ijpiMrr^i^PipaPHqi^iMBiv J EDUCATION tXEfn. /vS..R...x...X .X..X...> ............„j,...........^.....,.-..v--v"x"-x"x"-V"K-"v:"V"w" w-?:" X"*?r""?r" :<...X..X X..X..X..X..x..x...x..X..X..X..A,.x..x..x,,.x.,X..x...x...x. 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',) 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, 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. Ec'/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 beyonertaining 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