuse to work."
5. The author of the " Lights and Shadows of Irish
Life" furnishes us with a characteristic, though fictitious,
•pecimen of this natural eloquence of the common people,
TRAITS OF IRISH CHARACTER. I77
in a poor woman who mourns, at a wake, over the dead
body of her patron, Goodman Lee. She is described as
seated on the floor, her eyes closed, her hands clasped
around her knees, while, in a low and mournful tone, she
spoke as follows.
6. *' Kind and gentle were you, and lived through sorrow
and tears, — frost and snow, — with an open house and an
open heart The sun of Heaven shone on you, and you re-
flected its warmth on others. The Flower of the Valley
saw and loved you ; and though she is of a strange country,
you taught her to love the Green and Weeping Island, — to
dry the widow's tears, — to feed the orphan, — to clotlie the
naked.
7- " O, why did you die, and leave behind you all the
good things of life, — and, above all, the beautiful boy who
will be the oak of the forest yet. O, the justice and the
mildness were you of the country's side, and, while grass
grows, and waters run, we will mourn for Goodman Lee.
The beggar walked from his door with a full sack, — and he
turned wormwood into sweetness with his smile. But now
his wife is desolate, and his full and plentiful home has no
master ! "
8. The wit of the Irish is no less natural and striking
than their eloquence. That very transposition of ideas,
which sometimes produces a bull or a blunder, not unfre-
quently startles us as if with the scintillations of humor.
" What are you doing there?" said one Irishman to another,
who was digging away the dirt before a cellar- window.
" I 'm going to open this window," said Pat, '' to let the
dark out of the cellar ! "
9. A few years ago, as several persons were standing on a
wharf at Liverpool, one of them slipped into the dock. The
first individual to move for the relief of the drowning man
was an Irishman, who plunged into the water, and, after a
severe struggle, rescued the person from the waves. When
the man had at length recovered from his ducking, he took
some change out of his pocket, and, selecting a sixpence,
handed it to the Irishman who had saved Ins life. The
latter looked an instant at the sixpence in the palm of his
hand, — and then slowly measured with his eye the indi-
vidual whom he had rescued, and observing, that he was
a very thin^ withered little man, he put the money into his
178 THE FOURTH READER.
pocket, and turned on his heel, saying significantly, " It '3
enough ! "
10. Wit is, in fact, the whole stock in trade of one half
the Irish nation, — and, though it often leaves them desti-
tute of a dinner, it seldom fails to make, even destitution
and want, the occasion of its merry sallies. It is perhaps
this playfulness of fancy, that is partly the source of that
cheerfulness which forms a remarkable characteristic of the
Irish people. '* Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof,"
is an injunction literally construed and implicitly obeyed.
11. Cheerfulness seems, indeed, to be so natural to the
Irish, as hardly to possess the self-denying ingredients of
virtue. Not even poverty, want, oppression, can wholly shut
out the genial light of cheerfulness from an Irishman's
cabin. If it come not in at the door or the window, fancy
will strike out the spark, hope cherish it, wit blow it into a
blaze.
12. There is something even pathetic in the instances that
are related of Irish wit and cheerfulness iq the midst of
poverty and desolation. A traveller in Ireland tells us, that
on one occasion he went to an Irish cabin, where he found
a peasant and his numerous family crowded into the only
room in the building, which was scarcely more than twelve
feet square. In one corner lay a pig, it being the custom
among these poor people to fatten one of these animals
every six months for the purpose of paying the rent.
13. The traveller describes the hut as exhibiting the most
naked scene of relentless poverty that could be imagined.
The gaunt form of the peasant, the sunken cheek of the
wife, the pallid countenances of the children, all showed
that the craving wants of nature were but half supplied.
But the pig presented a remarkable contrast to this general
aspect of want and woe. There it lay, luxuriously embed-
ded in aristocratic straw, sleek, round, and pampered. *
14. As the stranger entered the hut, it did not even con-
descend to rise ; but seemed to intimate, by a delicate and
affected grunt, the sentiment of the fat lady in the play,
** Don't be rude, for really, my nerves wont bear it ! "
15. The stranger felt his heart touched at this scene, for
it seemed to show, that, day by day, the food that the peas-
ant and his children needed, was doled out to this pampered
animal, to provide for the payment of the rent, and thus
ANECDOTE OF DR. CHAUNCY. 179
insure,— what was even more necessary than food beyond the
point of mere starvation, — a shelter for the family from the
elements. At length he said to the Irishman, " Pray, why
do you keep this creature in the house? " '' Sure," said the
peasant, with a smile, " your honor wouldn't turn out the
jintleman what pays the rint."
16. Thus it is, that the Irishman's cheerfulness is made to
solace his poverty ; thus it is, that the diamond can illumin-
ate the darkness; that the playful light of a heavenly virtue
may be drawn down to earth, even by the iron of which
misery forges its fetters.
LESSON LXXXIII. Anecdote of Dr. Chauncy.
Dr. Chauncy was a distinguished clergyman of Boston, who died in 1787.
1. Dr. Cooper, who was a man of accomplished man-
ners, and fond of society, was able, by the aid of his fine
talents, to dispense with some of the severe study that oth-
ers engaged in. This, however, did not escape the envy
and malice of the world, and it was said, with a kind of petu-
lant and absurd exaggeration, that he used to walk to the
South End of a Saturday, and, if he saw a man riding into
town in a black coat, would stop, and ask him to preach the
next day.
2. Dr. Chauncy was a close student, very absent, and
very irritable. On these traits in the character of the two
clergymen, a servant of Dr. Chauncy laid a scheme for
obtaining a particular object from his master. Scipio went
into his master's study one morning, to receive some direc-
tions, which, the Doctor having given, resumed his writing,
but the servant still remained. The master, looking up a
few minutes afterwards, and supposing he had just come in,
said, "Scipio, what do you want?" "I want a new coat,
massa." "Well, go to Mrs. Chauncy, and tell her to give
you one of my old coats ; " and was again absorbed in his
studies.
3. The servant remained fixed. After awhile, the Doc-
tor, turning his eyes that way, saw him again, as if for the
first time, ^n4 said, " What do you want, Scip ? " " I want
180 THE FOURTH READER.
a new coat, massa." "Well, go to my wife, and ask her to
give you one of my old coats ; " and fell to writing once
more. Scipio remained in the same posture. After a few
moments, the Doctor looked towards him, and repeated the
former question, *' Scipio, what do you want ? " " I want a
new coat, massa."
4. It now flashed over the Doctor's mind, that there was
something of repetition in this dialogue. " Why, have I
not told you before to ask Mrs. Chauncy to give you one ?
Get away." " Yes, massa, but I no want a black coat."
"Not want a black coat! why not?" '* Why, massa, I
'fraid to tell you, but I don't want a black coat" "What's
the reason you don't want a black coat ? Tell me, direct-
ly." "O! massa, I don't want a black coat, but I 'fraid to
tell you the reason, you so passionate." " You rascal ! will
you tell me the reason?" "O! massa, I 'm sure you be
angry." "If I had my cane here, you villain, I 'd break
your bones. Will you tell me what you mean?" " I 'fraid
to tell you, massa; I know you be angry."
5. The Doctor's impatience was now highly irritated ; and
Scipio, perceiving, by his glance at the tongs, that he might
find a substitute for the cane, and that he was sufficiently
excited, said, " Well, massa, you make me tell, but I know
you be angry, — I 'fraid, massa, if I wear another black
coat. Dr. Cooper ask me to preach for him ! " This unex-
pected termination realized the servant's calculation ; his ir-
ritated master burst into a laugh, — " Go, you rascal, get
my hat and cane, and tell Mrs. Chauncy she may give you
a coat of any color, a red one if you choose." Away went
the negro to his mistress, and the Doctor to tell the story to
his friend, Dr. Cooper.
LESSON LXXXIV. The Glory of God in the Beauties
of Creation.
1. Tbou art, O God ! the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see ;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,
Ar9 but reflections caught from tbe».
DOMESTIC LOVR. 181
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine,
And all things fair and bright are thine.
2. When day, with farewell beam, delays
Among the opening clouds of even,
And we can almost think we gaze
Through golden vistas into heaven ;
Those hues, that make the sun's decline
So soft, so radiant. Lord ! are thine.
3. When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies.
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume ^
Is sparkling with unnumbered dyes ; —
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless. Lord ! are thine.
4. When youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh ;
And every flower the summer wreathes,
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine.
And all things fair and bright are thine.
LESSON LXXXV. Domestic Love.
1. Domestic Love ! not in proud palace halls
Is often seen thy beauty to abide ;
Thy dwelling is in lonely cottage walls.
That in the thickets of the woodbine hide ;
With hum of bees around, and from the side
Of woody hills some little bubbling spring,
Shining along, through banks with harebells dyed :
And many a bird to warble on the wing.
When morn her saffron robe o'er heaven and earth doth fling,
2. O ! love of loves ! — to thy white hand is given
Of earthly happiness the golden key.
Thine are the joyous hours of winter's even,
When the babes cling around their father's knee;
16
.82 THE FOURTH READER.
And thine the voice, that, on the midnight sea.
Melts the rude mariner with tlioughts of home,
- Peopling the gloom with all he longs to see.
Spirit ! I 've built a shrine ; and thou hast come
And on its altar closed, forever closed, thy plume.
LESSON LXXXVI. A Gypsy Encampment in England.
1. The road pursued by the two travellers, though sandy,
was smooth and neat, and well tended, and came down to
the slope of a long hill, exposing its course to the eye for
nearly a mile. There was a gentle rise on each side, cover-
ed with wood ; but this rise, and its forest burden, did not
advance within a hundred yards of the road on either hand,
leaving between, except where it was interrupted by some
old sand-pits, — a space of open ground, covered with short,
green turf, with here and there an ancient oak standing for-
ward before the other trees, and spreading its branches to
the way-side.
2. To the right, was a little rivulet, gurgling along the
deep bed it had worn for itself among the short grass, in its
way towards a considerable river, that flowed through the
valley, at about two miles' distance ; and, on the left, the eye
might range far amid the tall, separate trees, — now, per-
haps, lighting upon a stag at gaze, or a fallow deer tripping
away over the dewy ground as light and gracefully as a
lady in a ball-room, till sight became lost in the green shade
and the dim wilderness of leaves and branches.
3. Amid the scattered oaks in advance of the wood, and
nestled into the dry nooks of the sand-pits, appeared about
half a dozen dirty, brown shreds of canvass, none of which
seemed larger than a dinner napkin, yet which, spread over
hoops, cross sticks, and other contrivances, served as habi-
tations to six or seven families, of that wild and dingy race,
whose existence and history are a phenomenon, not among
the least strange of all the wonderful things that we pass
by daily without investigation or inquiry.
4. At the mouths of one or two of these little dwelling-
places, might be seen some Gypsy women, with their pecu-
liar straw bonnets^ red cloaks, and silk handkerchiefs; some,
' A GYPSY ENCAMPMENT. 183
withered, shrunk, and witch-like, bore evidently the traces
of long years of wandering, exposure, and vicissitude; while
others, with the warm rose of youth and health glowing
through the golden brown of their skins, and their dark,
gem-like eyes, flashing, undimmed by sorrow or infirmity,
gave the beau ideal of a beautiful nation, long passed
away from thrones and dignities, and left but as the frag-
ments of a wreck, dashed to atoms by the waves of the past
5. At one point, amid white-wood ashes, and many an
unlawful feather from the plundered cock and violated tur-
key, sparkled a fire and boiled a caldron ; and, round
about the ancient beldame who presided over the pot, were
placed, in various easy attitudes, several of the male mem-
bers of the tribe, mostly covered with long, loose great-
coats, which bespoke the owners either changed or shrunk.
A number of half-naked brats, engaged in many a sport,
filled up the scene, and promised a sturdy and increasing
race of rogues and vagabonds for after years.
6. Over the whole, — wood, and road, and stream, and
Gypsy encampment, — was pouring, in full stream, the pur-
ple light of evening, with the long shadows stretching
across, and marking the distances all the way up the slope
of the hill. Where an undulation of the ground, about
half way up the ascent, gave a wider space of light than
ordinary, were seen two strangers, riding slowly down the
road, whose appearance soon called the eyes of the Gypsy
fraternity upon their movements ; for the laws in regard to
vagabondism had lately been strained somewhat hard, es-
pecially in that part of the country, and the natural conse-
quence was, that the Gypsy and the beggar looked upon
almost every human thing as an enemy.
7. As the travellers rode on, the Gypsy men, without
moving from the places they had before occupied, eyed them
from under their bent brows, affecting, withal, hardly to see
them, while the urchins ran like young apes, by the side of
their horses, performing all sorts of antics, and begging
hard for halfpence ; and, at length, a girl of about fifteen or
sixteen, notwithstanding some forcible injunctions to for-
bear on the part of the old woman who was tending
the caldron, sprang up the bank, beseeching the gen-
tlemen, in the usual singsong of her tribe, to cross her
hand with silver, and have their fortunes told ; promising
184 THE FOURTH READER.
them at the same time a golden future, and, like Launcelot,
*' a pretty trifle of wives."
8. In regard to her chiromantic science, the gentlemen
were obdurate, though each of them gave her one of those
flat, polished pieces of silver, which were sixpences in our
young days ; and having done this, they rode on, turning
for a moment or two their conversation to the subject of the
Gypsies they had just passed, moralizing deeply on their
strange history and wayward fate, and wondering that no
philanthropic government had ever attempted to give them a
" local habitation and a name," among the sons and daugh-
ters of honest industry.
9. In the mean time, the Gypsies drew round their fire,
and, scouts being thrown out on either side to guard against
interruption, the pot was unswung from the cross-bars that
sustained it, trenchers and knives were produced, and, with
nature's green robe for a table-cloth, a plentiful supper of
manifold good things was spread before the race of wander-
ers.
10. Nor was the meal unjoyous, nor were their figures, —
at all times picturesque, — without an appearance of loftier
beauty, and more symmetrical grace, as, with the fire and the
evening twilight casting strange lights upon them, they fell
into those free and easy attitudes, which none but the chil-
dren of wild activity can assume. The women of the par-
ty had all come forth from their huts, and among them
were two or three lovely creatures as any race ever produc-
ed, from the chosen Hebrew to the beauty-dreaming Greek.
11. In truth, there seemed more wona^n than men of the
tribe, and there certainly were more children than either ;
but due subordination was not wanting ; and the urchins,
who were ranged behind the backs of the rest, though they
wanted not sufficient food, intruded not upon the circle of
their elders.
12. The language which the Gypsies spoke among them-
selves was a barbarous compound of some foreign tongue,
the origin and structure of which have, and most likely
ever will, baffle inquiry, and of English, mingled with many
a choice phrase from the very expressive language called
jargon.
ELOQUENCE OF PATRICK HENRY. 185
LESSON LXXXVII. Eloquence and Humor of Patrick
Henry.
Patrick Henry was a distinguished orator and patriot of Virginia,,
who lent his powerful influence to the cause of the Revolution.
1. Hook was a Scotchman, a man of wealth, and sus-
pected of being unfriendly to the American cause. During
the distresses of the American army, consequent on the joint
invasion of Cornwallis and Phillips, in 1781, a Mr. Vena-
ble, an army commissary, had taken two of Hook's steers
for the use of the troops. The act had not been strictly le-
gal ; and, on the establishment of peace, Hook, on the ad-
vice of Mr. Cowan, a gentleman of some distinction in the
law, thought pfoper to bring an action of trespass against
Mr. Venable, in the District Court of New London.
2. Mr. Henry appeared for the defendant, and is said to
have disported himself in this cause to the infinite enjoy-
ment of his hearers, the unfortunate Hook always excepted.
After Mr. Henry became animated in the cause, says a cor-
respondent, he appeared to have complete control over the
passions of his audience; at one time he excited their indig-
nation against Hook; vengeance was visible in every coun-
tenance ; again, when he chose to relax, and ridicule him,
the whole audience was in a roar of laughter.
3. He painted the distressesof the American army, expos-
ed, almost naked, to the rigors of a winter's sky, and mark-
ing the frozen ground over which they trod with the blood
of their unshod feet. *' Where is the man," he said, " who
has an American heart in his bosom, who would not have
thrown open his fields, his barns, his cellars, the doors of his
house, the portals of his breast, to have received with open
arms the meanest soldier in that little band of famished pa-
triots ? Where is the man ? There he stands, — but wheth-
er the heart of an American beats in his bosom, you, Gen^
tlemen, are to judge."
4. He then carried the jury, by the powers of his imagina-
tion, to the plains around York, the surrender of which had
followed shortly after the act complained of; he depicted the
surrender in the most glowing and noble colors of his elo-
quence ; — the audience saw before their eyes the humilia-
tion and dejection of the British, as they marched out of
16*
186 THE FOURTH READER.
their trenches ; — they saw the triumph which lighted up
every patriot face, and heard the shouts of victory, and the
cry of ** Washington and Liberty," as it rung and echoed
through the American ranks, and was reverberated from the
hills and shores of the neighboring river. " But hark !
what notes of discord are those which disturb the general
joy, and silence the acclamation of victory? They are the
notes of John Hook, hoarsely bawling through the Ameri-
can camp, Beef! beef! beef! "
5. The whole audience were convulsed; a particular in-
cident will give a better idea of the effect than any general
description. The clerk of the court, unable to command
himself, and unwilling to commit any breach of decorum in
his place, rushed out of the court-house, and threw himself
on the grass, in the most violent paroxysm of laughter, where
he was rolling, when Hook, with very different feelings,
came out for relief into the yard also. ''Jemmy Step-
toe," said he to the clerk, "what the devil ails ye, mon?"
Mr. Steptoe was only able to say, that he could not help it.
"Never mind ye," said Hook ; " wait till Billy Cowan gets
up ; he '11 show him the law ! "
6. Mr. Cowan, however, was so completely overwhelmed
by the torrent which bore upon his client, that, when
he rose to reply to Mr. Henry, he was scarcely able to
make an intelligent or audible remark. The cause was
decided almost by acclamation. The jury retired for
form's sake, and instantly returned with a verdict for the
defendant. Nor did the effect of Mr. Henry's speech stop
here. The people were so highly excited by the Tory auda-
city of such a suit, that Hook began to hear around him a
cry more terrible than that of beef; it was the cry of tar
and feathers; from the application of which, it is said, that
nothing saved him but a precipitate flight and the speed of
his horse.
LESSON LXXXVni. The An^el of the Leaves; an
Allegory.
1. " Alas ! alas! " said the sorrowing Tree, " my beauti-
ful robe is gone ! It has been torn from me. Its faded
THE ANGEL OF THE LEAVES. 187
pieces whirl upon the wind ; they rustle beneath the squir-
rel's foot, as he searches for his nut. They float upon the
passing stream, and on the quivering lake. Woe is me ! for
my fair, green vesture is gone. It was the gift of the Angel
of the Leaves ! I have lost it, and my glory has vanished ;
my beauty has disappeared. My summer hours have passed
away. My bright and comely garment, alas ! it is rent in a
thousand parts.
2. " Who will weave me such another ? Piece by piece,
it has been stripped from me. Scarcely did I sigh for the
loss of one, ere another wandered off on the air. The
sound of music cheers no more. The birds that sang in my
bosom were dismayed at my desolation. They have flown
away with their songs.
3. "I stood in my pride. The sun brightened my robe
with his smile. The zephyrs breathed softly through its
glossy folds ; the clouds strewed pearls among them. My
shadow was wide upon the earth. My arms spread far on
the gentle air : my head was lifted high ; my forehead was
fair to the heavens. But now, how changed ! Sadness is
upon me ; my head is shorn, my arms are stripped ; I can-
not now throw a shadow on the ground. Beauty has de-
parted ; gladness is gone out of my bosom ; the blood has
retired from my heart, it has sunk into the earth.
4. " I am thirsty, I am cold. My naked limbs shiver in the
chilly air. The keen blast comes pitiless among them. The
winter is coming ; I am destitute. Sorrow is 4iiy portion.
Mourning must wear me away. How shall I account to the
Angel who clothed me, for the loss of his beautiful gift?"
5. The Angel had been listening. In soothing accents
he answered the lamentation. *' My beloved Tree," said he,
" be comforted. I am with thee still, though every leaf has
forsaken thee. The voice of gladness is hushed among thy
boughs, but let my whisper console thee. Thy sorrow is
but for a season. Trust in me ; keep my promise in thy
heart. Be patient and full of hope. Let the words I leave
with thee, abide and cheer thee through the coming winter.
Then I will return and clothe thee anew.
, 6. "The storm will drive over thee, the snow will sift
if through thy naked limbs. But these will be light and pass-
ing afflictions. The ice will weigh heavily on thy helpless
arms : but it shall soon dissolve into tears. It shall pass
188 THE FOURTH REAt)£R.
into the ground, and be drunken by thy roots. Then it will
creep up in secret beneath thy bark. It will spread into
the branches it has oppressed, and help me to adorn them;
for I shall be here to use it.
7. ** Thy blood has now only retired for safety. The frost
would chill and destroy it. It has gone into thy mother's
bosom for her to keep it warm. Earth will not rob her off-
spring. She is a careful parent. She knows the wants of all
her children, and forgets not to provide for the least oftliem.
8. " The sap, that has for a while gone down, will make
thy roots strike deeper and spread wider. It will then re-
turn to nourish thy heart. It will be renewed and strength-
ened. Then, if thou shalt have remembered and trusted
in my promise, I will fulfil it. Buds shall shoot forth on
every side of thy boughs. I will unfold for thee another
robe. I will paint it and fit it in every part. It shall be a
comely raiment. Thou shalt forget thy present sorrow.
Sadness shall be swallowed up in joy. Now, my beloved
Tree, fare thee well for a season."
9. The Angel was gone. The muttering winter drevr
near. The wild blast whistled for the storm. The storm
came and howled around the tree. But the word of the
Angel was hidden in her heart; it soothed her amid the
threatenings of the tempest. The ice-cakes rattled upon
her limbs; they loaded and weighed them down. "My
slender branches," said she, " let not this burden overcome
you. Bflak not beneath this heavy affliction ; break not,
but bend, till you can spring back to your places. Let not
a twig of you be lost. Hope must prop you for a while, and
the Angel will reward your patience. You will move upon
a softer air. Grace shall be again in your motion, and beau-
ty hansfing around you."
10. The scowling face of winter began to lose its fea-
tures. The raging storm grew faint, and breathed its last.
The restless clouds fretted themselves to atoms ; they scat-
tered upon the sky and were brushed away. The sun threw
down a bundle of golden arrows. They fell upon the tree ;
the ice-cakes glittered as they came. Every one was shat-
tered by a shaft, and unlocked itself upon the limb. They
were melted and gone.
11. The reign of Spring had come. Her blessed minis-
ters were abroad in the earth; they hovered in the air;
SELF-CULTIVATION 189
they blended their beautiful tints, and cast a new-created
glory on the face of the heavens.
12. The tree was rewarded for her trust. The Angel was
true to the object of his love. He returned ; he bestowed
on her another robe. It was bright, glossy, and unsul-
lied. The dust of summer had never lit upon it ; the
scorching heat had not faded it; the moth had not pro-
faned it. The Tree stood again in loveliness; she was
dressed in more than her former beauty ; she was very fair ;
joy smiled around her on every side. The birds flew back
to her bosom. They sang on every branch a hymn to the
Angel of the Leaves.
LESSON LXXXIX. Self- Cultivation.
1. It is a great mistake to suppose, that it is necessary to
be a professional man in order to have leisure to indulge a
taste for reading. Far otherwise. I believe the mechanic, the
engineer, the husbandman, the trader, have quite as much
leisure as the average of m0n in the learned professions. I
know some men busily engaged in these different callings of
active life, whose minds are well stored with various useful
knowledge acquired from books. It is surprising how much
may be effected, even under the most unfavorable circum-
stances, for the improvement of the mind, by a person reso-
lutely bent on the acquisition of knowledge. A letter has
lately been put into my hands, so interesting in itself, and so
strongly illustrative of this point, that I will read a portion
of it ; though it was written without the least view to pub-
licity.
2. " I was the youngest," says the writer, " of many breth-
ren, and my parents were poor. My means of education
were limited to the advantages of a district school, and those
again were circumscribed by my father's death, which de-
prived me, at the age of fifteen, of those scanty opportunities
which I had previously enjoyed.
3. "A few months after his decease, I apprenticed my-
self to a blacksmith in my native village. Thither I carried
an indomitable taste for reading, which I had previously ac-
quired through the medium of the Society library, — all the
190 THE FOURTH READER.
historical works in which I had at that time perused. At
the expiration of a little more than half my apprenticeship,
I suddenly conceived the idea of studying Latin.
4. " Through the assistance of an elder brother, who had
himself obtained a collegiate education by his own exertions,
I completed my Virgil during the evenings of one winter.
After some time de'vofed to Cicero, and a few other Latin
author*, I commenced the Greek ; at this time it was neces-
sary' that I should devote every hour of daylight, and a part
of the evening, to the duties of my apprenticeship.
5. " Still I carried my Greek grammar in my hat, often
found a moment, when 1 was heating some large iron, when
1 could place my book open before me against the chimney
of my forge, and go through with tupto, tuptcis, tuptei, un-
perceived by my fellow apprentices. At evening I sat down
unassisted, to the Iliad of Homer, twenty books of which
measured my progress in that language during the evenings
of another winter.
6. *' I next turned to the modern languages, and was
much gratified to learn that my knowledge of Latin furnish-
ed me with a key to the literature of most of the languages
of Europe. This circumstance gave a new impulse to the
desire of acquainting myself with the philosophy, derivation,
and affinity of the different European tongues. I could
not be reconciled to limit myself in these investigations to a
few hours after the arduous labors of the day.
7. " I therefore laid down my hammer and went to New
Haven, where I recited to native teachers in French, Span-
ish,. German, and Italian. I returned at the expiration of
two years to the forge, bringing with me such books in those
languages as I could procure. When I had read these books
through, I commenced the Hebrew, with an awakened de-
sire of examining another field ; and, by assiduous applica-
tion, I was enabled in a few weeks to read this language
with such facility, that I allotted it to myself as a task to
read two chapters in the Hebrew Bible before breakfast,
each morning ; this and an hour at noon being all the time
that I could devote to myself during the day.
8. " After becoming somewhat familiar with this language,
I looked around me for the means of initiating myself into
the fields of Oriental literature ; and to my deep regret and
concern, I found my progress in this direction hedged in by
SABBATH THOUGHTS* 1^1
the want of requisite books. I began immediately to devise
means of obviating this obstacle ; and, after many plans, I
concluded to seek a place as a sailor on board some ship
bound to Europe, thinking in this way to have oppoitunities
of collecting, at different ports, such works in the modern
and Oriental languages as I found necessary for this ob-
ject. I left the forge at my native place to carry this plan
into execution.
9. " I travelled on foot to Boston, a distance of more than
a hundred miles, to find some vessel bound to Europe. In
this I was disappointed ; and while revolving in my mind
what steps next to take, I accidentally heard of the Ameri-
can Antiquarian Society at Worcester. I immediately bent
my steps toward this place. I visited the hall of the Amer-
ican Antiquarian Society, and found there, to my infinite
gratification, such a collection in ancient, modern, and Ori-
ental languages, as I never before conceived to be collected
in one place ; and. Sir, you may imagine with what senti-
ments of gratitude I was affected, when, upon evincing a
desire to examine some of these rich and rare works, I was
kindly invited to unlimited participation in all the benefits
of this noble institution.
10. " Availing myself of the kindness of the directors, I
spent three hours daily at the hall, which, with an hour at
noon, and about three in the evening, n\ake up the portion
of the day which I appropriate to my studies, the rest being
occupied in arduous manual labor. Through the facilities
afforded by this institution, I have added so much to my
previous acquaintance with the ancient, modern, and Orien-
tal Languages, as to be able to read upwards of fifty of
them with more or less facility."
LESSON XC. Sabbath Thougts.
1. Dear is the hallowed morn to me,
When village bells awake the day ;
And, by their sacred minstrelsy.
Call me from earthly cares away.
192 THE FOURTH READER.
2. And dear to me the winged hour,
Spent in thy hallowed courts, O Lord !
To feel devotion's soothing power,
And catch the manna of thy word.
3. And dear to me the loud Amen,
Which echoes through the blest abode,
Which swells and sinks, and swells again,
Dies on the walls, but lives to God.
4. And dear the rustic harmony,
Sung with the pomp of village art ,
That holy, heavenly melody,
The music of a thankful heart.
6. In secret I have often prayed,
And still the anxious tear would fall ;
But on thy sacred altar laid.
The fire descends, and dries them all.
6. Oft when the world, with iron hands.
Has bound me in its six-days' chain,
This bursts them, like the strong man's bands,
And lets my spirit loose again.
7. Then dear to me the Sabbath morn ;
The village bells, the shepherd's voice ;
These oft have found my heart forlorn.
And always bid that heart rejoice.
8. Go, man of pleasure, strike thy lyre.
Of broken sabbaths sing the charms ;
Ours be the prophet's car of fire,
That bears us to a Father's arms.
LESSON XCL The Sea.
1. " The sea is his, and he made it," cries the Psalmist
of Israel, in one of those bursts of devotion, in which he
so often expresses the whole of a vast subject by a few sim-
. THE SEA. 193
pie words. Whose else, indeed, could it be, and by whom
else could it have been made? Who else can heave its tides,
and appoint its bounds? Who else can urge its mighty
waves to madness with the breath and the wings of the
tempest, and then speak to it again with a master's accents,
and bid it be still ?
2. Who else could have poured out its magnificent full-
ness round the solid land, and
"Laid, as in a storehouse safe, its watery treasures by?"
Who else could have peopled it with its countless inhabit-
ants, and caused it to bring forth its various productions, and
filled it from its deepest bed to its expanded surface ; filled
it from its centre to its remotest shores j^ filleii it to the brim,
with beauty, and mystery, and power? Majestic ocean!
Glorious sea! No created being rules thee, or made thee.
Thou hearest but one voice, and that is the Lord's; thou
obeyest but one arm, and that is the Almighty's. The own-
ership and the workmanship are God's ; thou art his, and
he made thee.
3. " The sea is his, and he made it." It bears the strong
impress of his greatness, his wisdom, and his love. It
speaks to us of God, with the voice of all its waters ; it may
lead us to God by all the influences of its nature. How
then can we be otherwise than profitably employed, while
we are looking on this broad and bright mirror of the Deity ?
The Sacred Scriptures are full of references to it, and itself
is full of religion and God.
4. " The sea is his and he made it." Its majesty is of
God. What is there more sublime than the trackless, desert,
all-surrounding, unfathomable sea? What is there more
peacefully sublime than the calm, gently-heaving, silent sea.
What is there more terribly sublime than the angry, dash-
ing, foaming sea. Power, resistless, overwhelming power, is
its attribute and its expression, whether in the careless,
conscious grandeur of its deep rest, or the wild tumult of
its excited wrath.
5. It-i«.aHdul, when its crested waves rise up to make a
compact with the black clouds, and the howling winds, and
the thunder, and the thunder-bolt, and they sweep on in the
joy of their dread alliance, to do the Almighty's bidding.
And it is awful, too, when it stretches its broad level out, to
17
194 THE FOURTH READER.
meet in quiet union the bended sky, and show, in the line
of meeting, the vast rotundity of the world.
6. There is majesty in its^wide expanse, separating and
enclosing the great conjtinenTs of the earth, occupying two
thirds of the whole surface of the globe, penetrating the
land with its bays and secondary seas, and receding the con-
stantly pouring tribute of every river, of every shore.
There is majesty in its fulness, %ev:er diminishing and never
increasing.
7. There is majesty in its integrity, for its whole vast
substance is uniform ; in its local unity, for there is but one
ocean, and the inhabitants of any one maritime spot may visit
the inhabitants of any other in the wide world. Its depth
is sublime; who can sound it? Its strength is sublime;
what fabric of man can resist it ?
8. Its voice is sublime, whether in the prolonged song of
its ripple or the stern music of its roar ; whether it utters its
hollow and melancholy tones, within a labyrinth of wave-
worn caves ; or thunders at the base of some huge promon-
tory ; or beats against a toiling vessel's sides, lulling the
voyager to rest with the strains of its wild monotony; or
dies away, with the calm and dying twilight, in gentle mur-
murs on some sheltered shore.
9. What sight is there more magnificent than the quiet or
the stormy sea. What music is there, however artful, which
can vie with the natural and changeful melodies of the re-
sounding sea ?
10. ** The sea is his and he made it." Its beauty is of
God. It possesses it in richness of its own ; it borrows it
of earth, and air, and heaven. The clouds lend it the vari-
ous dyes of their wardrobe, and throw down upon it the
broad masses of their shadows, as they go sailing and sweep-
ing by. The rainbow laves in it its many-colored feet ; the
sun loves to visit it, and the moon and the glittering broth-
erhood of planets and stars ; for they delight themselves in
its beauty.
11. The sunbeams return from it in showers of diamonds
and glances of fire ; the moonbeams find in it a pathway of
silver, where they dance to and fro, with the breeze and the
waves, through the livelong night. It has a light, too, of its
own, a soft and sparkling light, rivalling the stars; and often
does the ship, which cuts its surface, leave streaming behind
THE SEA. 195
a milky way of dim and uncertain lustre, like that which is
shining dimly above.
12. It harmonizes in its forms and sounds, both with the
night and the day. It cheerfully reflects the light, and it
unites solemnly with the darkness. It imparts sweetness to
the music of men, and grandeur to the thunder of heaven.
What landscape is so beautiful as one upon the borders of
the sea? The spirit of its loveliness is from the waters,
where it dwells and rests, singing its spells, and scattering
its charms on all the coast.
13. What rocks and cliffs are so glorious, as those which
are washed by the chafing sea ? What groves, and fields, and
dwellings are so enchanting, as those which stand by the re-
flecting sea ? If we could see the great ocean as it can be
seen by no mortal eye, beholding at one view what we are
now obliged to visit in detail, and spot by spot ; if we could,
from a flight far higher than the sea-eagle's, and with a sight
more keen and comprehensive than his, view the immense
surface of the deep, all spread out beneath us like a uni-
versal chart, what an infinite variety such a scene would
display !
14. Here, a storm would be raging, the thunder bursting,
the waters boiling, and rain and foam and fire all mingling
together ; and here, next to this scene of magnificent confu-
sion, we should see the bright blue waves glittering in the
sun, and, while the brisk breezes flew over them, clapping
their hands for very gladness, — for they do clap their hands,
and justify, by the life and almost individual animation which
they exhibit, that remarkable figure of the Psalmist.
15. Here, again, on this self-same ocean, we should be-
hold large tracts, where there was neither tempest nor
breeze, but a dead calm, breathless, noiseless, and, were it
not for the swell of the sea, which never rests, motionless.
Here, we should see a cluster of green islands, set like jew-
els in the midst of its bosom ; and there, we should see the
broad shoals and gray rocks, fretting the billows, and threat-
ening the mariner.
16. " There go the ships," the white-robed ships ; some
on this course, and others on the opposite one; some just
approaching the shore, and some just leaving it; some in
fleets, and others in solitude ; some swinging lazily in a
calra, and some driven and tossed, and perhaps overwhelmed
]96 THE FOURTH READER.
by the storm ; some for traffic, and some for state ; some in
peace, and others, alas ! in war.
17. Let us follow one, and we should see it propelled by
the steady wind of the tropics, and inhaling the almost visi-
ble odors which diffuse themselves around the spice islands
of the East ; let us observe the track of another, and we
should behold it piercing the cold barriers of the North,
struggling among hills and fields of ice, contending with
winter in his own everlasting dominion, striving to touch
that unattained, solemn, hermit point of the globe, where
ships may perhaps never visit, and where the foot of man,
all daring and indefatigable as it is, may never tread.
18. Nor are the ships of man the only travellers whom
we shall perceive on this mighty map of the ocean. Flocks
of sea-birds are passing and repassing, diving for their food,
or for pastime, migrating from shore to shore with unwearied
wing and undeviating instinct, or wheeling and swarming
round the rocks, which they make alive and vocal by their
numbers and their clanging cries.
19. How various, how animated, how full of interest is
the survey ! We might behold such a scene, were we ena-
bled to behold it, at almost any moment of time on the vast
and varied ocean ; and it would be a much more diversified
and beautiful one, for I have spoken but of a few particu-
lars, and of those but slightly.
20. I have not spoken of the thousand forms in which the
sea meets the shore, of the sands and the cliffs, of the arch-
es and the grottos, of the cities and solitudes, which occur
in the beautiful irregularity of its outline; nor of the con-
stant tides, nor the boiling whirlpools and eddies, nor the
currents and streams, which are dispersed throughout its
surface. The variety of the sea, notwithstanding the uni-
formity of its substance, is ever changing and endless.
21. *' The sea is his and he made it." And when he
made it, he ordained, that it should be the element and
dwelling-place of multitudes of living beings, and the treas-
ury of many riches. How populous, and wealthy, and boun-
teous are the depths of the sea! How many are the tribes
which find in them abundant sustenance, and furnish abun-
dant sustenance to man.
THE PSALMS. 197
LESSON XCII. The Psalms.
1. Perhaps there is no book in the sacred volume, which
is so much read as the Psalms of David. The peculiar
characteristics of their poetical merit have been already
briefly noticed ; their devotional beauty and fervor can never
be felt with too much intensity, nor admired with too much
veneration. The variety and contrast in the feelings of the
Royal Psalmist, at different periods of his eventful life, and
in different circumstances of prosperity or trial, render his
productions beautifully adapted to every frame of mind to
which the believer can be subject ; while the extreme ten-
derness and pathos of his supplications is often sufficient,
one would think, to subdue and soften even the hard heart
of the infidel,
2. His compositions are a storehouse from whence almost
all characters of men may derive something suitable to their
own condition and peculiarities of mind. Their elevated
intellectual and contemplative character, and the admiration
of the beauty and glory of the created universe, which they
express Jn such inimitable language, — inimitable both for
its sweetness and sublimity, — will always render them de-
lightful to the man of genius and cultivated taste ; but it is
their touching adaptatioq to all the varieties of religious
feeling, which gives them such an enduring hold upon the
heart.
3. Here the grateful worshipper will find such irrepressi-
ble and ardent strains of thanksgiving, as might elevate his
soul even to the holy adoration of the world above; " O,
come let us sing unto the Lord ! let us heartily rejoice in
the Rock of our salvation." "I will sing to Jehovah as
long as I live; I will sing praises to my God while I have
my being." " O, magnify the Lord with me, and let us
exalt his name together ! "
4. For the true penitent they afford the most humble and
heartfelt expressions of sorrow for sin, and the most earnest
prayers for restoration and forgiveness ; '* Against Thee,
Thee only, have I sinned, and done evil in thy sight."
*' Cast me not away from thy presence, and take not thy
Holy Spirit from me." For those that mourn in Zion, there
is consolation in the svmpathy of one, " whose tears were
198 THE FOURTH READER.
his food day and night," when God had hidden his face
from him.
5. For the bereaved, there are the most instructive pic-
tures of calm and submissive affliction ; " I was dumb, I
opened not my mouth, because thou didst it." Here the
desponding may learn, that others have been in the comfort-
less gloom before them, and that " to the upright, there
ariseth light in darkness."
6. Here the youthful Christian finds an echo of encour-
agement to the energy and resolution of his hopes, and the
aged and experienced one, a delightful exhibition of sure
and confiding trust in the long-tried mercy of Jehovah.
" When my father and my mother forsake me, then the
Lord will take me up." " The young lions do lack and
suffer hunger ; but they that fear the Lord shall not want
any good thing." ** Thou hast been my support from my
youth ; now, also, when I am old and grayheaded, forsake
me not." " I have been young, and now am old, yet have
I never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging
bread."
7. Happy would it be, could we all realize in our own
bosoms, the love, the gratitude, the penitential sorrow, the
sacred confidence, and the fervent aspirations after holiness
and heaven, which here so faithfully and vividly delineate the
inward life of the Christian.
LESSON XCin. God our Refuge. Psalms, xlvi.
L God is our refuge and strength ;
A powerful help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear though the earth change,
Though the mountains tremble in the heart of the sea.
Its waters roar and are troubled ;
The mountains shake with its raging,
2. There is a river, whose brooks gladden the city of Godj
The holy dwelling-place of the Most High.
God is within her ; she shall not be moved.
God shall help her, earlier than the dawning.
LONDON. 199
The heathen raged, the kingdoms were stirred ;
He uttered his voice, the earth melted.
Jehovah of hosts is with us ;
The God of Jacob is our Refuge.
3. Come, behold the doings of Jehovah !
What astonishments he hath wrought in the earth.
He quieteth wars to the end of the earth ;
The bow he breaketh in pieces, and cutteth asunder the
spear ;
The chariots he burneth in fire.
4. Be still, and know that I am God.
I will be exalted among the nations,
I will be exalted in the earth.
5. Jehovah of hosts is with us ;
The God of Jacob is our Refuge.
LESSON XCIV. London,
■»
1. It is impossible, by any written description, to convey
adequate ideas of the real magnificence of London. Indeed,
it is not till after a person has been in the city for some
months, that he begins to comprehend it. Every new walk
opens to him streets, squares, and divisions, which* he has
never before seen. And even those places where he is most
familiar are discovered, day by day, to possess archways,
avenues, and thoroughfares within and around them, which
had never been noticed before. People who have spent
their whole lives in the city, often find streets and buildings,
of which they had never before heard, and which they had
never before seen.
2. If you ascend to the top of St. Paul's Church, and
look down through the openings in the vast cloud of smoke,
which envelopes the city, you notice a sea of edifices, stretch-
ing beyond the limited view that is permitted by the im-
pending vapors. It is not until many impressions are added
together, that this great metropolis is understood, even by
one who visits and studies it.
3. It is not until the observer has seen the palace of the
king and the hovel of the beggar ; the broad and airy streets
inhabited by the rich, and the dark and dismal abodes of the
200 THE FOURTH READER.
poor ; the countless multitudes that ebb and flow like the
tide, through some of the principal streets ; the thousands
that frequent the parks and promenades during the day, and
other thousands that shun the light, and only steal forth in
the hours of darkness.
4. It is not until all these, and many other spectacles
have been witnessed, that he can understand the magnifi-
cence and meanness, the wealth and poverty, the virtue and
the vice, the luxury and the want, the happiness and misery,
which are signified by that brief word, London.
5. To one disposed to study this metropolis, we should
recommend, that, at the approach of evening, he should take
his station on Waterloo bridge, facing the north. On his
right hand lies that part which is called the City, and which,
during the day, is devoted to business. On his left is the
West End, where fashion, luxury, and taste hold their em-
pire. At evening, this part of the city is tranquil, or only
disturbed by an occasional coach, while the eastern part of
the metropolis yet continues to send forth its almost deafen
ing roar. Coaches and carriages, carts and wagons o'
every kind, are still rolling through the streets, and, ere tb.
busy scene closes, appear to send forth redoubled sound
But as the darkness increases, and long lines of lamps sprin^r
up around you as by enchantment, the roar of the city be-
gins to abate. By almost imperceptible degrees, it decreas-
es, and, finally, the eastern half of the city sinks into pro-
found repose.
6. But the ear is now attracted by a hum from the west
end of the city. At first, a distant coach only is heard, and
then another, and another, until at length a pervading sound
comes from every quarter. At midnight, the theatres are
out, and the roar is augmented. At two o'clock, the routs,
balls, and parties are over, and, for a short period, the din
rises to a higher and a higher pitch. At length it ceases,
and there is a half hour of deep repose.
7. The whole city is at rest. A million of people are
sleeping around you. It is now an impressive moment, and
the imagination is aflfected with the deepest awe. But the
dawn soon bursts through the mists that overhang the City.
A market woman is seen groping through the dim light to
arrange her stall; a laborer, with his heavy tread, passes by
to begin his task ; a wagoner, with his horses, shakes the
THE NUNNERY. 201
earth around you as he thunders by. Other persons are
soon seen ; the noise increases, the smoke streams up from
thousands of chimneys, the sun rises, and while the west
end of London remains wrapped in silence and repose, the
eastern portion again vibrates with the uproar of business.
LESSON XCV. The Nunnery,
\. There are few monasteries in France, but scarcely a
town of any note, where there are not one or more convents
for nuns. Sometimes these convents are attached to the
hospital, and the time of the nuns is exclusively devoted to
attendance upon the sick. In this case they are not clois-
tered, as their duty frequently calls them to different parts
of the town or country upon errands of charity. They
merely wear a peculiar dress, divide their time between acts
of benevolence and religious duties, and do not mix in so-
ciety ; such are the Sisters of Charity, and Sisters of Prov-
idence, of whom there are societies all over the continent
of Europe, and who may be seen with their downcast looks
and folded arms, gliding along the streets of the populous
cities, apparently unconscious of all that is passing around
them.
2. Still more frequently, they devote themselves exclusive-
ly to the education of girls, and almost all the ladies, both
of France and Italy, are brought up in these Pensionnats.
There are also convents where the nuns employ themselves,
both in attending the sick, and in the education of youth ;
such, for example, is the convent of Les Scaurs Hospitalieres,
at Bayeux, a town which has now dwindled into compara-
tive insignificance, but which is still the residence of a
Bishop, and remarkable fo^the elegance of its Cathedral.
3. The streets of Bayeux are mean and dirty, and on ar-
riving at the convent gates, the mind is totally unprepared
for the quiet and beautiful scene of seclusion, which the in-
terior presents, and which is rendered doubly striking from
its existing in the very heart of a manufacturing town.
4. Upon ringing at the gate, the door is opened by the
portress, and, after passing through a long, stone passage, the
stranger is conducted into a small parlor, advancing from
202 THE FOURTH READER.
the building with an iron grating in front, a few chairs, and
a stone floor. Behind the grating is a dark-red curtain,
which, by its air of mystery, excites a degree of impatient
curiosity for its removal. In a few minutes, the curtain is
drawn aside, and one of the nuns, probably a Sozitr Superi-
eure, dressed in the habit of the order, and distinguished by
the large bunch of keys hanging at her girdle, appears at
the grating, and enters into conversation with the visiters.
5. No gentleman can be admitted into the interior ; but an
order from the Superior can be obtained for the admission
of ladies, who wish to view the establishment. In the
mean time, nothing can be more striking, than the scene
which is visible through the grating, which seems like a
glimpse into a world totally distinct from that which we
have left behind us. In the large and beautiful garden,
tastefully diversified with trees and flowers of every hue and
variety, groups of nuns with long black veils, may be seen
gliding among the trees and through the winding alleys.
6. Some are employed in teaching the pensionnaires,
some are embroidering under the shade of the trees. All
seem cheerful and contented ; all are occupied, and pursu-
ing their various tasks with assiduity. When the order for
admission is obtained, the inner gates are opened, and the
Mere Superieurc, a venerable old lady, leaning on a staff",
receives the strangers, and conducts them into the garden,
where a nearer view of the inmates tends to dissipate still
more effectually those ideas of gloom, which seem con-
nected with a conventual life.
7. The convent, formerly one of the wealthiest in
France, is a large stone building, of great antiquity. It
contains upwards of two hundred nuns, governed by a Su-
perior, chosen from among their body, and at whose elec-
tion is a solemn religious ceremony. The Superior is ap-
pointed for a certain number of years; but, at the end of that
period, the same is usually reelected. Of these nuns the
greater part are cloistered, but there are some lay-sisters,
and numerous novices.
8. Though there are many of their number belonging to
the oldest families in France, and some of much lower rank,
there are no distinctions of that nature among them. "Qy ,
turns they make the beds, sweep the floors, and attend upon
the others at table.
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 203
9. The lay-sisters are permitted to walk with the board-
ers, and may be sent on errands, when anything is wanted
for the use of the convent. The novices are strictly
watched, and seldom allowed to leave the gates. They are
distinguished from the others by their white veil. Their
noviciate lasts three years, and a considerable sum is paid
by them on entering, after which they are maintained by
the establishment. The ceremony of taking the black veil
is one of the most solemn and beautiful in the Roman
Catholic religion.
10. High mass is celebrated in the chapel. The bishop
officiates in his splendid robes. The novice appears dressed
in white, and sometimes decked with jewels like a bride.
She kneels before the altar, while the Bishop pronounces a
discourse upon the solemnity of the vows, which she is
about to pronounce. She then retires behind the altar.
Her long hair is cut off, and she is invested with the nun's
garment. She is then led forward to the bishop, and, hav-
ing pronounced, upon her knees, her intention of abjuring
the world, and devoting herself to the service of God, she
receives his benediction. The black veil is then thrown
over her. A solemn hymn is chanted to the notes of the
organ, and the gates of the convent are henceforth closed
upon her for ever.
11. It is true, that, by the order of the government, all
nuns are now regarded as free from their vows after a cer-
tain period; but though a nun who breaks her vows is no
longer built up in a wall as in days of old, yet there is
a wall of public opinion which is almost as formidable to
her ; and it is probable that a long period will elapse be-
fore any female will have courage to break through this
barrier, and expose herself to the scorn of her companions,
and the indignation of the Church.
LESSON XCVI. The Soldier's Dream.
Our bugles sang truce,— for the night-cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.
204 THE FOURTH READER.
2. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw.
And thrice ere the morning I dreamed it again.
3. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far, I had roamed on a desolate track ;
'T was autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back
4. 1 flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
5. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part ;
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er.
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.
6. " Stay, stay with us, — rest, thou art weary and worn ; "— •
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ;
But sorrow returned vidth the dawning of morn.
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
LESSON XCVII. The Sabbath.
1. How still the morning of the hallowed day !
Mute is the voice of rural labor, hushed
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milk-maid s song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloomed 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 unmoving cloud.
2. To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale;
THE SABBATH. 205
And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles his heaven-tuned song ; the lulling brook
Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen ;
While, from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals.
The voice of psalms, — the simple song 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.
Less fearful on this day, the limping hare
Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man.
Her 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-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray.
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 doomed
To eat his joyless bread, lonely ; the ground
Both seat and board ; screened from the winter's cold
And summer's heat, by neighboring hedge or tree ;
But on this day, embosomed in his home.
He shares the frugal meal with those he loves ;
With those he loves he shares the heartfelt joy
Of giving thanks to God, — not thanks of form,
A word and a grimace, but reverently,
With covered face, and upward, earnest eye.
5. Hail, Sabbath ! thee I hail, the poor man's day.
The pale mechanic now h&s leave to breathe
The morning air, pure from the city's smoke ;
While, wandering slowly up the river side,
He meditates on Him, whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough.
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers, that bloom
Around its roots ; and while he thus surveys,
With elevated joy, each rural charm,
He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope.
That heaven may be one Sabbath without end.
18
206 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON XCVIII. Neatness.
1. Among the minor virtues, cleanliness ought to be con-
spicuously ranked ; and in the common topics of praise we
generally arrange some commendation of neatness. It in-
volves much. It supposes a love of order, and attention to
the laws of custom, and a decent pride. My Lord Bacon
says, that ** a good person is a perpetual letter of recom-
mendation."
2. This idea may be extended. Of a well-dressed man
it may be affirmed, that he has a sure passport through the
realms of civility. In first interviews we can judge of no
one except from appearances. He, therefore, whose exteri-
or is agreeable, begins well in any society.
3. Men and womeo. are disposed to augur favorably rather
than otherwise of him who manifests, by the purity and pro-
priety of his garb, a disposition to comply and to please. As
in rhetoric, a judicious exordium is of admirable use to ren-
der an audience docile, attentive, and benevolent, so, at our
introduction into good company, clean and modish apparel
is at least a serviceable herald of our exertions, though an
humble one.
4. Should I see a man, though even a genius, totally
regardless of his person, I should immediately doubt the
delicacy of his taste and the accuracy of his judgment. I
should conclude there was some obliquity in his mind, —
a dull sense of decorum, and a disregard of order. I should
fancy, that he consorted with low society, and, instead of
claiming the privilege of genius to knock and be admitted
at palaces, that he chose to sneak in at the back-door of
hovels, and wallow brutishly in the sty of the vulgar.
5. The Orientals are particularly careful of their per-
sons. Their frequent ablutions and change of garments are
noticed in every page of their history. More than one pre-
cept for neatness can be quoted from the Bible. The wise
men of the East supposed there was some analogy between
the purity of the body and that of the mind, nor is this a
vain imagination.
6. I cannot conclude these remarks better than by an ex-
tract from the works of Count Rumford, who, in few and
strong words, has fortified my doctrine ; '* With what care
CHILDREN. 207
and attention do the feathered race wash themselves, and
put their plumage in order ! and how perfectly neat, clean,
and elegant, do they ever appear ! Among the beasts of the
field, we find that those which are the most cleanly are gen-
erally the most gay and cheerful, or are distinguished by a
certain air of tranquillity and contentment; and singing-birds
are always remarkable for the neatness of their plumage. So
great is the effect of cleanliness upon man, tha>fe it extends
even to his moral character. Virtue never dwelt long with
filth ; nor do I believe there ever was a person scrupulously
attentive to cleanliness, who was a consummate villain."
LESSON XCIX. Children.
1. Among yonder children who are now playing together
like birds among the blossoms of earth, haunting all the green
shadowy places thereof, and rejoicing in the bright air, hap-
py and beautiful creatures, and as changeable as happy, with
eyes brimful of joy, and with hearts playing upon their faces
like sunshine upon clear waters; — among those who are
now idling together on that slope, ^ pursuing butterflies to-
gether on the edge of that wood, a wilderness of roses, you
would see not only the gifted and the powerful, the wise and
.the eloquent, the ambitious and the renowned, the long-
lived and the long-to-be-lamented of another age; but the
wicked and the treacherous, the liar and the thief, the aban-
doned profligate, and the faithless husband, the gambler
and the drunkard, the robber, the burglar, the murderer,
and the betrayer of his country. " The child is father of the
man.'*
2. Among them, and that other little troop just appearing,
children with yet happier faces, and pleasanter eyes, the
blossoms of the future, — the mothers of nations, — you
would see the founders of states and the destroyers of their
country, the steadfast and the weak, the judge and the crim-
inal, the murderer and the executioner, the exalted and the
lowly, the unfaithful wife and the broken-hearted husband,
the proud betrayer and his pale victim, the living and
breathing portents and prodigies, the embodied virtues and
208 THE FOURTH READER.
vices of another age and of another world, and all playing
together ! *' 3Ien are hut children of a larger growth.''
3. Pursuing the search, you would go further among the
little creatures, as among the types of another and a loftier
language, to become universal hereafter, types in which the
autobiography of the future was written ages and ages ago.
Among the innocent and helpless creatures that are called
children, you would see warriors, with their garments rolled
ill blood, the spectres of kings and princes, poets with gold-
en harps and illuminated eyes, historians and painters, ar-
chitects and sculptors, mechanics and merchants, preach-
ers and lawyers ; here a grave-digger, flying a kite with his
future customer ; there a physician, playing at marbles with
his ; here the predestined to an early and violent death for
cowardice, fighting the battles of a whole neighborhood ;
there a Cromwell, or a Ccesar, a Napoleon, or a Washing-
ton, hiding themselves for fear, enduring reproach or insult
with patience ; a Benjamin Franklin, higgling for nuts or
gingerbread, or the *'old Parr" of another generation, sit-
ting apart in the sunshine, and shivering at every breath of
wind that reaches him. Yet we are told, that ''just as the
twig is henty the txec 's inclined."
4. Such are children. Corrupted, they ar^ fountains of
bitterness for ages. Would you plant for the skies? Plant
in the live soil of the warm, and generous, and youthful ;
pour all your treasures into the hearts of children. Would
you look into the future as with the spirit of prophecy, and
read, as with a telescope, the history and character of our
country, and of other countries ? You have but to watch
the eyes of children at play.
5. Even fathers and mothers look upon children with a
strange misapprehension of their dignity. Even with the
poets, they are only the flowers and blossoms, the dewdrops
or the playthings, of earth. Yet "of such is the kingdom
of heaven." The kingdom of heaven! with all its princi-
palities and powers, its hierarchies, dominions, and thrones !
The Saviour understood them better ; to him their true dig-
nity was revealed. Flowers ! they are the flowers of the
invisible world ; indestructible, self-perpetuating flowers,
each with a multitude of angels and evil spirits underneath
its leaves, toiling and wrestling for dominion over it !
6. Blossoms ! They are the blossoms of another world,
ANfiCDOTES OF CHILDREN. 209
whose fruitage is angels and archangels. Or dewdrops!
They are dewdrops that have their source, not in the cham-
bers of the earth, nor among the vapors of the sky, which
the next breath of wind, or the next flash of sunshine, may
dry up forever, but among the everlasting fountains and in-
exhaustible reservoirs of mercy and love. Playthings ! If
the little creatures would but appear to us in their true
shape for a moment, we should fall upon our faces before
them, or grow pale with consternation, or fling them off
with horror.
7. What would be our feelings, to see a fair child start
up before us a manaic, or a murderer, armed to the teeth ?
to find a nest of serpents on our pillow 1 a destroyer or a
traitor, a Harry the Eighth, or a Benedict Arnold, asleep in
our bosom? A Catharine or a Peter, a Bacon, a Galileo, or
a Bentham, a Napoleon, or a Voltaire, clambering up our
knees after sugar-plumbs 1 Cuvier, laboring to distinguish a
horse-fly from a blue-bottle, or dissecting a spider with a
rusty nail ? La Place trying to multiply his own apples, or-
to subtract his play-fellow's gingerbread? What should we
say, to find ourselves romping with Messalina, Swedenborg,
and Madame de Stael? or playing bo-peep with Marat,
Robespierre, and Charlotte Corday, or "puss puss in the cor-
ner," with George Washington, Jonathan Wild, Shakspeare,
Sappho, Jeremy Taylor, Mrs. Clark, or Alfieri?
S. Yet stranger things have happened. These were all
children but the other day, and clambered about the knees,
and rummaged in the pockets, and nestled in the laps, of
people no better than we are. But, if they could have ap-
peared in their true shape for a single moment, while they
were playing together, what a scampering there would
have been among the grown folks ! how their fingers would
have tinorled !
LESSON C. Anecdotes of Children,
(■■.
1. I REMEMBER a little boy who was a lexicographer from
his birth, a language-master, and a philosopher. From the
hour he was able to ask for a piece of bread and butter, he
never hesitated for a word, not he ! If one would not serve,
18»
210 THE FOURTH READER.
another would, with a little twisting and turning. He as-
sured me one day, when I was holding him by the hand
rather tighter than he wished (he was but just able to speak at
the time), that I should choke his hand; at another, he came
to me, all out of breath, to announce, that a man was below
shaving the wall. Upon due inquiry, it turned out that he
was only white-ic ashing. But how should he know the dif-
ference between white-wash and lather, a big brush and a
little one? Show me, if you can, a prettier example of
synthesis or generalization, or a more beautiful adaptation
of old words to new purposes.
2. I have heard another complain of a school-fellow for
winking at him icith his Up; and he took the affront very
much to heart, I assure you, and would not be pacified till
the matter was cleared up. Other children talk about the
bones in peaches, — osteologists are they ; and others, when
they have the toothache, aver that it hums them. Of such
is the empire of poetry. I have heard another give a public
challenge in these words, to every child that came near, as
she sat upon the door-step, with a pile of tamarind-stones,
nut-shells, and pebbles lying before her. ** Ah ! I 've got
many-er than you ! " That child was a better grammarian
than Lindley Murray. And her wealth, in what was it un-
like the hoarded and useless wealth of millions?
3. Never shall I forget another incident which occurred
in my presence between two other boys. One was trying to
jump over a wheel-barrow. Another was going by ; he
stopped, and after considering a moment, spoke. " I '11
tell you what you can't do," said he. " Well, what is it ? "
" You can't jump down your own throat." " Well, yoti
can't." " Can't I though ? " The simplicity of '' Well,
you can't," and the roguishness of " Can't I though?"
tickled me prodigiously. They reminded me of sparring 1
had seen elsewhere, — I should not like to say where, —
having a great respect for the temples of justice and the
halls of legislation.
4. " I say 't is white-oak." " I say it 's red-oak." " Well,
I say it 's white-oak ! " " I tell ye 't aint white-oak." Here
they had joined issue for the first time. '' I say 't is." *' I say
'.t aint." *' I '11 bet you ten thousand dollars of it." '' Well,
I '11 bet you ten ten thousand dollars." Such were the very
words of a conversation I have just heard between two chil-
ANECDOTES OF CHILDREN. 211
dren, the elder six, the other about five. Were not these
miniature men ? Stockbrokers and theologians ?
5. *' Well, my lad, you 've been to meeting, hey ? " " Yes
Sir." "And who preached for you?" "Mr. P ."
" Ah ! and what did he say ? " "I can't remember, Sir, he
put me out so." "Put you out?" "Yes Sir, — he kept
lookin' at my new clothes all meetin' time ! " That child
must have been a close observer. Will any body tell me,
that he did not know what some people go to meeting for?
6. It was but yesterday that I passed a fat little girl, with
large hazel eyes, sitting by herself in a gateway, with her
feet stretching straight out into the street. She was holding a
book in one hand, and with a bit of stick, in the other, was
pointing to the letters. "What's that?" cried she, in a
sweet, chirping voice, " hey ; look on ! What 's that, I say ?
F. No — o — o — oh!" shaking her little head with the
air of a school-mistress, who has made up her mind not to
be trifled with.
7. But children have other characters. At times they
are creatures to be afraid of Every case I give is a fact
within my own observation. There are children, and I have
had to do with them, whose very eyes were terrible; chil-
dren, who after years of watchful and anxious discipline,
were as indomitable as the young of the wild beast, dropped
in the wilderness, crafty and treacherous and cruel. And
others I have known, who, if they live, must have dominion
over the multitude, being evidently of them that from the
foundations of the world have been always thundering at
the gates of power.
8. Parents ! Fathers ! Mothers ! if it be true, that " just
a? the twig is bent, the tree 's inclined," how much have
you to answer for ! If " men are but children of a larger
growth," watch your children forever, by day and by night !
pray for them forever, by night and by day ! and not as chil-
dren, but as men of a smaller growth ; as men with most of
the evil passions, and with all the evil propensities, that go
to make man terrible to his fellow-men. ' .
212 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON CI. Early Display of Genius.
1. Many striking instances have occurred, of the capacity
and vigor of the human mind, even amidst the obscurities
and the obstructions to mental activity which exist in the
present state of things. The illustrious Pascal, no less cel-
ebrated for his piety than for his intellectual acquirements,
when under the age of twelve years, and while immersed in
the study of languages, without books and without an in-
structor, discovered and demonstrated most of the proposi-
tions in the first book of Euclid, before he knew that such
a book was in existence, — to the astonishment of every
mathematician; so that, at that early age, he was an invent-
or of geometrical science.
2. He afterwards made some experiments and discoveries
on the nature of sound, and on the weight of the air, and
demonstrated the pressure of the atmosphere ; and at the age
of sixteen, composed a treatise on Conic Sections, which,
in the judgment of men of the greatest abilities, was an
astonishing effort of the human mind. At nineteen years
of age, he invented an arithmetical machine, by which
calculations are made, not only without the help of a pen,
but even without a person's knowing a single rule in arith-
metic; and, at tlie age of twenty-four, he had acquired a
proficiency in almost every branch of human knowledge,
when his mind became entirely absorbed in the exercises of
religion.
3. The celebrated Grotius, at the age of thirteen, only a
year after his arrival at the university of Leyden, maintained
public theses in mathematics, philosophy, and law, with uni-
versal applause. At the age of fourteen, he ventured to
form literary plans which required an amazing extent of
knowledge ; and he executed them in such perfection, that
the literary world was struck with astonishment. At this
early age, he published an edition of Martianus Capella,
and acquitted himself of the task in a manner which woula
have done honor to the greatest scholars of the age.
4. At the age of seventeen he entered on the profession
of an advocate, and pleaded his first cause at Delf, with the
greatest reputation, having previously made an extraordina-
ry progress in the knowledge of the sciences. The Admira"
EARLY DISPLAY OF GENIUS. gl3
ble Criclitorij who received his education at Perth and St.
Andrews, by the time he had reached his twentieth year,
was master of ten languages, and had gone through the
whole circle of the sciences as they were then understood.
5. At Paris he one day engaged in a disputation, which
lasted nine hours, in the presence of three thousand audi-
tors, against four doctors of the church, and fifty masters,
on every subject they could propose ; and, having silenced all
his antagonists, he came off amidst the loudest acclama-
tions, though he had spent no time in previous preparation
for the contest.
6. Gassendif a celebrated philosopher of France, at the
age of four, declaimed little sermons of his own composi-
tion ; at the age of seven, spent whole nights in observing
the motions of the heavenly bodies, of which he acquired a
considerable knowledge at sixteen ; he was appointed pro-
fessor of rhetoric at Digne, and, at the age of nineteen, he
was elected professor of philosophy in the university of Aix.
His vast knowledge of philosophy and mathematics was or-
namented by a sincere attachment to the Christian religion,
and a life formed upon its principles and precepts.
7. Jeremiah Horrox^ a name celebrated in the annals of
astronomy, before he attained the age of seventeen, had ac-
quired, solely by his own industry, and the help of a few
Latin authors, a most extensive and thorough knowledge of
astronomy, and of the branches of mathematical learning
connected with it. He composed astronomical tables for
himself, and corrected the errors of the most celebrated as-
tronomers of his time. He calculated a transit of the planet
Venus across the sun's disk, and was the first of mortals
who beheld this singular phenomenon, which is now consid-
ered of so much importance in astronomical science.
8. Sir Isaac Newton, the fame of whose genius has ex-
tended over the whole civilized world, made his great dis-
coveries in geometry and fluxions, and laid the foundation
of his two celebrated works, his " Principia " and " Optics,"
by the time he was twenty-four years of age; and yet these*
works contain so many abstract and sublime truths, that'
only the first-rate mathematicians are qualified to understand
and appreciate them. In learning mathematics, he did not
study the geometry of Euclid, which seemed to him too
plain and simple, and unworthy of taking up his time.
214 THE FOURTH READER.
9. He understood him almost before he read him ; and a
cast of his eye, upon the contents of his theorems, was suf-
ficient to make him master of their demonstrations. Amidst
all the sublime investigations of physical and mathematical
science in which he engaged, and amidst the variety of
books he had constantly before him, the Bible was that
which he studied with the greatest application; and his
meekness and modesty were no less admirable than the vari-
ety and extent of his intellectual acquirements.
li. J. Philip Barratier, who died at Halle in 1740, in
the twentieth year of his age, was endowed with extraor-
dinary powers of memory and comprehension of mind. At
the age of five, he understood the Greek, Latin, German,
and French languages ; at the age of nine he could trans-
late any part of the Hebrew Scriptures into Latin, and
could repeat the whole Hebrew Psalter ; and before he had
completed his tenth year, he drew up a Hebrew Lexicon of
uncommon and difficult words, to which he added many
curious critical remarks.
11. In his thirteenth year he published, in two volumes
octavo, a translation from the Hebrew of Rabbi Benjamin's
*' Travels in Europe, Asia, and Africa," with historical and
critical notes and dissertations; the whole of which he com-
pleted in four months. In the midst of these studies, he
prosecuted philosophical and mathematical pursuits, and in
his fourteenth year invented a method of discovering the
longitude at sea, which exhibited the strongest marks of su-
perior abilities. In one winter he read twenty great folios,
with all the attention of a vast, comprehensive mind.
12. Such rapid progress in intellectual acquirement strik-
ingly evinces the vigor and comprehension of the human
faculties ; and, if such varied and extensive acquisitions in
knowledge can be attained, even amidst the frailties and
physical impediments of this mortal state, it is easy to con-
ceive, with what energy and rapidity the most sublime in-
vestigations may be prosecuted in the future world, when
the spirit is connected with an incorruptible body, fitted to
accompany it in all its movements : and when every moral
obstruction which now impedes its activity shall be com-
pletely removed.
13. The flights of the loftiest genius that ever appeared on
earth, when compared with the rapid movements and compre-
THE CALUMNIATOR. * 215
hensive views of the heavenly inhabitants, may be no more
than the flutterings of a microscopic insect to the sublime
flights of the soaring eagle. When endowed with new and
vigorous senses, and full scope is afforded for exerting all the
energies of their renovated faculties, they may be enabled to
trace out the hidden springs of nature's operations, to pursue
the courses of the heavenly bodies, in their most distant and
rapid career, and to survey the whole chain of moral dispen-
sations in reference not only to the human race, but to the
inhabitants of numerous worlds.
LESSOiN ClI. The Calumniator
1. I AM one of those who believe that the heart of the
wilful and deliberate libeller is blacker than that of the high-
way robber, or of one who commits the crime of midnight
arson. The man who plunders on the highway, may have
the semblance of an apology for what he does. An affec-
tionate wife may demand subsistence ; a circle of helpless
children raise to him the supplicating hand for food. He
may be driven to the desperate act by the high mandate of
imperative necessity.
2. The mild features of the husband and the father may
intermingle with those of the robber, and soften the rough-
ness of the shade. But the robber of character plunders
that which '* not enriches him," though it makes his neigh-
bor " poor indeed." The man who, at the midnight hour,
consumes his neighbor's dwelling, does him an injury,
which, perhaps, is not irreparable. Industry may rear an-
other habitation. The storm may, indeed, descend upon
him, until charity opens a neighboring door; the rude winds
of heaven may whistle around his uncovered family. But
he looks forward to better days ; he has yet a hook to hang
a hope on.
3. No such consolation cheers the heart of him whose
character has been torn from him. If innocent, he may
look, like Anaxagoras, to the heavens; but he must be con-
strained to feel, that this world is to him a wilderness. For
whither shall he go? Shall he dedicate himself to the
210 THE FOURTH READER
service of his country ? But will his country receive him ?
Will she employ in her councils, or in her armies, the man
at whom the " slow, unmoving finger of scorn " is pointed?
Shall he betake himself to the fireside ? The story of his
disgrace will enter his own doors before him.
4. And can he bear, think you, can he bear the sympa-
thizing agonies of a distressed wife ? Can he endure the
formidable presence of scrutinizing, sneering domestics?
Will his children receive instruction from the lips of a dis-
graced father ? Gentlemen, I am not ranging on fairy
ground. I am telling the plain story of my client's wrongs.
By the ruthless hand of malice his character has been wan-
tonly massacred ; — and he now appears before a jury of his
country for redress. Will you deny him this redress ? Is
character valuable ?
5. On this point I will not insult you with argument.
There are certain things, to argue which, is treason against
nature. The author of our being did not intend to leave
this afloat at the mercy of opinion, but with his own hand
has kindly planted in the soul of man an instinctive love of
character. This high sentiment has no affinity to pride. It
is the ennobling quality of the soul ; and if we have hither-
to been elevated above the ranks of surrounding creation,
human nature owes its elevation to the love of character.
6. It is the love of character for which the poet has sung,
the philosopher toiled, the hero bled. It is the love of char-
acter which wrought miracles at ancient Greece ; the love
of character is the eagle on which Rome rose to empire.
And it is the love of character animating the bosom of her
sons, on which America must depend in those approaching
crises that may " try men's souls." Will a jury weaken this
our nation's hope ? Will they by their verdict pronounce to
the youth of our country, that character is scarce worth pos-
sessing.
7. We read of that philosophy which caa smile over the
destruction of property, — of that religion which enables the
possessor to extend the benign look of forgiveness to his
murderers. But it is not in the soul of man to bear the
laceration of slander. The philosophy which could bear it,
we should despise. The religion which could bear it, we
should not despise, — but we should be constrained to say,
that its kincrdom was not of this world.
VERSES. 217
LESSON cm. Verses.
1. If I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not weep for thee ;
But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be.
It never through my mind had passed,
The time would e'er be o'er,
And I on thee should look my last,
And thou shouldst smile no more !
2. And still upon that face I look,
And think 't will smile again ;
And still the thought I will not brook.
That I must look in vain !
But when I speak, — thou dost not say,
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid ;
And now I foel, as well I may,
Sweet Mary ! thou art dead !
3. If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art,
All cold and all serene, —
I might still press thy silent heart.
And where thy smiles have been 1
While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have,
Thou seemest still my own ;
But there I lay thee in thy grave, —
And I am now alone!
4. I do not think, where'er thou art.
Thou hast forgotten me ;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart
In thinking too of thee.
Yet there was round thee such a dawa
Of light ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore !
19
218 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON CIV. The Chamois of the Alps.
1. Chamois are very fearful, certainly not without suffi-
cient cause, and, their sense of smell and sight being most
acute, it is extremely difficult to approach them within the
range of a shot. They are sometimes hunted with dogs,
but oftener without, as dogs drive them away to places
where it is difficult to follow them ; when a dog is used, he
is to be led silently to the track, which he never will after-
wards lose, the scent being very strong ; the hunter in the
mean time chooses a proper station to lie in wait for the
game, some narrow pass through which its flight will most
likely be directed.
2. More frequently the hunter follows his dog, with which
he easily keeps pace by taking a straighter direction, but
calls him back in about an hour, when he judges the chamois
to be a good deal exhausted, and inclined to lie down to
rest; it is then approached with less difficulty. An old
male will frequently turn against the dog, when pursued,
and, while keeping him at bay, allows the hunter to ap-
proach very near.
3. Hunters, two or three in company, generally proceed
without dogs ; they carry a sharp hoe to cut steps in the ice,
each his rifle, hooks to be fastened to his shoes, a mountain
stick with a point of iron, and in his pouch a short spy-glass,
barley-cakes, cheese, and brandy made of gentian or cher-
ries. Sleeping the first night at some of those upper
chalets, which are left open at all times, and always provi-
ded with a little dry wood for a fire, they reach their hunt-
ing-grounds at daylight.
4. There, on some commanding situation, they gener-
ally find a luegi, as it is called, ready prepared, two stones
standing upon end, with sufficient space between to see
through without being seen ; there one of the hunters creeps
unperceived, without his gun, and, carefully observing every
way with his spy-glass, directs his companions by signs.
5. The utmost circumspection and patience are requisite
on the part of the hunter, when approaching his game ; a
windward situation would infallibly betray him by the scent;
he creeps on from one hiding-rock to another, with his shirt
^ver his clothes, and lies motionless in the snow, often for
:»
THE CHAMOIS OF THE ALPS. 2l9
half an hour together, when the herd appears alarmed and
near taking flight.
6. Whenever he is near enough to distinguish the bending
of the JiornSj that is, about the distance of two hundred or
two hundred and fifty steps, he takes aim '^ but if, at the mo-
ment of raising his piece, the chamois should look towards
him, he must remain perfectly still; the least. motion would
put them to flight before he could fire, and he is too far to
risk a shot otherwise than at rest. In taking aim he en-
deavors to pick out the darkest coat, which is always the
fattest animal ; this darkness is only comparative, for the
color of the animal varies continually, between light bay in
summer, and dark brown, or even black, in winter.
7. Accustomed as the chamois are to frequent and loud
detonations among the glaciers, they do not mind the report
of the arms so much as the smell of gunpowder, or the
sight of a man ; there are instances of the hunter having
time to load again, and fire a second time after missing the
first, if not seen. No one but a sportsman can understand
the joy of him, who, after so much toil, sees his prey fall ;
with shouts of savage triumph he springs to seize it, up to
his knees in snow, despatches the victim if he finds it not
quite dead, and often swallows a draught of warm bloody
deemed a specific against giddiness.
8. He then takes out the entrails of the beast to lessen its
weight, ties the feet together, in such a manner as to passhis
arms through on each side, and then proceeds down the
mountain, much lighter for the additional load he carries.
When the day is not too far spent, the hunters, hiding care-
fully their game, continue the chase. At home, the chamois
is cut up, and the pieces salted or smoked ; the skin is sold
to make gloves and leather breeches, and the horns are hung
up as a trophy in the family. A middle-sized chamois weighs
from fifty to seventy pounds.
9. Not unfrequently the best marksman is selected to lie
in wait for the game, while his associates, leaving their
rifles loaded by him, and acting the part of hounds, drive it
towards the spot. Sometimes, when the passage is too nar-
row, a chamois, reduced to the last extremity, will rush
headlong on the foe, whose only resource to avoid the en-
counter, which, on the brink of precipices must be fatal,
is to lie down immediately and let the frightened animal
pass over him,
220 THE FOURTH READER.
10. There was once an instance of a herd of fourteen
chamois, which, being hard pressed, rushed down a preci-
pice to certain death, rather than be taken. It is wonderful
to see them climb abrupt and naked rocks, and leap from
one narrow cliff to another, the smallest projection serving
them for a point of rest, upon which they alight, but only
just to take another spring; their agility made people be-
lieve formerly that they could support themselves by me^ns
of their hooked horns. They have been known to take
leaps of twenty-five feet down hill, over fields of snow.
11. The leader of the herd is always an old female, never
a male. She stands watching when the others lie down,
and rests when they are up, and feeds listening to every
sound, and anxiously looking round ; she often ascends a
fragment of rock, or heap of drifted snow, for a wide field
of observation, making a sort of gentle hissing noise when
she suspects any danger. But when the sound arises to a
sharper note, the whole troop flies at once like the wind to
some m.ore remote and higher part of the mountain. The
death of this old leader is generally fatal to the herd.
12. Their fondness for salt makes them frequent salt
springs and salt marshes, where hunters lie in wait for them.
The latter practise also a very odd ruse de guerre ; having
observed the chamois are apt to approach cattle in the pas-
tures, and graze near them, a hunter will crawl on all fours
with saU spread on his back to attract the cattle, and is im-
mediately surrounded and hid by them so completely, that
he finds no difficulty in advancing very near the chamois,
and taking a sure aim.
13. At other times, a hunter, when discovered, will drive
his stick into the snow, and place his hat on the top of it;
then, creeping away, go round another way, while the game
remains intent on the strange object, which it still sees in
the same place.
14. The males generally live apart, and only come near
the herd in November and Decemljer ; in May the females
bring forth their young, which walk from the moment of
their birth, and are very pretty and tame. When caught
they are easily reared, but cannot live in a warmed stable in
winter. The age of each individual is known by the num-
ber of rings marked on its horns, each year adding a new
one ; in winter they subsist on the lichen ciliaris and the
DRESS., 221
lichen barbatus of the botanists, not unlike Iceland moss,
and on the young shoots and the bark of pines.
15. By scratching away the snow, they also come at
the grass and moss on the ground ; and it frequently happens,
that a whole bed of snow sliding off a steep declivity, lays
bare a great extent of pasture. Those that frequent forests,
are generally larger and better fed than those which live
mostly on the high and naked parts of the mountain, but
none of them are lean in winter ; in spring, on the contra-
ry, when they feed on new grass, they become sickly and
poor.
LESSON CV. Dress,
1. In no way has civilized man played more fantastic
tricks than in the matter of dress. The clumsy and incon-
venient dress of the savage is attributed to his ignorance of
domestic arts ; but what can be said in excuse for civilized
man, when he wears shoes, that project half a yard beyond
his feet, or exchanges his own locks for an enormous peri-
wig, filled with powder and pomatum ; or when a lady, by
various absurdities in dress, renders it difhcult for her either
to walk or sit. . ^^ / -m^,. .- ^,. ',
2. One extreme leads to another. I have seen full grown
women with dresses on only a yard and a half wide ; while
at another period, the ladies at court were so encased in
hoops, constructed of millinet and whalebone, that it was
almost impossible to avoid unpleasant and awkward reo^
counters.
3. The influence of fashion is so strong in corrupting the
eye, and perverting the taste, that it has led some persons to
doubt the existence of any true standard of beauty in cos-
tume ; there are, however, some forms of dress which ap-
pear beautiful to us, after they have ceased to be the reign-
ing mode. These are in general simple and' unpretending.
The occasional triumph of good taste over fashion is shown
by the frequent returns of pretty shapes. I would have
young people look at every thing with an eye of taste, and so
modify their compliance with the prevailing mode, as not to
sacrifice to it their sense of beauty.
19*
222 THE FOURTH READER.
4. Mere fashion should never be allowed to triumph over
common sense or good taste. Neither do I mean to rec-
ommend a wide departure from it ; ingenuity should be
called up to invent a modification, which shall combine
beauty with fasiiion. I have seen two young ladies with
equal pretensions t6 personal beauty, one of whom was ar-
rayed in a French embroidered pelerine, that cost twenty-
five dollars ; while the other was dressed in one made of
plain cajnbric, edged with embroidery, that cost two dollars ;
and aaft person who had an eye for beautiful forms, would
have piTefc|red the latter, because the proportions of the
lady's cajre and figure were suited to each other, whereas
the other had chosen a cape so much too large for her, that
she seemed encumbered by her finery.
5. Conversing one evening at a brilliant party in one of
our southern cities, with an ingenious gentleman, who had
devoted much time to the fine arts, having studied archi-
tecture and practised modelling, and was also a great ob-
server of .femalp-iittire, I was amused to hear him com-
pare the different modes of dress to the different styles of
architecture.
C. When be saw a lady dressed with great simplicity, and
her hair naturally arrayed, he called that style of dress
Grecian. One more elaborately attired, but still in good
taste, reminded him of the ancient Roman style. Anything
cumbrous, however rich its material, or grand its form, was
called Gothic. And when u lady approaclied us covered
with finery, that looked as if it had been sho\veYed upon her
from a band-box held over her head, he exclaimed, "Here is a
specimen of the florid Gothic." /
7. He never could bear to see' bows that tied nothing,
rows of buttons that fastened nothmg, and little appendages
that had no real or apparent use. He insisted, that in dress,
as well as in architecture, all beauty was founded in utility,
and asked me if I did not think, that columns which sup^
ported nothing would look very badly.
8. He said, he liked to see borders to papered walls, be-
cause they hid the terminating edge, and he liked to see la-
dies gowns trimmed round the bottom of the skirt, because
the trimming hid the hem, and was a handsome finish to the
figure ; " but," he continued, " inasmuch as I should con-
demn the taste that made a paper bordering so wide as to
DRESS. 223
cover half the walls, so do I denounce the fashion of trim-
niings which extend half way up the skirt, It has no lon-
ger the effect of a border ; it is an overload of ornament,
cuts up the figure, and spoils any dress."
9. If this gentleman had lived to see the exaggeration of
the present day, even his command of language would have
been taxed to find terms of reprobation sufficiently strong
for a leg of mutton, or a balloon, sleeve. The sight of a
woman carrying a projection each side of her, larger than
her body, would certainly look as preposterous to him, as
an edifice in which the wings were larger than the main
body.
10. Nothing can be truly beautiful which is not appropri».
ate ; all styles of dress, therefore, which impede the motions
of the wearer, which do not sufficiently protect the person,
which add unnecessarily to the heat of summer, or to the
cold of winter, which do not suit the age and occupation
of the wearer, or which indicate an expenditure unsuited to
her means, are inappropriate, and therefore destitute of one
of the essential elements of beauty.
11. Propriety, or fitness, lies at the foundation of all good
taste in dressing. Always consider whether the articles of
dress which you wish to purchase are suited to your age,
your condition, or your means, and then let the principles
of good taste keep you from the extremes of the fashion,
and regulate the form so as to combine utility and beauty.
12. Some persons seem to have an inherent love of finery,
and adhere to it pertinaciously ; they cannot reason upon
this preference ; they can only say, that what others condemn
as tawdry, looks pretty to them. No plainness of dress can
ever be construed to your disadvantage ; but ornamental
additions, which, in their best state, are a very doubtful
good, become a positive evil, when defaced, or soiled, or
tumbled. Shabby feathers, and crushed or faded artificial
flowers, are an absolute disgrace to a lady's appearance,
whereas their total absence would never be remarked
Cleanliness is the first requisite in a lady's dress.
224 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON C VI. / 'm pleased and yet I 'm sad.
1. When twilight steals along the ground,
And all the bells are ringing round,
One, two, three, four, and five ;
I at my study window sit,
And, wrapped in many a musing fit.
To bliss am all alive.
2. But, though impressions, calm and sweet,
Thrill round my heart a holy heat,
And I am inly glad.
The tear-drop stands in either eye,
And yet I cannot tell thee why,
I 'm pleased, and yet I 'm sad.
3. The silvery rack that flies away,
Like mortal life or pleasure's ray.
Does that disturb my breast ?
Nay, what have I, a studious man.
To do with life's unstable plan,
Or pleasure's fading vest?
4. Is it that here I must not stop,
But o'er yon blue hill's woody top,
Must bend my lonely way ?
No, surely no ! for give but me
My own fireside, and I shall be
At home where'er I stray.
5. Then is it that yon steeple there.
With music sweet shall fill the air,
When thou no more canst hear?
O, no ! O, no ! for then forgiven
I shall be with my God in heaven,
Released from every fear.
6. Then whence it is I cannot tell,
But there is some mysterious spell.
That holds me when |^ra glad;
SCENES ON THE HUDSON. 225
And so the tear-drop fills my eye,
When yet in truth I know not why
Or wherefore I am sad.
LESSON CVII. Scenes on the Hudson River in Early
Times.
1. WiLDNESS and savage majesty reigned on the borders
of t^s mighty river ; the hand of cultivation had not as yet
laid down^the dark liarests, and tamed the features of the
landscape ; nor had the frequent sail of commerce yet brok-
en in upon the profound and awful solitude of ages.
2. Here and there might be seen a rude wigwam, perched
among the cliffs of the mountains, with its curling column
of smoke mounting in the transparent atmosphere, but so
loftily situated, that the whoppings of the savage children,
gambolling on the margin of the dizzy heights, fell almost
as faintly on the ear, as do the notes of the lark, when lost
in the azure vault of heaven. Now and then, from the
beetling brow of some rocky precipice, the wild deer would
look timidly down upon the splendid pageant as it passed
below; and then, tossing his branching antlers to the air,
would bound away into the thickets of the forest.
3. Through such scenes did the stately vessel of Peter
Stuyvesant pass. Now did they skirt the bases of the rocky
heights of Jersey, which spring up like everlasting walls,
reaching from the waves into the heavens ; and were fash-
ioned, if traditions may be believed, in times long past, by
the mighty spirit Manito, to protect his frontier abodes
from the unhallowed eyes of mortals.
4. Now did they career it gayly across the#vast expanse of
Tappan Bay, whose wide-extended shores present a vast va-
riety of delectable scenery; here, the bold promontory,
crowned with embowering trees, advancing into the bay ;
there, the long woodland slope, swelling up from the shore
in rich luxuriance, arid terminating in the upland precipice;
while, at a distance, a long, waving line of rocky heights
threw their gigantic shades across the water.
5. Now would they pass where some modest little inter-
val, opening among these stupendous scenes, yet retreating,
226 THE FOURTH READER.
as it were, for protection, into the embraces of the neighbor-
ing mountain^, displayed a rural paradise, fraught with sweet
^'nd pastoral beauties; the velvet-tufted lawn, — the bushy
copse, — the tinkling rivulet, stealing through the fresh ««d
vivid verdure, — on whose banks was situated some little
Indian village, or, peradventure, the rude cabin of some
solitary hunter.
6. The different periods of the revolving day seemed
each, with cunning magic, to diffuse a different charm over
the scene. Now would the jovial sun break gloriously from
the east, blazing from the summits of the hills and sprinkling
the landscape with a thousand decoy gems ; while along the
borders of the river were seen heavy masses of mist, which,
like midnight caitiffs, disturbed at his approach, made a
sluggish retreat, rolling in sullen reluctance up the moun-
tains.
7. At such times all was brightness and life and gayety ;
the atmosphere seemed of an indescribable pureness and
transparency ; the birds broke forth in wanton madrigals,
and the freshening breezes wafted the vessel merrily on her
course. But when the sun sunk amid a flood of glory in
the west, mantling the heavens and the earth with a thou-
sand gorgeous dyes, — then, all was calm, and silent, and
magnificent.
8. The late swelling sail hung lifelessly against the mast,/
— the seamen with folded arms leaned against the shrouds,
lost in that involuntary musing which the sober grandeur of
nature commands in the rudest of her children. The vast
bosom of the Hudson, was like an imruffled mirror, reflect-
ing the golden splendor of the heavens, excepting that now
and then, a bark canoe would start across its surface, filled
with painted savages, whose gay feathers glared brightly,
as, perchance, a lingering ray of the setting sun gleamed
upon them from the western mountains,
9. But when the hour of twilight spread its magic mists
around, then did the face of nature resume a thousand fugi-
tive cltanne, which, to the worthy heart, that seeks enjoy-
ment in the glorious works of its Maker, are inexpressibly
captivating. The mellow, dubious light, that prevailed, just
served to tinge with illusive colors, the softened features of
the scenery. The deceived, but delighted eye sought vain-
ly to discern, in the broad masses of shade, the separating
THE IMMORTAL MIND. 227
Hne between the land and water ; or to distinguish the
fading objects that seemed sinking into chaos.
10. Now did the busy fancy supply the feebleness of vis-
ion, producing, with industrious craft, a fairy creation of her
own. Under her plastic wand, the barren rocks frowned
upon the watery waste, in the semblance of lofty towers and
high embattled castles ; trees assumed the direful forms of
mighty giants ; and the inaccessible summits of the moun-
tains seemed peopled with a thousand shadowy beings.
11. Now broke forth from the shores the notes of an in-
numerable variety of insects, which filled the air with a
strange but not inharmonious concert ; while ever and anon
was heard the melancholy plaint of the whip-poor-will,
who, perched on some lone tree, wearied the e^r of night
with his incessant moanings. The mind, soothed into a
hallowed melancholy, listened with pensive stillness to catch
and distinguish each sound that vaguely echoed from the
shore, now and then startled, perchance, by the whoop of
some straggling savage, or the dreary howl of a wolf, steal-
ing forth upon his nightly prowlings.
LESSON CVIII. The Immortal Mind.
1. When coldness wraps this suffering clay,
Ah, whither strays the immortal mind ?
It cannot die, it cannot stay.
But leaves its darkened dust behindy'
Then, unembodied, doth it trace,
By steps, each planet's heavenly way?
Or fill at once the realms of space,
A thing of eyes, that all survey ?
2. Eternal, boundless, undecayed,
A thought unseen, but seeing all,
All, all in earth or skies displayed^
Shall it survey, shall it recall jr-**
Each fainter trace that memory holds
So darkly of departed years,
In one broad glance the soul beholds,
And all, that was, at once appears.
228 THE FOURTH READER.
3. Before creation peopled earth,
•Its eye shall roll through chaos back;
And whefe the furthest heaven had birth,
The spirit tra^. its rising track.
And where the future mars or makes,
Its glance dilate o'er aJl to be.
While sun is quenched, or system breaks;
Fixed in its own eternity.
4. Above all love, hope, hate, or fear,
It lives all passionless and pure ;
An age shall fleet, like earthly year;
Its years as moments shall endure.
Away, away, without a wing.
O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly:
A nameless and eternal thing,
Forgetting what it was to die.
LESSON CIX. Robert Emmett.
1. This remarkable and interesting victim of enthusias
tic but ill-directed patriotism was one of the leaders in the
Irish rebellion of 1803. He was the brother of the late
Thomas Addis Emmett, a distinguished Irish lawyer, who
settled in New York, and died there in 18*27. He was the
son of a respectable physician, possessed a handsome for-
tune, was highly educated, and endowed with uncommon
genius.
2. Having been seized and brought to trial, and knowing
that his fate was decided, he sought not to save his life, but
to shelter his name and fame from after infamy. The fol-
lowing is the closing part of his address to the court.
3. " Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me
with dishonor ; let no man attaint my memory, by believing
that I could engage in any cause but that of my country's
liberty and independence ; or that I could become the pliant
minion of power in the oppression or the miseries of my
countrymen. The proclamation of the provisional govern-
ment speaks my views; from which no inference can be
tortured to countenance barbaritv or debasement at home,
ROBERT EMMETT. 229
or subjection, or humiliation, or treachery from abroad. I
would not have submitted to a foreign invader, for the same
reason that I would resist the domestic oppressor. In the
dignity of freedom, I would have fought upon the threshold
of my country, and its enemies should enter only by passing
over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but for my
country, who have subjected myself to the dangers of the
jealous and watchful oppressor, and now to the bondage of
the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, and my
country her independence, to be loaded with calumny, and
not suffered to resent and repel it ? No ; God forbid !
4. " If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in
the concerns and cares of those who were dear to them in
this transitory life, — oh ! ever dear and venerated shade of
my departed father, look down with scrutiny upon the con-
duct of your suffering son, and see if I have for a moment
deviated from those principles of morality and patriotism,
which it was your care to instil into my youthful mind, and
for which I am now to offer up my life.
5. *' My lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The
blood for which you thirst, is not congealed by the artificial
terrors which surround your victim ; it circulates warmly
and unruffled through the channels which God created for
noble purposes, but which you are bent to destroy for pur-
poses so grievous, that they cry to Heaven.
6. " Be yet patient. I have but a few words more to say ;
I am going to my cold and silent grave ; my lamp of life is
nearly extinguished ; my race is run ; the grave opens to re-
ceive me ; and I sink into its bosom. I have but one re-
quest to make at my departure from this world ; it is the char-
ity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph ; for, as no
man who knows my motives dares now vindicate them, let
not prejudice nor ignorance asperse them. Let them and
me repose in obscurity, and my tomb remain uninscribed,
until other times and other men can do justice to my charac-
ter. When my country takes her place among the nations
of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be writ-
ten. I have done."
7. Such was the lofty and intrepid bearing of Robert
Emmett, in the hopeless hour of condemnation, he being
then but twenty -one years of age. In allusion to his last re-
20
230 THE FOURTH READER.
quest, the *' charity of the world's silence," the poet Moore
thus beautifully mourns his fate.
8. " O breathe not his name, — let it sleep in the shade.
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid, —
' Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head.
9. " But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps ;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls."
LESSON ex. The Broken Hmrr.
1. In happier days and fairer fortooes, Robert Emmett,
noticed in the preceding lesson, had won the affections of
a beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of Curran, a
late celebrated Irish barrister. , She loved him with the dis-
interested fervor of a woman's first and only 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 sympa-
thy even of his fijcs, 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.
2. But, then, the horrors of such a grave! — so frightful,
so dishonored ! There was nothing 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.
3. To render her widowed situation more desolate, she
had incurred her father's displeasure by her unfortunate at-
THE BROKEN HEART. 231
tachment, and was an exile from the paternal roof. But,
could the sympathy 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 peo-
ple of quick and generous sensibilities. The most delicate
and cherishing attentions were paid her by families of wealth
and distinction. She was led into society, and they tried all
kinds of occupation and amusement to dissipate her grief,
and wean her from the tragical story of her love. But it
was all in vain.
4. There are some strokes of calamity, that scath and
scorch the soul, — that penetrate to the vital seat of happi-
ness, and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blossom.
She never objected to frequent the haunts 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 mocked at all the blandishments of friendship, and
" heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he never so
wisely."
5. The story of one so true and tender, could not but
excite great interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm.
It completely 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 with the sol-
emn assurance, that her heart was unalterably another's.
6. He took her with 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 sank into the grave, the victim of a broken heart.
232 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON CXI. Apelles and Protogenes.
Apelles was a Greek artist, in the time of Alexander the Great, and
has been oflen called the " Priuce of painters." Protogenes was almost
equally celebrated. The incidents here related took place about 325 years
before Christ. No specimens of tlie paintings of either artist remain. It is
probable the lines, here spoken of, were slight sketches. Cos and Rhodes
are two Greek Islands.
1. "Is Protogenes at home?" inquired a young man, as
he entered tlie painting-room of the artist Protogenes.
2. " No, master," replied an old woman, who was seated
near a panel prepared for painting; "No, master; he has
gone forth to breathe the fresh air, and much does he need it,
after toiling here all day. It is his custom, at the approach
of evening, to go down to the sea-shore and snuff the
breezes, that come skimming over the water from the Gre-
cian isles."
3. " Iff he then so laborious? " said the stranger.
" Ay, to be sure he is. They say he is determined to ex-
cel Apelles of Cos. Be that as it may, he never thinks his
pictures are finished; but it is no business of mine, else I
might say life is too short, to spend three or four years in
lingering, still unsatisfied, over the same picture."
4. " Thy life does not seem to have been a short one,
mother," said the stranger, examining the lines of care and
sorrow, which had strongly marked a face that might once
have been handsome.
She looked earnestly at him, without replying.
" I have urgent business with Protogenes," said the stran-
ger.
5. " Very well ; leave your name, and fix the time when
you will come again. You cannot fail of finding him at
home when the sun gets above yonder loop-hole, and that is
about the tenth hour in the morning."
The stranger drew a small tablet from under his robe,
and seemed to be about writing his name ; suddenly he
approached the panel, and, taking a pencil which lay near,
drew simply a line. As he looked up, he perceived the old
woman lookin.'T intently upon it.
*' Look, mother," said he, smiling, " canst thou read that
name?"
6. She fixed on him a steady look. " My eyes," replied
APELLES AND PROTOGENES. 233
she, ** are dim with age, and I never was taught your Greek
letters ; but I can read your face."
" And what dost thou read there? "
" That which my master is seeking, — Truths
" Dost thou think I am looking for it at the bottom of a
well? " said the stranger, smiling.
" Ah," replied she, changing at once her air and manner
into one of wild sublimity. — " Thou art not born to look
down upon it, but up, up ! " and she raised her hand and
pointed upwards.
7. "Art thou a soothsayer, good mother?" said the
youth, with reverence.
" Who," replied she, with solemnity, " that has lived to see
the raven hair turn to snow, — who, that has watched the
sapling as it grew into the sturdy oak, and has beheld gen-
eration after generation swept away, — who, that has seen
all this, and yet stands blasted and alone, is not a soothsayer?
Ay, young master, age and sorrow have the gift of reading
the future by the past."
8. " Thou canst number many years ? " said the youth, in-
quiringly.
She shook her head, — "I have outlived all that," said
she, — "I count not by years. I know not how many
times the winter has come round ; life has been one long
winter to me."
** May I ask," said the stranger, with increasing interest,
" if you are a Greek?"
" I am of no nation, of no country," replied she; " I was
once a Persian."
9. The stranger at once comprehended, that she might
ha-¥e been torn as a captive from her native land ; for the
bloody laurels of Asia were yet fresh upon Alexander's
young brow, and he hastily changed a subject which seem-
ed to awaken such bitterly painful feelings.
"My errand to Rhodes was to see Protogenes," said he ;
" I cannot depart without an interview."
10. The old woman arose, and going towards the lattice,
looked at the sun, as it was fast sinking into the ocean.
"He will be here directly, if you will have brief patience,"
said she. This information rather seemed to hasten the
youth away, for he immediately disappeared.
11. When Protogenes returned, the old woman said to
20*
234 THE FOURTH READER.
him, "There has been a stranger inquiring for the master of
the house."
*' What name did he leave 1 " said Protogenes.
" That I may not say," replied she, " but he has written
it there."
Protogenes drew near, and looked earnestly at the line.
Suddenly taking the pencil, he drew another under it.
12. " He is well acquainted with the name of Proto-
genes," said the old woman, " it needs not to be written.
He will be here to-morrow at the tenth hour."
" I shall not be at home at that hour," replied the master;
*' when he comes, show him this," and he pointed to the
second line.
13. The next morning, as the old woman saw Protogenes
go out, " Ah well," she exclaimed, " how can age calculate
upon the caprice of youth ? I could have sworn this was
an hour he would be at home."
14. Again the stranger made his appearance. " It is not
my fault," said she, " that Protogenes seeks the morning
air ; but he has written his name under thine."
The stranger stood before the panel, and gazed atten-
tively upon it. Then seizing another pencil, he drew a
third line.
"Father Zoroaster! " exclaimed the old woman with hor-
ror, *' thou hast written thy name in blood."
15. "Nay, good mother," said the youth, "it is written
with such a pencil as serves Protogenes; — look, I found it
here, and here I leave it."
The emotion of the old woman subsided. "That is
true," replied she. " I am old and failing, and sometimes
everything around me seems written in characters of blood.
I have seen that of my country and kindred flowing in riv-
ers ! Well may I shudder, even at the sight of it."
16. " Tell me, mother, what may I call thy name ? " said
the stranger.
" I tell thee, I have no nation and no name," replied she,
wildly. " When I was young and had smiling babes about
me, they called me Zara."
" Farewell," said the youth, as he quitted the dwelling.
Protogenes returned immediately after his visiter had de-
parted.
17. He again approached the panel, and observed the
new charaoter inscribed there.
THE BLACK SHEEP.
" It is he," he exclaimed ; " I knew it could be no other ! "
** It is not well," said the old woman, " to have thy pan-
el thus defaced ; " and she took a piece of pumice stone^
with the intention of erasing the lines.
18. *' Not for a thousand worlds," exclaimed the artist,
motioning her away, while he stood gazing, as if enraptured.
*' It will go down to posterity. Woman, if all the treasures
of thine own Persepolis, with every monument of Grecian
art, were heaped upon thee, thou couldst not purchase such
a line as that ; and were the whole circle of immortal sci-
ences at thy command, thou couldst not draw it."
19. *' Ay," said she in return; "a broader and a deeper
one is drawn upon my heart, by a murderer's hand."
'' Dwell not on thy melancholy history, good Zara," said
the artist kindly ; ''it will make both thee and me too sad.
But come, if thou hast any of the gifts of thy magic, come
and divine the name of this stranger."
Zara slowly approached the panel. *' Thou wilt not let
me rub it out 1 " said she inquiringly.
" Not for the throne of Alexander," said he; " an empire
could not replace it."
20. " In truth, then, I will read it to thee, — Apelles of
Cos."
21. " Thou art indeed a very soothsayer," said Protogenes,
laughing ; " but perhaps he revealed to thee his name '? "
"Thinkest thou," said she, "that the mind has no
knowledge but through the outer senses? Thinkest thou
there are no signs of the* spirit that animates the man ?
Whom hast thou called upon even in thy sleep, but Apelles
of Cos? What has stimulated thee to labors of the pencil
beyond thy strength, but the fame of Apelles? I behold
thee thus enraptured at the tracery of these simple lines,
and thou sayest this name will go down to posterity; — who
can have drawn them but Apelles of Cos ? "
LESSON CXII. The Black Sheep.
1. The scale of human happiness is more equally bal-
anced than might at first appear. Those who are deemed
the most fortunate, and who, to a hasty observer, seem to
236 THE FOURTH READER.
have no bitterness in the cup of life, on closer observation,
have usually been found to have some settled sorrow, real or
imaginary, which sinks them to the common level of other
men. The story of the Black Sheep is perhaps to the
point.
2. A philosopher, in search of one whom he could call per-
fectly happy, traverses the world. He traces the steps of kings
in their palaces, — the business man in his walks, — the beg-
gar in his hovel. Splendid care, anxiety, and want are depict-
ed in many a face, and felt in many a heart. Returning
in despair to find the object of his search, the philosopher
is hurrying home to his solitude, when his steps are ar-
rested by the appearance of a young shepherd reclining
upon the declivity of a sun-lit hill, with his crook by his
side, and his flocks grazing at his feet. The quiet depicted
in his face added to the calm which an undisturbed sleep
had spread upon his features.
3. The philosopher seats himself by the side of the shep-
herd, and waits till he should wake. The man of wisdom
beholds a beautiful country beyond the mountains, and the
waters which lay in perspective ; he sees a neat cottage
at the base of the hill on which the shepherd is reposing :
the bleating of flocks and the song of birds make vocal the
green valleys and the fruitful plain.
4. The youth starts from his slumbers. " Good day,
father." "Good day, my son," was the reply. "This is
your home, and these are your occupations, to tend your
fleecy care ?" says the sage. "Truly so," answered the
youth. " That, too, is your wife, and those are your chil-
dren," continues the philosopher. "They are," returns the
shepherd. "What then, my son, have you to wish or to
hope for, beyond the joys of your own threshold, and the
possessions of your own lands?" "Nothing," says the
youth. *' You, then, are truly content, and your cup is full
to overflowing. Thank heaven for your blessings, and may
you live long to enjoy them."
5. The wise man is about to depart, satisfied that the man
at last is discovered, whom he could pronounce to be perfect-
ly happy. " Stay, father," exclaims the shepherd, " do you
see that black sheep ? He is the leader of the flock, but full
of mischief, hurrying me in many and many a chase, over
briers, through bogs, and along the far-off pathway of the .
SABBATH MORNING. 237
hills. He earries with him the whole tribe of followers;
and it is often in the meridian heat or at the set of sun,
when the toils of the day have exhausted me, that I am led
many a weary mile to gather the scattered sheep within
the folds. He is my constant trouble ; I sleep but to dream
of the vexations which. he causes me, and wake, alas, but to
find them real." *' Enough," said the philosopher, and
grasping his wand, with a hastening pace he resumes his
homeward steps, murmuring by the way, " Every one has
his black sheep."
6. This allegory teaches, that although life has many
pleasures, yet it affords not perfect happiness. Something
comes to mar the bliss of every one, and admonish him, that
he must look for unalloyed bliss only in another world.
LESSON CXni. Sahhath Morning.
1. Every Sabbath morning, in the summer time, I thrust
back the curtain, to watch the sunrise stealing down a stee-
ple which stands opposite my chamber window. First, the
weather-cock begins to flash ; then a fainter lustre gives the
spire an airy aspect ; next it encroaches on the tower, and
causes the index of the dial to glisten like gold, as it points
to the gilded figure of the hour. Now, the loftiest window
gleams, and now the lower. The carved frame-work of the
portal is marked strongly out.
2. At length, the morning glory, in its descent from
heaven, comes down the stone steps, one by one; and there
stands the steeple, glowing with fresh radiance, while the
shades of twilight still hide themselves among the nooks of
the adjacent buildings. Methinks, though the same sun
brightens it every fair morning, yet the steeple has a pecu-
liar robe of brightness for the Sabbath.
3. By dwelling near a church, a person soon contracts an
attachment for the edifice. We naturally personify it, and
conceive its massive walls, and its dim emptiness, to be in-
stinct with a calm, and meditative, and somewhat melan-
choly spirit. But the steeple stands foremost in our thoughts,
as well as locally. It impresses us as a giant, with a mind
238 THE FOURTH READER.
comprehensive and discriminating enough to care for the
great and small concerns of all the town.
4. Hourly, while it speaks a moral to the few that think,
it reminds thousands of busy individuals of their separate
and most secret aflfairs. It is the steeple, too, that flings
abroad the hurried and irregular accents of general alarm ;
neither have gladness and festivity found a better utterance
than by its tongue ; and, when the dead are slowly passing
to their home, the steeple has a melancholy voice to bid
them welcome.
5. Yet, in spite of this connexion with human interests,
what a moral loneliness, on week days, broods round about
its stately height ! It has no kindred with the houses above
which it towers ; it looks down into the narrow thoroughfare,
the lonelier, because the crowd are elbowing their passage
at its base. A glance at the body of the church deepens
this impression.
6. Within, by the light of distant windows, amid refract-
ed shadows, we discern the vacant pews and empty galler-
ies, the silent organ, the voiceless pulpit, and the clock,
which tells to solitude how time is passing. Time, — where
man lives not, — what is it but eternity?
7. And in the church, we might suppose, are garnered
up, throughout the week, all thoughts and feelings that
have reference to eternity, until the holy day comes round
again, to let them forth. Might not, then, its more appro-
priate site be in the outskirts of the town, with space for
old trees to wave around it, and throw their solemn shadows
over a quiet green ?
8. But, on the Sabbath, I watch the earliest sunshine, and
fancy that a holier brightness marks the day, vhen there
shall be no buzz of voices on the Exchange, nor traffic in
the shops, nor crowd, nor business, anywhere but at church.
Many have fancied so. For my own part, whether I see it
scattered down among tangled w^oods, or beaming broad
across the fields, or hemmed in between brick buildings, or
tracing out the figure of the casement on my chamber floor,
still I recognise the Sabbath sunshine.
9. And ever let me recognise it ! Some illusions, and
this among them, are the shadows of great truths. Doubts
may flit around me, or seem to close their evil wings, and
settle down ; but, so long as I imagine that the earth is hal-
THE FRIENDS OR QUAKERS. 239
lowed, and the light of heaven retains its sanctity, on the
Sabbath, — while that blessed sunshine lives within me, —
never can my soul have lost the instinct of its faith. If it
have gone astray, it will return again.
LESSON CXIV. The Friends or Quakers.
1. Let it not be supposed, that the life of a Friend has no
charms. It is the circle contracted, yet full of quiet com-
forts. It is the paradise of the peaceful and domestic, — of
those who shrink from the vanities and the stir of the world,
and who love to go through the earth in a plentiful tranquil-
lity. The Indian, the prisoner, the penitent sinner, arid
the unhappy and sinned against, children and adults, who
need instruction and reformation*, who need food or clothing,
employment in health, medicine in sickness, comfort in
distress, all these are the objects of their care, and the sub-
ject of their conversation.
2. It is curious to go into some of their families and see
the articles of dress that are making, — the books that are
piled up for distribution, — the tracts and pamphlets that
young women are stitching, or folding for the same purpose.
There are no people who are oppressed in any part of the
world, — the Africans, the Indians, the CafTres, the Poles, —
but they are their friends ; there is no national scheme in
operation for the relief of misery, the dissipation of igno-
rance, the destruction of the grand fallacies of war and
political expediency, but they are engaged in it ; it is their
business and their topic. If we except missionary projects,
— from which their peculiar religious views have in a great
degree restrained them, — there are scarcely any societies,
— Bible, Tract, Peace, Temperance Societies, — that they
are not active members and supporters of.
3. From the very origin of this society, this has been a
feature of it, which has never, for a moment, become less
prominent. It is of these things that they converse, and it is
on these, and such as these, that they spend that money which
is saved from theatres and operas, — from the clubs and
gaming-tables ; and it must be confessed, that there is some-
thing beautiful in the appropriation of that expense to the
240 THE FOURTH READER.
soothing of human ills, and the raising of the human char-
acter, which they deny to fashion, splendor, and dissipation.
4. When I have been, on some occasions, induced to ac-
cuse them of unnecessary scrupulosity, of undue crushing
down of the imagination, of injurious taming and contract-
ing of the feelings, — here is the part of their character, —
the breaking forth of their feelings again, in a noble, and
perpetual stream, — the evidence of the clinging of their
imaginations to the struggles and cries of humanity, in all
its trials and its abodes, however distant, — which has in-
duced me to give full testimony to these, as highly redeem-
ing qualities ; for they are full of the poetry of Christianity.
5. For this generous and unwearied philanthropy, they
deserve the highest honor ; and I am inclined to believe,
after all, notwithstanding the apparent insipidity of their
mode of life, — notwithstanding the energies they subdue,
and the excitements they avoid, — that the purity and be-
nevolence of their spirits bring them far nearer to happi-
ness, than all the fascinations they renounce do those who
embrace them.
LESSON CXV. Adherence to Old Customs.
1. There is more or less reverence for the past in all
countries. It is the tendency of human nature, wherever it
may be found, to fall into the beaten path, and follow it out.
" Custom," says Lord Bacon, *' is the principal magistrate
of man's life." But there is something in the tenacity with
which the Irish hold on to the thoughts, opinions, and usa-
ges of past ages, which appears to surpass anything of the
kind to be found among other European nations.
2. This is strikingly illustrated by an adherence to their
political system, for more than a thousand years, although
experience had demonstrated that system to be destructive
of the peace, happiness, and prosperity of the nation. This
national trait is also displayed in the numerous relics of an-
cient superstitions which are still preserved by the people,
ahhough the systems upon which they were founded have
been swept away for almost Meen hundred years.
ADHERENCE TO OLD CUSTOMS. 241
3. Many of the prevalent customs of Ireland, at the pres-
ent day, many of the thoughts, feelings, and observances of
the people are evidently the cherished fragments of pagan-
ism, saved from the wreck of Persian fire-worship, Carthagin-
ian idolatry, or Druidical superstition. It would exceed my
present limits to go into a detailed examination of these ; it
is, perhaps, only necessary to remark, that the perpetuation
of the ancient Celtic tongue among the Irish, is not more
plain and palpable, than the preservation of ideas and senti-
ments as ancient as that language itself
4. It is easy to perceive the conservative tendency of this
natural characteristic in the Irish ; and we may readily be-
lieve, that this has had its share of influence in saving the
people from that waste and disintegration which the shock
of ages brings upon mankind. The direct operation of this
adherence to old customs is to unite the people by a strong
bond of common sympathy. Such a community will rally
as one man to drive out any foreign people who come with
new customs to overturn the old ones.
5. A slight examination of Irish history will show that
facts have abundantly proved the truth of this theory. No
foreign people have ever been able to sustain themselves in
Ireland. The Carthaginian colonists were successively
melted down and mingled in the mass of the nation.
6. The Danes, though they occupied certain portions of
the country for more than two hundred years, being of too
stubborn a stock to become assimilated with those among
whom they dwelt, and over whom they exercised at least
partial dominion, were the unceasing objects of hostility,
and, at last, were expelled from a country which they could
not subdue. England bowed to the iron sway of the Danes,
and was only delivered from it by catling in foreign aid; but
Ireland never yielded to their dominion, and, by her own
arm, at last, freed herself from these ruthless oppressors.
7. It is now almost seven hundred years since Ireland
was conquered by an English King; but for at least five
centuries after that conquest, the dominion of England over
Ireland was little more than nominal. From the time of
Strongbow's invasion in the reign of Henry the Second, to
the period of Elizabeth, though Ireland was regarded as an
appendage to the British crown, two thirds of the Irish peo-
21
243 THE FOURTH READER.
pie held themselves, at least in practice, almost wholly
independent of foreign control.
8. And even down to the present day, though there be an
ostensible submission to England, there is a perpetual strug-
gle on the part of the nation to heave off the giant that has
thrown her down. After seven hundred years of either
nominal or real dominion, England has been unable to an-
glicize Ireland. Not only is the government still resisted by
the Irish people, but the religion, the customs, the opinions,
and feelings of England are obstinately kept at bay by a
large part of the nation.
9. Among the many instances furnished by Miss Edge-
worth in illustration of the adherence of the Irish to old
customs, she tells us of a wealthy young nobleman, who
built a neat cottage, with all the modern comforts and conven-
iences, for an old Irish woman. On going to the place a few
weeks after she had taken possession, he found that she had
converted it, as far as possible, into an Irish cabin. Even
the fire-place was disregarded, and a fire was built in the
middle of the brick floor, the smoke, of course, filling the
room. The woman explained this by insisting, that she was
so accustomed to smoke, she could not live without it !
10. It may be said, and with much justice, that this sturdy
adherence to old customs partakes of obstinacy and preju-
dice, and it may be among the causes of that tardy march
of improvement, which may be remarked in Ireland.
11. But, if the Irish people miss the true end of existence
by adhering to old customs, permit me to suggest the cau-
tion, that we do not rashly run into the opposite extreme. In
a country like ours, having no antiquity, and opening bound-
less fields of enterprise to all, we are apt to think only of the
future, and, in our eagerness to lead in the race, to forget
those more than golden treasures which consist of memories,
and sentiments, and usages.
12. The truth is, man is not made wholly for action, but
partly for contemplation. He is placed between two glori-
ous mirrors, anticipation and retrospection ; the one beck-
oning him forward, the other reflecting light upon the path
he should follow, and breathing a cool and wholesome at-
mosphere over his passions. It is a departure from the just
balance of his nature to dash either of these in pieces.
13. Whoever limits his existence to " that fleeting strip
THE WILD VIOLET 243
of sunlight, which we call now,^^ reduces himself like the
ticking clock, to a mere measure of passing seconds. He
who lives only in the future, never pausing to look back and
take counsel of the past, never bending his gaze over the
world of retrospection, softened with the mist and moonlight
of memory, — lives the life of the restless settler of the far
West, who never stops to secure or enjoy what has been won
from the wilderness, but still pushes on and on, for scenes
of new excitement and new adventure.
14. A wise man and a wise people will use the past as the
prophet of the future, and make both of these subservient to
the interests of each passing moment. The children of Is-
rael would not stay in Egypt, but, in going to the land of
Promise, they took the bones of their father Jacob with
them. In pressing forward in the march of improvement,
let us, in like manner, bear along with us the experience, the
wisdom, the virtue, and the religion, of our fathers.
LESSON CXVI. Tha Wild Violet.
Violet, violet, sparkling with dew,
Down in the meadow-land, wild where you grew,
How did you come by the beautiful blue
With which your soft petals unfold ?
And how do you hold up your tender young head,
When rude, searching winds, rush along o'er your bed
And dark, gloomy clouds, ranging over you, shed
Their waters, so heavy and cold 1
No one has nursed you, or watched you an hour,
Or found you a place in the garden or bower ;
And they cannot yield one so lovely a flower,
As here I have found at my feet !
Speak, my sweet violet ! answer and tell,
How you have grown up and flourished so well ;
And look so contented where lowly you dwell,
And we thus by accident meet ! "
244 THE FOURTH READER.
3. "The same careful hand," the violet said,
*'That holds up the firmament, holds up my head 1
And He who with azure the skies overspread,
Has painted the violet blue.
He sprinkled the stars out above me by night,
And sends down the sunbeams at morning with light.
To make my new coronet sparkling and bright,
When formed of a drop of his dew?
4. " I 've nought to fear from the black, heavy cloud,
Or the breath of the tempest, that comes strong and
loud,
Where, born in the low-land, and far from the crowd,
I know, and I live but for One.
He soon forms a mantle about me to cast, ^M§
Of long, silken grass, till the rain and the blast, ^'
And all that seemed threatening, have harmlessly passed,
As the clouds scud before the warm sun 1"
LESSON CXVII. Foetri/.
1. What is poetry? The common answer would be, that
it is some peculiar gift, some intellectual affluence, distinct,
not merely in form, not merely in rhyme, but essentially,
and in its very nature, distinct from all prose writings. Its
numbers are mystic numbers ; its themes are far above us,
and away from us, m the clouds, or in the hues of the dis-
tant landscape ; it is at war with the realities of life, and it
is especially afraid of logic,
2. It is using no extravagant language, it is committing no
vulgar mistake, to say, that poetry is regarded as a kind of
** peculiar trade and mystery"; nay, in a sense beyond that
of this technical language, as a real and absolute mystery.
In one of the most distinguished journals of the day, we
find a writer complaining after this sort: — "Poetry," says
he, " the workings of genius itself, which, in all times, and
with one or another meaning, has been created inspiration,
and held to be mysterious and inscrutable^ is ro longer with-
out its scientific exposition."
3. And why, let us ask, why should it be without its ex-
POETRY. 245
position ? Ay, and if there were any such thing as a sci-
ence of criticism among us, (for the truth is, there is a great
deal less of it than there was in the days of Addison and
Johnson,) I would say its scientific exposition. What is
poetry? What is this mysterious thing, but one form in
which human nature expresses itself? What is it but em-
bodying, what is it but " showing up," in all its moods, from
the lowliest to the loftiest, the same deep and impassioned,
but universal mind, which is alike and equally the theme of
philosophy ?
4. What does poetry tell us, but that which was already
in our hearts? What are all its intermingled lights and
shadows? what are its gorgeous clouds of imagery, and the
hues of its distant landscapes? what are its bright and bless-
ed visions, and its dark pictures of sorrow and passion, but
the varied reflection of the beautiful and holy, and yet over-
shadowed, and marred, and afflicted nature within us? And
how, then, is poetry any more inscrutable than our own hearts
are inscrutable ?
5. To whom or to What, let me ask again, does poetry
address itself? To what, in its heroic ballads, in its epic
song, in its humbler verse, in its strains of love, or pity, or
indignation, — to what does it speak, but to human nature,
but to the common mind of all the world ? And its noblest
productions, its Iliads, its Hamlets, and Lears, the whole
world has understood, — the rude and the refined, the an-
chorite and the throng of men.
6. There is poetry in real life, and in the humblest life ;
and in this, if it may not misbecome me to say so, is one of
the noblest of our English poets right; though in the appli-
cation of his theory, I would venture to assert, with the
same reservation for my modesty, that he has sometimes
made the most lamentable, not to say ludicrous, mistakes.
There is " unwritten poetry " ; there is poetry in prose ; there
is poetry in all living hearts.
7. Let him be the true poet who shall find it, sympathize
with it, and bring it to light. He that does so, must deeply
study human nature. He that does so, must, whether he
knows it or not, be a philosopher. Much there is, no doubt,
of technical language, much about quiddities and entities,
that he may not know.
8. But he must know, and that by deep study and obser-
31*
246 THE FOURTH RIlADER.
vatipn, how feelings and passions rise in the human breast,
what are those which coexist, what repel each other, what
naturally spring one from another; he must know what
within is moved, and how it is put in action by all this mov-
ing world around us; what chords are struck, not only by
the rough touches of fortune, but what are swept by invisi-
ble influences ; he must know all the wants, and sufferings,
and joys of this inward being ; what are its darkest strug-
gles, its sublimest tendencies, its most soothing hopes, and
most blessed affections ; and all this is divine philosophy.
9. He must wait, almost in prayer, at the oracle within ;
he must write the very language of his own soul ; he must
write no rash response from the shrines of models ; but ask-
ing, questioning, listening to the voice within, as he writes ;
and then will the deepest philosophy take the form of the
noblest inspiration.
LESSOxN CXVIII. The Coral Insect.
The vast beds of coral in the ocean are formed by minute insects. Many
of the islands in the Pacific Ocean appear to be formed wholly by these ever-
toiling creatures.
1. Toil on! toil on! ye ephemeral train.
Who build on the tossing and treacherous main ;
Toil on! for the wisdom of man ye mock.
With your sand-based structures, and domes of rock.
Your columns the fathomless fountains lave.
And your arches spring up through the crested wave;
Ye 're a puny race, thus boldly to rear
A fabric so vast in a realm so drear.
2. Ye bind the deep with your secret zone.
The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone;
Fresh wreaths from the coral pavement spring,
Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king.
The turf looks green where the breakers rolled,
O'er the whirlpool ripens the rind of gold ;
The sea-snatched isle is the home of men,
And mountains exult where the wave hath been.
WHO ARE THE TRULY HAPPYl 247
3. But why do ye plant, 'neath the billows dark,
The wrecking reef for the gallant bark?
There are snares enough on the tented field ;
'Mid the blossomed sweets that the valleys yield ;
There are serpents to coil ere the flowers are up,
There 's a poison drop in man's purest cup ;
There are foes that watch for his cradle-breath,
And why need ye sow the floods with death?
4. With mouldering bones the deeps are white.
From the ice-clad pole to the tropics bright ;
The mermaid hath twisted her fingers cold
With the mesh of the sea-boy's curls of gold ;
And the gods of ocean have frowned to see
The mariner's bed 'mid their halls of glee.
Hath earth no graves ? that ye thus must spread
The boundless sea with the thronging dead ?
5. Ye build ! ye build ! but ye enter not in,
Like the tribes whom the desert devoured in their sin ;
From the land of promise ye fade and die,
Ere its verdure gleams forth on your wearied eye.
As the cloud-crowned pyramids' founders sleep
Noteless and lost in oblivion deep,
Ye slumber unmarked 'mid the desolate main.
While the wonder and pride of your works remain.
LESSON CXIX. Who are the truly Happy 1
1. Society is often spoken of as divided into three clas-
ses, — the high, the low, and the middling. These terms, I
am persuaded, often bear a false signification, and are the
foundation of infinite mischief. Wealth exerts a magical
influence over the imagination ; and those who possess it are
honored with an epithet, which implies an enviable superior-
ity of condition to the rest of mankind. But this is mere
assumption, and that, too, in the face of fact and reas«n.
Wealth is not happiness, — it is a mere instrument, and
generally fails to accomplish the end for which it is de-
signed.
248 THE FOURTH READER.
2. In the hands of one who knows how to use it, and has
that stern self-control which enables him to act according to
knowledge, wealth is a blessing. But there are few men of
this character. Most possessors of wealth are seduced by its
blandishments from the straight and narrow way of peace ;
and that which Heaven gave for good, thus becomes the in-
strument of evil.
3. This classification of society, then, which assigns the first
and highest place to the rich, is founded upon what might
be, and not upon what is. The rich are not the happiest por-
tion of mankind ; for wealth is a two-edged sword, and too
frequently wounds the hand that wields it. The only just
sense in which the rich man can be said to be above his
humbler neighbor, is, that he occupies a station of more re-
sponsibility. He has more influence, more power; for gold
dazzles the eye, and mankind, like the moth, are disposed to
follow the glare.
4. The rich man's actions, then, become efficient exam-
ples to those around him, — lectures of more power than
those of the pulpit preacher. The rich set the fashion, and
fashion is a goddess of unlimited sway. A wise and good
man, who has riches, may therefore be, and often is, a light
set on a hill ; but a selfish, or even a reckless, rich man,
either hides his light in a bushel, or uses it to dazzle and
delude those who are around him, to their ruin.
5. The vices of the poor are generally hurtful only to
themselves. The thief, the drunkard, the burglar, in the
dirty streets of our cities, do little harm by their example to
others; for vice, in rags, is disgusting to all. But the vices
of those, who dwell in palaces of granite, seen through rose-
colored plate glass, have a hue that turns the demon of de-
formity into an angel of light.
6. Indolence, voluptuousness, extravagance, haughtiness,
exclusiveness, affectation, gossipping, — all these, amid many
others, vices of the rich, as truly vicious as theft and burg-
lary, as truly founded in selfishness, and <i3 truly going to
deface the image of God in the soul, — have a character of
gentility, and are more greedily imitated, than if they were
Scripture virtues.
7. They are imitated, too, with complacency ; for that
salutary fear, which attends other vices, and which may,
ioon or late, lead the soul to shake them off, does not exist.
WHO ARE THE TRULY HAPPY1 249
The rich may, therefore, be considered as preachers ; their
houses as temples, and the world around as their attentive
auditory. Their situation is one of fearful responsibility.
If a man goes into a pulpit and preaches atheism, every
good mind is shocked, and starts back, as if that image, in
which Satan seduced our common mother, had suddenly
come before him,
8. But the rich man, who sets an example of indolence,
or haughtiness, or voluptuousness, — who brings up his
children in idleness, or tolerates them in what is called
dandyism, or in exclusiveness, or an affectation of superiority,
— is a worse enemy to society, if we regard practical con-
sequences, than the infidel preacher. He sows, far and
wide, the seeds of vice, and leaves society to reap the whirl-
wind.
9. In this point of view, the rich occupy a station of great
eminence. They are the first or highest class of society, if
we regard power and responsibility ; but not the first, in the
common acceptation of the term, — that of being the hap-
piest. Nor do the poor, as being the least happy, occupy
the last station. Happiness, indeed, is independent of con-
dition.
10. The terms, then, high and low, so often used as
marking out society into classes, are false ; they are also
mischievous, as tending to imbue the minds of some with
conceit, and others with venomous discontent. They, at
least, put into the hands of those who adopt the political
doctrine, " Divide and conquer," a power, by which they
may array one part of the community against the other ; and,
when the war is waged, lead on their dupes to the accom-
plishment of their own purpo'ses.
11. Let us, ray friends, take a wiser view of this subject.
The happy class of society is the industrious class, — be
they rich, be they poor, or be they in that better condition,
petitioned for by him who said, " Give me neither poverty
or riches." It is in this middle station, that peace and dig-
nity are most frequently found.
12. I know of no better test of happiness, than simplicity
of manners. If you can show me a person, who is free
from affectation, free alike from disguise, uneasiness, and
pretence, — one who seems solicitous to hide nothing, and
to display nothing, — one, in short, who bears upon him the
250 THE FOURTH READER.
impress of truth, — you show rae a man, who, in wealth or
poverty, is happy.
13. Truth, in morals, is like gold among the metals ; it is
always valuable, it is always graceful. Whether rough in
its native state, as in rustic life, or wrought up with the re-
finement of more artificial society, it is still truth, and con-
stitutes the basis of all virtue, all happiness, all moral beauty.
Everything is trashy and base without it. The false imita-
tions of it, — affectation, pretence, assumption, arrogance,
are brassy counterfeits, alike worthless to the possessor, and
contemptible in the sight of true wisdom.
14. And in what condition of society is this simplicity or
truth of character most frequently found ? I hesitate not to
declare, that it is with the middling class, who are kept by
that admirable regulator of society, — industry, — between
the extremes of poverty and riches.
15. And how happy is it, — thanks to our fatliers,
thanks to a beneficent Providence, thanks to this fair land,
and this bountiful climate, — that this happiest condition
of life is accessible to all ! Every man may not have
gainful talents, or the favoring tide of fortune, to aid him
in the acquisition of wealth; but every man may attain a
better eminence, — every one may be industrious, and ac-
quire that middling independence, which is better than
wealth.
16. I say, every one ; for the exceptions arising from ill
health, or casual misfortune, are exceedingly rare. A man
may be industrious, and yet poor ; in general, however, in-
dustry, patient, quiet industry, is a sure remedy for poverty.
LESSON CXX. Hymn to the North Star,
1. The sad and solemn liight
Has yet her multitude of cheerful fires ;
The glorious hosts of light
Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires;
All through her silent watches, gliding slow,
Her constellations come, and round the heavens, and go.
HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR. 251
I
2. Day, too, hath many a star
To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they ;
Through the bkie fields afar,
Unseen they follow in his flaming way ;
Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim,
Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him.
3. And thou dost see them rise,
Star of the Pole ! and thou dost see them set.
Alone, in thy cold skies,
Thou keep'st thy old unmoving station yet,
Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train,
Nor dipp'st thy virgin orb in the blue western main.
4. There, at morn's rosy birth,
Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air,
And eve, that round the earth
Chases the day, beholds thee watching there ;
There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls
The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walla.
5. Alike, beneath thine eye.
The deeds of darkness and of light are done ;
High towards the star-lit sky
Towns blaze, — the smoke of battle blots the sun, —
The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud, —
And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud.
6. On thy unaltering blaze
The half-wrecked mariner, his compass lost,
Fixes his steady gaze.
And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast ;
And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night,
Are glad when thou dost shine to guide their footsteps right.
7. And, therefore, bards of old,
Sages, and hermits of the solemn woodj
Did in thy beams behold
A beauteous type of that unchanging good.
That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray
The voyager of time should shape his heedful way.
252 THE FOURTH READER
LESSON CXXI. The Duty of Industry
1. From what I have said, it is a plain inference, that in-
dustry is the duty of every man ; it is his duty, alike flow-
ing from his obligations to society and to himself. No degree
of wealth, no love of pleasure, no distaste for exertion,
nothing but physical incapacity, can confer on any man the
right to lead an idle life. Each individual has some gifts,
and he is bound to use them wisely for himself and for man-
kind.
2. In these remarks, I have a primary reference to that
industry which is practised in our village, — industry of the
hands. I do not insist, however, that every one shall practise
this species of industry ; for intellectual activity may produce
the greatest benefits to society, and bring happiness to him
who udes it. Mental toil may, as it regards its general
effects, be considered of a higher nature than bodily toil.
3. But I believe no man can be happy without some ha-
bitual bodily toil ; and, surely, if I were to choose a plan
of life, most likely to insure happiness, it would be among
those who labor with their hands as a vocation. If envy
could, for once, have her eyes freed from the scales of prej-
udice, she would not teach us to desire the high places of
those who labor not ; but she would choose, as most desir-
able, a condition among farmers and mechanics.
4. Of all the delusions, with which man has been accus-
tomed to cheat himself, the idea that freedom from labor
confers bliss, is the most fallacious. To live without work,
is the halcyon, but deceptive dream, of millions. It has in-
spired many a man to put forth painful efforts; but when
the bubble is caught, it vanishes into thin air. Go to our
cities, and ask those who are looked upon as the successful
men in life, — those who have risen to wealth by their own
exertions.
5. Ask them, which is the best part of life, that of effort,
or that of luxurious relaxation. They will all tell you, that
the era of happiness, to which they look back with delight,
is the humble period of industrious labor. They will tell
you, that the remembrance of those days of small things, —
dimmed, as it might seem, by doubts and difficulties, — is
better than all their shining wealth.
WEEHAWKEW. 253
6. How idle, then, is that sour dissatisfaction, with which
some persons look upon their lot, because it involves the duty
and necessity of habitual industry ! How unjust that pois-
onous envy, with which the laborer sometimes regards the
other classes of society ! Be assured, that those who occu-
py what are often called, often falsely, the highest stations
in life, pay dearly for their giddy elevation.
7. The rich have sorrows, which the poor know not of.
There is often a bitter drug in the golden cup, which is
never tasted in the clear glass of humble life. Let us think
better of the ways of Providence ; and, with hearts free from
vexing envy and embittering discontent, pursue the path of
lawful labor, if that should chance to be our lot.
LESSON CXXIL Weehawken.
Weehawken is a high cliff on the shore of New Jersey, overlooking
the Hudson, near the city of New York.
1. Weehawken ! In thy mountain scenery yet,
All we adore of nature, in her wild
And frolic hour of infancy, is met ;
And never has a summer's morning smiled
Upon a lovelier scene, than the full eye
Of the enthusiast revels on, — when high,
2. Amid thy forest solitudes, he climbs
O'er crags that proudly tower above the deep,
And knows that sense of danger, which sublimes
The breathless moment, — when his daring step
Is on the verge of the cliff, and he can hear
The low dash of the wave with startled ear,
3. Like the death-music of his coming doom.
And clings to the green turf with desperate force,
As the heart clings to life ; and when resume
The currents in his veins their wonted course,
There lingers a deep feeling, — like the moan
Of wearied ocean, when the storm is gone,
22
254 THE FOURTH READER.
4. In such an hour he turns, and on his view,
Ocean, and earth, and heaven, burst before him ;
Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue
Of summer's sky, in beauty bending o'er him, —
The city bright below ; and far away.
Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay.
6. Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement.
And banners floating in the sunny air;
And white sails o'er the calm blue waters bent,
Crreen isle, and circling shore, are blended there,
In wild reality. When life is old,
And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold
6. Its memory of this ; nor lives there one
Whose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood days
Of happiness were passed beneath that sun,
That in his manhood prime can calmly gaze
Upon that bay, or on that mountain stand,
Nor feel the prouder of his native land.
LESSON CXXIII. Tlie Trumphal Song of Moses after
the Passage of the Red Sea, Exodus xv.
1. 1 WILL sing unto Jehovah, for he is gloriously exalted ;
The horse and his rider hath he whelmed in the sea.
My praise and my song is Jehovah,
And he is become my salvation.
He is my God, and I will praise him ;
My father's God, and I will exalt him.
2. Jehovah is a man of war ; Jehovah is his name.
The chariots of Pharaoh and his host haih he thrown in
the sea ;
And his choicest leaders are thrown in the Red Sea.
The floods have covered them : they went down ;
Into the abyss [they went down] as a stone.
B. Thy right hand, O Jehovah, hath made itself glorious in
power ;
Thy right hand, Jehovah, bath dashed in pieces the
enemy.
TRIUMPHAL SONG OlF MOSES. 255
And in the strength of thy majesty thou hast destroyed
thine adversaries.
4. Thou didst let loose thy wrath ; it consumed them like
stubble.
With the blast of thy nostrils the waters were heaped
together.
The flowing waters * stood upright as an heap.
The floods were congealed in the heart of the sea.
The enemy said, " I will pursue, I will overtake ;
I will divide the spoil, my soul shall be satisfied;
I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them.
5. Thou didst blow with thy breath, the sea covered them.
They sank as lead in the mighty waters.
6. Who is like unto thee among the gods, O Jehovah !
Who is like unto thee, making thyself glorious in holiness I
Fearful in praises^ executing wonders.
7. Thou didst stretch out thy right hand, — the earth swal-
lowed them.
Thou hast led forth in thy mercy the people whom thou
hast redeemed ;
Thou hast guided them in thy strength to the habitation
of thy holiness.
8. The people shall hear and be disquieted :
Terror shall seize the inhabitants of Philistia.
Then the nobles of Edom shall be confounded ;
The mighty ones of Moab, trembling shall take hold upon
them.
All the inhabitants of Canaan shall melt away.
Terror and perplexity shall fall upon them :
Because of the greatness of thine arm they shall be as
still as a stone.
Till thy people pass over, O Jehovah,
Till thy people pass over whom thou hast redeemed.
Thou shalt bring them in, and plant them in the moun-
tains of thine inheritance,
The place for thy dwelling, which thou hast prepared,
O Jehovah !
The panctuary, O Lord, which thy hands have established.
Jehovah shall rejgn for ever and ever !
* In the original, — " The flowing stood uprig^it," &c., the participle of
the verb to flow being the poetical form for waters.
358 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON CXXIV. Select Passages.
Making Resolutions.
1. Never form a resolution that is not a good one, and,
when once formed, never break it. If you form a resolution,
and then break it, you set yourself a bad example, and you
are very likely to follow it. A person may get the habit of
breaking his resolutions ; this is as bad to the character and
mind, as an incurable disease to the body. No person can
become great, but by keeping his resolutions ; no person
ever escaped contempt, who could not keep them.
Ingratitude.
2. Blow, blow, thou winter's 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 sting is not so sharp
As friends remembering not.
Impatience,
3. In those evils which are allotted us by Providence,
such as deformity, privation of the senses, or old age, it is
always to be remembered, that impatience can have no
present effect, but to deprive us of the consolations which
our condition admits, by driving away from us those by
whose conversation or advice we might be amused or helped ;
and that, with regard to futurity, it is yet less to be justified,
since, without lessening the pain, it cuts off the hope of that
reward, which He, by whom it is inflicted, will confer upon
those who bear it well.
SELECT PASSAGES. 257
Ridicule.
4. He who indulges himself in ridiculing the little imper-
fections and weaknesses of his friends, will in time find
mankind united against him. The man who sees another
ridiculed before him, though he may for the present concur
in the general laugh, yet in a cool hour he will consider, that
the same trick may be played against himself; but, when
there is no sense of this danger, the natural pride of human
nature rises against him, who, by general censures, lays
claim to general superiority.
Happiness.
5. Various, sincere, and constant are the eiforts of men
to produce that happiness which the nature of the mind re-
quires ; but most seem to be ignorant, both of the source and
of the means of genuine felicity. Religion alone can afford
true joy and permanent peace. It is this that inspires forti-
tude, supports patience, and, by its prospects and promises,
throws a cheering ray into the darkest shades of human life.
*' Where dwells this sovereign bliss ? where doth it grow 1
Know, mortals, happiness ne'er dwelt below ;
Look at yon heaven, — go, seek the blessing there ;
Be heaven thy aim, thy soul's eternal care ;
Nothing but God, and God alone, you '11 find,
Can fill a boundless and immortal mind."
Parental Affection,
6. As the vexations which parents receive from their chil-
dren hasten the approach of age, and double the force of
years, so the comforts which they reap from them are balm
to all other sorrows, and repair, in some degree, the injuries
of time. However strong we may suppose the fondness of
a father for his children, yet they will find more lively marks
of tenderness in the bosom of a mother. There are no ties
in nature to compare with those which unite* an aflTectionate
mother to her children, when they repay her tenderness with
obedience and love.
22*
258 THE FOURTH READER.
Cruelty to Animals.
7. Even the meanest insect receives an existence from
the author of our Being ; and why should we idly abridge
their span ? They have their little sphere of bliss allotted
them ; they have purposes which they are designed to fulfil ;
and, when these are accomplished, they die. Everything
that has life is doomed to suffer and to feel, though its ex-
pression of pain may not be capable of being conveyed to
our senses. He, who delights in misery or sports with life,
must have a disposition and a heart, neither qualified to
make himself nor others happy.
Honor.
8. True honor, though it be a different principle from re-
ligion, is not contrary to it. Religion embraces virtue, as it
is enjoined by the law of God ; honor, as it is graceful and
ornamental to human nature. The religious man fears, the
man of honor scorns, to do an ill action. The latter con-
siders vice as something that is beneath him ; the other, as
something that is offensive to the Divine Being ; the one, as
what is unbecoming ; the other, as what is forbidden.
Friendship.
9. Without friendship, life has no charm. The only
things which can render friendship sure and lasting, are
virtue, purity of manners, an elevated soul, and perfect in-
tegrity of heart. Lovers of virtue should have none but
men of virtue for their friends ; and on this point the proof
ought principally to turn ; because, where there is no virtue,
there is no security that our honor, confidence, and friend-
ship, will not be betrayed and abused. The necessary ap-
pendages of friendship are confidence and benevolence.
Conduct to Equals.
10. Be kind, pleasant, and loving, not cross nor churl-
ish, to your equals; and, in thus behaving yourselves, all per-
sons will naturally desire your familiar acquaintance, and
every one will be ready and willing, upon opportunity, to
ODE TO EVENING. 259
serve and assist you. Your friends will then be all those
that know you and observe your sweetness of deportment.
This practice, also, by inducing a habit of obliging, will fit
you for society, and facilitate and assist your dealings with
men in riper years.
Conduct to Inferiors.
11. Be courteous and affable to your inferiors, not proud
nor scornful. To be courteous, even to the meanest, is a
true index of a great and generous mind. But the insulting
and scornful gentleman, who has been himself originally
low, ignoble, or beggarly, makes himself ridiculous to his
equals, and, by his inferiors, is repaid with scorn, contempt,
and hatred.
LESSON CXXV. Ode to Evening.
1. If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear,
Like thy own solemn springs,
Thy springs and dying gales j
2. O, Nymph reserved, while now the bright-haired Sun,
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O'erhang his wavy bed.
3. Now air is hushed, save where the weak-eyed bat,
With short, shrill shriek, flits by on leathern wing;
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,
4. As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path.
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum :
Now teach me, maid composed.
To breathe some softened strain,
5. Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale,
May not unseemly with its stillnesi suit ;
260 THE FOURTH READER.
As, musing slow, I hail
Thy genial, loved return !
6. For, when thy folding-star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Who slept in buds the day,
7. And many a nymph who wreaths her brows with sedgt,
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,
The pensive Pleasures sweet,
Prepare thy shadowy car.
8. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene ;
Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells.
Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams.
9. Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain.
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut.
That, from the mountain's side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods,
10. And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires;
And hears their simple hell ; and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil.
11. While Spring shall pour his showers, as ofi; he wont,
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve !
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light ;
12. While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ;
Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes ;
13. So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peac«,
Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favorite name !
THE MURDERER. 261
LESSON CXXVI. The Murderer.
This is the opening of the argument of the counsel on the part of the
Commonwealth, in the case of Francis Knapp, charged with being an insti-
gator of the murder of Joseph White of Salem, an aged and respectable
man, found dead in his bed, and proved to have been murdered by an assas-
sin, who stabbed him while asleep. The important truth, that crime cannot
be efTectually concealed, that it struggles in the breast of its perpetrator till
it is exposed and confessed, is set forth with eloquence and power.
1. I VERY much regret, that it should have been thought
necessary to suggest to you, that I am brought here to
" hurry you against the law, and beyond the evidence." I
hope I have too much regard for justice, and too much re-
spect for my own character, to attempt either ; and, were I
to make such an attempt, I am sure, that, in this court,
nothing can be carried against the law, and that gentlemen,
intelligent and just as you are, are not, by any power, to be
hurried beyond the evidence.
2. Though I could well have wished to shun this occa-
sion, I have not felt at liberty to withhold my professional
assistance, when it is supposed that I might be in some de-
gree useful in investigating and discovering the truth re-
specting this most extraordinary murder. It has seemed to
be a duty, incumbent on me, as on every other citizen, to
do my best, and my utmost, to bring to light the perpetra-
tors of this crime. Against the prisoner at the bar, as an
individual, I cannot have the slightest prejudice. I would
not do him the smallest injury or injustice. But I do not affect
to be indifferent to the discovery, and the punishment, of this
deep guilt. I cheerfully share in the opprobrium, how much
soever it may be, which is cast on those who feel and mani-
fest an anxious concern, that all who had a part in planning,
or a hand in executing, this deed of midnight assassination,
may be brought to answer for their enormous crime, at the
bar of public justice.
3. Gentlemen, it is a most extraordinary case. In some
respects, it has hardly a precedent anywhere; certainly none
in our New England history. This bloody drama exhibited
no suddenly excited, ungovernable rage. The actors in it
were not surprised by any lion-like temptation, springing
upon their virtue, and overcoming it, before resistance could
begin. Nor did they do the deed to glut savage vengeance,
262 THE FOURTH READER.
or satiate long-settled and deadly hate. It was a cool, cal-
culating, money-making murder. It was all ** hire and sala-
ry, not revenge." It was the weighing of money against
life ; the counting out of so many pieces of silver, against
so many ounces of blood.
4. An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his
own house, and in his own bed, is made the victim of a
butcherly murder, for mere pay. Truly, here is a new les-
son for painters and poets. Whoever shall hereafter draw
the portrait of murder, if he will show it as it has been ex-
hibited in one example, where such example was last to have
been looked for, in the very bosom of our New England so-
ciety, let him not give it the grim visage of Moloch, the
brow knitted by revenge, the face black with settled hate,
and the bloodshot eye, emitting livid fires of malice. Let
him draw, rather, a decorous, smooth-faced, bloodless de-
mon ; a picture in repose, rather than in action ; not so
much an example of human nature, in its depravity, and in
its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal nature, a fiend, in the
ordinary display and developement of his character.
5. The deed was executed with a degree of self-posses-
sion and steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it
was planned. The circumstances, now clearly in evidence,
spread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fal-
len on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof: — a
healthful old man to whom sleep was sweet,— the first sound
slumbers of the night held him in their soft but strong em-
brace.
6. The assassin enters, through the window already pre-
pared, into an unoccupied apartment. With noiseless foot
he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon ; he winds
up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the
chamber. Of this he moves the lock, by soft and contin-
ued pressure, till it turns on its hinges without noise ; and
he enters, and beholds his victim before him. The room
was uncommonly open to the admission of light, The face
of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and
the beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks, of his
aged temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal blow
is given 1 and the victim passes, without a struggle, or a mo?
tion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death !
7. It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work ; and he
THE MURDERER. 263
yet plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life had
been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even
raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the
heart, and replaces it again over the wounds of the poniard I
To finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse I
He feels for it, and ascertains that it beats no longer ! It is
accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces
his steps to the window, passes out through it, as he came
in, and escapes. He has done the murder, — no eye has
seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, and
it is safe !
8. Ah ! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a
secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has
neither nook nor corner, where the guilty can bestow it, and
say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances
through all disguises, and beholds everything, as in the
splendor of noon, — such secrets of guilt are never safe
from detection even by men. True it is, generally speak-
ing, that " murder will out." True it is, that Providence
hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who
break the great law of Heaven, by shedding man's blood,
seldom succeed in avoiding discovery.
9. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as
this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later.
A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every
thing, every circumstance, connected with the time and
place ; a thousand ears catch every whisper ; a thousand
excited minds intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all
their light, and ready to kindle the slightest circumstance
into a blaze of discovery. Meantime the guilty soul can-
not keep its own secret. It is false to itself; or rather it
feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to it-
self. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not
what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the
residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on
by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge to God or
man.
10. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no assist-
ance or sympathy, either from heaven or earth. The secret
which the murderer possesses soon comes to possess him i
and like the evil spirits, of which we read, it overcomes
him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He feels it beat-
264 THE FOURTH READER.
ing at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding dis-
closure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads
it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very si-
lence of his thoughts. It has become his master. It be-
trays his discretion, it breaks down his courage, it conquers
his prudence. When suspicions from without begin to em-
barrass him, and the net of circumstance to entangle him,
the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to burst
forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed ; there is
no refuge from confession but suicide, and suicide is confes-
sion.
LESSON CXXVII. Importance of Keeping and Observ-
ing Good Rules of Behavior.
1. If we look carefully into the history of great and good
men, we shall find, in almost all cases, that in early life, they
have been subjected to the influence of wholesome rules of
conduct.
2. There is not, in the pages of human biography, a
character more worthy of admiration than that of Washing-
ton. If the secret of his greatness were to be expressed in
a single word, that word would be self-control. It was be-
cause he could govern himself, that he had the power to
govern others. He could put aside his own selfishness, and
beat down his own passions, and thus he was left to act
without those temptations, which draw the mind and heart
aside from truth and duty, as iron often makes the needle
swerve from the polar star.
3. How did he acquire this art of self-government? He
had, no doubt, the early guidance and counsel of a wise
mother, and he had the grace and good sense to listen to
her instructions. But besides this, his biographer tells us,
that, in looking over his papers, he finds, in Washington's
hand-writing, a series of Rules of Behavior, written at the
age of thirteen, and preserved, of course, through his whole
life. These rules are indeed excellent, and seem to be
fitted to form such a character as Washington's really was.
Who can doubt, that this is one of the secrets of his great-
ness?
4. In English history, there are few names more worthy
RULES OF BEHAVIOR 265
of respect than that of Sir Philip Sidney. He was born in
1554, and enjoyed various places of trust. In every situation
he acquitted himself with credit. Such was his reputation,
that he was offered the vacant crown of Poland ; but the
Queen, Elizabeth, would not consent, remarking, that Eng-
land ought not to part with the jewel of the times. His
death, by a wound at the battle of Zutphen, in 1586, was
deeply mourned in England, and even King James, the suc-
cessor of Elizabeth, condescended to write his epitaph.
5. A brief anecdote shows at least one trait in the char-
acter of this great and good man. As he lay bleeding on
the field of battle, and was going to take a bottle of wine,
which his attendants had procured to refresh him, he saw a
wounded soldier carried by, who cast a longing glance at
the wine- He instantly ordered it to be given to the soldier,
saying, " Take it, thy need is greater than mine."
6. As in the case of Washington, we find that Sir Philip
Sidney had the advantage of excellent written rules of con-
duct. The following letter, addressed to him, when a boy, by
his father. Sir Henry Sidney, a distinguished English states-
man, no doubt was often perused, and reverently observed.
It displays singular good sense, and is beautifully written in
the simple English of the olden time. It is alike worthy of
attention from the wisdom it displays, and from the light it
affords as to the state of our language nearly three centuries
ago.
7. " I have received two letters from you, the one in Latin,
the other in French, which I take in good part; and will
you to exercise that practice of learning often, for it will
stand you in stead, in that profession of life which you were
born to live in ; and now, since this is the first letter that
ever I did write to you, 1 will not, that it be all empty of
some advices, which my natural care of you provoketh me
to with you, to follow as documents to you in this tender
age. Let the first action be the lifting up of your hands
and mind to Almighty God by hearty prayer ; and feelingly
digest the words you speak in prayer with continual medi-
tations, and thinking of him to whom you pray ; and use
this at an ordinary or particular hour, whereby the time it-
self will put you in remembrance to do that thing, which
you are accustomed to do in that time.
8. " Apply your study in such hours as your discreet master
23
26e THE FOURTH READER.
doth assign you, earnestly ; and the time, I know, he will so
limit, as shall be both sufficient for your learning, and safe
for your health; and mark the sense and manner of that
you read, as well as the words ; so shall you both enrich
your tongue with words, and your wit with matter; and
judgment will grow, as you advance in age.
9. " Be humble and obedient to your master ; for, unless
you frame yourself to obey, yea, and to feel in yourself what
obedience is, you shall never be able to teach others how to
obey you hereafter.
10. *' Be courteous of behavior, and affable to all men, with
universality of reverence, according to the dignity of the
person; there is nothing which winneth so much with so
little cost.
11. " Use moderate diet, so as after your meal, you may
find your wit fresher, and not duller, and your body more
lively, and not more heavy.
12. " Use exercise of body ; but such as may in no wise
endanger your bones or joints ; it will increase your
strength, and enlarge your breath.
13. " Delight to be cleanly as well in all parts of your body
as in your garments ; it shall make you graceful in each
company, and otherwise you will become loathsome.
14. " Be you rather a hearer and a bearer away of other
men's talk, than a beginner or" procurer of speech; otherwise
you will be accounted to delight to hear yourself speak.
15. " Be modest in all companies, and rather be laughed at
by light fellows for maiden shamefulness, than of your sober
friends for pert boldness.
16. " Think upon every word you will speak, before you
utter it ; and remember how nature hath, as it were, ram-
pired up the tongue with teeth, lips, yea, and hair without
the lips; and all betoken reins and bridle to the restraining
of the use of that member.
17. " Above all things, tell no untruth ; no, not in trifles ;
the custom of it is naught. And let it not satisfy you, that the
hearers for a time take it for a truth, for afterwards it will be
known, as it is, to shame, and there cannot be a greater re-
proach to a gentleman, than to be accounted a liar.
18. " Study, and endeavor yourself to be virtuously occu-
ST. PATRICK. 267
pied ; so shall you make such a habit of well doing, as you
shall not know how to do evil, though you would.
19. " Remember, my son, the noble blood you are descend-
ed from, on your mother's side ; and think that only, by a
good life and virtuous actions, you may be an ornament to
your illustrious family; and otherwise, through vice and
sloth, you will be esteemed labcs generis [a stain on your fam-
ily], which is one of the greatest curses that can happen to
a man.
20. "Well, my little Philip, this is enough for me, and I
fear too much for you, at this time ; but yet, if I find that
this light meat of digestion do nourish anything the weak
stomach of your young capacity, I will, as I find the same
growing stronger, feed it with tougher food. Farewell. Your
mother and I send you our blessing ; and may God Almigh-
ty grant you his ; nourish you with his fear, guide you with
his grace, and make you a good servant to your prince and
country."
. LESSON CXXVIII. St. Patrick
1. There are so many absurd legends of this Irish
Apostle, that his name has been brought into contempt, par-
ticularly among Protestants. But an examination of his
true history, will lead every fair-minded person to a very
different estimate of his character.
2. St. Patrick appears to have been a native of Boulogne,
in France, and to have been born about the year 387 A. D.
In his sixteenth year he was made captive in a marauding
expedition by an Irish king, Nial of the Nine Hostages.
Being carried to Ireland, he was sold as a slave to a man
named Milcho, living in what is now called the county of
Antrim. The occupation assigned him was the tending of
sheep. His lonely rambles over the mountains and the for-
est are described by himself, as having been devoted to
constant prayer and thought, and to the nursing of those
deep devotional feelings, which, even at that time, he felt
strongly stirring within him.
3. At length, after six years of servitude, the desire of
escaping from bondage arose in his heart. "A voice in
his dreams," he says, <' told him, that he was soon to go to
268 THE FOURTH READER.
his own country, and that a ship was ready to convey him
thither." Accordingly in the seventh year of his slavery,
he betook himself to flight; and, making his way to the
southwestern coast of Ireland, was there received on board
a merchant vessel, which, after a voyage of three days,
landed him on the coast of Gaul.
4. He now returned to his parents, and, after spending
some time with them, devoted himself to study, in the cele-
brated monastery of St. Martin, at Tours. During this
period, it would appear that his mind still dwelt with fond
recollection upon Ireland ; for he had a remarkable dream,
which, in those superstitious ages, was regarded as a vision
from heaven. In this, he seemed to receive innumerable
letters from Ireland, in one of which was written, '^The
voice of the Irish.'*
5. In these natural workings of a warm and pious imagi-
nation, so unlike the prodigies and miracles with which most
of the legends of his life abound, we see what a hold the
remembrance of Ireland had taken of his youthful fancy,
and how fondly he already contemplated some holy work in
her service.
6. Having left the seminary at Tours, he spent several
years in travelling, study, and meditation ; but, at length,
being constituted a bishop, and having at his own request
been appointed by the See of Rome to that service, he pro-
ceeded on his long-contemplated mission to Ireland.
7. Let us pause a moment to consider the state of Ireland
at this period, that we may duly estimate the task which lay
before this apostle, and which we shall find he gloriously
accomplished. The neighboring Island of Britain, it will
be remembered, was still under the Roman yoke ; but
no Roman soldier had ventured to cross the narrow chan-
nel between Britain and Ireland, and set his foot upon Irish
soil. To Ireland, then, Rome had imparted none of her
civilization.
8. The country was, in fact, in a state of barbarism ; the
government was the same as that which had been handed
down for centuries, and which continued for ages after.
The territory was divided among a great number of petty
chiefs, who assumed the title and claimed the sovereignty of
kings, but who yet acknowledged a sort of nominal allegi-
ance to the monarch of the realm. The disputes between
ST. PATRICK. 269
tliese sovereigns were incessant, and the people were en-
gaged in almost constant war. Among the rapid succession
of princes, history tells us of but few that did not die by
violence.
9. In such a state of things, it is obvious that there could
be little progress in the arts of peace, or in that culture
which proceeds from the diffusion of intellectual light. A
limited knowledge of letters existed in the country, and
there was, no doubt, much mystical lore among the druid-
ical priesthood, who, at this dark period of society, appear to
have led both prince and people as their cheated and de-
luded captives, whithersoever they pleased.
10. The dominion, indeed, of these artful priests over the
mind of the nation, seems to have been absolute, and they
exercised it with unsparing rigor. The whole people were
subjected to an oppressive routine of rites and ceremonies,
among which the sacrifice of human victims, men, women,
and children, was common. The details of these shocking
superstitions, are, indeed, too frightful to be repeated here.
It is sufficient to say, that the mission of St. Patrick con-
templated the conversion of a nation, wedded to these un-
holy rites, to the pure and peaceful doctrines of the Gospel.
11. He came alone, armed with no earthly power, arrayed
in no visible pomp, to overturn the cherished dynasty of
ages ; to beat down a formidable priesthood ; to slay the
many-headed monster, prejudice ; to draw aside the thick
cloud which overspread a nation, and to permit the light of
heaven to shine upon it.
12. There was something in the very conception of this
noble enterprise^ which marks St. Patrick as endowed with
the true spirit of an apostle. We cannot follow him through
the details of his mission. It is sufficient to say, that, exer-
cising no power but persuasion, and using no weapon but
truth, he proceeded from place to place, and, in the brief
space of thirty years, introduced Christianity into every
province in this land, and that without one drop of blood-
shed. Everywhere, the frowning altars of the Druids fell
before him, the superstitious prince did homage to the cross,
and the proud priest of the Sun bent his knee to the true
God. Christianity was thus introduced and spread over
Ireland without violence, and by the agency of a single in-
dividual.
23* '
270 THE FOURTH READER.
13. Where is there a brighter page in history, than this?
Where is there a life more ennobled by lofty purposes, more
illustrious from its glorious results than this of St. Patrick 1
Surely, such an individual is no proper theme for ridicule
or contempt. If we Americans do homage to the memory
of Washington, who aided in delivering our country from
tyranny, the Irishman may as justly hold dear the recollec-
tion of him who redeemed his country from paganism.
14. Aside from the immediate benefits which St. Patrick
secured to Ireland, he has left to all mankind the heritage
of a glorious truth, and that is, that in contending with hu-
man power, human passions, and human depravity, the min-
ister of Jesus Christ needs no other weapon than truth,
enforced by holy example. He has left us an imperishable
lesson of wisdom, that moral suasion can overturn that do-
minion of ignorance and prejudice, which might for ever
hold the sword at bay.
15. He has also taught us another truth, worthy of
universal remembrance, which is, that the Irish people,
wedded as they may be to ancient customs, are still accessi-
ble to the gentle appeals of truth and reason. Would to
Heaven that those, who attempt to deal with what they
consider the superstitions of the Irish, would follow the
example of St. Patrick, and treat them as rational beings.
LESSON CXXIX. Departure of Adam and Eve from
Paradise.
1. He ended, and they both descend the hill;
Descended, Adam to the bower, where Eve
Lay sleeping, ran before, but found her waked ;
And thus, with words not sad, she him received.
2. "Whence thou return'st, and whither went'st, I know;
For God is also' in sleep ; and dreams advise.
Which he hath sent propitious, some great good
Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress
Wearied I fell asleep ; but now lead on ;
In me is no delay ; with thee to go.
Is to stay here ; without thee, here to stay,
SONNET. 271
Is to go hence unwilling. Thou to me
Art all things under Heaven, all places thou,
Who, for my wilful crime, art banished hence.
This further consolation yet secure
I carry hence ; though all by me is lost.
Such favor, I unworthy am vouchsafed.
By rae the promised seed shall all restore."
3. So spake our mother Eve ; and Adam heard
Well pleased, but answered not ; for now too nigh
The archangel stood ; and from the other hill
To their fixed station, all in bright array,
The Cherubim descended ; on the ground
Gliding meteorous, as evening-mist
Risen from a river o'er the marish glides.
And gathers ground fast at the laborer's heel
Homeward returning. High in front advanced,
The brandished sword of God before them blazed,
Fierce as a comet ; which, with torrid heat,
And vapor as the Libyan air adust.
Began to parch that temperate clime ; whereat,
In either hand the hastening angel caught
Our lingering parents, and, to the' eastern gate
Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast
To the subjected plain ; then disappeared.
4. They, looking back, all the' eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Waved over by that flaming brand ; the gate
With dreadful faces thronged, and fiery arms.
Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon
The world was all before them where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide !
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,
Through Eden took their solitary way.
LESSON CXXX. Sonnet, on his Blindness, by Milton,
When I consider how my life is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide^
272 THE FOURTH READER.
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning, chide ;
" Doth God exact day-labor, light denied ? "
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, " God doth not need
Either man's work, or his own gifts ; who best
Bears his mild yoke, they serve him best ; his state
Is kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest ;
They also serve who only stand and wait."
LESSON CXXXL The Power of God, as illustrated
by Astronomy.
1. A VERY slight view of the planetary system is sufficient
to impress our minds with an overpowering sense of the
grandeur and omnipotence of the Deity. In one part of it
we behold a globe fourteen hundred times larger than our
world, flying through the depths of space, and carrying
along with it a retinue of revolving worlds in its swift
career. In a more distant region of this system, we behold
another globe, of nearly the same size, surrounded by two
magnificent rings, which would enclose five hundred worlds
as large as ours, winging its flight through the regions of
immensity, and conveying along with it seven planetary bod-
ies larger than our moon, over a circumference of five thou-
sand seven hundred millions of miles.
2. Were we to suppose ourselves placed on the nearest
satellite of this planet, and were the satellite supposed to be
at rest, we should behold a scene of grandeur altogether
overwhelming ; a globe filling a great portion of the visible
heavens, encircled by its immense rings, and surrounded by
its moons, each moving in its distinct sphere and around its
axis, and all at the same time flying before us in perfect har-
mony, with the velocity of twenty-two thousand miles an
hour. Such a scene would far transcend everything we
now behold from our terrestrial sphere, and all the concep
THE POWER OF GOD. 273
tions we can possibly form of motion, of sublimity, and of
grandeur.
3. Contemplating such an assemblage of magnificent ob-
jects moving through the ethereal regions with such aston-
ishing velocity, we would feel the full force of the sentiment
of inspiration ; " The Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.
His power is irresistible ; his greatness is unsearchable ;
wonderful things doth He, which we cannot comprehend."
The motions of the bodies which compose this system convey
an impressive idea of the agency and the energies of Om-
nipotence.
4. One of these bodies, eighty times larger than tho
earth, and the slowest-moving orb in the system, is found to
move through its expansive orbit at the rate of fifteen thou-
sand miles an hour ; another, at twenty-nine thousand miles
in the same period, although it is more than a thousand times
the size of our globe ; another, at the rate of eighty thou-
sand miles; and a fourth, with a velocity. of more than a
hundred thousand miles every hour, or thirty miles during
every beat of our pulse.
5. The mechanical forces requisite to produce such mo-
tions, surpass the mathematician's skill to estimate, or the
power of numbers to express. Such astonishing velocities,
in bodies of so stupendous a magnitude, though incompre-
hensible and overwhelming to our limited faculties, exhibit a
most convincing demonstration of the existence of an agen-
cy and a power which no created beings can ever counter-
act, and which no limits can control.
6. Above all, the central body of this system presents to
our view an object which is altogether overpowering to hu-
man intellects, and of which, in our present state, we shall
never be able to form an adequate conception. A luminous
globe, thirteen hundred thousand times larger than our
world, and five hundred times more capacious than all the
planets, satellites, and comets taken together, and this body
revolving round its axis and through the regions of space,
extending its influences to the remotest spaces of the system,
and retaining by its attractive power all the planets in their
orbits, is an object which the limited faculties of the human
mind, however improved, can never grasp, in all its magni-
tude and relations, so as to form a full and comprehensive
idea of its magnificence.
274 THE FOURTH READER.
7. But it displays in a most astonishing manner the gran-
deur of him who launched it into existence, and lighted it
up, " by the breath of his mouth " ; and it exhibits to all in-
telligences, a demonstration of his " eternal pouer and god-
head." So that, although there were no bodies existing in
the universe but those of the planetary system, they would
afford an evidence of a power to which no limits can be as-
signed; a power which is infinite, universal, and uncoa-
trollable.
LESSON CXXXII. Ocean.
1. 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 aue 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, unknelled, uncoflined, and unknown.
2. 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.
Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies.
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray
And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies
His petty hope in some near port or bay,
And dashest him again to earth ; — there let him lay.
3. 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 pride, or spoils of Trafalgar
RELIGION 275
4. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee, —
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they 1
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*
5. 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.
6. And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward ; from a boy
I wantoned with thy breakers, — they to me
Were a delight ; and, if the freshening sea
Made them a terror, — 't was 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.
LESSON CXXXIII. Religion in the People necessary to
good Government.
1. Op all the dispositions and habits, which lead to politi-
cal prosperity, religion and morality are indispensable sup-
ports. In vain would that man claim the tribute of patriot-
ism, who should labor to subvert these great pillars of human
happiness, — these firmest props of the duties of men and
citizens. The mere politician, equally with the pious man,
ought to respect and to cherish them. A volume could not
trace all their cqnnexions with private and public felicity.
276 THE FOURTH READER.
2. Let it be simply asked, where is the security for prop-
erty, for reputation, for life, if the sense of religious obligation
desert the oaths, which are the instruments of investigation
in courts of justice ? And let us with caution indulge the
supposition, that morality can be maintained without religion.
Whatever may be conceded to the influence of refined edu-
cation on minds of peculiar structure, reason and experience
both forbid us to expect, that national morality can prevail in
exclusion of religious principles,
3. It is substantially true, that virtue or morality is a
necessary spring of popular government. The rule, indeed,
extends with more or less force to every species of free gov-
ernment. Who, that is a sincere friend to it, can look with
indifference upon attempts to shake the foundation of the
fabric ?
4. Promote, then, as an object of primary importance,
institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge. In pro-
portion as the structure of a government gives force to pub-
lic opinion, it is essential that public opinion should be
enlightened. Observe good faith and justice towards all
nations : cultivate peace and harmony with all ; religion and
morality enjoin this conduct ; and can it be that good poli-
cy does not equally enjoin it? It will be worthy of a free,
enlightened, and, at no distant period, a great nation, to
give to mankind the magnanimous, and too novel, example
of a people always guided by an exalted justice and benev-
olence.
5. Who can doubt, that, in the course of time and things,
the fruits of such a plan would richly repay any temporary
advantages which might be lost by a steady adherence to it ?
Can it be, that Providence has not connected the permanent
felicity of a nation with its virtue 1 The experiment, at
least, is recommended by every sentiment which ennobles
human nature. Alas ! is it rendered impossible by its
vices?
LESSON CXXXIV. Power of the Soul
1. — Life in itself, it life to all things gives.
For whatsoe'er it looks on that thing lives, —
POWER OF THE SOUL. 277
Becomes an acting being, ill or good :
And, grateful to its Giver, tenders food
For the Soul's health, or, suffering change unblest.
Pours poison down to rankle in the breast.
As is the man, e'en so it bears its part,
And answers, thought to thought, and heart to heart.
2. Yes, man reduplicates himself. You see.
In yonder lake, reflected rock and tree.
Each leaf at rest, or quivering in the air,
Now rests, now stirs, as if a breeze were there
Sweeping the crystal depths. How perfect all !
And see those slender top-boughs rise and fall ;
The double strips of silvery sand unite
Above, below, each grain distinct and bright.
— Thou bird, that seek'st thy food upon that bough.
Peck not alone ; that bird below, as thou,
Is busy after food, and happy, too.
— They 're gone ! Both, pleased, away together flew.
3. And see we thus sent up, rock, sand, and wood,
Life, joy, and motion from the sleepy flood ?
The world, O man, is like that flood to thee :
Turn where thou wilt, thyself in all things see
Reflected back. As drives the blinding sand
Round Egypt's piles, where'er thou tak'st thy stand.
If that thy heart be barren, there will sweep
The drifting waste; like waves along the deep,
Fill up the vale, and choke the laijghing streams
That ran by grass and brake, with dancing beams.
Sear the fresh woods, and from thy heavy eye
Veil the wide-shifting glories of the sky,
And one, still, sightless level make the earth,
Like thy dull, lonely, joyless Soul, — a dearth.
4. The rill is tuneless to his ear who feels
No harmony within ; the south wind steals
As silent as unseen amongst the leaves.
Who has no inward beauty, none perceives,
Though all around is beautiful. Nay more,
In nature's calmest hour he hears the roar
Of winds and flinging waves, — puts out the light,
When high and angry passions meet in fight ;
24
278 THE FOURTH READER
And, his own spirit into tumult hurled^
He makes a turmoil of a quiet world.
The fiends of his own bosom people air
With kindred fiends, that hunt him to despair.
Hates he his fellow-men ? Why, then, he deems
'T is hate for hate ; — as he, so each one seems.
6. Soul ! fearful is thy power, which thus transforms
All things into its likeness ; heaves in storms
The strong, proud sea, or lays it down to rest,
Like the hushed infant on its mother's breast, —
Which gives each outward circumstance its hue,
And shapes all others' acts and thoughts anew,
That so, they joy, or love, or hate impart.
As joy, love, hate, holds rule within the heart.
LESSON CXXXV. The Voyage of Life.
1. '* Life," says Seneca, " is a voyage, in the progress
of which, we are perpetually changing our scenes. We first
leave childhood behind us, then youth, then the years of
ripened manhood, then the better and more pleasing part of
old age." The perusal of this passage having excited in
me a train of reflections on the state of man, the incessant
fluctuations of his wishes, the gradual change of his disposi-
tion to all external objects, and the thoughtlessness with
which he floats along the stream of time, I sank into a
slumber amidst my meditations, and, on a sudden, found my
ears filled with the tumult of labor, the shouts of alacrity,
the shrieks of alarm, the whistle of winds, and the dash of
waters.
2. My astonishment for a time repressed my curiosity ;
but, soon recovering myself so far as to inquire whither we
were going, and what was the cause of such clamor and
confusion, I was told that we were launching out into the
ocean of life; that we had already passed the straits of
infancy, in which multitudes had perished, some by the
weakness and fragility of their vessels, asd more by the folly,
perverseness, or negligence, of those who undertook to steer
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 279
tfeem; and that we now were on the main sea, abandoned
to the winds and billows, without any other means of secu-
rity than the care of the pilot, whom it was always in our
power to choose among great numbers that offered their di-
rection and assistance.
3. I then looked round with anxious eagerness ; and first,
turning my eyes behind me, saw a stream flowing through
flowery islands, which every one that sailed along seemed
to behold with pleasure ; but no sooner touched, than the
current, which, though not noisy or turbulent, was yet irre-
sistible, bore him away. Beyond these islands all was dark-
ness, nor could any of the passengers describe the shore at
which he first embarked.
4. Before me, and on each side, was an expanse of water
violently agitated, and covered with so thick a mist, that the
most perspicacious eye could see but a little way. It ap-
peared to be full of rocks and whirlpools, for many sunk
unexpectedly while they were courting the gale with full
sails, and insulting those whom they had left behind. So
numerous, indeed, were the dangers, and so thick the
darkness, that no caution could confer security. Yet there
were many, who, by false intelligence, betrayed their fol-
lowers into whirlpools, or by violence pushed those whom
they found in their way, against the rocks.
5. The current was invariable and insurmountable ; but
though it was impossible to sail against it, or to return to
the place that was once passed, yet it was not so violent as
to allow no opportunities for dexterity or courage, since,
though none could retreat back from danger, yet they might
often avoid it by an oblique direction.
6. It was, however, not very common to steer with much
care or prudence ; for, by some universal infatuation, every
man appeared to think himself safe, though he saw his con-
sorts every moment sinking around him ; and no sooner had
the waves closed over them, than their fate and their mis-
conduct were forgotten ; the voyage was pursued with the
same jocund confidence; every man congratulated himself
upon the soundness of his vessel, and believed himself able
to stem the whirlpool in which his friend was swallowed, or
glide over the rocks on which he was dashed. Nor was
it often observed, that the sight of a wreck made any man
change his course ; if he turned aside for a moment, he
280 THE FOURTH READER.
soon forgot the rudder, and left himself again to the dis-
posal of chance.
7. This negligence did not proceed from indifference or
from weariness of their present condition ; for not one of
those, who thus rushed upon destruction, failed, when he
was sinking, to call loudly upon his associates for that help
which could not now be given him ; and many spent their
last moments in cautioning others against the folly by which
they were intercepted in the midst of their course. Their
benevolence was sometimes praised, but their admonitions
were unregarded.
8. The vessels in which we had embarked being confess-
edly unequal to the turbulence of the stream of life, were
visibly impaired in the course of the voyage ; so that every
passenger was certain, that, how long soever he might, by
favorable accidents, or by incessant vigilance, be preserved,
he must sink at last.
9. This necessity of perishing might have been expected
to sadden the gay, and intimidate the daring; at least, to
keep the melancholy and timorous in perpetual torments,
and hinder them from any enjoyment of the varieties and
gratifications which nature offered them as the solace of their
labors ; yet, in effect, none seemed less to expect destruc-
tion, than those to whom it was most dreadful ; they all
had the art of concealing their danger from themselves ; and
those who knew their inability to bear the sight of the ter-
rors that embarrassed their way, took care never to look
forward, but found some amusement for the present mo-
ment, and generally entertained themselves with playing
with Hope, who was the constant associate of the voyage
of life.
10. Yet all that Hope ventured to promise to those whom
she favored most, was, not that they should escape, but
that they should sink last ; and with this promise, every
one was satisfied, though he laughed at the rest for seem-
ing to believe it. Hope, indeed, apparently mocked the
credulity of her companions ; for, in proportion as their
vessels grew leaky, she redoubled their assurances of safety j
and none were more busy in making provisions for a long
voyage, than they, whom all but themselves saw likely to
perish soon by irreparable decay.
11. In the midst of the current of life was the Gulf of
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE. 281
Intemperance, a dreadful whirlpool, interspersed with rocks,
of which the pointed crags were concealed under water,
and the tops covered with herbage, on which Ease spread
couches of repose, and with shades where Pleasure war-
bled the song of invitation. Within sight of these rocks,
all who sailed on the ocean of life must necessarily pass.
12. Reason, indeed, was always at hand to steer the pas-
sengers through a narrow outlet by which they might es-
cape ; but very few could, by her entreaties or remonstran-
ces, be induced to put the rudder into her hand, without
stipulating, that she should approach so near unto the rocks
of Pleasure that they might solace themselves with a short
enjoyment of that delicious region, after which, they always
determined to pursue their course without any other devi-
ation.
13. Reason was too often prevailed upon so far by these
promises as to venture her charge within the eddy of the
gulf of Intemperance, where, indeed, the circumvolution
was weak, but yet interrupted the course of the vessel, and
drew it, by insensible rotations, towards the centre. She
then repented her temerity, and, with all her force, endeav-
ored to retreat ; but the draught of the gulf was generally
too strong to be overcome ; and the passenger, having danced
in circles with a pleasing and giddy velocity, was at last
overwhelmed and lost.
14. Those {qw, whom Reason was able to extricate, gen-
erally suffered so many shocks upon the points which shot
out from the rocks of Pleasure, that they were unable to
continue their course with the same strength and facility as
before, but floated along timorously and feebly, endangered
by every breeze, and shattered by every ruffle of water, till
they sunk, by slow degrees, after long struggles and innu-
merable expedients, always repining at their own folly, and
warning others against the first approach to the gulf of In-
temperance.
15. There were artists, who professed to repair the
breaches, and stop the leaks, of the vessels which had been
shattered on the rocks of Pleasure. Many appeared to have
great confidence in their skill, and some, indeed, were pre-
served by it from sinking, who had received only a single
blow. But I remarked, that few vessels lasted long which
had been much repaired, nor was it found that the artists
24*
283 THE FOURTH READER.
themselves continued to float longer than those who had
least of their assistance.
16. The only advantage, which, in the voyage of life, the
cautious had above the negligent, was, that they sunk later,
and more suddenly ! for they passed forward till they had
sometimes seen all those in whose company they had issued
from the straits of Infancy, perish in the way, and at last
were overset by a cross breeze, without the toil of resist-
ance, or the anguish of expectation. But such as had often
fallen against the rocks of Pleasure, commonly subsided by
sensible degrees, contended long with the encroaching
waters, and harassed themselves by labors, that scarce Hope
herself could flatter with success.
17. As I was looking upon the various fate of the multi-
tude about me, I was suddenly alarmed with an admonition
from some unknown power ; " Gaze not idly upon others,
when thou thyself art sinking. Whence is this thoughtless
tranquillity, when thou and they are equally endangered? "
1 looked, and seeing the gulf of Intemperance before me,
started and awaked.
LESSON CXXXVI. The Coming of a Devastating
Army. Joel, Chapter ii. Verses 1 — 13.
Blow ye the trumpet in Sion ;
And sound an alarm in mine holy mountain ;
Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble ;
For the day of Jehovah cometh, for it is near;
A day of darkness and gloominess;
A day of clouds and of thick darkness.
As the dusk spread upon the mountains,
Cometh a numerous people and a strong.
Like them there hath not been of old time,
And after them there shall not be,
Even to the years of many generations.
Before them a fire devoureth.
And behind a flame burneth ;
The land is as the garden of Eden before them, .
And behind them a desolate wilderness ; .
Yea, and nothing shall escape them. .
THE CONSEQUENCES OF ATHEISM. 283
3. Their appearance shall be like the appearance of horses,
And like horsemen shall they run ;
Like the sound of chariots on the tops of the mountains
shall they leap ;
Like the sound of a flame of fire which devoureth stubble.
They shall be like a strong people set in battle array.
Before them shall the people be much pained
All faces shall gather blackness,
They shall run like mighty men ;:
Like warriors shall they climb the wall ;
And they shall march every one in his way ;
Neither shall they turn aside from their paths ;
Neither shall one thrust another ;
They shall march each in his road ;
And if they fall upon the sword they shall not be wounded.
4. They shall run to and fro in the city, they shall run upon
the wall, they shall climb up into the houses ;
They shall enter in at the windows like a thief.
Before them the earth quaketh, the heavens tremble ;
The sun and moon are darkened ;
And the stars withdraw their shining.
And Jehovah shall utter his voice before his army ;
For his camp is very great ;
For he is strong that executeth his word;
For the day of Jehovah is great ;
And very terrible ; and who shall be able to bear it?
Yet even now saith Jehovah,.
Turn ye unto me with all your heart ;
With fasting and with weeping and with mourning ;
And rend your hearts, and not your garments ;
And turn unto Jehovah your God ;
For he is gracious and merciful ;
Slow to anger and of great kindness.
And repenteth him of evil.
LESSON CXXXVIL The Consequences of Atheism,
1. Few men suspect, perhaps no man comprehends, the
extent of the support given by religion to every virtue. No
man, perhaps, is aware how much our moral and social sen-
384 THE FOURTH READER.
tiraents are fed from this fountain ; how powerless conscience
would become without the belief of a God ; how palsied
would be human benevolence, were tliere not the sense of a
higher benevolence, to quicken and sustain it ; how sudden-
ly the whole social fabric would quake, and with what a
fearful crash it would sink into hopeless ruins, were the
ideas of a Supreme Being, of accountableness, and of a fu-
ture life, to be utterly erased from every mind.
2. Once let men thoroughly believe, that they are the
work and sport of chance ; that no Superior Intelligence
concerns itself with human affairs ; that all their improve-
ments perish forever at death ; that the weak have no guar-
dian, and the injured no avenger ; that there is no recom-
pense for sacrifices to uprightness and the public good ; that
an oath is unheard in heaven ; that secret crimes have no
witness but the perpetrator ; that human existence has no
purpose, and human virtue no unfailing friend ; that this
brief life is everything to us, and death is total, everlasting
extinction, — once let men thoroughly abandon religion, and
who can conceive or describe the extent of the desolation
which would follow?
3. We hope, perhaps, that human laws and natural sym-
pathy would hold society together. As reasonably might we
believe, that, were the sun quenched in the heavens, our
torches could illuminate, and our fires quicken and fertilize,
the creation. What is there in human nature to awaken
respect and tenderness, if man is the unprotected insect of a
day ? and what is he more, if atheism be true ? Erase all
thought and fear of God from a community, and selfishness
and sensuality would absorb the whole man.
4. Appetite, knowing no restraint, and poverty and suffer-
ing, having no solace or hope, would trample in scorn on
the restraints of human laws. Virtue, duty, principle, would
be mocked and spurned as unmeaning sounds. A sordid
self-interest would supplant every other feeling, and man
would become in fact, what the theory of atheism declares
him to be, a companion for brutes !
CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON. 285
LESSON CXXXVIIL Character of a Good Parson.
1. A PARISH priest was of the pilgrim train ;
An awful, reverend, and religious man.
His eyes diffused a venerable grace,
And charity itself was in his face.
Rich was his soul, though his attire was poor ;
(As God had clothed his own ambassador)
For such on earth, his blessed Redeemer bore.
2. Of sixty years he seemed ; and well might last
To sixty more, but that he lived too fast ;
Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense,
And made almost a sin of abstinence.
Yet had his aspect nothing of severe.
But such a face as promised him sincere;
Nothing reserved or sullen was to see,
But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity ;
Mild was his accent, and his action free.
3. With eloquence innate his tongue was armed.
Though harsh the precept, yet the preacher charmed.
For, letting down the golden chain from high,
He drew his audience upward to the sky ;
And oft with holy hymns he charmed their ears,
(A music more melodious than the spheres;)
For David left him, when he went to rest.
His lyre; and, after him, he sung the best.
4. He bore his great commission in his look.
But sweetly tempered awe, and softened all he spoke.
He preached the joys of heaven, and pains of hell,
And warned the sinner with becoming zeal ;
But on eternal mercy loved to dwell.
He taught the gospel rather than the law,
And forced himself to drive, but loved to draw ;
For fear but freezes minds ; but love, like heat,
Exhales the soul sublime to seek her native seat
286 THE FOURTH READER,
LESSON CXXXIX. Studies for the Statesman.
1. All society is an affair of mutual concession. If we
expect to derive the benefits which are incident to it, we
must sustain our reasonable share of burdens. The great
interests which it is intended to guard and cherish must be
supported by their reciprocal action and reaction. The har-
mony of its parts is disturbed, the discipline which is nec-
essary to its order is incomplete, when one of the three
great and essential branches of its industry is abandoned
and unprotected.
2. If you want to find an example of order, of freedom
from debt, of economy, of expenditure falling below, rather
than exceeding income, you will go to the welUregulated
family of a farmer. You will go to the house of such a
man as Isaac Shelby. You will not find him haunting tav-
erns, engaged in broils, or prosecuting angry lawsuits.
3. You will behold every member of his family clad with
the produce of their own hands, and usefully employed, the
spinning-wheel and the loom in motion by daybreak. With
what pleasure will his wife carry you into her neat dairy,
lead you into her store-house, and point you to the table-
cloths, the sheets, the counterpanes, which lie on this shelf
for one daughter, or on that for another, all prepared in ad-
vance by her provident care for the day of their respective
marriages.
4. If you want to see an opposite example, go to the
house of a man who manufactures nothing at home, whose
family resorts to the store for every thing they consume.
You will find him perhaps in the tavern, or at the shop at the
cross-roads. He is engaged, with the rum grog on the ta-
ble, taking depositions to make out some case of usury or
fraud.
5. Or, perhaps he is furnishing to his lawyer the materials
to prepare a long bill of injunction in some intricate case.
The sheriff is hovering about his farm to serve some new
writ. On court days (he never misses attending them) you
will find him eagerly collecting his witnesses, to defend
himself against the merchant's and doctor's claims.
6. Go to his house, and, after the short and giddy period
that his wife and daughters have flirted about the country in
THE PURITANS. 287;
their calico and muslin frocks, what a scene of discomfort
and distress is presented to you there ! What the indi-
vidual family of Isaac Shelby is, I wish to see the nation in
the aggregate become. But I fear we shall shortly have to
contemplate its resemblance in the opposite picture. If
statesmen would carefully observe the conduct of private
individuals in the management of their own affairs, they
would have much surer guides in. promoting the interests of
the state, than the visionary speculations of theoretical
writers.
LESSON CXL. The Puritans.
1. The first years of the residence of the Puritans in
America, were years of great hardship and affliction. It is
an error to suppose, that this short season of distress was not
promptly followed l3y abundance and happiness. The peo-
ple were full of afflictions, and the objects of love were
around them. They struck root in the soil immediately.
They enjoyed religion. They were, from the first, indus-
trious, and enterprising, and frugal ; and affluence followed
of course. When persecution ceased in England, there
were already in New England " thousands who would not
change their place for any other in the world" ; and they
were tempted in vain with invitations to the Bahama Isles,
to Ireland, to Jamaica, to Trinidad.
2. The purity of morals completes the picture of colonial
felicity. " As Ireland will not brook venomous beasts, so will
not that land vile livers." One might dwell there " from
year to year, and not see a drunkard, or hear an oath, or
meet a beggar." The consequence was universal health, —
one of the chief elements of public happiness.
3. The average duration of life in New England, com-
pared with Europe, was doubled ; and the human race was
so vigorous, that, of all who were born into the world, more
than two in ten, full four in nineteen, attained the age of
seventy. Of those wh#lived beyond ninety, the proportion,
as compared with European tables of longevity, was still
more remarkable.
4. I have dwelt the longer on the character of the early
288 THE FOURTH READER.
Puritans of New England, for they are the parents of one
third the whole white population of the United States. In
the first ten or twelve years, — and there was never after-
wards any considerable increase from England, — we have
seen, that there came over twenty-one thousand two hundred
persons, or four thousand families. Their descendants are
now not far from four millions. Each family has multiplied
on the average to one thousand souls. To New York and
Ohio, where they constitute half the population, they have
carried the Puritan system of free schools ; and their exam-
ple is spreading it through the civilized world.
5. Historians have loved to eulogize the manners and
virtues, the glory and the benefits, of chivalry. Puritanism
accomplished for mankind far more. If it had the sectarian
crime of intolerance, chivalry had the vices of dissoluteness.
The knights were brave from gallantry of spirit ; the Puri-
tans from the fear of God. The knights did homage to
monarchs, in whose smile they beheld honor, whose re-
buke was the wound of disgrace ; the Puritans, disdaining
ceremony, would not bow at the name of Jesus, nor bend
the knee to the King of Kings.
6. Chivalry delighted in outward show, favored pleasure,
multiplied amusements, and degraded the human race by an
exclusive respect for the privileged classes. Puritanism
bridled the passions, commended the virtues of self-denial,
and rescued the name of man from dishonor. The former
valued courtesy, the latter justice. The former adorned
society by graceful refinements, the latter founded national
grandeur on universal education. The institutions of chiv-
alry were subverted by the gradually increasing weight, and
knowledge, and opulence of the industrious classes ; the
Puritans, rallying upon those classes, planted in their hearts
the undying principles of democratic liberty.
LESSON CXLI. Cesar's Funeral.
It will be recollected, that Cesar was tlie cl^f ruler of ancient Rome, but
being deemed ambitious, was Elain by Brutus and other.
Enter Brutus and Cassius, and a throng of Citizens.
Cit. We will be satisfied ; let ua be satisfied.
CESAR'S FUNERAL.
Bru. Then follow me, and give me audience, friends. —
Cassius go you into the other street,
And part the numbers. —
Those that will hear me speak, let them stay here ;
Those that will follow Cassius, go with him ;
And public reasons shall be rendered
Of Cesar's death.
1 Cit. I will hear Brutus speak.
2 Cit. I will hear Cassius ; and compare their reasons,
When severally we hear them rendered.
Exit Cassius, with soine of the Citizens. Brutus goes
into the Rostrum.
3 Cit. The noble Brutus is ascended : Silence !
JBru. Be patient till the last.
Romans, countrymen, and lovers ! hear me for my cause ;
and be silent, that you may hear : believe me for mine hon-
or ; and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe ;
censure me in your wisdom ; and awake your senses that
you may the better judge. If there be any in this assembly,
any dear friend of Cesar's, to him I say, that Brutus's love to
Cesar was no less than his. If then that friend demand,
why Brutus rose against Cesar, this is my answer. — Not
that I loved Cesar less, but that I loved Rome more. Had
you rather Gesar were living and die all slaves ; than that
Cesar were dead to live all freemen 1 As Cesar loved me, I
weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it ; as he
was valiant, 1 honor him ; but as he was ambitious, 1 slew
him : There are tears for his love ; joy for his fortune ;
honor for his valor ; and death for his ambition. Who is
here so base, that would be a bondman ? If any, speak ; for
him have I offended. Who is here so rude, that would not
be a Roman ? If any, speak ; for him have I offended. Who
is here so vile, that will not love his country ? If any, speak ;
for him have I offended. I pause for a reply.
Cit. None, Brutus, none.
[Several speaking at onct.)
Bru. Then none have I offended. I have done no
more to Cesar, than you should do to Brutus. The question
of his death is enrolled in the Capitol : his glory not extenu-
ated, wherein he was worthy ; nor his offences enforced, for
which he suffered death.
Enter Antony and others, with Cesar's Body,
25
290 THE FOURTH READER. ^
Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony : who,
though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit
of his dying, a place in the Commonwealth ; as which of
you shall not? With this I depart ; That as I slew my best
Jover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for my-
self, when it shall please my country to need my death.
Cit. Live, Brutus, live! live!
Bru. Good countrymen, let me depart alone,
And, for my sake, stay here with Antony :
Do grace to Cesar's corpse, and grace his speech
Tending to Cesar's glories; which Mark Antony,
By our permission, is allowed to make.
I do entreat you, not a man depart,
Save I alone, till Antony have spoke. {Exit.)
1 Cit. Stay, ho ! and let us hear Mark Antony.
3 Cit. Let him go up into the public chair;
We '11 hear him : Noble Antony, go up.
Ant. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Cesar, not to praise him.
The evil, that men do, lives after them ;
^ The good is oft interred with their bones I
So let it be with Cesar ! The noble Brutus
Hath told you, Cesar was ambitious :
If it were so, it was a grievous fault ;
And grievously hath Cesar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,
(For Brutus is an honorable man ;
So are they all, all honorable men,)
Come I to speak in Cesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me :
But Brutus says he was ambitious ;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill :
Did this in Cesar seem ambitious ?
When that the poor have cried, Cesar hath wept*
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You all did see that on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition'
CESAR'S FUNERAL. 291
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ;
And sure he is an honorable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause ;
What cause witholds you then to mourn for him ?"
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts.
And men have lost their reason ! — Bear with me .
My heart is in the coffin there with Cesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
1. Clt. Methinks, there is much reason in his sayings.
4 Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak.
Ant. But yesterday the word of Cesar might
Have stood against the world : Now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
masters \ if I were disposed to stir
You hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know^ are honorable men :
I will not do them wrong ; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men;
But here's a parchment, with the sealof Cesar,
I found it in his closet, 't is his will :
Let but the commons hear this testament,
(Which pardon me, I do not mean to read,)
And they would go and kiss dear Cesar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
And dying, mention it within their wills, .
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy.
Unto their issue.
4 Cit. We '11 hear the will : Read it, Mark Antony.
Cit. The will, the will ; we will hear Cesar's will.
Ant. Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;.
It is not meet you know how Cesar loved you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
And, being men, hearing the will of Cesar,
It will inflame you, it will make you mad ;
'T is good you know not that you are his heirs;.
For if you should, O, what would come of it!'
4 Cit. Read the will ; we will hear it, Antony ;
292 THE FOURTH READER.
You shall read us the will ; Cesar's will.
Cit. Stand back ! room ! bear back !
Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle : I remember
The first time ever Cesar put it on ;
*T was on a summer's evening, in his tent ;
That day he overcame the Nervii : —
Look ! in this place, ran Cassius's dagger 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 Cesar followed it !
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no ;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cesar's angel :
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cesar loved him !
This was the most unkindest cut of all :
For when the noble Cesar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms,
duite 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 Cesar fell.
O, what a fall was there, my countrymen ;
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.
O, 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 Cesar's vesture wounded ? Look you here,
Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors,
1 Cit. O piteous spectacle !
2 Cit, O noble Cesar !
LESSON CXLII. Courtesy in Military Mm.
1. Courtesy is something more than a mere ornamental
accomplishment. It has the high sanction of an apostolic
precept, binding upon all men, and is peculiarly needful in
the military profession, who should exhibit it towards niem-
coCrtesy in military men. 293
bers of the sarae profession in the service of other coun-
tries and even towards enemies. It is especially due to the
latter, when the fortune of war has placed them in the vic-
tor's- hands.
2. The display of this quality during the middle ages,
irradiated the darkness of the times, and gives, even now,
to the institution of chivalry an enduring interest. We see
in it as then exhibited, the relics of a high and sacred mo-
rality ; the germs of a new and more perfect civilization. If,
in these days of light and moral advancement, we have the
aid of nobler and more efficacious principles, it is yet exceed-
ingly useful in smoothing " the wrinkled front of grim-
visaged war" ; in mitigating its evils; and in conducting to
its just termination.
3. During our last war with Great Britain, several in-
stances occurred, of mutual courtesy between officers of the
contending armies, the good effects of which have not been
limited to the circumstances which gave them bitth. In the
arrangement recently concluded, by the intervention of Ma-
jor General Scott between the Governors of Maine and New
Brunswick, the ancient friendships which had grown out of
relations of this nature, were successfully appealed to ; and
every part of the difficult negotiation was marked- by a cour-
tesy and judgment worthy of all praise.
4. Among associates in arras, it is only by a bland and
gentlemanly deportment, that the tone of command can be
divested of harshness, and the just and necessary authority of
the superior be preserved without grating on the feelings of
the subordinate. It is not less important among equals ; it
prevents collisions ; secures harmony ; and gives a graceful
and imposing air to the intercourse of the garrison and the
jamp.
5. Toward persons in civil life, and especially in a re-
public, it is, for obvious reasons, a duty of great importance.
Ct is pleasing to know, that this virtue is generally practised
m the army of the United States ; and particularly by those
who have enjoyed the advantages of education in this place
(West Point.) Let it be your aim my youuii friends, in ev-
ery part of your deportment, to exhibit^ in all sincerity, this
crowning grace of the accomplished soldier.
6. Before quitting i\ s division of my subject, permit me
to remind you, that th .we foundatkj of all pure morality,
25*
294 THE FOURTH READER.
the only one capable of sustaining, in well-balanced propor-
tions, that difficult combination of the heroic and passive
virtues, which forms the highest order of the military char-
acter, is solely to be found in the enlightened fear of God,
and the diligent keeping of his commandments. The sol-
diers of heathen antiquity, whose names are yet held in
honorable remembrance, were generally distinguished, ac-
cording to the light they possessed, by their religious char-
acter; among the Jews piety and valor were commonly
united ; the Christian soldier has often exhibited these
qualities ; and in our day we have many shining proofs, that
there is no incompatibility between them.
7. On the contrary, if there be any class of men, to
whom, more than to all others, an abiding trust in the govern-
ment and providence of God iTould seem to be important,
the military profession, from the very nature of their duties,
may, perhaps, be said to be that class. Exposed to peculiar
temptations and perils, who can need, more than they, the
guidance and support of the Lord of Hosts, — the God of
wisdom, grace, and consolation 1
LESSON CXLIII. The Wounded Spirit.
1. Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight,
Each yielding harmony disposed aright ;
The screws reversed (a task which, if he please,
God in a moment executes with ease)
Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose,
Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use.
2. Then neither healthy wilds, nor scenes as fair
As ever recompensed the peasant's care,
Nor soft declivities with tufted hills,
Nor view of waters turning busy mills,
Parks in which art preceptress nature weds.
Nor gardens interspersed with flowery beds,
Nor gales that catch the scent of blooming groves.
And waft it to the mourner as he roves.
Can call up life into his faded eye,
That passes all he sees unheeded by ;
DEATH OF LORD BYRON. <^
No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels,
No cure for such, till God, who makes them, heals;
And thou sad sufferer under nameless ill,
That yields not to the touch of human skill,
Improve the kind occasion, understand
A father's frown, and kiss his chastening hand.
3. To thee the day-spring, and the blaze of noon,
The purple evening and resplendent moon.
The stars that, sprinkled o'er the vault of night.
Seem drops descending in a shower of light.
Shine not, or undesired and hated shine,
Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine :
Yet seek him, in his favor life is found,
AH bliss beside a shadow or a sound.
4. Then heaven, eclipsed so long, and this dull earth,
Shall seem to start into a second birth ;
Nature, assuming a more lovely face,
Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace.
Shall be despised and overlooked no more ;
Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before.
Impart to things inanimate a voice.
And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice ;
The sound shall run along the winding vales,
And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails.
LESSON CXLIV. Death of Lord Byron.
1. Amidst the general calmness of the political atmo-
sphere, we have been stunned, from another quarter, by one
of those death-notes which are pealed at intervals, as from
an archangel's trumpet, to awaken the soul of a whole peo-
ple at once. Lord Byron, who has so long and so amply
filled the highest place in the public eye, has shared the lot
of humanity. His lordship died at Missolonghi, on the
19th of April.
2. That mighty genius, which walked amongst men as
something superior to ordinary mortality, and whose powers
were beheld with wonder, and something approaching to ter-
296 THE FOURTH READER.
ror, as if we knew not whether they were of good or of evil, is
laid as soundly to rest as the poor peasant, whose ideas never
went beyond his daily task. The voice of just blame and
of malignant censure are at once silenced ; and we feel
almost as if the great luminary of heaven had suddenly dis-
appeared from the sky, at the moment when every telescope
was levelled for the examination of the spots which dimmed
its brightness.
3. We are not about to become Byron's apologists, but
we may note the part he has sustained in British literature
since the first appearance of *' Childe Harold," a space of
nearly sixteen years. There has been no reposing under
the shade of his laurels, no living upon the resource of past
reputation; none of that petty precaution which little authors
call " taking care of their fame." Byron let his fame take
care of itself. His foot was always in the arena, his shield
hung always in the lists ; and although his own gigantic re-
nown increased the difficulty of the struggle, since he could
produce nothing, however great, which exceeded the public
estimates of his genius, yet he advanced to the contest again
and again, and always came off with distinction, almost al-
ways with complete triumph. As various in composition as
Shakspeare himself, he has embraced every topic of human
life, and sounded every string on the divine harp, from its
slightest to its most powerful and heart-astounding tones.
There is scarce a passion or a situation which has escaped
his pen; and he might be drawn, like Garrick, between the
weeping and the laughing muse, although his most powerful
eflforts have certainly been dedicated to Melpomene.
4. His genius seemed as prolific as various. The most
prodigal use did not exhaust his powers, nay, seemed rather
to increase their vigor. Neither " Childe Harold," nor any of
the most beautiful of Byron's earlier tales, contains more ex-
quisite raorselsof poetry than are to be found scattered amidst
later verses, which the author appears to have thrown off
with an effort as spontaneous as that of a tree resigning its
leaves to the wind. But that noble tree will never more
bear fruit or blossom ! It has been cut down in its strength,
and the past is all that remains to us of Byron. We can
scarce reconcile ourselves to the idea, — scarce think that
the voice is silent forever, which, bursting so of\en on our
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS. 297
ear, was often heard with rapturous admiration, sometimes
with regret, but always with the deepest interest : —
"All that 's bright must fade,
The brightest still the fleetest"
5. With a strong feeling of awful sorrow, we take leave
of the subject. Death creeps upon our most serious as well
as upon our most idle employments ; and it is a reflection
solemn and gratifying, that he found our Byron in no mo-
ment of levity, but contributing his fortune and hazarding
his life, in behalf of a people only endeared to him by their
past glories, and as fellow-creatures suffering under the yoke
of a heathen oppressor.
I.ESSON CXLV. Sir Joshua Reynolds.
1, His illness had been long, but borne with a mild
and cheerful fortitude, without the least mixture of anything
irritable or querulous, agreeably to the placid and even tenor
of his whole life. He had from the beginning of his mala-
dy a distinct view of his dissolution, which he contemplated
with that entire composure which nothing but the innocence,
integrity, and usefulness of his life, and an unaffected sub-
mission to the will of Providence, could bestow. In this
situation he had every consolation from family tenderness,
which his tenderness to his family had always merited.
2. Sir Joshua Reynolds was, on very many accounts, one
of the most memorable men of his time : — he was the first
Englishman who added the praise of the elegant arts to the
other glories of his country. In taste, in grace, in facility,
in happy invention, and in the richness and harmony of
coloring, he was equal to the great masters of the renown-
ed ages. In portrait he went beyond them ; for he commu-
nicated to that description of the art, in which English
artists are the most engaged, a variety, a fancy, and a digni-
ty derived from the higher branches, which even those who
profess them in a superior manner did not always preserve
when they delineated individual nature. His portraits re-
mind the spectator of the invention of history and the amen-
ity of landscape. In painting portraits, he appears not to
298 THE FOURTH READER.
be raised upon that platform, but to descend to it from a
higher sphere. His paintings illustrate his lessons, and his
lessons seem to have been derived from his paintings.
3, He possessed the theory as perfectly as the practice of
his art. To be such a painter, he was a profound and pen-
etrating philosopher. In full happiness of foreign and do-
mestic fame, admired by the expert in art, and by the
learned in science, courted by the great, caressed by sov-
ereign powers, and celebrated by distinguished poets, his
native humility, modesty, and candor never forsook him,
even on surprise or provocation ; nor was the least degree
of arrogance or assumption visible to the most scrutinizing
eye in any part of his conduct or discourse.
4. His talents of every kind, — powerful from nature, and
not merely cultivated in letters, — his social virtues in all
the relations and all the habitudes of life rendered him the
centre of a very great and unparalleled variety of agreeable
societies, which will be dissipated by his death. He had
too much merit not to excite some jealousy ; too much inno-
cence to provoke any enmity.
LESSON CXLVI. Advantages for Christianizing the
Heathen.
1. Should any be still disposed to insist, that our advan-
tages for evangelizing the world are not to be compared
with those of the Apostolic age, let them reverse the scene,
and roll back the wheels of time, and obliterate the improve-
ments of science, and commerce, and arts, which now facil-
itate the spread of the Gospel. Let them throw into dark-
ness all the known portions of the earth, which were then
unknown. Let them throw into distance the propinquity of
nations ; and exchange their rapid intercourse for cheerless,
insulated existence.
2. Let the magnetic power be forgotten, and the timid
navigator creep along the coasts of the Mediterranean, and
tremble and cling to the shore when he looks out upon the
broad waves of the Atlantic. Inspire idolatry with the vig-
or of meridian manhood, and arm in its defence, and against
CHRISTIANIZING THE HEATHEN. 299
Christianity in every place of its dispersion, from Jerusalem
to every extremity of the Roman empire.
3. Blot out the means of extending knowledge and exerting
influence upon the human mind. Destroy the Lancasterian
system of instruction, and throw back the mass of men into
a state of unreading, unreflecting ignorance. Blot out our
libraries and tracts ; abolish Bible, and education, and tract,
and missionary societies; and send the nations for knowl-
edge to parchment, and the slow and limited productions of
the pen. Let all the improvements in civil government be
obliterated, and the world be driven from the happy arts of
self-government to the guardianship of dungeons and chains.
4. Let liberty of conscience expire, and the Church, now
emancipated, and walking forth in her unsullied loveliness,
return to the guidance of secular policy, and the perversions
and corruptions of an unholy priesthood. And now reduce
the 200,000,000 nominal, and the 10,000,000 of real Chris-
tians, spread over the earth, to 500 disciples, and to twelve
apostles, assembled, for fear of the Jews, in an upper cham-
ber, to enjoy the blessings of a secret prayer-meeting. And
give them the power of miracles, and the gift of tongues,
and send them out into all the earth to preach the Gospel to
every creature.
5. Is this the apostolic advantage for propagating Chris-
tianity which throws into discouragement and hopeless imbe-
cility all our present means of enlightening and disenthrall-
ing the world ? They comparatively, had nothing to begin
with and every thing to oppose them ; and yet, in three
hundred years, the whole civilized, and much of the barbar-
ous world, was brought under the dominion of Christianity.
6. And shall we, with the advantage of their labors, and
of our numbers, and a thousand fold increase of opportuni-
ty and moral power, stand halting in unbelief, while the
Lord Jesus is still repeating the injunction, ** Go ye out into
all the world and preach the gospel to every creature," and
repeating the assurance, " Lo I am with you alway, even to
the end of the world ? " Shame on our sloth ! Shame upon
our unbelief!
300 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON CXLVII. Character of Washington.
1. THEREare accidental to the character of man two qual-
ities, both developed by his intercourse with his fellow-crea-
tures, and both belonging to the immortal part of his nature ;
of elements apparently so opposed and inconsistent with
each other, as to be irreconcilable together ; but yet indis-
pensable in their union to constitute the highest excellence
of the human character. They are the spirit of command,
and the spirit of meekness.
2. They have been exemplified in the purity of ideal per-
fection, only once in the history of mankind, and that was
in the mortal life of the Saviour of the world. It would
seem to have been exhibited on earth by his supernatural
character, as a model to teach mortal man, to what sublime
elevation his nature is capable of ascending.
3. They had been displayed, though not in the same per-
fection by the preceding legislator of the Children of Is-
rael : —
" That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning, how the heavens and earth
Rose out of chaos ;"
but so little were they known, or conceived of in the antiquity
of profane history, that in the poems of Homer, that unri-
valled delineator of human character in the heroic ages,
there is no attempt to introduce them in the person of any
one of his performers, human or divine.
4. In the poem of his Roman imitator and rival, a feeble
exemplification of them is shadowed forth in the inconsistent
composition of the pious ^neas ; but history, ancient or
modern, had never exhibited, in the real life of man, an ex-
ample in which those two properties were so happily blend-
ed together, as they were in the person of George Wash-
ington. These properties belong rather to the moral than
the intellectual nature of man.
5. They are not unfrequently found in minds little culti-
vated by science, but they require for the exercise of that
mutual control which guards them from degenerating into
arrogance or weakness, the guidance of a sound judgment,
EXTENSION OF CRISTIANITY. 301
and the regulation of a profound sense of responsibility to a
higher power. It was this adaptation of the character of
Washington to that of the institution over the composition
of which he had presided, as he was now called to presjde
over its administration, which constituted one of the most
favorable omens of its eventual stability and success.
LESSON CXLVIII. Extension of Christianity hy Missions.
1. Our object will not have been accomplished till the
tomahawk shall be buried forever, and the tree of peace
spread its broad branches from the Atlantic to the Pacific;
until a thousand smiling villages shall be reflected from the
waves of the Missouri, and the distant valleys of the West
echo with the song of the reaper ; till the wilderness and the
solitary place shall have been glad for us, and the desert has
rejoiced and blossomed as the rose.
2. How changed will then be the face of Asia. Bramins,
and Soodras, and Castes, and Shasters will have passed
away, like the mist which rolls up the mountain's side be-
fore the rising glories of a summer's morning; while the land
on which it rested, shining forth in all its loveliness, shall,
from its numberless habitations, send forth the high praises
of God and the Lamb. The Hindoo mother will gaze upon
her infant with tlie same tenderness, which throbs in the
breast of any one of you who now hear me, and the Hindoo
son will pour into the wounded bosom of his widowed parent
the oil of peace and consolation.
3. In a word, point us to the loveliest village that smiles
upon a Scottish or New England landscape, and compare
it with the filthiness and brutality of a Caffrarian Kraal, and
we tell you, that our object is to render that Caffrarian Kraal
as happy and as gladsome as that Scottish or New England
village.
4. Point us to the spot on the face of the earth, where
liberty is best understood and most perfectly enjoyed, where
intellect shoots forth in its richest luxuriance, and where all
the kindlier feelings of the heart are constantly seen in their
most graceful exercise ; point us to the loveliest and happiest
neighborhood in the world on which we dwell, and we tell
26
302 THE FOURTH READER.
you, that our object is to render the whole earth, with all its
nations, and kindreds, and tongues, and people, as happy,
nay, happier, than that neighborhood.
5. The object of the Missionary enterprise embraces
every child of Adam. It is vast as the race to whom its op-
erations are of necessity limited. It would confer upon ev-
ery individual on earth all that intellectual or moral cultiva-
tion can bestow. It would rescue a world from the indigna-
tion and wrath, tribulation and anguish, reserved for every
son of man that doeth evil, and give it a title to glory, honor,
and immortality.
6. You see, then, that our object is, not only to affect ev-
ery individual of the species, but to affect him in the mo-
mentous extremes of infinite happiness and infinite woe.
And now, we ask, what object, ever undertaken by man,
can compare with this same design of evangelizing the world.
Patriotism itself fades away before it, and acknowledges the
supremacy of an enterprise, which seizes, with so strong a
grasp, upon both the temporal and eternal destinies of the
whole family of man.
LESSON CXLIX. A Traveller perishing in the Snow.
1. As thus the snows arise; and foul, and fierce.
All winter drives along the darkened air ;
In his own loose-revolving fields, the swain
Disastered stands; sees other hills ascend.
Of unknown, joyless brow ; and other scenes,
Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain :
Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid
Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on
From hill to dale, still more and more astray ;
Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps,
Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of home
Rush on his nerves, and call their vigor forth
In many a vain attempt.
2. How sinks his soul I
What black despair, what horror fills his heart 1
When for the dusky spot, which fancy feigned
His tufted cottage rising through the snow,
DECAY OF THE INDIANS. 303
He meets the roughness of the middle waste,
Far from the track and blessed abode of man ;
While round him night resistless closes fast,
And every tempest, howling o'er his head,
Renders the savage wilderness more wild.
3. Then throng the busy shapes into his mind,
Of covered pits, unfathomably deep,
A dire descent ! beyond the power of frost;
Of faithless bogs ; of precipices huge,
Smoothed up with snow ; and, what is land, unknown,
What water of the still unfrozen spring.
In the loose marsh or solitary lake.
Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils.
These check his fearful steps ; and down he sinks
Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift.
Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death.
Mixed with the tender anguish Nature shoots
Through the wrung bosom of the dying man,
His wife, his children, and his friends unseen.
4, In vain for him the officious wife prepares
The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ;
In vain his little children, peeping out
Into the mingling storm, demand their sire.
With tears of artless innocence. Alas !
Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold,
Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve
The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense ;
And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold.
Lays him along the snows, a stiffened corse,
Stretched out, and bleaching in the northern blast.
LESSON CL. Decay of the Indians.
1. Neither the government nor the people of the United
States have any wish to conceal from themselves, nor from
the world, that there is upon their frontiers a wretched, for-
lorn people, looking to them for support and protection, and
possessing strong claims upon their justice and humanity.
Those people received our forefathers in a spirit of friend-
ship, aided them to endure privations and sufferings, and
30i THE FOURTH READER.
taught them how to provide for many of the wants with
which they were surrounded.
2. The Indians were then strong, and we were weak;
and, without looking at the change which has occurred in
any spirit of morbid aflfectation, but with the feelings of an
age accustomed to observe great mutations in the fortunes
of nations and of individuals, we may express our regret
that they have lost so much of what we have gained. The
prominent points of their history are before the world, and
will go down unchanged to posterity.
3. In the revolution of a few ages, this fair portion of the
continent, which was theirs, has passed into our possession.
The forests, which afforded them food and security, where
were their cradles, their homes, and their graves, have dis-
appeared, or are disappearing, before the progress of civili-
zation.
4. We have extinguished their council-fires, and ploughed
up the bones of their fathers. Their population has dimin-
ished with lamentable rapidity. Those tribes that remain,
like the lone column of a falling temple, exhibit but the sad
relics of their former strength ; and many others live only
in the names which have reached us through the earlier ac-
counts of travellers and historians.
5. The causes, which have produced this physical desola-
tion, are yet in constant and active operation, and threaten
to leave us, at no distant day, without a living proof of In-
dian sufferings, from the Atlantic to the immense desert
which sweeps along the base of the Rocky Mountains. Nor
can we console ourselves with the reflection, that their
physical condition has been counterbalanced by any melio-
ration in their moral condition. We have taught them
neither how to live, nor how to die.
6. They have been equally stationary in their manners,
habits, and opinions, — in everything but their numbers and
their happiness ; and, although existing, for more than six
generations, in contact with a civilized people, they owe to
them no one valuable improvement in the arts, nor a single
principle which can restrain their passions, or give hope to
despondence, motive to exertion, or confidence to virtue.
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 305
LESSON CLI. The Declaration of Independence.
1. When in the epic fable of the first of Roman poets,
the goddess mother of ^neas delivers to him the celestial
armor, with which he is to triumph over his enemy, and to
lay the foundations of imperial Rome, he is represented as
gazing with intense but confused delight on the crested hel-
met, that vomits golden fires.
2. " His hands the fatal sword and corselet hold,
One keen with tempered steel, — one stiff with gold.
He shakes the pointed spear, and longs to try
The plated cuishes on his manly thigh ;
But most admires the shield's mysterious mould,
And Roman triumphs rising on the gold."
For on that shield the heavenly smith had wrought the an-
ticipated history of Roman glory, from the days of ^neas
down to the reign of Augustus Caesar, contemporaneous with
the poet himself
3. Would it be an unlicensed trespass of the imagination
to conceive, that on the night preceding that thirtieth of
April, one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, when
from the balcony of your city hall, the chancellor of the
State of New York, administered to George Washington the
solemn oath, faithfully to execute the office of President of
the United States, and to the best of his ability, to preserve,
protect, and defend the constitution of the United States, —
that, in the visions of the night, the guardian angel of the
father of our country had appeared before him, in the ven-
erated form of his mother, and, to cheer and encourage him
in the performance of the momentous and solemn duties that
he was about to assume, had delivered to him a suit of ce-
lestial armor, — a helmet, consisting of the principles of
piety, of justice, of honor, of benevolence, with which,
from his earliest infancy, he had hitherto walked through
life, in the presence of all his brethren, — a spear, stud-
ded with the self-evident truths of the Declaration of In-
dependence, — a sword, the same with which he had led
the armies of his country through the war of freedom, to
the summit of the triumphal arch of independence, — a
corselet and cuishes of long experience and habitual inter-
306 THE FOURTH READER.
course in peace and war with the world of mankind, his
contemporaries of the human race, in all their stages of
civilization, — and, last of all, the Constitution of the United
States, a Shield embossed by heavenly hands, with the fu-
ture history of his country.
4. Yes, gentlemen, on that shield, the Constitution of the
United States, was sculptured (by forms unseen, and in
characters then invisible to mortal eye,) the predestined and
prophetic history of the one confederated people of the North
American Union.
5. They had been the settlers of thirteen separate and
distinct English colonies, along the margin of the shore of
the North American continent ; contiguously situated, but
chartered by adventurers of characters variously diversified,
including sectarians, religious and political, of all the classes
which for the two preceding centuries had agitated and di-
vided the people of the British Islands, — and with them
were intermingled the descendants of Hollanders, Swedes,
Germans, and French fugitives, from the persecution of the
revoker of the Edict of Nantes.
6. In the bosom of this people, thus heterogeneously
composed, there was burning, kindled at different furnaces,
but all furnaces of affliction, one clear, steady flame of
Liberty. Bold and daring enterprise, stubborn endurance
of privation, unflinching intrepidity in facing danger, and
inflexible adherence to conscientious principle, had steeled
the energetic and unyielding hardihood of the characters of
the primitive settlers of all these colonies. In a recent
strife between two great European powers, the victorious
combatant had been Britain.
7. She had conquered the provinces of France. She had
expelled her rival totally from the continent over which,
bounding herself by the Mississippi, she was thenceforth to
hold divided empire only with Spain. She had acquired
undisputed control over the Indian tribes, still tenanting the
forests unexplored by the European man. She had estab-
lished an uncontested monopoly of the commerce of all her
colonies. But, forgetting all the warnings of preceding
ages, — forgetting the lessons written in the blood of her
own children, through centuries of departed time, — she un-
dertook to tax the people of the colonies icithout their con*
sent.
DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 307
8. Resistance, instantaneous, unconcerted, sympathetic,
inflexible resistance, like an electric shock, startled and
roused the people of all the English colonies on this conti-
nent. This was the first signal of the North American
Union. The struggle was for chartered rights, for English
liberties, for the cause of Algernon Sydney and John
Hampden, for trial by jury, the Habeas Corpus, and Magna
Charta.
9. But, the English lawyers had decided, that Parliament
was omnipotent, — and Parliament in their omnipotence, in-
stead of trial by jury and the Habeas Corpus, erected admi-
ralty courts in England to try Americans for offences charged
against them as committed in America, — instead of the
privileges of Magna Charta, nullified the charter itself of
Massachusetts Bay ; shut up the port of Boston ; sent armies
and navies to keep the peace, and teach the colonies, that
John Hampden was a rebel, and Algernon Sydney a traitor.
10. English liberties had failed them. From the omnipo-
tence of Parliament the colonists appealed to the rights of
men, and the omnipotence of the God of battles. Union !
Union ! was the instinctive and simultaneous cry throughout
the land. Their Congress, assembled at Philadelphia, once,
twice, had petitioned the king ; had remonstrated to Parlia-
ment ; had addressed the people of Britain, for the rights of
Englishmen, in vain. Fleets and armies, the blood of Lex-
ington, and the fires of Charlestown and Falmouth, had
been the answer to petition, remonstrance, and address.
11. Independence was declared. The colonies were
transformed into States- Their inhabitants were proclaimed
to be one people, renouncing all allegiance to the British
crown ; all copatriotism with the British nation ; all claims
to chartered rights as Englishmen. Thenceforth their char-
ter was the Declaration of Independence ; their rights,
the natural rights of mankind ; their government, such as
should be instituted by themselves, under the solemn, mutu-
al pledges of perpetual union, founded on the self-evident
truths proclaimed in the Declaration.
308 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON CLII. History of America.
1. Happy was it for America, happy for the world, that a
great name, a guardian genius, presided over her destinies
in war, combining more than the virtues of the Roman
Fabius and the Theban Epaminondas, and, compared with
whom, the conquerors of the world, the Alexanders and
Cassars, are but pageants crimsoned with blood, and decked
with the trophies of slaughter, objects equally of the wonder
and the execration of mankind.
2. The hero of America was the conqueror only of his
country's foes, and the hearts of his countrymen. To the
one he was a terror, and in the other he gained ascenden-
cy, supreme, unrivalled, the tribute of admiring gratitude,
the reward of a nation's love.
3. The deep interest, excited by the events of war, does
not derive its intenseness from the numbers engaged. The
army of Xerxes astounds us with its embodied millions; but
it is only with Leonidas, and his three hundred Spartans,
that the heart mingles its sympathies, and is agitated with
thrilling hopes and fears. Kings pursue the game of war,
as men play at chess. They marshal their hosts, battles are
fought, and there are conquest and defeat. We may follow
their fortunes with a languid curiosity, but with no intense
feeling. The reason is obvious. We can be wrought upon
only by vivid impressions, and what in some way touches
the springs of the human affections.
4. The American armies, compared with the embattled
legions of the old world, were small in numbers, but the
soul of a whole people centred in the bosom of these more
than Spartan bands, and vibrated quickly and keenly with
every incident that befell them, whether in their feats of
valor, or the acuteness of their sufferings. The country it-
self was one wide battle-field, in which, not merely the life-
blood, but the dearest interests, the sustaining hopes, of
every individual were at stake.
5. It was not a war of pride and ambition between mon-
archs, in which an island or a province might be the award
of success ; it was a contest for personal liberty and civil
rights, coming down in its principles to the very sanctuary
of home and the fireside, and determining for every man
HISTORY OF AMERICA. ^QQt
the measure of responsibility he should hold over his own
condition, possessions, and happiness. The spectacle was
grand and new, and may well be cited as the most glowing
page in the annals of progressive man.
6. The instructive lesson of history, teaching by example,
can nowhere be studied with more profit or with better
promise, than in this revolutionary period of America ; and
especially by us, who sit under the tree our fathers have
planted, enjoy its shade, and are nourished by its fruits.
But little is our merit or gain, that we applaud their deeds,
unless we emulate their virtues.
7. Love of country was in them an absorbing principle,
an undivided feeling ; not of a fragment, a section, but of
the whole country. Union was the arch on which they
raised the strong tower of a nation's independence. Let
the arm be palsied, that would loosen one stone in the basis
of this fair structure, or mar its beauty ; the tongue mute,
that would dishonor their names, by calculating the value of
that which they deemed without price.
8. They have left us an example already inscribed in the
world's memory ; an example, portentous to the aims of
tyranny in every land ; an example, that will console, in all
ages, the drooping aspirations of oppressed humanity. They
have left us a written charter as a legacy, and as a guide
to our course. But every day convinces us, that a written
charter may become powerless. Ignorance may misinter-
pret it ; ambition may assail, and faction destroy its vital
parts ; and aspiring knavery may at last sing its requiem on
the tomb of departed liberty.
9. It is the spirit which lives ; in this are our safety and our
hope; the spirit of our fathers; and while this dwells deeply
in our remembrance, and its flame is cherished, ever burn-
ing, ever pure, on the altar of our hearts ; while it incites us
to think as they have thought, and do as they have done,
the honor and the praise will be ours, to have preserved,
unimpaired, the rich inheritance, which they so nobly
achieved.
310 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON CLIII. 3Toral and Intellectual Efficacy of the
Sacred Scriptures.
1. As to the powerful, I had almost said miraculous,
effect of the Sacred Scriptures, there can no longer be a
doubt in the mind of any one on whom fact can make an
impression. That the truths of the Bible have the power
of awakening an intense moral feeling in man under every
variety of character, learned or ignorant, civilized or sav-
age ; that they teach men to love right, to hate wrong, and
to seek each other's welfare, as the children of one common
parent ; that they control the baleful passions of the human
heart, and thus make men proficients in the science of self-
government; and, finally, that they teach him to aspire after
a conformity to a Being of infinite holiness, and fill him
with hopes infinitely more purifying, more exalting, more
suited to his nature, than any other which this world has
ever known, — are facts as incontrovertible as the laws of
philosophy, or the demonstrations of mathematics.
2. That the distinctive and peculiar effect is produced
upon every man to whom the Gospel is announced, we pre-
tend not to affirm. But we do affirm, that, besides produc-
ing this special renovation, to which we have alluded, upon
a part, it, i-n a most remarkable degree, elevates the tone
of moral feeling throughout the whole community. Wher-
ever the Bible is freely circulated, and its doctrines carried
home to the understandings of men, the aspect of society
is altered ; the frequency of crime is diminished ; men begin
to love justice, and to administer it by law ; and a virtu-
ous public opinion, that strongest safeguard of right, spreads
over a nation the shield of its invisible protection. When-
ever it has faithfully been brought to bear upon the human
heart, even under the most unpromising circumstances, it
has, within a single generation, revolutionized the whole
structure of society, and thus, within a few years, done
more for man than all other means have for ages accom-
plished without it.
3. But before we leave this part of the subject, it may be
well to pause for a moment, and inquire whether, in ad-
dition to its moral efficacy, the Bible may not exert a power-
ful influence upon the intellectual character of man.
THE SACRED SCRIPTURES. 311
4. And here it is scarcely necessary that I should remark,
that, of all the books with which, since the invention of
writing, this world has been deluged, the number of those
is very small which have produced any perceptible effect on
the mass of human character. After the ceaseless toil of
six thousand years, how few have been the works, the ada-
mantine basis of whose reputation has stood unhurt amid
the fluctuations of time, and whose impression can be traced,
through successive centuries, on the history of our species.
5. When, however, such a work appears, its effects are
absolutely incalculable ; and such a work, you are aware,
is the Iliad of Homer. Who can estimate the results pro-
duced by the incomparable efforts of a single mind ; who
can tell what Greece owes to the first-born of song 1 Her
breathing marbles, her solemn temples, her unrivalled elo-
quence, and her matchless verse, all point us to that tran-
scendent genius, who, by the very splendor of his own efful-
gence, woke the human intellect from the slumber of ages.
It was Homer who gave laws to the artist ; it was Homer
who inspired the poet ; it was Homer who thundered in the
senate ; and, more than all, it was Homer who was sung
by the people ; and hence a nation was cast in the mould
of one mighty mind, and the land of the Iliad became the
region of taste, the birth-place of the arts.
6. Nor was this influence confined within the limits of
Greece. Long after the sceptre of empire had pased west-
ward, genius still held her court on the banks of the Ilyssus,
and from the country of Homer gave laws to the world.
The light, which the blind old man of Scio had kindled
in Greece, shed its radiance over Italy, and thus did he
awaken a second nation into intellectual existence. And
we may form some idea of the power which this one work
has to the present day exerted over the mind of man, by
remarking, that " nation after nation, and century after cen-
tury, has been able to do little more than transpose his
incidents, new name his characters, and paraphrase his
sentiments."
7. But, considered simply as an intellectual production,
who will compare the poems of Homer with the Holy Scrip
tures of the Old and New Testament ? Where in the Iliad
shall we find simplicity and pathos which shall vie with the
narrative of Moses, or maxims of conduct to equal in wis-
312' THE FOURTH READER.
dom the Proverbs of Solomon, or sublimity which does not
fade away before the conceptions of Job or David, of Isaiah
or St. John ? But I cannot pursue this comparison. I
feel, that it is doing wrong to the mind which dictated the
niad, and to those other mighty intellects on whom the light
of the holy oracles never shined. Who that has read his
poem has not obser\ed how he strove in vain to give dignity
to the mythology of his time ? Who has not seen how the
religion of his country, unable to support the flight of his
imagination, sunk powerless beneath him ?
8. It is in the unseen world, where the master-spirits of
our race breathe freely, and are at home ; and it is mournful
to behold the intellect of Homer striving to free itself from
the conceptions of materialism, and then sinking down in
hopeless despair, to weave idle tales about Jupiter and Juno,
Apollo and Diana. But the difficulties under which he la-
bored are abundantly illustrated by the fact, that the light,
which he poured upon the human intellect, taught other ages
how unworthy was the religion of his day, of the man who
was compelled to use it. " It seems to me," says Longinus,
" that Homer, when he ascribes dissensions, jealousies,
tears, imprisonments, and other afflictions to his deities,
hath as much as was in his power, made the men of the Iliad
gods and the gods men. To man, when afflicted, death is
the termination of evils; but he hath made not only the
nature, but the miseries, of the gods eternal.'*
9. If, then, so great results have flowed from this one
eflbrt of a single mind, what may we not expect from the
combined eflibrts of several, at least his equals in power over
the human heart ? If that one genius, though groping in
the thick darkness of absurd idolatry, wrought so glorious
a transformation in the character of his countrymen, what
may we not look for from the universal dissemination of
those writings, on whose authors was poured the full splen-
dor of eternal truth? If unassisted human nature, spell-
bound by a childish mythology, have done so much, what
may we not hope for from the supernatural eflbrts of pre-
eminent genius, which spake as it was moved by the Holy
Ghost ?
EPIGRAMS. 313
LESSON CLIV. Epigrams.
1. What is an Epigram 1 — a dwarfish whole ;
Its body Brevity, and Wit its soul.
To a noted Liar.
2. Lie on ; while my revenge shall be
To tell the very truth of thee.
By Dean Swift,
3. You beat your pate, and fancy Wit will come
Knock as you will, there 's nobody at home.
On the Statue of Niohe.
4. To stone the gods have changed her, but in vain ;
The sculptor's art has made her breathe again.
On a Bad Translation.
5. His work now done, he '11 publish it, no doubt ;
For sure I am, that murder will come out.
From Martial.
6. The verses, friend, which thou hast read, are mine;
But, as thou read'st them, they may pass for thine.
On a Bad Singer.
7. Swans sing before they die : 't were no bad thing
Should certain persons die before they sing.
Epitaph on a Scolding Wife.
8. Here lies my wife : poor Nelly, let her lie, —
She finds repose at last, and so do I.
9. Jack, eating rotten cheese, did say, —
*' Like Samson I my thousands slay ! "
** Yes," cried a wag, " indeed you do, —
And with the self-same weapon too."
10. A haughty courtier, meeting in the streets
A scholar, him thus insolently greets :
27
dl4 THE FOURTH READER.
" Base men to take the wall I ne'er permit I "
* The scholar said " I do," and gave him it.
By Harrington.
11. The golden hair that Galla wears
Is hers ; who would have thought it ?
She swears 't is hers ; and true she swears.
For I know where she bought it !
By Prior.
12. Sir, I admit your general rule.
That every poet is a fool :
But you yourself will serve to show it.
That every fool is not a poet.
13. " Oh, let me die in peace ! " Eumenes cried
To a hard creditor at his bed-side.
" How 1 die ? " roared Gripus ; " thus your debts evade ?
No, no, Sir ; you sha'nt die till I am paid ! "
Written soon after Dr. HilTs Farce, called '* The Rout**
was acted.
14. For physic and farces
His equal there scarce is;
His farces are physic.
His physic a farce is.
Provoked hy the words " One Prior," in Burnet's History.
15. " One Prior! " And is this, this all the fame
The Poet from the Historian can claim ?
No : Prior's verse posterity will quote
When 't is forgot one Burnet ever wrote.
The Musical Contest. — Swift.
16. Some say, that Signor Bononcini,
Compared with Handel, 's a mere ninny ;
And others say, that to him Handel
Is hardly fit to hold a candle :
Strange, that such difference there should be
'Twixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee !
SPRING. 316
LESSON CLV. Spring.
1. The name of the season in which the sun returns to us
from his cold recess, rising higher and higher above our heads,
and bringing warmth and verdure with him for his welcome,
is most expressively denominated by the pure English word
Spring. For it is now that everything in nature;vio which
life or motion belongs, the herbs and plants and trees, the
fountains, the beasts and birds, the reptile and the insect
tribes, are springing up from the bonds of frost, and still-
ness, and sleep, and death.
2. It is now that a fresh impulse seems to be communi-
cated to the whole creation, and a spirit of youth to be in-
fused throughout all the works of God. Spring is come ;
the springing of the earth ; the spring-time of the year.
And so great and manifest is the joy which we feel at this
general renovation, and so vivid the delight which appears
to possess even senseless and material creatures in this the
springing and bounding season of their existence, that the
blessing of the Creator may be said to rest upon it peculiar-
ly ; and we are reminded of the time when that blessing
first came down upon the springing things of our young
world, pronouncing them very good.
3. It is only in the temperate zones that the word Spring,
as denoting a season of the year, can have any significan-
cy. Within the tropics, and near them. Summer holds a
constant and oftentimes an oppressive sceptre. Growth and
vegetation are indeed perpetual, but they have no spring, be-
cause they have no rest ; they have no awakening, because
they have no sleep ; they do not burst forth in the gladness
of an annual jubilee, because they have never been bound
or restrained.
4. In our own climate the signs of Spring do not appear
so early as they do in some others. Even the month of
May is not g-enerally to be recognised, in this part of our
country, as the same which poetry has loved to draw with
its brightest colors. And yet the three months which are
called the spring months, deserve their name here as truly
as in any other part of the world ; for it is within their
term that the real springing of the year takes place. Our
breezes are not so soft and balmy, nor do our flowers bloom
316 THE FOURTH READER.
so soon or so profusely, as in some other climes ; but the
winds are sensibly changed from the blasts of winter, and
the rudiments of flowers and fruits are sprouting and bud-
ding everywhere around us. Our Spring is really the op-
ening and leading season ; that season of preparation and
renewed growth and activity, which tells of the commence-
ment of nature's year, and speaks the newly-uttered blessing
of nature's God.
5. Let us contemplate, for a few moments, the animated
scene which is presented by our Spring. The earth, loos-
ened by the victorious sun, springs from the hard dominion
of winter's frost, and, no longer offering a bound-up, re-
pulsive surface to the husbandman, invites his cultivating
labors. The streams are released from their icy fetters,
and spring forward on their unobstructed way, full of spark-
ling waters, which sing and rejoice as they run on. " The
trees of the Lord are full of sap," which now springs up
into their before shrunk and empty vessels, causing the buds
to swell, and the yet unclothed branches and twigs to lose
their rigid appearance, and assume a fresher hue, and a
more rounded form. Beneath them, and in every warm
and sheltered spot, the wild plants are springing.
6. Some of these are just pushing up their tender, crisp,
and yet vigorous sprouts, thrusting aside the dead leaves
with their folded heads, and finding their sure way out into
the light ; while others have sent forth their delicate fo-
liage, and hung out their buds on slender stems ; and oth-
ers still have unfolded their flowers, which look up into the
air unsuspectingly and gayly, like innocence upon an un-
tried world. The grass is springing for the scythe, and the
grain for the sickle ; for they grow, by commandment, for
the service of man, and death is everywhere the fate and
issue of life.
7. But it is not only senseless things, which are thus vis-
ibly springing at this their appointed season. The various
tribes of animated nature show, that it is Spring also with
them. The birds rise up on elastic wing, and make a joy-
ous music for the growing plants to spring to. Animals,
that have lain torpid through the benumbing winter, spring
up from their secret beds and dormitories, and resume their
habits of activity once more. Innumerable insects spring
up from the cells which they had formed beyond the reach
SPRING 317
of frost, and in new attire commence their winged exist-
ence. The hum of happy life is heard from myriads of
little creatures, who, born in the morning, will die ere night.
In that short term, however, they will have accomplished
the purposes of their living ; and, if brought to this test,
there are many human lives which are shorter and vainer
than theirs ; and what is any life, when past, but a day ?
8. Let us go abroad amidst this general springing of the
earth and nature, and we shall see and feel, that God's
blessing is there. The joy of recovery, the gladness of
escape, the buoyancy of youth, the exultation of commen-
cing or renewed existence, these are the happiness and bles-
sing which are given from above, and the praise and the
hymn which ascend from beneath. Another and a milder
order of things seems to be beginning. The gales, though
not the warm breathings of Summer, flow to us as if they
came from some distant summer clime, and were cooled
and moderated on their way ; while, at no distant intervals,
the skies, in their genial ministry, baptize the offspring of
earth with their softest and holiest showers. " Thou visi-
test the earth and waterest it; thou makest it soft with
showers ; thou blessest the springing thereof."
9. Surely we cannot stand still in such a scene, and,
when everything else is springing, let it be winter in our
souls. Let us rather open our hearts to the renovating in-
fluences of Heaven, and sympathize with universal nature.
If our love to God has been chilled by any of the wintry
aspects of the world, it is time, it is time, that it should
be resuscitated, and that it should spring up in ardent
adoration to the Source of light and life. It is time, that
our gratitude should be waked from its sleep, and our de-
votion aroused, and that all our pious aflections, shaking
off* their torpor, should come out into the beams of God's
presence, and receive new powers from their invigorating
warmth. It is time, too, that our social charities, if any
*' killing frost" has visited them, should be cured of their
numbness and apathy, and go forth among the children and
brethren of the great family, and feel, as they rise and
move, that the blessing of the Almighty Father is upon their
springing.
gl8 THE FOURTH READER.
LESSON CLVI. Autumn.
1. Let the young go out, in these hours, under the de-
scendmg sun of the year, into the fields of nature. Their
hearts are now ardent with hope, — with the hopes of fame,
of honor, or of happiness; and, in the long perspective which
is before them, their imagination creates a world where all
may be enjoyed.
2. Let the scenes which they now may witness moder-
ate, but not extinguish, their ambition ; while they see the
jearly desolation of nature, let them see it as the emblem
of mortal hope ; while they feel the disproportion between
the powers they possess and the time they are to be employ-
ed, let them carry their ambitious eye beyond the world ;
and while, in these sacred solitudes, a voice in their own
bosom corresponds to the voice of decaying nature, let them
take that high decision which becomes those who feel them-
selves the inhabitants of a greater world, and who look to
a being incapable of decay.
3. Let the busy and the active go out, and pause for a
time amid the scenes which surround them, and learn the
high lesson which nature teaches in the hours of its fall.
They are now ardent with all the desires of mortality ; and
fame, and interest, and pleasure, are displaying to them their
shadowy promises; and, in the vulgar race of life, many
weak and many worthless passions are too naturally engen-
dered. Let them withdraw themselves for a time from the
agitations of the world ; let them mark the desolation of
summer, and listen to the winds of winter, which begin to
murmur above their heads.
4. It is a scene which, with all its power, has yet no re-
proach ; it tells them, that such is also the fate to which
they must come ; that the pulse of passion must one day
beat low ; that the illusions of time must pass ; and " that
the spirit must return to Him who gave it." It reminds
them, with gentle voice, of that innocence in which life was
begun, and for which no prosperity of vice can make any
. compensation ; and that angel who is one day to stand upon
the earth, and to " swear that time shall be no more," seems
now to whisper to them, amid the hollow winds of the year,
what manner of men they ought to be, who must meet that
decisive hour.
THE IDIOT. 819^
5. There is an eventide in human life, a season when the
eye becomes dim, and the strength decays, and when the
winter of age begins to shed upon the human head its pro-
phetic snow. It is the season of life to which the present
is most analogous ; and much it becomes, and much it would
profit you, to mark the instructions which the season brings.
The spring and the summer of your days are gone, and with
them, not only the joys they knew, but many of the friends
who gave them. You have entered upon the autumn of
your being, and v/hatever may have been the profusion of
your spring, or the warm intemperance of your summer,
there is yet a season of stillness and of solitude which the
beneficence of Heaven affords you, in which you may medi-
tate upon the past and the future, and prepare yourselves
for the mighty change which you are soon to undergo.
6. If it be thus you have the wisdom to use the decaying
season of nature, it brings with it consolations more valu-
able than all the enjoyments of former days. In the long
retrospect of your journey, you have seen every day the
shades of the evening fall, and every year the clouds of win-
ter gather. But you have seen also, every succeeding day,
the morning arise in its brightness, and, in every succeeding
year, the spring return to renovate the winter of nature. It
is now you may understand the magnificent language of
Heaven, — it mingles its voice with that of revelation, — it
summons you, in these hours when the leaves fall, and the
winter is gathering, to that evening study which the mercy
of Heaven has provided in the book of salvation ; and, while
the shadowy valley opens which leads to the abode of death,
it speaks of that hand which can comfort and can save, and
which can conduct to those " green pastures, and those still
waters," where there is an eternal spring for the children of
God.
i^: LESSON CLVII. The Idiot.
1. A POOR widow, in a small town in the north of England,
kept a booth or stall of apples and sweetmeats. She had
an idiot child, so utterly helpless and dependent, that he
did not appear to be ever alive to anger or self-defence.
He sat all day at her feet, and seemed to be possessed of
.no other sentiment of the human kind, than confidence in
320 THE FOURTH READER.
his mother's love, and a dread of the schoolboys, by whoiQ
he was often annoyed.
2. His whole occupation, as he sat on the ground, was
in swinging backwards and forwards, singing *• pal-lal " in
a low, pathetic voice, only interrupted at intervals, on the
appearance of any of his tormentors, when he clung to his
mother in alarm. From morning till evening he sung his
plaintive and aimless ditty ; at night, when his poor mother
gathered up her little wares to return home, so deplorable
did his defects appear, that, while she carried her table on
her head, her stock of little merchandise in her lap, and her
Btool in one hand, she was obliged to lead him by the
other. Ever and anon, as any of the schoolboys appeared
in view, the harmless thing clung close to her, and hid his
face in her bosom for protection.
3. A human creature so far below the standard of humani-
ty, was nowhere ever seen ; he had not even the shallow
cunning which is often found among these unfinished beings ;
and his simplicity could not even be measured by the stand-
ard we would aj)ply to the capacity of a lamb. Yet it had
a feeling rarely manifested even in the affectionate dog, and
a knowledge never shown by any mere animal. He was
sensible of his mother's kindness, and how much he owed
to her care.
4. At night, when she spread his humble pallet, though he
knew not prayer, nor could comprehend the solemnities of
worship, he prostrated himself at her feet; and, as he kissed
them, mumbled a kind of mental orison, as if in fond and
holy devotion. In the morning, before she went abroad to
resume her station in the market-place, he peeped anxiously
out to reconnoitre the street; and, as often as he saw any
of the schoolboys in the way, he held her firmly back, and
sung his sorrowful " pal-lal."
5. One day the poor woman and her idiot boy were miss-
ed from the market-place, and the charity of some of the
neighbors induced them to visit her hovel. They found her
dead on her sorry couch, and the boy sitting beside her,
holding her hand, swinging and singing his pitiful lay more
sorrowfully than he had ever done before. He could not
speak, but only utter a brutish gabble ; sometimes, however,
he looked as if he comprehended something of what was said.
6. On this occasion, when the neighbors spoke to him,
he looked up with the tear in his eye ; and, clasping the cold
VVAVERLEY AND FERGUS MAC-IVOR. 321
hand more tenderly, sunk the strain of his mournful <'pal-
lal " into a softer and sadder key. The spectators, deeply
affected, raised him from the body : and he surrendered his
hold of the earthly hand without resistance, retiring in si-
lence to an obscure corner of the room. One of them,
looking towards the others, said to them, " Poor wretch !
what shall we do with him ? " At that moment he resumed
his chant ; and, lifting two handfuls of dust from the floor,
sprinkled it on his head, and sung, with a wild and clear
heart-piercing pathos, '' PaHal, — pal-lal."
LESSON CLVIII. Interview between Waverlcy and Fer-
gus Mac-Ivor.
1. '* Are you to take the field so soon, Fergus," he
asked, '' that you are making all these martial prepara-
tions?"
" When we have settled that you go with me, you shall
know all ; but, otherwise, the knowledge might rather be
prejudicial to you."
2. ** But are you serious in your purpose, with such in-
ferior forces, to rise against an established government? It
is mere frenzy."
" Oh, I shall take good care of myself. We shall at least
use the compliment of Conan, who never got a stroke but
he gave one. I would not, however," continued the chief-
tain, " have you think me mad enough to stir till a favor-
able opportunity ; I will not slip my dog before the game's
afoot. But, once more, will you join with us, and you shall
know all?"
3. ** How can I ? " said Waverley ; " I, who have so
lately held that commission which is now posting back to
those that gave it ? My accepting it implied a promise of
fidelity, and an acknowledgment of the legality of the gov-
ernment."
4. "A rash promise," answered Fergus, " is not a steel
handcuff; it may be shaken off, especially when it was given
under deception, and has been repaid by insult. But if you
cannot immediately make up your mind to a glorious re-
venge, go to England, and, ere you cross the Tweed, you
will hear tidings that will make the world ring ; and if Sir
822 THE FOURTH READER.
Everard be the gaUant old cavalier I have heard him de-
scribed by some of our honest gentlemen of the year one
thousand seven hundred and fifteen, he will find you a better
horse-troop and a better cause than you have lost."
5. " But your sister, Fergus?"
*' Out, hyperbolical fiend ! " replied the chief, laughing ;
*' how vexest thou this man ! — Speak'st thou of nothing but
of ladies?"
" Nay, be serious, my dear friend," said Waverley ; " I
feel, that the happiness of my future life must depend upon
the answer which Miss Mac-Ivor shall make to what I ven-
tured to tell her this morning."
" And is this your very sober earnest," said Fergus, more
gravely "or are we in the land of romance and fiction?"
"My earnest, undoubtedly. How could you suppose me
jesting on such a subject? "
6. "Then, in very sober earnest," answered his friend,
•' I am very glad to hear it; and so highly do I think of
Flora, that you are the only man in England for whom I
would say so much. But before you shake my hand so
warmly, there is more to be considered. Your own family,
— will they approve your connecting yourself with the sis-
ter of a high-born Highland beggar ? "
*' My uncle's situation," said Waverley, " his general opin-
ions, and his uniform indulgence, entitle me to say, that
birth and personal qualities are all he would look to in such
a connexion. And where can I find both united in such
excellence as in your sister?"
*' Oh, nowhere ! " replied Fergus, with a smile. ^' But
your father will expect a father's prerogative in being con-
sulted."
7. " Surely; but his late breach with the ruling powers re-
moves all apprehension of objection on his part, especially
as I am convmced, that my uncle will be warm in my cause."
"Religion, perhaps," said Fergus, "may make obstacles,
though we are not bigoted Catholics."
" My grandmother was of the Church of Rome, and her
religion was never objected to by my family. Do not think
of my friends, dear Fergus ; let me rather have your influ*-
ence where it may be more necessary to remove obstacles, -^^
I mean with your lovely sister."
8. "My lovely sister," replied Fergus, "like her loving
brother, is very apt to have a pretty decisive will of her
A SHIP SINKING. 823
own, by which, m this case, you must be ruled ; but you
shall not want my interest, nor my counsel. And, in the
first place, I will give you one hint. — Loyalty is her ruling
passion ; and since she could spell an English book, she has
been in love with the memory of the gallant Captain Wogan,
who renounced the service of the usurper Cromwell to join the
standard of Charles the Second, marched a handful of caval-
ry from London to the Highlands to join Middleton, then in
arms for the king, and at length died gloriously in the royal
cause. Ask her to show you some verses she made on his
history and fate ; they have been much admired, I assure
you. The next point is, — I think I saw Flora go up to-
wards the waterfall a short time since, — follow, man, follow !
don't allow the garrison time to strengthen its purposes of
resistance. Seek Flora out, and learn her decision as soon
as you can, and Cupid go with you, while I go to look over
belts and cartouch-boxes."
LESSON CLIX. A Ship Sinking.
1. Her giant-form,
O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
Majestically calm would go
'Mid the deep darkness, white as snow !
But gently now the small waves glide,
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.
So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast!
Hush ! hush ! thou vain dreamer ! this hour is her last
2. Five hundred souls, in one instant of dread,
Are hurried o'er the deck ;
And fast the miserable ship
Becomes a lifeless wreck.
Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,
Her planks are torn asunder.
And down come her masts with a reeling shock,
And a hideous crash like thunder.
Her sails are draggled in the brine,
That gladdened late the skies,
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